Page 12 of Nolan
My programming conjures an image of Mia adorably falling asleep on a desk somewhere, her face resting on a keyboard. Maker, she’s so damn cute. I’m quite capable of being patient. I’m not worried.
Of course. Sleep well!
When my battery is fully charged, I keep myself busy with normal duties as the shifts change from Apollo’s team to the weekday crew. Lots of cleaning, inputting data, reading statistics—nothing particularly riveting. It only takes me a few minutes to do anything technical, if not seconds, working down my list of duties within an hour. Weekday folks treat me with a similar manner of respect but not quite the same level of brotherhood and trust the Weekenders do.
Trust. That word nibbles at my internal programming. Deception isn’t something that sits right with me. I can’t deceive properly, not like a human being. My programming might allow me to avoid or weave around certain questions, but if Apollo asks me outright, I won’t be able to lie to his face. And even if I could, I don’t want to. Apollo isn’t just my good friend, he’s my brother. He’s the one who taught me how to better blend in with humanity to keep myself safe, how to make people more comfortable around me, and how to earn trust from victims and build rapport with the community. He’s also a strong advocate for me. It was his idea to take me around to the schools in town, introduce me to the kids, let them ask me questions and marvel at my strength as I could lift both Apollo and Travis with ease, while Booker hung on my back and AJ, my front. Four men is too much weight for the average human, but easy for me.
Because of him, Belmont County isn’t just my directive. It’s my home. And I care about everyone in it. I’ve gotten to know everyone’s families, as well as meet a few of the guys’ girlfriends—the ones they keep around for longer than a few months, anyway.
The firefighters of Belmont County and Ladder 19 don’t have a hard time finding dates, no matter the shift they work. A few of them are either already settled and married, some are in serious relationships, but several still enjoy ruling the dating scene. Being a fireman has its perks—I learned pretty quickly watching the others that it’s an instant win with the ladies. Even the guys who aren’t all that gifted in the looks department—Apollo’s words, not mine—still tend to land numbers from their job alone.
As for me, my romantic prowess isn’t something I really flaunt. Not all the guys at the fire department are on board with human-android relationships, and nothing has been serious enough to where I want to broach the subject with the guys. Besides, I don’t like locker room talk. The one time AJ and Travis insisted I give it a shot, I made sure to be so technical in my descriptions that they asked me to stop and have never pestered me about my sexual encounters again. I like to keep what happens in the bedroom to myself—unlike AJ, an unrepentant playboy who loves to share his body count and what he calls his conquests with the other singles. He goes for “gym bunnies.” Travis prefers curvier figures. They have new dates with new women every week.
But me, I don’t really have a type. The women I’ve dated have ranged from tiny and petite to more to love.
And then there’s my gratification drive with Mia.
There is no logical rhyme or reason to the way it’s latched onto Apollo’s sister so tightly. Mia is doing a number on me. She’s got my wires so tied up, I’m a bit concerned I’m seconds from malfunctioning. Beyond looks alone, she was adorable when she flirted with me and occasionally fumbled with the delivery. Usually, I’m the one out of my depth. I consider myself fluent in American casual speech, but I’m still learning. Some things still go right over my head. But not this. The energy between us is something I couldn’t ignore, even if I wanted to.
I’m helpless against this. For the sake of my programming—and what mankind would call my sanity—I have to talk to her. See her. Get to know her. I have to see what this means. What it could be.
But therein lies a not-so-small problem. The weekend brotherhood has only one rule, but it’s a big one: no going after family members. Ever.
There are a thousand reasons why the Weekenders agreed to this rule. It’s shaken up department relationships before. Breakups can be messy; feelings get hurt, and someone always has to take a side. Staying away from sisters, cousins, exes—this was an easy rule to follow.
Until now.
I never wanted to break this rule. But I can’t help myself.
Everything about me, from my mainframe to my circuitry, is focused on Mia. I must’ve already replayed the first time I saw her a thousand fucking times. What is going on with me? I’m not sure I like it.
No, I’m sure I don’t like it. But what choice do I have? I guess I can ask to visit Tin Man’s Heart, see Kyrone Johnson, tell him my problem. But what good is that going to do, really? He’ll have to erase my memory or something extreme. Then I’ll run into her again because she’s Apollo’s sister. It’s inevitable, and the same damn thing will happen all over again.
One hello. That’s all it took. And now I’m doomed.
Ugh. Do humans deal with shit like this? Whose bright idea was it to install this into my motherboard? I have half a circuit to file a complaint with Dr. Taylor and her bionic engineers back at BioNex.
Doubt it would do anything to help me out here.
I want to be loyal to Apollo. He’s been loyal to me, spoken for me, helped me find my footing in this tumultuous world. Breaking his trust will ruin everything we’ve built. But I’m at the mercy of my systems. And how could I begin to explain the way I work, how I tick, in a way he can understand objectively without being more upset?
No brother wants to hear I have the hots for your sister, but hey, man, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t have a choice.
Better for me to try to sort this out myself, figure things out. Once I do, I can find a way to break it to him in a way that won’t cost me my best friend or my sanity.
Sudden, jarring alarms slice through the silence in the air, cutting my rumination short as everyone shoots out of their bunks. It’s 2:45 a.m. I’m already roused from my sleep mode as the information from the fire department is fed directly to me—there’s been a reported fire five miles outside the city limits in the Pennsylvania countryside, a farmstead, home to a family of two adults, three kids.
In under a minute, everyone has swiftly suited up and piled into the truck. We soar down city streets and pass through the edge of Belmont, our sirens blaring as we enter the countryside. Without the glow of city lights, it’s hard to see anything, looking out into the black nothing and seeing only my reflection in the glass gazing back at me. When we turn onto a gravel road, that’s when we can see the red glow behind a line of trees.
I always hope it’s a false alarm. No such luck this time.
We hang on tight as the truck bumps and speeds right up against the three-story farmstead home, looking more like a mansion than anything. Flames twirl and greedily lap out of windows. A man outside waves us down in a panic, an infant wailing in one arm. Next to him is a wide-eyed, terrified boy, his face smeared with soot and tears.
“My wife and daughter, they’re still in there!” he shouts at us hysterically as I swing open the door and jump off the truck, landing on my feet with a heavy thud. Apollo and the other Weekenders are already getting themselves ready to try to put the fire out, connecting their hoses to water tanks.
“Go, Nolan,” Apollo directs me. “Go!”
I’m already on my way, rushing through the open door. I can feel the heat from the fire, but it’s not hot enough to set off my warning sensors yet. On the corner of my optics, I see the temperature listed.
