I Heart Robot (25 page)

“Tyri, calm down,” he says gently, and my brain turns to cotton candy.

“What happened with Miles?”

“I think maybe he’s been snooping, getting into my mom’s M-Tech stuff. But that makes no sense. Why? How could he even do it? He’s just a housebot. And this virus thing … ”

“Where’s your mom now?”

“I called Adolf Hoeg; he said M-Tech would handle it. I’m still waiting to hear.” I’m always waiting!

“You let me know as soon as your mom calls, okay?”

“Promise.”

“You all right at Asrid’s?” There’s genuine concern in his voice, and it makes my chilled feelings for him start to thaw.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You mentioned the virus?” Rurik asks.

“I was going through some of Mom’s things. Your accusations made me curious.”

“They weren’t accusations.”

“Whatever. Point is, I found out something about that robot virus. Looks like M-Tech might have a way to decommission robots with it.”

Rurik sucks in a breath through his teeth. “That’s quite something.”

“Don’t know what it really means, but Quinn freaked out when I told him.”

Resounding silence. Idiot! Never mind putting my foot in my mouth, I swallowed my whole leg.

“You told Quinn?” Rurik’s voice is soft and deadly.

“I … it was … yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I had to tell someone.”

“And you chose Quinn?” There’s a thump, as if Rurik just punched something.

“I didn’t choose, well … that’s not the point. Something’s happening, and I thought you should know. I took a risk finding out about that stuff.”

“Thanks, “ he says, sounding hurt. “Find out anything else?”

“I’ll send the files to you.”

“Thanks, T. I really appreciate it.” There’s a long pause. “Keep me posted about your Mom and stay safe.”

“I will.” I twist a strand of hair around my finger and chew on my lip. By the time I’ve worked up the courage to say what I want to, Rurik’s already hung up. I say it to the silence anyway, because it needs to be said even if no one’s listening.

***

I can’t sleep. My brain’s working over time trying to muddle some sense out of all this, and Asrid keeps kicking me despite having an entire side of the queen-sized bed to herself. Glitch pawing my face out of the way so she can have more pillow doesn’t help either.

Somehow, I must’ve slept because Mom’s moby starts shrieking at six AM waking up all of us.

Tyri, I’m fine but I need to sort things out. Stay at Asrid’s. Don’t go home yet—not sure if it’s safe. Will call you later. Love you lots. Mom.

Mom has never used full sentences in text messages, let alone apostrophes. An uneasy feeling takes root at the base of my spine and spreads a tingling spider web under my skin.

“What’s happening?” Asrid rolls over. “Your mom?”

“Not sure.” I show Asrid the message, which she reads with bleary eyes.

“Full sentences?”

“Exactly.”

“Stress induced?”

“Maybe.” Although, I doubt stress would suddenly cause Mom to use punctuation. Something’s not right.

“It’s fine. Call her later. One more hour of sleep.” It takes Asrid less than ten seconds to pass out. I’m wide-awake, my insides aching from worrying about my mom, Quinn, and our society that might be on the brink of something life altering. Something apocalyptic.

Asian fusion screams at me in ribbons of c minor orange and F-sharp major green. I should’ve picked a less colorful establishment. Tyri’s already tucked into a corner booth against the window. She looks at me through the flickering red tail of the neon dragon slithering across the glass. The words I’ve rehearsed stutter in my mind. I don’t know for sure that she’s the T-class super-android; I’ve got nothing more than circumstantial evidence. And even if I know for sure, is my violin really worth her assured destruction by the Solidarity?

I spent the night with the addicts, holed up under ratty covers watching the blanket girl sleep. Each breath an eternity, each breath making her human. Perhaps I’m misconstruing the M-Tech data, and I’m finding connections where there are none. Talking to Tyri is the only way I’ll know for sure.

The vinyl seat creaks as I slide into the booth. Tyri sips her soda and wrinkles her nose.

“Hey.” Her eyes linger on the dirty coat I borrowed from a junkie too strung out on skag to miss it.

“Hi.” I can’t help staring at her, wondering how they made that splattering of freckles look so random, so natural. How can she breathe, or swallow carbonated sugar water?

“Something on my face?” She wipes a hand across her cheek. Veins run blue tracks under the pale skin of her wrists, and tendons rise like serpents on the backs of her hands. I study my own hands. The Cruor network is stained blue, mimicking veins, and the tendons on my hands roll like cords beneath my organosilicone flesh. I wonder if Tyri has a heart-beat.

“You look beautiful.” Her features are illuminated by the numerous colors dancing across every reflective surface. It’s a cacophony.

“Thank you.” Her gaze drops from my face to my chest. “Sorry, Quinn, but you don’t look so good.”

The clothes are unavoidably grubby, but at least I washed my face and hair in the sea.

“Could we go somewhere else?” I squint at the ceiling.

“No, I like it here,” she says and bites her lip, her gaze glued to the tabletop.

An awkward silence settles between us as thick as autumn fog as I wait for my system to acclimate to the screeching colors.

“Think you’ll win the solo?” I ask, cracking the glacial atmosphere.

She raises a single eyebrow. “After what you said yesterday?”

“Yesterday I had a violin.”

Her expression shifts from surprise to concern with furrowed brow and pinched lips. Is she really a robot?

“What happened?”

I tell her a version of the truth minus Kit and his threats. She reaches across the table and takes my hands. Her nails are bitten to the quick. They weren’t like that yesterday. I angle my fingers and press two against her wrist, feeling for a pulse. Nothing, but that could be a lack of sensitivity in my fingertips, not proof of her being inhuman.

“Quinn, I’m so sorry. But I’m sure we can come up with a plan.” Her expression softens. “You can borrow my violin for the audition.”

“And then? We can’t share a violin in the orchestra.”

“True, but maybe Ahlgren could find you a spare or a patron. Something.” She squeezes my hands as dark hair falls over her shoulder obscuring half her face.

“I appreciate it, but I think there may be more important things.”

“Oh really?” She lets go of my hands and leans back, folding her arms. “Like what?” Her gaze keeps darting to the window.

“Like this virus.”

“What about it?”

“There’s a T-class prototype carrying it.”

“So?”

“The virus is called Mjölnir.”

“Like in mythology?” Tyri fidgets with a napkin, distracted by something outside.

“Named for the hammer of Thor, yes. Like you.”

“Like me?” She looks up, her face twisted in confusion.

“Your name means Thor’s warrior. Didn’t you know?”

“Oh, yeah. Mom always had a thing for Norse mythology.”

“Tyri … ” I don’t know how to tell her. “I don’t think you’re seeing it yet.”

“What?” She stares out of the window.

“A virus named after Thor, implanted in a T-class android, your name—”

“Ugh, I’ve had it with robots!” She rubs her hands over her face, and her shoulders slump. “Maybe M-Tech should wipe them all out and start over.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Every robot I’ve ever known … ” her voice hitches in her throat, and she shakes her head.

“You know, my Nana, she was awesome. She was more of a mother to me than my own ever was. And what did she do? She fried her brain and ended up in the ground.” Tyri takes a deep breath, meeting my gaze. “Then those M-Tech bots killed Erik.” A tear meanders down her cheek, and I feel ill remembering the crunch of bones as my foot landed on Tyri’s mom.

“And then.” She swats away the tear. “And then my housebot proves to be a traitorous snoop. Not sure why we ever built them in the first place.” There’s a storm in her eyes.

“Not all androids are the same.”

“They’re only electronics and code.”

I wonder how she’d feel knowing she might’ve included herself in that sweeping generalization.

“Same way humans are only blood and bone?”

“Why are you defending machines?” Her eyebrows cinch together above her nose.

“Because androids can be as different as human beings. No two AI systems are exactly alike.”

“That’s true for androids, maybe. But housebots shouldn’t be capable of individuality or unique thought. Except mine is.”

“What happened to Miles?” Divulging what I know about the Solidarity and how they’ve been upgrading robots won’t do me any favors right now.

“I don’t know. Mom and M-Tech are taking care of it.”

Miles has probably been decommissioned and left to rust at Baldur scrap then.

“I think my mom might be involved in something shady.” She glances at me through long eyelashes. “I’m staying with Asrid at the moment.”

“I’m sure everything’s okay.” I say it because she needs to hear it; although, I’m pretty sure it’s far from the truth.

“Yeah.” She shrugs and fiddles with the straw floating in her drink.

Best to pursue this topic from another angle. “Have you ever been sick?”

“Can’t remember, why?”

“Ever been to hospital?”

“Only to M-Tech. Why are you even asking?” She frowns and my circuits sizzle.

“Why M-Tech?”

“My mom works there. You know that.”

“Do they have a medical division?”

“Sort of. They build and program medical bots.”

“So why did they take you there?” I’m pushing her, but I need to know before I come straight out with it.

Tyri pouts and glares at me. She’s thinking; I can almost hear her neurons firing as she struggles with the revelation.

“What are you saying?” There’s a tremor in her voice. I reach across the table to take her hands, but she pulls away from me. “Wait, you think
I’m
a robot?” She laughs, sucking in deep breaths that cause her chest to rise and fall. Maybe I’m wrong; maybe she is human.

Tyri regains composure and casts her gaze through the window.

“Have you ever considered the possibility … ”

“Of what?” She waves to someone and moments later, Asrid and a tall man who bears an unmistakable resemblance to his daughter walk over to our booth before I can finish.

“Hey, can we join you?” Asrid asks as she sits down next to me. Her dad holds out his hand and introduces himself as Bengt. We shake and I feel trapped. This meeting was obviously planned, but why?

“What’s everyone eating?” Asrid waves over a waitron.

“Sushi snack platter,” Tyri says.

The others order, and I shake my head refusing anything. I watch Tyri sipping on her soda, imagining what key it tastes like. Probably something effervescent like E major.

They chat about the snow prediction for the weekend and mundane school events. Fear. Anxiety. Exasperation. My circuits are overloaded with emotion as I shrink further into my seat. I want to disappear.

“So Quinn, Asrid tells me you’re synesthetic,” Bengt says.

“Yes.”

“Something you were born with?”

“No.”

“Is it visual, spatial, temporal?” He asks.

Asrid and Tyri share a look I can’t interpret as Bengt continues the interrogation.

“A bit of everything at times. It depends.” My hands ball into fists, my nails close to splitting my palms and spilling Cruor down my fingers.

“Have you ever taken medication to control it?” Bengt asks.

“No.”

“Ever done any drugs at all?” Asrid twists in her seat to face me.

“Sassa.” Tyri shakes her head.

“Just asking.” She shrugs.

“Is this why they’re here?” I glare at Tyri, satisfied to see her squirm and her cheeks blush. How do they make a robot blush? What engineer decided to give her that capability?

“I’m trying to help,” she mumbles.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” I get to my feet, determined to leave although that requires squeezing past Asrid.

“You’re not okay, Quinn. Did you even hear yourself just now?” Tyri’s voice wobbles.

“What?” Asrid asks.

“He thinks I’m a robot.” Tyri rolls her eyes and Asrid laughs. I’m leaving.

“We’re trying to help you,” Bengt says, putting out a hand to stop me.

“You’re a psychologist?”

“Psychiatrist.”

I chuckle. There’s not much psychoanalysis and psychotropics can do for me. “I don’t need your help.”

“If you’re on drugs, if someone hurt you, we can get you all the—”

“No.” I cut him off and gesture to Asrid to move out of my way.

Asrid narrows her eyes and grabs my sleeve. I pull my arm away in the wrong direction, revealing my black tag to all their judgmental eyes.

Bengt curses, Asrid gasps, and Tyri stares unblinking at my mark.

“I was going to explain,” I say.

She looks up at me, eyes wide with disbelief.

“He’s an android.” Asrid slips out of the booth and rushes to her dad who puts a protective arm around her as if shielding her from me as he gets to his feet. People at neighboring tables start to pay attention.

“You’re not … not real?” Tyri’s jaw hangs slack as she stares at me as if seeing me for the very first time.

“I’m as real as you are.” I reach for her.

“Don’t touch me!” She says, her face a twist of emotion. That’s the catalyst for chaos. Asrid points at me and starts yelling “Android” loud enough to wake dead robots.

“Don’t move.” Bengt tries to hold me in place with a glare.

“Call the police.” Asrid shouts. “Rogue droid!”

“Tyri … ” Ineffable emotion ripples through my circuit and leaves me incapable of speech. I struggle to put my thoughts into coherent sentences but give up when a policebug hovers into view. The uniforms hit the ground running before the bug is stationary. They’re blocking my exit.