Machine Man - Max Barry [38]
I WENT to Lab 4 and climbed into the Contours. A few Gammas were about, and they looked at me curiously through their Z-specs. “Are we testing?” asked one. I shook my head. I powered on and extended the Contours to walking height. I took a step and another and walked out of the lab.
By the time I exited the elevator four security guards were waiting. One of them was Carl, the human mountain. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said. “Going somewhere?”
My legs were already detouring around him and it was a moment before I could persuade them to stop. They were a little feisty. I came to a juddering halt. There was no one else around, I noticed. The place had emptied. “Yes. Out.”
“Where would you like to go? We’ll take you.”
“Just out,” I said. “Part of testing.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Neumann, but external testing must be authorized.”
My jaw tightened. It wasn’t Carl’s fault, but I was pissed about being cut off from Lola. I thought, I should just walk out of here. Because it wasn’t like they could stop me. I didn’t mean to express this as a mental instruction, of the kind the Contours could pick up. But like I said, they were feisty. And then they were moving so quickly I had to grip the sides of the bucket seat. “Whoa,” I said. Carl lunged at me like a linebacker. The Contours stepped around him and thumped into the lobby. “Dr. Neumann!” Carl shouted. “Stop!” His voice bounced around the glass-ringed lobby. It sounded a little frightening and possibly in response to this the Contours broke into a run. They pistoned toward the glass lobby doors. These did not open in time, which caused the collision-detection software to stop me so suddenly that my forehead cracked against the smoked glass. That hurt. I would have to fix that. Then the gap between the doors grew wider and the Contours took off.
I WAS atop a jackhammer. With each stride, my neck stretched and tried to detach my head. When each hoof slammed down, my chin bounced into my chest hard enough to crack teeth. Through eyes blurred with tears, I saw an approaching road and thought: Oh please now they will stop. But they didn’t. They ran into traffic. I clawed for the emergency shutdown button and missed. That was possibly a good thing because in retrospect I didn’t want to lose power in front of oncoming automobiles. A sedan whipped by so close its turbulence tore at my hair. A truck the size of a building honked. I heard a terrified shriek and realized it was me. There was a clicking deep within the Contours, something I felt rather than heard. They stopped. I was in the path of the truck. I was going to die. I was about to learn why you don’t conduct a live field test of new technology while strapped to the top of it. This truck would run me down and when it stopped its driver would find a long bloody smear leading to a gleaming pair of perfect titanium legs. It would be the ultimate vindication of my work. A testament to the superiority of artificial parts and the need for comprehensive bug testing.
The legs bent and sprang. The traffic and road grew small and far away. I let go of the seat to flail my arms. I was trying to grab air, or fly. My upward velocity slowed. For the briefest moment I was moving leisurely forward sixty feet above the ground, neither rising nor falling. It was kind of beautiful. Then the world grew larger and more dangerous. My brain suggested my terminal velocity at forty miles per hour. That was how fast I would be going