I Am Automaton 2: Kafka Rising

by Edward P. Cardillo

  Barry wiped his eyes one last time and plastered a brave smile on his face. “Oh, nothing. Your brother and I were just having a heart-to-heart.”

  “Dad, did he—”

  “Carl didn’t do anything. I just became a little morbid.”

  Peter gave him a sympathetic look.

  “Oh, don’t look at me that way, Pete. We’re going to have a nice barbecue. I’m just overwhelmed to see you guys, that’s all. Help me finish defrosting this meat.”

  Peter opened up the case and put the bottles of beer in the refrigerator. Then he helped his father open the rest of the packages of meat. He looked out the sliding glass door at his little brother on the deck fiddling with the grill. He was turning the valve on the propane tank.

  “You know…” his father said putting more steaks into the microwave, “I am grateful for every chance I get to spend with you boys.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  “I don’t want you to worry about me. Times are tough, but I’m going to be just fine.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Peter said grinning uncertainly at his father. “Why don’t you go watch some TV while I get this meat out to Carl?”

  Barry looked at his son and nodded. He washed his hands at the sink and shuffled off into the living room.

  Peter punched the button for the defrost mode, and the microwave lit up again. He heard the television turn on and blurt out dialogue from some old movie in the living room. He was glad it was lighter fare and not the news or a talk show.

  “SHIT,” Peter heard from outside. It was Carl. Peter saw him clutching his left hand.

  Peter ran to the sliding door, flung it open, and stepped onto the deck. “What happened, Carl?”

  “I-I wasn’t paying attention, and I let too much propane build up. I burned my hand.”

  “Jesus, Carl. Are you okay?”

  “What happened?” called Barry as he ran into the kitchen. “Carl, are you all right?”

  Carl looked Peter directly in the eye. “Keep Dad inside, Pete.”

  “But, Carl—”

  “JUST DO IT, PETE.”

  Peter turned around. “He’s okay, Dad. There was a big flame and he just got scared.”

  Barry was peering around Peter. “Why is he holding his hand?”

  “I’m okay, Dad. I just burned the hair off my arm,” Carl called to his father.

  “See,” Peter said, “he’s okay. Just relax and watch some TV. We’ll have the meat cooked in no time.”

  Barry looked at his son tentatively. Then he reluctantly walked back into the living room. “For Christ’s sake,” he shouted back over his shoulder, “make sure your brother doesn’t cook himself.”

  Peter sighed and walked back out onto the deck. He saw Carl rubbing his hand. It looked all right, if not just a little red.

  “Jesus, Carl, what’s wrong with you?”

  “I just got startled,” Carl said doing his best to look sheepish. What he really wanted to say was that, when he tried to start the grill, he sensed something from inside the house, something like the microwave. Maybe it was the microwave. This was all so new to him.

  Peter looked at him incredulously.

  “Really, Pete, I’m okay.”

  “Still the klutz. The mighty Automaton defeated by a propane grill.”

  “Just get me the meat, Pete.”

  When Peter walked back into the kitchen, Carl rubbed his left hand, deep in thought. Apparently, he could recover quickly from injury now, even burns, but something didn’t feel right.

  Hell, nothing felt right anymore.

  Chapter 8

  “Carl, you really outdid yourself,” Peter said sitting back in his kitchen chair holding his cold beer. His belly was full of red meat and he was feeling a little drowsy.

  “You said it,” chimed in Barry, who was picking his teeth with a toothpick. “Where’d you learn to barbecue like that?”

  “You, Dad.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right.”

  They all drank leisurely from their beers, basking in sweet satiety. Carl felt better about things. Maybe it was the good meal. He no longer sensed the odd signal he was picking up before.

  “You boys heading off to Frisky’s tonight?”

  “We’re keeping you company, Dad,” Peter said.

  “Oh, I had a wonderful dinner. Why don’t you boys go out for a little and stretch your wings?”

  Peter looked at Carl, who shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “Sure, that’d be fun, right, Carl? You could take pointers on mingling with the lady folk.”

  “I might surprise you,” said Carl wryly.

  “I hear a wager coming,” Peter goaded playfully.

  “Two hundred bucks says I get a woman before you.”

  Peter stroked his chin. “What do you mean by get?”

  “Phone number.”

  “Oh, how 1980’s.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Carl asked.

  “Home run.”

  “On the premises?” said Carl in disbelief. “No way. Third base.”

  “Oh, boy,” Barry said, blushing. “I don’t think I want to hear any of this. I’m going to take a hot shower. Best of luck to you both.”

  As he rose from his chair, neither brother broke eye contact. It was on. Barry left the kitchen and climbed the stairs.

  “Third base?” Peter teased. “If you can get to third base you can get a home run.”

  “That’s a little more difficult.”

  “Okay, third base it is. But we each get to choose the woman for the other.”

  “Oh, I see where this is going,” Carl said, sitting back in his chair. “You’re going to pick the hottest girl in the place.”

  “Well,” Peter said, “if you prefer, I could choose the ugliest.”

  “No, no. The hottest is fine.”

  “Call us a cab, little bro. I’m looking forward to schooling you on male-female relations. Yup, I’m putting on a clinic tonight.”

  “Brave last words,” Carl jested. He pulled out his mini-com. “Taxi cab.” It called up four numbers. Carl pressed one.

  “Can you come to 21 Arbor Ave.? Going to Frisky’s in town…”

  ***

  Peter and Carl strolled into the townie bar like cowboys in a corny western. They paused by the entrance, sized up the joint and its patrons, and moseyed their way over to the bar.

  “Two Heinekens,” Peter instructed the middle-aged and well-inked barmaid.

  Carl was leaning casually with his elbow on the bar watching the small dance floor. Peter smiled at his little brother. He was normally ill at ease in these types of places, but Carl looked very relaxed.

  “You see anything you like?” Peter asked as the barmaid placed two green bottles in front of them.

  “That’ll be eighty dollars,” she said over the bad rock music as she blew smoke into Peter’s face, possibly by accident.

  “Jesus,” Peter spat, “this goddamned economy needs to pick up and quick or I’ll have to be promoted to major just to afford a couple of suds.”

  “A lot of ladies in here tonight,” Carl said, ignoring his brother’s gloating about rank.

  “You find one for me yet?”

  “I’m sizing up my options,” Carl said coolly.

  “Don’t you mean my options, bro?”

  “Whatever.”

  Peter handed Carl his beer, and they clanked bottles.

  “Blueberry Hill, lock up your daughters. The Birdsall boys are in town,” Peter offered as the toast. They each took a healthy gulp.

  “What is that?” Carl asked pointing over to a strange contraption in the corner surrounded by a copious amount of what appeared to be orange padding.

  “That, little brother, is a mechanical bull.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Yeah, they must’ve put it in since the last time we were here,” Peter speculated.

  “No one’s going near it,” Carl observed. “Hey,” he called to the barmaid, �
�does that thing work?”

  “Hay is for horses,” she said sardonically, “and it better work. It’s brand new.” She pointed to Carl’s groin, “Hey, does that thing work?”

  “He doesn’t know,” Peter interjected, “he hasn’t taken it out of its wrapping yet.” She rolled her eyes and moved on to the next customer.

  “I see from your way with women that I’m going to have some competition tonight,” Peter said sarcastically.

  The bar was electric with pulses and heartbeats, the sound waves of the jukebox twirling through the air like ribbons. Carl noticed that the barmaid’s pulse did not change when she spoke to him, but he wouldn’t gratify Peter’s teasing by telling him she was a lesbian.

  He sensed the ones that weren’t, as their energy swelled around them when they spoke to local men folk doing their darndest to get laid. The whole scene, which he once found uncomfortable, was now a playground of stimulation.

  Before long, he noticed a few of the ladies glancing over at him and Peter. At first, they were furtive glances, easily missed if one wasn’t looking. Inevitably, their eyes would drift over to where Peter and he stood at the bar.

  “I got one for you,” Peter announced, looking across the room.

  “Where?”

  “Right there. Standing at the end of the bar.”

  “The brunette?” Carl asked. He knew damned well which woman Peter had in mind. She was gorgeous. Tall, stacked, the longest legs you ever saw, and her eyes, sultry pools that would swallow up the bravest of suitors.

  “The one surrounded by all of those cowboys,” Peter added with sadistic glee.

  “Okay,” Carl said, and he began to walk over.

  Peter grabbed him by the arm. “Wait a minute.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “You’re going to go over just like that? I was kidding. She’s out of your league. I’ll find you another one.”

  “That one’ll do just fine,” Carl reassured Peter.

  “I was only joking,” Peter pleaded, “there’s too many sharks around that tuna.”

  “It’s no problem,” Carl insisted. He shrugged off Peter’s grasp and began to stroll over.

  “We’re going to need a bigger boat,” Peter quipped as he took one last draught of his beer. He placed the bottle down firmly on the bar and got ready to bail his little brother out. This was going to get messy.

  Carl strolled along the side of the bar, women turning from their drinks and meeting his eyes as he walked. He tasted their interest like sugar on his tongue, and their escalating lust fueled his excitement.

  Peter cocked his head sideways as he watched his brother. Could it be…his little egghead brother suddenly had…swagger?

  Carl traded smiles and flirtations as he crossed the room, sex in motion. It was a new sensation for him, but it felt like second nature. The pheromones wafted in the air in front of him, and he drank them in. They quenched his thirst better than the cold beer he left behind and stoked it at the same time.

  He made it up to the throng of men around the beautiful woman. One looked back at him like a predator looks over its shoulder at a rival while stalking coveted prey. Carl felt the man’s annoyance at his proximity, but it didn’t concern him.

  “Excuse me,” Carl said casually as he gently brushed the man aside. The others turned around to see who was working his way into the group.

  As they parted one by one with obvious animosity emanating in waves off them, Carl saw that the woman wasn’t alone. She was flanked by two less attractive but delectable friends who displayed growing annoyance at the realization that the cowboys were there for their friend.

  “Excuse me,” Carl addressed the group. He reached out a hand to each of the friends, “but you ladies are coming with me.”

  They looked at each other with surprise, but smiles of vindication spread across their lips as they each took the offered hand. Carl pulled them gently out of the feeding frenzy and towards the dance floor. The two women allowed themselves to be taken, their eyes gazing expectantly into his, their skin electric with the excitement of possibility.

  Carl turned around, guiding them through the bar gracefully behind him. Peter gawked at his brother, completely dumbfounded.

  “I told you the brunette,” Peter shouted as Carl passed in front of him.

  “Wait for it,” Carl offered back as he slunk his way to the middle of the dance floor with his entourage of two. Peter leaned back on the bar in astonishment, absentmindedly spilling the second beer he ordered.

  Carl pulled the ladies close to him and they began to dance. He twirled them around him to the country rock song blaring across the bar, giving even attention to each. They moved around him like satellites orbiting a planet, moving and swaying, a seduction on display.

  Peter looked down the bar at the throng of cowboys and the brunette. The guys were half-looking at Carl and the girls on the dance floor, and the brunette—who probably wasn’t used to being out of the center of attention—looked pissed.

  “Clever boy,” Peter said to himself under the music and din of the bar.

  On the dance floor, Carl danced with his girls as if he had done this every night. Peter marveled at it because he had never seen Carl dance before. He didn’t even know he knew how.

  The girls swung their hips almost in unison around Carl, dipping and sliding up and down. Before long, everyone in the bar was gawking at the sultry triad.

  Peter looked back across the bar and saw the brunette stalking over, her heels pounding the floor in outrage, making her way to the dance floor. When she reached the edge, her steps slowed and she slunk onto the floor, gyrating to the music.

  It was like watching a car merge into traffic on a highway. The brunette danced her way over to the other three and then, ever so gracefully, insinuated herself into the mix. She, too, swung her hips, dipped, and slid herself up and down Carl.

  For Carl, the room spun as the girls’ three pulses blended with the music and the rhythm of their beating hearts. He felt their energy rise like heat off of their skin. He became one with them, mimicking their moves. His motion was both mechanical and fluid simultaneously.

  After dancing for what seemed to Carl like a long time, he led his train off the dance floor and over to the bar. They were all dripping with sweat, and Carl promised them all a round of drinks.

  They walked over to where Peter was standing, watching them quite obviously.

  “Hey, Pete. I’d like you to meet my new friends…” Carl suddenly realized that he didn’t know their names.

  “Larissa,” interjected one.

  “Pam,” said another.

  “Yvette,” said the brunette bombshell.

  “This is my brother, Pete. Say hi, Pete. Yes, well now that we’ve gotten introductions out of the way…”

  “I need to talk to you,” said Yvette to Carl, “…alone.”

  Carl shot a knowing glance at Peter and a playful smile at the other two ladies who looked annoyed at Yvette.

  “Uh, he danced with us,” said Pam. “Maybe you can play with his brother.”

  Yvette didn’t even give Peter a look. “Forget about these tramps. I want to get to know you better.” Her accent was intoxicating. Carl couldn’t place it.

  Peter was incredulous. Three attractive women fighting over his geeky brother. The whole scene was unbelievable, but most entertaining. He just sipped his beer, quietly taking it all in.

  “Ladies,” Carl beseeched with no small amount of pleasure, “I’d like to get to know all of you.”

  Yvette leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “I know who you are.”

  At first, Carl had no idea what she was referring too, but as it dawned on him his skin went cold. He sensed her heart rate was stable; she was cool as a cucumber.

  “Okay,” he said. “Why don’t we step into my office?” He gestured towards the men’s room.

  Peter’s eyes went wide. “Carl, are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

/>   “You can get to know Pam and Larissa here. We’ll be right back.”

  The other two girls looked at Carl and Yvette with disgust as they walked across the bar and disappeared into the men’s room.

  “Hi, I’m Peter.”

  Carl closed the door behind him and latched it shut. It was a small bathroom with barely enough space to hold two people. It was designed for single occupancy.

  Yvette leaned with her back up against the sink. He was directly in front of her, only inches away, with his back against the door.

  “All right, Yvette. What’s this all about?”

  “I’ve been watching you since you came in.”

  Now Carl was confused. Maybe all she wanted was a little boom boom in the men’s room after all.

  “Oh, well, I’m a little unprepared,” he said sheepishly, wishing that he had grabbed some condoms on the way.

  “I know you are the Man From Tora Bora, the Automaton.”

  Shit. “That guy,” Carl said nervously. “They say he’s not even human.”

  “That’s right,” Yvette said smiling.

  “Who are you?” asked Carl.

  “Let’s just say I work for an organization that has been following your work from the beginning.”

  “What organization? Government?”

  “No, not government,” replied Yvette.

  “How did you know who I was?”

  “How is not important,” she answered cryptically. “Why is.”

  “Okay, then why do you know who I am?”

  “Because you are a very significant person, Carl. More than you even know.”

  “Significant? Significant how?”

  “We know about your…gifts.”

  He heard them referred to as abilities or powers, but never as gifts. “And how could you possibly know—”

  “Carl, you are in danger,” she said urgently. “The government is using you, and RGT—”

  “R-G what?”

  “Retinal Gateway Technology.”

  He thought for a moment. Then he remembered Gitmo and Camp X-ray. Fiona’s little toy.

  “Yes,” Yvette continued, “they’ve used it on you to look into your memories. They don’t trust you, Carl.”

  “Okay, so?”