Machine Man - Max Barry [70]
“In appreciation of that,” he said, “I will give you a head start.”
CARL’S PANT legs jutted in odd places. When he stepped, steel gleamed between his pants and boots. He did not have metal legs. But he had something on his legs. A kind of exoskeleton, like scaffolding. It made sense. You couldn’t weld titanium to a man’s shoulders. It would crush him. But this annoyed me. An exoskeleton was a hack. It was layering technology on top of a broken system. It was a failure to address the root problem.
Carl stopped at a service elevator and swiped his ID card. This was interesting because a moment ago Carl’s hands had been blocks of stone. Now they had split into fingers supple enough to grasp the tag. It seemed they could separate into at least four digits, then come together to deliver a punching force. That wasn’t a bad idea, for security guard hands.
“This will open in the garage. Then you’re on your own. I advise you to run.”
Lola and I shuffled inside. Lola said, “Thank you, Carl.”
“I’m not doing you a favor. I’m repaying a debt.”
Lola looked at me. “Um,” I said. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”
The elevator doors began to close. Carl raised a hand to block them. His fist was a block again. “Pardon me?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For asking them to get rid of me? Is that what you mean? For having them take away my arms because you didn’t want to share your parts? Is that what you’re talking about? The time I spent in a bed with a button to push with my foot when I needed someone to help me go to the bathroom? That?”
He lowered his arm. I heard the thin whine of servomagnetics. The elevator door began to close.
“Don’t apologize,” Carl said. “I have my own parts now.”
LOLA WAS silent as the elevator descended. I risked a glance at her: she stared straight ahead, her arms stiff. I said, “Do you think this elevator really takes us to the garage, or is it a trap?”
“Did you take Carl’s arms away?”
“I don’t think it’s the best time to discuss this.”
“Did you make them take away his arms?”
“They weren’t his arms,” I said, but Lola’s lips thinned to a dramatic slash and I decided to drop this argument. “Let’s talk later.”
“I’m disappointed, Charlie.”
I felt bad. My tetrodotoxin had worn off. I knew it wasn’t my top priority but I wished Lola wouldn’t be disappointed. The elevator thumped to a stop. The doors seemed to take a long time to open. I held out my arms. “Come here.” Her eyebrows dived like submarines. “I need to carry you.”
The doors slid apart. At first I couldn’t see anything. There was too much contrast: the bright elevator, the dark garage, the brilliant rectangle where the ramp led to sunshine. I should have been wearing Eyes. But the shouting was clear. I heard phrases like there he is and take him.
Lola jumped into my arms. I wrapped them around her and accelerated into the darkness. The Contours punched the concrete like rifle shots. Lola slipped out of my grasp and slid around my side. I hadn’t realized how much I’d adapted to the Contours: how I leaned with them as they moved, how a tiny click near the hip meant they were about to jag, and I should compensate. These things were far more difficult with another human being in my arms. Lola’s fingers clawed at me. I got hold of her, then the Contours sidestepped a guard I hadn’t even seen and Lola yelped and slipped all the way onto my back. Her legs locked around my waist. Her arms gripped my neck in a choke hold. My eyes watered. There was a noise like a metal waterfall breaking on concrete that sounded like a spark gun I had seen in the previous year’s prototype demos and I was pretty sure it was neither noncrippling nor nonlethal. We burst into sunlight. Lola bounced around to my front. The top of her skull popped me on the nose. We hit the road, clinging to each other like lovers, who were very angry with each other. Safe, I willed the Contours. Take me somewhere safe.
AT SOME point we stopped. Lola climbed off me, slowly and painfully.