Our Lady of the Ice (37 page)

“Sofia!” Marianella’s voice was sharp. “You got what you wanted. Let her grieve.”

“Grief is a waste of time. We need to leave. The police will arrive eventually. I don’t want to make my presence known to them yet.”

Marianella knelt down again and whispered comforts into Eliana’s ear. They hardly registered. Eliana didn’t care. All she could see was Diego’s dead body.

But somehow, she stood up, she steadied herself, she walked away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

SOFIA

Sofia dragged the knife down Luciano’s sternum. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking occasionally. Black hydraulic fluid pooled up in a line along his bare skin. Sofia checked the readouts on the rotary display. His code whirred past; she’d set the rotary display to spin more quickly than it would for a human.

“Everything looks fine,” she said, and set the knife aside.

“Wonderful to hear.”

“You need to stop talking now.”

“Of course.” Luciano’s eyes flickered like television screens. What she’d said, it was too much like a command, and part of him still wanted to see her as human. After his reprogramming, that wouldn’t happen anymore.

Sofia pried Luciano’s sternum open. The wiring sparked and flickered through the murk of the hydraulic fluid. It was odd to see another android like that. Sofia had seen the inside of the maintenance drones, but they were different enough from her that she didn’t feel empathy. She would need to get used to it. Soon, when she had the city and she had the necessary supplies, she would begin repairing the broken androids locked away in the storage facility.

She was so close to an Antarctica for robots.

Carefully, she reached into Luciano’s chest cavity and removed his core engine, snapping the wires free as she had done for herself a week ago.

Luciano’s eyes blanked out, and his jaw went slack. Sofia glanced over at the rotary display. Everything looked fine. She disconnected the last wire and touched Luciano’s face, gently, and wondered what images he was seeing, what memories. If he saw any at all.

Sentience came back into his eyes. “Oh,” he said.

“I have your core engine,” she told him. “It won’t be long now. Lie still.”

“Did you lie still?” His voice was flat and childlike.

“Of course not, but I should have.”

“I can’t see you.”

“Your mind will clear in a moment.” Sofia drew her hand away from Luciano’s cheek and left streaks of black fluid against his skin. “I need to do the reprogramming now.”

“All right.”

Sofia carried the core engine over to the worktable. Hearing Luciano’s voice like that, flat and purposeless, gave her a hollow feeling she did not like. Soon, she told herself. Just a few moments more, and he would be whole for the first time in his existence.

She cracked open the core engine. The insides refracted the overhead lights onto the wall, an eerily beautiful display of golden light. Then Sofia grabbed the other micro-engine and began the slow process of dismantling the core engine, piece by piece, and refitting the micro-engine to be reprogrammable.

It took a long time.

The reprogramming itself did as well. It was a much more involved process than what Araceli had done for Sofia, because Sofia did not have access to Luciano’s complete schematics. But she and he had been produced in the same year, and their differences were largely inconsequential to what Sofia wished to do. In truth, he had fewer restrictions than she, since his role at the park had been more multipurpose.

After the afternoon at the Florencia, when Sofia had informed
Araceli that she would be reprogramming Luciano, Araceli had begged her not to do it without a programming key or his schematics. But Luciano had insisted.

“I want to be like you,” he’d told Sofia as they’d stood in Araceli’s workshop.

“Are you almost done?” Luciano asked now. His voice was thin, and it hurt Sofia to hear it.

“Almost.” She glanced up at the rotary display. Another line of code fell out of existence.

“I was only curious,” Luciano said. “Don’t feel as if you have to rush.”

She hated that so much—that
complacency
, the dull feeling of not wanting to be a bother. No more. No robot would ever be like that again.

Finally, Sofia came to the end of Luciano’s code. She held the micro-engine aloft. The hydraulic fluid gleamed on her hands. The micro-engine was not much to look at, it was so old-fashioned. All those clockwork gears. But it was working for her, and it would work for him.

Sofia carried the micro-engine over to Luciano. He was still lying on his back, and he looked over at her expectantly. “Is that it?” he said.

“It is.” Sofia set it inside his chest. “I’m going to connect you now,” she said. “To reinstall. You’re going to reboot.” She hesitated. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Luciano didn’t respond.

Sofia hooked the micro-engine in, one wire at a time. With the last one, Luciano’s eyes rolled back until there was nothing but white in his eye sockets, white veined faintly with light. Sofia took a step back, her hands hanging at her sides, dripping hydraulic fluid everywhere. Was that what she had looked like? It was terrible.

And then Luciano blinked, and his eyes went back to normal, pupiled and full of sentience. He sat up with a quick lever-like motion and looked around the room. He looked at the walls, at the dismantled core engine, at Sofia’s hands.

“I feel brand-new,” he said, and smiled.

Sofia smiled back at him. With Cabrera dead, she’d be able to take his place in the ecosystem of the city, and from there she could work her way into Hope City’s infrastructure, destroying from the inside out. Quietly, but cataclysmically. All the humans would fall.

And now that Luciano was free, it could finally begin.

*  *  *  *

Sofia and Luciano sat side by side at a bar in downtown, near the city offices. They were facing a window so Sofia could watch the pedestrians walk by, humans in mainland-style clothes and neatly styled hair and a general air of superiority that Sofia found irritating—especially considering that the dome lights were dim and the shadows were long as if it were evening. But it was not evening. It was the middle of the afternoon.

“What if they don’t arrive?” Luciano asked.

“They will.” Sofia did not take her eyes off the window. “They won’t want to give up the benefits that come with aligning themselves with Cabrera.” Sofia had seen that much already, in the week since Luciano had been reprogrammed and she’d begun the slow, careful procedure of taking over Cabrera’s business, the second stage of her plan. She had started by paying off his contacts in the police department. They were all mainland supporters—the Independent cops wouldn’t dirty themselves for Cabrera. But she’d find a way to control all of the police department soon enough.

Cabrera’s old police contacts were happy to be rid of him, and she could tell in their meeting that they thought she would be easily controlled. As much as it pained her, she didn’t correct their error. She even made the same arrangement with them as she’d had with Cabrera, about the music and only playing songs from after 1936. Let them try to control her that way. They’d meet with a nasty little surprise. But she knew it was good to let them think they had the upper hand.

She wasn’t sure Cabrera’s city men would be so easy.

Footsteps against the tile—the waitress, coming back around to ask if they wanted to order anything.

“No,” Sofia said before she could ask. “We’re not interested in ordering.”

The waitress blinked at her with huge owl-like eyes. Then she frowned.

“Our friends will certainly order something,” Luciano said. “But I’m afraid we have a special diet.”

“Right,” the waitress said. “Well, I’m going to have to ask you to leave if they don’t get here soon.” She tucked her pencil behind her ear and turned around, although she glanced at them over her shoulder. Sofia glared at Luciano.

“Perhaps we should bring money in these situations,” he said. “Meeting at the Florencia was so much easier.”

“I’m not going back to the Florencia, not yet.” Sofia turned her gaze to the window.

Luciano didn’t say anything. Sofia stared out at the street. A group of men in dark suits and hats was walking toward the bar. They had the look of cullers, of city men.

“They’re here,” she said, just as the group converged on the bar. The door swung open and cold air billowed inside. Sofia twisted in her chair so that she could see the city men better. One of them caught her eye and nodded. Sofia turned away from him.

“It’s them,” she said.

“I apologize for our tardiness.” The city men were at their table now, their human scent wafting off them, mingling with the scent of food from the kitchen. The one who had caught Sofia’s eye was speaking. “These electrical issues—well, we’ve been having several meetings about them, as you can imagine.”

Sofia could not imagine, but she only gestured at the empty chairs and said, “Please. Sit.”

Three of the city men had come over to the table. Two others sat in a booth across the room, staring down at the menus.

“Assistants,” said the one who had spoken first, the one Sofia assumed was the leader. “They know about our arrangement with Mr. Cabrera, and are quite adept at keeping quiet.”

The other two nodded and murmured in agreement.

“Mr. Cabrera is dead,” Sofia said. “So I couldn’t care less about
your arrangement with him. This is about your arrangement with me.”

The city men exchanged glances. A long moment ticked by. The waitress approached, gliding across the room like a shark.

Finally, the city men slid into their seats.

Their names were Mr. Garcia, Mr. Ruiz, and Mr. Bianchi, although Sofia did not know which was which, only that they had been the liaisons between Cabrera and the many people working for him in the city offices. Sofia tended to think of them as a collective. After all, it was men like them who had thought of robots as parts to be acquired.

The waitress asked if they would like to order anything, and they did, a wide variety of alcoholic drinks that Sofia recognized from her days in the amusement park. The memory didn’t make her chest ache anymore. She had a brighter future now.

“Well, Miss—” The leader hesitated. “Miss Sofia, I must say, we’re intrigued by your moxie.”

Sofia smiled and folded her hands on top of the table. “Thank you. Which one are you again?”

The man faltered. “Jorge Ruiz,” he said. “This is Alfredo Garcia, and this is Luis Bianchi.”

“Yes, of course.” She tilted her head. “I only spoke to your—what did you call them?—your assistants. It’s all very confusing to me, telling humans apart.”

Mr. Ruiz coughed into his hand. The other two stared down at the table.

“The android sitting beside me is Luciano,” Sofia said. “He’s my associate. Not my assistant.” She tittered like she was flirting. Luciano smiled gravely.

“I see,” said Mr. Ruiz. He glanced over at the bar, where the bartender was mixing up their drinks.

“Since you’re such admirers of my moxie,” Sofia said, “perhaps you’ll be keen to learn that I’ve decided to take over Mr. Cabrera’s business.”

Mr. Ruiz jerked his gaze back toward her. His eyes glittered. He was nervous. Maybe even scared. So were the other two.

“Yes, my assistant mentioned that,” he said.

The waitress came over with a tray. She set down napkins and then she set down drinks, and then she gave Sofia and Luciano a lingering dark look before going on her way.

“We always preferred to talk business at the Florencia,” Mr. Bianchi said.

“The Florencia’s not available to us at the moment. We’ll have to talk here.” Sofia leaned back in her chair.

“You don’t have to worry about the police,” Luciano said. “If indeed that’s what you’re worried about.”

The city men exchanged glances. “The police? You’ve got the police on payroll?”

“The ones that matter, yes.” Sofia smiled, and she could feel the effect that incandescence had on those three men—all in spite of themselves, no doubt. They weren’t like Cabrera. They weren’t monsters on the inside. “And I intend to keep you as well. Nothing about your previous arrangement will change, with one exception.”

She paused. Mr. Ruiz leaned forward, his fingers resting on the rim of his glass. “The exception is that you’re an andie,” he said in a low voice.

“No.” Sofia leaned forward to meet his stare over the center of the table. “The exception is that the city will stop all culling of robot parts from the amusement park.”

Silence. Sofia didn’t move; she would not be the one to move first, and she wasn’t. Mr. Ruiz sank back in his chair and took a long drink.

“We have to be able to build maintenance drones,” he said. “You can’t expect—”

“I’ll bring in the parts that you need,” Sofia said. “From the mainland. But you will not harm any robot who already exists in this city.”

Mr. Ruiz sighed. “That’s going to be a hard order to pass on to the brass, Miss Sofia. They aren’t all on the payroll—”

“But you are,” she said, “and I’ll pay twice what Cabrera did. Just to keep a few robots safe.”

That had Mr. Ruiz’s attention. Mr. Garcia’s too, from the way he grinned and leaned over to whisper something into Mr. Ruiz’s ear. Mr. Bianchi took a long drink.

“Twice the income,” Sofia said. “For something that’s really not so difficult. The park was running dry anyway, wasn’t it? And I can get the new robot parts to you quite cheaply.”

Mr. Ruiz didn’t take his eyes off her. She wondered if he thought that if he stared at her hard enough, he’d be able to see straight through her skin and her framework and learn all her secrets. Let him try. What Mr. Ruiz didn’t know was that Sofia only offered this deal because she knew it didn’t need to be sustainable; in a year’s time, robots would come to Hope City on their own, or they would be resurrected out of the slaughter the cullers had left behind. And Mr. Ruiz would be living in a villa in some mainland jungle.

“I think we can take that deal,” Mr. Ruiz said. The other two nodded.

Sofia smiled.

*  *  *  *

A week went by.

Things changed quickly in that time. Sofia lay claim to the icebreakers, walking on board each one and personally triggering the code she had hidden in each robot when she’d reprogrammed it for Cabrera. The reconfigured robots responded only to her commands, whether by touch, by voice, or by radio waves.

Cabrera’s errand-runners were as easily swayed to her side as the cops and the city men had been. She had killed enough of Cabrera’s shooters that the rest were terrified of her, and she called them each into her office one by one and explained that their lives would go on unchanged, except for who they answered to. She would give them goods to distribute, she would pay them, and everyone could be happy.