The Android and the Thief

by Wendy Rathbone

Trev frowned. Then his cheeks flushed. “Oh no. No! Not that kind of friend.” He raised his eyebrows in a sort of truce. “No. Okay?”

  Khim shook his head, face in a half scowl. “I don’t know what you mean, then. I don’t have friends. Or know about that sort of thing.”

  Trev knew androids were given false childhoods. “Surely you have some memory of ‘that sort of thing.’”

  “My memories are faulty. At best. It’s a problem, but one I’ve kept to myself.”

  Trev couldn’t imagine not having memories. He looked at the way Khim sat, muscles taut, aloof, alone, and so beautiful. It was like looking at a work of art, a sculpture, but one that had been defiled, hollowed out, used, and ruined. If you touched it, it might crumble under your very fingertips, like one of his fine old books encased in crystal.

  His heart trembled when he imagined what the man must have been through. But you could not encase a man in crystal to save him.

  “Okay, then, so you’ll learn,” Trev said. “If you agree to work on the friendship thing, we have a deal.”

  “Yes. You will tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

  It was Trev’s turn to scowl. “No. It’s not like that. I don’t own you.”

  Khim’s face darkened.

  Trev could not quite read the emotion there, but it wasn’t good, so he added quickly, “It’s two-way, friendship is. You hang out. Talk a bit. Back each other up. Remain loyal. Oh, and bring them apples when they have a headache.”

  Khim’s chest rose as he took a deep breath. The muscles around his eyebrows relaxed. But his eyes still glittered with mistrust. “All right.”

  “All right,” Trev echoed. He stood there, watching the other man glower in the shadows of his bunk. The day had been a very bad one, but at least his cellmate didn’t want to beat him up anymore. That was a tiny, tiny win.

  Trev went to the sink and washed his face. He knew he must have looked terrible throughout the entire conversation. He pushed his bangs back with wet hands, neatening himself.

  He turned back. Khim was still seated on his bunk, arms crossed.

  “I need to go for a walk. Move around a little,” Trev announced.

  Khim simply nodded. “I’ll come too.”

  THE REMAINDER of the day went smoothly. They explored the prison, finding the exercise rooms and media rooms were much bigger and more luxurious than they’d expected. But they could not explore for long—the dinner hour came quickly.

  That night Khim was allowed to join Trev at Kant’s table. No one said anything against it, but no one spoke to Khim either. Trev felt awkward. He was quite hungry; he forced himself to eat quickly so he would have an excuse to leave.

  Kant asked, “How’d your visit with your lawyer go today?”

  Trev took in a sharp breath, shrugged, and kept eating.

  “That good, huh?” Kant slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I thought your father would have you out of here before the rest of us could blink.”

  Trev made a sound halfway between a chuckle and a moan. “Yeah, right. My father. It’s a little complicated, even for him.”

  As Trev spoke he was conscious that Khim’s posture stiffened beside him. He remembered when Khim had said, “I refuse to share a cell with this person.” But it was because he was a Damico that Khim had made the friendship deal with him.

  The dark hole inside him expanded. He lost his appetite.

  He stood, tray in hand. Oddly, Khim mirrored him, though there was still food on his plate.

  Trev muttered, “It’s been a long day.”

  Kant said, “It takes a while to settle in here. But you’re a Damico. You’ll do fine.” He glanced up at the tall android. “Not sure about him, though.”

  Trev heard the tone not as a threat but more a warning. His skin prickled. Khim, as usual, had no response.

  Wordlessly Trev dumped his tray and headed out, Khim following behind him.

  He moved across the plaza to the stairs and went up two steps at a time. When he was on Level 2, he turned to look, and Khim was right behind him.

  “It’s two hours before lights-out, but I’m tired. I’m going back to our cell. You don’t have to follow me.”

  “I have nowhere else to be. And I do not trust any of these men.”

  Trev sighed. He wished he could be alone. His depression from the day was getting the better of him. But he had no energy to argue.

  Once in their cell, Trev shucked off his shoes, pants, and shirt. Underneath he wore the white T-shirt and gray shorts like all the other prisoners. He folded his clothes and placed them on his shelf, then brushed his teeth. He was aware of Khim the whole time, sitting in his bunk with his knees up, hands against his shins, facing the side wall.

  Trev peed, then leaped onto the top bunk, settling gracefully and saying a soft “Night” as he went.

  Khim did not answer.

  Trev shifted under his blanket and turned toward the wall. He lay very still, listening to the tense pulsing of his heart.

  It was ridiculous. The whole day had been. But it wouldn’t do to let others know too much. How his sentence had been increased and he had no chance of getting out of here for five years. How his father had betrayed him.

  He remembered being very small, maybe four years old, and there was a big party at the mansion. Dante had shooed away Trev’s nanny and surprised his tiny son by dressing him himself. There had been a silver box with a big red bow. Inside was a tuxedo, twin to his father’s but made to fit Trev. Dante took his time with him, making sure every ruffle was in place and the tiny bow around his neck was properly tied. Trev even had new, shiny black shoes. Dante combed Trev’s hair until it shone and put a bit of spray on it to hold it back from his face. Then he picked up his son, and they looked at each other in the big mirror of Trev’s closet. Trev was a miniature copy of his father.

  “Look at us,” Dante had said. “Aren’t we amazing?”

  Little Trev said, “I love you, Daddy. Thank you. This suit is pretty.”

  Dante laughed. He kissed Trev on his plump, flushed cheek. “This is your first party, little boy, and I’m going to show you off to everybody.”

  The promise was kept. Dante barely let go of Trev all night, introducing him to just about every guest. He doted on Trev, kept his hand on him even when Trev was not in his arms. His older brothers and sisters smiled at him, but they were also jealous. “Pet,” fourteen-year-old Breq had called him at one point when their father wasn’t looking. “Like a trained dog.”

  “Am not!” Trev retorted hotly, then grinned as Dante lifted him up again. He put his short arms about his daddy’s neck and smirked back at Breq, who rolled his eyes and turned away as more guests greeted them, saying, “Mr. Damico, is this beautiful boy your new adopted son?”

  “He’s been with us two years,” Dante replied. “He’s very special.”

  Trev had basked. He also liked that he was adopted. It set him apart from his siblings.

  Trev had tried to convince himself for so long, even through the worst parts of his life with Dante Damico, that he was well and truly loved. But that conviction became harder and harder the older he grew.

  On his side, with his pillow bunched under his head, Trev’s eyes filled and he clamped down hard on his emotions. He bit the insides of his cheeks. Shut his eyes. Sniffed.

  He heard Khim get up, use the toilet, brush his teeth. He heard the soft shush of cloth against skin as he disrobed. There was a tiny vibration in the frame of the bunk as Khim climbed in below.

  Trev thought it was stupid that Khim was going to bed as early as he was. But that was the deal. Khim wanted to stick with Trev to minimize “provocation.”

  After a while, through his misery, Trev heard Khim’s rich voice rise up, saying, “It is but one day in a universe that is sixteen billion years old. That’s how I got through every day of the war.”

  For a moment Trev thought he was dreaming. Khim did not seem the type to offer up pleasantries. Or comfort. />
  “Yeah,” he replied with a shaky breath. “But it’s a fucked-up universe.”

  Silence from below. Trev took it as agreement.

  IT WAS strange at first. Trev had a pet android following him around. Well, not an android. Not really. The man was fully human. The unfortunate circumstance of his birth was what wrongly defined him.

  But the strangeness of it all wasn’t just what Khim was. Trev’s perceptions played tricks. When he moved and Khim moved with him, he felt a sort of electrical field behind him, a pulsing as if Trev hauled a gold-drenched light wherever he went. And there was that odd scent of fresh-baked bread. Cloying. Hunger inducing.

  They woke to the clanging prison alarm at six sharp. Breakfast would come at seven. That gave them an hour to procure fresh clothing from the robots at the laundry, shower, dress, and neaten their bunks and their cell. During this time they were allowed to make future appointments with advocates or lawyers if need be, through the sentries assigned to their cell level.

  On day three, Trev jumped down from his bunk. He’d slept almost twelve hours after going to bed so early and depressed the night before. The air felt cold against his legs; his nose burned from the dryness. He hurriedly put on yesterday’s clothes, his back to the toilet where Khim was. He hated their lack of privacy. He’d never get used to it.

  At 6:05 a.m. the force fields on each cell hummed off, and the ceiling of their cell glowed white. Sentries passed by to make sure all the men were rising, all accounted for.

  Khim and Trev left and passed by the laundry room, gathering clean clothes for the day.

  In the shower room assigned to their block section, Khim followed Trev. They chose stalls side by side. Other men were already there, the steam from the stalls rising in the air. Luckily none of them were Deb and his gang. No one called Khim “Herc” or even seemed to notice him. So far. Inmates barely glanced their way, too busy hurrying to get in and out so they could be first in line for breakfast.

  Khim was quick and efficient at disrobing, then re-dressing, but Trev caught just a glimpse of his tall, muscular body. The bruises on his ribs already looked healed. He also noted, with not a small amount of self-conscious nervousness, how perfectly streamlined that body was. How beautiful.

  Trev was not used to taking note of people in that way. And now it would not do to notice, since Khim was only his fake friend and still didn’t even seem to like him.

  Khim ignored everyone, including Trev, not looking once in his direction while they were dressing in fresh clothes.

  They left the shower, tossing their day-old clothing in a bin where a robot stood watching with red eyes.

  At breakfast, Deb and his gang showed up as usual. One of the men, not Deb, passed very close by Khim, accidentally bumping him.

  Trev said, “Watch where you’re going.”

  “Damico scum,” the man said under his breath so that only Trev and Khim could hear.

  Trev was not sure what to do. Should he stand and confront the guy? Or pretend he hadn’t heard? But the man was already two tables away before he could even think about reacting.

  Kant and his men showed up a minute later. Breakfast ended peacefully.

  As they walked across the plaza, Trev turned to Khim. “Let’s check out the starboard exercise room.”

  Khim looked supremely bored. “Intriguing,” he replied tonelessly.

  Both exercise rooms were quite large and fully equipped. Trev and Khim ended up spending most of the morning using the equipment and walking the indoor track.

  As they were spotting each other on weights, Trev watched Khim wince once. He asked quietly, “Do you still have pain?”

  Khim’s eyes narrowed. His mouth straightened. Finally, he replied curtly, “The exercise helps.” Then he got up and walked to the far side of the room and mounted a cycle gingerly.

  Trev was cut off from asking any more personal questions. He understood that Khim was still raw, both physically and mentally. Maybe his wounds would never completely heal. Trev didn’t know the psychology of androids, but when it came to pain of any kind, he thought they were probably the same as humans underneath.

  Both had removed their gray shirts and wore only their T-shirts above the waist. The way Khim’s muscles rippled in the white light of the room got the attention of a lot of men. Eyes furtively glanced at him, then at Trev, then away. Other men in that room were bulked up as well. Some of them looked as if working out was all they ever did. In a way, Khim fit in nicely. If he hadn’t been an android, probably there would never be much trouble for him. Especially since he could fight.

  Trev slowly made his way to the cycles. He climbed onto a cycle two down from Khim. They rode for half an hour, then drank from water fountains that extended from the wall.

  To cool off, they sat on a bench near the far wall, which was clear and showed the star field beyond.

  Neither man spoke.

  The lunch alarm sounded.

  AFTER LUNCH they decided to check out the larger of the libraries.

  The room curved outward at the edge of the prison hub, the tall white ceiling trailing in a half arc to a broad window that took up the far wall and showed off the stars. Sometimes fliers floated by, their engines leaving a strange red plume against the black. There were couches along the solid walls and lined up end-to-end in the middle of the room. Robot sentries stood at either side of the entrance and at the far corners of the room, their scarlet eyes observing all the open space. It was interesting that the prison afforded this luxury.

  This particular room supplied digital books that could “chip” right into the brain through an earbud. You closed your eyes and you could read. A blink turned the page. Trev preferred his collection of real-books back home, but he tried not to think of that.

  They used the plush couches in the main room to sit and read. The rules posted on the wall stated they were allowed to take one book each per night to their cell.

  Trev chose a Bradbury, of course, with the fitting title A Medicine for Melancholy. He glanced over at Khim. “Which one did you choose?”

  “The Art of War.”

  Trev said, “Sun Tzu. I haven’t read it. Aren’t you tired of war by now?”

  “The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting,” Khim quoted.

  “Okay, then, that applies directly to the situation at hand. Maybe that’s something we both should read.” Trev relented, leaning back.

  They were quiet for two hours.

  An alarm rang out, echoing, interrupting their reading. A voice filtered in behind the alarm. “Random lockdown. You are to report immediately to your cells for the count. Any inmate not in his cell by the count of five minutes will receive two checks.”

  Three checks meant automatic solitary for two days, Trev recalled. Khim and Trev rose, checked out their books with the sentry, and hurried across the plaza.

  They reached their cell with a minute to spare before the force field automatically reset.

  A sentry came by, reciting their names and telling them to hold their wrists up facing the entrance. The robot scanned their identchips through the field, acknowledged they were present, and moved on.

  “Well,” Trev said, “at least we got books.” He bounded up onto his bunk, using one hand to increase upward momentum, and landed on his feet, knees bent. “Damn. Forgot to take off my shoes.”

  Khim stared at him.

  “What?” Trev asked.

  “Most men would climb up using the end of the frame.”

  “Well, I’m not most men.”

  “I can see that.”

  Trev suppressed a grin. Khim was making small talk. It was a first. However, it didn’t continue.

  They spent the two hours of lockdown in silent reading.

  Chapter Twelve

  A NEW day came.

  The shower seemed busier this morning. Damp and steamy. They had to wait longer than usual for stalls, and getting two side-by-side today was not going to be possibl
e.

  When they were at the front of the line, one stall became vacant and Trev motioned for Khim to go in first.

  Khim went, knowing Trev was right behind him, and if not next to him, then at least in the vicinity. He smelled the clear but rough edge of the soaps they all used, and the plain shampoos. The overchlorinated water came on with a sharp smell. He undressed quickly, placing his dirty clothes on the bench next to his clean clothes and towel.

  The spray was hot. At least there was that. He could soak his muscles for a moment, and the water felt good on his lower back where he still ached.

  Sounds of splashing and echoes of splashes filled the room. Men’s voices reverberated off the tiled walls. Laughter as someone told a dirty joke. It was ironic to Khim that even in prison humans could find humor.

  Khim soaped up fast. Shampoo foamed in his hair. He was almost done, ready to rinse.

  Someone cried out. Pleasure or pain?

  His heart began a panicked rhythm. He heard a slap of flesh on flesh. Heard grunts and a moan. When the men in his unit had sex with each other, it could sound like that. He’d grown used to it.

  So two men were having sex in the showers. So what?

  He closed off his mind to the sound. But he heard whisperings and chuckles. Even closing his eyes and sticking his head under the water to clear off the shampoo didn’t drown out the muttered command from several stalls down.

  “Shut up and take it.”

  The mood in the showers changed eerily. Khim could feel it. The echoes of men joking, or laughing, dimmed. Men went silent. The air, already humid, became swamped with fear.

  Where was the sentry?

  He heard men rapidly filing out. He heard spigots go off, the splashing of water diminishing. And more groans. And cries. Three voices, maybe four.

  He breathed in, and his chest began to shake. He turned off the water and grabbed his towel.

  He could still hear the muffled cries, some more chuckling, more groans.

  Trev appeared suddenly at the entrance to Khim’s stall, half-dressed, his clothing soaked, his dark hair in his eyes. “Let’s go,” he said.