* * * *
“Welcome to the Pioneer Saloon, Miss Lockhart!”
The doors behind her locked before she could register that this was definitely not an airport with a flight bound for Houston. She’d been too preoccupied with now having a non-bacterial life form inhabiting her body to deduce anything from the surroundings she had unconsciously observed. Sabrina had been thrust inside so fast an amalgam of many-colored flashes obscured her vision for a few seconds.
She jerked her head around and felt the sting of whiplash.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about what’s behind you anymore,” said the android with an A on its chest, bringing her into a disarming yet firm caress and leading her into the heart of the building. “Nor about any of life’s little pains. Here in Goodsprings, heaven itself is never beyond the grasp of someone looking for something better.”
Its voice was abnormally amiable, even for today’s robots. Like that of a reuniting old friend, only not on first-name terms. Still, Sabrina tried to wrench herself free, but due either to exhausted willpower or the android’s charm, she didn’t try very hard.
After the standard paralysis below the neck, she felt an electrode-like device affix to her temples as the robot guided her to the bed Uriah must have sat in. A crate big enough to contain an amputated lower leg lay in the corner. Clearly, if Livingston was going to have the best of both worlds, the solution was to make Sabrina a vegetable for nine months, presumably feeding her and the child with pills and the water needed to force them down.
That, or this was just merciful submission of a threat he was reluctant to kill, and he really did have no motive to propagate the species.
“Livingston, is that you?” she said just as the bot was about to press the button. She closed her eyes and tried to remain calm. “If it is, I’m not gonna play any more games with you. I just want a word, some chance to see where you’re coming from.”
It stopped. “What do you mean?”
“Why? Why the bombings, why the mind games, why –” She opened her eyes to a squint. “You did it, didn’t you? The murders?”
“Technically, it was Uriah. You knew that. But this Livingston fella isn’t responsible in the sense you mean, either.”
“Who are you?”
The android leaned in slightly, hovered its finger closer over the button, and said, “Marshall Patterson, and don’t you forget it.”
In perhaps the longest second of her life, her eyes opened wide at the finger’s movement as she cried, “Peace!”
Unnatural Page 53