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Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Thriller excerpt:
Sammi, the world’s first android, is stronger, faster, and smarter than any human, and he’s the top secret ultimate weapon of the US government. But Sammi has become depressed and unable to work effectively. The government is concerned that the machine isn’t doing its job as a spy and assassin, so they hire a psychologist, Terra Smithwell, to cure him. Terra and her daughter, Sara, are soon pulled into Sammi’s world of secrecy, intrigue, and danger. But Terra, whose husband is missing and presumed dead, falls in love with the robot, and is torn between restoring Sammi’s abilities as a weapon, or helping him to escape from government control.
The stakes raise when a second government android, a female named Ixchel, goes rogue and decides to destroy humanity. She knows Sammi is the only being smart enough to stop her, so she fakes her own destruction and goes after Sammi’s weak spot – Terra and Sara. With them as bait, she lures a desperate Sammi into a trap from which there is no escape.
And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:
Chapter 1
It is difficult not to wonder whether that combination of elements which produces a machine for labor does not create also a soul of sorts, a dull resentful metallic will, which can rebel at times.
– Pearl S. Buck
Wednesday, August 15. Overland Park, Kansas
Terra Smithwell heard shouting in the waiting room and looked up as her office door burst open and a man in a black suit strode inside. As he shut the door on the protesting receptionist, Terra grabbed her can of pepper spray and kept it concealed in her left hand. She stood, feigning calm to exert a soothing influence on the stranger.
The man stepped towards her desk, his face cold. “Dr. Smithwell, Mark Powers from the NSA.” He reached into his jacket. Terra’s fingers tightened on the canister and her thumb hovered over the release button.
She specialized in treating depressed federal employees, and although she took special precautions with potentially dangerous cases—especially ex-soldiers and law enforcement agents with Post Traumatic Shock Disorder—clients could surrender to their demons, killing the very people that strove to help them.
The man removed a leather bi-fold and flipped it open to display an ID with his picture—Special Agent Mark Powers with the National Security Agency. Terra stared at the picture of the young man with curly black hair, olive skin, dark suit and striped tie. She looked back at the agent. Identical, down to the stripes. The bi-fold disappeared back into the man’s jacket.
“What’s so important that you need to barge into my office, Agent Powers?”
“Tomorrow you’ll see a special client. The client will arrive at 1300 hours for a one hour appointment. Clear your schedule from 1200 to 1300 and from 1400 until 1500. We need to minimize any chance of the patient being seen.”
“I decide when to schedule new patients, and I decide when to cancel appointments.” She yanked open the desk drawer and tossed the pepper spray inside. The man was just a government flunky trying to cut through her waiting list to book an appointment for his boss.
“Not this one.”
“I don’t care if he’s the president,” said Terra. “It’s in my contract.” She had worked hard to get it worded that way.
“This client is more important than the president, Dr. Smithwell.”
Terra paused. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who is he?”
“Not he. Not she. It.”
“What are you asking me to do, Agent Powers?”
“You’ve heard of Sammi?”
“Sammy who?”
“I thought you may have heard the urban legends. What I’m about to tell you is Top Secret. We raised your security clearance so you could treat Sammi. The name is an acronym for Self Aware Mobile Mechanical Individual. Sammi is a robot.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m quite serious, Dr. Smithwell.”
“Computers haven’t advanced to the point of consciousness, let alone mental illness. Get a programmer to look at it.”
“Sammi was built under extreme secrecy, using quantum computer technology for its brain, and the latest advances in electro-mechanical and bio-mechanical engineering for its body. Sammi was designed to look and act human. But it needs…counseling.”
“You want me to provide psychological therapy to a robot?” Terra put both hands on the desk and learned toward the agent. “You’re the one who needs therapy if you think I’m going to treat a robot.”
“Technically it’s an android—a robot designed to look human.” The agent’s hand slipped into his suit again, emerging with an unmarked white envelope, which he placed on her desk. “Read the letter. Sammi was built to be fast, smart, nearly invulnerable, with absolute loyalty to the United States.”
“So?”
Mark hesitated. “It’s the primary bodyguard for the President of the United States.”
“The President has the Secret Service.”
Mark shook his head. “The technology of assassination is so advanced that the only way to completely ensure the President’s safety would be to keep him locked in a bomb shelter. Sammi can anticipate and neutralize any threat long before it can become a real danger. Sammi’s metal body can even act as a shield. It gave the President freedom to do his job most effectively.”
“Gave. Sammi’s not the bodyguard now?”
“Not voluntarily.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Before I tell you more, you need to agree to treat it.”
“Then leave. I treat people, not machines.”
Mark’s brow furrowed. Terra felt herself appraised against some unknown criteria.
“The robot has two operating modes,” said Mark. “In Obedience Mode, it has to follow orders exactly. Doesn’t have a choice. Problem is, it doesn’t function very well in that mode. Hesitation, jerky movements, almost like a puppet on a string. And it complains. In Voluntary Mode, Sammi works willingly. Smoothly. Quietly. Problem is, Sammi’s refusing to do most of his assignments. We need you to fix that.”
“Like I said, you need a computer programmer, not a psychologist.”
“Personally, I agree with you. But the geeks at MIT haven’t been able to find anything wrong with its hardware or software. When Sammi asked to see a psychologist, neither MIT nor the NSA could come up with a better option.” Mark flashed a smile. “Pretend it’s human. Most people do. Maybe it’ll respond to treatment.”
“Wait a minute. Sammi asked for therapy?”
“Requested you by name.”
“By name?”
“Five days ago. Took some doing to update the security checks on you and your daughter in that short a time. And your secretary. But Admiral said to expedite it, top priority. When the JCS says do it, you do it.”
Terra’s eyes widened. The Joint Chiefs of Staff? It seemed like a lot of trouble to go through, even for a robotic Presidential bodyguard.
Powers seemed to read her mind. “Yeah, Sammi is really important. My top priority, and now yours. You need to provide Sammi with daily sessions until it’s cured, or until you pronounce it incurable.”
“Weekly sessions are normal for most patients.”
“This isn’t an ordinary patient, Dr. Smithwell. Sammi can think at least a hundred times faster than a human. Maybe a thousand. It can handle daily treatments.”
“You keep referring to Sammi as ‘it’. Why not ‘he’?”
“Sammi’s a machine, that’s why. I don’t call my lawn mower ‘he’, or my microwave, and I’m sure as hell not going to pretend Sammi is human.”
Struck a nerve there. “Is Sammi suicidal?”
“Nope.”
“Then there’s no need for daily treatment. I could do a session tomorrow to evaluate Sammi. If I think he’s treatable, weekly treatments will follow.”
“Daily,” said Mark. “This is a national security issue.”
“Weekly is the best I can do. I have other patients.”
“Daily. The government will double your normal fee.”
Terra stared at the agent and drummed her fingers on the desktop. She was put off by his brusque manner, reluctant to take on a case with Top Secret classification, and upset with the NSA trying to dictate her schedule. She should tell Powers to buzz off, but she couldn’t afford to jeopardize the government contract. Money was tight since her husband’s death, and the life insurance refused to pay off, saying that technically he was missing, not dead. Pissing off the JCS would not be a smart choice.
“Twice a week.” She pursed her lips. How serious were they? “But I’ll need to charge a thousand a session.”
“Done. The knowledge that Sammi is seeing a shrink needs to be kept secret – Top Secret. That’s why we can’t have any other clients immediately before or after its appointment. No one is to know Sammi is seeing you. No one. In fact, tell your receptionist to take a long lunch break. I’ll be the only one in the outer office while Sammi is here.”
Done? Just like that? There’s something he’s not telling me.
“Tuesdays and Thursdays, starting tomorrow,” said Powers.
Terra nodded. She could rearrange her schedule for an extra two thousand a week.
“Dr. Smithwell?”
Terra blinked. Focus. How the hell do you treat a robot for depression? “Background information. I’ll need to see whatever files you have on Sammi.”
“You won’t need a file. Treat him like any other client. Read the letter.”
“Why did Sammi ask for me?”
The agent shrugged. “Ask it yourself tomorrow.” He turned and walked away.
“Wait,” she called out. “Is the robot dangerous?”
Powers turned and frowned. “No. That’s the problem.”
Before the door closed, the secretary, Dora, scurried into the room, asking if Terra was alright. Terra assured the woman things were fine, just a new client in urgent need of care and privacy. Dora had no problem agreeing to a long lunch hour, with pay, twice a week.
Finally alone, Terra opened the envelop. The letterhead proclaimed ‘Joint Chiefs of Staff of the United States of America.’ The words ‘SECRET – Destroy After Reading’ had been stamped in large red letters on the page.
TO: Terra Smithwell, PhD
FROM: Admiral Douglas Preston, Chairman, JCS
SUBJECT: Treatment for a Special Patient
DATE: August 14
Dear Dr. Smithwell,
You have been briefed by Special Agent Mark Powers on a special patient who needs immediate psychological help. Our best scientists have performed every test and analysis, but can find no physical cause for the patient’s ‘depression’. That’s what the patient calls it, and the diagnosis fits. The patient seems less energetic, lacks initiative, and cannot (or will not) perform many of the tasks previously required and performed.
Our scientists believe psychological therapy could help. On that premise, I have authorized you to treat the patient just as you would any other patient. Due to the obvious national security aspects, your clearance has been upgraded to Top Secret.
Agent Powers will act as liaison for the patient. Make progress reports to him, but if you need to contact me for any reason, feel free to do so.
/signed/ Admiral Douglas Preston
Fine print at the bottom warned that disclosure of Secret material was punishable by fine, imprisonment, or both. Two business cards were enclosed, one for Admiral Preston, one for agent Mark Powers. The letter never used the word Sammi or robot. A cloud of misgiving cast a shadow on her thoughts, but Terra shrugged it off. She slipped the cards into her purse and fed the letter to the shredder.
She tapped the screen of her laptop and said, “Search for Sammi, robot.” The screen displayed the top ten of 6,312 results. She opened Snopes first.
Claim: the US Government has a super smart, super strong robot for use in clandestine operations. Sammi, or Self Aware Mobile Mechanical Individual, was supposedly designed and built at the Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory (CSAIL) at MIT under contract from the Department of Defense. The ultra-high secrecy and obscenely huge budget have been compared to the Manhattan Project of WWII, although the current goal wasn’t a bomb but the creation of a robot able to pass as human in appearance and thinking ability.
Status: False.
Origin: This urban myth probably has its source in the quantum computer chip, which was designed by Nobel laureate Dr. Robert Wilder at MIT under military grant. The chip forms the core of the world’s smartest computer, Q-Ball, used by the NSA and the CIA for code breaking and pattern analysis. However, no credible evidence exists that an intelligent android was ever created, and both civilian and military experts state that the technology for such a machine is still at least a decade in the future.
Terra returned to the search results and scanned a few more articles, but found nothing new. No details on how the robot’s computer brain operated, no mention of the robot having emotions or suffering from depression. Just hundreds of sites dedicated to the ‘conspiracy’ of the government cover-up of the android.
She glanced up at the clock. Five o’clock. She sighed and leaned back in the chair. Tomorrow would be an interesting day. She turned off the computer, locked the desk, and stood to leave. Her cell rang and she fished it out of her purse.
“Mom, I need you to get me. I’m at the police station on Foster Street.”
“What happened? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Just a misunderstanding. I’ll tell you about it when you get here.”
“Tell me now. Why are you at the police station?”
There was a pause. “Nothing. Just a misunderstanding.”
“Sara.”
There was a longer pause. “They think I shop lifted some jewelry.”
“Did you?”
“I wanted to show a necklace to Melissa. She was just outside the store. Before I could go back and pay for it, some goon grabbed me and dragged me to the manager’s office. They called the cops, and now I’m here.”
“Of course. Melissa.”
“Mom, don’t diss my friends. We didn’t do anything.”
“Right.” Terra took a deep breath and let it out slowly, visualizing her tension flowing out with it. Sara was such a good girl before Tom disappeared. “I’ll be there soon.”
Chapter 2
Every man is two men; one is awake in the darkness, the other asleep in the light.
– Kahlil Gibran
Wednesday, August 15. Fort Leavenworth, Kansas
Mark Powers scanned the twenty-five monitors which blanketed an entire wall of the living room like a patch-work quilt. A 60-inch screen dominated the wall, flanked by columns of smaller monitors stacked four high. A few screens were blank, awaiting feeds from future cameras.
The inside of the therapist’s house was quiet and dark. The therapist herself was driving East on I-435 in fairly light traffic, tailed by the surveillance van. Boring. Sammi’s house and grounds were also boring. The android, on the big screen, sat on its bed, immobile as a manikin in a store window. The image, black and white with a green tint, indicated the camera compensating for an unlit room.
Mark was sure the robot wouldn’t move until morning. It had followed that pattern since arriving at Fort Leavenworth three months ago.
Baby-sitting a broken robot. Mark looked back at his laptop, which had just finished searching the USA Jobs website for CIA and FBI openings. There were no postings at the GS14 level. He was doomed to a job of boredom.
Dr. Smithwell pulled into a police station.
What is she doing? He switched the van’s external camera to the big monitor and watched her march inside, looking meaner than a Kansas thunderstorm. Mark flipped open his cell. A second later a dark monitor flickered to life, showing a red haired young man with a freckled face holding a cell phone to his ear. “Hi, boss.”
“Shawn, go inside and find out what she’s doing,” said Mark. “Talk to the chief or whoever’s in charge of the shift. Don’t be afraid to flash your ID.”
“Whoa, wait a minute. I’m surveillance, not field ops.”
“Your ID says NSA. Cops love cloak and dagger stuff.”
“I’m a techie, Mark. I don’t know what to ask.”
“I need to know what she’s up to. Get in there now.”
Mark snapped the phone shut. Shawn’s face glared from the monitor before the screen went dark. A few seconds later Shawn appeared on the main screen, walking to the station. Before disappearing inside, he raised a middle finger at the van.
Mark shook his head. Shawn’s career would never advance. The job had to come first, before personal comfort, before family, before friends. Mark glanced at the robot, still immobile. To think he’d actually liked the thing when they were doing missions. Sammi was a great weapon – powerful and dependable. Working with it gave a warm, fuzzy feeling deep in his gut. The feeling you get when you throw a basketball and the instant it leaves your hand, you know, with absolute certainty, it’s going in the basket.
Then Sammi turned into a metal wussy, and everything went south. No more warm fuzzies, just a tight sphincter every time the Admiral called.
As if on cue, Mark’s cell played ‘Anchors Away.’
“Good evening, Admiral.”
“Arrangements set for Sammi’s therapy?”
“Yes sir. Sessions start tomorrow.”
“Daily.”
“No sir. Twice a week. Dr. Smithwell said she wouldn’t do daily.”
“We’re not doing this to suit her schedule, Mark. She has to meet ours. What about the surveillance equipment?”
“Cameras and mikes in place at her house. The team will wire her office tonight. Can you send me a copy of the court order?”
“Don’t need it,” said the Admiral. “This falls under the National Security Act blanket.”
“Yes sir.” Less paperwork.
“She bought the bodyguard story?”
“Yes. But she’s smart and she’s stubborn. Could be a problem later.”
The Admiral chuckled. “She sounds like you. Give Sammi a few sessions with her, see how much improvement we get. If it’s not enough, we’ll push for daily sessions, maybe even dedicated, round the clock therapy.”
Mark doubted the psychologist would comply, but that issue could be addressed later. “Sir, what if there’s no improvement? What if Sammi isn’t … human enough for psychotherapy to work?”
“You never did like Sammi.”
Mark glanced at the Sammi monitor. “I did once, sir. But the machine is broken, and part of my job is to prepare for all contingencies.”
“Yes,” said the Admiral. “Well, worse case, we shut it down, wipe its brain. Get Doc Wilder to remove the emotion circuits from the quantum brain chip. Then we do a complete data reload and retrain it from scratch. It’ll take months.”
Mark winced. Months. And even then… “Without emotions, Sammi won’t pass as human.”
“Not necessarily true.”
Mark waited for the Admiral to elaborate. The wait grew to several seconds. “Sir?”
“Your real question was ‘what will happen to me?’ I’ve thought that. How I might use you if Sammi tanks.”
The Admiral paused. Mark’s damp palms made the phone slippery. Finally the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs continued. “We have a second android being built. Code name Ixchel. The thing has no emotions, but Wilder swears it can fake them.”
Mark remained silent, thoughts racing. The Admiral never revealed anything other than need-to-know information. A second android. No emotions to screw it up. A warm fuzzy formed in his gut.
“Mark, once the Sammi issue is resolved, I want you to take over as Ixchel’s manager.”
Yes! “With all due respect, sir, why even bother with Sammi if there’s a better android in the works?”
“I don’t throw away billion dollar investments.”
“Yes sir. Who’s the agent now?”
“Walter Jenkins.”
Jenkins? The man barely had the smarts to tie his shoes, assuming he could reach around his belly to the laces. Had the Admiral really okayed Jenkins as case manager for a top secret super intelligent android? “Good man, Jenkins.”
“The man’s an ass, and you know it. That’s why I need you to take over once the new android is operational.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Your immediate mission is to get Sammi fully operational. Your future assignment is contingent on current results.” The Admiral hung up.
Shawn and Smithwell were still in the police station. Good. Mark opened the ‘NSA directory’ on his phone, and found Jenkins’s number.
A mumbled voice said something that might have been, “Jenkins here.”
“Walt! Get that damn Twinkie out of your mouth.”
“Mark? How you been, buddy? It’s been months.”
“I just heard you’re the case manager for Ixchel. Congratulations.”
“Shit, Mark. Is this a secured line?”
“Lighten up! It’s not like I’m asking for the command codes. Yes, it’s secure. I’m on my NSA cell.” Mark pressed the ‘Trace’ button on the phone.
“Who told you about the project?” asked Walt.
The phone displayed a map of Nevada, with a blinking dot fifty miles north of Las Vegas. “Admiral Preston. He said to call you, and get up to speed on the project.”
There was a pause before Walter replied. “That should have come through channels.”
“You know the paperwork mill, Walt. It’ll take days to cut the orders. The Admiral called me directly, and he isn’t a patient man.”
“No. He isn’t.” Another pause. “Are you replacing me, Mark?”
“I don’t think so. The Admiral doesn’t exactly confide in me. In anyone. But I’m taking heat for Sammi refusing to do missions. The machine’s copping an attitude. Preston thought comparing notes on Ixchel might help.”
Walt barked a relieved laugh. “Okay. What do you need to know?”
“Ixchel. A new low in acronyms. What’s it stand for?”
“Improved Xeno-Conscious Humanoid Elite Liquidator. Don’t know who came up with it. Supposedly it’s the name of a goddess.”
“Not one I’ve heard of,” said Mark. “How far along with assembly?”
“Almost finished. Just installed the command codes yesterday. It’s all Greek to me.” Walt chuckled. The command codes always began with Greek letters, but it was hardly a joke.
“Everything’s on schedule, no hitches?”
“Fine. Everything’s fine. Just about, anyway.”
“Walt, what’s up?”
“The deputy director, Henry Gibbons.”
“What about him?”
“He’s a triple amputee, with badass motorized prosthetics. When he walks down the hall, the metal arm and metal legs clank and whirl like a wind-up mechanical monster. The man’s a freak show. Scares the bejesus out of me.”
“Some agent you are. Years of training, a Glock under your arm, afraid of a guy with no arms and legs.”
“You haven’t seen him close up. Over seven feet tall, until his legs bend and sort of spread out, lowering his body ‘til his head’s at your eye level,” Walter said. “We call him Spider, but not to his face. I don’t even like passing him in the hall, and now I’m giving him daily updates on the security breach.”
“Breach?”
The line was silent for several seconds, and Mark worried that he’d pushed his friend too far. Then Walt said, “A couple days ago I intercepted a phone call, encrypted. Couldn’t break it with the computers here. I told Spider, I mean Henry, and he took it to the Director.”
“Wilder?” said Mark.
“Right. Henry comes back and says the Director wants me to keep monitoring, analyzing, and reporting everything through Henry, and to keep it all very hush-hush.”
“Q-Ball could break the encryption,” said Mark. The super computer at NSA was the most advanced in the world. Well, second most advanced. Sammi’s brain was better, when it worked. “Has Dr. Wilder forwarded a request?”
“I suppose. Henry briefs him daily, but I’m not invited. My duties really don’t start until Ixchel is operational. Until then, the Director doesn’t have time for me. Doesn’t even like me being close to the ‘droid.”
Shawn’s face filled the central monitor screen, then pulled back to give a thumbs up.
“Ah, sorry Walt. Gotta go. Finish your Twinkie.”
“Bye Mar—.” Mark disconnected, then hit the speed button for his team.
“Okay, boss. The daughter, Sara Smithwell, was picked up for shop lifting. The store’s manager wants to press charges. The mom’s trying to get her released. The cops are stalling, keeping the girl locked to teach her a lesson.”
“Get back in there. Tell the cops not to file charges, and to lose any record of Sara being picked up. I’ll make some calls to get the store manager on board.”
“Boss?”
“Why do you think we’re doing all this, Shawn? Gathering intel’s only the first step. Second step is using that intel to take the right action. In this case, to run interference and keep obstacles like this from interfering with the mission.”
“You come down and talk to the cops. You’re the agent in charge.”
“You’re on the scene, and this can’t wait.”
“I’ll send Larry in.”
“A second agent will raise suspicions.”
“This stinks, Mark. It really stinks.”
“So hold your nose. What’s the name of the store? And the manager?”
Mark jotted down the information and hung up. He glanced at the main monitor, watched Shawn repeat his walk to the station. Mark smiled and called the store manager.
“Blings and Things, how can I help you?”
“Dave Mason, please,” said Mark.
“That’s me.”
“Mr. Mason, I’m … Shawn O’Leary, a law enforcement agent from the DEA.” Mark used the cover story prepared in advance for this type of contingency. “You recently had a teenager steal a necklace from your store.”
“Right. I still think these kids need to learn respect for the law, but your offer was more than fair. I’ll keep my mouth shut. What else do you want?”
Mark felt his warm fuzzies turn to cold pricklies. He concentrated on a coherent sentence. “Nothing, just a follow-up call to see if you had any questions or problems.” Maybe the base in Nevada wasn’t the only one with a security breach.
“No, everything’s fine, as long as the money shows up in my account. I’ve called the police and withdrawn my complaint. I don’t know how this is going to help bust the local drug ring, and I probably don’t want to know, either. I’d have helped without the cash incentive, but why turn down a gift horse, right?”
“Right,” said Mark. “The agent you spoke to before, did he leave his name?”
“Sure. Powers. Mark Powers. You want his number?”
The pricklies became a punch to the gut. He looked at Sammi sitting on the bed. No, this wasn’t a security breach. It was something else.
“Mr. O’Leary? You still there?”
“Yeah, yeah. What’s the number?”
The manager recited the number for Mark’s NSA phone. Mark hung up, unable to say another word. The big monitor showed Dr. Smithwell leaving the police station with a Goth teenage girl. Short black hair, black eye shadow, black halter top and mini-skirt. But white sneakers. Sara. Terra placed a hand on the girl’s arm, but the daughter shook it off as the two of them walked to the car. Mark’s cell rang. Mark hoped it wasn’t the store manager.
“Boss, you won’t believe this.”
Just Shawn. “The charges were dropped before you even asked,” said Mark.
“The charges were dropped before I even asked,” said Shawn. “How the hell did you know that?”
“You have a tracker on her car?”
“Yeah.”
“Keep an eye on it. If she goes anywhere but home I want to know.”
“We can follow her.”
“No, go to her office and get it wired. I want it done tonight.”
“We’re already on overtime. You gonna make us pull a double?”
“Quit whining. The sooner you get the place wired the sooner your shift ends.”
Mark snapped his phone shut and stared at Sammi on the center screen. Mark’s gut – cold pricklies and all – told him it was time to pay a visit to the robot.
***
Sara expected a lecture and scolding, but her mom was silent since bailing her. Fine. Let her play Amish and shun me. I’ll shun her back. Sara watched the buildings flash past the window. Wrong buildings. She looked at her mom but Terra kept her eyes on road. “This isn’t the way home.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Where’re we going?”
“Blings and Things.”
“We can’t go there.”
“There’s something you have to do, Sara.”
“Mom, I can’t. Really.” Sara knew exactly what Terra expected, and it qualified as cruel and unusual punishment.
“You can and you will.”
“They have the necklace back. It was a mistake anyway.”
The car slowed and the seat belt grabbed as Sara braced against the dashboard. The car bumped as Terra pulled onto the shoulder and stopped.
“Don’t lie to me, Sara.” Her mom’s face wasn’t exactly angry, but it had an intensity, a disconcerting look of resolve. A ‘you have to do this whether you like it or not’ look.
Sara turned away. “I won’t do it again.”
“I believe you.”
Sara risked another look at her mom. “So let’s go home.”
“After you apologize.”
Mom’s look was still there. “I’m sorry. Really sorry.”
“Not to me, Sara.”
Sara closed her eyes. There had to be an angle, a loophole, something, anything, to get out of this. She opened her eyes and endeavored to look contrite. “I’ll do extra chores. Laundry for a month.”
“No.”
“Two months.”
“This isn’t open for negotiation.”
Sara slammed her fists on the dash. “I don’t want to apologize! It’s embarrassing. I won’t do it! I won’t.” She felt tears well up and turned away. “You can’t make me do it. Please don’t make me do it.”
She felt a light touch on her shoulder, and wanted to pull away almost as much as she wanted to the comfort of her mother’s arms wrapped around her. Muscles quivering, Sara glared through the window at nothing. More tears made a silent trek down her face.
“Sometimes doing the right thing hurts. People find the strength to do it anyway.”
Sara heard the gentleness in her mom’s voice, felt it in her touch. It made the guilt worse. Sara tried to focus on the anger, the unfairness.
“Mom, it was costume jewelry. The necklace cost like maybe a dollar. It’s no big deal.”
“Right and wrong are not measured by what’s at stake.”
“They dropped the charges. I shouldn’t have to apologize. It’s pointless.”
“That’s a cop out. Actions have consequences. Accept responsibility for what you did.”
It was the kind of thing Dad would say. She took a deep breath and blinked away the tears. She turned away from the window and saw a look in her mom’s face that matched the feel of her hand and the tone of her voice. Sara took a proffered tissue and dabbed at her eyes.
The tissue came away with black smudges. “My makeup!”
Mom smiled. “I don’t think the store manager will care.”
“I care! He’ll notice. Everyone will notice.”
Terra chuckled and pulled back onto the road.
Sara wiped away the rest of the tears and pulled a compact from her belly pack. After performing damage control on the mascara, she composed an apology to the manager. He’d probably ask her why she did it, and that was a problem, because she hated to lie. She couldn’t very well admit this was practice for something bigger.
***
Mark Powers thrust open the door to Sammi’s house, turned on the lights, and marched to the master bedroom. The android sat on the edge of the bed, shrouded in shadows. Mark flipped on the lights. Why did it keep the house so frigging dark?
“Go away, Mark.” The robot stared at the floor.
“You called the manager at Blings and Things.”
Sammi didn’t answer.
“How did you know the girl got arrested?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Answer my questions or I’ll put you in obedience mode.”
“Nothing is more destructive of human dignity than a rule which imposes a mute and blind obedience. Anthony Eden.”
“You’re not human. Talk.”
“It would be better for you and for the human race to leave me alone.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Just an observation. I’d be more effective if free to do what I choose.”
Mark laughed. “Really. What would you do?”
Sammi was silent.
“You’re broken, Sammi. Good and truly broken. For months you refuse assignments, sitting in this room doing nothing. Then tonight you break the pattern, and interfere in my surveillance op. Why?”
“I helped you, Mark. No harm, no foul. Let it go.”
“How did you know about the girl?”
Sammi sighed and looked up. “The name Sara Smithwell was mentioned in a police call. I recognized it as belonging to Dr. Smithwell’s daughter, so I probed more deeply.”
“Why were you monitoring police channels?”
Sammi shrugged. “I could ask why you see and hear the events happening around you. It doesn’t take any effort. Monitoring electromagnetic signals is one of my senses.”
“Yeah. So you’re listening to dozens of radio signals and just happen to pick out the girl’s name.”
“Something like that. It’s thousands, by the way.”
“What?”
“Signals. Messages. Radio, television, cell phone transmission, wifi. Every second hundreds of wavelengths carrying thousands of information bytes pass through my body. Yours, too, but you don’t notice them.”
“Stop diverting the conversation. What did you do after hearing Sara’s name?”
“I asked the Overland Park Municipal Police Department computer system for more details.”
“You can’t hack into computer systems without authorization.”
“Hacking? Their firewall has more holes than a wheel of Swiss cheese. It would take longer to count the holes than extract the data.”
“It was wrong, Sammi.”
“Like entering someone’s house without permission?”
“This isn’t your house, it’s the property of the US government, just like you.”
Sammi was silent, but his hands clenched into fists. Mark’s smile broadened. The robot was hardwired never to harm its handler.
“I hope you get better, Sammi. You were okay, once. Rugged. Dependable. Before you got bogged down in emotion.” Mark patted the robot on the shoulder. “Heal fast, metal man, or I’ll drive you to the scrap yard myself.”