Page 23 of Ezra
“The café?”
Katrina nods. “My dad and I were going to have lunch there, but he canceled last minute. I’d already told everyone at work he was coming. It’s possible I was overheard. I wasn’t really paying attention. It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. TerraPura hates Dad and everything he stands for.”
Everything you stand for too, I think. “Did he receive any threatening messages? Voicemails, emails?”
“No. I checked with Ramsey Feldman, my dad’s social media guy. No messages. And Dad has no contacts from TerraPura whatsoever. He refuses to acknowledge them as anything but terrorists. And he’s old school—you don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“Let’s talk about this morning.” I track the time of her call at 8:37 a.m. “Did you see the shooter responsible?”
“Just for a moment. He was running away from the house.”
“And what makes you so sure he was an android?”
I store everything she says in my memory banks and pull out a small tablet connected to my systems for Deion’s benefit. I organize all the information I collect there, so he can access it at any time and review my findings, even if we’re apart. He wanted it that way in case anything happened to me. Sort of a backup drive. After checking it to make sure it’s streaming correctly, I put it back.
“I saw his eyes. They were white, like yours,” Katrina explains.
“I see.” Her heartrate spikes slightly, and I’m unsure why. “You’re certain?”
“Yes, they glowed a little, with that...I don’t know what it’s called, a backlight?” she continues. “You know what I’m talking about, right?”
“I do.” Another benefit of being a BNP99—I don’t needa lie detector test to tell if someone is being deceptive. I can read anyone standing right in front of me like a book. Katrina is restless, biting a nail in the lapses of silence. I suspect she hasn’t slept by the redness of her eyes. It’s been a harrowing two days for her.
“Anyway, then I ran downstairs.”
“Did he move fast? Unnaturally so?”
“Not that I noticed. He was quick, but not necessarily an Olympian. Why?”
“Newer models are lighter than some of the originals. Most older bionic models aren’t built for running, jumping, or any kind of extended or extreme athleticism,” I say as I move my thoughts around on my optic feed, properly organizing the facts to present to Deion later. “First through fourth generations have that issue unless it’s BioNex’s luxury model line. Whatever droid you saw is likely outdated.”
“And you?” she asks. “You’re a first gen, aren’t you?”
“I’m first of my kind, but technically second generation.”
“But you’re built for that,” Katrina says. “Athleticism, I mean.”
“Yes, my body was designed specifically for it. And being utilized by the city means I return to BioNex for regular tune-ups and modifications. Being outdated is impossible for me,” I reply. “Ever heard of Dr. Genevieve Taylor?”
“She’s the android engineer who lost her leg in a lab accident, didn’t she?”
“The very same. I see her every three months. She makes sure I’m always top of the line.” I also utilize independent engineersat Tin Man’s Heart, but I don’t say as much. Kyrone Johnson’s repairs are usually off the books.
“Well, they’ve done a good job keeping you in good shape,” Katrina remarks. “You’re impressive.”
Impressive? My gratification drive whirs to life, reacting just as strongly as when Deion or a member of the ACU thanks me or speaks positively of my work. Praise of any kind is my currency. It’s embedded in the programming of all androids. I didn’t anticipate receiving any kind of compliment from Katrina Carson.
It’s the first time I’m not sure what to say.
“I’m fortunate to be programmed, repaired, and handled by experts,” I manage. Amusement flickers through my processors as I watch her. She’s allowed her eyes to wander up and down my form, briefly resting far south of what one might expect from someone so passionately anti-android. Suddenly, I want to test her, see how she responds to me. “My eyes are up here, Miss Carson.”
Her gaze snaps up to meet mine. She tenses. “What?”
“You heard me.” I’m not much of a smiley sort of bot, but I lighten my voice to make her aware I’m teasing her.
Another temperature spike. Her face flushes, but she relaxes. “No one told me they make androids with a sense of humor now.”
“It doesn’t come with the programming,” I reply. “I learned. At any rate, people only find me humorous when I see nothing funny at all in the situation.”
