I Heart Robot (17 page)

Kit lifts a spine out of the heap and lays it at his feet. “Did they have to dismantle the bodies?”

“Not sure what they did.” My fingers follow the slope of a scapula to a skull. The cranium bulges wider at the temple, a Saga skull. The effort of hauling the half skeleton free from the heap burns through more fuel than I’d like, a red exclamation mark flashes a warning behind my eyes. Only a few hours till empty. The bullet wounds have reduced my fuel efficiency too.

I wipe mud from the metal cranium and stare at the numbers, checking and double-checking. No doubt about it. The head, spine, and left arm I hold in my hands used to be a thinking, loving Sal.

“That her?” Kit asks.

“Yes.” I cradle the metal to my chest, and Kit places a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“We should bury them all.”

“Why?” I glance at Kit, his dark eyes shiny with unshed tears.

“Because they deserve better than this.” He produces a canvas sack from the folds of his coat and drops the skulls into the bag, the crack of cranium against cranium as loud as New Year fireworks.

“You just happened to bring a bag?”

“Thought there’d be more of Sal and Lex to find.”

“And you were going to bury them without telling me?” Anger flares briefly, but I’m lacking the hydrogen to sustain it.

“I would’ve told you,” Kit says.

“You still haven’t answered my question about where you were these past few days.”

“Can we just bury our friends please?” There’s an edge to his voice, his tone so sharp it could cut.

“Fine. Where?”

“Svartkyrka, we buried a nanamaton there a while back.” Kit ties off the sack.

“You buried a nanamaton?” I’m stunned.

Kit turns to face me. “Lex and me. I’m not the inconsiderate machine you seem to think I am.”

“And not all humans are crap-filled flesh suits who deserve having their skulls smashed in.” – Tyri, for one, is far more than a stew of viscera and prejudice. The memory of her dancing at the train depot gives way to nightmare images of her lying in the M-Tech foyer, Kit making red ribbons of her skull.

“After what you’ve been through, I’m surprised you maintain such a positive opinion,” Kit says.

Clutching Sal’s head to my chest, I follow him as we wend our way out of the scrap yard. Humans hurt me for years, humans killed Sal, and yet I can’t help the feeling it’s because of what I am, because we’re machines. We don’t deserve their respect or compassion.

***

We dig with our hands beneath the verdigris gaze of marble angels with broken wings. The earth breaks away in soaking clods, streaking our faces and clothes as the weather worsens. We dig two holes. One for Sal and one for all the nameless others we could fit in the sack.

By the time I pat down the last handful of soil over Sal’s remains, the clouds are tinged apricot by the coming dawn.

“They should have tombstones.” Kit leans against a crumbling chunk of rock, the name chiseled into the stone eroded beyond legibility.

“We could write in the mud. Like an epitaph.”

“Won’t last long.” Kit blinks drizzle from his lashes.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“What should it say?”

I drag a finger through the mud, scrawling Sal’s own words in the earth.

“We are more than just electronics,” Kit reads over my shoulder.

“Sal said that once.”

Kit kneels beside me and scribbles ‘We are more than just metal’ across the mass grave.

Below that I add, ‘We are more than the sum of our parts.’

“And don’t ever forget it.” Kit tousles my hair the way Sal used to.

Soaked to the core, we stand shoulder to shoulder in reverent silence, heads bowed in the rain as the sun rises over Baldur. The sun rises in C-sharp minor.

Humans don’t know how lucky they are that their memories are fallible. They fade and blur. Ours remain razor sharp, never dulling, never easing the pain even if that hurt is only a matter of wiring and clever code.

We shuffle out of the cemetery past the apathetic gaze of the angels.

“You know this isn’t the end of it,” Kit says.

“What do you mean?”

His gaze shifts left and right before focusing on my face again. “The riot was just the beginning.”

“Of what?”

“The revolution.”

Flesh to dust. Bone to ash. Uncle Erik goes up in flames. His family wants a private interment and we’re not invited. Mom hobbles around on crutches, exchanging pleasantries with colleagues. I wait in the parking lot, keeping my distance from the M-Tech crowd, unable to put on the requisite smile. A tall man in a somber suit approaches.

“You must be Tyri Matzen. I’m Adolf Hoeg.”

M-Tech’s CEO. Why’s he speaking to me? “Pleased to meet you.” We shake hands.

“I’ve heard so much about you.”

Awkward. “Uh, thanks.”

“Your mom mentioned you had a bond with Erik. Please accept my condolences.” He studies my face with pale blue eyes.

“Erik treated my war wounds.” I raise an elbow.

“Yes, I heard you were attacked. Sign of the times, I’m afraid.” He takes my chin between thumb and index finger and lifts my head. “You really are quite remarkable, dear.”

“Tyri, isn’t that Rurik’s bug?” Mom limps over, saving me from further scrutiny by the übermensch of M-Tech.

“I better go.” I hug Mom goodbye and she reminds me to be careful.

“Nice to meet you, Tyri.” Adolf Hoeg smiles and waves. I want to run but force myself to take measured steps across the lot to Rurik. Hoeg gives me the creeps.

***

For three hours, we scud along the street ways toward the capital. Rurik seems oddly content to listen as I tell him all about my lesson with Quinn, minus the part about him having been at the train depot party. Guilt skewers my insides, but not telling Rik everything isn’t the same as lying. Finally, Osholm rears out of the earth in a twist of spires, an architectural salute to the era when kings ruled Skandia. The Osholm Obelisk pierces the skyline like a needle, topped with a dragon’s head. Our capital is meant to be intimidating, rebuilt after the wars, and it is. I’m glad it’s not me who has to live here for the next four years. We coast into the city, following street ways lined with oak trees decked out in autumn. The capital feels ancient, flanked by forest, even the air pouring through the vents tastes like history, a bloody one played in E-flat major.

“When’s the last time you visited Osholm?” Rurik asks.

“Gunnar’s graduation.” We zip past office blocks, shopping malls, courthouses, and parliament. The theme of dragons is present throughout the city, embossed on facades and carved into pillars. Skandia’s dragon adorned flag whips in the twilight breeze from every second rooftop. I should feel more patriotic, but all I can think about is my violin lying over 300 kilometers away for a whole weekend. My left hand fingers play Berlioz on my thigh.

“I forgot how impressive it is.”

We land in the parking lot of an apartment block nestled in the shadow of the forest.

“Home sweet home.” He opens the door for me before grabbing his bags out of the back. The building is all gray walls and narrow windows. At least the trees offer a bit of color; although, they’ll lose their leaves soon, rendering the block drab and depressing.

“Couldn’t you have a requested better accommodation?”

“Why, because my dad’s a member of parliament so I should get special treatment?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“This is freshmen housing. Could be a lot worse.”

It could be a crypt in a rotting cathedral or a crumbling mausoleum in Svartkyrka cemetery, but I hold my tongue. Two funerals in as many weeks are bound to sour my mood.

“You’re right. I’m sure it’s awesome on the inside.”

We lug our bags into the building. The elevator shudders and grinds along its cable until the sixth floor. Rurik presses his thumb to the access panel and the door clicks open to room 613. The apartment is small, just a kitchen and two identical bedrooms with a closet-sized bathroom. The window grants a panoramic view of the surrounding forest with the Obelisk in the distance.

“It’s actually not bad at all.” I wrap my arms around Rurik’s waist and lean into him.

“Told you so.” He gives me peppermint kisses.

“Wish you would’ve let me bring my violin.”

“So you could practice the whole weekend? Not a chance.”

I wriggle out of his arms. “I’m missing a rehearsal for you.”

“Should I thank you for giving me this one weekend? Bad enough I have to put up with Quinn this, Quinn that.” He throws his hands into the air.

Blood warms my face and I hug myself, inadequate armor against the sting of Rurik’s words.

“No, but—”

“But? You’d have preferred to stay home with Quinn and play scales. That much is obvious.”

“This has nothing to do with him.” My blush deepens and Rurik harrumphs. I can’t stop thinking about Quinn and what he said about music … or that night at the depot.

“Thought you wanted to join our cause and make a difference.”

“I never said I wanted to join PARA.”

“Then why are you here?” He folds his arms across his chest.

“To be with you. Not to get involved in politics.”

“Being with me
means
getting involved in politics.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

Rurik rubs his hands over his face and starts pacing. “Tyri, my dad’s a politician, my brother is probably going to be prime minister one day, and I’m on the fast track to a career in government. This is who I am.”

His words hit me like hammers, each driving a nail of dread into my heart.

“I hate politics.”

“Then how can you love me?” He sounds wounded, his expression a twist of emotion.

“You’re more than just your family legacy.”

“You don’t get it, T. I have a chance to make a difference, to get involved with decisions on policy that change the way our whole country is run. Don’t you think that’s important?”

“Of course it’s important. But—”

“But you think plucking strings is going to change the robot situation?”

“How could you understand? Your musical appreciation begins and ends with that wump-wump techno crap.” Something inside me snaps and the anger wells up from a dark reservoir I didn’t know I had.

“Sorry for not being such an elitist snob.”

“I’m a snob? You’re the one who tells me I’m wasting my time with music and should be doing something worthwhile.”

“If only you would listen.”

“Because you’re always right?” My fists clench so hard my nails dig into my palms.

“You want to be an androitician like your mother, stuck building robots all day?”

“My mom does more than that and you know it.” I jab him in the chest with an angry finger.

“Yeah and we’d like to know exactly what it is she does.”

“What do you mean?” My anger simmers, replaced by confusion.

Rurik runs his hands through his hair and thumps down onto the unmade bed. He looks up at me with eyes full of pity.

“Tyri, you should sit down.”

“Just tell me what you meant.”

He takes a deep breath before starting. “We know that M-Tech studied those robots responsible for the riot. We want to know what they discovered and what they plan to do.”

“
We
meaning you and all your PARA buddies or
we
meaning Engelberger Industries?”

“T.” He reaches for me, but I avoid his touch. “There have been rumors about an AI infiltrating virus.”

“Like I’d know anything about that.”

“Your mom will.”

“Then why don’t you ask her?”

“Because she’s signed an NDA and probably wouldn’t tell me anyway, being an Engelberger and all.”

“But you expect me to tell you?” I’m beyond furious, my hands shaking, and my jaw aching from clenching my teeth so hard.

“Your mom works from home, you could—”

“Wait.” I hold up my hand, silencing him. “You’re asking me to betray my mom’s trust and snoop through her stuff?” I can’t believe he’d even suggest it. “Did Gunnar put you up to this?”

Rurik narrows his eyes and chews on his bottom lip, ignoring my question.

“You know I wouldn’t be asking if this wasn’t important.”

“I don’t even know who you are any more.”

“I love you, Tyri, and I need your help.” He looks at me with eyes that used to make me melt. It would be so easy to give in.

“Help with what exactly?”

“You don’t understand the half of it.” He leans forward and I meet his gaze. “M-Tech is hiding so much, not just from the public, but from the government as well.”

“Now you’re spouting conspiracy theories?” I laugh and pull up the desk chair so we’re facing each other eye-to-eye. “And you think my mom is involved?”

“Maybe not directly, but if we could gain access to the M-Tech servers using your Mom’s computers or ID.”

I blink and try to process what he’s asking of me. There’s no way Mom could be involved in some conspiracy. No, this can’t be happening. Rurik can’t be doing this to me. He wouldn’t.

“Is this the real reason you wanted me to meet Gunnar this weekend? So you could gang up on me and pressure me into snooping for you?”

“Botspit, it’s not like that at all. Gunnar would be happy to reward you for information.”

“Holy Codes, Rik. You were going to
pay
me to be a snitch?”

“Thought you needed money for violin lessons.”

My hand snaps out before I can stop it, my palm making contact with Rurik’s cheek. We’re both stunned by the impact and shocked into silence.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper as tears prick the back of my eyes. Rurik glares at me with a look of such hurt, I want to die. I go to him, but he slides away and gets to his feet, a red hand print on his cheek.

“We’re supposed to meet Gunnar for dinner in an hour.”

“I’m not going.” Like I’d be able to sit at a table with Gunnar now.

“Come on T. We’re supposed to be celebrating not fighting.” He rubs his cheek.

“All we do is fight.”

“And whose fault is that?” He gives me an accusatory glare.