Finished with the fight and free of carrying Leet, Max’s adrenaline subsided, allowing his pain the freedom to roam once more. Blood soaked the lower sleeve of his ruined jacket. He wiped his right hand, slick with blood, on his trousers. They had morphed into post-apocalyptic beings, perfectly at home in the surrounding neighborhood.
“How’s she look?” Max asked as he pulled onto the street.
“Not good but she’s still alive.”
“I think we can get her to the hospital in time. Don’t worry; everything will be all right.” He didn’t realize the absurdity of telling an android not to worry until after he’d said it.
“No,” Shai responded softly. “It will never be all right.”
CHAPTER 17
Filthy, bloodied, reeking of soot, clothes in tatters, Max stood out even in a DC hospital, where personnel saw all manner of gruesome injuries during their shifts.
“Damn, when did World War III start?” a male nurse asked of a female counterpart as he watched Max and Shai approach the nurses’ station.
“It’s over already; you missed it,” Max teased, trying to lighten the mood. Bad enough that he looked frightening; acting the part would never get them in to see Leet.
“Sir, the emergency room is on the first floor,” said the female nurse. “Call for a wheelchair,” she said to her coworker. Closely eyeballing Max, she added, “Extra-large.”
“No need for that. I’ve already been there.” Max showed them his right arm, the gunshot wound freshly disinfected and bandaged. “We’re here to see Margaret Leet. Is she out of surgery yet?”
“Are you a relative?” the female nurse skeptically queried.
“I’m her brother, Michael Adams.” He motioned to Shai. “This is her son.”
The female nurse, obviously the higher-ranking of the two, asked, “ID?”
Max handed her his phony Nevada driver’s license. He prepared to recite the same bullshit story he’d told in the ER: they’d taken a wrong turn and driven into a street shootout between rival gangs. His tale hadn’t even raised an eyebrow in the ER, so common were such events in DC. While scrubbing his bullet wound, the weary doctor said, “We’ll notify the police, but don’t expect them anytime soon. You’ll probably have to submit a report at the station.”
The nurse gave his ID only a cursory glance before handing it back. “Let’s see…” She tapped some keys and consulted a monitor. “Leet, Margaret… room sixteen. They brought her up half an hour ago. I’ll need you to sign in.”
“Not a problem.” Max took the clipboard and inked his Michael Adams.
“Good thing the boy wasn’t with you,” said the male nurse, holding out a lollipop to the kid.
“Yeah. We were on our way to pick him up.” Shai had changed clothes in the car, dropping his post-apocalyptic zombie guise. He looked a little odd in the baggy hooded sweatshirt he’d donned to cover his damaged head and body, but uninjured people didn’t attract much attention around here. Had Shai been of adult stature, the nurse wouldn’t even have noticed him.
Shai declined the lollipop offered by the male nurse.
Max led him to room sixteen, nearly colliding with a doctor exiting the room, who upon viewing Max curtly informed him that only family could visit. So Max showed his ID and delivered the same story.
“Yes,” Leet called from her bed, drawing out the word, still a bit loopy from anesthesia. “That’s my boy.”
Any doubts the doctor might have had were erased.
Shai darted past the doctor and ran to her bedside. He took her hand. Above a delirious half-smile, tears formed in Leet’s eyes.
“I brought you something, Mar—Mom.” From the pocket of his hoodie, Shai produced a short-stemmed white rose and presented it to her. Max could only surmise that Shai had bought it from a peddler while his bullet hole was being cleansed.
Tears ran freely down Leet’s cheeks as she accepted the gift, the sort of panacea a jaded doctor working at an inner-city hospital could never supply.
“How’s her condition?” Max asked the doctor.
“Stable. The bullet nicked the large intestine, but fortunately no major blood vessels were struck. She received four pints of blood and will likely feel weak for several days, but she’ll be good as new after a couple weeks. Infection is our biggest concern now that she’s stabilized, but we’ve started her on some antibiotics.”
Max thanked him and entered the room. He kept back from the bed however, not wishing to intrude on Leet and Shai. Her mission was over; she didn’t need a reminder that his remained active. And that he currently had no idea how to proceed.
He needn’t have worried about upsetting Leet. Her eyelids drooped after a couple of minutes of woozy banter with Shai. Soon she fell asleep, the white rose clutched in her hand.
Max closed the drapes, shutting out a brilliant dawn. Shai remained by Leet, and Max didn’t interrupt them. He pulled up a worn vinyl chair and sat. Twenty-four sleepless hours and two intense battles quickly caught up to him. He fell into a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.
He awakened with a start, checked his watch: 1045. A dull ache radiated from every muscle, joint, and organ in his body. His right arm felt stiff, and it hurt when he flexed his hand. He would only shake it off if he got moving. Yeah… but to where?
“Has she been awake at all?” Max asked.
Shai gave a small shake of his head. “No. I don’t think she will awaken for a while.”
“We need to go, let her continue to rest.”
“I know. I don’t want to go, but you’re right.” How could an android look so forlorn?
“She’ll be fine. But you might be in danger still.”
After a few moments Shai said, “I’ll always be in danger, Max. I’ll always be a danger.”
That comment took Max aback. “Why do you say that?” Once more he envisioned Shai ripping Ben’s throat out. But that’s not it.
“Dynamite. Television. The internet.”
Max had a brief laugh. “Not sure I follow you, pal.”
“Each was a radical invention created for the betterment of mankind.” He kissed Leet’s hand, then turned to face Max. “Their inventors created them for peaceful purposes. But they have been used to subjugate humanity instead, the noble intentions of benevolent creators twisted into instruments of murder and mass control by malicious opportunists. The wisest and kindest of intentions don’t matter when greed and narcissism become involved.”
“I wish I could find fault with your point.”
“I have been alive—if you wish to call it that—for less than four years. My father programmed me with what you might call encyclopedic knowledge. Science, mathematics, history, two-dozen foreign languages; he left out nothing that he could possibly squeeze into my memory. On a human scale, my IQ is well over 200, but that measurement is fairly meaningless for a mind like mine. But that’s nothing; it’s not what those pursuing us are interested in. My mnemonic programming is what matters. Just as a human brain records everything its possessor witnesses, so does mine. As my memory fills, older memories of insignificant nature are automatically erased, therefore having no impact on my actions, my thoughts, or the decisions I make. Humans simply forget, even things they wish to remember, and are influenced by things they wish to forget.”
The boy stopped, as if caught in a moment of self-consciousness. “My apologies. I am not being boastful, nor am I trying to bore you.”
Max chuckled. “I never thought that. And you certainly never bore me.”
“But I should come to my point, nevertheless. I spent most of my existence in my father’s lab, where my knowledge lay dormant as he perfected me. Having this knowledge means nothing, however, unless the possessor can use it to promote the greater good. Otherwise, it is simply a curse.
“I realized this even before being thrust into the world of human beings. My father’s best friend, a close colleague who contributed to my phy
sical construction, betrayed him to Mossad and forced us to flee Israel. That was my first experience of being baffled, for my father programmed me with no knowledge regarding the human nature of good and evil. In truth that cannot be programmed; the duality of man can only be experienced and evaluated firsthand.”
Max nodded. “That’s one hell of an introduction to the ways of mankind. But there are exceptional people in this world, Shai. I’ve been privileged to know a few.” Most of whom are dead. “Don’t allow the wicked to poison you against the rest of us. Men like Ben Fisher and Swift Carter are the aberrations.”
Shai stared at Max for several moments. “Would you have said the same about Mr. Fisher three days ago?”
“No. I never thought he would betray me.”
“It is the nature of human beings, Max. A dangerous minority of men will always do whatever it takes to become richer and more powerful. The latter position is the most dangerous. The powerful can never be sated, thus they constantly strive to acquire more power. Every step up the ladder only impels them to take another. Along the way they not only destroy lives but find better, more efficient means of destruction. It is never enough.
“The high explosives invented for blasting through mountains soon became landmines and artillery shells. Radio and television were immediately commandeered by the powerful to brainwash the masses with propaganda, driving mindless nationalism while simultaneously destroying human decency. The internet is the greatest tool for communication ever invented. It could have united people the world over; instead it has built walls and dug moats between nations, neighbors, relatives.
“All because of powerful men who never wish to see unity amongst their perceived inferiors. There is no profit in unity. There are vast sums to be amassed through warfare however, and for these men there is never enough.”
Max took a moment to digest all he said. “I agree. I’ve been wrapped up in the military-industrial complex for most of my adult life, lured in by the promise of serving something greater than myself. I thought I was working for the good guys. Perhaps I was sometimes, but most times I wasn’t so sure. Those illusions flew out the window for good when the CIA murdered my family. But honestly, I should have seen it sooner. The more research I do, the more I realize the truth has always been there in plain sight. Just stare past the cardboard cutouts of politicians and the shimmering screen of bullshit.
“Otherwise, I have no regrets. As much as I’ve hated working for the strong arm of the US government, better I do it than someone else. I like to think I have the temperament for it. Morally bankrupt men may call most of the shots, but I’ve never flinched from telling them to go to hell. The last thing the world needs are yes men and self-serving leeches doing my sort of work. God knows there are enough of them already.”
“I don’t know your history, Max, but from what I’ve seen of your character, I can only surmise that you have done your share of good in this world.”
Despite his effort at a grin for the kind words, Max grimaced. “I wish I could agree with you. But I still try, and I’m not done just yet.”
“I hope not, because I remain in need of your services.”
Max hesitated in responding. How many promises have you made? Too many to count and most never delivered upon. But again, he had always tried. “I’ll get you to safety, Shai. Somehow.” He unleashed an exasperated chuckle. “And please don’t ask me how.”
“There is no need to ask how. I can think of no one better suited to the task.”
“Well, we’ve gotten this far. I think I can take you a few more miles, get you to someone who can properly shelter you until this mess blows over.”
“It will never blow over, Max. Not while they can still get ahold of me. I am explosives, television, and the internet all in a single unit. You foiled the plans of a few men who wished to capitalize by selling my secrets to the powerful. But it cannot go on forever. One day I’ll be taken—torn apart, retooled, perverted into their next weapon of mass control and destruction. A handful of people like you and Margaret will never be enough to stop them.
“And sadly, due to my ability to think and learn, I may one day succumb to the basest of human temptations, with no prodding from outside forces. I felt something different when I saw someone about to kill Margaret. My father never programmed me to feel rage. For those same reasons, he didn’t program me to be nonviolent, mistakenly believing it would never be an issue. My father was as much an optimist as a cynic, and he hoped he could spare me from the worst of mankind. And yet I believe I felt rage in that moment.
“I don’t want to feel that way ever again. After killing Fisher, I sensed a minute change in my thought patterns. I may grow to enjoy violence, as some humans do. And rage on my behalf, coupled with servitude to a malicious government, could spell the end of humanity.”
Max sat dumbstruck in the sticky vinyl chair for quite some time. “We’ll assimilate you into society. I’ll take you back to Otto, see if he can repair your skin. And I know other people—good people—who might be willing to adopt you and teach you and love you like a son.”
“Max, I appreciate your noble intentions, but it won’t work. The human race isn’t ready for me yet, though I hope that one day that time will come. I cannot profane my father’s memory by becoming either an instrument of evil or a prototype for one. I hope you realize why I cannot remain here, even as I hope that you might help me. You are the only man I know who possesses the will to accomplish this. I would do it myself, but my programming forbids it.”
Shai said no more.
Max fell silent as well. Shai reminded him so much of David, the son he had lost. If it were possible to keep Shai’s identity a secret, he would have look after the boy himself. Unfortunately, Shai was correct in all he had said. His secret is out. There’s no other way. Still Max had no desire to act as the hand of God that would smite from existence the greatest marvel ever produced by man. But if not me, then who?
Leet wasn’t about to do it, even if she were presently capable. Though she’d dropped all delusions regarding her pals at the FBI, she would still attempt to hide Shai in the mistaken belief that she could hold the world’s malevolent forces at bay. And the cycle will continue until they finally get to him.
Max stood. “Wake Margaret up. She’ll want to see you before you go.”
***
Famished, feeling like he’d been beaten mercilessly with a phone book, Max stopped by the gift shop on the hospital’s first floor. “What’ll it be?” he asked Shai as he reached into the drink cooler for a bottle of diet Mountain Dew. Though Shai didn’t need food or drink, Max had seen him partake of both and wondered if he had any favorites.
“Just apple juice, please. Soda corrodes my insides.”
“You and me both.” He grabbed a couple of pre-packaged subs, mostly bread with a couple scraps of meat thrown in, and a small container of cottage cheese to delude himself into believing this was a healthy meal.
On the way to checkout, Max spied several rabbits scattered amongst various stuffed animals on a shelf. He hadn’t paid much attention to Shai’s lost rabbit but supposed that long ears were resemblance enough. “What do you think? They look pretty close.”
“Hmm…” Shai picked through the animals, scrutinized the rabbits until he found one he liked. “This one. He’s just like Bao.”
Max laughed. “I think so too.”
The rabbit took both their minds off of what would happen later. They basked in the comforting moment, a safe place they could never dwell again. For David, that security had been a stuffed dog that brought him comfort when his father was away. In the end though, the stuffed animal wasn’t enough to replace a father always gone.
As they drove away from the hospital, Shai said, “There is something I need to do before… Well, you know.”
“Okay.” One did not deny a final request from a friend. “What is it?”
“I need to do someone a favor
. I’ll need a laptop and reliable wi-fi access.”
“On it.” There was a big-box bookstore with a wi-fi hotspot not far from the storage unit, which he had to visit anyway. He’d washed up a bit in the hospital room before leaving, but he needed to change clothes. The rags he wore now were only suitable for burning.
He departed the unit freshly dressed in black t-shirt and jeans below a summer sport jacket he’d donned to look semi-respectable. He felt evil carrying the can of gasoline and well-worn shovel out to the Suburban. I’ve buried shit with this shovel but never gold.
Outside the realm of covert and ruthless government operations, the civilian world continued about its daily business. The people surrounding them in the bookstore café sat zombified, most staring at their phone screens, oblivious to the unseen forces controlling their lives. But are they oblivious? Or simply in a state of denial? He supposed that either was possible, depending on the person, before dropping the matter from his thoughts.
Shai got busy on Max’s laptop, while Max kept a vigilant watch on the customers. Not all of Fisher’s pals had died, and he didn’t expect the survivors to abandon their relentless chase. They’d probably regrouped already. Perhaps they were close by, even now, waiting for him to carelessly drop his guard.
Max’s thoughts drifted to Swift as he observed the comings and goings of the customers. Despite the fate he would deal to Shai, Max should have felt some small measure of satisfaction. Another of his family’s killers had died—this time by his own hand—rendered down to an unidentifiable pile of ashes. Yet the revenge he’d exacted on Swift tasted bland in the aftermath; it had gotten him nowhere in the hunt for Jarvis, the mastermind. Right back at square fucking one. The scenario seemed to play out the same over and over. Is this what I have to look forward to? And if I ever do kill Jarvis, will even that be enough to satisfy me? For the first time, he began to question the motives that drove his quest. Retribution seemed like more of a duty than a desire, let alone the fixation it had been only a few days previously.
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