The Android and the Thief

by Wendy Rathbone

  “Yeah. Such a great man. He didn’t want to lose his fucking investment.”

  “Well, Dad never has been the altruistic sort.”

  “Well, he’s an idiot. And so are you if you don’t understand that androids are human beings. Just because they’re owned—” He broke off.

  Breq did not seem to take offense. He rubbed the sides of his neck where the fingerprint bruises were. “So, you met Khim in prison?”

  Trev nodded.

  “What is he to you?”

  Trev hesitated. He didn’t trust Breq—or anyone in his family. But he was at the bottom of the chain now; he had no one else to talk to. He finally answered. “Everything.”

  Breq said, “I don’t know how to help you. My hands are tied.”

  “Did I ask for your help?” Trev did not care if his frustration with Breq showed.

  Breq got up from the bed. The light from the alcove spread across the floor, making a round, glowing circle. He stepped into it with bare feet, moved across to a shelf where he picked up a handheld computer. His back was to Trev as he seemed to fiddle with it. When he turned, the light curved gently against the side of his face, and for a moment he looked soft—handsome, even—when usually Breq was so hard, so cold. It just did not seem right that this guy managed a place such as House of Xavier as if it were nothing more than a posh restaurant selling fancy wine.

  Breq reached out to Trev, handing him the device.

  Trev looked at the screen, a high-angle camera view of a long dark room. At the end of the room were five old-style cells with bronze bars. One was occupied. By Khim.

  The bars striped the back wall of Khim’s cell with parallel shadow lines. Khim sat very still on the edge of a bunk, elbows on his knees, looking at the floor. He was like a beacon to Trev’s heart.

  Trev looked up, blinking. “Is this live?”

  Breq nodded. “If you ever tell Dad—”

  Trev just rolled his eyes. “What is this place?”

  “The dungeon. There are four. Where Dad keeps the ones that might run.”

  “The ones?”

  “The whores.” He gave a pained smile. “The android slaves. New ones. Or ones that are feisty. Or troublemakers. From there they get readied for the parties, washed, made up. Styled, so to speak.”

  Trev studied the screen, his pulse quickening. He could see Khim, but he couldn’t talk to him. He couldn’t go to him. He wanted to sob, but instead brought the handheld to his chest and looked up. “Can I keep this?”

  Breq nodded. “For all the good it’ll do you. I think you’re just torturing yourself, little brother.”

  “Why is Khim the only one there now?” Trev asked.

  “The others are in a larger dungeon. The ones that get along share rooms, live there. There are no fresh slaves coming in, which is what this block is for. House of Xavier is closed right now. The murder was, well, bad for business. It’ll be opening again in another week. I think Dad might be changing the name.”

  That gives me one week, Trev thought.

  Trev got up and went to the door. He turned back to look at Breq. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for calling off your… friend.”

  Trev took the device back to his bedroom. He stared at the scene before him. Khim sat as if frozen in place. Trev looked at the cell, the walls, the floor, from every angle he could get the camera to move.

  He studied the scene for a long, long time.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  KHIM HAD been noticing the fat, square camera for quite some time.

  Off and on he watched it, up in the corner of the dank room, moving inch by inch, left to right. An old-fashioned thing. Something hurriedly rigged, which did not seem normal for this wealthy establishment.

  Who was behind it? Who was watching?

  After he’d worn himself out pacing, he sat unmoving for hours. Awareness of the camera never left him, but it was diluted by the tides within him. The constant breaking down of all his barriers, the glass cracking again and again, sifting down into darkness, the shards becoming their own constellations in his vast open being.

  His skin kept vacillating between hot and cold, as if he were sick, in a fever.

  But it wasn’t sickness. It was unsickness, healing. Wellness. Trev’s smile, Trev’s eyes, Trev’s body pressed to his. The sweet of him. The salt of him. The tone of voice that washed sunlit commands through the labyrinths of Khim’s confused, fracturing brain.

  He sat on the edge of the bunk and was remade. He sat and remade himself. He did not mourn the loss of his past self, but he mourned Trev for not being there. Mourned an emptiness where there was nothing his arms could hold on to.

  He had cried a little at first. Because he was young and lost.

  They want their mommies, sometimes.

  Or their daddies, a little voice quipped in the back of his mind as an image of Dante coalesced at the forefront of his thoughts, then vanished.

  He wondered what brand of hell Trev was in right then. Had Dante whipped him again? Was Trev being forced to play the dutiful son side by side with all his brothers and sisters?

  To see Trev in such pain hurt, little claws forming around his chest cavity. Bouts of nausea. For Trev’s own good, and to get Dante to stop smacking him, Khim had had to push him away.

  It kept replaying in his mind. Pushing Trev back, agreeing to anything.

  Of course he meant it. But only for as long as it took to find the exit.

  If he pretended Trev was with him, helping to make the plan, his own thoughts grew clearer. Smarter. But the tides within him kept rolling, pushing, shoving. He was being buffeted like a shell against the sand, whittled down, formed into a polished likeness of something that used to be himself. The smooth from the rough, new from the old.

  He did not intend to stay there. And he did not intend to die. He sat very still and thought about all of that as more waves of feeling slid into him.

  THE BOY came one more time with food. Wary, alert. All in white, wrinkled and oil stained from wiping down counters, rinsing pots and pans. He smelled of dish soap, burned cream, and hot grease. Under his hat, his brown hair needed a wash.

  He was a servant, Khim decided. Someone the others were using. Or would be soon. But the boy did not know that. He did as he was told and he was happy. He was young and this was an important job. He didn’t know that the tables of happiness turned at a snap of a finger.

  He didn’t have cruelty yet in his watery green eyes. Khim thought about telling him about cruelty, mesmerizing him with the tale of a soldier sold to a brothel, but wasn’t sure. Would he be able to tell it without breaking into a thousand pieces?

  No. The boy, Cody, was lost anyway. Working here, delivering food to a man in a cage, trying to impress somebody, be somebody. Not caring how it came to be.

  He thought again about grabbing him, if he were fast enough, when Cody bent to slide the tray.

  He was dangerous when he thought like this. They had to know. Why were they leaving him undrugged? Maybe this meal had the zotic in it, then.

  He breathed in air like fire. The boy bent down.

  Khim moved like lightning.

  The square camera tilted down.

  At the sound, Khim looked up just as the tray slid under the bars. Missed his chance.

  Cody stood, eyes big. “You move fast,” he said shakily.

  Khim watched the camera.

  Not fast enough.

  KHIM DID not see anyone else for long hours.

  Time didn’t seem to move here.

  The light did not dim or brighten, and it made everything brown and ugly. Tired of the tides rolling in and out of his brain, he finally lay down.

  His slumber came on, agitated. Echoing with shouts, whispers, voices calling, crying, laughing.

  He woke several times having forgotten where he was. Once he thought he felt Trev on the mattress next to him. He reached for him and caught air. Heard a whimper.

  Chapter Twenty-se
ven

  TREV HAD locked his door, but there was no lock in the entire house that held itself against the presence of Dante.

  He sat in his bed, the covers to his waist, wearing only shorts and a tank top. The handheld lay in his lap, broadcasting the image of Khim, who was sleeping, finally, although he tossed and turned.

  Affixed to the handheld were about ten different items, all manually wired in, and he used the camera feed to access all aspects of not just the dungeon the camera was placed in, but the entire system—every last intricacy of the Rainspeer Hotel.

  The door to his room slid open.

  Trev pulled the covers over his ugly but groundbreaking work of art.

  Dante stood on the threshold. “You’re up. Breakfast at nine.”

  That meant 9:00 p.m., not a.m. Such was the cycle of the household.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I gave you an order, not a choice. I want the table full tonight. It’s been too long without you there.”

  Perhaps Dante meant that statement as a compliment. He probably had special food prepared, and more, but Trev could only see it as a bitter attempt at taming the wild one, the prodigal son.

  He got up and dressed in a nice suit. As Dante would expect.

  Khim was still sleeping when he checked the screen before going to the third-floor dining room.

  TREV SAT at his usual place at the table, which was laden with platters of meat, eggs, potatoes, fruit, crystal goblets of high-end wine, and other breakfast-themed dishes.

  “This is a welcome-home meal for Trevor,” Dante announced. “I’d like to make a toast.” He stood. Everyone else stood too, Trev finding his feet last.

  “To my son.” He went on to give questionable accolades, not once mentioning the prison, Khim, or the fact that Trev was locked inside the mansion.

  Trev stole a look at Vance, who looked surly, as expected. As the eldest son, Breq sat closest to Dante but would not meet Trev’s eyes.

  His sisters were more polite. “To Trev,” they each said in turn, actually smiling at him for once.

  Trev ate a few bites, pretended to eat more, but was not hungry.

  When the meal was over, he did not linger. He went straight back to his room to check on Khim and continue his work with the handheld.

  He worked all night, writing experimental programs, testing them, bypassing system locks and codes.

  On the screen, Khim slept fitfully throughout the long hours that Trev worked. Finally Trev was able to bounce a frequency off the light impulses in the dungeon and type words that resounded in that frequency. It was a crazy idea, but one he hoped worked.

  Khim, he typed. Wake up. Khim. Khim.

  Khim moved on the bed, turning over.

  Trev tried again.

  Khim, it’s Trev. Don’t ask me to explain how my voice is transmitting through the lights.

  In the cage, Khim leaned up, cocking his head.

  I can’t hear you, so just nod if you can hear me.

  Khim sat straight up, moving his legs over the edge of the bunk. He looked momentarily confused, then nodded.

  Are you drugged?

  Khim shook his head no.

  Good. I’m going to get you out. When the time is ready, I’ll guide you as far as the door. After that, you have to find your way back to the garage. I know you need a flier and a destination. I’m working on those things. I just want you to know I’m here. I can see you through that camera in the ceiling to your right.

  Khim looked up.

  My father has me on lockdown at his house. But I’m working on that too. I’m safe. And so are you for the time being. But I’m sorry your conditions are so poor.

  As Trev finished, Khim stood up and walked to the front of the cage. He put one hand through the bars—the left, flesh hand—palm up as if reaching to touch Trev.

  Trev smiled and typed.

  I miss you too. This isn’t done. Not by a long shot.

  The lights were getting hot, and he didn’t want them to sputter out, so he said good-bye to Khim and worked more on his plan.

  He waved Arch, but when he did not receive a response, he located Renn instead. He made promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. Now, if he could only get Breq on his side…. He had no other siblings who would even consider helping him.

  He waved Breq to see if he was still in and received in response a knock on his door.

  He pressed the lock and it opened.

  Breq entered wearing casual jeans and a dress shirt. The door slid shut behind him. Breq flopped on a couch by the bed, his dark hair slicked back, making him look hard-edged, every ounce the cool criminal. “Whatever you’re gonna ask, baby bro, I’m pretty sure the answer is going to have to be no.”

  “I just need you to help me get out of here.”

  “No.”

  “Hear me out.”

  “No.” He leaned back, pulling his feet up onto the couch.

  “Breq—”

  “I know I owe you, but Dad—”

  “What if I said you wouldn’t get caught?” Trev leaned forward to emphasize his point.

  “Dad could be listening in even now.”

  “I debugged my room last night.”

  “You do think of everything, don’t you.” It was not a question. “But even if you get out, Trev, what are you going to do then? You can’t bust Khim out.”

  “Leave that to me. The less you know, the better.”

  “Yeah.” He scowled. “When have I heard that? Oh, yeah. Only all my life!”

  “When I signal you, I need you to bring a flier around to the back end of the yard and hover beneath land’s edge where you can’t be seen.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Oh, and I need you to buy an android.”

  Breq nearly came off the couch, feet hitting the floor with a smack. “What?”

  “And then I need you to sign him over to me.”

  “I don’t have that kind of money! None of us do. You know what our allowances add up to each month.”

  “I know. I’m working on that too.”

  Breq’s eyes closed halfway in thought, the effect instantly softening all the sharp contours of his face. “Dad will catch you, little bro, before you get all this accomplished.”

  “I hope not.”

  “When are you planning all these shenanigans?”

  “I’m hoping for tomorrow morning when everyone’s in bed.”

  “Good thinking, except for one thing.”

  “What?”

  “I would swear on all my Chibali suits that Dad never, ever sleeps.”

  “You may be right, but I’m just going to have to deal with that.”

  Breq leaned sideways, resting his hands on his thighs. “So, after all this, will I ever see you again?”

  “Never in this house, if I can help it.”

  He sighed. “So that’s a no.”

  Trev watched him glance briefly around the room. “You never liked me anyway.”

  Looking suddenly uncomfortable, Breq reached up and scratched the back of his head. “Not true.”

  “Nothing like finding that out at the last minute,” Trev said.

  They sat back in silence, not looking at each other.

  TREV WATCHED the dungeon shadows fold and unfold over Khim, turning his hair to precious amber. He remembered how that hair was like the finest of silk threads running cool and liquid over his fingers. And below that, the trusted face, the dusky eyes that held so much feeling, so much passion. He realized how soldiers, for all their courage and knowledge, aggression and violence, were made of fear by someone else’s command, for if they did not act and do as they were told, they would die.

  And such was life for all, although hopefully far less violent.

  For Trev, life was also fear, but of another shade. All was travesty, but for Khim it was worse because he was never allowed to be real, building tense structures around his soul as if to cage a star.

  At least Trev had received
semblances of affection throughout his life. And he’d had company in his siblings, and his books.

  Khim graced the small cell with more natural elegance and class than any of the Damico family possessed with all their silks and satins, their dark, shining hair, their colognes, their education, their hardened, toughened skins. Dante certainly seemed to feel love for his children, but it was an alien love, and something was missing. Maybe what was missing was the pure joy of a heart fired with more than just power, want, greed. Everything was planned and controlled for Dante, even his sharp-cut smiles.

  Trev typed into his conglomerate of circuits, wires, screens, and devices.

  Khim, I’m here. Just a little while longer.

  Khim turned to the front of the cage, looked up at the camera, all his beautiful spirit yearning beyond the metal bars.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  AT FIRST, Khim thought he was hearing voices.

  Trev was talking to him through the lights.

  It was true, then—he had finally gone into the madlands, no turning back, no exit, no hope.

  Or maybe this was some new form of zotic, and his last meal had been laced with it.

  Still, the voice came. It told him to wake up. After he sat on the edge of the bed, it kept talking, telling him everything he longed to hear, everything he could never hope was true.

  And finally, he believed.

  Some of the better words kept reverberating in his mind, even though they were in a weird, echoing tone, not Trev’s real voice.

  I just want you to know I’m here. I miss you.

  How he had hated pushing Trev away. But he’d had no choice. Trev needed to go with his father—or be hurt more.

  He waited a long time for the voice to come back. Hours slowed in his mind as if the dungeon were approaching a black hole. Would it be forever before he heard Trev again?

  He counted every bar on his cage. And then every shadow of every bar, including those of the four empty cells that threw their reflections onto the hard cement floor.