by Gini Koch
“Hello, Missus Martini. Looking lovely as always. You remain tres belle, mademoiselle.”
Yep, that was Marling’s flirty catchphrase all right. Reminded myself that in Bizarro World, Marling had been a good guy—the top doctor in the world for autism, also focused on curing dread diseases and such. Meaning there was a good part of Marling, and that might have been why ACE joined him in. I’d seen the good part of Mephistopheles, after all, at least in my dreams.
“Good to see you, I think. We have a situation that, as all our situations go, is out of control. Can you tell me about the robots, or Bots as we call them, versus your androids?”
The chorus finished the song and were quiet. Presumably this was the speaking-only part of the program.
“I can, but your people will find all the information they need. However, you have far more to fear from the cyborgs than you do from my androids or her robots.”
“Cyborgs? That’s a new one.”
“Yes. It’s what we call those who’ve had the advanced wire insertion treatment. To differentiate them, since they are indeed different from my androids and her robots.”
He’d said “her robots” twice, indicating that I was missing a key clue. “Who was the originator of the robots? I think Janelle Gardiner has taken that initiative over, and I think she took over from the late and, at least in my case, unlamented Secretary of State, Monica Strauss. But was someone in charge of them first?”
He nodded. “We didn’t agree on the androids. She felt that they were inelegant.”
“Oh my God, how? I mean that seriously. Your androids have fooled the strongest empath in the galaxy. They’re nasty and unpleasant but can be kind and loving, just like humans. You might have tried to kill everyone I love and steal my baby girl, but you were an artist, dude, a true genius. How can anyone call your androids inelegant?”
He smiled, a real smile. “Thank you.” He looked over to Mephistopheles. “I see what you mean.” Then he turned back to me. “You meant that, truly. We were nothing but enemies, and yet you find a way to compliment me honestly.”
Shrugged. “Dude, I see no advantage in pretending that someone who is a freaking genius is less than that. No one’s touched the hem of your creation garment, at least as far as I know. Well, actually, not quite true. Stephanie and the Tinkerer are doing terrifying work with inserting robotic wires into humans, which I guess I should start calling cyborgs?” He nodded. “I need a flowchart for all of this.” Now he laughed. “But those cyborgs aren’t masking as humans like your androids still can and do.”
“You flatter me, but I appreciate it. They are following her design, not mine, though they’ve made vast improvements.”
“The design—is it the same one that we found after Eugene Montgomery was killed?”
“Originally, yes. However, viewpoints diverged. One side wanted fully robotic creatures wearing skin suits, so to speak. The other wanted real humans mechanized.”
“Of course they did. So, who diverged with whom on this? Was it another she?”
He nodded. “He enjoyed the competition.”
“He is Ronald Yates?”
“Yes.”
“Naturally. Okay, so who are the ‘she’s,’ the women who headed up these projects?”
He shook his head at me. “You truly have to ask?”
The chorus burst into song again, this one “Don’t Wanna Think About You” by Simple Plan. Definitely a clue.
So, gave it the old pondering go. Perhaps it was because I was asleep, or the song, or whatever, but my results were limited. “I can only come up with two—Madeleine Cartwright and LaRue DeMorte Gaultier.”
“Why would you need more than those?” Marling asked.
“Wow. So, taking that line, Cartwright was your sister-in-law and she was all about the big supersoldiers, and while she didn’t approve of you making your children into androids, she sure approved doing experiments on her son, so it’s not her who felt your stuff was inelegant. But since LaRue was and, if there’s a nasty afterlife where the evilest go, still is a royal bitch and a traitor so many times over I’ve lost count, I’m guessing that it was her.”
“Good insights.”
“But she was focused on cloning.”
“You don’t see how the two projects would intersect?”
I’d already considered this when I was awake. “Giving myself the ‘duh’ on that one. I mean, why would only some of our enemies think like that? And why limit yourself, right?” He nodded. “But, once LaRue started, Cartwright got involved, didn’t she? I mean, it also makes sense—she’d have had full access to Strauss and she was good at spotting talent.”
“Yes.”
“And, LaRue and the Tinkerer would have had the old ‘aliens hiding on Earth pretending to be humans’ thing to bond over. So, the insertion method is LaRue’s, and I can see that it’s kind of elegant in its way. And the full on Build A Robot President method is what Cartwright fooled around with in her spare time. And both were assisted by Herbert “Build A Zombie Army From Murdered A-C Parts” Gaultier.”
“What else?”
“Oh good, there’s more. Gimme a mo.” Considered what else I knew. “The first robot was the Kitty-Bot. She, even more than the Christopher-Bots, is definitely a robot with limited programming, but that’s because she was the first. The Kitty-Bot Army was far more advanced. As was the Janelle Gardiner Bot. But none of those follow along the plans that we found, at least not completely.”
“You’re sure?”
“No, because no one will let us reverse engineer the Kitty-Bot because our two saved androids think she’s a person.”
“So?”
“So . . . what?”
“Exactly.”
Stared at him. “So . . . it doesn’t matter? Because we have the plans and Strauss is dead. But Janelle is carrying on her evil work. Most likely with an assist from Marion Villanova and Evan the Limo Driver who now works for Zachary Kramer, meaning the Kramers are in with the Gaultier and YatesCorp team, since Amos Tobin is also involved. And therefore they’re not working with Stephanie and the Tinkerer.”
Stephanie’s lab had been right near to, but hidden from, the NSA black site where the Fem-Bot Armies were being created. Meaning she’d known about them but they hadn’t known about her. But then, why was a Dr. Rattoppare invited to their party?
“See? You didn’t need my help.”
“I hate it, just hate it, when someone with the answers says that to me. I did need the help, because I didn’t get to most of this on my own and even if I had gotten to all of it, confirmation from the Folks in the Know is always nice. But, you’re telling me that people turning into robots and robots saying they’ve become real boys isn’t a problem?”
“It’s not your biggest problem.”
“Fantastic. So, can the Christopher-Bot the Second, or could the now-melted first one, for that matter, actually overcome their programming and become self-aware? In case you somehow don’t know, which I doubt, his gray matter is about half the size of a human brain.”
“Size doesn’t matter as much as capacity.”
“So he could overcome his programming?”
“Anyone with a functioning brain can overcome their programming.”
“But is his brain functional? And by that, I mean, are any of the people who have the wires in their brains truly their own people, or are they all being controlled by someone else?”
Prayed that this answer would be a good one, since it affected Joe and Randy. I didn’t care if the Kristie-Bot wasn’t her own woman, but if Joe and Randy were being controlled, I didn’t want to contemplate what they’d do about it, because I had a good guess and it didn’t predict a happy outcome.
“You’ll find that most people are being controlled by someone else, wires in their brains or not. It’s who’s at th
e controls, and who those people choose to allow to be at their controls, that matters.”
“I love philosophy. It’s so useless right now, but still, it was a fun class. In college. Let me rephrase. Are any of the people with wires in their brains going to go haywire—see what I did there?—and go nuts and start attacking their friends and relatives and such and try to take over the world or similar?”
“Ask what you really want,” someone I was pretty sure was Gladys Gower, shouted from the chorus. “Muir and Billings are safe—you got to them in time.”
This earned said shouter a glare from the Spokesman and a chuckle from Marling. “Some of us are more willing to break the rules than others,” Marling said.
“Your daughter included,” the Spokesman added.
Definitely a clue. Or a warning. “Yeah, about that . . . how many rules did Jamie break to protect Jeff from Charlie’s teething and such?”
Marling shrugged. “A few.”
The Spokesperson looked stern. “She skirts the line quite a lot.”
“She gets results,” Marling replied. “She only does it for life-and-death situations.”
“So, Jeff could have died from Charlie’s teething pain?”
They both looked at me. “You had to go to Florida to prevent his agony,” the Spokesman said. Waited for him to add “duh,” but apparently he was showing restraint. “And that was before your husband had one of the most stressful jobs on the planet.”
“Gotcha. So, the major things you all don’t get in trouble for?”
They both looked uncomfortable. “Not so far,” Marling admitted.
So, there was a time limit or a level of unapproved activity that would create awareness of what we were doing out here. Had a horrible feeling it was going to tie in with Algar’s being discovered hiding in plain sight in some way, because losing both ACE and Algar at the same time was the definition of Earth’s, and possibly the galaxy’s, Armageddon. “Um, good?”
“Yes,” the Spokesman said. “Very. Your daughter understands much for one so young. But even so, she must be taught what is right and what is not.”
“That sounds like a rhyme.”
“Does that make it wrong?”
“No, just makes me want to know why we’re all Doctor Seuss and Lewis Carroll all of a sudden.”
“Much is said about adult things in nursery rhymes. But not everyone bothers to listen.”
“True enough.” Got the impression we were done with this topic. Time to move on to my next worry. “What about Ansom Somerall and Talia Lee? Are they trustworthy?”
Marling snorted. “You already know the answer to that question, regardless of wiring.”
Meaning hells to the no. Not a surprise.
“You have very little time with us left,” the Spokesman said. “Choose your question carefully.”
Question. Meaning I had only one left. Didn’t count on them letting me get away with asking several questions without pause.
“What is the greatest threat to me and those I care about the most right now?”
There was a buzzing sound of everyone talking at once. The Greek Chorus joined in as well. Everyone seemed to be talking amongst themselves, but finally it stopped and everyone nodded.
“We have reached consensus,” the Spokesperson said. “And we tell you that flying pests are always a problem.”
And with that, the chorus started singing, “So Long-Farewell-Goodbye” by Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, and everything faded out of view.
CHAPTER 41
WOKE RIGHT UP. “Well, that was actually kind of helpful in a totally unhelpful way.”
“Whazzat?” Jeff asked as he rolled over, then went back to snoring softly.
Decided it was time to be conscious while asking questions. Got out of bed, pulled on my nightclothes, which were the A-C standard issue of white t-shirt top and blue pajama bottoms, and pulled the covers up over Jeff. Then trotted to our ginormous closet, put on my lovely Official Presidential Robe in dark blue, and sat down in front of our hamper.
“I just had the weirdest dream and you’re literally the only person I can talk to about it.”
Normally Algar liked to play coy and not show up until I’d begged a lot or was about to give up. Not tonight. I blinked and there he was, a rakish, handsome dwarf with tousled dark, wavy hair, and eyes far too green to be from Earth.
“I saw. Interesting display.”
“So, you can see what ACE and the others are doing?”
He nodded. “ACE has found a very clever way to get around the limitations put upon him. It’s impressive, really.”
“Go team. So, do you agree that the Bots aren’t my biggest worry and that the cyborgs are?” Wondered if that meant I now had to call Kristie the Kristie-Borg or Seven of Nine. Nah. She was too damn perky for a cooler name. And she’d blackmailed me and Cologne. Kristie-Bot all the way. Besides, I couldn’t just tell everyone that she was a cyborg because the explanation for how I’d come up with that name was one I couldn’t really share.
“Yes and no. Your biggest worries are coming.”
“Oh, joy. Any chance you’re not going to pussyfoot around and instead be clear with what you’re telling me?”
“No, you know the rules.”
“I hate the rules.”
“That’s one of the things I like best about you.”
“Good to know. I have no idea what I should focus on.”
He shrugged. “That’s pretty much how you’ve lived your life. You roll along and handle what comes as it comes. It’s a rarer trait than you’d think, but it’s a large part of why you’re successful. Little to nothing throws you.”
“I feel all warm and fuzzy. Still unclear on how to protect my loved ones, the world, and the galaxy, but still, warm and fuzzy. Of course, I was kind of hoping you could help me decipher the so-far useless clue that flying pests are an issue. Should I be expecting a plague of locusts or something?”
Algar chuckled. “In a sense.”
Managed not to roll my eyes. “That’s it?”
He shrugged. “You asked some good questions.”
Resisted the urge to scream. “Thanks. I don’t feel like I got good answers.”
“I’m sure you don’t. But that doesn’t mean the answers were wrong.”
“Thanks for that. So, let me ask these good questions of you—what are Janelle Gardiner and Amos Tobin planning?”
“That isn’t a question you asked when you were asleep.”
Resisted the urge to bang my head against the hamper. “Could you, perhaps, do me a solid and actually, I don’t know, impart information that I will both need and am unlikely to figure out until it’s too late? I won’t be able to have my music playing.”
For the first time, Algar looked slightly concerned. “Why not?”
“Um, because I’m not allowed to be in my Happy Place tomorrow. I’ll be at a stupid bake sale and it will be a huge photo op and all that jazz, and the First Lady is supposed to be focused on the fundraising and the kids, not on listening to Aerosmith.”
“Well . . .” He seemed lost, like this was something that had never occurred to him to be possible.
“And then, if there’s time, I’ll get to zip over and wave at the Intergalactic School’s opening, and, again, I’m not supposed to be focused on anything other than the joys of learning and ensuring that Jeff gets to leave on time.”
“I see . . .” Still lost at nonmusical sea without an iPod.
“And after that, Jeff and I and you and ACE alone knows who else are going to the Kramer’s so that we can partake in yet another fundraiser and, yet again, I will be prevented from listening to music.”
“Are you done ranting?”
“No. So, while I always find my various playlists soothing,” and helpful, since I was about 99.99 percent
positive most of them were being created by Algar these days, but I was smart enough not to say that aloud, “I will be tuneless for most of tomorrow. And, because tomorrow is going to be a busy day with my and everyone else’s children potentially in whatever crossfire might happen, I’d really love an assist on this one.”
“Does the school have a radio station?” Asked as if this was the total solve for all my problems. Of course, in Algar’s mind, maybe it was.
“Really? How would I know? All the kids that fall under the Evil Kangaroo’s umbrella of ‘mine’ are going there tomorrow for the first time. They could have elephants or not have bathrooms—I truly have no idea.”
“Evil Kangaroo?”
Explained my Horton Hears A Who analogy, which amused Algar to no end. Go team. “At any rate, let’s get back to the matters at hand. Who do I have to watch out for the most between Stephanie and the Tinkerer, Janelle Gardiner and Amos Tobin, the Christopher-Bot the Second, Ansom and Talia, or a player to be named later?”
“It’s always the person you’re not suspecting that can hurt you the most.”
“Gosh, thanks for that. We could have used that hint back when we were still thinking Cliff Goodman was a great guy.”
“The situation is similar. Not the same, but similar.”
“Aha. The Kramers, then? Are they who we need to watch out for?”
Algar sighed. “You need to watch out for everyone and everything, as always. But don’t worry. When you need it most, and if you pay attention, you’ll find a guide.”
“Thank you, Raiden. Am I heading into the wastes of Outland where you cannot travel, are you just trying to be obscure, or do you just want to do a Mortal Kombat movie marathon and this is your way of suggesting it?”
He laughed. “I suppose that’s for me to know and you to find out.” And with that, he snapped his fingers and disappeared.
“No Mortal Kombat marathon for you,” I muttered. “Not with clues like those, mister.”
Sat in the closet for a little while more. Not that I was expecting Algar to return but because the clues I’d gotten seemed so vague that I really wanted to see if I could make connections.