by Snow, Sheena
“What in the heck are you?” Dad glared.
“I am classified as MC-81.”
Dad’s jaw worked. “I take it you’re not called MC-81 because you cook so well.”
“MC means third in command.”
“Command?” I hissed. This plot kept getting thicker. “Of what?”
“My unit.”
“Unit?” I shrieked, my voice hitting new octaves. “What in the heck do you mean, unit!” I stormed up to his face. “So now, not only are you some wicked-mutant-ninja-feelings-classification thing.” I seethed. “But one that’s also part of unit? How in the world does stuff like this happen? And through all my research how in the world was all this randomly omitted!”
“My unit”—He coolly stared me down—“is a highly specialized operative force. Together we can do almost anything because we are part-robot and part-human.”
“Part . . .” I felt the color draining from my face. “Part what?”
That wasn’t even possible. How could you be part-human? That didn’t, that didn’t, that . . . I stepped back. That couldn’t happen.
The feelings. The emotions. Oh god. Oh god.
I clutched my stomach and leaned over.
Robotatouille kicked the dead robot’s leg. “There will be more sent after this one, like the ones sent before him. They’ve gotten close but never like this. They’re becoming stronger and smarter and better. We didn’t want it to come to this but . . .” He looked at Dad. “It’s not secure enough anymore. She needs to leave. Tonight.”
“Leave?” My heart constricted in my chest. “Tonight?”
And go where?
You’re half human. Does anyone realize that? You’re . . . you’re—
“Before they realize this robot’s failed and send another one.”
“Another r—” I swallowed.
My hand reached out for my sofa. There had been more. I missed and stumbled into it.
Dad ran his fingers through his hair. “Why do they want Vienna? What could she have possibly done?”
“They don’t tell us. We only know she’s wanted. They’re”—Robotatouille gestured at the dead robot—“the R.I.A., the Robotic Intelligence Agency, where this robot was planning on taking her.”
The R.I.A.? How could the news have possibly missed that piece of information?
Where there might be more half-humans, half-robot creatures. Oh god. Oh god.
“Why help her?” Dad asked. “We bought you from a store, a box that was rolled into our house! How could you possibly know all this stuff?”
“And . . . you don’t even like me.” I stared into his impassive brown eyes, searching for something, for anything.
“Because my commanding superior ordered me to.”
“That’s the only reason why you did this? Why you helped me?”
He crossed his arms. “I don’t question orders. I follow them.” A muscle tightened in Robotatouille’s jaw. “Actually, he should be here any minute. In the meantime, I suggest you pack.”
“Pack? Pack!” Dad looked like he wanted to throw Robotatouille out the window. “I’ll tell you what we are going to do.” Dad’s fists flew in the air as he headed for the doorway. “We are going to call the police and fix everything that way.” Dad pointed at me, his finger stabbing through the air. “Vienna is not going anywhere.”
“I can understand how difficult this must be for you, to have everything happen so fast. But I assure you, the police can’t help. It’ll only let the R.I.A. get a hold of Vienna faster.”
“And why should we believe you?” Dad spat, stopping.
“Because . . .” Robotatouille softened. “I could kill you now and take her if I wanted. Why else do you think I fought? You think I enjoy putting my life on the line? You think this is fun for me? If I wasn’t here, Vienna would have been gone. She would have been on her way.” Robotatouille scuffed at the dead robot. “With him. I’ve been placed here to help you, to help save your daughter.”
He just said the word “life.” His life. I doubled over on my sofa.
I was in a perverse nightmare and I couldn’t wake up. That was it. It had to be.
Dad covered his face. “How did this happen?”
“Someone important wants your daughter, and we’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Dad dropped next to me, onto my blue sofa, folding into himself. “And this unit of yours is supposed to protect her, right?”
Robotatouille’s jaw twitched. “The six of us in my unit are risking our lives to make sure she lives.”
“You’re a robot.” Dad threw up his hands. “You don’t have lives. I can’t believe I’m even having this kind of conversation—with you. And now I’m supposed to trust you, after you lied to us?” Dad stormed off to the kitchen. “I’ve had enough. I’m calling the police.”
“Wait.” I felt my lips move. What if the police are on the R.I.A.’s side? “Wh-What if he’s right?” I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. “What if he’s telling the truth? There were times I could have sworn, and then . . . there was Green Eyes.”
My head snapped up in realization. It explained him, his warning, his eyes—his stalking.
Robotatouille scowled. “Who’s—?” And then he threw his head back and laughed, the deep crackle bounced off my broken walls.
Dad glared, not finding it funny at all. “We’ll wait until Vienna’s mom comes home.”
I pursed my lips.
Great.
Robotatouille disposed of the dead robot. He didn’t want it to attract attention, in case the neighbors poked their heads out. So he hoisted him out the window. Only the trees stood witness now.
I surveyed the mess in my room. My bookcase was knocked over, my books scattered on the floor. Some pages had been ripped out, others lay open, tossing in the wind. The fish tank, well, I wasn’t able to look at that. The covers on my bed lay twisted with muddy footprints wrecking the sheets. Picture frames and perfume bottles lay broken on the ground, adding to the glass pieces. My closet door was broken with a huge hole where Robotatouille had thrown my captor.
I tried to put my books back on the shelves in a somewhat orderly fashion. I stuffed the books in, hoping they would fit so I could move on to the next broken memory. Dad picked up a shattered picture from my dresser. The picture of the three of us at my high school graduation—marred by water spots. My parents’ eyes were glowing. One of the rare times we felt like a functional family. I brushed glass pieces out of the bottom of the frame, and Dad placed it back on my dresser.
Then I heard two, maybe three voices from outside my window.
“Sounds like Robotatouille,” Dad said.
I looked outside but didn’t see anyone. Then I heard something about dismembering the parts and about a car. I bit my lip, remembering why they were now able to dismember him.
Dad swept up the remnants of the glass and debris, making my room look somewhat normal. We kicked out the rest of the glass that hung onto the sides of the window, leaving an empty hole in the wall.
“Maybe it would be safer”—Dad looked at me—“if you went with them. I can’t . . . protect you from this.”
“Dad.” I touched his shoulder.
“I couldn’t stand to lose you, knowing there was something I could have done.” Dad looked out the window. “I think you’re right. I think they might be your only chance.”
I felt my breath catch in my throat. This seemed so impossible. This seemed so out of a dream.
I can’t believe this is my life.
Dad grabbed my shoulders. “I’ll fix this. I will. And when I do, you’ll come home. Think of this as a temporary solution.”
I nodded, knowing neither of us would say the things lingering
in the back of our minds.
This might never end.
Dad pulled me into a hug. He smelled of Old Spice aftershave.
“You should pack some things before you leave.”
“I know,” I said. His gray eyes lost their twinkle. “It’ll be okay. I’ll come back.”
Dad smiled. “Of course you will.”
I smiled as wide as I could. I think we both wanted to believe it.
When I was done packing, I scanned my room one last time. My eyes slid over my high school graduation picture. I picked it up off my desk and ran my hands over our smiling faces.
Our lives had been so isolated before. Maybe if I came back things would be different, better. Maybe Mom would . . .
I couldn’t finish the thought. Hope. Hope was a dangerous word. One I had said too many times in my mind.
I set the picture down and carried my bag outside.
The three of us sat in silence on the couch. Not moving or looking at each other. If we had a clock in the kitchen, you would have heard each tick.
I was actually going to do this, rely on robots, flee with robots. I’m sorry, half-human robots. I was going to be utterly and completely dependent on robots.
“Have you decided to leave tonight?” Robotatouille asked. His collar was ripped and dirt stained his pants.
“Yes,” Dad said.
“Good. She’ll be safe. She’ll be with the best, and I’ll be here to help you.”
Dad’s vein throbbed. “What do you mean you’ll be here? Who the heck is she going with then?”
Robotatouille scratched his head. “I can’t leave. If I’m gone, they’ll know something’s up. And I need to protect you in case anything else happens.
“What about Vienna?” Dad asked.
“Vienna will be in the best hands possible.” Robotatouille waved, as if Dad’s concern was nothing, as if everything was okay. “She’ll be with four other robots and our commander, and if she isn’t safe with the commander, then she’s not safe with anyone.”
“Well,” Dad said, throwing up his hands. “Where is he now? And why hasn’t he been here this whole time?”
The muscle in Robotatouille’s jaw flexed. “He’s been here the whole time. He was watching over her. The. Whole. Time. You think this is the only time something like this has happened? Do you even know how many others have tried?” Robotatouille narrowed his eyes. “They send more advanced robots each time, and each time, they keep getting harder to stop. He had his hands full tonight taking care of five of them. Two got away. The guards posted outside were only able to take one of them out. That’s why the last got through.” Robotatouille’s hands fisted at his sides. “Yesterday, it was even closer. He snuck through the front door. We even had a little scrimmage—in the kitchen—with Vienna asleep right next door. And let me tell you, it has been close. So close.”
Dad wilted, the fire going out of him. “Yesterday? And you didn’t tell me? Why didn’t you just come clean then?”
“I’m coming clean now.” Robotatouille rubbed the back of his neck. “Which is why she needs to leave. Tonight. We thought they would stop but they haven’t. They send more each time.”
“M-M-More?” Dad stuttered. “Each t-time?”
My jaw dropped. I felt like I was learning a story about a whole new girl whose name wasn’t Vienna Avery.
“When will I meet him?” I whispered. “This commander.”
“Soon. He’s finishing up some things.” Robotatouille walked over to the window. “He’s scheduled to arrive after your mom comes home.”
“If he has done so much for my daughter already, I’m indebted to him. And . . .” Dad stared out the window. “I appreciate everything you all have done for us.”
“Yes.” I stared down at my feet. “Thank you. You were . . . saving my life the whole time, weren’t you?”
“Don’t thank me. Thank the commander. I was under his orders.” Robotatouille dropped the curtain. “Your wife has arrived.”
My head dropped. This was about to get even better.
Mom’s footsteps echoed along the walkway and her key turned in the door.
Three. Two—
“What are you all doing . . .?” Mom took in our faces.
One.
“Patrick?” Mom dropped her bags. “What’s wrong?”
Mom brought with her the smell of sugar and chocolate, and my stomach turned.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Dad patted the seat next him.
“What happened?” Mom asked, edging onto the chair. “And why are your bags packed, Vienna?”
Dad filled her in. At first, Mom blamed me. Because, of course, Robotatouille coming alive, speaking and acting like a black belt in karate was my fault.
Mom was Mom. I just kept forgetting that.
“Are you ready?” Robotatouille looked at the three of us. Mom hadn’t said a word for the last ten minutes. Her flour-stained fingers were clenched in her lap.
“Yes.” I got up and zipped my jacket.
“But . . . but you’re leaving,” Mom whispered, as if we hadn’t just been telling her those exact same words for the last twenty minutes.
“We could show her my room.” Maybe it would help her grasp the reality of the situation.
“He’s here,” Robotatouille said as a heavier set of footsteps echoed along the doorway.
“Who-Who’s here?” Mom spun between Dad and me.
“Their commander,” I said.
Dad put a hand on Mom’s arm and helped her up from the couch.
“The one who’s going to protect you?” Mom said at last, and before I could nod, there was a knock at the door.
I grimaced. At least it was better than crashing through my window.
Dad opened the door and the commander moved into the room with an ease and grace I didn’t think robots should have. The robot’s head was bent forward and he brushed flakes of snow out of his dark, ruffled black hair.
Here he was, my robot protector. Oh joy.
I walked forward and thrust my hand out, waiting for him to acknowledge me. And then he looked up and his eyes locked with mine. His beautiful, piercing, green eyes.
Chapter 12
Once, when I was little, Sydney and I were playing with my dad’s golf clubs. She was holding the club wrong, gripping the end of the stick, and her feet were facing the opposite direction. I went to help her but not before she swung.
All I remember was a flash of metal.
For that tiny moment, I felt nothing. My body stopped responding. My nerves shut down. My brain saw only what was in front of me—random images and colors that seemed to have no correlation to each other. My heart stopped beating. And I stopped breathing.
Now I felt that same sensation, had the same reaction racing through my body when I saw him. Colors, images, swam before my eyes, making no sense.
Yet, like the golf-club incident, once that tiny moment of suspension in space passed, everything came rushing back, the pounding in my head, the locking of my knees, and shock of being caught unaware. Thoughts rushed into my head like the wave of pain descending after the blow.
He was a robot? He couldn’t be. He had been a person. He was the guy. Green Eyes. The guy with the beautiful green eyes.
He couldn’t be a robot.
And he was the head robot.
I snatched my hand away and stumbled backward.
“Vienna?” Dad stepped in front of me.
I couldn’t meet his eyes. I couldn’t explain.
“Sir.” Dad cleared his throat. “I just want to say”—Dad took up his hand where I had left it—“I owe you thanks. For all you’ve done.”
My fists tensed. Green Eyes was a robot? How could . . .? Ho
w could that be? He made me think . . . I thought . . .
I ground my teeth together.
“Vienna?” Dad said again, gesturing toward the robot.
Oh crap.
Everyone was watching me, even Green Eyes. And . . . my fists clenched. Was he smirking?
“You’re a robot,” I hissed up at him, trying to make him understand.
He gave a half-smile, as if I’d uncovered a secret he had been dying to tell me.
My stupid toes tingled at his lopsided smile and I dug my traitorous feet into the carpet.
“You mean you know him?” Dad frowned.
“I . . .” My heart pounded.
Did I?
“Not really.” I tried again. “I . . .”
Green Eyes grinned, flashing brilliant white teeth, and my heart thumped around in my chest. I would dig it into the carpet too. Later.
“I warned her”—Green Eyes turned to Dad—“They were trying to close in and the last thing I wanted was her taking any unnecessary risks.”
So you just stalked and abducted me with a vague, all-too-cryptic message that I was somehow supposed to understand?
Right. Thanks.
When he turned, his limbs flowed freely, his joints smooth and unlocking, so human. Completely human. No stuttering of the kneecaps. No awkward gait that Robotatouille once had. Nothing.
How was I supposed to know he wasn’t a robot? He didn’t walk like one.
Dad sighed. “We appreciate everything you’ve done for us, really, but we need answers.”