Under Their Skin (13 page)

Oh, how romantic of you,
Eryn thought, feeling hurt on Mom's behalf.

But what did she expect? Mom and Michael were robots.

“We'd already checked into getting a marriage license,” Michael said. “We'd told our bosses. We were . . . publicly committed to a certain path. Then, right before we told you kids, everything with Ava and Jackson started going wrong. Now we can't even let them out of the house. We have to keep them a bigger secret than ever.”

The tense way he said that made Eryn's stomach hurt.

“You have a soundproofed car,” Nick said, still speaking softly. That wasn't like him. Eryn couldn't tell if he was terrified or traumatized. Or both. “You say it even protects against lip-reading. But what good does any of that do? Couldn't a robot have supersonic hearing? Or X-ray vision? Mom acted like someone might hear us inside our own house!”

“We're being extra, extra cautious,” Michael said. “Robots aren't supposed to have any better sight or hearing than normal human beings. But what if somebody's breaking those rules the way we're breaking the rule about robotic children? And . . . robots do have ways of keeping track of each other that humans don't have.
Think of it as being like how computers are linked on the Internet. We can keep some things private, but . . .”

But there are computer hackers,
Eryn thought.
Like you.

Were there robot-brain hackers, too?

Eryn didn't want to ask that question. But she remembered how Milo and the other neighborhood sledders had shown up so quickly after Nick and Eryn found out Mom was a robot.

“Michael, what if your secret's already out?” she gasped. She saw Michael tense beside her. “These kids from our neighborhood—older,
robot
kids—they showed up at our door to test us, like, right after we started asking questions about Ava and Jackson. It was like someone had called them.”

Michael slumped down again and let out a sigh.

“You scared me there for a minute,” he said. “That's not a sign of any problem—your mother was the one who summoned those kids. Indirectly. She sent out an alert that it was time for the first viewing of the video, and part of that protocol is for the child or children in question to be tested. To see if they can be trusted not to tell other kids everything they know.”

“Oh,” Eryn said.

Michael may have been more relaxed now, but somehow she didn't feel any better.

“So it's like there are really two big secrets we know now,” Nick said. “One about the extinction and the robots and the whole Project Snowflake, which we're not allowed to talk about with any other humans. Not until the other kids are ready and see the video themselves. And the other secret is about Ava and Jackson, which we're not allowed to tell anyone.”

“Exactly,” Michael said.

For a moment, it was quiet in the dark car. Eryn let herself think only about Ava and Jackson. Their secret felt tiny—even minor—compared with frozen embryos and human extinction and some unknown threat off in the future. Eryn let out a small half-giggle. If Mom and Michael had gone through with their plan to throw Ava and Jackson into a stepsibling relationship with Nick and Eryn, that truly would have tested their ability to act like real human beings.

At least I won't have to deal with
that
anytime soon,
Eryn thought.
Thank you, Ava and Jackson's screwy programming.

“So when—” she started to ask, but just then Michael stopped the car. Eryn had gotten so engrossed in his
story that she hadn't looked out the window for several blocks, hadn't kept track at all of where they were. How could they be home already?

Eryn rubbed a little hole in the fog that had built up on the car window.

They weren't home. They were at Ava and Jackson's house.

THIRTY-FOUR

“Why are we here?” Eryn asked.

So Eryn's capable of asking deep, philosophical questions,
Nick thought.
Even if Mom and Dad couldn't teach us about philosophy.

Then he looked out the window and realized she wasn't asking about their purpose in life.

“This is a good time for you to meet Ava and Jackson,” Michael said. “For real.”

Because we're too tired to argue?
Nick thought.
Because we've seen and heard so many strange things today, we'd barely notice one or two more?

Neither he nor Eryn moved.

“This house has soundproofing too,” Michael said, as if that was supposed to be a comforting thought. “So you don't have to worry about anything bad happening.”

Michael thinks the worst thing that could happen
is someone overhearing us?
Nick wondered.
Um, what about extinction? What about . . .

Nick couldn't let himself keep thinking of potential disasters, or he'd never move.

“We are still curious about Ava and Jackson,” Eryn said, but she didn't sound curious. She sounded pummeled, squashed flat, practically defeated.

Nick made himself reach for the door handle.

“Just don't say anything . . . incriminating . . . between the car and the house,” Michael said. “We won't have soundproofing there.”

Oh, that's helpful,
Nick thought.
Thanks for scaring us even more.

But Michael's warning woke up Nick's curiosity again. Who could possibly be listening on a quiet residential street, on a night when all the neighbors would have their houses shut up tight against the cold? Were Michael and his ex-wife—and, Nick guessed, Mom and Dad too—really in that much danger of being caught? Or were they just being paranoid? Why was it so wrong to have robot children who grew up, anyway?

What were Ava and Jackson like when they weren't malfunctioning?

Nick opened the door and got out. The brutal wind was a shock against his face after the warm car, but he
made himself walk toward the house. Eryn and Michael joined him, a few steps behind.

Michael's ex-wife already had the front door open, bracing it against the wind.

“Welcome,” she called out into the darkness. “Welcome. We are so happy to see you!”

She was beaming as if that were true. As if the whole reason she existed was to meet Nick and Eryn.

Which, if you thought about it, was kind of true.

Nick stumbled across the threshold, his boots feeling particularly heavy on his feet.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I'm tracking in snow. . . .”

He bent down to untie his boots, but Michael's ex-wife patted him on the back.

“Oh, don't worry about it,” she said heartily. “I know how to use a mop. So do Ava and Jackson!”

The way her eyes twinkled—was that some robot trick to make people like her?

She flipped a strand of wavy red hair over her shoulder and turned to engulf Eryn in a huge hug.

She's like Mrs. Galloway, my kindergarten teacher,
Nick thought.
She's like . . . radiant.

Mrs. Galloway had been a grandmotherly woman who wore aprons when they were fingerpainting or making play-dough out of salt and flour. Michael's
ex-wife was a lot younger, and, well, prettier. But she had the same air of making you feel like you were the most special person alive.

Now it struck Nick, belatedly,
Wait a minute. Even Mrs. Galloway wasn't human? Even
she
was a robot?

That seemed impossible. Unbelievable. Mrs. Galloway had been like the real live human version of Mrs. Santa Claus.

Except . . . not,
Nick told himself.
Not actually human. She was just programmed that way.

Would shocks like this keep hitting him the rest of his life, as he kept figuring everything out?

“Oh please, call me Brenda,” Michael's ex-wife said, and Nick guessed he'd missed Eryn stammering out, “Oh, hello, Mrs., uh . . .”

Michael kissed Brenda on the cheek, the exact same way Dad always kissed Mom. Nick's brain kicked up a rebellious thought:
Well, of course it's exactly the same. They're all robots. Everything they do is robotic. I just never knew that before.

Brenda shut the door behind Michael and leaned to the side to call up the stairs, “Hey, kids! Dad and Nick and Eryn are here!”

Ava and Jackson must have been waiting at the top of
the stairs, because they came clattering down the steps immediately.

“Sorry my brain wasn't working right before,” Jackson said, giving Nick a friendly kid-to-kid slug on the arm. “Now I remember everything about you. It's really great to see you guys again!”

Jackson looked like a normal kid now, maybe even better than normal: shiny hair, smooth skin, casual smile. . . . If he'd been in Nick's class at school, Jackson would have been one of those guys the sixth-grade girls acted silly over, giggling and stammering and blushing whenever he was near. (This had happened a couple of times to Nick himself, and Eryn had punched him in the arm and said, “Get over yourself. Some girls are so desperate to fall in love, they'll fall in love with
anyone.
” He was pretty sure she was quoting Mom.) Nick had to remind himself he'd seen wires and circuits inside Jackson's body; he'd seen that under his skin, Jackson was nothing
but
wires and circuitry.

“This is so sick, getting to meet you,” Ava chimed in. “Do kids at your school say
sick
, when they mean something is really, really great? Kids did that at our old school, before we started the homeschooling.”

She was doing what Eryn did sometimes when she was nervous, chattering away about nothing.

But Ava's doing it
robotically, Nick reminded himself.
Because she's a robot.

“Why don't we all sit down?” Brenda said, gesturing toward the living room. Nick could see that all the window blinds were pulled all the way down now. So no one would be able to see in.

“Ava and Jackson made oatmeal cookies this afternoon, and we just put a plateful on the coffee table,” Brenda continued. “There's hot cocoa, too—seems like a perfect night for it, don't you think?”

Michael nudged Nick and Eryn toward the nearest couch, but he said, “Oh, we can't stay long. Nick and Eryn haven't even had dinner yet. Those cookies look delicious, but—kids, please don't eat too many. Don't ruin your appetite.”

Nick sat down and took a cookie, and it was exactly the way he liked: warm and melty, full of chocolate chips and raisins. But his first bite stuck in his throat, and he didn't think washing it down with cocoa would help.

“We made some of the cookies without raisins, too,” Ava said, making more nervous chatter. “Because not everybody likes raisins. But I've never met anyone who didn't like chocolate chips.”

“Some people are allergic,” Jackson said.

“That's
tragic
,” Ava said, grinning in a way that made fun of herself. As if she were trying to get Nick and Eryn to laugh.

“Is anybody ever allergic to oatmeal?” Nick asked, because it was easier to talk about food than all the weird thoughts and questions bouncing around in his head. “I mean, I like oatmeal, but why aren't people very often allergic to things that are good for them? Like brussels sprouts. Is anyone ever allergic to brussels sprouts?”

“Or liver,” Jackson said with a shudder.

Nick could talk about food all night.

“Or—” he began.

He realized that Eryn hadn't sat down with the rest of them. She hadn't taken a cookie or picked up the mug of cocoa Brenda poured for her. Eryn was still standing in the foyer, her arms crossed, her feet planted firmly in what Mom always called
Eryn's stubborn stance
.

“Why are we pretending?” Eryn asked. She narrowed her eyes and peered at Michael. Her gaze might as well have been laser-focused. “What were you trying to accomplish, bringing Nick and me here tonight?”

“I—” Michael began helplessly. “We—”

Brenda stood up and went to stand behind him. She
put her hand on his shoulder, the motion very deliberate and precise.

Divorced couple trick,
Nick thought.

Mom and Dad had moves like that, little gestures that all but spoke aloud,
We may not be married anymore, but we are completely united on this issue.

“We wanted you to see how lovable Ava and Jackson really are,” Brenda said. “Or at least, how much we love them.”

“You have to know what could be destroyed if you make any mistakes,” Michael added. He crossed his arm over his heart to put his hand on his ex-wife's, which still rested on his shoulder. “Our children's lives depend on you keeping their secret.”

“
Our
lives depend on you keeping the secret too,” Brenda said. “So do your parents'.”

But none of you are actually
alive,
are you?
Nick thought rebelliously.
You're just . . . fully charged. Functioning. Running smoothly. Adequately designed.

He was tempted to say this out loud; maybe Eryn would say something like it.

But just then Ava began to cry. Tears trembled in her eyelashes just as if she were a real girl.

“Please . . . ,” she whispered.

Jackson patted his sister's arm. His hair was mussed in the same way Nick's hair always got mussed. He had a little smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. He didn't look so perfect anymore.

He just looked human. Completely human.

“Please don't let us die,” he said.

THIRTY-FIVE

We're all in danger,
Eryn thought.

It felt like the craziest thought ever. She was sitting in her second-period social studies class the morning after the snow day, and the room was so peaceful and still she could hear the scratch of Angelina Biddle's pencil on her “Map of the United States” worksheet two rows over. First period, everyone had excitedly chattered about what they'd done on their day off—well, everyone except Nick and Eryn had. But now the whole class had settled into the usual routine. Mr. Carrera taught a lesson; he gave the class an assignment; the class did it. Even Eryn herself was absentmindedly coloring in the outlined states—green for Colorado, blue for Kansas, red for Nebraska. . . . The routine felt like a weight on her shoulders, holding her down, keeping her in her seat even as she longed to jump up and shout at everyone,
Do any of you know what's really going on? Did you ever
notice all the adults are robots? Do you know we're all in danger of going extinct—again?

Of course, it wasn't just the routine that held her down. It was also the fear that if she started talking, she wouldn't be able to stop, and she'd reveal too much. Saying
anything
would be too much, she guessed—she had promised to let all the other human children find out about Project Return of the Snowflakes at their own pace. And she was certain that every other kid in her class was human—she'd looked at their eyes to be sure. But what if she said something about Ava and Jackson that got Mom and Michael in trouble? Would Mom and Michael be taken away and thrown into prison? Would they be killed? (
Shut down,
her brain corrected.
Melted down for scrap. Recycled.
) Dad and Brenda would be taken away too; Ava and Jackson would almost certainly be destroyed.

Then what would happen to Nick and Eryn? Would someone adopt them? Would they be thrown into prison themselves? Or a mental hospital?

Someone tells you your entire species is in danger of extinction, and all you care about is what's going to happen to you and your family?
Eryn scolded herself.
When three-fourths of them aren't even human anyway?

Eryn put down her red pencil and rubbed her eyes, like she was still trying to erase everything she'd seen yesterday. If she hadn't seen the wires and circuits and motherboards inside (or hanging out of) Ava, Jackson, Brenda, and Mom, she wouldn't have believed a single word anyone said about robots or danger, human snowflakes or human extinction.

Eryn realized she was rubbing her eyes little-kid style: her hands balled into fists, rotating back and forth. This made her think of a game Mom had always tried to get her to play when she was little. Eryn had been a tantrum-thrower, and when Eryn cried and screamed inconsolably over dropped ice cream cones or stubbed toes or broken crayons, Mom would crouch down beside her and whisper, “Explain with words, not screams. What happened? How did that make you feel?”

I feel . . . mad,
Eryn thought now, and she was so surprised she stopped rubbing her eyes and just sat there. Now she probably looked like someone pretending her fists were binoculars, enabling her to look far off into the distance. That was okay for kindergartners, but it was the kind of thing that would get a sixth-grader labeled weird.

Normally Eryn tried very hard not to get labeled
weird, but she kept her hands right where they were.

Are
you mad?
She asked herself.

She was.

Buried under all the surprise and confusion and fear, she felt a huge, roiling lake of fury inside herself. Where Jackson's innards were entirely taken up with wires and circuitry, hers seemed to be nothing but rage.

She was mad at Mom and Michael for thinking Nick and Eryn could accept secret, hidden stepsiblings without question, without snooping.

She was mad at Michael and Brenda (and Mom and Dad and whoever else was involved) for breaking the law and creating Ava and Jackson in the first place.

She was mad at Mom for not telling them everything immediately, on the phone, the very first moment Eryn and Nick confessed they'd seen Jackson and Ava.

She was mad at Mom and Dad for getting divorced when they really didn't have to.

She was mad at Mom and the mayor for not spelling out exactly what would happen to Nick and Eryn if they ever told any other human about Project Snowflakes. Even if they just slipped up and did it by accident.

She was mad at the two people in the videotape—Dr. Grimaldi and Dr. Speck—for not explaining what
caused the extinction the first time around and what Eryn and Nick and the other Snowflakes needed to do to prevent humanity from ending forever.

I was raised by robots,
Eryn thought.
I expect logic. I expect to-do lists.

She was mad at the last generation of humans before hers for not stopping their own extinction their own stupid selves.

But most of all, she was mad at herself and Nick.

Why did we agree to leave City Hall before we had all our questions answered?
she wondered.
Why did we let Michael sidetrack us with Ava and Jackson? Why didn't we stay up all night asking questions? Why did we let Mom tuck us into bed like usual? Why did we let her pretend everything was normal this morning, and send us off to school like usual? Why am I sitting in social studies doing a worksheet that isn't even going to be graded when, for all I know, every second counts? When we could be on the brink of extinction and past the point of no return at any moment?

Eryn knew the answers to those questions. She and Nick had been shocked and confused and scared—and they still were. It'd been the easiest thing in the world to go back to their usual routine and pretend nothing had
changed. It would be the easiest thing in the world to go on pretending forever.

But I can't keep pretending,
Eryn thought.
Not the rest of my life. Not even the rest of this class.

Eryn took her hands off her face, uncovering her eyes.

And then she stood up.