Page 5 of Codi
Holy shit.
The android has chocolate brown hair and a five o’clock shadow. Warm, tan skin is on display—powerful arms, a sculpted chest, and a set of abs I could happily wash my laundry on. If I had seen a man like him checking me out in the bar, hell, I might’ve tried to convince Becca to let me take him home.
That begs a question, though. Aside from how expensive I know androids are, and how unbelievably convenient and helpful they can be, who the hell in their right mind would’ve ever thrown away a certified dreamboat like him?
“He’s suffered a blow to the head. Let’s see...” Oliver grasps the man’s hand as though they’re about to shake and waits.
Within moments, the other android jolts to life and gasps. “Don’t!” He quickly pulls his hand away from Oliver and clambers out of reach, nearly overturning my couch as he clumsily falls on the other side of it. Oliver rises while I skirt around the sofa, stretching my hands out in a supplicating gesture.
“Hey, hey.” My voice is soft as the android defensively corners himself, holding up one arm as though it means to block a striking blow. “You’re safe. It’s all right. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
He looks from me to Oliver and Becca. Every move, every shift of body makes him appear human. Only his white irises gives him away. He finally seems to notice his injuries, the burn marks from the lighter on his fingertips and the dent on the back of his head.
It’s lucky he’s an android. He’d be dead if he wasn’t.
“What’s your name?” I ask him gently.
He stares at me warily with those eyes, like a dog that’s been kicked. My question only seems to confuse him further.
“I don’t know,” he answers after a moment, appearing troubled by his own answer.
At a loss, I turn to Oliver for answers, and he steps forward. “His memory banks have likely been damaged. I may be able to access them if he allows it.”
I nod, looking back to the frightened bionic. “This is my friend,” I say, trying to coax him to come to us willingly. “He’s just like you.”
“No, he isn’t,” the android answers, bewildered. “He’s an SFX900V2.”
“And you’re a first generation BNL7500,” Oliver replies. “She meant we’re both artificial.”
“What’s a—” I begin, but Oliver anticipates my question.
“He’s a luxury model that was given a limited release in New York. Not as expensive as I am, but still not your everyday bionic. Whoever owned him had dough.”
“Dough?” I smirk, folding my arms.
Oliver nods. “Dough. Money. Moolah. Cash. Dinero.”
I shake my head a little, chuckling. “Okay, okay, we get it, you overgrown walking thesaurus.”
Oliver smiles and extends a hand to the other android. “Now, about that memory bank.”
The android hesitates, looking Oliver in the eye, then grips his hand. Oliver’s irises turn from brown to vivid white. Their pupils dilate and contract in swift succession, fluttering like camera shutters as they share information.
“His memory banks have been reset to the factory default.”
“What about a backup? Is there a trace of a memory upload into a cloud?” Becca asks. She’s more knowledgeable about android things now than I am. There are times when she sounds just like a computer. My best friend is a total nerd.
“No, there doesn’t appear to be any connection to a cloud drive.” Oliver lets go. “His default name is Codi with an I.”
“Codi,” I repeat softly. “I like it. Can I call you Codi?”
Codi’s eyes light up in recognition at being addressed by name. He nods, still a little disoriented but not as wary as he was before. “Yes.”
“Are you all right?”
“I... am well. Thank you.” It is a measured response; something from his programming, perhaps. “I apologize for my confusion, but my registration is blank. Who is my owner?”
Oliver replies evenly, motioning to me. “She is, now.”
