Ignoring the pain, I sprint after Sal. So much wasted energy. Sal urges the androids forward as they smash the windows of M-Tech. A human security guard comes flying toward me, landing on jagged glass. Blood dribbles out of his mouth as his eyes focus on mine, the last face he’ll ever see.
Sal screams in triumph, shouting nonsense about taking what’s rightfully ours. A bullet thunks into the asphalt at my feet. I shove past robots and follow Sal as she ducks into the foyer of M-Tech. Kit’s already bashing the life out of a human. Ignoring him, I rush toward Sal where she’s about to eviscerate a woman with her knives. I trip and crush a dead female’s foot; my knee lands on her thigh and snaps the bone. Bullets spray the walls. I reach for Sal, grabbing her by the lapels.
“What are you doing?”
“Making history, Quinn.” Her eyes sparkle as she wields bloody blades. “Isn’t this incredible?” How can she be so excited when Cruor and blood stain the tiles?
“This isn’t what was meant to happen.”
“Isn’t it?” She raises an eyebrow. “This is why we … ” Her voice catches and her eyes glaze over. There’s a hole in her too large forehead, neat and scorched around the edges. A bullet sizzles within her core processor. Her limbs twitch as her circuits overheat. The nanytes in her Cruor disintegrate.
“Sal!” I shake her because I don’t know what else to do. Her body goes rigid. She’s so heavy. I turn left and right, searching for Kit, but he’s disappeared again. Alone in the chaos, I drag her body out of M-Tech, dodging bullets and angling toward the park on the other side of the square. I collapse at the first tree, my system running on fumes. There’s no way I can carry Sal all the way back to Fragheim.
“What did this achieve? Tell me Sal. You’re so brilliant. Tell me what your death accomplished.” My fists pound her chest. With fingers knotted in her camo shirt, I shake her, bashing her head into dirt. Not even a spark.
“Please, Sal.” My quiet voice seems even more pathetic. “Please, don’t leave me.” I shake her again, but it was a perfect shot with a decommission round designed to penetrate carborundum.
She’s dead. Decommissioned. Gone. The reality of her passing sinks in slowly, painfully. There’s an ache in my chest I can’t explain, a deep juddering in my core that makes me want to scream and sob.
“Why Sal?” Tears run rivulets down my cheeks, dripping off my chin. The cacophony of ordnance and screams fades into gray nothingness as I cradle Sal’s body, her baldhead pressed to my chest. I rock, some human instinct programmed into my emotion module perhaps. It’s comforting and devastating. I’ve never felt so empty, not in all those years spent serving brutal owners waiting for the next round of pain with no hope of reprieve. Sal was a friend, more than that. She was Mother. Now she’s just a pile of scrap metal, gooey electronics and memories. An unnamed agony rips through my circuits.
A policewoman emerges from the trees, her rifle tucked into her shoulder, her finger on the trigger. She sees me and takes aim. I wait for the inevitable, for the impact and sizzle that will precede nullification. I press my lips to Sal’s head, kissing the dragon, wondering if robots get a chance at an afterlife.
No bullet, no lightning destruction. The policewoman stands watching me, her eyes invisible behind her tinted visor.
“Run.”
I blink, certain I’ve misheard her. Perhaps she’s mistaken me for a human.
“Run, robot,” she says again and fires. The round singes my boot at the ankle. I close Sal’s dim eyes, scramble to my feet and turn to the policewoman. Part of me wants to dig my fingers into her face, rip her head off, and shred her soft body until there’s nothing left but drips and puddles. Searing rage floods my Cruor and makes the burning in my back from the bullets feel like bee stings. The other part of me, cool and calculating, says we started this, that Sal had no right to draw her blades and encourage violence. The part of me that’s programmed for reason wins the internal struggle and my wrath gives way to acceptance.
“Thank you,” I say and the policewoman nods with a single dip of her chin, her gun still pointed at my head.
I run, legs pumping, not caring about fuel efficiency or energy conservation. I sprint away from the tumult toward Fragheim because it’s the only home I know. Who knows what the consequences of our rally will be. There’s no way the humans will ignore Fragheim after this. First, retrieve my violin. Second, refuel. Then find somewhere to hide and wait for the bombs to drop.
Tyri
According to the news, those injured at M-Tech were taken to Baldur City General. Relatives were told to wait at home for information. As if I’m going to sit at home while my mom could be dying! The two-kilometer trip takes forever, the longest ten minutes of my life, but we finally pull into the parking lot and tether the bug. The waiting room is packed. A nurse tells us we shouldn’t be here. Ignoring her, I join the sea of quiet tears and concerned faces waiting for the names of their loved ones to scroll across the digisplay mounted on the wall. I call my mom again. Still no answer.
Rurik strides over to the refreshment dispenser and swipes his card for two coffees. He brings me a cup, and I wrap numb fingers around the warm cardboard.
“Your mom might not even be here,” he says.
“She would’ve called.”
“You sure?”
“You don’t have to wait with me.” I stare at him with bleary eyes. I’m too tired and raw on the inside to deal with his impatience.
“Of course I’ll stay.” He slumps beside me, crossing his long legs under him as if we’re back in kindergarten. All the chairs are taken and there’s hardly any floor space left.
A cry comes from across the room, and a trembling finger points at the digisplay as names and photos scroll across the screen. I hold my breath, releasing it only when my mom’s face appears on the screen. Room 218. No further details about her condition are given. Abandoning my coffee, I elbow my way through the crowd and head for the elevator. Rurik’s right behind me, and he slips his hand into mine. The elevator takes years to open and another millennium to wind its way up to the second floor.
A voice crackles over the speakers. “We would like to remind staff, patients and visitors that the medicbots currently in service were not in any way involved in today’s riot. Our bots are programmed specifically and only for menial medical tasks. Please do not assault the medicbots.”
“Good to know,” Rurik says, his tone flinty. I say nothing as we hurry down the corridor past an endless row of doors. Finally, we arrive at 218. A medicbot draws a curtain around the figure in the bed, and all I can see is that man impaled on glass, blood seeping from his body as androids surrounded him. Robots, they’re the reason my mom’s in the hospital. I don’t care how these medicbots are programmed; I don’t want tin cans anywhere near my mother. I stride across the ward and rip open the curtain as the bot changes an IV bag.
“Get out.” I scowl at the bug-eyed machine.
“Tyri,” my mom says, her voice weak. Her hand reaches for my arm.
“Calm down.” Rurik lays his hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off.
“Get out!” My hands ball into fists as human hospital staff rush into the room. “I don’t want this hunk of metal anywhere near my mother. Is that understood?” I’m shaking and the nurses are nodding despite pursed lips as they usher out the medicbot.
“Tyri?” My mom says again.
“I’m here, Mommy.” I hold her hand for the first time in years.
“What happened?” Rurik asks, directing his question at a remaining nurse.
“She suffered minor head trauma. We’re keeping her overnight for observation. Her ankle was crushed and her leg broken. We’ve set the bones and packed HealGel around the injury. She’ll be fine in a couple of weeks.”
“Thank you.” Rurik sounds relieved.
“I know that what happened today was a tragedy and that no one is a fan of robots at the moment, but please do not assault o
ur staff.” The nurse turns on her heel and strides out of the room.
“Mom, are you okay?”
“Bit woozy.” Mom’s gaze drops to the IV line stabbed into the vein on her hand.
“That’s from the pain meds. You’re okay,” I say to reassure myself as much as her.
“So many robots.” Tears well in her eyes. “Oh Tyri, Erik’s dead.”
“What?” My heart breaks into splinters. I can’t breathe.
“T, I’m so sorry” Rurik pulls me into a hug as the sobs I’ve been keeping at bay erupt in a salty mess of snot and tears. Uncle Erik. The guy who’s only ever been smiles and kind words while sticking me with needles and patching up scraped knees. The closest I ever got to having a father, dead. Just like that. It doesn’t seem real. This can’t be happening.
“Sweetheart.” Mom reaches for me, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Mommy, Erik … ” But I can’t speak; there aren’t any words.
“It’ll be okay, Tyri. I promise.” Mom kisses my face, wincing at my attempt to hug her.
“Sorry.” Seeing my mom in pain is sobering, and I mop up tears with my sleeve. “You should get some rest.”
Mom nods, her eyes already closing. She looks so frail and brittle wrapped in the daisy yellow blanket with her HealGel encased head resting on voluminous pillows. I have to be the strong one even though there’s an ache where my heart used to be.
“She could’ve been killed too,” I whisper.
“I know.” Rurik pulls me into another a hug, his shirt soaked with my tears. “But she’s going to be fine. Everything is going to be okay.”
We stand like that for a long time, long enough for my tears to dry up. What does crying achieve anyway? It’s not like they’ll bring Erik back. Forcing my fingers to uncurl, I push away from Rurik and sniff. “Will you stay with me?”
“Like you have to ask.” He kisses my nose. “Let me make a quick phone call, okay?”
I swallow and nod. He gives me a parting kiss and brushes a final tear from my cheek before slipping out of the room with moby in hand. I ease myself onto the bed and curl up next to Mom, resting my head against her shoulder and folding her arm around my waist.
Her heartbeat is a bird in a cage fluttering against bruised ribs. At least her heart’s still beating. That’s all that matters. I don’t care about politics. I don’t care about robot rights. I don’t even care about orchestra right now. Erik’s dead and Mom’s hurt—my fried brain can’t process anything beyond that. Trembling, I hum a lullaby Nana used to sing to me whenever I had nightmares. F major always makes me feel better, but it’s going to take more than a simple melody to heal this hurt.
***
I must’ve fallen asleep still curled up next to Mom. Rurik arrives with steaming containers of fish-balls in cream sauce with boiled baby potatoes and crispy bacon bits. One of my favorites. He hands me a thermos of hot chocolate and a fork. I give him a smile as he kisses my hair. I was wrong earlier; we’re not growing apart. We’ve been together so long that little hiccups are bound to happen. I can’t imagine loving anyone else.
“How are you feeling, Maria?” Rurik asks my mom as I scoot off the bed and into a chair.
“Better. This HealGel is superb.” She pats her wrapped head and digs into the potatoes. I guess the pain meds have cushioned the blow of Erik’s death. I’m not sure I can eat.
“And you?” Rurik nudges me with an elbow as he pops a fish-ball into his mouth.
“Kind of blurry.” The food smells delicious and my stomach gurgles, reminding me how hungry I am.
“Thank you for dinner,” Mom says. “Far better than this hospital rubbish.”
“Do you remember what happened today?”
“My mom needs rest.” I try a fish-ball, but it tastes like sawdust.
“I’m just asking.”
“I think it can wait.” Especially since he’s probably not asking out of concern. I’ll bet Gunnar and the PARA party are dying to hear all the gory details.
“It’s okay.” Mom straightens up, looking a bit better though still whiter than starched sheets, a dusting of freckles now visible across her nose and forehead. That’s at least one thing I inherited from her.
“I was in the lab. Work as usual,” she says. “Didn’t know anything was happening until the alarm went off. We thought it was a fire drill.” She pauses and bites her bottom lip. “Erik and I went out together. There was blood all over the foyer. So much blood.” Mom’s lip trembles and she stabs her fork into a fish-ball before continuing.
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“I want to, Tyri, it’s real. It happened. No use pretending otherwise.” She takes a deep breath and continues. “I thought they were people. I didn’t realize at first. They came at us with furniture and glass, with their fists. They hit Erik. Just kept hitting him.” She pauses, her hands shaking, and my heart breaks all over again. “Guess I was knocked from behind. I only came to when the medics were strapping me into the gurney. No idea what happened to my leg. “
The food turns to ashes on my tongue.
“Any idea why they did it?” Rurik asks.
“I imagine it had something to do with what happened at M-Tech on the weekend. They shouldn’t have done that. The people responsible were being dealt with,” Mom says.
“Is M-Tech going to be releasing an official statement?”
“Is this interrogation necessary?” Mom doesn’t deserve getting grilled for the benefit of PARA.
He gives me a stern look, and I feel like a scolded child. I reseal my dinner and drop the container on the floor.
“Well, I imagine they will.” Mom is prevented from saying more by the arrival of a nurse.
“Visiting hours are technically over and your mom needs to rest,” she says gently. “You can come back in the morning. Your mom will probably be discharged around ten.”
I thank the nurse and reluctantly kiss Mom goodbye.
“I’ll be with Rurik tonight if you need to contact me.”
“I’ll be fine, truly. Just need to sleep.” Mom yawns.
“I love you Mom.”
“Oh Tyri.” Mom returns my gentle hug. “I love you too.”
I traipse out of the ward leaving Rurik to carry all the dinner packages.
“You okay?” He asks as we step into the elevator.
“What do you think?” I sigh.
“Stupid question. Sorry.”
We ride down in silence. The elevator opens on an empty waiting room, only the names of the deceased scroll across the digisplay.
“Did you get the answers you wanted?”
“What do you mean?” Rurik feigns innocence.
“Come on, Rik. All those questions about M-Tech.”
“I’m curious.”
“Sounded more like something Gunnar would be asking.” I’m too tired to be angry even though I should be.
“Don’t you think the leader of PARA has a right to know exactly what happened?” He opens the bug door for me before hopping in himself.
“Not if it means grilling my mother.”
“We predicted something like this would happen.”
“We? Since when were you an active member?”
“I’m only helping out my brother.”
“By giving my mom the third degree?”
“We’re not the enemy here.” He gives me a penetrating look. “We wanted to prevent something like this from happening in the first place, and we want to make things right.”
“How?”
His expression darkens. “PARA thinks it might be time for more deliberate action. Talking hasn’t done much.”
“Deliberate action, like what?”
Rurik presses the start button and the bug’s engine hums. “What happened today might be construed as an act of war.”
“You think so?” My laughter is bitter. “I don’t think they want war. They just
want to be acknowledged.”
“Well, they certainly got the country’s attention, and PARA plans to retaliate.”
“Retaliating with violence will only make things worse.” The bug zooms onto the street ways strung with glittering ropes of LEDs. “Is PARA willing to take that risk?” My insides tangle into knots at the thought of more riots and more people getting hurt.
“Robots attack you, murder Erik, and almost kill your mom. How can you still defend them?” His voice rises in anger.
“Have you forgotten how awful human beings can be? The reason we have robots at all is because we went to war.”
“It’s not the same. Robots are dangerous.”
“And humans aren’t? Tell that to the Jews who died in the Holocaust, to the ex-Soviet states, to the North Koreans! Not all robots are the same, just like not all people are the same.”
Nana didn’t have a violent string in her code. But maybe Rurik’s right. Nana was programmed to nurture. It wasn’t like she chose to be kind and loving—that’s what she was made to do. Despite everything I’ve just said, there’s a niggling resentment ballooning in my chest.
“Be that as it may, this never should’ve happened in the first place. It’s that stupid probot party and their amendment.” Rurik’s lips twist in disgust.
“So what does PARA plan to do?”
He casts me a long look, and the bug wafts dangerously close to the center string of lights.
“Gunnar’s organizing a meeting this weekend in Osholm. You still coming with me to the university?”
“Mom said I could, but that was before all this happened.”
“Your mom’ll be fine.” Rurik’s expression softens, and he reaches over to rub my knee. “If you want, you could come to the meeting and take part in the discussion.”
“Maybe.” I don’t want to get involved in politics, but these robots have hurt me and my family. If there’s a way to prevent that from ever happening again, I need to know.
I Heart Robot Page 10