Machine Man - Max Barry [81]
“How am I supposed to know that?”
“From observation!” I tried to spread my arms, but I was holding crutches. “I almost died trying to get you out of that building! What other hypothesis better fits available evidence? Schizophrenia?” I bit my lip, because that was workable.
Lola stared.
“We are going to walk past the welder and get in the car. Come see.”
“Then why—”
“Just come. Please. Now.”
THE CAR was a hybrid, like me. Lola climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted the mirror. “I’m not sure we should be doing this.”
My pole legs snagged on the passenger door somehow. They were so ungainly. I had to do everything. In frustration I ripped off the straps and pulled at the sockets. They resisted, the plastic sucking on my skin, then popped off with a slurp. I threw them into the backseat.
“I don’t even know where we’re going.”
“Anywhere.” I pulled shut the car door. Through the window, I saw it: the arc welder. My breath caught. It was a gray refrigerator on wheels. That thing had to be 200 amps.
“I should leave a note …” She reached for the door.
“No! Stop!”
“Charlie, what the hell? You’re not making any—”
“Quiet.”
“What?”
“Shh.”
“What?”
“Stop talking.”
“You stop talking! Asshole!”
I hunted between the seats until I found a remote control. The garage door began to rattle upward. “You need to turn off your brain.”
“You want me to be a machine!” Her face flushed. This was not good. None of this was good. “You want to switch me on and off whenever you want!”
“Lola, you remember that EMP weapon in your chest.” The garage door retracted into the ceiling. Beyond lay a concrete driveway, flanked by garden beds and an inviting empty road. “The one that activates at high heart rates.”
“I remember, Charlie.”
“Well, the thing with that is you need to stay calm. You understand? You need to be isolated from stress.”
“Is something happening?”
“No. But please drive.”
Lola stared at me. Then she leaned forward and pressed a button. The car started, near silently.
“Thank you.” I began to relax. She put the car in gear. She seemed focused. She was being a machine. Then a white Better Future van jumped the curb, engine shrieking, and slewed across the driveway in front of us.
THE VAN’S rear doors banged open. Carl was in there. I didn’t see him. But I knew. We would try to squeeze past and Carl’s metal arm would shoot out and grab our bumper. Our little hybrid wheels would smoke, the engine would scream, and I would turn to see vengeance burning in his eyes.
“Drive!”
I braced myself against the impending acceleration. But there was no acceleration. I looked at Lola. Her eyes were closed.
“Zero, one, one, two, three. Five. Eight. Thirteen.”
“What are you doing? Is that Fibonacci?”
“Twenty-one. Thirty-four. Fifty-five.” Guards emerged from the van, armed and grim-faced. “Eighty-nine. One hundred thirty-four.”
“One hundred forty-four.”
“Shut up!” Her eyes opened, took in the guards, and squeezed shut again. “Oh God!”
“It’s just, if you’re going to do Fibonacci …” I forced myself to stop. “Okay. You recite arbitrary numbers.” Five guards. But still no Carl. I had to figure out how to operate a motor vehicle when one of us couldn’t see and the other couldn’t reach the pedals.
“Tibialis anterior. Extensor hallucis longus. Extensor digitorum longus. Fibularis tertius.”
She was reciting muscles I didn’t have. But this gave me an idea. I shouldn’t think of us as two people. We were a collection of body parts. We had one pair of eyes, two feet, three hands, two brains; everything we needed. It was a matter of resource allocation.
I took hold of the steering wheel. “I’ll steer. You keep your eyes closed and work the pedals when I tell you.”
“Triceps surae.”
“Depress the accelerator as far as it will go.”
The guards began to close in. “Plantaris,” said Lola, and stepped on the gas. The car leaped forward. I aimed for a guard to the left of the van: an older guy with a mustache. He stepped professionally out of the way. He didn’t look scared, which was a little insulting. Although