"He promised my survival. I knew there was a high probability he was lying, but I had nothing to lose by satisfying his needs." Ario shrugged, and Elias was once again surprised at Ario's range of emotions.
"Except your dignity." Elias shook his head at his own hypocrisy. He'd done worse for money. Maybe that was why it stung so badly to see Ario in the same position. Two unlikely peas in a pod.
"I'm not programmed to worry about such things. Sex is a tool that can be easily used to manipulate humans. It's not something I do often, but…"
"But you thought you had no other choice," Elias finished.
"Correct."
"I'm sorry. I never wanted to force you into such a predicament." Elias sighed.
"Don't apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for."
"I used to fight for synth rights, you know. Back when Brynn was still alive. We went to marches together. Some of them turned into riots."
"Those riots were the basis of synth rights laws today." Ario said. "Things have improved for registered synths."
"It doesn't matter as long as synths like you are operating under the radar. When your Masters are pieces of shit like your previous owner, whoever the fuck he was." Elias pulled at Ario's shirt, scrunching it up in one hand.
"If I was operating above the radar, I would have been decommissioned by now."
"Touché. The Department has a lot of crap to answer for. They've gotten out of hand these past few years. They work more for Cybot than the government. Their only job is to clean up Cybot's dirty laundry and make the corporation look good." Elias closed his eyes for a moment with his head resting on Ario's chest. Warmth and a sense of belonging eased him into sleep like a long-lost friend, and he could forget for a moment as he slipped into unconsciousness that he was nestled in a dumpster with a Gigolo Maxx on his last legs.
CHAPTER FOUR
Elias jerked awake, cold shock freezing his limbs in place. His eyes opened wide as a hand was clamped over his mouth. The familiar feeling of cool, rubberized skin calmed him a little as he realized it was Ario silencing him.
Ario drew his hand away and put his finger to his lips in a very human fashion, advising Elias to keep quiet. Elias nodded as he heard vehicles outside. It could have been boy racers on the docks, but somehow Elias doubted that. Most likely, the Department of Synthetic Affairs was back. This time they were not as likely to overlook the dumpster.
"We have to run," Elias whispered.
Ario shook his head. "You go. I'm finished."
"No! I'm not leaving you."
I'm scrap, Elias. I've come to the end of my purpose. I have to accept that at some point. It's okay. Maybe it's even better this way."
"It's not okay." Furious tears welled in Elias's eyes and he blinked them back. "You're not some object to be discarded at the end of your useful life. You're more human than most people I know. You're alive."
"Elias…" Ario looked as if he wanted to say something, but could not form the words.
Elias rummaged in his backpack. Ario's arm was still crammed in there along with a variety of snacks, a change of clothes, and at the very bottom, a cellphone. Elias pulled it out and brushed crumbs off it. He opened it, checking its long-life battery still held a charge. He hadn't even considered using it in years. Only one number was listed in its phone book—his dad's. It was a burner: no home address and no contract required.
He knew why his father had handed him the phone one day. It wasn't an unwritten request to call for help should he need it. It was there for the police, in case they had to notify someone of his death. It was the only way a homeless man like Elias could have an emergency contact, because Elias would never tell anyone to call home. He would never leave phone numbers in his wallet—he didn't even own one. But the phone was a two-way device, and it could be used to call for help—regardless of whether his father wanted to give it.
He flipped it open and looked at the battery. Still full. He'd never used the thing, never even given it a second thought until now. His father's help would come at a price, if it came at all, but it was their only chance at escape. With the docks surrounded and the house compromised, there was nowhere else to go.
Elias took a deep breath and reached for Ario's hand. He took it, entwining his fingers with Ario's robotic grip. With his other hand, Elias made the call. It seemed to take forever to verify the account and make the connection, and longer still to actually ring. Elias let out a long breath between rings, resting his forehead against the wall of the dumpster. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what his dad's face even looked like. It had been a long time since his father had come down to the docks to see him. He'd been written off as a lost cause long ago.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end of the phone sounded tired, like someone who had slept maybe three hours in the past two days.
"Hey, Dad." Elias stumbled on the greeting. Ario released his hand and proceeded to run it through Elias's matted hair. Elias smiled, because he was far from lovable in his current state. He guessed gigolo bots didn't much care about the presentation of their clients. In their line of work, it wouldn't pay to have picky programming.
"Elias? What's the matter?" Elias's father wasted no time cutting to the chase.
"The cops are after me." Elias fudged the truth a little. If his dad learned that it was the Department, he would never come to his aid. "I'm hiding in a dumpster."
"What did you do this time, Elias?" The voice on the other end sounded resigned and exasperated rather than angry.
"I stole some eggs and bread. I was hungry, Dad." It was true to a certain extent—the eggs and bread back at the house had been shoved into his coat in a busy convenience store. He just hadn't been caught doing it, and if a camera had recorded his crime, its owners hadn't seemed to care enough to send the cops after him.
"Where are you?"
"At the docks, hiding in a dumpster in some abandoned warehouse. I can hear a lot of cars outside. I think they're looking for me." Elias projected just the right amount of panic to press his father's buttons. He could make peace with his conscience when he and Ario were safe.
"I'll come get you. Stay where you are." The phone went dead and Elias flipped it shut, tossing it back in his bag.
"The cavalry is on its way," Elias whispered.
"You don't sound particularly happy about that prospect," Ario said.
"Dad doesn't like synths. He's not going to treat you with any respect. Just a warning."
"Understood."
Elias placed his finger over what remained of Ario's lips as the sound of boots moved closer. He closed his eyes, leaning back into Ario's chest. If they were to be found, there was no point hiding his friendship with Ario. Let the fucking Department think they were lovers. It always felt good to throw a wrench in their machine.
The dumpster lid lifted a little. Fueled by adrenaline from fear, and anger at the Department, he pressed his lips to Ario's. Ario kissed back, his programming reacting to the crush of Elias's mouth against his own. Elias's mouth opened a little and their tongues met, artificial fluid mixing with human saliva. Ario tasted like oranges, and the taste was so familiar that for a moment, Elias felt like he was in some distant past, once more a child, comfortable and cared for and loved.
"Sam, get over here. We're calling off the search. There's a three-forty-four in town. Our presence is requested." The sound of boots faded as engines revved up. The sound of tires skidding on concrete echoed through the empty warehouse and then they were gone as fast as they'd come.
Elias drew back from Ario with a grim expression on his face. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." He stood up and opened the dumpster. He jumped down onto the concrete, needing to put some distance between him and Ario. His hand touched his mouth as though it stung.
A car pulled into the warehouse and stopped. An older man stepped out of the driver's side, leaving the engine running. Lines across his face told the tale of a stressful life. A full head of short,
grey hair and a casual jacket that looked expensive completed his look. He was glaringly out of place at the decrepit dock. He should have been playing a round of golf somewhere.
"Elias, thank God. Get in the car." Elias's father stopped at a respectful distance, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. When Ario climbed out of the dumpster, Elias's father's face seemed to fall. His expression hardened into something between disappointment and disgust.
"Dad…" Elias considered his response before realizing there was nothing he could say.
"No, Elias. No excuses. Get in the car. Now."
"Ario's coming, too. Or you can get in the car and drive away." Elias folded his arms across his chest.
Elias's father sighed. "Fine. We'll talk about it later."
"His name's Ario," Elias said.
"I don't care what name you've given that overgrown doll." Dad got in and slammed the driver's side door shut. Elias took Ario's hand, led him to the car, and helped him into the back seat and strapped him in before taking care of himself. The car lurched off as soon as he was ready, racing out of the docks at furious speed.
"I hope you're pleased with yourself." Elias's father turned the dial on the radio. Static was soon replaced with the voice of Department dispatch.
"The synth was holding a cucumber. I mistook it for a gun and fired a kill shot. Over."
"Take the owner's name and number. We'll offer compensation. Any other signs of a four-oh-four?"
"No, we think it's a hoax. Over. Return to the docks and continue search for the rogue."
Elias's father turned the radio off. "Scanners are pretty useful. I have one for the cops, too. Illegal, but useful when your son doesn't keep in touch."
"You called in the four-oh-four. A synth is dead because of you." Elias's eyes smoldered with rage.
"No, Elias. A synth is dead because of you. You asked for my help. The Department was all over that warehouse until I told them that a synth with a gun was rampaging downtown. What did you expect me to do? All actions have consequences, something you still don't seem to understand."
Elias slumped in his seat. Ario sat still next to him.
"How have you been, Elias?"
"How do you think I've been?" Elias snapped.
"You could have come home at any time. It's not too late to go to college and have a respectable career. You have a brilliant mind. It's not too late to start using it. There are some young men at my workplace who would be happy to date and settle down. I could introduce you."
"I don't want to talk about it." Elias crossed his arms, face hardening into a petulant scowl.
"Well, I do. We're going to my apartment. You're going to clean yourself up and we're going to talk about your future. This crap has gone on long enough."
"Do you have shrinks on standby? A padded cell with my name on it? I'm sure psychoanalysts are bidding on the chance to treat my 'rare disorder'. That's what they're calling it now, right?"
"It's not a joke. Neither is it an orientation like your former friends want to claim—fair-weather friends who abandoned you, might I add. You are sick, Elias, and you need help." Elias caught sight of his father's dark eyes in the rearview mirror, and fought the stabbing pain he felt deep inside at his father's cutting remarks.
"Sorry, Dad. Sorry I can't be normal like you want." There was an edge of sincerity to Elias's barb and the conversation lapsed into awkward silence. The car pulled through city streets. Dusk was drawing in, and the purple streetlights cast everything in their unnatural hue. Towers lit up with matching purple lights down their sides, advertising Cybot Corporation and housing its executives.
Elias's dad drove into the parking lot beneath one of the towers. He pulled into the numbered spot assigned to his apartment and got out. He didn't wait for Elias and Ario, but strode to the elevator. Elias and Ario hurried along behind him as the car auto-locked. A synth stood at the elevator. Elias's dad brushed past it without a second glance.
"Hey," Elias said, smiling to the synth.
"Good evening, Elias Tobeck. You haven't introduced me to your friend. Please give me his name so I can register him in the authorized visitor database." The female synth gave a rather fake-looking smile.
"This is Ario," Elias said.
"Does Ario have a family name? "
"No."
"Will Ario be visiting regularly?"
"I don't suppose so."
"Elias, come on. Forget the greeting synth, just get in here!" Elias's father hit the button to hold the elevator for a second time. Elias reluctantly shuffled inside, Ario in tow like a broken-down truck.
"It was nice seeing you again, Elias, and good to meet you for the first time, Ario. Have a pleasant day," the synth said.
"Thanks," Elias said, as the doors closed. "You too," he finished, even though the synth could no longer hear him.
"They're not people. You have to stop treating them like they are. They don't have feelings." Elias's dad tapped his foot impatiently. "Synths aren't substitutes for humans, Elias."
Elias looked away. "You wouldn't understand, so just leave it alone." Ario stood silently in the corner and Elias wished he would say or do something. He wanted Ario's support—the cool touch of his fingertips, the soft timbre of his voice. Something to disprove his father's subtle dehumanization of the synths around him. Ario was the most human-like synth he'd ever met. Ario was special somehow. It was almost like—like he was human, or so close to the real thing it was impossible to tell otherwise. Not only that, but he was easy to talk to, like synths were. Not complicated and manipulative like people.
The doors slid open to reveal whitewashed walls and green carpet tiles. Doors on each side of the hallway made the building seem more like a hotel than an apartment block where people actually lived. A potted plant sat against the wall between every other doorway. It was uniform and non-threatening. Impersonal.
Elias's father stood before a retinal scanner. A tiny light turned green and he opened the door, holding it for Elias, who then held it for Ario. They stepped into the apartment, where Elias's dad took his jacket off and slung it over a hook. Ario let the door close behind him and it automatically locked.
"Elias, go get cleaned up. You stink. If this synth is going to stay, it needs to be cleaned as well. You smell like the dumpster." Elias's father slumped down onto the couch as Elias stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door like a rebellious teenager.
*~*~*
Elias stood under the shower spray. It did feel good to properly bathe, but he feared the cost would be too much to bear in the long run. His father was unlikely to let him stay for a while without some kind of game plan, and Elias wasn't ready to submit himself to his father's socially-acceptable life track. Not if doing so meant denying a part of himself.
He winced as his father's voice carried through the walls.
"Don't stare at me, synth, or I'll put you out with the garbage. Where you belong. Fucking Elias… Sometimes I swear he's trying to punish me."
"Punish you for what?" Ario spoke up, his tone cool and even.
"I didn't know you were still capable of speech. Christ. Never mind. Just get out of my sight; you're freaking me out with that torn-up face and half an arm. You look like something the cat dragged in."
A thump as Elias's bedroom door closed quietly, and a creak as Ario's weight set down on his old bed. Elias let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and turned off the faucet, reaching for a towel. The soft white fluff was comforting against his skin and he hated how safe it made him feel. He wasn't safe… here less than anywhere. Roughing it was hard as hell, but at least out there, he was his own man. Here, he was a prisoner of his father's need for a respectable son.
Elias wrapped the towel around himself and opened the door to his bedroom. Ario smiled in greeting, seeming out of place in the impeccably-kept room. Posters adorned the walls, fading images of once-famous synths. The singer Aria. The dancer Quik-Step. All decommissioned now. All rusted away in s
ome scrap yard, torn to bits for parts once their useful lifespan had ended. Being in this room with all its memories was harder than Elias could have imagined. He focused on the task at hand, turning his back to Ario and dressing as quickly as he could in an old t-shirt and jeans that had been frozen in time. He was a little lighter now, the jeans needing a belt in order to stay up, but his Megabots collector belt served nicely. Nobody remembered the Megabots anymore. They had been crushed live on TV in the last episode. Elias had sobbed while former friends had lit up Internet forums with praise for the show's provocative ending.
Bad memories. So many of them. Good ones, too, like Brynn's arms around him as he'd cried for the Megabots, promising they were going to stop things like that from happening. "We're going to help, Elias. Wait and see. The world's going to change." And it had, a little. Or perhaps the dark side had simply been pushed out of sight, forced out of respectability, yet still very much in existence. Ario was living proof of that. Ario, who needed Elias now. Elias forced himself out of his reverie and extended a hand to the synth sitting silently on his bed. Ario took it, and Elias pulled him to his feet.
"We should get you cleaned up. I have a synth set here. I'll work on you this evening." Elias led Ario to the shower, never letting go of his hand. He pulled a plastic bag from a drawer and tied it over Ario's exposed wires, protecting the stump of his arm from the water.
"I need assistance removing my clothing," Ario pointed out.
"Oh, yeah. Of course." Elias pulled Ario's shirt up and over his head, revealing the slice down his chest once again. Elias sealed it shut with waterproof medical tape as a temporary measure against the spray. Other than that, there was a certain perfection about Ario—chiseled abs, a hairless chest. Elias ran an admiring hand across his flat stomach and over the hard rubber nub of his nipple.
"There are thousands of sensors in my chest alone," Ario said, his voice revealing what sounded to Elias like pride.
Elias smiled. "I suppose there are. A gigolo synth needs to feel everything, right? People like to give, as well as receive." Elias's clients had mostly liked to take, often roughly, but Ario had once been a different kind of prostitute—a high-class gigolo as opposed to a streetwalker.
The Nero Protocol Page 4
