“Stop looking at me,” I say, and I shove the head away from me. It rolls a few feet, knocks into a rock, and then comes to a stop. Facing me again. The deep blue eyes are still open, and I could swear they just twitched. Or blinked?
Can a Hu-Bot survive dismemberment and decapitation? That seems impossible.
I toe its cheek with my foot, studying the face for any signs of consciousness. Nothing. But the eyes… they seem to be watching me.
You’re delirious, Six.
I need to get out of here—the cold is obviously making me crazy. I stand up, turning my back on the Hu-Bot face. Her body’s on the shoreline, the feet still partway into the water. I pick up a handful of stones, like I’m going to scatter them over her in some kind of half-assed burial. But then I remember: the Q-comp.
And I fling myself at her torso, my still-numb fingers ripping through her government-issue uniform. I find an interior pocket, protected by a zipper. I yank it open, and, amazingly, the Q-comp’s still there.
I haul it out, my hopes surging—but it’s as dead as you’d expect.
Now what?
Just leave, I think. But before I do, I need to do something else. I reach down and pull off the Hu-Bot’s jacket and shirt. The material is so high-tech, it’s almost dry already.
I try to avert my eyes from her skin, barely covered by thin undergarments. From the swell of her breasts. From the stump of her arm.
I slip out of my clothes and climb into hers. They’re too big—she’s six inches taller than I am, at least—but they’re lightweight and warm.
Maybe I’m going to make it after all.
I stand over the pieces of her body for a minute, feeling light-headed and grateful. “Thanks, Hu-Bot,” I say quietly, and I turn and take a few steps away.
But then, for some reason I can’t fathom, I look back. And I see those blue, blue eyes watching me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter to myself.
I stand there, uncertain, for way too long.
Then I gather up two long sticks and wind my wet clothes between them, making what looks like a little raft. I load the android parts onto it and start walking, dragging the whole thing behind me.
And if a giant Bot patrol finds me? Well, I’ve obviously gone so crazy that execution would be a kindness.
PART TWO
CHAPTER 42
NYBO PICKS HIS way through the trees, scanning the snow-covered ground for any trace of a footprint. It’s been twenty-four hours since MikkyBo checked in with him—thirty-six hours since she left the house. His son, KrisBo, vanishes for days at a time, but Mikky has never been anything but perfectly responsible. This is how he knows, deep down, that something is wrong.
NyBo senses movement up ahead, behind a stand of pine trees. He rushes forward, relief flooding his systems: he’s found his daughter, and now he will bring her home.
Bright lights suddenly glare down on him from overhead. Spotlights from churning Capital Center helicopters sweep through the dark forest.
The realization hits him like a punch to the face—it’s not MikkyBo ahead. It’s four android Bot-cops.
NyBo stops short, his fingers automatically reaching for the Elite communication bracelet he used to wear. It would give him the details of their mission instantly. But there’s no bracelet anymore. Not since he left the force.
He calls out to the lead Bot. “Do you have information on the location of Detective Bo?” he asks urgently. “You must be looking for her, too.”
But they don’t answer him. Instead, they reach for their pistols.
And point them at him.
“I am a Hu-Bot,” NyBo snaps. “Your superior. Lower your weapons immediately.”
The Bots shift slightly, but they don’t lower their guns. NyBo stares at them in shock. In all his years on the force, he’d never seen a Bot disregard a Hu-Bot’s command.
But Mikky said they’d disobeyed her that night in the Pits.
The Bots’ unblinking eyes watch him without emotion. Their guns remain aimed at his thorax.
“I am a decorated officer in the Capital Center’s Elite Force,” NyBo barks. “You will stand down.”
“A former officer, NyBo. Isn’t that correct?”
NyBo whirls around. It is the commander, stalking toward him through the trees. Behind MosesKhan, another squad of Bot-cops combs through a clearing, kicking away the snow and shining their flashlights into rock crevices. NyBo watches as a Bot bends over, then straightens up with something that looks like a cooking pot.
“Commander!” NyBo says, saluting. “I assume you are searching for MikkyBo as well, and for that you have my deepest gratitude. Here are the coordinates that I’ve searched. Together, we can find her quickly, I’m sure of it.”
His old military leader stares back at him coldly, his jaw set, and NyBo falters. His warning systems engage. A threat is in the air, as sharp as the icicles hanging from the tree limbs.
“Sir—” he begins.
The robo-dog at the commander’s feet lowers its head and snarls. Without looking down, MosesKhan kicks it with his foot.
NyBo tries again. “Sir,” he says, “Detective MikkyBo—”
“We are not looking for your daughter,” MosesKhan says flatly.
“But…” NyBo stops himself. He had hacked into the Elite Force slipstream, and that was how he’d learned of the search party leaving the capital.
But if the Bots aren’t looking for MikkyBo now, that must mean she’s already been found?
“Of course, forgive me!” NyBo exclaims. “You have already located her. Please accept my apologies for thinking I could aid you. I am so grateful.” He smiles nervously. “I suppose she’s already back at work and too busy to call!”
The commander does not return the smile. “MikkyBo’s work with the Elite Force has concluded,” he says.
NyBo’s breath catches in his throat. “What do you mean?” he asks softly.
MosesKhan’s eyes are dark and expressionless. “Your daughter has expired,” he says. “Regretfully.”
NyBo gasps. No!
“Her sensors went unexpectedly dark, I’m sorry to inform you,” the commander says. He doesn’t sound sorry at all.
NyBo shakes his head in disbelief. Not Mikky. Not his daughter.
“Don’t look so upset,” the commander scolds. “She served the capital as she was meant to. Even though your dedicated little MikkyBo botched her assignment, she still brought us to the car thief.”
“The car thief?” NyBo hears himself ask. His processors, overwhelmed with grief, are running at half speed.
“J. J. Coughlin’s granddaughter,” the commander says. “It appears your detective skills are not as sharp as they once were. Or perhaps you hacked into the wrong slipstream.” The menace in his words is clear—but MosesKhan goes on. “The escaped war criminal’s granddaughter was hiding out on that miserable Reserve all these years. Now that we’ve got her on the run, she’s going to lead us right to J.J. himself!”
But all NyBo can focus on is the fact that his daughter is dead. With the wet snow seeping through his pants, the esteemed Sergeant NyBo, decorated military hero, begins to cry.
MosesKhan steps backward in disgust. “There is honor in death,” he says. “But there is no honor in tears.”
Tears are for humans, NyBo thinks. He wipes them from his face, but still they keep coming.
CHAPTER 43
SUNLIGHT FILTERS THROUGH the stained-glass windows of the church, decorating the pews with jewel-like spots of color. The room is filled with hundreds of Hu-Bots, all dressed in midnight blue, the official color of mourning.
NyBo stands behind the pulpit, his shoulders hunched in grief. His eyes scan the room for his son, but KrisBo is nowhere to be seen.
How could it be that he, former Elite sergeant NyBo, has lost a wife and two children? The pain of it is etched on his face. He almost wishes he would expire—right now.
His hands grip the worn
wood of the pulpit as he begins the eulogy. “We’re here today to celebrate my daughter Mikky,” he says.
Then he notices MosesKhan standing near the back of the nave, his arms crossed over his chest. Next to him is the premier, flanked by Bot guards. They don’t look sympathetic—they look suspicious.
Of him.
NyBo understands instantly: they’re not here to mourn Mikky. They’re here to make sure he doesn’t say anything critical of the Hu-Bot command.
He takes another deep breath. Then he starts to lie. “MikkyBo was a devoted servant of the Center,” NyBo says woodenly. “A bright young Hu-Bot whose only thought was to serve her leaders, to do her duty, and to be the best she could be in all things. She loved her commanders and her fellow detectives, and she was unconditionally committed to the Hu-Bot cause.”
Then NyBo glances up at MosesKhan, whose nose is wrinkled like he’s smelling something foul.
Maybe, NyBo thinks, he’s caught a whiff of my bullshit.
He remembers Mikky’s tortured eyes when she told him about the Pits bloodshed. She had started to doubt the wisdom of her superiors.
Was it that doubt that had gotten her killed?
But still NyBo goes on, talking about Mikky’s belief in order and uniformity and her deep faith in the wisdom of the Hu-Bot Council. He talks until he sees MosesKhan look bored and appeased. He talks until the premier nods in agreement. Yes, MikkyBo was a credit to the Hu-Bot race.
He’s almost done, but there’s one more thing.
“Benevolent premier,” NyBo says, addressing his leader directly, “I have already lost one treasured child, but I must beg you to look after another, who is also among the missing.”
The Hu-Bots in the pews start to whisper, but NyBo ignores them.
“Please,” he says. “Save KristoffBo…”
Then, from the back of the church, comes a loud, strangled sob. NyBo starts, turns toward the door. And there, in the shadowy foyer, he sees his child.
“My son,” NyBo breathes, his voice a mix of heartbreak and hope.
KrisBo steps forward, into the light. He’s wearing a midnight-blue dress, with a black beaded shawl draped around his muscular shoulders. “Daughter,” he answers. “Your daughter.”
Hundreds of Hu-Bots swivel around in their seats, and every last one of them gasps.
“The premier doesn’t want to save me,” Kris says—to NyBo, and to the whole congregation. “He wants to reprogram me. To wipe my existence clean. He doesn’t want to save any of you, either.”
The chaplain, waiting in the wings at the front of the church, steps forward and says, “Young man, if you’ll just partake in the daily Recitation of Values with us…”
Ignoring him, Kris walks down the center aisle in his heels. “Let me tell you about MikkyBo,” he cries. “Mikky believed in me. She believed in all of us, because she was taught that our race was merciful, and kind, and just.”
There are a few murmurs of agreement from the pews, but KrisBo ignores them. He’s crying openly now, makeup sliding down his face.
No, her face, NyBo thinks. But his mind can’t process that.
“Mikky was ambitious. She was loyal. She did everything right. So why is she dead?” Kris asks, looking around. “Why didn’t the premier save her?”
The room goes utterly silent. NyBo holds his breath.
The premier stands up, his cheeks white with anger. “It is not in my interest to save a glitchy Hu-Bot,” he seethes. “What I seek is to eliminate the glitches!”
KrisBo flinches. NyBo rushes forward, positions himself between the premier and his son. “KrisBo does not have a glitch,” he cries. “He’s just grieving. Give him some time.”
And then he pushes his sobbing son toward the wings.
He must keep him safe—for as long as he can.
CHAPTER 44
I THOUGHT I knew the way back to Dubs, but I was wrong.
After stumbling around for hours, dragging the Hu-Bot’s body parts behind me like a little girl with a broken doll I can’t bear to throw away, I finally have to stop. I find a small cave tucked into a high, stony ridge, and I go inside and collapse.
I know I need to build a fire and somehow find food—but all I can do right now is shiver. There’s ice in my hair, and my teeth are chattering so hard, I’m afraid they’re going to crack.
I curl up in a little ball in the corner, and somehow I manage to fall asleep.
But something wakes me in the middle of the night. A sound, a movement—a sense of threat. The cave is pitch-black and cold as a freezer. I stay as still as I can, listening with every cell in my body.
It’s probably just bats flapping around, I tell myself, shivering. Or maybe a fox or something prowling outside.
I’m starting to drift off when the sound comes again.
“Hello?” says a voice.
I scramble backward in the dark, fear shooting through me. I smack my head against a rock so hard, the world goes white. A second later, though, everything’s black again.
The something’s not outside. The something’s in here.
“Who’s there?” I hiss. I reach into my pocket for a lighter, but my panicked fingers are too clumsy to light it.
No answer.
Everything’s quiet for so long that I tell myself I was just dreaming. No one’s here but me. Me and a couple of bats.
I give the lighter one last try, and now a small flame flickers on the cave’s jagged walls. The light shines on the bones of a long-dead animal. And, of course, on the Hu-Bot parts—a head here, an arm there, the torso propped against the wall.
I’m spending the night in a crypt. Maybe by morning there’ll be another dead body: mine.
I decide to build a fire near the cave entrance. Might as well die warm, right? I work slowly because I’m so weak, but there are plenty of twigs and dry leaves for kindling. In a few minutes I’ve got a nice little blaze going.
I turn to the Hu-Bot head. Its blue eyes are open and glassy. “Impressed with my fire-starting skills, aren’t you?” I say. Then I toss a pebble at the Hu-Bot’s forehead. “Of course you’re not,” I say. “You’re dead.”
It opens its mouth. “The—proper term—is expired.”
CHAPTER 45
I JUMP SO high, I nearly crack my skull on the ceiling again. I grab a stick and hold it out like a sword. “Stay right there!” I yell.
The head blinks slowly. “Does it—look—like I can move?”
“I don’t know! All I’m saying is: don’t.” I brandish the stick near her cheek.
She blinks again, her blue eyes almost black in the dimness. “Why did you save me?” she asks.
“I have no idea,” I say. “How about a thank-you? How about a ‘Gee, my microprocessors would be fish food if it weren’t for you, pal’?” I throw the stick down in frustration. “I guess you’re just really surprised, huh? Since you think we humans are just a bunch of wild animals.” Then I make chittering noises and gnash my teeth at her. I probably look like a psychotic chipmunk.
The Hu-Bot frowns. “Don’t tell me what I think, or how I think.”
“Well, hello, hypocrisy,” I sneer. “Like you skin jobs haven’t been trying to control how we think for a decade!”
“It’s for your own protection,” the Hu-Bot replies calmly. “Your species shows extremely poor judgment.”
And I can’t help it—I start to laugh. Because I must have poor judgment: why else would I be huddled in a cave with a dismembered enemy android?
“Seriously,” I say when I’m done guffawing. “Could my life get any worse?”
The android mutters something, and I turn toward the head. “What?” I demand.
The Hu-Bot sighs. “‘There is nothing alive more agonized than man/ of all that breathe and crawl across the earth,’” she repeats, louder this time. “It’s from a book,” she adds.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, it’s from The Iliad,” I answer snidely. “And I don’t know if you noticed, b
ut I’m not a man.”
Those blue eyes look at me in surprise. I’m a little shocked myself. It’s not like I’ve got some enormous book collection back in X Housing. But I’ve read the ones I do have many times.
“I didn’t think—” she begins.
But I don’t let her finish. “And it was a human, an animal like me, who wrote that book. Think about that next time you tell us to bow down!”
The Hu-Bot looks at me with what seems like pity—which is ironic, because I’m not the one in several different pieces. “Why are you humans always so angry?” she asks.
I gape at her. “Gee, I don’t know, Hu-Bot. Maybe because you killed my parents? Then made us your slaves? Or maybe I’m angry because you ruined my already hellish life over some rich android’s car. Or because you and your goons snuck up on a bunch of unarmed Reserve kids and used them as target practice!”
“I didn’t shoot anybody,” the Hu-Bot cop says right away. “Honestly… I was as shocked as you were when the shooting started at the Pits.”
“Honestly.” My harsh laugh echoes off the cave’s walls. “Have a little bit more respect for my limited intelligence. Here’s another bit of The Iliad for you. ‘We men are wretched things, and the gods, who have no cares themselves, have woven sorrow into the very pattern of our lives.’”
“I’m not a god,” the head whispers. “And I barely even feel like a Hu-Bot.” She stares up at me pleadingly.
“No wonder,” I scoff. “I mean, you’re more like a pile of recycling.”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant in my mind. I’m like you. A person.”
“You’re not a person!” I shout. “I’m a person—which is why I feel so shitty all the time. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, because you’re a machine. A fake human made out of plastic and metal.”
And I swear I see tears in her eyes.