Page 6 of Scion

I grunt. Lucky for him. Mildly annoying for me.

“What do you eat, dear?” She heads past some obscenely comfortable-looking couches arrayed around a holo. A kitchen springs from concealed panels in the corner with a soft whir at her approach.

“Nothing for me.” I walk slowly, taking in the space. Just the one entrance, but it’s wide. Raised. Easy to monitor, hard to defend. Though, the EMP ring that I have to assume is active out there will help mitigate any frontal assault.

From the corner of my eye, I see her opening a cupboard. I pause and allow a moment to observe. There’s a refrigerator, a large thermo, a sink. It all looks manual. She spots my look. Smiles absently, more at herself than me. “Bots never get it the way I like.”

“They’re a lot faster though.”

“I like to be hands-on.” Her wittering demeanour seems to fade, just for a second. “And bots can be hacked.”

I don’t respond, but mentally give a little sigh. There it is. Classic lifer paranoia, even if it’s usually justified.

The problem is, there’s no way this woman is a lifer. Not unless she’s also insane. There’s silence as she prepares whatever she’s preparing.

I resume my inspection of the space. It’s minimalistic. Spartan, even. Sections of wall are digiglass too, but they’re dark, no memories or artwork displayed. I eye the stairs disappearing below. “Is this the only way in?”

“No. There are a couple farther down. I’ll show you after we eat.” Whatever she’s cooking smells surprisingly good. Not that I’ll have any. The lack of Autochef is annoying, but she must at least have a bioprinter in here somewhere. Something I can program to spit out the balance of nutrients needed for my revs to function properly.

She’s distracted and I’d prefer her full attention for this next part, so I sit patiently at the sleek tinted-glass dining table and wait. She soon joins me, clinking a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of me as well as herself.

Great. She’s senile, too. “I said nothing for me.”

“I insist. You’re my employee for the next two weeks, correct?” She squints at me. I can’t tell if she’s amused or serious. “Don’t you have to do what I tell you to do?”

“No. You’ve contracted me for the next two weeks. There’s a difference.” I push the plate away firmly. I think my revs are slowing down just from the proximity to all that grease. “It’s important I stick to a particular diet. For both our sakes.”

Old Woman looks at the untouched plate in front of me disapprovingly. “You’re not very polite.”

“My real employers don’t pay me to be polite.”

“Just to kill people.”

Silence as I meet her gaze steadily. Not because I’m surprised she knows; the Keres wouldn’t get any business if they were a secret. But because she said it. Because she’s not looking away, even as she takes an unhealthily large mouthful and chews. Like a sassy, animated cadaver.

“We need to discuss getting my comms back up.” Outside of an EMP ring, I can’t remember the last time I didn’t at least have the option of Atti in my ear.

“Alright.” She crunches a strip of bacon.

“So… do you have a way to get my comms back up?”

“Nope.”

“Repair bots?”

“Nope.”

“What about something that can tap into Q-net?”

“Nope.”

I take a deep breath. “You have to understand. Those employers we were just talking about… they’re going to want to know where the hell I am.” It’s not a threat. I think. Honestly, though they definitely won’t want me outright abandoning the contract, I have no idea how the Keres will react to one of their assets being absconded with. I can’t imagine it will be with smiles and kindness, though.

“And you want your AI back.”

“And I want my AI back,” I agree with perhaps a touch more emphasis than necessary. “I’m here to keep you safe. Atti can help with that.”

“ ‘Atti.’ You’re talking about ATRoPoS, I assume. You do know it’s not a person, right?”