“So it looks like I’m still stuck with you,” Jazzlyn said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. “So what are we going to do?”
“How sincere,” Shortcut said.
“Do you want my help or not?” Jazzlyn asked.
“Where’s X?” Brielle asked.
Shortcut laughed. “Go ahead, Jazzlyn. Tell her.”
Brielle looked at Jazzlyn suspiciously.
“I went to meet with a local gang to see if they could help me find Crenshaw. My plans backfired and they tried to kill me. They probably have X now, too.”
“I knew it,” Brielle said. “We really can’t trust you, can we?”
“Now that that’s been established,” Jazzlyn said, “What other insults are you going to throw at me?”
“We’ve got to find X before it’s too late,” Shortcut said.
“Do we have any idea where he could be?” Brielle asked.
Jazzlyn shook her head. “The gang that took him is an android hunting gang. They’re goons, but they make most of their money by hunting androids and selling their parts on the black market. Since X is a Crenshaw, he’s going to command an extremely high price. But they can’t do anything until they dismantle him.”
“So let’s find their hideout. They’ve probably got him there,” Shortcut said.
“No. X is a premium android. Standard equipment won’t work on him. They’ll need something stronger.”
“Like what?” Shortcut and Brielle asked.
“A scrapping facility. Lax retrofitted an old oil rig at sea. It’s got some heavy duty machinery there that can dismantle androids and destroy them. X is probably there.”
“If that’s true, then we don’t have much time,” Brielle said. “How do we get there?”
“We?” Shortcut asked. “You can’t come with us.”
Brielle ran a hand through her hair and smiled. “Now that X is gone, you need an android on your side. I’m not leaving until we find him.”
Shortcut gulped—the thought of doing a mission with Brielle made his stomach rumble with excitement, fear, and nervousness. His head still throbbed, but the pain was duller now—either Brielle helped calm his mind or he was getting better at tolerating the pain. He guessed it was the first option, and felt his stomach flutter again.
Jazzlyn shrugged. “I know where the oil rig is, but security’s tight, so we’ll need something that won’t get blown out of the water.”
Shortcut, who had been pacing the alley in thought, turned suddenly. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Hacking won’t work,” Jazzlyn said. “You should just give up on X. As endearing as he is, he’s probably screwed.”
“No hacking required,” Shortcut said. “We need to find my dad.”
Chapter 9
X woke up in darkness. The floor rocked beneath him—the tossing and turning of a boat on strong waves. The walls were metal, old and faded as if they’d seen the marks of battle.
His hands and feet were bound in strong, electrical handcuffs.
These cuffs will shock me if I try to escape. They’re reinforced steel. Can’t be broken.
A dim lantern burned on the wall. Mounds of androids surrounded him, staring at X with lifeless eyes. Some were missing arms, others, legs. They were all beyond revival. The room smelled like burning silicon and smoke, freshly cut steel and cooling metal, and smoldering plastic and mercury.
They haven’t killed me yet, which means they want something from me.
He tried to geo-locate himself with his GPS chip, but no data came through.
Signal jammer on the boat. Industrial strength.
He guessed that he had to be in the middle of the Atlantic somewhere, since it was the only body of water nearby.
He performed a systems check. All systems okay and untampered with, but he was running low on energy. The voltage from the electrical net had been enough to cause him to temporarily short out, but not damage him. He was recovering slowly, but not fast enough to try to escape yet. Whoever he was dealing with was smart—after all, if they needed his parts, they needed them undamaged.
He heard footsteps above, and waves crashing against the deck of the boat. He heard men’s voices. From their cadence, they sounded like gang members.
Android hunters.
His algorithm chip buzzed as he cycled through the potential scenarios. For the first time in his existence, some of the outcomes involved death. He felt his black box hum to life as he realized his life was in danger; it recorded everything—gathering data from all his senses. If he did die, the UEA would be able to reconstruct his last moments and use them to capture the criminals.
The thought of death didn’t scare him. Death was a natural outcome based on the scenario, and he didn’t think any more or less of it than the other outcomes. But he did think critically about his own survival and how he was going to get out. By surviving, he could be more useful to the UEA.
More footsteps descended and neared his cell. A group of men entered, one carrying a glass of clear liquid. He scowled at X, then splashed the liquid on his face and chest.
“Since you can’t drink it,” one of the men said, laughing.
Another man pulled an electric rod from his belt and administered a high voltage shock to X’s chest. The liquid sizzled, and X convulsed and writhed as the electrical current traveled through him.
“That’s for breaking our buddy’s arms,” the man said, lifting the rod from X’s body.
“So this is revenge,” X said.
“Partly.”
They shocked X again, and code flashed across his vision: SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN.
The man lifted the rod and the current stopped.
SYSTEM AT 1%. BEGINNING RECUPERATION PERIOD. PLEASE REST AND DO NOT ENGAGE IN STRENUOUS ACTIVITY.
“What else … do you … want …”
The men laughed and left the holding cell, leaving X curled up on the floor.
Looking up at the cracked ceiling from the hard floor of the cell, X thought about what Jazzlyn had said, the thing about mistaking people in circumstances for their character. He knew she was wrong. Even if you took these men and put them in the UEA, with jobs and opportunities and no reason to commit crimes, they would still be rotten. If and when he got out of this cell, he would have no mercy on them.
The only thing he could do was stare at the ceiling. He had to preserve his energy. Even moving the wrong way could cause another system shutdown. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the cold, wet cement.
An hour later, his energy level reached twenty-five percent and he opened his eyes. A little girl stood at the door. She wore a knee-length, dirty coat, and she had long black hair and bright red cheeks. She was staring at him incredulously, as if she had never seen an android before.
She looks to be at least nine years old. For a girl of her age to be here, this could be a passenger boat.
His logic chip wasn’t yet at one hundred percent, but his algorithm told him to engage with the girl.
“Where are we going?” X said.
The girl didn’t respond.
“Who are the men on this ship?”
The girl remained silent.
X sat up with his back against the wall. “Nice to see someone who isn’t torturing me.”
He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
“What’s your name?”
“Tabitha.”
“Well, Tabitha, why are you here on this ship?”
Tabitha reached in her coat and pulled out a severed android hand. The sight unnerved X.
“Found it in a dumpster. Going to get paid for it.”
“Where?”
“The facility.”
We’re going to some sort of recycling facility. She must be getting paid pretty well. Will probably feed her family. Need to develop a rapport.
“I’m X, Tabitha.”
“How did they get you?”
“I was staying at a hotel when they captured me.”
“What are you doing in the badlands?”
“Looking for a lost family member. My sister,” he improvised.
“Why is she lost?”
X expanded the little lie into a full-blown story that he hoped would endear him to the little girl.
“She strayed away from the family. She was destined for great things. I have to find her before it’s too late.”
“Why did she leave?”
“A misunderstanding.”
“What kind?”
“She wanted things … to be a certain way. I have to show her how things are really meant to be.”
“What is she mad about?”
“Her dad died and left me in charge.”
“Where is she now?” Tabitha asked.
“I don’t know. That’s why I was searching for her.” He paused, considering the risk of asking for help. Then he said, “Listen, Tabitha. I need help—”
X’s algorithm chip buzzed as the men stomped downstairs into the holding cell. They pushed the girl aside and grabbed X.
“Time for scraps,” the men laughed, carrying X upstairs onto the deck. The ship was huge, and the deck was stacked with hundreds of shipping boxes—blue, red, and orange. They were nearing an oil rig, powering through the turbulent sea. A storm was brewing on the Atlantic, and a wave crashed onto the deck, splashing them with cold water.
It’s not a passenger boat after all.
X recalculated his scenarios and adjusted to the circumstances.
Going to be harder to escape.
They reached the dock of the oil rig, where thick columns of smoke were rising from a rusty building. X heard machinery and pistons pumping as the boat landed at the dock, and could just see into the doors of a tremendous factory. Buzz saws, blades, and pistons whirred, and conveyor belts filled with android parts threaded through the room. Gang members moved around them.
A group of androids with machine guns jumped onto the deck. They looked human, but they had steel blue arms, red eyes and berets. He recognized them …
“No,” X said as the androids aimed their guns at him.
He heard a laugh from the platform above.
“Did you miss us?” the voice said.
X scowled as Xadrian stepped out of the shadows, his cone-shaped red hair glowing against the stormy clouds.
Chapter 10
Shortcut, Jazzlyn and Brielle rented a beat-up flying Jeep and drove it across the badlands, out of the city and into the country, where grassy fields sprang up in all directions. The air was fresh—nothing like the stale, dusty air of the city. Soon, the city became a brown husk on the horizon, and they were truly in the country.
They passed a few shady-looking cars with what looked like gang members inside, but they didn’t run into any trouble.
“We’re far from the city,” Jazzlyn said, the last sinister gang car miles behind them. “Your dad lives all the way out here?”
Shortcut nodded. He turned onto a farm road and increased his speed. Gravel and dust flew up in a spiraling cloud behind the Jeep.
“My parents moved here when I was in high school. My dad needed a lot of land to build his business.”
“What does he do?” Jazzlyn asked.
“Robotics,” Shortcut said. “He makes standard robots. Well, his robots make robots. He just oversees the operations.”
They crested a hill and passed a wooden sign that read AARONHEART FARM, HOME OF AARONHEART INDUSTRIES. A brick house appeared in the distance.
“Haven’t been on a farm in ages,” Jazzlyn said.
Shortcut stopped at a black, wrought iron gate with a security camera and several machine guns mounted at the top. The camera focused on them and the guns aimed at the Jeep.
Shortcut rolled down the window and let the camera scan his retinas.
“Welcome home, Mr. Aaronheart,” a computerized voice said as the gates slid open.
The house, a stately brick mansion, seemed to grow larger and larger as they neared. Rolling fields ran behind the house, and the sky stretched far beyond in gradients of blue and white. A stream bubbled in the distance, and several small ponds were scattered across the property. An industrial building with metal siding stood next to the house.
“Holy crap!” Jazzlyn cried. “This is your house?”
Shortcut parked in a circular drive in front of the house. “Yep.”
“Impressive,” Brielle said.
“If you live here, then why are you working for the UEA?” Jazzlyn asked.
“Because androids are my passion.”
They walked up to the front door, a golden door with frosted glass. Shortcut touched the fingerprint lock and the door opened. An alarm chimed as they entered, but Shortcut blinked several times and disarmed it with his lens.
The foyer was sumptuous, with a chandelier sparkling from the ceiling and a grand staircase leading upward. The marble floor shone, so clean it gave off their reflection.
Shortcut looked around and frowned. “He’s not home.”
Jazzlyn surveyed the area. She poked her head into a living room with elegant furnishings: a leather couch sectional with cup holders, a recliner with a half-empty can of strawberry soda, a flat screen television mounted on the wall, a coffee table with a top that also functioned as a touchscreen computer, and several digital tablets stacked neatly like coasters on the table. A hutch housed a variety of different books (the antique kind, with real paper), and the red window curtains— striped with white, silicon-like lines—were tied back with golden cords, letting in natural light.
“Your dad has interesting taste.”
“He’s a serial entrepreneur,” Shortcut said. “Ran all kinds of businesses. He started in antiques, especially from the twenty-second century, just before the singularity.”
“He’s quite the decorator,” Brielle said, marveling at the layout of the room.
“My dad? Yeah, right. All of this was my mom. He’s kept the house the same since she died.”
Jazzlyn started to say something, but then stopped.
A circular robot with a red eye flew into the room and hovered. He looked like a gray basketball.
“Nice to see you, Tobias.” Its voice was robotic, with a stunted rhythm.
“Hey, Vincent. Where’s dad?”
“He is away on business. He will be back later today. Would you like some sandwiches and a strawberry soda? Your dad just bought an entire month’s supply of fruit snacks.”
Jazzlyn burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Shortcut asked, frowning.
“Fruit snacks? Did he buy juice boxes to go with them? Does he cut the crusts off your sandwiches, too?”
“Shut up. Vincent, we’ll take some food for the road.”
Vincent beeped and flew into the kitchen. They followed him, stepping into a spacious room with an island, cedar cabinets, can lights, and a walk-in pantry with a glass door. Mechanical arms extended from the cabinets, assembled peanut butter sandwiches, and packed them in paper sacks.
“Whoa,” Jazzlyn said, peeking into the pantry. It was almost as large as the kitchen, stacked from ceiling to floor with cans. “That’s not a pantry. It’s a bunker.”
“My dad likes to stock up. Turf wars in the city can cut off supplies sometimes.”
Shortcut opened the refrigerator; an entire shelf was filled with bright pink cans of strawberry soda. He grinned and snatched a six-pack. Then he took the now-bulging paper bags off the counter and tossed one to Jazzlyn.
“Thanks, Vincent. Good to see you.”
Shortcut opened the patio door, and Jazzlyn and Brielle followed him onto a wooden deck. Steps led down toward the huge, industrial building.
“What else can I assist you with, Tobias?” Vincent asked. He circled in the air as they walked down the steps.
“Does dad still have his amphibious vehicles?”
“Indeed. He just purchased one you’re going to love.”
Vincent flew ahead to the
building and scanned a side door, opening it. They entered a bay full of cars. Some were old, some were new, and others looked like collectors’ items. The room smelled of tires and fresh paint.
Jazzlyn folded her arms. “These are just cars.”
“They’re not just cars,” Shortcut said. “They’re all-terrain vehicles. They can cross any terrain, even water.”
Vincent stopped in front of a Volkswagen bus. It was painted blue and green. “This is your dad’s newest acquisition,” he said.
The seats inside the van were made of leather, with digital screens embedded in the back of each seat.
Jazzlyn looked at the bus, and then at all the other cooler, modern cars.
“Your dad bought a hippie bus!” she said, laughing.
“Check this out, Tobias,” Vincent said.
He beeped a command; the van’s wheels folded, and it sprouted propellers from the roof and hovered into the air. Then Vincent beeped again, and the wheels unfolded and the propellers descended into the roof. He beeped a final time and the butterfly-style passenger doors opened up. A cabana extended, and arms sprouted from the side of the van and set up several lawn chairs from below the step up and assembled them underneath the cabana.
“This model was designed for ultimate travel and ultimate comfort.”
Shortcut studied the van and gave Vincent a thumbs-up. “I like it. Tell dad I’m going to borrow it for a little while.”
“Your dad doesn’t want you driving his cars, Tobias,” Vincent said.
“This is an emergency.”
“I will have to call him to get permission.”
Shortcut grabbed Vincent. “Hey, come on, we’re pals, old buddy. You don’t need to do that. Just give me the keys and I’ll be back in like an hour. No more than two!”
“Calling Craig …”
Shortcut opened an access panel in Vince’s underbelly. He pulled out a chip and the robot fell to the ground. “Really sorry.”
Shortcut climbed into the van and started it. “Let’s go.”
As the engine revved to life, he nodded and rubbed his hands together. “That engine sounds fantastic. My dad has the greatest taste in vehicles.”
“Only you would like this van,” Jazzlyn said.
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