The Android and the Thief

by Wendy Rathbone

  “Do you two have a thing or something?”

  “No.” Trev felt his face heat at the suggestion. “He’s just like you. He’s trying to stay out of trouble.”

  Jay said, “By hanging with you.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s your name. People respect it. I would’ve thought for a Damico you’d be a lot worse. Like Deb’s men. The Damicos have that reputation. But you put up with him. And you put up with me.”

  Trev felt slightly bereft at the statement and decided that perhaps Jay talked a bit too much. “One day at a time,” he said under his breath.

  He looked up and saw Khim staring at him from across the room with a strange, almost frustrated look. Khim looked down as soon as Trev met his eyes.

  When they walked back to their cell with their new books, Jay went off to his own cell to await the dinner hour.

  Trev hopped up to his bunk and lay back, glad for more quiet reading time. Khim stood for a moment in the center of the cell. Trev thought maybe Khim needed to use the toilet, and he turned away to face the wall. It had been an unspoken etiquette between them, giving each other as much privacy as they were able.

  Trev closed his eyes and began to read, blinking to access the next page.

  After a minute he heard shuffling and wondered what Khim was doing. Curious, he opened one eye, and the book page slipped away from his vision.

  Khim was pacing the cell, hands making fists, head down. Back and forth he went from the edge of the bunk to the opposite side wall. It was such a small space he could only go two steps before he had to turn and go two steps back. His shoulders hunched. It looked to Trev like he was just spinning in circles. He kept taking deep breaths.

  Trev sat up, both eyes open now. “Khim, what are you doing?”

  Khim paced two more times before looking up. “Get rid of him,” he said cryptically.

  “What?”

  “I can’t stand looking at him. I don’t want him tagging around.”

  “Are you talking about Jay?”

  Khim stood still now, hands on his hips, head down. His hair was flaxen, with a mirror shine today. But the beautiful face was tortured.

  Trev said, “He feels safe with us. You understand that, right?”

  “I can’t look at him. If he weren’t so damnably weak, none of it would have happened. And he wouldn’t be interfering with our deal.”

  Trev felt his jaw go tight. “He’s not interfering with our deal.” He could not believe Khim was saying this.

  Khim put a hand to his forehead. “I can’t stand his incessant chatter.”

  Trev had no love for Jay, but he didn’t hate him. “He’s not ‘chattering’ to you. So you don’t have to worry.”

  Khim opened his mouth to speak. Closed it. Trev watched him, trying to read him. The man looked furious. Khim and Jay were so different, but maybe Jay’s look and demeanor and the fact that he’d been raped kept Khim on edge because he related to it so deeply.

  Trev said, “It’s not his fault he was raped.”

  Khim glared at him through lowered lashes. “Isn’t it?”

  Trev frowned. “No.”

  “He invites it. The way he’s weak. The way he—” He stopped abruptly, a strange pain washing over his face.

  Trev said stiffly, “No one invites it. Do they?” He watched to see how Khim would take that. He’d never stopped being curious about what had happened to Khim, but short of asking him outright, there was no way to find out. No prison rumors, nothing.

  “He could fight back. If he wanted to,” Khim said.

  “Or maybe he might never learn to fight properly, and get himself killed for it.”

  Khim’s flesh hand clenched, unclenched. “Some do invite it.”

  Trev gulped. Sat up straighter, a bold feeling overcoming him. “Did you?”

  Khim hunched down, head forward, staring at the floor now. The man had just been talking about fighting, but his training had him posturing like a shamed dog.

  “You can’t really be telling me you blame yourself for your situation, how you were born, everything about that.” Trev was careful. He so wished he could know more about Khim.

  “If I had proper controls, I would not be here,” he replied, voice just above a whisper.

  “Where would you be?”

  Khim’s lips twitched. “That isn’t relevant.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “If you can stand there and tell me victims are to blame for their plight—”

  “It’s a mind-set!”

  Trev sighed. “Then you teach him how to be, how to act. If you think you’re so right, why don’t you help Jay?”

  Khim’s blue eyes were on fire. “It’s not my job.” He paused. “Besides, I can’t even help myself.”

  Very gently, Trev asked what he’d been wanting to ask since he’d first met him. “What happened to you?”

  Khim turned away now, moving toward the sink, head still down.

  Trev felt as if he were dealing with a wild animal. “If I could understand you better, maybe I’d piss you off less.”

  “All you need to know is I was a soldier. I learned to fight. Now I can’t do that, even when every instinct propels me to it.”

  “But it’s more than that.” Trev kept his voice steady. “You’ve been badly hurt because of it.”

  Khim’s body whirled. Everything about him hard, virile, strong, and big, he trembled as if he stood on the edge of a crumbling cliff. That fierce golden light flamed in him. “You don’t need to know these things! Why do you ask me as if you care? This is a simple deal between us. No more.”

  Instinctively, Trev drew back at the very power of him, brimming. Caught and falling. “I don’t think of it like tha—” he began.

  Khim turned away, breath coming out fast, and strode out of the cell.

  Trev sat there for a moment, stunned. Then he said to the empty air, “What just happened?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  KHIM MOVED across the plaza toward the weight rooms. In the corners of his vision were sparkling white lights, tiny fractured droplets as if, in his mind, it had started to rain.

  In his chest: a raging furnace.

  In his stomach: eels tied in knots.

  In his brain: an electrical storm complete with howling winds.

  He did not assess his heart behind its transparent barrier. He didn’t believe there was any of it left.

  Less than two weeks had passed, but he knew now. He was not going to survive this.

  It had to end. Now.

  He entered the largest weight room, the one he and Trev favored, and looked at the men. Most did not notice his presence, but some glanced up, gazes lingering, mouths scowling.

  He walked the length of the room and the small jogging track that hugged the walls, ignoring the sentries, looking at the human faces. Bringing them into his mind, then disregarding them. It was less dry here; a scent bit the air, of sweat and strain. The men looked tough, vibrant, even angry. All the tough dayshine masks they wore were so transparent. Khim had heard them at night, each and every one of them crying into his pillow.

  Not finding what he sought, he turned and left, making his way to the second weight room.

  More stench of human. More masks to disprove grief. He sniffed about the room, scanned, searched.

  And there they were. The little gang making their piss-poor, weak structure of terror at the corner of the room. Playing top dog. Laughing. Toying with a couple of strays. Enfolding them into their plans to do the grunt work, the strays too fearful to turn down the jobs. At the very center, Deb stood as if he wore a crown and a velvet cape instead of gray prison fatigues. Arms crossed. Telling the other idiots who followed him—who in all the universes knew why they followed a man like that?—what to do, how to coerce, take, assault, destroy.

  Khim strode toward them, noting the sentries’ red eyes following his progress, but he didn’t care. Maybe they could read his body language. Ma
ybe the robots were already notifying human guards, sending out a warning.

  Fight in Weight Room Two. Emergency. Immediate measures necessary. Commence lockdown.

  But no alarms went off. Nothing happened. Yet.

  One of the gang looked up. “Hey, it’s Herc.”

  Irony crossed Khim’s mind for the second time that day. Since Hercules was known for holding up the sky, killing the hydra, capturing a boar, fighting with giants, it seemed quite an appropriate nickname for what he was feeling right now.

  He walked right up to the group, stood tall with his head up, shoulders back, and met each and every man’s gaze in turn. The faces of the three he sought showed themselves. Strangely, they all stood together with slimy, sloppy, dumb looks that revealed no structural thoughts of their own, past what they could take for their own pleasure, for satiation, for getting high. He saw them in his mind again in the shower, naked, sexually aggressive, stupid.

  Khim lifted his metal hand and pointed. “You three. Now. It’s time.”

  Deb was sidling over to him, which Khim expected. “Excuse me, android,” he drawled. “Do you have a problem with some of my men?”

  “They definitely have a problem,” Khim said.

  “Where’s your Damico bodyguard today? Did he toss you out with the rest of the trash when he was done with you, the way their kind does?”

  “Do you see him with me? I come alone.”

  “Let’s work this out, then. Like adults,” Deb said slowly, body straightening, chin up.

  He was the take-charge man. Khim knew the type well. In the wars he’d fought, the human leaders had this manner. They led; the sheep followed. Khim understood this structure. It was often far too artless for his tastes, but necessary.

  Deb, like all of them, wanted Khim on his knees. And he would probably stop at nothing to get him there.

  Khim turned his slitted gaze on him. “You want to make a deal? Like adults?”

  Deb made a tsking sound with his tongue. “It’s simple, really. The deal is this. You bend over for me. That’s the deal.”

  All the men, about twelve of them, were coming in closer to surround them. Khim felt their heat and smelled their stink at his back. He had no plan, no idea what he was doing. But he was not afraid. If he was going to die, he was going to take as many of these men down with him as he could.

  The storm in his head raged with satisfaction at the idea. The winds inside him snarled at each other, excited.

  Khim noted casually that one of the men to his right produced a very small square of metal in his palm. At first he thought it might be a weapon, a homemade knife. But then he saw the guy wave it in a quick circle just above his head.

  Something happened then. The sentries froze. He could see it through the crowd of men, the way the robots’ red eyes suddenly dimmed and their limbs froze. They were cold now. Temporarily dead.

  Other men using the equipment in the room began to leave.

  “It’s true, then,” Deb said, “that you are submissive. All of your kind, beautifully submissive monsters. Aren’t I right?”

  Khim said, “Have you met an android before?”

  “I have.”

  That surprised Khim somewhat but did not deter him. “Then you know.”

  Deb’s Adam’s apple rocked against his neck as he swallowed. “Bow to me, android.”

  Indeed it seemed Deb might have served in a war. May have even commanded android troops.

  Khim felt the corner of his mouth start to curve. The winds blew inside him. He bowed. It was easy. The conditioned muscles knew what to do.

  “You see that if you do not obey me, my men will tear you apart. But it’s in your programming too. You can fight it, but it feels bad, wrong. Now, kneel for me.”

  Khim fell gracefully to his knees, controlled and effortless despite his height and musculature weighing him down, knowing the picture he presented to them all—Hercules, a golden light of a man, great, beautiful, and foreboding, offering himself like a sacrifice on an ancient altar of blood. The hard floor came up but did not smack him, did not hurt. He placed his hands behind his back, grasping them. But he kept his head raised, his eyes on Deb.

  “Is this enough now?” he asked. “May I settle my score with your men?”

  Deb looked down at him, smug, repugnant. “I don’t think my men have done anything you need to concern yourself with.”

  “No?”

  “Have they ever touched you? Oh, that’s right, they haven’t. Not with Damico always around. But even if they had, well, you’re a good slave boy, now aren’t you? It isn’t as if you aren’t used to a little rough treatment.”

  “Used to it? I crave it.” The winds became gales.

  Deb ignored that last comment. “And you can’t fight back without dire consequences. Such a perfect dilemma. And here you are.”

  Khim knelt, body very still. “Your three men. What do I have to do for you to hand them over to me?”

  “My boy, what would you even do with them? All humans are off-limits to you.”

  The pack of men laughed at that.

  “Off-limits, yes,” Khim agreed. “But only if I’m caught.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “I’m on my knees, and you have twelve men. Who is threatening whom?”

  Deb laughed. “You even talk like an android. Like a snob. Like the filthy rich environment you no doubt come from. What did you do to land yourself in here? You’re worth too much to be thrown away so easily. If you were dangerous, you would’ve been put down. Is your owner punishing you? For not sucking his cock right? But no, you’re good at that, right?”

  “All the lie-down models are,” Khim replied tightly.

  Laughter.

  Deb said, chuckling, “The fluffer models.”

  “The butt-fuck models,” someone said from behind Khim.

  Khim held his submissive position. The winds inside him grappled for more air.

  He watched as, very casually, Deb waved his hand. “He’s nothing but a goddamn flavor-of-the-month doll. Wipe the floor with him.”

  As he gave the order, the men converged.

  For a split second, dizziness threatened. Khim saw himself again, kneeling by the red couch, bent over himself, hands over his head as brothel guards punched and kicked him while a dead body with a broken neck lay beside him. His rapist. His victim.

  He felt a soft shoe connect at his hip, another at his ribs. He sensed the men behind him bending down. Someone grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled, tearing it. Khim’s eyes never left Deb’s defective, cruel gaze.

  Something punched him in the jaw. He saw the white lights again, the raindrops. And with the rain, the inner wind came up faster. It shrieked and wept, almost doleful, but inflamed his mind in a fever as if he suffered an infection, rancid but pure, for which there was no cure. A dark weapon blooming.

  His mind dimmed to a narrow focus.

  The fever coiled, storm-red, iridescent wrath. The height of it crested in a dark, intrinsic justice. Dark revenge.

  From one moment to the next, as short as an eye blink, men were standing. And then men were flying. Landing hard. Yelling, bodies thumping against the floor, groaning.

  A knee came up to Deb’s chin. The leader went down.

  Khim saw bodies all around him, shifting, still alive. It didn’t matter to him. The three he’d left for last shrunk together, backed up.

  It was fast. Like a dance. Efficient but not without symmetry. Elegant. The splendor of hands on the sides of a pale, puffy face with a five-day growth of beard and nothing behind the eyes. The sublime turn-and-click. The pleasure of the sound of the neck cracking.

  Then on to the next. His stringy black hair. His nose that had a strange angle, already having seen too many bone-knitters in its time. Crack.

  The third, heavyset and stupid, mumbling about gods. Liquid fear running from his nose. Crack.

  One. Two. Three.

  Down. Down. Down.

 
“Khim!”

  Piles of men at his feet, Khim turned. Right metal hand raised, silver-black and gleaming. Still clean, still perfect. It had all been quite bloodless.

  He kept his left hand clasped hard, feeling a small metal-sharp object press against his palm. Something one of the men had, something he did not remember grabbing.

  “Khim!” Trev ran forward, grabbed him by the arm, pulled him away from the moaning pile of men.

  And the three dead ones.

  Khim felt the touch on his arm, started to pull back, then realized Trev was afraid. Trev looked panicked.

  “Run!” Trev said in a deep, desperate tone.

  The voice, the depth, the command of it. He responded instantly, coming out of the rage and into an eerie after-storm light, following Trev’s lead, leaping over writhing bodies.

  They made it out the entrance where Trev, obviously not wanting to bring attention to them, slowed to a walk, pulling Khim along an outer wall, pressing him hard against it, back to front, as a line of sentries rushed by, followed by half a dozen armed human guards.

  Khim felt the press of Trev’s body against the very pulsings of his heart under his skin. He went very still.

  An alarm began, at first far-off.

  The alarm grew in pitch, its tone and color different from random lockdown. This level of emergency meant every man in the prison had to go down on the ground where he stood. Prone. Hands over the head. Legs six inches apart.

  Trev dropped to his hands and knees. Khim followed, flattening himself down next to him, left hand still in a tight fist. The plaza was littered with gray-clad men spread out on their stomachs, trying to turn their heads, trying to see what was going on.

  More sentries came from all directions like giant roaches skittering across the plaza floors, some taking the stairs to other levels, all weaving about the still men, checking to make sure no one moved, no one threatened.

  “Stay still,” Trev’s whisper commanded. “Don’t move. Don’t say anything.”

  Khim realized he had begun to breathe hard. His body had an automatic response to curl up, turn away, blank out.

  “Keep hold of yourself,” Trev said. “Hang on.”

  Khim was shaking now.