After a few uninterrupted days of exercise and EMP stimulation, she’s walking so much better that it takes me a minute to understand why she’s so touchy. I’d never know she had a transplant such a short time ago. Her limp isn’t even debilitating now; it just throws off her gait some. Doc did a good job picking the replacement limb. Wisely, I decide not to mention any of those thoughts.
“Right here.” I loft 245, who doesn’t say anything. But she’s powered up, ready to play her role.
I don’t know if this is genius or desperation, but if I had to guess, I’d call it a reckless marriage of the two. The tricky part arises from not being able to check the others’ status, because our comms can’t connect to the wireless system. Or rather, aren’t being permitted to do so. We’re welcome to use their terminals for room-to-room calls, of course.
Yeah, right.
“If Vel does his part on time, we’ll get in and out in less than two minutes.”
The alternative goes unspoken. If he doesn’t, alarms sound, Keller’s goons come running, and—well, I’m not sure what comes next, but I’d guess it’s not good. I imagine there’s a limit to what they’re willing to put up with. They could transfer me to an altogether-less-agreeable prison, or if they lose patience with the babysitting job entirely, they might off me. As Jael pointed out, these guys don’t make money off valuing human life.
As we pause outside the door, I scan the hallway, take a deep breath, and then activate 245. “Johann Keller, requesting access.”
She can reproduce a voice with a 98.5 percent accuracy. Let’s see if that gets us in the door. Vel should’ve patched into the cameras by now, so if anyone’s watching, it looks like we’re not here.
“Granted,” the bot tells us politely.
We hasten into the room before something can go wrong, and the door slides closed behind us. I draw up short, causing Dina to slam into my back. Her weight makes me oof, and I nearly drop 245, who responds with a cautionary, “Be careful, Sirantha Jax. In your current financial state, you cannot afford to replace me.”
“I couldn’t replace you even if I had a trillion credits,” I tell her.
Dina ignores us as she scowls at where we’ve ended up. Droid parts litter the filthy counters, and a half dozen broken units lean up against the wall—chassis, arms, legs, even heads. Something stands in the far corner, covered by a tarp. No terminals, not even the decommed one Vel’s schematics reflected.
Shit.
“I don’t think we’ll find anything useful in here.”
The mechanic looks like she wants to slap me. “No shit. They must’ve made some changes since those plans were uploaded.”
“Or they planted the wrong ones on purpose.” I wouldn’t put it past them.
Nothing like running us around for entertainment. It saves them worrying that we might actually accomplish something. Keeps us busy until the elusive Mr. Jewel sees fit to turn up and deal with us.
Well, I’ll be damned if I’ll wait. There has to be something we can use. I start to rummage quickly, not knowing whether there are cameras in here. I can’t spot any of the usual tells, but the room is dark and grimy with months of accumulated dust. Whoever used to tinker down here doesn’t anymore.
“What’re you doing?” Dina wants to know. “This is a complete waste of time.”
“Is it?” I yank the cover off the thing in the corner and only just manage not to stagger back in shock.
Her eyes widen, just as mine do. “Well, maybe not.”
“What is it?”
She comes over to examine what I’ve found. At first I thought it was a dead body, but the flesh feels smooth and supple when I poke it. For all intents, we’ve found a woman down in storage, eyes closed as if in repose. She has brown hair and an aesthetically perfect face that comes from a composite of many beautiful people.
Bracing herself on the wall, Dina bends and lifts its bare foot. “She’s a Lila, one of Pretty Robotics’s older models. See the logo stamped on her insole? They changed the line about five years ago and shifted away from classical beauty, went more for the lush, showy designs.”
“Bigger boobs?” I guess.
“Among other assets.”
“Is she broken?” Why else would she have been dumped down here?
“Lemme take a look.”
She pops a panel on the droid’s forearm, taps a few buttons, but nothing happens. “Looks like her chip is fried. Expensive repair.”
“Unless . . .” I look at 245, hold her up beside the Lila. “What do you think? She’s been asking for a way to join the action. Could you manage a brain transplant?”
“It’s not my forte, but maybe. I have a knack with most machines.”
“I can help,” 245 volunteers. “Once you begin the process, I can tell you what connections remain to be made and what systems I am able to control.”
“Let’s try it,” Dina decides. “This unit may have security clearances that 245 can exploit. That alone makes it worth tackling. Plus I like a challenge. Jax, find me some tools.”
“Right.” I barely manage not to salute and call her “Your Highness” just to rag on her. After what happened earlier, I’d rather not test Dina’s mood, particularly not when my very helpful, damn-near-indispensable personal assistant depends on her good offices.
“This isn’t going to be a quick in and out,” she warns me. “In the original plan, Vel only gives us ten minutes to bounce a message out, telling Tarn where we are.”