What Maura said gave rise to speculation: what if? What if they could do it again? Would the remaining humans ask for it?
The meeting wasn’t happening until the next phase of night. Dawn approached, when everyone would disappear like rabbits into burrows. There was something they could accomplish before dawn. All those she needed were here with her.
Little Mo.
Willow.
Locke.
Maura.
“You want something to talk about at this meeting? What about we try to extract some info from Little Mo? Him.” She pointed with her pinky finger. “He knows where to find a vehicle called Big Daddy that may contain a database about the last experiments. This AI critter was sent to watch me, and it did so for five years.”
Slowly Willow sat up. “Seriously?”
“Oh yes. Little Mo said the files to locate Big Daddy were corrupted. But you and Locke with your talents, and maybe Maura with her memories, are exactly the right people to try.”
She crooked a finger at Little Mo, and it rose on its angled limbs.
“Be good, Mo. Let them in if you can. We need this.”
“I obey,” it chirruped.
“Come over here.” Patting the ground near her, Willow backed away, leaving space for Mo. Locke rose to his feet and joined her.
“I’ll do any physical repairs, you do the file sorting, Willow.”
“Gotcha. I need my hands contacting Mo. You?”
“Ditto.”
“Maura, anything you might add to this?” she prompted the woman.
“I… doubt it. Memories are slowly filling in, but this? I have no idea where it might be. I recall a vehicle the doctor had manufactured that he called Daddy and the other was Mommy. He had two identical ones. They may have been adapted after the invasion.”
“Go on.” She nodded.
“That’s it.” Maura shrugged. “I can draw what it looked like?”
“Mo has visual recognition.” She sucked on her lip. “Sure. While they work. Anyone have a notepad? A pencil or pen?”
“I can see the problem,” Locke soon whispered. His eyes had rolled up in their sockets. Blue wisps emanated from them, teasing the air.
“Me too.” Willow’s fingers pressed to Mo’s chassis. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”
The bright blue on her skin intensified. Twinkling violet specks flaked off and floated away.
Cyn had an inkling no one else could see the motes and mist silently erupting from her fingers, Locke’s eyes, and from Rutger’s horns. She wasn’t telling. They already thought her different.
A familiar dread arrived—the one that muttered at you when anything came too easy—qualifications, friendship, lottery wins, though she could recall none of those in her life. It was a shapeless dread that had no reason behind it, no substance. If it had, she’d have stabbed it and told it to fuck off.
To occupy herself and feel as if she was doing something worthwhile by warding off the one obvious danger, she began to work with the threads of Lure. They flourished everywhere, even dangling before and tangling with the beasters. Work became play as she discovered how to unstick them, knit them, and push them out into the void, though a side effect she’d not noticedbefore surfaced—she became hungrier and hungrier. A pity as the food was eaten and only bones and wrappers were left.
After twenty or so minutes, Locke announced he’d fixed something internal, and Willow declared she’d found files that seemed relevant and had made Little Mo reconstruct the remnants.
The AI bug actually hopped about looking excited—even more so when Maura showed it her sketch.
That was Big Daddy? She’d expected wheels and engines, and maybe a chunky military style to it. This looked like a truncated centipede with legs similar to Little Mo’s and a cone-shaped nose.
