Machine Man - Max Barry [65]
“Yes.”
“You’re paid to perform work for Better Future, correct?”
I hadn’t checked my bank account for a very long time. But I assumed so. “Yes.”
“Then I think we’ve established your role.” He nodded. “I understand there are at least half a dozen people now capable of original part design. You should be proud of the way you’ve passed on your skills, Dr. Neumann. No employee should be irreplaceable.”
I said, “I want to make parts for myself.”
“Let me tell you what I want,” said the Manager. “I want you to assist our test subjects. Help them adapt to life with Better Parts. That’s your specialty now. Not design. Look at you. If I’m booking in for some hard-core surgery to become a Better Soldier, you’re the guy I want to talk to. You’re the guy I want beside my bed when I wake up, telling me it’s okay, it’s great on the other side. It’s Better. I’m not saying this has been the problem. Cassie, I’m not blaming you for the issues we’ve had with test subjects. I’m just saying, the last thing we need is Better Soldiers having psychotic breaks.”
I said, “What test subjects?” I look at Cassandra Cautery, then back to the Manager. “You mean Carl?”
“Dr. Neumann, I can’t believe you don’t know this. You are not the only recipient of Better Parts.” He glanced at Cassandra Cautery. “Honestly.”
“Who else has … has …”
“There’s you, those in your department, and the volunteers.”
“Which volunteers?” I felt myself shaking. “Does Lola Shanks have a Better Part?”
“Of course. Well. That was an early one. Before we had the volunteer program up and running. We had to make a leap of faith. I know you can appreciate that. When you crushed your leg, did you know how it would turn out? Did you know for sure you would even survive? No. But you did it. Because great achievements require great courage. And it was obvious from the beginning that it would be easier to recruit volunteers for some Better Parts than others. The Eyes, the Skin, sure, they’re lining up. But who wants a military-grade spine? Who wants a satellite-linked eardrum? Don’t say you. We’ve been through that. The world is not full of Carl LaRussos. We will not stumble across a group of people eager to replace vital organs. So we seized the opportunity that presented itself.”
“What’s in Lola?” My throat burned. All I could think about was her on the operating table, her hand limp and helpless. “Her heart. What is it?”
“Well,” he said. “Something better.”
A jolt of rage burst through my body. I did not usually get angry. I had never felt like this in my life. Certainly at no point while connected to the nerve interface, painstakingly teaching the Contours the language of my electrical neuroimpulses. They had no idea what I was telling them. That’s my explanation, anyway, for why my legs twitched, and I kicked the Manager through the window.
EARLIER, I hadn’t paid much attention to which floor we were on. But as I moved to the shattered window and pushed aside the flapping drapes, I realized: we were really high up.
“YOU’VE KILLED him.” Cassandra Cautery stepped carefully over the broken glass and braced herself against what was left of the window frame. “Look. He’s just lying there.”
I tried to say, I didn’t mean to. But my chest was locked tight around my lungs.
“That guy is dead.” There was a touch of awe in her voice. “He is definitely dead.”
Against my better judgment, I looked down. Most of the space between Better Future and the road was occupied by a wide, healthy lawn. But it was bisected by a narrow concrete path, and on this lay the Manager. I’m tempted to claim this as bad luck. But from the way his legs were bent over his head, it didn’t matter.
The Contours took an unexpected step forward, as if they wanted to look at what they had done. I teetered.
“Charlie …” Cassandra Cautery murmured. Her eyes didn’t move from the Manager’s tiny, broken body. “You are in so very much trouble.”
The Contours tensed. Four sections contracted two inches. I wasn’t making them do this. It must be a fear reaction: my terrified brain barfing