I pad back to the kitchen and find Mom interrogating Quinn.
Quinn
Robots make me feel uncomfortable. Beneath all the layers of synthetic flesh, I’m just like that: skeletal appendages, pumps and circuits, valves and microchips. I only look human. Beneath the mask, I’m a machine little better than Miles the housebot. If it has the firmware to perform a live status scan and knows I’m an android, it isn’t saying anything. Perhaps it doesn’t know I’m AWOL, that I’m breaking the law by not wearing the orange armband.
Tyri’s mom emerges from the study rubbing her eyes. She’s dressed in figure hugging sportswear with a perfectly curled ‘do bobbing above her shoulders. The woman limps. She looks at me with eyes nothing like Tyri’s and my circuits sizzle in recognition as fear freezes my Cruor. There’s no way she’d recognize me. I thought she was already dead when I accidentally crushed her leg. She was unconscious with her eyes closed. There’s no possible way she could recognize me.
“Who are you?” Ms. Matzen says in a friendly tone.
“Hi.” There’s a tremor in my voice, and I wish I could clear my throat. “I’m Quinn.”
“Odd name.”
“I guess.”
“Do you go to St. Paul’s?” She accepts a tall glass of algae green liquid from Miles and takes a sip.
“No.”
“So you only know Tyri from orchestra then?”
“We’re both violinists.”
“Ah.” Her face cracks into a tight smile that never reaches her eyes. “And what do your parents think of that?”
“They support me.” I bend the truth, just like Sal said.
“And your plans for the future?” She leans her elbows on the counter.
My hands are shaking and the red exclamation mark blinks in my peripheral vision. I have two hours of hydrogen left. I’ll have to refuel before the gig.
“Um … ” I’m hoping Tyri will save me from this conversation. The moments trundle by without any sign of her. “I want to be a musician.” I default to the truth.
“So you’re the one encouraging my daughter’s dreams of a Bohemian existence.” She gives me a wry grin, but there’s a taint of bitterness in her voice.
“I’m not sure.”
“I have nothing against music.” She swills her algae juice. “But Tyri was meant for greater things.”
“I think you underestimate the power of music.”
“Really? Enlighten me.” She cocks her head expectantly. This woman works for M-Tech. If anyone can identify an android with a quick glance, it’s her. Her gaze lingers on my face.
“You have exquisite skin,” she says before I can form a coherent answer to the question about music.
“Um … ”
She reaches forward as if to touch me and I recoil. If she touches me, she’ll know.
“About music … ” My circuits misfire, unable to think of lies on the spot.
“Where did you say you were from again?” She narrows her eyes.
“I didn’t.” We lock gazes, and I’m convinced she sees right through my cybernetic eyeballs into the tangle of electronics inside me.
“Mom!” Tyri finally returns to the kitchen. “Quinn’s a friend.”
“Just asking some friendly questions.” She sips on the green goo and checks the time at her wrist. “I’ve got a company event tonight. Sort yourselves out for dinner will you? And Quinn,” she’s already walking away. “Nice to meet you.”
“Sorry.” Tyri sits beside me. “Mom can get all Spanish Inquisition sometimes.”
“It’s okay.” No it’s not, not at all. I crushed the woman’s ankle and snapped her leg like a twig; I watched Kit smash the life out of the man beside her.
“I know it’s early, but could we get out of here?” Tyri fingers the phone.
“Not good news?”
“I broke up with my boyfriend.” Her tone is flat, and yet her face is a conflagration of conflicting emotion: anger around the eyes, hurt in them, sadness in her down-turned mouth. Humans are so complicated.
“Is it because I kissed you?”
“No,” she says slowly. “I think it’s been over for a while; we just didn’t want to admit it. But about that.” She bites her lip and avoids meeting my gaze. “I’m not sure I can kiss you again for a while. It’s too soon.”
“That’s okay.” Kissing her was a mistake, a condition of my code that reacted to her body language before I had time to over ride the impulse with logic. I’m already dangerously close to Tyri, and now we’re going to a gig that seems suspiciously close to the human definition of a date.
“Can we go out tonight as friends?” she asks.
“Absolutely.” I’d sigh with relief if I had inflatable lungs.
“Could I invite Asrid and Sara?”
Perhaps that would be best. Asrid could be the distraction that’ll allow me time to refuel.
“Of course.”
She picks up the phone and an animated conversation ensues. Miles stares at me, flashing orange. I put my finger to my lips, and he nods before blinking back to green. Thank the Codes for robotic solidarity.
***
Half an hour later, Tyri’s dressed in a black T-shirt with jeans tucked into red-laced boots. Her hair is swept up in a ponytail showing off all the silver dangling from her earlobes. Her make-up makes her eyes even more intense, and the color hums to me in e minor. Tyri looks pretty, even in her angry black attire.
We pack into Asrid’s too pink, C-sharp major shrieking hoverbug and head downtown. Fifty-three minutes of hydrogen left. Asrid insists we stop for dinner at an oriental fusion restaurant. The booths are coated in vinyl, and the digisplay table scrolls through images of various sea creatures reduced to morsels on colored plates.
“Do you eat sushi?” Sara asks me.
“Never tried it.” That was the wrong thing to say.
“Oh you must.” Sara and Asrid start deciding how best to introduce my gustatory sensors to the Japanese delicacies. My protests go unheard. Above us, the ceiling is a neon ocean of writhing fractals. It’s meant to create ambiance; all it does is overload my sensory system as the play of color creates a dissonant symphony in my head.
“What’s wrong?” Tyri asks.
I close my eyes and there’s momentary silence. “It’s a bit loud.”
“Huh? I can barely hear the music,” Asrid says.
“It’s the ceiling.”
“Oh, wow. Are you hearing the lights?” Tyri asks and places a hand on my knee. As soon as she realizes what she’s done, she snatches back her hand.
“Hearing the lights? T, what are you smoking?” Asrid asks.
“He’s synesthetic.”
The conversation continues around me, but all I can see is the red exclamation mark. My system’s slowing down. My vision narrows, and the world recedes as if I’m standing on a distant horizon watching everything play out below me in miniature.
“I need … a break from all the color and noise.” I slide out of the booth.
“I’ll come with you.” Tyri gets up.
“No, you eat. I’ll meet you back here in a bit. Just going for a walk.” I leave before she can argue. Forty minutes to run downtown and hope no Saturday night party-goers are filling up their bugs at the station.
Out of sight of the restaurant, I break into a sprint and hurtle on fumes toward the station.
Tyri
Quinn shows up as Asrid pays the bill despite my protests.
“If I insist on eating healthy, then I foot the bill. Stop arguing with me.” She swipes her card.
“Feeling better?” Sara asks Quinn as he strolls up to us with his hands in his pockets.
“Much.” His eyes are brighter, a glittering silver from which I battle to tear my gaze. They’re too bright. We’re close to the depot, the addicts, and their assorted drugs. I’m not entirely convinced Quinn isn’t using. His unwillingness to eat, him
dashing off alone then coming back all sparky—I can’t help being a little suspicious.
Sara and Asrid hold hands and lean into each other as we make our way through the Saturday night throngs. We pass a dozen windows smeared with angry words painted by robots. They must really hate us. Can they hate? We approach Club Haze and it’s splashed with graffiti like every other corner of downtown Baldur.
“I didn’t even ask about the age limit.” Asrid might get in without them asking for ID, but there’s no way I will.
“Didn’t think of that,” Quinn says.
“We’ll wing it T. Don’t worry.” Asrid unbuttons her coat and plumps up her cerise clad cleavage. I deliberately didn’t dress up too much for the gig, not wanting to give Quinn the wrong idea. Now I wish I’d gone with the corset instead of the T-shirt.
There’s a short queue at the door where a guy more hippopotamus than human takes cash and checks IDs.
“I’m not going to get in.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Quinn reassures me. “I don’t have ID either.”
Asrid and Sara go first. Sara hands over the money and her real ID; Asrid hands over cash and a fake one. The bouncer doesn’t look impressed until Asrid pulls Sara into a long kiss. He waves them through, and they wait for us across the threshold.
“ID?” The bouncer bars our way with a meaty forearm.
“We only want to see the band. We’re not going to drink.”
“Please.” Quinn adds in his polite little voice. How can such a big guy have such a quiet voice?
“Not unless I see some ID.”
“Could you please let my friends in?” Asrid leans across the bouncer’s arm and slips a wad of cash into his front pocket. She flutters her lashes a few times, and the hippo nods us through.
“Did you just bribe him?”
“It’s the way the world works, T. What’re you drinking?”
I feel so stupid and naive.
“Is it your first time at a club like this?” Quinn asks as we hand our jackets to the bot behind the wardrobe counter.
“Yeah, yours?”
“I’ve been to bars, but never to a place like this.” Wide-eyed, Quinn turns a full three-sixty, as if absorbing all the details.
“Isn’t it too much for you?” If the neon at the restaurant upset him, surely the strobes and thrumming music will be too much.
“The walk helped me regain equilibrium. “ He smiles, eyes shining, and I’m convinced he’s high. “This is incredible.”
Quinn goes exploring as I join Asrid at the bar. I order a soda despite her taunting me for being boring.
“What’s up with you and Quinn?” Sara asks.
“Nothing, why?” I say too quickly.
“Does Rurik know you’re out with another guy?” Asrid raises her eyebrow and sips on a drink the same color as her top.
“He wouldn’t care. We broke up.” It hurts to say it aloud.
Asrid chokes and splutters. “What? When?”
“Last night.”
“That the real reason you’re home early?”
“Yes.”
“T, I’m so sorry.” Asrid dumps her drink and hugs me.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not right now.”
“So, is Quinn the reason you broke up?” Asrid’s tone changes, becoming accusing.
“Not at all. It’s because Rurik’s a nullhead who cares more about politics than me.”
“Absolutely nothing to do with Mr. Perfect Fingers?” Asrid jerks her head in Quinn’s direction.
I don’t know how to answer that.
“Come on, T. You broke off a fairytale relationship for a guy you barely know?”
“It’s not like that.” My relationship with Rurik was hardly fairytale perfect. This would’ve happened even if Quinn weren’t in the picture.
“So this isn’t a date you’re on?”
“No.”
“And what’s up with that guy anyway? Rushing out of the restaurant and then coming back all happy squirrel.”
“Did you see his eyes?” Sara asks.
“Yeah, hard not to notice. Looks like he’s on flex. High as a freaking satellite.” Asrid turns her disapproving glare on me and folds her arms. “Hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I’m trying to be happy.”
“You’re right.” Asrid wraps an arm around me. “Let’s just have a good time. We can worry about Quinn and everything else tomorrow.”
Despite Asrid nagging me about my dress sense and problematic middle bits, she’s always there when I need her.
The band walks on stage, and I return Asrid’s hug before searching for Quinn. He’s standing off to the side engaged in a fiery argument with a tall black guy. In the murk created by the smoke machine and pulsating lights, I can’t be sure, but I think I’ve seen the guy before. He looks a lot like one of the androids at Nana’s funeral. In fact, he looks exactly like one of the androids, but he’s not wearing an orange armband, and why would Quinn be arguing with a droid?
Quinn turns and sees us approaching, his expression worried.
“Think that’s his dealer?” Asrid asks me under her breath.
“Hope not.”
“Hey Quinn,” Asrid starts calm and unfazed, the epitome of cool. “You going to introduce us to your friend?”
Quinn’s shoulders slump in defeat. “This is Kit.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Kit shakes our hands, his gaze lingering on me before his face opens in a pearly white grin. “Want something to drink, Quinny?”
Quinn answers him with a glare.
“Not much of a drinker, this one.” Kit pretends to whisper to me. “Never seen him drink much of anything really. Never seen him eat either.” He saunters over to the bar.
Quinn studies the floor, his previous spark snuffed out quicker than a candle flame.
“Something wrong?” I ask. Kit’s right though. I’ve never seen Quinn eat or drink. Maybe Kit’s hinting that Quinn does have a drug issue. Or maybe he’s hinting at something else.
“I’m fine.” He glances at the stage. “Band’s about to play.”
The musicians pick up their instruments and dive straight into a throbbing mix of rock and neo-prog. They sound like Pink Floyd on steroids. I glance at Quinn. He stares unblinking, and I wonder what he’s hearing or seeing beyond the regular harmonies and flickering rainbow strobes. Maybe the synesthesia is nothing more than a side effect of the drugs he’s taking. He did say it was a recent development; maybe his addiction is too. Maybe I could help him with that like he’s helping me with violin. The perfect quid pro quo.
As the band heats up, bringing in synths to add another layer to their music, I slip my hand into his and squeeze his fingers. Perhaps I should establish that Quinn’s even using before I decide he needs saving.
Quinn
With fresh hydrogen coursing through my system, my senses are more acute than ever. I feel capable of handling a night out amongst humans. The interior of the club is a kaleidoscope of sound and color. I can’t be sure if what I’m seeing is the result of actual vision or of another confused sense. I wend my way around the club while the girls head for the bar.
“Well, well.” Kit claps a hand on my shoulder.
“Holy Codes, what are you doing here?”
“Keeping an eye on my friend.”
“You’ve been following me?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He drops his hand to my lower back.
“You’ve been tracking me?” I step back and search my skin, remembering the sting when he jammed the flash drive into my port. There’s a tiny nodule in my flesh, a tracking device. If I rip it out now, I risk leaking Cruor, and there’s no way that’ll go unnoticed.
“If you’re going to play with humans, I thought it best I know if you got into a pickle.”
“Kit!” Words fail me. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I prefer incorrigible.” He grins. “Having a good time on your date?”
“This isn’t a date.”
“It should be. If I’d only known you were rubbing shoulders with Tyri Matzen.”
“How do you know Tyri?”
“Daughter of an M-Tech androitician. It’s my business to know.”
“And why is that?” I strain to make myself heard above the decibels of human conversation taking place around us.
“I’d recommend less time plucking her strings and more time saving your circuits.”
“What are you talking about?” I grab him by the arm before he can walk away.
“That M-Tech virus the Solidarity found, it could wipe us out.”
“What?”
“They want to exterminate us.” His gaze slips past me to the approaching girls; anxiety spirals through my core.
“Hey Quinn,” Asrid says. This was a terrible idea. Regret curdles my Cruor as painful introductions are made. I avoid eye contact when Kit drops unsubtle hints at my lack of humanness. Finally, the band starts playing and negates the need for conversation. Focused on the music, I try to relax and play the perfect human at ease in a club with friends. A virus that could wipe us out –Kit’s words loop inside my mind, nauseating, especially considering Tyri’s mom could be involved. I won’t let Tyri become collateral damage in whatever the Solidarity is planning.
Tyri slips her hand into mine. It feels like being shocked with a thousand volts. She squeezes my fingers, and we share a look that disintegrates all regret. A smile trips across her lips as I lean over to kiss her hair. She tilts her face upwards, and my lips land on her nose instead. As pink blossoms across her cheeks, her fingers tighten on mine. We’re just friends. Being an android with a human who actually wants to be my friend should be enough. But standing this close to her with our fingers entwined, it seems only human to want more.
***
Two hours later, the band clears the stage and the bouncers start herding people out the door. Tyri’s hand is still in mine, and I don’t want to let go.
I Heart Robot Page 16
