by Max Barry
“Hi, Carl.” The light from the corridor made it hard to see his face. “How are you?”
He didn’t move. Lola peeked around me.
Still nothing. He was wearing his security uniform, although that looked different, too. “There has been a strange series of events,” I said. “I don’t know which side of the story you heard, but …”
Carl stepped into the room. What was different about him became clear. I hadn’t clicked earlier because Carl had always been big. But not this big. Not so big he had to turn sideways to fit through a door.
His arms were concealed beneath his uniform. But where his hands protruded from his sleeves they were thick blocks of gray metal. They looked like sledgehammers. I had never seen these before.
“Miss Shanks,” Carl said. “You were always very kind to me.”
His eyes moved to mine. In that moment it was clear to me that Carl knew I had asked Cassandra Cautery to get rid of him.
“In appreciation of that,” he said, “I will give you a head start.”
CARL’S PANT legs jutted in odd places. When he stepped, steel gleamed between his pants and boots. He did not have metal legs. But he had something on his legs. A kind of exoskeleton, like scaffolding. It made sense. You couldn’t weld titanium to a man’s shoulders. It would crush him. But this annoyed me. An exoskeleton was a hack. It was layering technology on top of a broken system. It was a failure to address the root problem.
Carl stopped at a service elevator and swiped his ID card. This was interesting because a moment ago Carl’s hands had been blocks of stone. Now they had split into fingers supple enough to grasp the tag. It seemed they could separate into at least four digits, then come together to deliver a punching force. That wasn’t a bad idea, for security guard hands.
“This will open in the garage. Then you’re on your own. I advise you to run.”
Lola and I shuffled inside. Lola said, “Thank you, Carl.”
“I’m not doing you a favor. I’m repaying a debt.”
Lola looked at me. “Um,” I said. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”
The elevator doors began to close. Carl raised a hand to block them. His fist was a block again. “Pardon me?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For asking them to get rid of me? Is that what you mean? For having them take away my arms because you didn’t want to share your parts? Is that what you’re talking about? The time I spent in a bed with a button to push with my foot when I needed someone to help me go to the bathroom? That?”
He lowered his arm. I heard the thin whine of servomagnetics. The elevator door began to close.
“Don’t apologize,” Carl said. “I have my own parts now.”
LOLA WAS silent as the elevator descended. I risked a glance at her: she stared straight ahead, her arms stiff. I said, “Do you think this elevator really takes us to the garage, or is it a trap?”
“Did you take Carl’s arms away?”
“I don’t think it’s the best time to discuss this.”
“Did you make them take away his arms?”
“They weren’t his arms,” I said, but Lola’s lips thinned to a dramatic slash and I decided to drop this argument. “Let’s talk later.”
“I’m disappointed, Charlie.”
I felt bad. My tetrodotoxin had worn off. I knew it wasn’t my top priority but I wished Lola wouldn’t be disappointed. The elevator thumped to a stop. The doors seemed to take a long time to open. I held out my arms. “Come here.” Her eyebrows dived like submarines. “I need to carry you.”
The doors slid apart. At first I couldn’t see anything. There was too much contrast: the bright elevator, the dark garage, the brilliant rectangle where the ramp led to sunshine. I should have been wearing Eyes. But the shouting was clear. I heard phrases like there he is and take him.
Lola jumped into my arms. I wrapped them around her and accelerated into the darkness. The Contours punched the concrete like rifle shots. Lola slipped out of my grasp and slid around my side. I hadn’t realized how much I’d adapted to the Contours: how I leaned with them as they moved, how a tiny click near the hip meant they were about to jag, and I should compensate. These things were far more difficult with another human being in my arms. Lola’s fingers clawed at me. I got hold of her, then the Contours sidestepped a guard I hadn’t even seen and Lola yelped and slipped all the way onto my back. Her legs locked around my waist. Her arms gripped my neck in a choke hold. My eyes watered. There was a noise like a metal waterfall breaking on concrete that sounded like a spark gun I had seen in the previous year’s prototype demos and I was pretty sure it was neither noncrippling nor nonlethal. We burst into sunlight. Lola bounced around to my front. The top of her skull popped me on the nose. We hit the road, clinging to each other like lovers, who were very angry with each other. Safe, I willed the Contours. Take me somewhere safe.
AT SOME point we stopped. Lola climbed off me, slowly and painfully. I saw a leafy suburban street. It looked odd, like something from a TV show, and I realized why: I had grown up here. The Contours had brought me back to my childhood.
“You have blood on your chin,” said Lola.
I wiped it with my sleeve. There was a lot. Most seemed to be from my biceps. Where I had been shot. Where I had been shot. I knew this already but felt shocked all over again. I shivered. I was cold and hot and dizzy. “I think I’m going into shock,” I said. I didn’t know the technical definition but this felt like it.
Lola walked a few feet away and sat on the grass. She seemed to be watching her shoes.
I put my arms around myself and squeezed. I wondered who lived in that house now. Maybe if I knocked on the door they would invite me in for chocolate milk and let me watch TV.
“You’re selfish,” said Lola.
I looked at her. That seemed unfair.
“I didn’t think the idea was to be better than everyone else. I didn’t think this was competitive.”
I wondered what would happen to the Contours if I fainted. They would probably just stand here, with me slumped over.
“Is it about getting revenge on jocks who were mean to you in high school? Is that what you’re doing?”
I squinted. It seemed odd that Lola could have such a wrong idea about me. She didn’t seem to understand me as well as the Contours did.
“We are supposed to help people,” Lola told her shoes.
The tetrodotoxin had definitely worn off. I decided to argue. It would be my first fight with a girl since elementary school.
“I’m a prosthetist,” said Lola. “I give parts to people.”
“Just say you love Carl.”
Her head turned toward me. In the dusk, her face looked slightly unreal. “What?”
“You love him. Him and his new arms.”
“I love Carl?”
“Sssssuh,” I said, which was going to be the start of something but I forgot what.
“What?”
“Go and marry him, then.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Nung,” I said. My head lolled. I felt dizzy. Something passed overhead; a bird or spaceship. The world was getting heavy. It was darkening at the edges. I tried to calculate the chemical reactions of everything sloshing around in my veins, the adrenaline and beta blockers and analgesics, but the equations slipped away and merged with one another. What did you get if you dissolved one chemical equation in another? It was a good question.
Charlie, said Lola. I peered at her because her lips were moving but making no sound. Then I realized they were but I was listening to the wrong frequency, in my head. I was lolled back in the Contours, looking at sky. Lola was trying to keep me upright. “Charlie!”
“What,” I said.
“We need to get you to a hospital.” She looked around. “Shit. Not a hospital. They’ll find us.”
“Who.”
“The … Better Future. The people who will kill us to cover up their illegal human trials of artificial body parts.
Remember?”
“I need … to sit … down.”
“You are sitting down.”
I looked at the Contours. That was right.
“Charlie. Stay with me.”
Somewhere, a dog barked. Strands of Lola’s brown hair floated on the breeze.
“I know somewhere. A friend from the hospital. She lives near here.”
“A friend?”
“Yeah. Charlie. Charlie.”
“What?”
“You need to walk a little farther.”
I looked at her. I guessed our fight was over. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
WE CLIMBED steps to a neat suburban house and stood on its darkened porch. Lola raised her hand to ring the bell, then hesitated. “One thing. Don’t criticize her dogs.”
“Why would I criticize her dogs?”
“I’m not saying you would. Just don’t.”
The logical inconsistency temporarily overwhelmed my pain and exhaustion. I was that kind of guy. “You must feel I would. Otherwise why mention it?”
“Forget it.”
“Is something wrong with her dogs?”
“No, but she loves them, and if you say something, it will be awkward.”
“Okay.” Pain rising. “I won’t mention the dogs.”
“Do mention them. Just say nice things.”
“I’ll say she has very attractive dogs.”
“Don’t say that! That sounds creepy.”
“What should I say? Lola! Tell me what to say!”
She rang the doorbell. “Say you like their outfits.”
The yapping began. Lola had not mentioned how many dogs: clearly there were many. And they were small. I could tell.
The porch light flicked on. I was mildly shocked at Lola’s appearance: her eyes were sunken shadows, her Better Future sweater stained with dust and blood. We would not make a great first impression.
The door opened and a woman stood framed in the doorway in a satin dressing gown, holding what I thought was a purse until it barked. Additional small dogs stood behind each of her ankles, barking. They were clad in little red-and-green tunics. The woman threw an arm around Lola. Lola burst into tears. Over Lola’s shoulder, the woman took in my face, body, legs. I knew her, I realized. It was Dr. Angelica Austin.
“Can we come in?”
Dr. Angelica hesitated. She had tried to get me classified as a psych case. That seemed rich, now I knew she kept a house full of tiny dressed dogs. “Of course. Of course.” She held open the door. For a moment I thought she was going to close it before I could follow Lola. Possibly she thought that as well. But her lips twitched and she let me pass. As I entered the hallway a dog darted between my legs and I almost stood on it. I had to manually instruct the Contours to halt. The dog was too small to trigger my automatic collision avoidance. I thought, That could be a problem.
Dr. Angelica closed the door. “I shouldn’t be surprised.” The dog in her arms stared at me. I didn’t know what it was thinking. But it was something.
“We’re in trouble,” Lola said. “We need help.”
I closed my eyes. I was done. I saw the Manager fly backward out the window. His eyes stayed on me the whole time.
“Charlie.”
I opened my eyes. Cassandra Cautery was there, shoulder-to-shoulder with Lola. “Sorry,” I croaked.
“He goes in and out,” said Lola.
Cassandra Cautery nodded. It wasn’t Cassandra Cautery. It was Dr. Angelica. They didn’t look anything alike. “Let me take a look at that arm.”
“Don’t take my arms.” Dr. Angelica’s deep brown eyes were like her dog’s. They had similar expressions, too. Now I knew what that dog was thinking: This guy is trouble.
I DIPPED in and out of consciousness. I became aware of Lola and Dr. Angelica unstitching me from the nerve interface as if receiving telegrams about it. It was data without information.
“I warned you,” said Dr. Angelica.
“I know,” said Lola.
“This is exactly like that transtibial.”
“It’s not. He loves me. You don’t know, Angelica. He risked his life for me.”
“You’re the first person to treat him like a human being since he lost a limb. Of course he loves you. They all love you, at first.”
“Let’s not do this.”
I opened my eyes because there was a tugging sensation on my arm. Dr. Angelica was sewing up my skin with surgical thread.
Lola stroked my hair. “It’s okay, Charlie.” I was lying in her lap. “She’s fixing you.”
I closed my eyes.
“What’s wrong with this guy, I doubt I can fix.”
“Stop it.”
“He’s a self-injurer. I didn’t even want to release him.”
“You don’t understand.”
“That’s what you said last time. And the time before that. And don’t say, ‘It’s different.’ I’ve heard that before, too. I heard it before that footless wonder tried to beat you to death with a chair.”
“He had problems.”
“It’s always a man with something missing, it’s always you trying to put him back together, and it always ends badly. Tell me, Lola. Look at me and tell me what attracted you to this guy. It was the fact that he was short a leg.”
“Okay. It was. Of course it was. But so what? Can’t that turn into something else? Something good?”
“It’s weird, Lola. I love you, but this thing you have for amputees, it’s not good for you.”
“You like guys with good arms. You’re attracted to … to muscle fiber. Isn’t that weird? Liking a guy because of his bone structure, or the color of his eyes? Aren’t those weird things? I love Charlie. And maybe when it started it was weird, but it’s all weird. This whole process of trying to find a person who fits you is weird. Why does how he smells make a difference to how I feel about him? The sound of his voice? The shape of his face? I don’t know. But I don’t think there’s a way for people to fall in love that isn’t weird.”
A thin pain penetrated my bubble world. “Urk,” I said.
“Be careful with him.”
“It’s a scratch,” said Dr. Angelica. “The bullet barely nicked him.” But she sounded mollified. “I’m being gentle.”
“Thank you,” said Lola.
I WOKE happy. It was dark. I didn’t know where I was. But I had come from a wonderful dream, in which I held Lola close and was safe. I lay still, not wanting to disturb it, but reality filtered in, bringing complications like the fact that I was being pursued by a vengeful security guard with multifunction sledgehammer arms. Still, it wasn’t so bad. All problems were insignificant compared to Lola saying, “I love him.” With Lola, everything was solvable. She was my independent variable.
On the ceiling above my head was a poster of a dinosaur. I turned my head. There were dinosaur pictures everywhere. In one corner, toy trucks overflowed from a basket. This was a kid’s room. In fact, now I looked at it, this was a small bed. Very small. I raised my head. I was not wearing legs.
My toes spasmed. My foot curled. My calves turned to screaming steel and the fact that none of this was real made no difference. I threw back the covers and massaged the space where my shrieking muscles would be but I knew it would do no good without the Contours and was right. Tears streamed from my eyes. When was the last time you took painkillers? my brain asked. Twelve hours ago? Sixteen? Everything will hurt so much worse now.
“Legs!” I screamed. “I need my legs!”
“TOAST?” SAID Lola. “There’s peanut butter. I could make you peanut butter toast.”
On TV, a nurse with remarkable cleavage stared out a window. The handsome doctor behind her said she would never get away with this.
“What’s that?” said Lola. “Yes or no?”
“Coffee.”
“You’ve had enough coffee.” She came out of the kitchen. I was standing in my Contours in the middle of the living roo
m, watching TV. To make room, I had hoofed the sofa out of the way. It now sat against the wall, occupied by three aggrieved dogs. One wore a little faux-leather jacket. I hoped that dog was not supposed to be Elvis. “Why don’t you have some water?”
“I don’t want water.” The TV doctor wrapped the nurse into a passionate embrace. That was an unexpected development.
Lola came over. “Charlie, I know you’re coming down. But water will help.”
I gestured at my bandaged arm. “Will it help this?”
“Angelica says that’s a scratch.”
“I think it’s infected.”
Lola fell silent. “Well, she can look again tonight.”
Dr. Angelica had gone to work. She would, allegedly, bring home painkillers. In the meantime I had to survive on over-the-counter drugs. It was a major pharmacological decrease from my regular level of medication. Every yap from those dressed-up rats was a knife in my brain.
“I’ll make you toast,” said Lola. “And bring water.”
She went into the kitchen. I didn’t want to be irritable. It was my body, punishing me for the lack of painkillers. Lola took your parts, said my body. She took your legs while you slept. I ignored this. I was not going to get into a debate with my body. I would give it what it wanted. But one day, it would pay for this. Better Future was not the only research lab in the world. I would figure something out. This was not over, and I knew that was true because it had to be.
DR. ANGELICA arrived home at 6:18. Every muscle in my body was made of glass. My bowels were panicked and my nerves easily startled. I had nearly trodden on tiny scampering dogs so many times that I was ready to do it on purpose.
They heard Dr. Angelica’s approach before I did and went into a barking frenzy, throwing themselves down the corridor and pawing at the door. I had a moment of terror that maybe it was Carl, then Dr. Angelica dropped to her knees and scooped up as many as she could, laughing as they squirmed and licked her face. It was kind of disgraceful. I mean, I understand it’s nice to see each other, but have some dignity. You don’t need to roll over and expose your genitals. I don’t know how anyone can appreciate devotion that slavish. It’s not objective. I have a similar issue with religion.
