“I worked for him for nearly nineteen years before I got thrown in here. I’m serving three, out in two with good behavior. One year to go. Thanks to Dante, who put in a good word. I was facing more time, actually.”
Trev did not risk rudeness to ask what he’d been charged with. He figured it was something Dante was into. But Dante was always protected, always covered. His men should have been too, but sometimes things slipped through the cracks. Trev knew, though, that Dante took care of the loyal ones. If you weren’t loyal, well, you ended up entombed in space. Trev did not think about that much. It was just a fact of life, something he’d known since he’d seen his father slit a man’s throat.
Kant did not ask Trev what he was in for either. An unspoken etiquette between inmates. But he did say, “Guess you won’t be in here for long yourself. Your father’s reach is long.”
“Yes. It is.” Anger stirred, making Trev suddenly feel sick. He put down his fork.
He felt depleted, overly tired. Still… again. The whole day encroaching, like being spaced. The revenge of dark fathers who never wanted to lose control.
He wanted to leave, go back to his cell. Instead he sat very still, forcing himself to take even, small breaths.
The men around him did not seem to notice Trev’s sudden bout of nerves and kept chatting.
Trev did not hear them. He glanced toward Khim, whose golden hair draped against his cheeks, hiding his face as he ate. Alone. What had the android done? It made him almost crazy to wonder about it.
He watched as the men who’d cut in front of them in the food line got up, taking their trays to the far counter. They walked as a group, with purpose. Other prisoners flinched when they passed by. They headed for the exit but detoured toward Khim. Trev heard Deb speak in a low tone. Khim kept staring at his tray, placing slow, deliberate forkfuls of food into his mouth.
Deb laughed, said something else.
Trev strained to hear but could make out none of the words.
“What’s with the Hercules guy?” Kant asked Trev. “He your friend?”
“No. Cellmate. And that’s not his name.”
“It’s his name now. It’ll stick. Prison is like that. He’s lucky the nickname is flattering and not disgusting or X-rated.”
“Khim. His name’s Khim. And we just met.”
“Well, whatever. He’s going to see trouble in this joint. So it’s good he’s got you on his side.”
“Yeah.” But Trev knew Khim didn’t want him on his side. Khim hated him. Trev just didn’t know why. But hatred or not, he couldn’t forget the moment during their orientation when the doctor had announced Khim’s internal injuries, then leaned in and spoke to him softly. He couldn’t forget that the man, who was really not any more an android than anyone else in this room, despite his metal hand, had obviously been abandoned to the prison system.
Who would ever do such a thing to another human being, no matter their status?
He watched as Deb and his group kept hovering near Khim.
Finally, Trev stood. “I’m done. Nice to meet you all.” He did not even look at Kant or the others. He went to the counter, placed his tray upon it, then sauntered over to Khim.
Deb and his men saw him approach. Deb gave him a leering grin, a waggling eyebrow. “Damico. Just having a friendly chat.”
The men left quicker than he could blink.
Trev said to Khim, “They’re total assholes.”
Khim did not look up. He took a slow sip of water. “I don’t need your help.”
Trev felt as if that fist from earlier had finally impacted in a delayed reaction. “I didn’t say you did.”
He should have felt grateful that Khim was going to ask for a transfer, should have been filled with hatred for this strange man before him. Instead the heavy feeling inside him kept growing, and he wasn’t mad, or enraged at Khim, just sad. It was his father he wanted to rail against. But he had not made up his mind whether he dared to contact him.
Tomorrow he would make an appointment with his lawyer, find out what the extra charges were, see if he could get out of here on his own.
He turned and headed out of the cafeteria.
ON STEERING Star, the doorways to the eight sections that jutted out from the hub were round. The metal opened like flower petals, pulling back when the portals opened or closed. His first morning at Steering Star, Trev had been instructed to go to Door 8 to be taken to a private room to see his lawyer.
A robot sentry met him there, its red eyes unnerving, its disconcertingly long arms folded at its chest plate. It stood, waiting for him as he walked up. One spindled arm lowered toward him. “Your wrist,” the robot said.
Trev held it up and the robot scanned his identchip.
“Trevor Damico, you have a visitor.”
“I know.” Trev rolled his eyes. He hated robots.
“This way, then.”
Trev followed the robot through the portal and into a long corridor, much like the one he’d come through into the prison. A long floor-to-ceiling window opened onto the stars at one side. He could see a lineup of fliers docked at various bays just below the window. This was obviously the route the guards and visitors came in by every day. From the major cloud cities, the fly time would be anywhere from twenty minutes to three hours.
The stars flashed at him. Majestic. Distant. Devoid of atmosphere and planetlight, they drenched the black, thick as rain up here. The tile under his feet was hard and gleaming white, the walls streamlined with no soft colorings or art to adorn them. The warmest thing was those cold stars, caught and held within a darkness that never ended.
They came to a wider section of the corridor that curved, and the window ended. A hall led to many doors, left and right. The robot stopped at the third door.
“Here you are,” it intoned.
The door slid open with a hiss. Trev stepped over the threshold, his shoes hitting soft, plush carpet, his lungs reacting to slightly thicker air and the scent of high-designer cologne.
There was a flat square table made of fake wood. An off-white couch that looked brand-new stood against one wall. Three chairs of black faux leather surrounded the table. In the chair farthest away, with its back to the wall, sat a man in a high-end silk suit of deep blue, a flashy tie of pale lavender, and a scarf of white silk that trailed almost to the floor. His neat dark hair reflected every glance of light. His eyes were carved of the darkness of the void itself.
“Hello, son.”
Trev felt his body jerk in an uncontrolled start. “My lawyer—” But he couldn’t speak further, his voice sticking in his throat.
“I already talked to your lawyer on your behalf. Come. Sit down.” Dante’s voice was always as smooth as a slow, dark sea. It soaked into the pores. It made you feel at peace even as your skin chilled in the man’s presence. Trev envied and even loved his father’s charisma, but he’d always been intimidated by it as well.
He swallowed, but his throat ached and his mouth seemed incapable of making any moisture to soothe it.
“What?” asked Dante. “Don’t I even get a hello? Or a ‘good to see you, Dad’?”
“Dad, I—” Trev tried to speak. Lost his voice again.
“Well, I’m glad to see you’re all right.” Dante put his hands on the tabletop, folding them neatly. “I’ve missed you.”
Trev stared at him. He’d been gone for a little over a day. And all this time his father had known where he was. What a fool he’d been to think he could ever trick Dante. Escape him.
“This facility is quite the architectural feat. Like a giant spider floating on an invisible thread. How do you like it, Trev? Is it as interesting on the inside as well?”
Trev thought he might crack. Forced himself to take a breath. “It’s… a prison,” he answered hesitantly.
“Well, of course it’s a prison. You broke the law. Now I’m doing everything I can to help you, son, but it’s looking very bad.”
“I was already sentenced.
For a year. It’s done. But it wasn’t to this facility. They say I have other charges—”
Dante held up his hand. “Oh, that first sentence. I already cleared that for you. The charges have been dismissed. You’ve been cleared of any malfeasance. Mr. Archimedes confessed to the whole deal, admitted to coercing you. I’m sorry if he took advantage of you, Trev. Men like that cannot be trusted. I thought I taught you that.”
None of that was true. But this was the story that Dante would now tell the world. To save face.
Trev blinked. His chest quivered. “Then why am I here?”
“There was a small matter that came to the attention of the authorities. Well, it seemed small to me, but they didn’t think so. I did do what I could to help, of course.”
“What matter?” Trev’s eyebrows furrowed. He wished in that moment for a different father. A different life.
“Why, the matter of the Bradbury, of course.”
Trev gasped.
“It was just one book, after all. I couldn’t see why they made such a big deal. But, my dear boy, you do realize it’s a priceless artifact. They found it in your car, abandoned in Mooncast.”
“I didn’t leave it in my car,” Trev sputtered.
“No, my dear boy. You left it in my house. Of course I could not have an item like that in my residence. You put all of us at risk.”
Trev looked at his lap. His hands wove together there, damp, shaking. Softly he said, “I want my lawyer.”
Dante leaned forward a bit. “Your lawyer’s here, with a deal I helped procure. I want you to remember what I’ve done for you. The prosecutor wanted to give you ten years. I had it reduced to five. Unless you’re a bad boy while you’re doing your time here, in which case they will add to your sentence. I just wanted to see you first. The warden allowed it. Of course, he and I go way back.”
For a moment Trev thought he might be sick. Five years, and the warden here a friend of his father’s. If there had been a deeper hell he could have climbed into, he didn’t know of it.
“You’d best sign the papers your lawyer—my lawyer—has drawn up for you. If you don’t, your deal will be forfeit. You’ll get ten or more. I did what I could for you.”
Trev looked up. Through his anger and a lifetime of pent-up resentment, Dante’s face blurred. “No one ever would have known. You put the Bradbury in my flier to frame me.”
“But you stole it. You have to pay for that.”
Trev suppressed a sob. He shook his head. “No. I’m paying for leaving you!”
Dante’s smile was flashy. “You never left me, Trev. You’re my favorite. I had your back the whole way as that man Archimedes took advantage of my best boy.”
The words were sinister—worse than anything his father had ever done to him, including punishments at the whipping pole. He’d been such a fool to think he would get away. Ever.
Trev took a shaky breath.
Dante had the audacity to look sympathetic. “Five years is not so long,” he said in the pampering tone of voice he’d used when Trev was a child and had gotten a scrape or a cut. “And your home, your room will be waiting for you when you get out. I will take you back into the fold.” He sat up, chin high. “And you’ll be grateful.”
Trev’s voice had vanished again beneath a welling of emotions, too many to name or count.
“Your brothers and sisters send their love,” Dante added.
With a hissing breath, one word burst from Trev’s mouth. “Fuck!”
“Now, now. I raised you better than that.” Dante stood and walked around the table. “Normally prisoners are not allowed to touch visitors. But I acquired this room specially. No monitors. For us.” He came up to the side of Trev’s chair, patting him on the shoulder. “Now, can I have a hug?”
Trev stayed seated, looking straight ahead.
Dante sighed loudly. “Well, know that I love you, son.” He sighed again. “My favorite, most beautiful boy, please stay safe.”
Trev’s eyes stung, but he would not give in. Not now. Not after all that his father had just said to him, including “I love you,” which was about as ridiculous as anything the last twenty-four hours had contained. Dante didn’t know anything about love. Possession, yes. But love? For years, Trev had tried to believe it—that Dante could love, did love him. He made excuses for his father, convinced himself everything Dante did for his children was out of love. But people were toys to Dante. All people, including his children. His chessboard was all pawns, even if he favored some over others.
Trev had never felt such outright hate for his father as he did in that moment. It filled him with a dark cold that dragged through his body like splinters of ice.
He heard the footsteps recede across the carpet. The cologne scent dissipated as the door hissed open, then closed.
Only after he was alone did Trev finally let go of his voice. It echoed through the room, a low scream tangled with a burst of shouted rage. Then he put his hands to his forehead and rubbed. Hard. He stomped his feet up and down on the plush carpet. Let out another moan.
Then he sat back, listless now, and waited for his father’s lawyer.
Chapter Ten
THE SHOWERS, smelling faintly of bleach and raw, bland soap, were noisy and echoed with men’s voices. Khim hated it. He’d taken communal showers daily with his own kind, but never with real humans. He felt awkward and clumsy and out of place. And afraid. Not for himself, but for the others. If anyone made a move on him, especially there, he could not guarantee the outcome. He was no longer the controlled android he’d been born to be.
He entered a stall in a more shaded corner, not looking at anyone or anything, not paying attention to where Trev had gone.
A few minutes earlier, they had walked to the showers together, wordless, not friends, only cellmates on the same schedule. He hoped that would end. Today. When he asked his advocate for a change of cellmates.
Khim only followed Trev out of habit. It was because of his residual programming, the leftovers of brainwashing. He was never to step in front of humans but always to walk behind them. He fought side by side with other androids as equals, but humans were the superiors. Always.
It was a lie. But his body followed that lie as if it were true.
Khim took towel, soap, and the clean trousers, shirt, and underclothes delivered that morning by a laundry robot, and he placed them on a bench. He quickly undressed, stood under the tepid spray, and cleaned himself. It took about thirty seconds, then another thirty to wash his hair. When he was done, he re-dressed in under two minutes.
Naked and half-naked men came in and out of stalls. Khim did not look at them. Or look for Trev.
He did not feel any need to wait for Trev. He owed him nothing. He wanted to leave the musty, steaming air of the showers as quickly as possible. So far no one had noticed him or cared to notice him, but he did not want to take any chance of running into Deb and his gang.
He threw the wet towel over his shoulder, placed his soap and shampoo back into its plastic container, and strode into the corridor. Water trickled from his hair down the back edge of his jaw. His collar soaked up some of the drips. In the space prison’s crisp air, it would all dry quickly.
Back at the cell, he combed his still-wet hair and used the toilet, checked to make sure his bed was made. It was. Neat and square as if no one had ever slept there. Trev’s bunk up top was also made, but more haphazardly. Wrinkled.
Khim did not touch it. This was not the military. He didn’t think the guards would care about military corners on blanket covers.
Khim left the cell and approached the robot sentry at the bottom of the second-level stairs. He held out his left hand, the flesh hand, toward the robot, wrist up. “I need to make an appointment with an advocate for this morning.”
The robot’s hand waved over his wrist, scanning. “Khim 18367, your advocate is Mr. Weatherford. I will ping him for you for eleven this morning, Door 7. The sentry there will escort you. If that changes,
I will notify you.”
“I understand.” No need to thank a robot.
The breakfast lines were forming in the plaza, two trails of men going into two entrances of the cafeteria. Khim hesitated. After last night’s debacle, he thought he might wait until he could be certain to be at the end of the line. It didn’t bother him to eat last; he preferred less of a crowd. He thought about going back to his cell to wait, but instead he took the stairs to the second level and stayed on the open deck, leaning his abdomen against the rail and scanning the facility. Trev came up the stairway farther down the deck and headed for their cell, his thick dark hair wet against his forehead. Khim noted Trev’s agility as he hopped the steps two at a time.
It still hurt Khim to climb stairs, but he told no one that fact. A robot had delivered antibiotics to him the night before, and another dose would come tonight. He had one more day of the medicine and he’d be done. He wasn’t going to think about any of it after that.
Khim could watch Trev freely from his vantage, unobserved.
Trev was a very slender man, with lean muscles like a cat. Young too, and he held himself with the demeanor of privilege—chin high, shoulders back. Wiry, energetic, Khim could almost see a blue static fizz around him as he moved. Pure fantasy, of course. His mind provided the image, no doubt because Trev was so self-contained yet seemed completely unaware of that fact. The man was quick and bright. Khim had learned to read humans a long time ago so he could best judge how to behave with them to make the least amount of trouble. But reading Trev, he realized, was a waste of his time. He’d be rid of him soon, though. Trev was a Damico. Khim didn’t want to cross him, but he didn’t want to please him either.
Trev did not appear to know that his family owned androids, but it didn’t matter to Khim. Trev was the brother of the men who’d sent him here, the son of the man who’d owned him and had thrown him into that brothel. To avoid dissension that could lead to unwanted violence, he needed a different cellmate.
The Android and the Thief Page 10
