Lifel1k3 (Lifelike #1)(14)
“True cert,” Eve nodded. “They called it Babel. I seen pix. Big tower, tall as clouds. But the reactor inside went redline during the revolt, ghosted everything within five klicks. Babel just sits there now. Totally irradiated. Most peeps figured the 100-Series all got perished in the blast. But Daedalus Tech and BioMaas got together and outlawed lifelikes afterward, all the same. First thing they’ve agreed on since War 4.0. Every pre-100 android got destroyed. And nobody’s seen a 100-Series since Babel fell.”
Lemon nodded to the body on the bench. “Till now.”
“True cert.”
“How you know all this stuff, Riotgrrl?”
Eve tapped the Memdrive implanted in the side of her skull.
“Science,” she replied.
First developed as a rehab tool for soldiers returning from War 4.0 with Traumatic Brain Injury, the Memdrive was a wetware interface that transmitted data from silicon chips to a damaged brain, allowing TBI sufferers to “remember” how to walk or talk again.
In the years after 4.0’s end, the Memdrive was adopted for civilian use, allowing people access to encyclopedic knowledge of almost any topic. For the right scratch, anyone could become an expert on almost anything, from programming to martial arts. Of course, average peeps could never afford a Memdrive rig, especially not in a hole like Dregs. Grandpa must have pulled some fizzy moves to get Eve’s after the …
… well. After.
The militia raid had taken almost everything from her. Her family. Her eye. Her memories. But Grandpa had given them back, best he could, along with everything he knew about mechanics and robotics from his job on the mainland—all bundled up in clusters of translucent, multicolored silicon inserted behind her right ear.
She supposed he figured a hobby would keep her busy.
Out of trouble.
Her mind off the past.
One out of three isn’t bad.
Lemon hopped off the workbench, did a slow circuit of the body.
“So prettyboy here’s one of these bloodthirsty murderbots, you figure?”
“Maybe.” Eve shrugged. “Other androids always looked a little fugazi. Plastic skin. Glass eyes. This one looks too close to meat to be anything other than a 100.”
“And Fridge Street knows we salvaged him. If they tell the Graycoats—”
“They’re not gonna tell the Law,” Eve sighed. “Not when they got a chance of claiming it themselves. Fridge Street is all about the scratch.”
“Seems to me prettyboy’s worth less than zero. Can’t sell him. Can’t tell anyone we got him. Remind me why we hauled this thing in from the Scrap?”
“I don’t remember you doing much lifting.”
“I’m too pretty to sweat.”
Miss Fresh leaned close to the lifelike’s face, ran one finger down its cheek until she reached the bow of its mouth.
“Still, if we can’t sell him, I can ponder a few uses for—”
Pretty eyes opened wide. Pupils dilated. Plastic blue. Eve had time to gasp as the lifelike’s left hand snaked out, quick as silver, and grabbed Lemon’s wrist. The girl shrieked as the bot sat up, wrenching her into a headlock so fast Eve barely had time to draw breath.
Eve cried out, snatching up a screwdriver. Lemon’s face was flushing purple in the lifelike’s grip. Perfect lips brushed her earlobe.
“Hush now,” it said.
Eve’s lips drew back in a snarl. “Let her go!”
The lifelike glanced up as Eve spoke, those pretty plastic eyes glinting in the fluorescent light. Its grip around Lemon’s throat loosened, mouth opening and closing as if it were struggling to find the words. A word. So full of astonishment and joy, it made Eve’s chest hurt without quite knowing why.
“You … ,” it breathed.
Lemon seized the lifelike’s ear, bent it double, and flipped it forward. The bot sailed over Lem’s shoulder and came crashing down on a ruined survey drone in the corner. With a wet crunch and a spray of blood, the thing found itself impaled on a shank of rusted steel.
“Ow,” it said.
Eve pushed Lemon back, her screwdriver held out before her. Lem had one hand pressed to her throat as she wheezed and blinked the tears from her eyes.
“That hurt, you fug… .”
The lifelike winced, kicked itself off the shank it’d been im paled on, leaving a slick of what looked like blood behind on the metal. It collapsed with a thud, one hand pressed to the wound, right beside that coin slot in its chest. Eve snatched a heavy wrench off her workbench and raised the tool to stave in the bot’s head.
“Ana, don’t,” it said.
Eve blinked. “… What?”
“Ana, I’m sorry.” The lifelike raised its bloody hand. “I didn’t know it was you.”
“My name’s not Ana, fug.”
“Prettyboy got a screw loose,” Lemon wheezed. “Hole in his skull let the stupid in.”
Bang, bang, bang.
“Eve?” Grandpa’s voice was muffled behind the soundproofed door. “Lemon? You two solid in there?”
The lifelike blinked, looking at the hatchway. “… Silas?”
“How do you know my grandpa’s name?” Eve snarled.
A frown creased that perfect brow. “Don’t you remem—”