“You better run!” Tara shouted after Dixie, her hands balled into fists. She reached out and patted Daisy. “Good girl.”
Vick eyed Daisy with newfound respect, marveling at how brilliantly she’d fought. She’d figured out that she could hold weapons, and Tiny couldn’t, in about two seconds. She’d identified Tiny’s weak points just as quickly. How could she know how to do these things? No robot could fight like that without a human directing it.
“You said you didn’t know what Daisy could do, because her brain was made from a chip you found in the dump. What chip? What did you salvage it from?”
“I didn’t salvage it from anything. I found it the other day. You were there. Remember? You told me to stop screwing around with it and keep digging.”
He remembered. “You said it was weird.”
“It is weird. I don’t get it at all.”
And now the entire dump was sectioned off, and an army of people working for a watchdog kingpin were sifting through it.
Did you find it yet? Ms. Alba had asked Stripe.
His heart shifted gears, pounding slow and hard. “You found it right on top, didn’t you? You barely had to dig.”
“That’s right. How did you know that?”
“Because it had just been dumped. Someone threw it out by accident, and Ms. Alba is combing the entire dump to get it back. Because it’s something special.”
Tara put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my gosh. That’s got to be it.”
Daisy picked up the shear cutters and a spool of twenty-two-gauge wire and began working on her own knee, either fixing a flaw or improving her new body. Vick looked on, mesmerized. Tara saw what she was doing and went to help.
Four hours later, both Tara and Daisy seemed satisfied. Tara flopped down beside Vick, who was lying on an old carpet. He’d napped and watched them work on and off. Daisy disappeared through the doorway that led downstairs. She looked better—her seams were tighter, and she moved more quietly—no metal parts rubbing together. She still resembled the world’s ugliest patchwork quilt, though—her parts had come from a bunch of domestic bots, which came in all different colors.
Off in the distance, an ambulance wailed.
“We have to get out of here,” Vick said. “They’ll come back.”
“What’s the difference where we go? They’ll know right where we are.”
Vick jolted upright. He’d forgotten about the tracers in their arms.
“Don’t worry. Daisy will protect us,” Tara said.
“She can’t protect us from everything. They might have guns.” Vick regretted the words as soon as he said them and tried to walk himself back. “They’ll probably leave us alone.”
Tara stared at him, wide-eyed. “Except they won’t. They’re not the sort of people who think, ‘Okay, we’re even.’ They’ll just keep coming after us, and coming after us.”
They had to get those tracers out of their arms. Only, they weren’t big things you just take out, they were chips small enough to travel through the tip of a needle.
So why had East run off so quickly? Why hadn’t she been afraid of Tiny coming after her?
Vick smiled. Because she and her friends stole domestic robots, and all domestic robots had tracers. They must know how to deactivate them.
He stood. “We have to find East. She can get rid of these tracers.”
“You think?”
“Daisy,” Vick called. Daisy appeared on the fire escape ladder. “We’re taking a trip.”
The problem was, Vick had no idea where East lived. It wasn’t like he could look up her address in a directory. All he could think to do was walk around and ask people, even though he hated talking to strangers on the street.
It was getting dark. Normally they avoided the streets like the plague after dark, but with Daisy around, Vick felt a wonderful sense of freedom. The scary-looking people who hung out on the street corners at night didn’t look very scary with Daisy at their side.
After a few blocks Daisy began to range farther from them, doing little reconnaissance trips the way she’d done when she was nothing but a wee bot.
She waited outside while they went into Peary Pawn.
Mert, the shop owner, raised her white eyebrows when she saw who it was. “A little late for the two of you to be out, don’t you think?”
Vick explained who they were looking for, leaving out a lot of the details of why.
Mert had no idea. “There are probably fifty chop shops like that in this city. Most are south of here, but you don’t want to go anywhere near that part of town.”
Sharing a half box of saltines Mert gave them, they headed south. Vick knew the odds of finding one person in an entire city were close to zero, but he didn’t know what else to do. They had to find East.
Before long they hit a sacrifice zone, where huge mounds of twisted steel beams and concrete blocked their way, and they had to skirt around it. Some parts of the city had gotten so broken down, they just knocked down all the buildings. Supposedly, the city was going to clear it all out someday and build parks or something.
As they turned a corner, they nearly bumped into three guys, all with long hair bleached ghost-white.
The one in the middle, who was tall and stocky, held out a gloved hand. “Whoa, what are you munchkins doing on my street?”
Vick looked around. Daisy had chosen a bad time to go on one of her jaunts. “Just looking for someone. Do you know a girl named East?”
“What do I look like, the Yellow Pages?” The big man curled his fingers at Vick. “Give me the backpack and empty your pockets. Your girlfriend, too.”
“I’m his sister, not his girlfriend.” Tara balled her hands into fists, turned her face toward the sky, and shouted, “Daisy!”
The big guy looked at his friends. They all burst out laughing. “Daisy? Who’s she, your big sister?” He put his hands on his hips. “Don’t make me tell you again. Backpack. Pockets.”
Vick heard the click of Daisy’s claws on the sidewalk. He could tell the exact moment she appeared around the corner behind them, because all three of the guys’ faces went as white as their hair.
“This is our big sister, Daisy,” Vick said.
Mr. Tough Guy swallowed. “Where the hell did you get that?”
“The watchdog store. They were having a sale,” Tara said.
Vick was enjoying this. So much. For the last eight months guys like these had terrorized them. He loved seeing them looking like they might wet their pants.
“Like I said before, we’re looking for a girl named East. She’s a Brumby, hangs out with some other kids who run a chop shop. They make watchdogs.”
The guys exchanged glances, shrugged, and shook their heads at each other. “Don’t know her.”
Vick folded his arms. “Well, I’m sure you know someone who knows her, since you own this street and all. You got a phone?”
The guy reached into his back pocket. Daisy leaned forward and made a deep clicking sound until he showed her it was only a phone.
“How about you two?” Vick asked.
The other guys produced phones as well.
“Good. Now, call all of your friends until you find someone who knows East.”
They started dialing. Vick and Tara leaned against the wall as the three of them talked into their phones.
“This is so cool,” Tara said. “After this let’s make them dance.”
Not ten minutes into their phone marathon, the guy on the left turned to Vick. “This girl East. She was gone for a while, just got back?”
“That’s her.”
“Their shop’s in an abandoned church on West Chestnut.”
After thanking the men for their help, Vick and Tara walked away laughing.
“This is so great,” Tara said.
Vick looked to their watchdog, who was click-clacking along behind them. He wondered if, with all her skills, she had GPS or an internal map, too. “Thanks, Daisy. Can you show us how to get
to this church?”
Daisy nodded and took the lead.
Tara was right. This was so cool.
The church was called Saint Boniface. It was a big redbrick building with two bell towers. The tall wooden front doors were unlocked.
The chapel was a long, cavernous hall with a high curved ceiling. It wasn’t hard to see it had once been gorgeous. Now it was strewn with trash, the walls crowded with graffiti.
“East?” Vick called.
No answer. Maybe the white-haired guy had been lying. Then it occurred to him: he was doing this the hard way. He turned to Daisy. “See if there are any people here.”
Daisy loped off.
Vick went to sit in one of the pews, but the benches were caked in dust and fallen plaster. He set his and Tara’s packs on the floor between the pews and waited for Daisy to return.
“I like it here.” Tara was staring at the ceiling.
“I don’t. It feels like the roof could collapse any minute. And it’s creepy.”
“It’s not creepy, it’s peaceful.”
Daisy appeared through an archway to the side of the big hall.
“Did you find anyone?” Vick asked.
Daisy nodded, and turned back the way she’d come. She led them down a staircase to a hallway lined with Sunday school classrooms and offices, then down a second, narrower flight of stairs into another hallway that was completely dark except for a sliver of light filtering out from under a door.
Vick rapped on it, the steel door stinging his knuckles. “East? It’s Vick and Tara.”
On the other side of the door a steel bar slid out of place. Locks clicked. It swung open a few inches, and East’s face appeared, her hair a halo of dark curls now that it wasn’t tied back with a rubber band. She looked amused and a little stunned. “How did you find me?” Then she noticed Daisy, and her eyes widened. “Is that yours?”
“Mm-hm. Tara built her.”
East opened the door wider. She was dressed in a sleeveless black T-shirt over oil-stained jeans. “No wonder Alba snatched her up.” She stepped out to take a closer look at Daisy.
Two other people appeared in the doorway: a black guy who looked about fifteen, with his arms covered in tattoos and an aluminum bat in one hand, and a skinny black kid with big eyes who was around five. Vick recognized the older guy immediately. He was one of the jerks who’d pounded on their fire escape, laughing and saying he was coming to get them.
“That’s my little brother, North, and that’s Rando,” East said.
“Who are you?” Rando let the bat sag to the floor, though he didn’t look happy to see strangers at his door.
“Vick. And this is Tara. We were stuck in the sweatshop with East.”
East turned. “They’re the ones who got me out. Where’s the little one that broke us out? You still got her?”
Tara rested her hand on Daisy’s head. “She’s right here.”
Vick explained what had happened as East’s eyes grew wider and wider. While he told the story, another kid appeared in the doorway—the white guy with long dreadlocks. He looked to be about fourteen, with a neck like a linebacker’s. The other guy who’d terrorized them that night. East said his name was Torch.
“I think I can guess why you went to all this trouble to track me down,” East said when Vick finished his story. “The tracers, right?”
“Can you get them out?” Vick asked.
“We can deactivate them, yeah. Come on, let’s get it done before you lead Alba right to my door.” East led them into a long, low-ceilinged basement with cots along one wall, moldy hymnals piled on a beat-up piano, and a curtain drawn to reveal a shower and toilet toward the back. In the center were low benches piled with shop equipment, electronics, and robot parts.
Torch grunted with disgust and moved to the far end of the basement.
“What’s your problem?” East asked.
He wrinkled his nose. “They smell like garbage. So does their watchdog.”
East put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you don’t smell too good yourself.”
“Compared to them I smell like freaking rose petals.”
East closed her eyes for a second, shook her head. “Rando, can you fix them up?”
Rando sauntered to one of the benches and retrieved a steel wand. “Fifty bucks each.”
East cursed under her breath. “They helped me. They got me out of there, which is more than I can say for you.”
Rando shrugged. “So? They got you out. They didn’t do nothing for me. And I’m the one with the equipment.”
East huffed in frustration. “Fine. I’ll owe you. Twenty each.”
“Okay. Your credit’s good.” Rando beckoned Tara over with his fingertip. “You first, come on. Which arm?”
When Tara pointed to her left arm, Rando turned her so her left shoulder was facing him. He ran the wand over it. “All set. Now you.”
Vick felt a huge sense of relief as Rando ran the cold steel wand over his shoulder. Now he was truly free of Ms. Alba and Dixie. While Rando worked, East and Torch circled Daisy, sometimes bending to examine a detail up close.
“It’s rough, but it’s gorgeous, considering what you had to work with.” East looked at Tara. “You did this all yourself?”
“Not all,” Tara said.
“Vick helped you?”
Tara shook her head. “Daisy.”
Torch let out a harsh laugh. He had bulgy fish eyes, and when he smiled his gums showed, along with way too many teeth. “Right. Your watchdog helped design herself. And then she wrote a book while farting ‘Jingle Bells.’ ”
“Hey, Daisy?” Vick scanned their workbench. There was a half-finished raccoon-sized watchdog laid out. “Can you fix that?”
Daisy went over and examined the watchdog for a moment. Vick felt a warm rush of anticipation. It was going to feel so good to shut this guy’s big mouth after what he’d done at the roof.
Daisy picked up a portable band saw and got to work.
Vick turned to Torch. “You want her to fart ‘Jingle Bells’ while she works?”
Torch couldn’t take his eyes off Daisy. “That’s got to be a trick. How the hell can a watchdog make a watchdog?”
“Tara’s a genius when it comes to electronics,” Vick said.
“Bull.” Torch gestured at Daisy. “No little Brumby girl designed that thing’s brain out of dump salvage. How are you getting it to do that?”
Vick hesitated. He wasn’t sure he trusted these people enough to tell them the truth.
“Come on, Vick. We’re on the same side,” East said. “If Alba has her way, we’ll all be living in her sweatshop before long.”
Still, Vick hesitated. He didn’t like Rando and Torch. He didn’t trust them. They’d shown what sort of guys they were, rattling that fire escape while Tara screamed.
They both had that walk, the same as every other kid who thought he was tough: arms out away from their sides, swaying, a little bounce at the end of each step. Vick wondered if they practiced in front of the mirror. All of Vick’s friends just walked. They didn’t try to walk cool, or tough, they just walked.
His former friends, Vick reminded himself. He hadn’t heard from any of them in months. Although it was hard to keep in touch with someone who had no phone, no address, and whose only Internet access was at the public library.
Torch was standing over Daisy, watching her work. “You know what? I could care less where she came from. What can we use her for, besides working on watchdogs? That’s what I want to know.”
Tara put her hands on her hips. “She’s not yours. She’s ours.”
Torch raised his hands. “I said ‘we.’ We includes you. I mean, Rando just helped you out, didn’t he?”
“East helped us out,” Vick said. “Rando wanted fifty bucks to do something that took him ten seconds.” He decided it was time to lay all the cards on the table, so everyone knew where they stood. “He also pounded on the bottom
of our fire escape and yelled that he was coming to get us.”
East frowned. “Huh? What are you talking about?”
Torch pointed at Vick. “That was you?” He threw back his head and laughed.
“Aw, we were just screwing with you,” Rando said.
“What did they do?” East looked from Rando to Vick.
Tara wrapped her arms around herself as Vick recounted what had happened that night.
“You scared us,” Tara said when Vick finished. “You shouldn’t laugh about it, buttheads.”
East was shaking her head. “Unbelievable. You guys are pigs.” She looked at Vick. “I’m really sorry.”
Vick just shrugged. He felt uncomfortable in that shop, surrounded by stolen property.
“Hang out awhile. You want something to eat?” East asked.
“I’m really hungry. Starving,” Tara said before Vick could answer. She looked around. “Do you have quesadillas?”
“We don’t have much of anything. Times being tough and all.” Torch raised a finger. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you ask your watchdog to find some food? If he’s so danged smart, that should be a snap.”
“He’s a she,” Tara said.
Vick narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean by ‘find’? Where do you ‘find’ food?”
Torch folded his arms, which made his biceps bulge even more. “Fine. Steal. Why don’t you get her to steal some food?”
Vick shook his head. “We don’t steal.”
Rando grunted a laugh and rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You think we’re bad guys because we steal? People on their way to the all-you-can-eat buffet look right through us when we ask for help, but we’re the bad guys?” He turned away. “That’s messed up.”
“Could she steal quesadillas?” Tara asked.
Vick was so hungry. Plus, he liked the idea of giving East something to repay her for the forty dollars she’d laid out. “I don’t think we can give her a grocery list.”
“Okay. But I hope she brings quesadillas.”
There was a knot in Vick’s stomach as he approached Daisy, who was still working on the watchdog. “Daisy, can you find us something to eat?”
Watchdog Page 5
