The Body Electric - Special Edition (14 page)

“But they did all die,” I say.

“The colonial leader ordered the androids to fix the dome as efficiently and quickly as possible. And they did.”

I look at Representative Belles questioningly.

“The androids realized that the seams of the dome around the base were contaminated with moon dust—it’s a really fine powder, and it had seeped between the seals. To fix the dome, the androids had to lift them up, clean out the seam at the base, and reseal the domes. The colonial leader had told them to fix it as quickly as possible, so the androids gathered around the base of the dome… and lifted it up.”

I gape at the Representative. I’ve never heard any of this. The death of the Tranquilitatis colony was a blow—we had a week of mourning after the news reached Earth that the dome had failed. It happened when I was a kid, but I remember school being cancelled. It was the first time I really understood that bad things happened in the world; the first time I saw adults scared and upset. But while many news sources have questioned how the dome failed, no answer has been made public.

“The androids lifted the dome for exactly eighteen minutes—the time it took for them to clear the moon dust away from the seal and reposition the dome. The average person can’t last more than a minute or two exposed to space. All the oxygen left the dome. The domes were also connected to the false gravity in the colony. All the colonists… they died, floating, choking on the vacuum of space.”

I can just picture it—the colonists gasping for air, dying in space.

“The decompression in the dome when the androids lifted it caused all the windows in the house to break, and anyone outside was sucked out onto the moon’s surface or thrown up to the roof of the dome. It was like a
cyclone
, whirling the bodies around. When the androids reattached the dome and the gravity kicked on, the bodies of those colonists dropped straight back down. The investigators who went to analyze the aftermath said there were dead people everywhere, in the strangest positions. Over roofs. In the hypo-hyrdro trees that had been planted. On the ground, in all kinds of weird positions. It had, literally, rained death.”

Androids can only follow directions. They can perform simple tasks. But they can’t
think
. Science can do a lot. But it can’t make a brain. It can’t make something that thinks for itself. I know—I’ve studied the medical files. Mom’s disease lies inside her brain, the drifting synapses and the failing nerves. Any organ in the human body can be cloned—except a brain.

The androids didn’t think when they lifted the dome. They don’t have a brain. They have a computer. They just followed directions. And that killed the entire colony.

At least, that’s what happened if what Representative Belles is telling me is true. Which, honestly, I’m not sure how much I can trust him, or why he’s telling me this.

Representative Belles stands up, and for a moment, I think he’s going to come around the desk and do something to me. I flinch as he turns on his heel, but then he strides toward the window, not me. I stand up and move closer, gazing down. The Representative has a perfect view of the plaza, the fountain. From here I can see it all, the dark uniforms of security, the hurried walking of businessmen and women, the street androids idly serving customers pastizzi and other snacks.

I’m losing him. Whatever made him talk about science and terrorists before—that’s all gone away. He’s clamming up. But I try one more question: “What does the lunar colony tragedy have to do with the terrorists the government is trying to stop?” I ask, my voice low.

“Maybe it doesn’t have anything at all to do with the terrorists,” Representative Belles says as he looks down at the plaza.

I examine his face in the reflection of the glass. He doesn’t look like a man who’s contemplating treason.

He looks terrified.

twenty-four

I step out into the sunlight, momentarily blinded.

Well, this day has officially been the strangest day of my life.

Only one thing left to do now. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a street android selling warm, delicious-smelling pastizzi. I may have spent the morning tracking down a lunatic thanks to a holographic image of my dad, hallucinated, and wound up in a potential terrorist’s office where I had a super weird conversation, but at least pastizzi are normal.

“Cheese,” I say when I reach the front of the line. I tap my cuff against the payment center and wait for the android to hand me the ricotta-filled pastizza.

The android doesn’t move.

“One. Cheese,” I say again, enunciating clearly. My cuff flashes that my payment was accepted.

“Tranquility through freedom,” the android says.

“Excuse me?” I ask. I glance around. There are a few other street androids near the fountain, and all of them seem to have frozen. Their customers look just as confused as me.

“TRANQUILITY THROUGH FREEDOM,” the street android bellows. Its voice goes up a notch. “
Tranquility through freedom! Tranquility through freedom!”
it chants.

I back away slowly, dread rising up in my throat.

“The hell is going on?” a man in a business suit asks behind me.

“I have no idea,” I mutter. I try to hold the man back, but he shakes me off. “Something’s wrong,” I say. “We should get help.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see that several black uniforms are marching toward us and all the other street androids in the plaza.

The man jerks his arm free and shrugs past me. “No!” I shout. “Stay back!”

He ignores me and grabs the android by the shoulders, as if shaking it will make it work. My feet work of their own volition—I keep backing away, my eyes wide, sure something bad is about to happen. The security is swarming around, but there are more androids than they can handle, and the crowd turns into a mob.

I make it to the gate before I hear the first explosion.

I turn around, my eyes drinking up the horror before me. At least a dozen spots on the plaza are smoking, smoldering chunks of twisted metal. All of the androids exploded. The people nearby… I stare with horror at the spot where I stood with the man in the business suit. All that’s left now are red stains on a white shirt, the tattered edges of a dark sleeve, a foot, and, several meters away, another foot. It’s like seeing Akilah die earlier, except without the trappings of war. This is every nightmare I’ve ever had rolled into one: war invading my own home.

“Oh, God,” I mutter, staring at the massacre. The black-uniformed security and military people rush forward, trying to stem the flow of chaos. My cuffLINK starts flashing red and a warning message zooms across the screen.

Android malfunction leads to several deaths in Triumph Plaza, Central Gardens, Comino Island, and other areas of New Venice. Citizens should return to their homes. Any androids within the area should be immediately disabled.

My heart sinks, boiling in the acid of my stomach. “Mom,” I gasp.
Mom
. And her new nursing android. I left Mom this morning with a walking, talking
bomb
.

I turn on my heel and race through Central Gardens, pushing past the crowds. A definite sense of pure panic rises throughout the city, encompassing it like a tsunami. New Venice has never been attacked before, not like this, not from within.

My fingers skim across my cuff as I run, and I bring up the latest news. The news team must have been ordered to repeat the same message over and over on a loop.

“—no reasoning behind the android malfunction that’s led to dozens, perhaps hundreds of injuries and deaths. Sources say Prime Administrator Young did give the command to remotely disconnect all androids operating within New Venice, but the remote kill switch is currently inoperable and countless androids remain online. All citizens are advised to manually disable any android in the area. If the android already appears to be malfunctioning, all citizens are advised to immediately take cover as far away as possible.”

Mom can’t move fast, not fast enough to out-distance an exploding android.

I blink and turn the news off, pushing myself even further toward Reverie and home and Mom. I try to message Mom, but she’s not answering. Ms. White’s cuff must be out of reception, somehow, or turned off—none of my messages to her even go through.

When I reach the south gate of Central Gardens, I pass by a group of military elite, guns already out, racing toward the park. Comino Island, a part of the lower city, was also attacked. I think about the children that go to the theme park there. Androids are often teachers’ aides. Many use them for nannies or babysitters, even though there are warnings on their labels that children shouldn’t be left with androids unsupervised.

How many children were among the deaths? I almost stumble at the thought.

I have to wait to cross the street, ambulances and police cars racing by. The glass front of Reverie is pristine and clear, the neon sheep bouncing across the surface as if nothing at all were wrong. I cringe, waiting for an explosion, half expecting it to happen right here and now in front of me. I close my eyes, trying to stay calm, but all I see behind my eyelids is the glass front shattering, people screaming, running from the building… and Mom. Mom, who named her android, turned to dust and ash, mangled bits of unrecognizable flesh.

As soon as the street is clear, I race across it, sliding through the glass doors of Reverie before they’re open all the way. The waiting lobby is empty, sterile, with soft scents and quiet music playing gently. No sign of the chaos outside, no sign of the destruction awaiting upstairs. My breath is jagged and uneven, my footsteps loud. It sounds weird here, where the white tile and serene mood lighting makes everything peaceful. I visualize the serenity torn apart by an exploding bomb, screams cutting through the soft music.

I don’t wait for the lift. No time. I take the stairs two at a time, my heart thumping and my lungs screaming for air. I throw myself into the apartment, screaming for Mom as the door slides open. Mom is in the kitchen and struggling to stand, concern etched on her face at my sudden and loud appearance.

“What’s wrong?” she asks me, weakly.

I don’t answer. I look wildly around. The android Mom named Rosie. Standing in front of the interface screen in the living room, past the kitchen. I lunge around a dining room chair and skid into the living room. Rosie doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. The interface screen is open to Reverie’s private network, the most secure parts, where Mom’s research and the science behind reveries lie. Not even Ms. White has access to these files, just me and Mom. Rosie’s not even programmed to go onto the interface, much less hack our system.

Son of a—!
“Interface
off
,” I command loudly. “Lock screen authorization Ella Shepherd.” The screen goes black.

The android slowly straightens. It twists its body, turning its face to me. Its dead, empty eyes stare into mine. Its face is expressionless, as if all the programming to make it appear human has already been deleted.

Rosie’s mouth drops open, a movement that is so robotic it breaks any illusion of humanity that could ever be attributed to the machine. Its head cocks a little to the left.

“What’s wrong, Ella?” Mom asks again.

“Tranquility through freedom,” Rosie mutters, so soft I almost don’t catch it.

“Shit,” I say.

I spin around to Mom. “Get out!” I scream at her. “We have to go! Rosie’s going to explode!”

“What?” Mom asks. She’s disorientated. She can’t handle this stress, this panic. Her body is always just a shock away from collapsing. Her fingers grip the edge of the table, knuckles white. Her face is pale.

“Tranquility through freedom,” Rosie says, louder. “TRANQUILITY THROUGH FREEDOM.”

There’s no way we can escape in time.

A low buzzing sound emits from the back of Rosie’s throat. The same “
ZnznznZNznzn
” sound that I heard from the other android, seconds before…

I dive for Mom and pick her up, wrapping my arms around her waist and lifting her across my shoulder. “Ella!” she says, breathless and choking on a cough. I don’t answer. I run for her bedroom. The building is new, but even though the Secessionary War was a generation ago, nearly every building built since then has at least one special room.

A panic room. And that’s the room Mom uses as a bedroom.

As soon as we’re through the door, I put Mom down. Her legs give way under her and she collapses on the floor, but I can’t stop to help her. I turn around, slamming my cuff painfully against the scanner by the door. The door snaps shut, and I type in the panic code. I can hear the steel bolts shooting through the heavy metal door seconds before the explosion goes off.