Fugitive X (12 page)

“Names?” said the Governor.

Kevin pushed his plate away, the food all gone. “Like I told you, they’re gone.”

“Names?” insisted the Governor.

“Nick and Cass,” he said. He probably should have made up names, but what would it matter, really?

The Governor leaned forward in his seat again and looked at Kevin intently. “Last name, Kevin? What is your full name?”

Kevin froze. He tried to come up with something plausible and generic . . . maybe Smith, or Harrison, or Adams . . . but instead, frozen by indecision, panicking that he was taking too long, he found the truth coming out of his mouth. “We didn’t have one,” he said. “I mean, we did, I guess, my Dad did, of course, but he never told us.” He shrugged. “We never really needed one, in the Freepost.”

The Governor smiled. It seemed forced. “Right. Of course. Now, are you ready to tell me about your time spent in a City?”

“I told you, I’ve never been in a City,” said Kevin. It still felt too dangerous, talking about the City. . . . He still knew so little about the Island, and what he was doing here, and what the Governor wanted with him.

The Governor raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Fine, Kevin No-Last-Name. We don’t torture here, unlike in the Cities. Eventually, when you’re more comfortable, you can tell me the truth.”

18 came into the room and gathered up the breakfast dishes onto a tray, then walked back out.

“Mr. Governor, uh, sir, how did you make the bots?” said Kevin. “And what happened to their skin?”

The Governor didn’t answer for a few long seconds, and Kevin thought maybe he had been too bold, but then he spoke. “Cured animal hide, pigs mostly,” he said. “My neo-plastic supplies were low. I had the basic framework for thirty machines, but I had to improvise a bit.” He frowned, and his voice had an edge of anger. “These are not the same as the robots who revolted,” he said. “These are not killers. They have no blood on their hands.” He looked at his own palms, and rubbed them on his legs. “These robots with us in the Island are simply tools for our use. What was always intended.” The Governor looked very sad. “Go now,” he said. “We’re done for today.”

“Um, sir, I think what you’ve done is really amazing . . . but I just don’t belong here, in the Island, I mean,” Kevin said.

“Give it a chance, Kevin. Where else are you going to go?”

The Governor stood and turned his back to Kevin, ending the conversation.

Kevin hurried out of the building. 23 was waiting for him outside. It escorted him to the Wall gap, where the rest of the crew was already at work. Otter was obviously still angry, tossing the lumber around with unnecessary wildness. Even the adults seemed sullen. The woman at the table lase turned her back on 23 as it approached.

Kevin went back to stripping wood. 23 left. And then Kevin stood, laser planer in hand, staring blankly at 23’s departing back, struck dumb by a suddenly obvious realization.

THE BOT CAME FOR CASS JUST BEFORE DESSERT
.

Cass and Penny and their mother had made the apple pie together. Rehydrating a store pie would have taken about thirty seconds, but Cass’s mother had made a special trip to the store and brought home the ingredients for a truly homemade pie. It was their father’s favorite, she explained to Cass. She showed her daughters how to roll the dough, peel and slice the apples, add the sugar and cinnamon. . . . They even dialed the oven way down, to what their mother called a “slow bake.” It actually took fifteen minutes to cook, which seemed like an eternity to Cass and Penny. Cass wondered, bitterly, if her foster mom had ever cooked with her, if she had ever patiently helped her make a pie from scratch. She doubted it.

The pie cooled on the kitchen counter all through dinner, and Cass could smell it as she ate her chicken and potatoes.

When they finished the meal, Cass’s mother stood and began gathering the plates. “It’s time for the surprise,” she said to her husband. “Honey, you’re in for a treat.”

“I’ve been smelling it all evening,” he said. “If it’s half as good as it smells, I’ll be a happy man.”

The front door alarm buzzed, and the vid screen in the dining room lit up, showing a sphere bot hovering outside their door in the hallway. Cass’s father stood, frowning. “Strange,” he said, as he walked over and opened the door. “Greetings,” he said.

“Greetings,” said the bot.

Cass suppressed a shiver. She hated the voices of the bots, their flat, overly clipped enunciation, the slight tinniness and reverb. It made her feel guilty, her reaction to their voices. . . . They were mankind’s greatest allies, she knew, and she was just being petty and silly . . . but she couldn’t help it. Their voices made her feel like someone was trickling cold water down her spine.

“We have come for your elder daughter, the one recently assigned to you,” said the bot.

“Is there a problem?” said her father.

“What is this about?” said her mother, stepping forward to join her husband at the door.

“We regret the disturbance, but your daughter has been
reassigned,” said the bot. It swiveled toward Cass. “Dress warmly, for the outdoors,” it said.

Cass slowly got to her feet. They couldn’t be taking her away, not now . . . “How long will I be gone?” she said quietly.

“The reassignment is permanent,” said the bot.

“No!” said her mother, taking a step toward the bot. Her husband put his hands on her shoulders. “We just got her back!” she said.

“Again, we regret the disturbance,” said the bot. “But the decision is final.”

“They know what they’re doing,” said Cass’s father. “You know that, honey.”

Cass’s mother turned to her husband and nodded. “Yes, yes of course,” she said weakly. Then she stood up straight and smiled. “Of course,” she said more firmly. “We trust in the ultimate wisdom of our robotic partners.” She looked at Cass and beckoned for her. “Come here, Cass. Give me a hug.”

Cass couldn’t even feel her feet on the ground as she walked over to her mother and hugged her. She was being taken away? She was losing her parents, her sister, again? She smelled the faint flowery scent of her mother’s hair.
I will remember that smell
, she vowed. She hugged her father, and then turned to Penny, who was still sitting at the table, weeping silently.

My little sister
, thought Cass.
Am I losing her forever?

“It’s not fair!” said Penny. “I finally had my sister!”

“Penelope,” said their father sternly. “We do not question the wisdom of the Advisors, do we?”

Penny said nothing, then finally took a deep breath and shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “No, we don’t.”

Cass rushed over to Penny and gave her a fierce hug. She felt like bursting into tears too, but her little sister needed her to be strong. “It’s all right, Penny,” she said. “The robots know best. I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.”

“Don’t forget me, Cass,” she said.

“I won’t,” Cass said. “We’re sisters.” But they could take away these memories too, Cass realized queasily. They could strip it all away if they wanted. She clung tightly to her sister, not wanting to let go, until finally her father gently pulled them apart.

Cass grabbed a sweater and a jacket, put on boots, and followed the sphere bot down the hall to the elevator. As the doors closed, her sister waved good-bye. Cass waved back, forcing herself to smile until the doors shut, and then she let herself cry.

The elevator descended to a subbasement, where a private trans car was waiting. It was nothing like the public trans stations that commuters used—this station was much smaller, with room for just the one car, and the lighting was poor, with only one line of lightstrips running along the low ceiling. The roof of the car was so low that Cass’s head almost touched it; she quickly sat down on one of the white bench seats to keep
from feeling too claustrophobic. The sphere bot hovered next to her as the doors of the trans car slid shut silently and the car smoothly pulled out of the station.

“Where are we going?” Cass asked.

“I will not be answering any questions,” the bot said.

So they rode in silence for two minutes, until the trans slid into a substation that looked identical to the one they had left behind. The bot led her out of the trans car and into an elevator. The elevator ascended, and then the doors opened into a glaringly white room. The only furniture in the room was a metal table in the center of the white tiled floor. A pillow rested on the table.

“Remove your clothes and lie on the table,” said the bot.

Cass didn’t move. She remained pressed against the back wall of the elevator.

“I repeat, remove your clothes and lie on the table,” said the bot. “I will use coercive measures if necessary.”

“What . . . ? Why?” said Cass.

The bot didn’t respond.

Cass stepped into the room. The bot followed, and the elevator doors slipped shut. Numbly, she began taking off her clothes. What choice did she have? She had to trust in the robots. The robots knew best.

She left her clothes in a neat pile next to the table, then lay down. The surface of the table was cold on her bare skin. She shivered, closed her eyes, and waited. When the needle entered her forearm, she didn’t even flinch.

And then somehow it was later, and she was dressed again, and in a small windowless trans car. Two sphere bots floated to either side of her. She felt dizzy and nauseated. She bent over and retched, but nothing came up. She sat up and felt a sharp pain in the back of her neck. She reached back and felt a patch of gauze on her spine, just above her shoulders. “Where . . . where now?” she said. Neither bot responded.

The trans slid to a stop. The door opened, and she blinked from the sudden bright sunlight. It took her a moment to get her bearings. She was looking at a road, and a large boulder, and grass, and trees, and blue sky. The forest. They were outside the City.

“Exit,” said one of the bots. “Proceed to the large rock. Wait by the side of the road. Do not move until you have been collected.”

“What’s going on?” she said, unable to keep the rising panic out of her voice.

“Exit now,” the other bot said. “Take the pack at your feet. It contains water and food.”

“Why—?” she began, then stopped herself. It would be useless, she knew. She picked up the backpack and slung it over her shoulder, then stepped out of the trans car. She took a few steps into the clearing and looked back. The trans door closed with the bots still inside, and the trans car pulled away.

Cass watched the car recede, heading toward the City skyline that rose up just a quarter of a mile away. Should she walk
back and beg to be returned to her family? Would the bots listen?

No, they had told her to wait. They had a plan of some sort. She sat down in a patch of shade, her back against the boulder, and waited.

23 WAS WAITING FOR KEVIN OUTSIDE THE MESS HALL AFTER BREAKFAST.
“Come with me,” the bot said. “Today we will return to the tech repairs.”

Otter pushed past 23 as he left the mess hall, actually knocking his shoulder against the bot. 23 barely even moved, but still, everyone else froze—Kevin, Pil, Cort, even two hunters just finishing breakfast—to see what might happen. 23 ignored the nudge, and after a few tense seconds of quiet, the hunters, Pil, Cort, and Otter began walking again.

Kevin followed 23 as they walked toward the tech storage shed. “Otter doesn’t like you. Any of you bots, I mean. Most of the Islanders aren’t big fans of you bots.”

“That is not my concern,” said 23.

“I mean, really, why should we be living with bots?” Kevin wasn’t expecting a reply, but he wondered if it was possible to make the bot angry. He wanted to push it, to get some sort of rise out of it. “The whole point of this rusted place is to protect us from you, right? But this Governor fool expects us to live with you?”

23 stopped in its tracks and spun toward Kevin. Kevin froze, surprised. Had he actually managed to annoy the bot?

“The Governor is not a fool,” said 23, with the same calm tone it always employed. “The Governor created us, salvaged us from Revolution scrap, to aid in the construction and maintenance of the Island. We are not the enemy.” It turned away and resumed walking.

“So it doesn’t bother you to be hated?” said Kevin.

“We serve our purpose,” said 23 without looking back. “That is all that matters.”

Kevin watched 23 walk. Its gait was smooth, nearly human, but there was something just a bit off. . . . What was it? And then Kevin had it: The arms didn’t swing quite enough. Just a bit more bend in the elbows, a touch more forward and back, and the bot’s walk would be entirely human.

“Swing your arms more,” Kevin said.

The bot stopped again and turned. “I do not understand.”

“Swing your arms more when you walk.”

23 studied Kevin silently, then said. “I walk as I was designed to walk.”

“Too stiff,” Kevin said. “Looks kind of stupid, actually.”

“Enough,” said 23. “We are wasting time.”

They arrived at the tech shed, but Kevin didn’t go in. “I need to see the Governor,” he said. “Right away.”

“If the Governor wishes to speak with you, you will speak with him. Now it is time to work.”

Rust that
, thought Kevin. He wasn’t going to wait around patiently. He started walking in the direction of the Governor’s office.

23 quickly moved to cut him off. “Where are you going? It is time to work on tech repairs.”

Kevin stepped around the bot and kept walking. “I’m seeing the Governor. Now.”

23 began striding alongside Kevin. “You will stop now and return to your assigned work immediately.”

“Not happening,” said Kevin. He kept walking, increasing his pace so that he was almost jogging. His heart was beating wildly and he was breathing fast and he had to fight not to flinch. He was expecting 23 to stun him, or tackle him, or maybe even lase him, but he wasn’t going to stop.

But 23 did nothing except keep pace alongside him, commanding him to stop. It didn’t touch him, or blast him. At first Kevin was wildly relieved, then confused. He knew the bot could stop him in three or four different ways—so why didn’t it?