Girl of Flesh and Metal

by Alicia Ellis

  While the Model Two shoved at his shoulders and tried to release itself from Jackson’s grip, Jackson grabbed the loose arm and pulled, teeth gritted with the effort. Metal screamed and sparks flew as the arm tore free of the android’s shoulder, leaving wires hanging loose from the ruptured socket.

  Jackson lifted his head to grin at me. The android took advantage of the distraction and rolled Jackson onto his back. Its knee dug into his stomach, while the other leg pinned his wrist. The smile washed from Jackson’s face, and his mouth twisted in pain.

  I scanned the room for something—anything—that could help us shut down the Model Two.

  The hand-screen we’d used to load my software onto it was a small, twisted piece of metal. I had another hand-screen in my jacket pocket, but I didn’t know how to remove the data we’d just loaded onto the android. And even if I could manage that, the larger problem was getting the device connected to A12.

  The android rained down punches on Jackson, who wrenched his captured wrist free. He held both arms over his head to block. I cringed at the blunt sound of each strike. Jackson wouldn’t be able to hold the android off for long. He thought he was invincible. A12 might prove him wrong.

  “An EMP gun!” Dr. Fisher shouted from the hall, where she was lying spread-eagle on top of a struggling Ron. “Check those drawers.”

  Her words shocked me into motion

  I ran to a metal organizer along the far wall. It had eight drawers, four stacked atop one another on the left and four on the right. I started with the top right.

  It contained nothing but tools. Wrenches and screwdrivers, and other things that looked tool-like but I didn’t recognize.

  I shifted the items around, but the drawer was so packed with metal objects that I couldn’t be sure I was seeing everything. The EMP gun Dr. Kim had shown me was no bigger than some of these and similarly shaped. One could easily be hiding under all this junk.

  The thump, thump, thump of blows between the android and Jackson continued behind me, now mixed with Jackson’s grunts.

  “Hurry up!” he shouted.

  “Screw it.” I yanked the drawer upward and out of its frame, bending the frame in the process, and dumped the contents upside down. I shifted through the items on the floor for only a few seconds before deciding there was no EMP gun there.

  The sound of Jackson taking blow after blow assaulted me. I cringed at every impact. The best way I could help him was to find the EMP gun, but I had to look. His arms were starting to wear. The android’s one-armed punches had broken past the skin on his arms, and the metal shone through, dented and bent but so far still holding. The clank of metal against metal sounded at each strike.

  I didn’t bother shifting the items around inside the second drawer, just yanked it out of the frame and dumped its contents on the floor. This one had been filled with a few cables but mostly small devices with out-of-date technologies. Hand-screens that couldn’t be resized. Too-large micro-comms.

  In the third drawer, the EMP gun sat right on top.

  “Found it!”

  “It’s coded to my ID chip.” Dr. Fisher beckoned me toward her.

  I snatched it up and ran halfway back to the door before chucking it the rest of the way.

  She caught it smoothly and pointed the device toward Jackson. It looked just like the one Dr. Kim had for testing the Model Ones. Hadn’t she said they worked on all electronics?

  “Wait!” I shouted.

  “Don’t wait. Shoot.” Jackson’s words came out staccato, as he braced for each blow from the android still on top of him.

  “You’ll kill him. Half his body is cybernetic.”

  Reacting to my words, Jackson dropped his arms for a split second. A12’s next punch struck his eye, and he howled in pain. “Just fucking shoot it,” he shouted, as another punch skimmed his mouth. His lip split, and blood gushed down his chin. “Don’t miss!”

  Fisher’s eyes narrowed, and she pulled the trigger.

  I screamed.

  The muzzle lit up bright blue, sputtered, and then died.

  Oh crap.

  I threw myself at the android. Air burst from my lungs as I slammed into the solid metal. The two of us rolled across the floor. Jackson darted after us and yanked the android to its feet. He wrenched its remaining arm behind its back.

  “Its power supply!” Fisher shouted. “In the chest cavity.”

  Ron finally gave up struggling under her considerable bulk and went limp, his eyes glaring.

  The android faced me, Jackson still holding its arm behind it. I leaped toward the thing’s torso, but it kicked out. Its foot nailed me in the chest. I sank down to my knees, gasping for air. Another leg shot out toward me, but I dropped to the side to avoid it.

  I jumped back to my feet and threw my left arm forward. The android kicked again, but I dodged and slammed my fist into its chest. The metal panel bent at the impact and hung awkwardly in its frame.

  With my right hand, I grabbed a protruding edge of the loose chest panel and yanked. Metal creaked, and the panel ripped free. I stumbled backward, panel in hand.

  Inside, an array of wires and unrecognizable parts greeted me. The Model Two finally ripped its arm free of Jackson and punched him in the chest. Jackson stumbled backward. The android’s arm shot out, and fingers closed around my neck.

  It lifted me from the ground, and I kicked empty air. Its wrist blocked my view downward to the parts inside the open chest. Blind, my right hand fumbled in the chest cavity. Wires, more wires.

  “Lower,” Fisher shouted.

  Jackson yanked at the android’s arm that held me, but A12 was immovable.

  My lungs screamed for air, and I fought to remain conscious. Darkness inched in around me. Each time I blinked, I yearned to keep my eyelids closed, to drift off to sleep. Off to a place where my chest didn’t feel like it was on fire.

  My right hand touched a warm piece of metal inside the android’s chest.

  “There!” Fisher shouted.

  I pulled. Cables snapped, and a smooth metal disk came off in my hand.

  The android’s bright red eyes flickered and died. The metal fingers around my neck loosened, and I dropped. My legs buckled beneath me. I sank to the floor, beaten, bruised, but still alive.

  35

  I lay in one of CyberCorp’s hospital rooms. The doctor standing over me wasn’t Dr. Fisher, but like her, he wore the glaring red CyberCorp logo on the pocket of his white jacket.

  I closed my eyes briefly and wished I were in a normal hospital, one without murderous, psychopathic androids.

  “It’s good to see you awake, Miss Hayes.” The doctor smiled down at me. Above the CyberCorp logo, his name appeared in red thread: Dr. Morris. He gestured to the opposite side of my bed. “Your father’s been worried.”

  This was the second time in the span of a few weeks that I’d woken in a hospital bed with my father at my side. His chair sat right next to the bed, one hand clutched loosely around my right one. The other arm cradled a sleeping Allie, who snored with her head tucked in the hollow between his neck and shoulder.

  Marcy leaned against the wall in the far corner. She gave me a warm smile.

  “I want to go to a hospital,” I said.

  My father shook his head. “You’re not going to one of those any time soon, not with that arm.” He released my hand and pointed at my head. “And not with that chip in your head.”

  I let out a long stream of breath.

  “There’s no way to get it out without risking your life.”

  “Which is exactly why someone should have asked me before putting it in there.”

  “You’re right.”

  I jerked upright, and then groaned as aches rocketed through my body. I couldn’t recall ever hearing him say that to me—or to anyone. “Ugh. Can you save shocking revelations like that until after I’ve recovered?”

  His full laugh showed off perfect teeth and a wide, beautiful smile. He squeezed my hand tighter.
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br />   “It’s fine,” I said. “It’s going to have to be.” I’d spent all this time sulking about having an artificially intelligent limb. But without it, Jackson and I wouldn’t have been able to take down that Model Two. The arm was never the problem. Ron was the problem. “As long as Ron’s out of my head.”

  “He is. We removed all his programming from your chip.” My dad’s face went serious. “And he’s squealing like a pig. We knew he needed a serious financial backer to pull off the stuff with the EyeNet. He’s negotiating a lighter sentence in return for giving up Philip Pollock.”

  My instinct was to defend my former idol, but I no longer had it in me.

  If life was fair, they would both spend the rest of their lives in jail. And Pollock’s cell would be fitted with extra tech—the best artificial intelligence in the security field—just to make him squirm.

  “Good. Where’s Mom?” The last time I’d seen her, she’d been standing between me and a gun.

  “Your mother’s fine. She said she was going for a bathroom break.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a loud whisper. “But I think she really went to boss around some of the doctors and nurses. She’s worried about you.” He nodded toward a guard blocking the door from the inside. “Some friends are here to see you.”

  The guard opened the door, and in flew Liv, followed by Hunter. I gave them a wide smile, which fell the slightest bit when I saw Jackson wasn’t with them.

  Liv squeezed me in a long embrace and then wiped the wetness from her eyes.

  “You’re such a sap,” I told her.

  Hunter shot a glance at my dad before giving me a one-armed hug.

  My dad pushed up from his chair and stepped away to give us space. Standing, he repositioned Allie to sit on his hip, her head leaning on his shoulder. She mumbled something in half-sleep.

  Liv and Hunter both sat on the edge of my bed, with Liv closer to my head.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked. She chewed her lip, the way she did when she was nervous.

  I inventoried my body. My back still throbbed from when Jackson had thrown me to the floor, as did my cheek where both Jackson and the Model Two hit me with their large—and very metal—fists. My throat felt raw and dry. But I was alive and in one piece.

  My left arm had been replaced with a brand-new one, thanks to A12 having mangled the old one’s hand. I wished I could have my original one back—the one made of flesh and bone—but this would have to do.

  I could get used to it. Someday.

  “I’m fine. A little tired, but I’ll survive.” I gave Liv a tired smile.

  She didn’t return it.

  “I said I’m fine. I promise.” I grabbed her hand and squeezed it, but her expression remained worried.

  My father touched his ear to take a call. He listened for a moment, then said, “I’m in my daughter’s hospital room right now, so give me a moment to step out.” He pointed to the door to let me know he was leaving.

  Marcy followed and smoothly relieved him of Allie, setting my sister on her hip instead.

  With those three out of the room, Liv surrendered her position close to my head. She stood, and Hunter shifted into her spot.

  My hand fit perfectly into his. When he leaned over and touched his forehead to mine, I threaded my fingers into his dark hair, still damp from a recent shower. The soft rhythm of his breathing and the spring scent of his shampoo calmed me.

  The door opened, and Hunter jumped away. My father looked back and forth between us, and then to Liv standing several feet away. He’d never seen me with any boy except Jackson. I didn’t look forward to the interrogation I’d get about Hunter once things settled down.

  I scrambled to fill the silence. “How’s Jackson?”

  The edges of Hunter’s mouth twitched downward.

  “He’s here too,” my dad said, “but the doctors are still working on him. He’s awake, and he’ll be fine. He’s been asking for you.” He shot another glance at Hunter.

  Jackson had been there last night only because he followed me after I broke up with him. But without him, I’d have more dead bodies on my conscience, or I would be dead too. I owed him a conversation.

  More importantly, I wanted to have that conversation. I’d been able to count on him for most of my life, and last night, when we were as far apart as we’d ever been, he’d leaped in and stood beside me.

  “I want to know when he’s available.”

  “I’ll make sure you do.”

  I took a deep breath. “And . . . Simon?” The image stained the inside of my eyelids—A12 slamming his head into the floor over and over. Blood leaking from poor Simon’s face.

  My father’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t need to answer.

  “Thought so.” Tears stung my eyes, and I let them fall. Unlike the others, Simon hadn’t died by my hands. But he’d died trying to help me, and that hurt my soul almost as much.

  “But you saved Dr. Fisher’s life. You and Jackson both.”

  I offered him a weak smile.

  “Dr. Fisher is so grateful for your intervention that she’s prepared to testify on your behalf about the three murders. She doesn’t know all the details, just that you’re a suspect. We’ll go down to the police station and make an official statement as soon as we can. Fisher and Jackson will come with us, and I hope that will be enough witnesses to back our story that you weren’t really to blame for the murders.”

  “Are we sure about that?” I asked. “The arm was designed to follow my instructions, even the ones I didn’t know my brain was giving.”

  He brushed my hair away from my face. “You’re not responsible. The Model Two’s reaction to your data proves that. It got aggressive because of the same data that made you do those things. The AI was in control, and Ron was in control of it.”

  “What about Jackson? He had a lot more replaced than I did, but he seemed fine. Doesn’t that prove there was something about my brain that made me act that way?”

  “No.” My father’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth together. “Apparently, Ron chose to target only you. We discovered a while back that the Model Ones and Twos were vulnerable to the EyeNet, but we patched the issue. Jackson got the correct software, patch included. You had the correct software initially—your mom oversaw the original installation—but Ron must have removed the patch at some point.”

  “During physical therapy.” I groaned as I recalled how he’d deleted some code from my software when he adjusted my arm strength. That was when he’d done it. Even before I left the hospital, I’d been under his control.

  “Hey. It’s okay.” My dad reached for my right hand, which I had balled into a fist. “Everything will be fine. It’s all over now. I promise.”

  The warmth of his hand in mine quieted my thoughts, and a massive weight rose from my chest.

  “They’ve removed all the data your chip learned in the last week and a half, and they added code to destroy any data coming in from the EyeNet. You should be back to your old self now.”

  I wasn’t sure I knew what that was anymore.

  “I’m not a murderer.” I tested the words in my mouth. The explanation was logical, but the words tasted like a lie. When my eyes closed, even when I blinked, I saw Debbie’s lifeless body sprawled across her mattress.

  It had been less than two weeks since I woke from the coma with this arm, and in that time, I’d taken three lives and saved one. The math didn’t add up.

  But that last one—the saving—I did that by choice. I embraced having the arm, and I saved a life with it.

  For now, I would try to take comfort in that.

  36

  They kept me under observation for another day. The next morning, I went through the familiar process of checking out of what I’d come to think of as CyberCorp Hospital. I didn’t have a suitcase this time, only a small backpack and the change of clothes Liv had brought me this morning.

  Liv zipped yesterday’s clothing into the bag and threw it ov
er her shoulder. “Ready to go?”

  “You have no idea.”

  They’d just given me a large dose of meds, so I was pain free and ready to get the hell out of there. I restrained myself from running out the door.

  In the hallway, images of Philip Pollock and his vital stats flashed across the walls as we glided by on the moving walkway: Six-foot-two, 180 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes. Suspected of multiple counts of murder and attempted murder. Last seen unarmed, but the suspect has unlimited resources. Do not approach. Call CyberCorp security immediately on sight.

  I stepped off the moving walkway to get a closer look, and Liv followed close behind.

  So much had happened in the past day that I’d had little time to think about Philip—how he’d tried to make me believe all this was my fault—how he preached hatred for technology and then used it as a weapon against innocent teens like Debbie.

  The image of his face zoomed out until the screen displayed his whole body. Then the screen blanked, and the information began again on a loop.

  “Why do you think he did it?” I asked.

  Liv was trembling, her hands fisted at her sides.

  “What’s going on with you?” I asked. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

  Sad eyes stared at Philip’s image on the vid-screen. “Ron is my boyfriend,” she whispered.

  My mouth dropped open. “He’s the older guy you’re dating?”

  She nodded, chewing her lip.

  “He asked me to make sure you didn’t press the issue about changing your arm’s programming,” she blurted out. “I didn’t know why. He just said your arm was important to his job. I was trying to help him out. I swear I didn’t know what he was doing. And I definitely didn’t know he was working with that crazy Pollock dude.”

  “But I introduced you guys when we toured CyberCorp.”

  “No. He didn’t want you to know about us—said something about not wanting special treatment from his employers because of having a personal connection to you.” She flushed bright red and stared down at her toes. “I didn’t question it much. I should have.”