Page 13 of Nolan
Not in the danger zone yet, but for a human, this is absolutely lethal.
What might blind a person, cause their eyes to build with protective tears, their lungs to fill with smoke, does nothing to me. Despite this, my built-in infrared sensor is useless here. Human temperatures will be blotted out by the inferno and won’t allow me to sense anyone nearby, so I have to do this the old-fashioned way, sweeping every room with a sense of urgency.
Every second counts. One moment too late, and I could lose them.
“Belmont Fire Department!” I bellow at my highest volume. “Make some noise if you can hear me!”
That’s when my audio receptors capture weak, muted banging on a door upstairs. I take them three at a time, not weighed down by my fire equipment in the slightest. “Keep knocking!”
I find them in a small side bedroom. A woman is on the floor, trying to do the only thing she knows how to avoid the smoke, the fumes. Holding her hand is a crying child in a singed dress. I scan them both for burns and find them on their arms and hands.
I pick up the woman in one arm and the child in the other. “It’s okay,” I reassure them. “Hang on. I’m getting you out of here.” I scan their vitals. The girl is okay and seems to be the one who banged on the floor to get my attention. Smart little one. But the mother’s in bad shape. Alive, but unconscious.
“Is Mama hurt?”
“I’ve got your mama, sweetheart,” I promise her as I rush back down the stairs, which crunch behind me. The fire upstairs is being contained; I can hear the crash of water spewing forth from the hoses and my team cooperating in their efforts to douse the flames. The sirens of an ambulance sound in the distance.
Within moments, we’re out of the blaze.
“Daddy!” the girl cries, reaching for her father. He scoops her up. But the moment he sees me gently setting his wife down, scanning her again, running diagnostics, he loses his mind. “Get away from her! Get away!” He charges toward me.
AJ is on the ground with Apollo, while Travis is on the other side of the truck working the bottom floor and Booker is on the ladder, hose aimed at the third. AJ and Apollo move quick as lightning to intercept the man.
“Hey, hey, easy!” AJ shouts. “Back up! He’s trying to save her!”
“I don’t want that robotic freak to do anything!” The man points at me, wild-eyed. “I know what that is. She should be taken care of by a real person! You do it!”
“Are you fucking serious right now?” Apollo snarls.
“Calm down, man,” AJ interjects, holding the man back. “Let him work!”
The woman has stopped breathing. I begin CPR. I don’t require breath, and I don’t have real lungs, but I am able to expel oxygen in much the same way from my interior, through my mouth, as all bionic assistants can in times of emergency.
I have to be careful when compressing her chest. That is the most difficult part, knowing how much pressure to apply. I could kill her if I’m not careful.
But I also won’t tire. Just as the ambulance arrives, paramedics spilling from the back wagon, the woman begins to cough and sputter, taking in long, deep gasps of air.
I get up and move out of the way of the other first responders, allowing them to tend to her and do their jobs. AJ and Apollo have let the man go. He runs past me in a panic to fret over her, still holding the baby in his arms, until he’s told again to stay out of the way. I can’t blame him for losing his mind. Emotions run high in these situations.
But “robotic freak.” That’s a new one.
I know there are people who don’t trust androids. Maybe some people who really hate us too. But none of that matters in the heat of the moment—not usually, anyway. I tell myself that this shouldn’t surprise me.
“Fucking asshole,” Apollo growls under his breath.
I don’t want Apollo to dwell on this. I don’t always get thanked for what I do, and being a first responder can be a thankless job even for humans. Sure, everyone hails us as heroes, but in the moment when everything’s on the line, oftentimes there’s so much chaos and fear that people forget. That’s okay. What matters is they’re alive, they survived.
Robotic freak.
That one twists my circuits. Yes, he was hysterical. But I didn’t deserve that.
Still, getting Apollo riled up about it won’t do anything to help anyone. Instead, I redirect him. “It’s fine.” I move past him and pick up a hose. “Let’s finish up.”
Robotic freak.
I’m not sure how much of the house will be salvageable, once we’re done with it. The frame remains, charred and burnt. The woman’s already being transported to emergency services at Carnegie General, her sooty, singed husband left to reassure their three frightened kids.
I feel a small tug on my pant leg and peer down at the little boy, staring up at me.
