I Heart Robot (12 page)

“My mom … ”

“Your mom’ll be fine.” Rurik wraps an arm around me and I snuggle into his warmth.

“How do you know?” I take his hand again, my fingers squeezing so tight I must be hurting him, but he answers me with kisses on the forehead, leaving potato crumbs in my bangs. My gaze glued to the screen, I will the cameras to show an image of my mom safe and sound, but there’s only more chaos. Ice-cold dread settles in my belly. I’ve never prayed before, but I’m praying now, praying my mom gets out alive.

We march from Fragheim, a seething horde of organosilicone and twitching circuitry. There’s a crackle of static in the air as if we’re all charged and ready to release bolts of lightning. We march in silence past the skag users, vagrants, warehouses, and old hydrogen station. When the scenery smooths into painted concrete and decorative windows, we begin to chant:

“Rights for Robots!”

That’s how it starts: innocuous slogans asking for compassion.

Hoverbugs jitter and whiz above our heads as we advance north toward the center. Humans pause in their work rush bustle to stare open-mouthed at our procession. A snap-crackle thrill of pride and fear, courses through my Cruor as if we’re part of an all-encompassing circuit. Human eyes widen as we pass, focusing on us in terror, amazement, horror, maybe even amusement. It’s so hard to tell.

Sal jabs me with her elbow, her face split wide in a smile as she yells our slogan. We’re standing in the middle about three rows from the front. Lex leads the procession, joining hands with the front row of assorted child droids. Wreaths of white flowers adorn their heads.

A glass bottle clips my shoulder and smashes at Kit’s feet.

“Here we go,” he says. I duck as a cup of coffee flies past my ear and douses the android behind me.

“Assholes. Steaming, crapping monkeys.” Kit’s hands clench into fists. Despite the now steady bombardment of Styrofoam cups, juice cartons, a half-eaten pretzel, and even a shoe, we soldier on. The child droids hesitate when policebugs zoom into view, their sirens wailing and their blue lights turning the street psychedelic. Kit elbows his way forward to join Lex and lifts a tiny droid into his arms. He punches a fist into the air and shouts, “Fight. For your rights.” Lex takes up the chant and Sal rushes to join him.

I grab her arm. “What are you doing?”

“What we should’ve done ages ago.”

“This isn’t going to end well.”

“Have to try.” She shrugs out of my grip and joins the two Quasars shouting the war cry.

The tone of our endeavor is irrevocably changed. The static charge dissipates, replaced by a burning anger. Heat shimmers off the synthetic flesh of my fellow androids, but my Cruor runs cold.

The androids tighten ranks and I’m caught between an M-class worker like Max and another Quasar girl. They’ve all rolled up their sleeves, arms raised and waving tags. I flip up my hood and try to hide my face in the confines of my jacket lest I’m caught on camera, my face splashed all over the news for Maestro Ahlgren to see.

Despite the police warnings telling us to cease and desist, we march through the city center and head west onto the M-Tech campus and into Skandia Square. Now what? If there was a plan for once we got here, Kit failed to mention it. He and Lex leap up the stairs of the monument, the child droid still in his arms, and Sal stands beside him. Lex addresses the crowd, and the androids become quiet as he prepares to speak.

“This is what we are.” He raises his gaze to the memorial arching behind him. “We fought for the humans, we helped them win a war, and we deserve better than this.” He gestures to all of us.

Kit continues in a way that makes me think those two have been conspiring together for a while. “M-Tech created us. They’re responsible. They should be reminded of what we are, of who we are. We … ” His words are lost in the wail of sirens and the stampede of heavy duty boots. Riot police arrive with helmets and shields.

A girl screams beside me, “Fight. Fight. Fight for your rights.” Her diminutive fist pumps the air.

Kit lowers the child droid and turns his deadly gaze on the forest of police shields. Sal reaches into her boots and removes the knives as Lex rushes forward. He’s peppered with bullets and falls only to be trampled beneath android feet.

“No, no, no. Don’t do this.” My pleas are lost in the thunder of the crowd. Following Kit and Sal, the androids bombard the riot police, punching with titanium-reinforced fists and snapping jawbones. The cardboard placards turn into weapons as the androids kick and bite their way through the humans.

“Stop, please. It’s not meant to be like this.” No one can hear my screams.

The androids rush past me, but I’m immovable, a rock in the crashing waves. Someone wrenches the board from my hands and clobbers a policewoman through the face with it. I scan the chaos for Sal, her bald-head easily visible in the fray. Kit has vanished, swallowed by the seething crowd, perhaps lying trampled with Lex.

Additional SWAT teams spill into the square wielding M14 rifles. A shot to the head from one of those will smoke an acuitron brain. The police let loose flashbangs and sting grenades. The light momentarily blinds us; the swarm of stinging projectiles hurts, but the androids are relentless. The line of riot shields breaks under the pressing weight of angry robots and bullets ricochet around the square. Androids swarm the police lines even as they get hit.

Sal’s head bobs above the surging masses. I lunge after her, keeping my head low to avoid instant decommission from a stray bullet. Bullets pepper my back. Each wound is a conflagration of shrieking nerves as nanytes race to repair the damage.

Ignoring the pain, I sprint after Sal. So much wasted energy. Sal urges the androids forward as they smash the windows of M-Tech. A human security guard comes flying toward me, landing on jagged glass. Blood dribbles out of his mouth as his eyes focus on mine, the last face he’ll ever see.

Sal screams in triumph, shouting nonsense about taking what’s rightfully ours. A bullet thunks into the asphalt at my feet. I shove past robots and follow Sal as she ducks into the foyer of M-Tech. Kit’s already bashing the life out of a human. Ignoring him, I rush toward Sal where she’s about to eviscerate a woman with her knives. I trip and crush a dead female’s foot; my knee lands on her thigh and snaps the bone. Bullets spray the walls. I reach for Sal, grabbing her by the lapels.

“What are you doing?”

“Making history, Quinn.” Her eyes sparkle as she wields bloody blades. “Isn’t this incredible?” How can she be so excited when Cruor and blood stain the tiles?

“This isn’t what was meant to happen.”

“Isn’t it?” She raises an eyebrow. “This is why we … ” Her voice catches and her eyes glaze over. There’s a hole in her too large forehead, neat and scorched around the edges. A bullet sizzles within her core processor. Her limbs twitch as her circuits overheat. The nanytes in her Cruor disintegrate.

“Sal!” I shake her because I don’t know what else to do. Her body goes rigid. She’s so heavy. I turn left and right, searching for Kit, but he’s disappeared again. Alone in the chaos, I drag her body out of M-Tech, dodging bullets and angling toward the park on the other side of the square. I collapse at the first tree, my system running on fumes. There’s no way I can carry Sal all the way back to Fragheim.

“What did this achieve? Tell me Sal. You’re so brilliant. Tell me what your death accomplished.” My fists pound her chest. With fingers knotted in her camo shirt, I shake her, bashing her head into dirt. Not even a spark.

“Please, Sal.” My quiet voice seems even more pathetic. “Please, don’t leave me.” I shake her again, but it was a perfect shot with a decommission round designed to penetrate carborundum.

She’s dead. Decommissioned. Gone. The reality of her passing sinks in slowly, painfully. There’s an ache in my chest I can’t explain, a deep juddering in my core that makes me want to scream and sob.

“Why Sal?” Tears run rivulets down my cheeks, dripping off my chin. The cacophony of ordnance and screams fades into gray nothingness as I cradle Sal’s body, her baldhead pressed to my chest. I rock, some human instinct programmed into my emotion module perhaps. It’s comforting and devastating. I’ve never felt so empty, not in all those years spent serving brutal owners waiting for the next round of pain with no hope of reprieve. Sal was a friend, more than that. She was Mother. Now she’s just a pile of scrap metal, gooey electronics and memories. An unnamed agony rips through my circuits.

A policewoman emerges from the trees, her rifle tucked into her shoulder, her finger on the trigger. She sees me and takes aim. I wait for the inevitable, for the impact and sizzle that will precede nullification. I press my lips to Sal’s head, kissing the dragon, wondering if robots get a chance at an afterlife.

No bullet, no lightning destruction. The policewoman stands watching me, her eyes invisible behind her tinted visor.

“Run.”

I blink, certain I’ve misheard her. Perhaps she’s mistaken me for a human.

“Run, robot,” she says again and fires. The round singes my boot at the ankle. I close Sal’s dim eyes, scramble to my feet and turn to the policewoman. Part of me wants to dig my fingers into her face, rip her head off, and shred her soft body until there’s nothing left but drips and puddles. Searing rage floods my Cruor and makes the burning in my back from the bullets feel like bee stings. The other part of me, cool and calculating, says we started this, that Sal had no right to draw her blades and encourage violence. The part of me that’s programmed for reason wins the internal struggle and my wrath gives way to acceptance.

“Thank you,” I say and the policewoman nods with a single dip of her chin, her gun still pointed at my head.

I run, legs pumping, not caring about fuel efficiency or energy conservation. I sprint away from the tumult toward Fragheim because it’s the only home I know. Who knows what the consequences of our rally will be. There’s no way the humans will ignore Fragheim after this. First, retrieve my violin. Second, refuel. Then find somewhere to hide and wait for the bombs to drop.

According to the news, those injured at M-Tech were taken to Baldur City General. Relatives were told to wait at home for information. As if I’m going to sit at home while my mom could be dying! The two-kilometer trip takes forever, the longest ten minutes of my life, but we finally pull into the parking lot and tether the bug. The waiting room is packed. A nurse tells us we shouldn’t be here. Ignoring her, I join the sea of quiet tears and concerned faces waiting for the names of their loved ones to scroll across the digisplay mounted on the wall. I call my mom again. Still no answer.

Rurik strides over to the refreshment dispenser and swipes his card for two coffees. He brings me a cup, and I wrap numb fingers around the warm cardboard.

“Your mom might not even be here,” he says.

“She would’ve called.”

“You sure?”

“You don’t have to wait with me.” I stare at him with bleary eyes. I’m too tired and raw on the inside to deal with his impatience.

“Of course I’ll stay.” He slumps beside me, crossing his long legs under him as if we’re back in kindergarten. All the chairs are taken and there’s hardly any floor space left.

A cry comes from across the room, and a trembling finger points at the digisplay as names and photos scroll across the screen. I hold my breath, releasing it only when my mom’s face appears on the screen. Room 218. No further details about her condition are given. Abandoning my coffee, I elbow my way through the crowd and head for the elevator. Rurik’s right behind me, and he slips his hand into mine. The elevator takes years to open and another millennium to wind its way up to the second floor.

A voice crackles over the speakers. “We would like to remind staff, patients and visitors that the medicbots currently in service were not in any way involved in today’s riot. Our bots are programmed specifically and only for menial medical tasks. Please do not assault the medicbots.”

“Good to know,” Rurik says, his tone flinty. I say nothing as we hurry down the corridor past an endless row of doors. Finally, we arrive at 218. A medicbot draws a curtain around the figure in the bed, and all I can see is that man impaled on glass, blood seeping from his body as androids surrounded him. Robots, they’re the reason my mom’s in the hospital. I don’t care how these medicbots are programmed; I don’t want tin cans anywhere near my mother. I stride across the ward and rip open the curtain as the bot changes an IV bag.

“Get out.” I scowl at the bug-eyed machine.

“Tyri,” my mom says, her voice weak. Her hand reaches for my arm.

“Calm down.” Rurik lays his hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off.

“Get out!” My hands ball into fists as human hospital staff rush into the room. “I don’t want this hunk of metal anywhere near my mother. Is that understood?” I’m shaking and the nurses are nodding despite pursed lips as they usher out the medicbot.

“Tyri?” My mom says again.

“I’m here, Mommy.” I hold her hand for the first time in years.

“What happened?” Rurik asks, directing his question at a remaining nurse.

“She suffered minor head trauma. We’re keeping her overnight for observation. Her ankle was crushed and her leg broken. We’ve set the bones and packed HealGel around the injury. She’ll be fine in a couple of weeks.”

“Thank you.” Rurik sounds relieved.

“I know that what happened today was a tragedy and that no one is a fan of robots at the moment, but please do not assault our staff.” The nurse turns on her heel and strides out of the room.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Bit woozy.” Mom’s gaze drops to the IV line stabbed into the vein on her hand.

“That’s from the pain meds. You’re okay,” I say to reassure myself as much as her.

“So many robots.” Tears well in her eyes. “Oh Tyri, Erik’s dead.”

“What?” My heart breaks into splinters. I can’t breathe.

“T, I’m so sorry” Rurik pulls me into a hug as the sobs I’ve been keeping at bay erupt in a salty mess of snot and tears. Uncle Erik. The guy who’s only ever been smiles and kind words while sticking me with needles and patching up scraped knees. The closest I ever got to having a father, dead. Just like that. It doesn’t seem real. This can’t be happening.