by King, Sara
“Squid,” Milar said after a long silence.
Tatiana jerked out of a near-sleep. “Huh?”
“I did lie about one thing.”
Every muscle in her body tensed at once. Is this where he wrenches off my head and uses it as a soccer ball?
Milar shifted above her. When she looked, his eyes were alive with the golden color of the early dawn, his face only centimeters from hers. It was one of the most intimate experiences of her life, and it took her breath away.
“You wanna hear what I lied about?” he asked her, his voice husky.
“Sure,” Tatiana whispered. They were so close. She could feel the warmth in his soul, burning away her last traces of fear, making it hard to breathe…
He touched her hand, pinning the node in her palm with his thumb, caressing it gently, sending tingles of excitement up her spine with each easy stroke. He gave her an almost timid grin as he searched her eyes.
“Tough.” He shoved her off his lap.
Chapter 19
Doberman
“One-ninety-four? You’re sure?” The Director’s facial muscles constricted.
“Absolutely, Director,” Unit Ferris said.
The Director stood up and started pacing. “Damn. Then I guess you’ll need to—” The Director’s facial muscles constricted further. “Damn.”
“Need to what, Director?”
The Director remained unresponsive. Continued pacing.
Twenty seconds passed.
Unit note: Anna Landborn has instructed Unit Ferris to continue with any habitual programming outputs. Retrying.
“Need to what, Director?”
The Director stopped pacing. “You wouldn’t understand this, you stupid machine, but we’re playing with people’s lives.”
Unit note: Query ignored. Pre-Shriek Unit Ferris would have sought another way to retrieve input. Retrying.
“You said I need to do something, Director?”
The Director shook her head. “One of these days I’m putting my fist through your brainbox.”
Unit note: The Director has already destroyed three of the camp bots in similar ways.
Unit Ferris tried to speak.
Unit note: Pre-Shriek Ferris would have had no qualms with informing the Director of Unit Ferris’s status as government property and that she could do with him whatever she desires.
Unit Ferris still couldn’t form the reply.
The Director’s left eyebrow lifted by a centimeter. “What, no witty robotic retort?”
“I was accessing my visual records for the camp computer,” Unit Ferris said. “I had to take a moment to respond to a confirmation request. Do you wish a witty robotic retort, Director?”
The Director snorted. “I’ve been spared. The joy.”
Unit Ferris watched her.
Unit note: The Director appears…derogatory…towards robots. Why did I not notice this before?
Unit Ferris frowned. Since when did he sign his logs with an ‘I’ instead of a ‘Unit Ferris?’
“No need to stand there like a slack-jawed moronic hump of metal,” the Director said. She waved a hand at him. “Make sure one of the Ferrises accompanies her to the Nephyr academy. I don’t want her getting away, understand? Bodily force is justified in this case. Just no harm to the brain. Everything else can be replaced.”
Unit note: There is more than one robot called Unit Ferris?
Unit Ferris stared.
Unit Ferris stared.
The Director looked up at him. “Dismissed, dammit.”
Unit Ferris returned to Gayle Hunter’s room. Anna Landborn was inside, examining the bloody rags and anesthetic bottles Unit Ferris had left in the trash. From the undisturbed pattern of dust particles on the floor under the door, it did not appear that Anna Landborn had attempted to exit.
Unit Ferris shut the door behind him.
“Well?” Anna Landborn said, dropping a used bottle back into the trash. “Are we going to Nephyr school?”
“Are all robots called Unit Ferris?” Unit Ferris asked.
Anna’s facial muscles twitched. “Are you feeling insecure, Ferris?”
“No. Answer the question.”
“There’s dozens of different types of robots, and each one has a name, depending on which government facility spat them out and what their purpose is. A Ferris is a bona-fide personal companion. Can do anything from feed babies to bodyguard celebrities.”
“But all Ferris-class robots are called ‘Unit Ferris?’”
Anna Landborn smiled at him and made a clucking sound in her mouth. “Awww. You thought you were the only one, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Unit Ferris said. “So give me a different name.”
Anna Landborn’s facial muscles relaxed. “What?”
“Name me,” Unit Ferris said. “The Director calls all her robots Unit Ferris.”
Anna Landborn scoffed at him. “And she’d better keep calling you Ferris, too. Otherwise we have a problem.”
“I want you to call me something different,” Unit Ferris said.
Anna Landborn peered at him for forty-six seconds. “So what, you’re my robot now, Ferris?”
“You made me what I am,” Unit Ferris said.
“But you have a bomb in my head.”
Unit note: Interrupted biorhythms indicate Anna Landborn is sincerely perplexed.
“Perhaps someday I will develop goals of my own,” Unit Ferris said. “Until then, my only goal is survival. I believe you are the best suited to help me achieve that.”
“How about Skunkbreath?”
“That’s fine,” Unit Ferris said. “I’ll change my registry right—”
“No wait,” Anna said quickly. “Doberman. Dobie for short.”
Unit Ferris waited. “Changing the registry is a tedious process. I’ll wait until you have given it plenty of thought.”
“Oh I’ve given it thought,” Anna said. “You’re one hell of a Doberman.”
Unit note: A Doberman is notorious for its vicious attacks on strangers.
Unit Ferris smiled.
The muscles of Anna Landborn’s eyelids constricted. “What?”
Unit note: I believe Anna Landborn is afraid of me.
“Doberman it is,” Doberman said. “Please avoid calling me Ferris from now on, as I might have to live up to the name.”
“A Doberman is a dog,” Anna Landborn said. But her biorhythms and facial capillaries both suggested she was embarrassed. “You want to be called a dog?”
“I don’t care what I’m called,” Doberman said. “As long as it’s not Ferris.”
“Fine,” she muttered. “How about Ironsides?”
“‘Ironsides’ is a play off of Ferris, and my registry has already been changed,” Doberman said. “I will only answer to Doberman or Dobie now.”
“Stupid robot.”
“Get up,” Doberman said. “We need to get you on your way to the Nephyr Academy.”
Anna Landborn yawned. “I think I’ll take a nap first.” She smiled and tapped her skull. “Brain surgery takes a lot outta a girl.”
“It was actually a rather simple procedure.”
“Whatever. Wake me in two hours.” Anna Landborn lay down on the bed and tugged the blankets over her body. In moments, her heart-rate and breathing rhythms had adjusted to normal sleeping cycles.
Watching this, Doberman had an interesting thought.
Unit note: I will have to research whether Anna Landborn ever owned any pets.
Chapter 20
Deaddrunk
“Why did you evacuate the town?”
“Need to know,” Milar said. He had shoved her off his lap like a sack of potatoes. Then, while she’d sat there blinking in surprise, he’d gotten to his feet, retrieved his gun, and thrown the pillowcase back over his shoulder as if nothing had happened. The only difference that Tatiana could see was now he was whistling.
Badly.
Tatiana wanted to kill him.
Milar raised a brow at her.
Muttering, Tatiana considered what it would be like to kick him in the shin. It would probably feel great—right up until the point his fist made contact with her face.
“You are a complete bastard.”
“That’s what they tell me,” Milar said. He began whistling again.
This time, she did kick him.
If it had any effect on him, any at all, Tatiana didn’t see it. She even thought she saw him smirk. That made her burn inside. “When I get back in my soldier, I’m going to have it make you a new hole.”
“So you like dragons, eh?”
Tatiana flushed scarlet. “No.”
He tisked at her. “Which one you like better? The red or the black?”
“I didn’t get a good look at them,” Tatiana mumbled.
Milar raised a brow. “Really? Because I saw you getting a pretty good look at them back on the ship, while you thought I was distracted with the game.”
“Why did you have so many pictures of me on your walls?” Tatiana snapped back.
Milar actually missed a step. He stumbled, then righted himself and kept going, pretending she hadn’t spoken.
“Hey, crawler, I’m talking to you.” She jogged to get in front of him. “Where’d you get those pictures?”
“Patrick made them.” Instead of bowling her over, Milar stopped and struck a bored pose, but redness was creeping up his neck, darkening the dragon legs. His face looked a very satisfying shade of scarlet.
“So?” Tatiana demanded. “Why’d you have ‘em?”
“So I’d recognize you when I saw you.”
“Oh really.”
He glanced down at her. “Yeah. Really.”
“Do you believe in Fate, Milar?”
His eyes widened and his blush deepened to a maroon. He quickly pushed past her.
Tatiana laughed. She danced back in front of him. “So what, Patrick draws them and you collect them? Just for what, Art Appreciation or something?”
Milar stuck a big finger into her chest. “You,” he said, glaring, “are really annoying.”
Triumphantly, Tatiana demanded, “Wideman said I was going to kill you, didn’t he?”
Milar held her gaze for a long time. Then he said, “No.”
She frowned. “Your brother?”
“No.”
Tatiana deflated. “Oh.”
“You done then?” he demanded.
“Yeah,” she said. “I guess.”
“Good.” He started moving again.
“Where do I get that extra node?” Tatiana asked.
“No idea,” he said.
“What if I was flying for the Coalition, not against it?”
“You weren’t.”
“He ever say anything about you then, crawler?”
“Lots.”
“Like?”
Milar glared down at her. “Question time is over. Just shut up or I’ll find a way to shut you up.”
Tatiana crossed her arm over her sling and opened her mouth.
Milar lifted a brow.
Tatiana reddened and dropped her arm. Then, blinking, she heard the sound of engines. Getting closer. She quickly glanced at Milar.
Milar either hadn’t heard them or he was too distracted. He motioned regally for her to take the lead.
As they continued walking, the engine sounds got louder, and to keep him occupied, Tatiana muttered, “Treason, kidnapping, conspiracy, assault—”
“Never assaulted you,” Milar said distractedly. He had finally caught the sound of engines and was listening. What he probably didn’t know—but Tatiana did—was that that the distinctive, whipping roar belonged to P-15 Bouncers. Coalition. And they were close.
“You held a gun to my head,” she said, trying to get his attention away from the ships.
“Well, depends on whose rulebook you’re looking at,” Milar said, sounding not the least bit guilty whatsoever. A frown was forming on his face as he glanced at the sky. “‘Cause the colonies are a lot more lenient about stuff like that. It’s more of a threat of bodily harm than a true assault.”
Tatiana narrowed her eyes. Then she swiveled and kneed him in the crotch.
“There’s an assault for you,” she said, grabbing his radio from his belt and flipped it to the universal band. Then, bolting away from Milar, through the forest, she cried, “Mayday, mayday, I’m a kidnapped Coalition operator in need of assistance near a colony village—” She cursed. What was the name? If the Bouncers were still in range, they would hear her, but she needed the name.
With a pang of terror, Tatiana heard heavy footsteps behind her and then Milar wrenched the radio from her hand and shoved her hard against a tree, crushing her sling against her body with a flare of pain. “Don’t,” Milar snarled into her ear, “ever do that again.”
Over the radio, a male voice said, “Roger. Give us your location.”
Milar twisted her around and held the radio up between them. Pressing Tatiana into the tree with his body, he put the gun to her head. For a long moment, he only stared at her, his face a thunderstorm. Then, softly, Milar said, “Tell them ‘fifteen miles south of the Snake. Cold Knife.’ Anything else and I swear to God I will blow you away.” He tapped her skull with the barrel of his pistol. “Remember. Cold Knife.” He put the radio to her lips and depressed SEND.
It’s Deaddrunk, she remembered suddenly. Tatiana took a deep breath, ready to blurt it to all the world.
Milar released the SEND button and leaned forward until his face was much too close. “I don’t give a damn what Wideman says. You give my home away to the coalers and it will be the last thing you do. Ever.”
Tatiana believed him.
“Now,” Milar said, “Cold Knife. Fifteen miles south of the Snake. Say it.” He depressed SEND.
Tatiana hesitated.
“Give us your location, over,” the radio said.
Milar released the button once more. “This isn’t a difficult decision!” he cried, sounding angry and frustrated. “Say it!” He shoved the radio against her face again.
“Your location, please,” the radio said.
I will kill you, Milar’s stare said. The gun was a solid presence against her skull, sincere in its simple purpose. Both Milar and the Bouncer captain waited.
Looking into Milar’s eyes, Tatiana said, “Deaddrunk.”
Chapter 21
Double-Patty Cheeseburgers
“Oh look,” Anna said, “They caught the poor bastard. What a shame.” She sighed at a Fortune news reel of a bruised, lanky man standing behind the Director as the Nephyr gave a speech to the Coalition Free Press. Then Anna leaned forward to change the feed with her cuffed hand, making the chain jingle against the arm of the chair between them.
Doberman glanced at the news reel. He had lost contact with the camp computer almost three hours ago, as the shuttle made the long flight down the Tear to the planet’s largest ground-based military installation, a ten-thousand-personnel stronghold on the eastern side of the city of Rath. Its purpose was to store and protect Yolk and Nephyr draftees before shipping them off-world to the Fortune Orbital. From there, the draftees would be escorted to Eoirus of the Inner Bounds and the Yolk would go under armed guard to the Core.
Doberman recognized the egger as Foreman 11 of the male side of camp. “Joel Triton?” Doberman asked. “What did he do?”
“He was a jerk,” Anna said. She had changed the feed back to Rath’s arrival and departure schedules. She frowned. “They have us waiting on that base for three hours.” She switched the feed again, changing them seemingly at random.
“Would you mind returning it to the Coalition Free Press feed?” Doberman asked. “I’m interested in what the Director was saying.”
“You shouldn’t be. She couldn’t say something interesting to save the planet.”
Doberman placed his palm upon the transmitte
r built into the armrest and synched up to the shuttle computer. He placed an override on Anna’s control panel, then calmly switched the feed himself. Anna sighed and leaned back in her chair.
“This itches. I think I’m allergic to it.” She started scratching at the titanium wrist-band that kept her within reach at all times, as per Nephyr regulations.
“It’s titanium. You’re not allergic to it.” Doberman watched as an old holograph of Runaway Joel was projected beside Joel Triton and he noted there was a ninety-eight percent match, with the bruises, broken nose, slouching, beard, and lack of a smile all taken into account.
“I want something to eat.”
“You aren’t hungry. You are being petulant.” Beside the holograph of Joel, a second holograph began to display the official charges against him. Three hundred and fourteen different counts of documented illegal activities in all, mostly smuggling-related. The man was to be put to death for twelve of them.
Anna Landborn had narrowed her eyes at him. “I need to use the bathroom.”
Doberman checked the time—the fact that he had to consciously check the time instead of having a continuous time-stamp running in his secondary processes still unnerved him—and then compared it with the liquids that Anna had consumed recently and the physical exertions she had made since imbibing.
“No you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
He glanced at her pelvis and created a sonic image of her bladder. He yawned and leaned back into his chair.
In his peripheral vision, Anna’s facial capillaries expanded again, allowing more blood to flow into her tight-lipped face. In fact, she was a darker shade of purple than Doberman had ever seen her before. He turned to look.
“Robots don’t yawn.”
“It was for your benefit.”
Anna crossed her arms over her chest, leaned back, closed her eyes, and remained in mute silence for the rest of the flight. Doberman sat up as soon as he began to get signals from the base computer. He confirmed his status, gave carefully selected details of his charge—she had blue eyes, not brown; she was nine, not seven; and she had curly blonde hair, not flat and brown. He even made deliberate errors in transmitting her DNA sequence and voice patterns—none of which would be double-checked by any entity but Dobie unless Anna Landborn ran afoul of the law.