When Good Toys Go Bad (4 page)

The supervisor stared at her screen. I must have been doing well controlling the adrenaline flooding my system because she appeared perplexed. The light on the comm pad went on, and she tapped her ear bud.

“You’re sure? I understand. Thank you.” Her expression never changed. She tapped the ear bud again. “Can you tell me why you did not return the Kai last night?”

I felt my pounding heart betray me. “I paid for another day this morning. I thought I could still have some—um—fun—when I got home.”

Her mouth scrunched up with disgust and I forgot myself.

“Don’t judge me, you close-minded Neanderthal.”

Now her face contorted into an angry sneer. “Get her out of my office. Let the police deal with her—and her missing plaything,” she added with venom.

My heart filled with hope. She had said missing. Not stolen, not overdue or anything like that. They must have gone to my pod and found it empty. Kai had done what I told him to do. He left when I didn’t call and now was safe in the caves on the eastern edge of the city, sheltered from detection by the iron ore in the rocks.

The intractable hand circled my arm again, pulling me up out of my chair. I tried to maintain a dignified expression as the ape in a skirt dragged me toward the exit, where two officers shoved me into a police tram.

We sped through the city, lights and sirens on. In the residential area, the multicolored lights of the police tram reflected off glass pods, making them look like rows of giant soap bubbles.

The young blonde officer, who couldn’t have been more than twenty, turned toward me. “I’ve never had to pick up someone of your level before. Whatcha do, kill the boss?”

“Nothing that exciting. They think I stole a Kai.”

“Why do they think that?”

“Because maybe I did.”

Both officers giggled.

Utterly professional. Law enforcement giggling like silly schoolgirls. And they judged me for falling in love with a strong, self-assured man.

The officers were much less brutal than The Consortium guards as they guided me into the station. This was my first time in a police station, and it did little to quell my suspicions. I had always suspected the police were at the very least biased toward The Consortium if not working for them outright. Low-Is in Consortium uniforms polished the same marble floors as in The Consortium offices. The furniture was identical, and the same frosted glass separated the lobby from what I assumed were the holding cells. The lieutenant at the front desk had on a black uniform, which was, besides the change in color, unnervingly similar to that of the guard at my office. I took a closer look. It wasn’t just the uniform that was similar. I blinked a couple of times.
 

“My sister,” she answered my confused expression in an identical baritone voice as the Consortium guard I had just left. “It’s my duty to inform you that you are being charged with two crimes. One count of stealing Consortium property and one count of corporate espionage.”

“Espionage?” I blurted out. “I would hardly call that espionage.”

“Did you access unauthorized information by illicit means?”

“Well—yes.”

“Espionage.”

The sinking feeling in my stomach returned with a vengeance. I had landed in even more trouble than I thought. I barely heard the lieutenant when she asked me all the usual questions—name, age, address, citizen number, intelligence level. She actually looked impressed when I answered fifteen, the highest level being seventeen.

“The officers will take you to your cell now.”

“Don’t I get to contact anyone?”

“Not with espionage charges. If you need to contact anyone, you can do it through your lawyer when she gets here.”

“What if I need to contact my lawyer?”

“Then give me her name and we will call her.” She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. I was pushing my luck with this woman, and she was about to blow up at me.

“I don’t have a lawyer. I’m fine with whoever you assign to me.”

“Good,” she said, walking away before I aggravated her any more.

The guards led me back to the holding area, a hallway with frosted-glass doors on either side. One of the guards touched a comm badge on her shirt and mumbled, “Open eighteen,” and part of the wall shimmered open, revealing the cell.

“Please put on the designated clothing and place your street clothes in the box. Your lawyer will be with you shortly.” She gave me a gentle shove into the cell and the door shimmered closed, leaving only a glass wall.

The cell was identical to my office, about two and a half by three meters. Instead of a desk and chairs, there was a cot and a box marked “Street Clothes”, both made of steel. On top of the cot lay a thin mattress, folded white bedding and a blue jump suit. The jump suit matched the Consortium ones, except instead of saying “Maintenance” on the back, it said “Inmate” in white block letters. A pair of athletic shoes completed the ensemble. I hadn’t worn those since my school days. I wasn’t sure I’d know how to walk in them anymore.

I changed into the clothes. It felt strange to wear flat shoes, and I found myself tripping over my own feet. As instructed, I folded my street clothes and placed them in the metal box, along with my shoes and all my jewelry.

I pictured Kai alone in the cave, sitting disheveled, cold and scared. Did he experience loneliness, fear or the elements? Was I projecting my own fears onto him? The sting of tears in my eyes preceded another shiver running through my body. Even though the cell was the same warm seventy-four degrees as the rest of the city, a chill took me over. A week ago my only problem had been how to stave off Brynn’s advances, and now… How did I get here?

I jumped when the door flickered open. A woman in her mid thirties with red hair—natural red, not fire red—stepped through, and the opening disappeared again.

“My name is Edana Murk. I’ll be representing you. I’ve read your files, and the case is pretty open and shut. I’ll have to do some fancy footwork to keep you out of prison. It would help if you told me the location of the merchandise you stole.”

“He’s not merchandise! And I have no idea where he is.”

“You’re not going to make my job easy, are you? If that’s the way you’re going to play it, I guess all I can do is see about getting bail set for you.”

She didn’t bother to ask any more questions. A flash of the door left me alone again.

“You made bail,” a voice bellowed from the door, waking me from an uneasy sleep. “Get your street clothes on quickly or you go home like that. You have three minutes.”

I kicked off my shoes, unzipped my jump suit and threw everything on the bed. The door opened as I was zipping up my skirt and stepping into my shoes at the same time.

When the lobby doors opened, I expected to see a bail bondsman or even Brynn. Instead I found my parents standing in the dank waiting room. Bema, my birthing mother, and my egg mother, Mema, looked both sad and disappointed. Typical of my whole life, Bema was crying and Mema’s face glowed red with her emotions. I immediately felt like the ten-year-old who broke Mema’s favorite vase, and I wanted to run.

Chapter Four

The ride home was exactly as I expected—silent, except for muffled sobs coming from the front of the tram. Mema’s face was as red as her artificially crimson hair. I think she dyed it that color to complement her fiery temper. Although a loving mother, she was unquestionably the disciplinarian. Bema, on the other hand, true to her untouched natural gray, was the heart of the family. The couple was a striking contrast both physically and in personality. Bema was nurturing and incapable of hiding her emotions. Right now was a perfect example. Tears ran down her face, leaving meandering paths in her makeup. Her whole body shook with the emotion she couldn’t contain.

The front door had barely closed when Mema let loose. “How dare you embarrass us like this?” She threw her coat at Bema, who managed to catch part of a sleeve before it fell to the floor.

I wanted to scream back in defiance, “I didn’t do anything wrong, I just fell in love.” But the daughter in me, who was still afraid of Mema, muttered a pitiful, “I’m sorry.”

“You should be, young lady. Not only did we have to miss a whole day of work to pick you up at the police station, but we find out you’ve been messing with a mandroid!” She kicked off her black pumps. “That stunt you pulled at the home office is all over Consortinet. I’d be surprised if it didn’t make tonight’s broadcast. Then, to top it all off, the front guard called to tell us you were in jail. I’ve never been so mortified. If it weren’t for the lawyer they assigned you, you’d still be sitting in that cell.”

“I thought you were seeing that lovely Brynn girl.” Bema’s voice shook with the aftermath of her crying.

“Oh, shut up, Aprika, and go make us some dinner.”

I always cringed when Mema yelled at Bema like a child. But Bema obeyed, heading off to the kitchen, forgetting to take her own coat off or put Mema’s down.

From an outsider’s perspective, Mema would sound harsh, but this is how my family works. Mema is the disciplinarian and Bema is the nurturer. They balance each other out.

When Bema had left, Mema focused her attention on me.

“I don’t understand, Darra. Why would you risk your career, your freedom, our reputation on an android?” I had never seen her cry before, but when I looked up, a tear fought its way out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry, Mema. I know you don’t understand. He’s not just an android. He thinks and feels, and I love him.”

Mema’s lips pursed. She sucked in a deep breath. “You can’t be in love with him. He’s not human. Why can’t you fall in love with a nice girl and settle down? There’s something wrong with you. I’ll call the doctor in the morning.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I guess I’m a throwback to the old days. Kai feels as right as girls, and there’s something missing in my life without him.”

“Do you hear what you’re saying? That would be like me saying I was in love with the food dispenser. If I told you that, you’d say I was crazy and ship me off to the reconditioning center.”

“Not if the food dispenser loved you back!”

Mema’s hands tightened into fists, and her knuckles faded to white. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. We stood staring at each other, a mental game of chicken. Usually I would have backed down. This time it was beyond my will. I stood defiant, rooted in place. I didn’t shift my weight from side to side or wring my hands. None of the telltale signs I was about to crumble. I was resolute in the knowledge that this is who I am and what I loved. If she wanted to be part of my life, she had to accept it.

“Dinner,” Bema sang out in her usual “nothing bad is going on here” way.

Our kitchen represented a typical family pod, though Bema had put her own decorative touches on the room. My childhood artwork covered the bright yellow walls. I’m saddened to admit the fifteen-year-old artist in me was not any more talented than the six-year-old one. The food dispenser was a standard one-by-one-meter box, with a glass front allowing you to see when your food materialized. The sonic dishwasher was a silver box protruding from the wall next to the food dispenser. Mema had bought the newest model with the magnetic lock that had no handle. Instead, there was a thumbprint which you touched to open the door or seal it shut. Under the dishwasher was the spigot, which dispensed Consortium water. We were allotted two liters of drinking water per person, per day.

“Your favorite, ham and potatoes.” Bema put the plate in the middle of the glass table. Now I’ve seen pictures of pigs, and I’m pretty sure they weren’t round. I’m also fairly certain the white circle in the middle was supposed to be bone, instead of the same meat in a different color. But Bema was right, this was my favorite. Though, I wasn’t terribly hungry at the moment, and, judging from the way she pushed her food around the plate, neither was Mema.

We ate in strained silence. Every once in a while, one of us would shift in her chair and open her mouth, but no conversation materialized. I longed to go home to the privacy of my own pod, but since I had been released into my parents’ custody, I was forced to stay with them.

“I’m going to bed,” I announced, standing up from the table, my ham still staring up at me from the plate with its one eye.

My bedroom remained exactly the same. All the holopics I didn’t take with me when I moved out still hung. My single-size bed hugged the wall, covered in the crystal-design bedspread I picked out from the catalog when I was five. I lay on my back and stared up at the hexagon-patterned ceiling. It was never entirely dark in the city. Even at night a soft blue hue leaked into the room.

I heard the hushed voices of my parents as they retired to their room. Another half hour and they would be asleep. I hoped Bema would forgive me. It was all beyond my control. I couldn’t help what I had done, nor what I was about to do.

Silence blanketed the pod. I peered out the window. There was no sign of Consortium agents watching. Tiptoeing down the hallway, I stopped outside the door to my parents’ room. If I listened hard enough, I heard the familiar and usually comforting sound of Mema snoring. I disabled the alarm, something I learned to do during my misspent teenage years, and slipped out the front door.