The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Cox, Matthew S.

  Kevin raised his rifle and advanced with caution. “Hello? Is anyone there? Heard there was a computer guy around here somewhere?”

  “We’re not a threat,” yelled Tris. “We need help.”

  After twenty seconds of no reaction, he walked forward again. At the end of the docking tunnel, the airplane door sat closed. Where once a window had been, a panel of metal and wiring had been installed, with a little eight-by-eight-inch screen. Kevin edged up to it, looking for a button or something.

  “Where’s the doorbell?” He chuckled.

  The screen buzzed and crackled to life, displaying a monochromatic green face: a low-res image with dark lines banded across it. Sunken cheeks and heavy goggles coupled with the grainy portrait left age a matter of debate, though the figure seemed male, and at least adult. “Who goes there?”

  Kevin glanced left and low from the screen, at a naked two-inch speaker hanging on wires. “Heard you’re good with computers and stuff. We need someone who can access data from an implant.”

  The face grew in the screen, as the man hovered closer to the lens. “Interesting… what sort of data?”

  Tris moved up. “I escaped the Enclave. I’m carrying data for the resistance that might have the cure for the Virus.”

  “Wow. I haven’t seen one of you in a couple years.” The man leaned back. “I didn’t think they made your series anymore.”

  Kevin glared.

  “Made me?” Tris raised an eyebrow.

  “You look like a Persephone infiltrator. Assassin androids developed a few years before the war.” The green face moved up and down as if examining her. “Remarkable.”

  Tris shivered. “I-I’m not an android. I have cyberware.”

  “I’m curious enough to risk opening the door,” said the man. “You should know… and this is not a bluff… I am wearing a bio monitor which will trigger a release of nerve agent if my heart stops.”

  “We’re not here to hurt you.” Kevin smiled. “We just want some answers.”

  “Come in. Turn right and go to the stairs.”

  The door buzzed and clicked. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and grasped the corner of the metal window plug. A light tug pulled the curved slab of airplane to the side, letting cool air blow out the gap. Kevin ducked in first, coughing on the overwhelming smell of instant ramen and unflushed toilet. The cabin, at least by the entrance, had been converted into storage space. Boxes upon boxes stacked up in the seats. He moved past them, not curious enough to rummage.

  Tiny orb cameras, smaller than a fist, swiveled to follow them as they moved down the aisle to a narrow spiral stairway up. Tris seemed barely able to resist shaking as she followed him to the second level, where a thin man in a black tee shirt and Hawaiian-patterned shorts waited for them near a bar counter. He was as short and scrawny as Kevin expected, with oily brown hair draped to his shoulders.

  The area resembled a college dorm room more than the lounge/bar of a jumbo jet. If passenger seating had existed in here, this person had replaced it with sofas, a coffee table, and more pieces of random technology than Kevin’s brain was able to deal with. Wires, monitors, and circuit boards occupied every available surface, as well as the floor.

  Kevin whistled at the gathering of tech. “So, uhh… whatever your name is… you can get at the implant in her head?”

  “Call me Terminal9, and maybe.” He made no effort to conceal his interest in Tris’s chest.

  “Wow, your parents must not have liked you much.” Kevin chuckled.

  “It’s an online handle.” The man frowned. “Not my real name.”

  “I’m Kevin. What do you mean online? There is no ‘online’ left.”

  Terminal9 flashed a patronizing smile. “Oh, there is… but it’s pretty small. A scattered collection of radio terminals, repeaters, and servers all over. Couple hundred users.”

  “Great,” said Kevin. “So, can you read her head or what?”

  “Let’s have a look.” Terminal9 approached Tris.

  She pulled her hair aside, exposing a tiny silver plug behind her left ear. The techie hovered close, as if trying to peer into it like a peephole in a door. Tris made a gagging face. Kevin looked away to hide his amusement.

  “Yeah. I think I can get at whatever’s in there.” He looked at Kevin. “This unit’s in remarkably good shape. Where’d you find it?”

  Tris gazed at the floor.

  Kevin grabbed his shirt, pulling the little man up on tiptoe. “Her. Tris isn’t an android.”

  “Self-repairing body? Superhuman reflexes, strong, doesn’t get tired?” Terminal9 tilted his head.

  “She also bleeds red.” Kevin narrowed his eyes, but let the man down. “And I’ve seen her get tired.”

  “Of course. What good would an infiltrator be if it was obviously fake?” The techie headed for the cockpit area. “This way…”

  The next segment of plane appeared to be the ‘master bedroom,’ where Terminal9 had cobbled together an enormous sleeping platform from three twin beds. Screens flashed images of pornography here and there between hanging posters of nude or bikini-clad models. Much of the scenery depicted cartoony women in various states of molestation by tentacles, and the printouts looked ready to fall apart at a stiff breeze. The techie continued past it all down a short stretch between rows of first-class seats, and opened an armored door to the flight deck, allowing brain-tenderizing noise to flood the room. Kevin and Tris cringed, holding their ears until the din ceased.

  “What the hell was that?” yelled Kevin.

  “All That Remains,” said Terminal9. “Metal. You know… music?”

  “All what remains?” Kevin stuck his pinky finger in his ear and wiggled it.

  “It was a group.” Terminal9 scoffed. “Don’t you have any appreciation for culture?”

  “What were they doing to that man?” asked Tris.

  “He was singing.” Terminal9 flailed his arms. “Oh, forget it.” He pointed at a chair by a stack of electronic components. “Sit there and take off your shirt.”

  Tris squinted, looking unsure. “Is that necessary?”

  “Not procedurally, no… but my fee for helping you is a few tittie pictures.”

  Kevin took two stomps forward before Tris raised her hand.

  “Okay… but if you touch me in any way other than connecting a wire, I’m going to twist your head off.”

  “Tris…” Kevin stared at her.

  “Let him look. He’s maybe one of four people left in the world capable of accessing this data who isn’t Enclave.” She handed the AK to Kevin.

  “Easy,” said Terminal9. “Nerve agent.”

  “And you think I’m an android, so why should I be worried about nerve gas.” Tris pulled her shirt off over her head.

  The techie seemed to get weak in the knees at the sight. “Perfect…”

  Kevin looked away from the man’s obvious enthusiasm. “I can hold my breath for a long time.”

  Tris sat in the chair. When the techie reached for a camera, she folded her arms over her breasts. “That happens after we have the data.”

  “F-fine…” Terminal9 smiled. With shaking hands, he uncoiled a wire and connected one end to a device the size of a stereo component. He handed her the other end. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  She looked at the silvery plug. “Looks like the right type of connector.” After a nervous breath, she leaned her head to the side and connected it, shuddering. “I hate the way that click vibrates my skull.”

  Terminal9 raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Okay, hold on.”

  The man flopped in a seat and swiveled around with his back to her. Four computer monitors flickered to life in front of him and he poked his finger at a few icons before typing like mad on a keyboard. Kevin, wearing the fancy assault rifle over his back and holding her AK, stood as still as he could manage. He looked anywhere but at Tris or Terminal9; catching sight of either of them made him too angry. One of the side windows had been smashed out,
allowing a thick bundle of duct-tape-wrapped cables in from the outside, which snaked through the copilot’s flight yoke before breaking up into individual strands that went to individual components. The techie hovered over his screen, swiping his hand over a trackball to navigate a menu composed of green bars and blue spheres.

  “Okay, there’s a file in there.” Terminal9 held up an imperious finger, which he drove downward into the rubberized keyboard. “Downloading now.”

  “It’s getting warm.” Tris kept her arms folded over herself. “Feels strange.”

  Terminal9 spun his seat around, squeaking. “I’m pulling the data out a little faster than the hardware was meant to handle. It’ll feel hot, but it shouldn’t hurt anything.”

  At the sight of Tris shivering, Kevin took a knee by the chair and offered a hand. She took it.

  Terminal9 leaned forward, staring at the exposed breast. “Fascinating. I’ve never seen one this close before.”

  “No shit,” said Kevin. “I got that feeling from your wallpaper.”

  The techie frowned. “No, asshole, I mean a Persephone. I almost can’t even see the seams.”

  “Wait, so you think she’s a robot but you still wanna take pictures for your spank bank?”

  Terminal9 smiled. “Hey, she’s realistic.”

  Tris curled into Kevin’s side.

  “Tris is not a goddamned android. She is real.” Kevin set the AK on the floor so he could put an arm around her.

  “Oh boy. You’re sleeping with it aren’t you?” Terminal9 shook his head. “Now I understand the defensiveness. You don’t want to admit you’re getting jiggy with a toaster. Got some balls givin’ me ‘tude about my anime ladies.”

  “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill this little prick.” Kevin stood.

  Tris pulled him back. “No. Don’t.”

  The machine beeped. Tris flinched at the same instant.

  “File transfer completed.” Terminal9 kicked off the floor, spinning his chair in a graceful twist before a bare foot on a file cabinet stopped him. “Let’s see what we got.”

  A list of text scrolled down the screen. A few seconds later, music blared out of the speakers. Terminal9 pushed himself back around, hand over his mouth. He sat still for a moment, before pulling his fingers away and smacking his lips.

  “Never mind about the tittie pictures… I can’t…”

  Kevin handed Tris her shirt. “What? What is it?”

  Tris bit her lip, bundling the leather garment in her lap as she leaned forward. “What is it?”

  The hacker exhaled hard. “Well… you were almost correct. She does have The Cure in her head, but… not for any virus. Her implant is carrying Mp3 files… the entire discography of a band named The Cure.” As soon as I opened the file, it had a script that forced a particular song to play… uhh, called ‘Burn.’”

  “Wow…” Kevin stared at the wall. “Nathan really is that kind of asshole.”

  “No…” Tris slouched and sobbed.

  Kevin unplugged the wire and pulled her shirt over her head.

  “I’ll, umm… leave you two some privacy.” Terminal9 stood. “Please don’t touch any of the equipment? Thanks…” He slid past them and scooted out to the bedroom area.

  Tris cried for a few minutes before flopping back in the chair like a marionette. No strength seemed to exist in her limbs. Kevin reached up under her shirt and threaded her arms into the sleeves, dressing her like a toddler.

  “You said it was bullshit.” She continued gazing into space. “I was so convinced I had the cure.”

  You, uhh… did. He cringed. “It’s okay. It didn’t cost us anything but time to come here.”

  She sniffled. “It’s hopeless. The Virus is going to wipe everyone out. Doctor Andrews… we were supposed to stop them.”

  Kevin looked around, wanting to smash something. The way she seemed… dead… clawed at him, making him feel helpless to do anything about it. He squeezed her hands and tried to pull her to her feet. “Hey, come on. Zoe’s counting on us to find her family.”

  Tris continued to stare into nowhere. “Why? They’ll only get sick and die like everyone else. How could I have been so stupid?”

  Kevin shook her by the shoulders, but she remained limp. Great. I knew this was a damn mistake. He looked at the door. “Hey, Term… how do you shut this shit off? I can’t hear myself think?”

  He closed his eyes and let his forehead rest on her shoulder.

  37

  Junk

  Nothing mattered anymore. Tris lost herself to memories of home. She tried to think back to growing up, of being a child with two loving, albeit surrogate, parents. All that came to her were fleeting glimpses that felt a little too much like purposefully arranged ‘memory bytes’ designed to create an illusion of a life. Did I really have a father? When he ‘died,’ and I got reassigned to a new family… were they the ones who bought me?

  “Tris?” Kevin jostled her. “It’s not the end of the world. That already happened. Come on, come back to me.”

  She focused on the image of an older man, thin, with long white hair. Daddy. He had to be sixty… how could he be her father? That’s the man who made me… I’m a robot. He was the designer.

  Kevin tried to drag her upright, but her legs held no weight. She slumped to her knees. “Tris, knock it off.”

  “It’s all a waste of time. Humanity is doomed. The Enclave already won.”

  He lifted her back into the chair. “Don’t make me slap you. Come on.”

  “That’s why my cell had no toilet. I’m a robot. The little guy’s right. I’m… That’s why they want to kill me so badly. I’m probably top secret. They knew the data was fake.”

  She slipped into old memories again, hours upon hours of being confined in a tiny octagonal room for refusing to have children with a man she detested. Is that a lie too? The more she tried to picture Dovarin’s face, the more indistinct he became. Was he real? Maybe he was one of the programmers… a convenient face to insert into fake memories. She gazed at the time display hovering like a cyan specter at the corner of her view. I don’t have an optic nerve. I’m a machine.

  Tris felt herself crying again. She made eye contact with Kevin. He looked frightened and clueless, like an overgrown boy lost without his mom. He doesn’t want me anymore. He’s horrified at what I am.

  When she turned, he grasped her chin and made her look at him again. “Tris. Don’t let that bastard win. Nathan’s an asshole. He used you. I told you all along the data was horseshit. They’d never let it out. You didn’t fail. It never was.”

  He thinks I’m a monster. She shied away from him, staring at the stack of electronic components. Maybe those are my family.

  “Tris!” He grabbed her arms and pulled her standing, supporting all her weight.

  She sniveled at the look he gave her. Hurt. Maybe he had loved her, but who could love a toaster. “Go on… I can’t.”

  “Tris,” he whispered. “This isn’t you.”

  “Leave me alone. I know I’m an android now… I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.” She yelled and pushed away, falling back into the chair. “Go on… go get your coins and roadhouse and sell shitty beer to idiots. That’s all you ever cared about anyway.”

  He sucked air in his nostrils. A sudden motion made her flinch, expecting a slap―or fist, but he stormed out without laying a hand on her. At the thuds of his boots on the airplane floor growing quiet, she cringed, curled tighter on the chair, and sobbed.

  Silence lasted for some time before Terminal9 risked walking in. “Hey… Uhh, what happened?”

  She stared at the floor.

  “Guess you had him fooled huh? Hey, I have no issues with cross-species mixing… Since he’s gone… if you uhh, get lonely or anything…”

  “Nerve gas will come out if you die, right? Since I’m an android, it won’t hurt me, right?”

  “Most people would just say ‘no thanks’ or maybe ‘go fuck yourself.’” He chuckled, raising h
is hands. “Take it easy.”

  Kevin…

  Tris grabbed the armrests and leapt up, causing Terminal9 to yelp and scurry away. At the sound of electric tires peeling out, she ran across the bedroom, down the stairs, and down the length of the plane. She flung open a door near the tail, teetering on the edge and staring at a receding plume of dust. The Challenger, a tiny black dot at the head.

  He really doesn’t want me anymore. She slumped to the floor, sitting with her feet dangling. Out below her, miles of scrap and junk stretched as far as she could see. A rattle caught her notice a moment later, from a metal chain ladder that must have fallen when she shoved the door open. Terminal9 kept his distance, not having bothered to leave the safety of the upstairs.

  Tris stared at the car until the ever-shrinking black dot vanished amid the terrain. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling every beat of her heart… or every simulated sensation fed to an electronic brain trying to convince her she had one.

  Images of being carried into Wayne’s, bound hand and foot, returned to her mind. The tightness of phantom rope gripped her skin. If I’m an android, why couldn’t I break free? She stared at her wrists, wiggling her fingers around and watching what appeared to be tendons move beneath the skin. I am as strong as a big man… too strong for this little body. Not superhuman. Easier to hide.

  She replayed killing Neon’s bodyguards. Four men dead in seconds. Tactical computer coupled with neural accelerators and dexterity boosts? Or did she have electric muscles and a computer between her ears?

  Desks appeared in her daydream. Thirteen years old, sitting in school and surrounded by other children her age. All but five with white hair too. The teacher, a pleasant-faced older man in a crisp black jumpsuit, wandered back and forth while rattling on about advanced artificial intelligences. He explained how they evolved to a point where they could pass something he called the Turing Test, capable of emotional mimicry, empathy, and sentience. Her vision focused in on the tip of a pen in her fingers, doodling a silly, smiling anime catgirl head. School had been boring. Most kids hated being there, and she didn’t remember being any different.