Ida continued to stand and admire a painting inside the tent. The cop had scanned her side, then moved his head to the other side. When she saw that it didn’t keep moving, she assumed it must be beaming video to someone.
Thinking fast, she dropped to her knees while the cop was filming the tent on the other side, presumably looking for her. She started crawling underneath the tables, still grasping her painting. Ida crawled as fast as she could, dodging people’s feet and other junk stored underneath the tables. She made it across to the tables under the tents opposite the aisle where the droid was.
She didn’t stop to see where it had gone. As she crawled, she thought she might exit a few more tables down the row. Just as she was about to crawl out, she saw another pair of robot boots coming through the aisle. She slid back under the table and started crawling back in another direction.
A few artists tending booths started to notice her and cause a stir. She found a tent that wasn’t as busy and waited there for a minute. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a voice say, “Stay where you are. They’re looking for you.”
She lay on her side and looked up. It was the artist she had spoken with earlier, the one who had painted the beautiful Spark City scenes. Would he help her or save himself? She saw robot feet walk in front of his tent. “May I help you?”
“Have you seen this woman?” It must have shown him a screen with Ida’s image displayed.
The artist shook his head. “Not around here.”
The robot moved on to the next tent to question other artists.
On the ground, Ida watched as the man sat in his chair behind the table, where he could speak so she could hear.
“You are in danger. There are more and more police droids coming. People are getting nervous and leaving.”
The man bent over to pull a duffel bag from the other side of his table. “Take this.” He handed her a faded gray sweatshirt that said Spark City Warriors and a dark blue baseball cap. “And leave that,” he said, pointing at her painting. “I’ll watch over it. You can pick it up. I have a small shop on North and Leavitt.” He handed her a business card.
“I’ll pay you back,” said Ida, putting on the new attire. She slowly got up from the ground and sat with him on his other chair, assessing the situation. He was right. Multiple police droids patroled the expo, looking in every aisle.
As a final kindness, the man handed her his artist exhibitor badge. She placed it around her neck and walked into the aisle, trying to blend in as best she could with the nervous shuffle of art expo attendees who decided to leave because of the increased police activity. Lots of droids gathering in one place was a recipe for death.
Just as she was nearing the end of the long aisle and about to squeeze out of a corner entrance, she felt a sharp tug on her shoulder. One of the robots had grabbed a corner of her bulky sweatshirt. Ida was forced to stop, unable to run without signaling who she was.
“Show me your badge,” the droid said. Ida slowly took the exhibitor badge in her gloved hands. She held it facing towards her, seeing the face of the black man who had kindly hidden her.
As she started to turn the picture around, she heard a commotion from one of the tents. A woman’s voice was raised in exaggerated, hysterical tones. A young man ran over to them and addressed the robot, hoping to draw its attention. It was Paul.
“Hey. My friend’s purse was stolen!” the young man said. He winked sideways at Ida.
Spark City police droids were notorious for being violent and unpredictable, but a lesser-known quirk was that they couldn’t multitask. Once a robot was focused on its target, it was hard to pull it away.
Ida looked at the tent where Lucy was standing, crying and panicked. In an instant, Ida knew they were risking everything, including their lives, to pull this stunt; risking everything to help her escape.
The robot turned sideways toward Paul. He continued his animated talk about how his friend’s purse was underneath the table, next to their chairs, when someone came along and stole it.
The robot looked back at Ida and then at the boy. “Move along,” it said to Ida as it walked toward Lucy’s table.
Ida turned with a quick glance at Lucy, who made brief eye contact as she wiped tears from her face with a tissue.
Ida made her way quickly outside with the crowd.
Now she owed Lucy and Paul, and she didn’t like it one bit.
Chapter 22
Vance stared out the giant glass window of his luxury penthouse apartment with his forehead pressed against the glass. He’d been that way for two hours as the sun set and evening crept across Spark City.
Only Nancy was there, seated on his living room sofa, silent. He had dismissed his bodyguards, J-Man and Singlet. They needed a night off occasionally, and they tended to stay close and hang out at his club, The Phoenix.
Vance knew Nancy was scared of him. He was volatile, after all. She had watched as he strangled the junkie who had the video footage. Cringing, she had looked as though she might vomit.
Knowing she was fearful of him was fun in a way. He wondered how long it would take for her to breakdown. She was exhausted and sleep deprived.
There had been a visitor today. It was a private meeting between Vance and a doctor. Nancy had morphed into his captive executive assistant. She knew his schedule and organized all his appointments now, but this one had been off the record.
The doctor was in and out of his penthouse in thirty minutes. Afterwards, Vance hadn’t emerged from his room for another two hours. He needed time to be alone, meditating on his condition.
Finally, he had moved into the living room, where Nancy waited. Sometimes he confided in her when they were alone. This was going to be one of those nights.
Vance turned and quietly stepped away from the glass window with its view of the river and the downtown lights, and beyond into the surrounding wastelands.
He snapped his fingers and said, “Music.” A hypnotic symphony of opera swept through the room. The music seemed to be part of the room itself. Nancy looked more alert, awakened from her silence.
“You like this? I can tell.” With a small smile, Vance sidestepped swiftly through the living room, past Nancy into his kitchen, where he removed a bottle of champagne from a cooler.
The music continued to play while Nancy sat on the Italian leather sofa, and Vance popped the cork. He appeared a minute later with two glasses and sat across from her on a plush, bright blue designer chair.
As always, Vance was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. His taste in the finer things carried over into his apartment decor. The place looked like something out of an architectural magazine.
He handed her a glass and proposed a toast. “To life, Nancy.” She accepted with a clink of her glass. He drank in the liquid, feeling the crisp bubbles on his still-human throat. She allowed a tiny smile.
“You like the vintage?” asked Vance.
She nodded.
“Bravo.” He took another drink and his features darkened. “I toast to life, and it bites me in the ass. Life is dreary, Nancy. And incredibly short.”
Nancy’s eyes fixed on him through her dark glasses.
“Do you know who the man was that came to see me today?”
Nancy shook her head slowly.
“Do you have a guess?”
She paused a moment, letting the question settle. “A doctor, I suppose.”
“Mmm,” said Vance in return. “A highly paid specialist. The best in the world at what he does.” Vance swirled his champagne glass slightly. “And do you know what he does?”
Nancy shook her head.
“He specializes in rare, life-threatening diseases.” He looked away from her out the window and seemed distracted.
“Cancer?” she asked.
He looked back, locking his gaze on her. He realized she was smarter than he thought. “Cancer of the brain.” Vance said softly.
I can’t control this, he thought.
> She waited for him to continue.
“He flew here overnight from Switzerland to deliver the news.” Vance stood and walked slowly toward the large picture window again. He stood and gazed at the city below. “I was so close, Nancy. This city was going to be safer for everyone. I was going to create the best army the world has ever seen.”
“You mean your police droids?”
He turned toward her. “But they were going to be so much more than just police. What’s everyone’s worst fear? That the Heavies will win the war and infiltrate all our cities. That they will wipe out the human race. We’re facing extinction.”
He studied Nancy’s face as he sat next to her on the sofa.
“But many people are just wondering how to survive at all—where their next meal is coming from,” she said.
Vance laughed. “None of that matters if we are going to be annihilated.”
“So, how? How will you save us?”
“My droids are police, army, and protector. I can produce them by the hundreds of millions. It will be the greatest military force the world has ever seen. They’ll not only protect everyone in Spark City, but I'll also send them to destroy the Heavies.”
“How come you haven’t made this public—that you have a solution to fight the enemy?”
“All in good time, Nancy. I can’t risk the military taking over my factories, my business—the life I have made. First, I turn public opinion against the human soldiers returning from the war. Make them think that human soldiers are ineffective, and worse—dangerous. The mass shootings are increasing, and people are getting scared.”
“And many innocent people hurt,” said Nancy.
Vance rose from the sofa, champagne glass in hand. “That can’t be helped. When you create killing machines, there will be mistakes. Civilian lives lost are part of the cost to protect the greater number of people.”
The alcohol was influencing Nancy. “What for? Why do all this? Why do you want to save the world?”
Vance stood in front of the window, gazing at the night sky. “When I was a baby, I was orphaned. My mother was assaulted by a group of men that lived nearby when she was only fifteen. She left me on the steps of an orphanage. What she didn’t know was that the place was very bad. There were…unspeakable things that happened to me as a child.”
Vance paused, swigged the remains of his champagne, and poured himself a scotch.
Nancy looked concerned. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. How did you get away?”
“The things I saw…” Vance pushed the jolting memories away. “I killed them all, naturally.” He turned and revealed a flat smile. “It took many years to plan, but I killed every one of the people who hurt me.”
Nancy tensed, glass in hand.
“What was I saying before you distracted me? This doctor, this world specialist,” he hissed, “told me I have one, maybe two months left to live before the cancer consumes my brain.”
Was she sorry for him, he wondered? No, of course not—he was her captor. Yet he sensed pity—or was it relief at his imminent demise?
“And now you know why I’ve gone to such great pains to,” he paused and removed his jacket and shirt, revealing his robotic arms and chest, “transform.”
She looked at him, then turned her gaze away.
“Yes, transform. That’s the word I was searching for.” He flexed one arm, admiring his impressive steel biceps. “Like a butterfly emerging from his chrysalis, I have transformed.”
Nancy gulped down the rest of her drink and poured herself another glass from the bottle.
Vance gazed outside at his evening city view again. “Nancy, I’ve come across information that might make all the difference in the world. There is a healer in our midst. And I don’t have to go to Switzerland for this one. This healer lives in Spark City.”
He stepped a few feet back, catching his reflection in the window. He turned to admire his man-machine physique.
“I’m told she can bring the dead back to life. Imagine what she can do with me.”
Chapter 23
The next morning, Ida burst into Dox, walking fast. Gatz admired her quiet power. Seated at a table, he waited for her first move.
Behind the bar stood a bartender with arms crossed. He took one look at Ida and, without a word, threw on a jacket before Gatz had a chance to say, “Take a break, Bill.”
After he had left, Gatz stood. “Just brewed a fresh pot of coffee.”
Ida nodded, and Gatz busied himself preparing two cups.
“Probably best to skip the whiskey for now,” he said from behind the bar.
Ida walked to the bar, her jacket still on. She didn’t want to get tricked into staying longer. Gatz had a way of making someone feel…comfortable.
“They’re looking for me.”
Gatz placed her cup in front of her. “Sit. You get straight to the point, don’t you? Cream?”
“Black.” She sipped from her cup.
“Back up. Who is following you?”
“The damn police, that’s who.” Ida started pacing. “I went to an art show downtown last night. The place started crawling with police droids. They had an image of me and were questioning people. I barely made it out.”
Gatz drummed his fingers on the bar.
Ida asked, “Do you think they have us on film from the planetarium? Has anyone been here looking for you? You don’t exactly blend into a crowd.”
“No, nobody’s been here. But I’ve taken precautions.”
“What do you mean?”
Gatz walked over to the back of his bar, behind where he was standing. There was counter space and above it, shelves that contained an assortment of liquor bottles. He pushed a hidden lever, and the entire shelf shifted sideways and disappeared into the wall. Behind, a wall of weapons was revealed—rifles, handguns, knives, machetes, and grenades.
“Holy shit!” said Ida. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m lying low. I’ve run before, Ida. I was in another city before this. This is my home now. It’s taken me years to build this bar, years to build my contacts, gather my intelligence. This is my home, and I’m not leaving. I’m staying here and fighting to protect what’s mine. I’ve taken precautions.”
She thought about what it must have been like to be forced from your home, to be on the run.
“But Gatz, people who stay on the move have a better chance of surviving. That was plain as day when I was in the military. You freeze in place, you die. You move, you live.”
Gatz stepped back and closed the weapon cabinet. He turned back to face her. “The way I see it, being on the run is no way to live. I want to fight back this time. Look Ida, someone is looking for you. The police are looking for you, and that means Vance Drem is behind it. He doesn’t play fair, I can tell you.” He paced behind the bar. “There’s something else.” He looked worried. “It’s about you. I heard information this morning. There are rumors of a healer. Word on the street is Vance wants to find you ASAP, and is offering a reward.”
Ida froze. “The men who followed me…”
“Any idea where that video came from?”
Ida traced back in her mind all the people who knew about her. There were Lucy and Paul, but she didn’t think they would tell anyone. She was more and more certain it wasn’t Gatz. The only possible leak could have been Lucy’s mother. Stupid. She should have had words with the woman, tried to scare her into keeping quiet. Now it was too late.
She rose from her seat. “They know about me, so I’m dead or worse. I have to leave. How do I get out of the city?”
“It will be difficult,” said Gatz. “Vance’s police have checkpoints at all entry and exit points in the city. It may be impossible for you to leave undetected.”
Ida paced. This was worse than she had imagined.
Gatz continued, “I know how Vance operates. When he wants something, he doesn’t stop. Once he finds where you live, he’ll find out who you care about. He’ll tak
e them—hurt them until he gets what he wants. That means your friends—the girl, her friend, even me, eventually, will all get taken, or worse.”
“That’s not my problem,” said Ida. Her hands in her back pockets, she expanded her pacing beyond the small front bar area to the tables beyond. Her agitation continued as Gatz’s meaning sunk in. “I don’t owe you or them anything. I shouldn’t even be here. I just wanted to be left on my own. You all are not my problem.”
“Like I said, I took precautions.” Gatz walked over to the small office door and opened it. “Come on out,” he said.
Out walked Lucy and her mother.
“I have a plan,” said Gatz.
Part 3
Resurrection
Chapter 24
Ida was the first to rise that day. She wasn’t used to waking up in the hidden living quarters below ground, which she shared along with Lucy and her mother Vera.
According to Gatz, Dox was the perfect hideout while he perfected his scheme to avoid Drem’s police force and figure out how to fight back.
He had told her that until that week, nobody but him had ever been below Dox. The construction material was top grade. Gatz had built it himself, and he believed it could withstand a nuclear explosion. Ida had seen plenty of apocalyptic movies to know you needed food and plenty of it to subsist for a long time. Gatz had seen that it was well stocked—enough to last years.
Gatz hardly went down there. He did a quality check every few months just to make sure he remembered the passcode to enter and check nothing was spilled, leaking, or amiss.
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