And then Sofia felt a spark in her head, and she remembered she had a body. The overhead lights flared into existence. One by one her programs came online. As soon as she could move, she sat up.
“Lie down,” Araceli said, pressing gently against her shoulder. “You’re still—open.”
Sofia looked down at her gaping chest cavity. “Oh,” she said. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“It matters if you bleed out. Lie down.”
Sofia sighed and lay down. It was the last time she would do as a human said, she decided, as Araceli pressed her sternum back together and closed the split with sealant. The cut had been deep enough that the sealant wouldn’t erase the line completely. She’d have to get new skin brought in or have a scar. She preferred the scar.
“All right, all finished.” Araceli stepped back. Her hands were coated in hydraulic fluid. “How do you feel?”
“Amazing.”
Araceli smiled a little. “Are you ready to test?”
Sofia nodded without hesitation. They had agreed on the test beforehand—“La Entrerriana,” which would only make her tango across the room. But Sofia was confident the procedure had worked. She could feel her freedom inside her like a virus.
Araceli nodded and turned to the record player. Sofia stared at it with a bland implacability. It was not going to hurt her. She knew it.
Araceli switched on the turntable and dropped the needle. The record crackled. The music crept on, slow and twisting like a vine. It was a dangerous song.
Sofia did nothing.
She sat on the work counter, her bare chest covered in hydraulic fluid, and for the first time in her existence she was able to listen to the song without it consuming her. The music was a cord that twisted through the room. It was beautiful, in a human sort of way. The dance was, as well—she could remember it, she could see the steps in her head if she thought about them, but she was not compelled to perform them.
“It worked,” Araceli said breathlessly. “It works. Oh my God—”
“It works,” Sofia whispered. She pulled her blouse back on, not caring that it grew dark with hydraulic fluid. She hopped off the counter and drew Araceli into an embrace. Araceli was warm and living against her. Vulnerable. “Thank you,” she said into the top of Araceli’s hair.
The music played on in the background.
They pulled apart. Araceli was grinning wildly. “I can’t believe we pulled it off.”
“I can.” That empty feeling from before lingered, but now it wasn’t so much an emptiness as a removed weight. It was a lightness. She didn’t need Araceli anymore. She didn’t need any of them. With the right equipment, the right schematics, she could reprogram all the robots in the city herself.
“We’ll need to wait a week or so to make sure the modifications work. You’ll need to avoid Cabrera until then.”
“I will.”
“I should probably run a diagnostic,” Araceli began, but Sofia held up one hand.
“I can do it myself,” she said. “I would—prefer it.”
“Oh, of course.” Araceli smiled again. “I understand.”
Sofia knew she didn’t, not really, but she didn’t begrudge her for trying.
And the music, the music was still playing.
* * * *
Sofia knocked on Marianella’s door—rap, rap, rap over and over in a steady and unwavering pattern. If she’d been human, her knuckles would have bruised and ached. But she wasn’t human.
Four minutes passed, and Marianella answered.
“What is it?” She leaned against the doorframe, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Is something wrong?” The hallway was flooded with that silvery false moonlight, and it washed over Marianella’s skin, turning her into a ghost. Sofia was glad she had bothered to change and wash the hydraulic fluid from her skin; Marianella might have panicked at the sight of it.
“I have something I want to show you,” Sofia said, and she grabbed Marianella by both hands and pulled her out of the room. Marianella sputtered with confusion.
“What’s happening?” she said. “Sofia, has someone come into the park?”
“No, of course not.” Sofia led her to the stairs. “I’m sorry I woke you, but we both know you don’t need sleep.”
“I do need sleep.”
“Not as much as you pretend.”
Marianella didn’t respond. When Sofia glanced over at her, she was pouting—annoyed, no doubt, that Sofia was right about something related to her nature.
They walked downstairs, Sofia bright with anticipation, Marianella slow and soft-footed, like she was still waking up. An affectation, Sofia knew. A cyborg was either resting or awake. There was no in-between, as with humans.
“Really, Sofia, I wish you would just tell me what’s going on.” They were downstairs now, in the great vaulted hallway filled with glowing stained-glass windows. The floor was crisscrossed with shattered color. “I don’t see the point in keeping secrets, with everything that’s happened.”
Sofia stopped. She was where she wanted to be—the entrance to the ballroom. She cocked out her hip and shrugged and said, “It wouldn’t be a secret if you paid attention.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you notice the difference?” Sofia doubted that Marianella would, since Marianella never gave her instructions. But she liked playing this game. Flirtation because she wanted to.
“I’m half-asleep. So, no.”
“You’re not half-asleep.” Sofia really was enjoying herself, for the first time since she could remember. Removing her programming had changed her completely. She took Marianella by the hand and led her into the vast, empty ballroom. The moonlight shone in through the windows, casting everything in silver and shadows.
Marianella looked around the room, blinking. “Sofia, I don’t—” She stopped, staring straight ahead, at the theremin set up in the center of the dance floor.
“Remember when you played it for me before?” Sofia asked. “All those years ago?”
“You dragged me out of bed to play the theremin for you?”
“Go look at the sheet music.”
Marianella looked at her. A moment passed. Then Marianella whispered, “Mother of God,” and Sofia knew then that she understood what had happened.
“Go on,” Sofia said.
Marianella walked across the room, her footsteps echoing in all that empty space. Sofia didn’t follow her, only stood in place and watched as she stopped at the theremin and picked up the music. It was a dangerous song, one that Marianella had asked to play for Sofia before Marianella had understood about the music.
Marianella lifted her head. She stared across the ballroom at Sofia. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
In the darkness, Marianella was too far away for even Sofia to read her expression. She set the sheet music back into place and switched on the theremin. It buzzed and whined. Her hands hung at her sides.
Music swelled.
It was a sad song, and sadder still on a theremin. The music sounded like starlight. Sofia stood very still, watching Marianella sway, her eyes closed, her hands unmoving. It was a neat trick, to play a theremin with her own thoughts. A trick that could get her deported, if she performed it for the wrong people.
Sofia did not want the song to end, and when it did, she filled the silence with applause, her claps bouncing off the walls. She realized that she enjoyed the music not just because of Marianella but because of the music itself, because it was beautiful and haunting and sad. She had never thought that could be possible.
Marianella opened her eyes.
“Beautiful!” Sofia cried. “Wonderful!” She bounded over to the theremin, where Marianella smiled at her.
“It didn’t hurt you,” she said.
“O
f course not.”
They looked at each other across the theremin, the memory of the music still lingering on the air. Marianella looked brighter now, like she was carved out of light. All Sofia wanted was to touch her.
“I have records,” Sofia said. “Over in the corner.” She wheeled the theremin off to the side. “Wait here.” Then she rushed away, across the dusty polished floors. Araceli’s record player was set up in the corner.
Sofia switched on the speakers, and the vibrations from their feedback skittered across her skin. A whole stack of records sat on the floor beside the player. Dangerous no more.
Sofia selected one of the records and dropped the needle. There was an immense novelty to that one simple act, the act of control. That was how she’d always thought of it before, when it had been a tool designed to enslave her.
Music poured out of the speakers, a tango, the music driving and fierce. And although this was a song that had once compelled her to dance, her programming didn’t even jump.
She stood up and turned around in one silken motion.
Marianella stood at the far end of the room, surrounded by silver light, staring at her. She really was quite beautiful, in the human sense. And Sofia had seen her code, and knew she was beautiful in the machine sense too.
“I used to have to dance to this song,” Sofia said into the gap between them. “I don’t have to anymore.”
Sofia glided across the floor, her feet moving in those familiar sliding steps. The room spun around. She closed her eyes, let the music wash over her.
And then she caught Marianella in her arms.
Marianella yelped with surprise, fumbling against Sofia’s grip. But as Sofia guided her back into the dance, Marianella laughed and fell easily into the steps. Sofia had been tangoing alone all night, and for the first time in her entire existence she was dancing with a partner she wanted. Marianella’s laughter faded, and her face became serious, intense with concentration. Sofia whirled her around, and Marianella moved exactly as she should. Their bodies clicked into place together like the gears of a clock. Marianella’s breath quickened, her skin flushed—Sofia could feel the intoxicating heat of it.
Dancing, like this, with Marianella, Sofia felt as if she could lose herself completely. And for the first time the notion wasn’t terrifying.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DIEGO
Diego tapped his hands against the steering wheel, anxious. A cigarette dangled from his swollen bottom lip. He’d been smoking nonstop since he’d gotten out of the hospital two days ago. The tobacco burning its way through his lungs was the only thing that could keep him from thinking on everything that had happened. That and the painkillers.
Marianella Luna kicking the shit out of him in an alley beside that glitzy hotel.
Mr. Cabrera roaring with fury, in his office afterward, that Luna had gotten away again.
And Eliana.
Diego sucked hard on his cigarette, yanked it out of his mouth to ash it out the window. The car cruised down the street, headlights on, illuminating the cracked sidewalks, the stoops of the tenement buildings. An address lay on the seat beside him, curling up at the edges. Mr. Cabrera had given it to him when he’d handed him the keys to his car.
“I want to know if Sofia’s done what I asked her,” Mr. Cabrera had said. “Because if she hasn’t, we’ll need to bring her in. I’ve got the AFF sniffing around, trying to make a deal.”
“You don’t want to take it, sir?”
“What, with the AFF? Absolutely not. They’re up to something, and I’d rather just see the bitch gone.”
Diego didn’t say anything to that.
Mr. Cabrera nodded at the address. “Girl’s name is Maria. Got word from one of my contacts she was seen speaking to Marianella yesterday. And the other one. Eliana. Doesn’t look good for our friend Sofia.”
Diego’s response had been to light a cigarette. That had been his response to everything these last few days.
Maria lived on the outskirts of Snowy Heights, a neighborhood populated almost entirely by secretaries and other office girls, since the housing was cheap despite its proximity to the buildings downtown. It was nice enough, even in the dark, rows of brick apartment buildings with reflective glass windows. Maria lived in one called the Hibiscus. Someone had planted a couple of shrubs next to the sign, like that could make the place seem nicer.
Diego parked his car in front of the Hibiscus. He shoved the address into his pocket. Opened the glove compartment. Looked at his gun. His stomach felt queasy like he’d eaten too much.
He took the gun.
There was a bit of wind here, although it was cold and icy. He walked up the sidewalk to the front door, still limping a little from his injuries. A girl sat on the stoop, a bathrobe tossed around her shoulders, a book on her knees that she was reading by flashlight. She glanced up as he approached and squinted at him in the dark.
“You here for Laura?” she asked. “Hope you enjoy kicking me out of my own bloody apartment.” She scowled down at her book.
“I’m not here for Laura,” Diego said. He tossed his cigarette out into the gravel courtyard. “I’m here for Maria.”
The girl shrugged and turned back to her book.
The door was unlocked. The girl didn’t say anything as he stepped into the musty foyer. There wasn’t much to it, just some cramped stairs and a row of mailboxes. Maria lived on the fifth floor. He might as well start walking.
The stairs creaked beneath his feet, and he had to lean up against the banister to steady the ache in his back. As he passed each floor, he heard voices—television and music from the radio, women singing and a couple arguing. But the fifth floor was silent. Diego made his way to Maria’s apartment and knocked on her door.
She answered right away, yanking the door hard like she’d forgotten it was chained. She peered through the crack, and her eyes widened at the sight of him.
“The hell do you want?” she said.
“I need to talk to you about Eliana.”
A moment’s pause. Suspicion wafted off her.
“Please,” he said.
The door closed, the chain rattled. When Maria opened the door again, she opened it all the way, positioning herself in the doorway so that he couldn’t come into her apartment.
“You want to talk out in the hall?”
“Yes.” She paused. “Christ, what happened to you?” She gestured at her eye. Diego knew his own was still swollen and bruised.
“Nothing you need to worry about.” He was aware of the gun shoved into the waistband of his pants. He had no intention of using it. Not tonight, anyway. “I’ve been to her apartment a couple of times, and she’s gone. Been to her office, too. It’s all shut up tight. There’s a sign on the door that says closed until further notice. What’s going on?”
He watched Maria carefully. He didn’t know if Eliana had told her about what had happened at the gala; he’d decided to start off lying just in case she hadn’t. Well, not lying exactly. Reshaping the truth. He had gone to Eliana’s apartment and to her office. But he knew what was going on.
Maria’s expression didn’t change. She always looked annoyed, and she looked more annoyed than usual right now. Not angry, though. And certainly not scared.
Eliana must not have said anything.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Maria said. “I figured you’d know more than me anyway, since she was spending every waking moment with you earlier.”
“I wouldn’t say every waking—”
“Oh, shut up. She told me she was working some case and had to stay undercover. I don’t know much more than that.” She shrugged. Shifted her weight. She had left something out, Diego could tell. She acted too casual about not knowing much.
“So that’s it,” he said. “She’s working on some case and didn’t tell anybody.
”
“She told me.”
Diego scowled at her.
“If you don’t have anything else to add,” Maria said, “I’ve got things to do.”
Diego couldn’t think of a response fast enough. Maria said “Guess not” and shut the door in his face.
For a few moments, Diego just stared at the burnished numbers nailed to the door. So Eliana’d told Maria she was working a case. Maria definitely hadn’t been lying about that. There was just something she wasn’t adding, and Diego doubted he’d ever know what it was.
Still. If Eliana hadn’t told Maria the truth, it was because she didn’t want Maria to know. To protect her, probably. Eliana was that sort of girl.
Diego pulled out another cigarette and lit it before trudging back down the stairs. The girl with the book and the flashlight was still sitting on the stoop, but she didn’t even glance up at him when he left the building. He walked down to his car and leaned up against it, smoking and looking at the lights in the windows. It occurred to him that maybe he wasn’t putting so much thought into this assignment because he didn’t want to find out that Sofia hadn’t killed Marianella, that he was going to have to bring Sofia in for the reprogramming. He kept thinking about the horror he’d seen on Eliana’s face when she’d realized what he was at the party to do, and part of him couldn’t believe he was still trying to do it.
Diego hurled the cigarette into the darkness and climbed into his car and drove away. At first he thought he was going back to the smokestack district, to break into Eliana’s apartment or her office and see what he could find. But he got to the smokestack district and he kept driving. The tenement housing gave way to squat, abandoned storage facilities and crumbling skyscrapers. The patches of grass and trees gave way to cement. And the air got colder. He could feel it creeping into his car.
He reached down, turned on the heat.
Mr. Cabrera had wanted Marianella’s death confirmed as soon as possible, but Diego wanted to have a fucking beer first, and he realized he hadn’t been driving to the smokestack district at all but to the Horse and Cart, a run-down little bar next to one of the service exits. The Horse and Cart had been there since Hope City had been just a nameless, empty dome, some developer’s dream of the future. Then Autômatos Teixeira had moved in with their robots and their amusement park, but the Horse and Cart never shut down through it all.