Chapter 12
Sera
Igot off the subway train and walked fast, ducking between people with my face turned down so it wouldn’t be caught on camera. I didn’t know how far Clanker’s reach was—all the more reason to act fast.
I’d grabbed a complimentary umbrella in the hotel’s lobby, and now I opened it as soon as I came out of the subway station. It was a clear-skied night, and an open umbrella would look ridiculous in any other place, but this was Neo Tokyo. I saw people dressed as cats, someone with green paint covering all of their skin, and a massive shehru wearing a tutu. It was the capital of happy fashion, and I blended right in.
My umbrella was pink and had ears.
Around half of the people in the crowd had robots with them, too. They ranged from cute, robotic animals to enormous, hunkering androids clearly meant as security. The biggest of them wore a black eyepatch, likely for show, and a pirate hat. On its shoulder sat a slim, young woman with pink hair. She laughed, urging her robot to go faster.
I kept my gaze low, telling myself it was wrong to missmybodyguard, even though I did. I felt horribly exposed without him.
When Clanker was busy talking to Charlie, I couldn’t sit still and do nothing. The likelihood of them deciding to abort my mission and bring me back home was too high, so I came up with the simplest plan that could work. Maybe. If I was extremely lucky.
It was time for stage one.
I closed my umbrella when I entered a small fusion pub that was supposed to serve “Western drinks in Eastern style”. I read on a forum that this was where Zenkyoza employees liked to go in the evenings after work—usually young interns who had no families and salaries too low to make up for their hectic work environment. They came here to commiserate with each other and dull their stress with alcohol.
“Irasshaimase!”A life-sized hologram of a handsome doorman appeared in front of me, welcoming me inside. I almost jumped out of my skin, it was so unexpected.
“Where can I put my umbrella?” I asked in Japanese after I regained my breath, then followed the apparition to an unoccupied bar seat.
The bar was tended by two tall, muscular Japanese men wearing female kimonos and geisha makeup—white paint with tiny red lips. Two women wearing suits sat on my right, talking quickly in hushed voices. One still carried her employee placard pinned to the lapel of her suit. I spied the Zenkyoza logo and smiled at the bartender.
“Could I please have some water first? Thank you.”
He nodded without smiling back. I accepted a tall glass clinking with ice cubes and sipped it slowly while scanning the room.Most patrons wore cheap suits, confirming this was likely the place Zenkyoza underlings liked to get their drink on.
It was a human bar, which I should have realized when crossing the threshold. The entrance was too narrow to fit a shehru or any other member of a large species. While the law in most countries, Japan included, prohibited species discrimination, bigots always found ways to limit access.
It fit in with what I knew about Zenkyoza and most robot companies. They were elitist and pro-human, or at least, they started that way. I knew VerdeLumen pivoted, experimenting with tentacled robots based on kraken and vodnik physiology. But Zenkyoza was staunchly devoted to androids.
Robot research and production was first motivated by a perceived inferiority of the human race. We knew we were weaker, slower, smaller, and often had shorter lifespans than many other sentient species. The robot industry had its roots in true cyborg research. The pioneers first tried to find ways to enhance humans so we could keep up, and likely surpass, other species.
When it became apparent integrating robotic enhancements into an organic was far too tricky, the companies pivoted toward robot production. Now, everyone used bots, not just humans, but the elitist ethos was built into the industry.
I focused on two young men sitting together at a table partly hidden by a paper screen. Both hunched over their drinks and seemed low on self-esteem, judging by their body language and bad haircuts. I watched them for a moment, sipping my water, then left for the bathroom.
It was time to see if self-conscious Japanese men were susceptible to the same tricks as the American ones.
When I was about to enter the restroom, a short android came out, scanning me with bright yellow eyes. It carried a box with cleaning supplies, but put it away and executed a deep bow before scurrying away. It was clearly programmed for excessive deference toward the pub’s patrons, and I sighed with pity and distaste.
Was it just egregious technology abuse, or slavery? I had no idea, and it bugged me. Before I met Clanker, everything seemed much simpler. Now, I didn’t know what to think anymore.
All the more reason to uncover Zenkyoza’s secrets and publicize the truth.
I had no makeup, and I wore only the simple T-shirt and shorts that Clanker got printed for me. The shorts were fine, but the tee was way too demure. I ripped one side of my neckline, baring my shoulder and a hint of my bra, then tied the bottom, exposing an inch of my midriff. Lastly, I undid my braid. My hair fell down my arms in long, purple waves. Good enough.
Looking over my shoulder in the mirror, I made sure no scars were visible. I wasn’t above flashing my tits in return for good information, but I drew the line at showing my back.
As I went back to my seat, I checked the men’s reactions in the mirror over the bar. Both followed me with their gazes, their faces slack, eyes eager. Yet when I turned, seemingly to shift my chair, both ducked their heads. I hid a private smile. Bingo.
Now, I had to wait. This was the most uncertain part of the plan. I needed one of them to leave the table, so I could communicate my interest to the other. If I approached them together, they would both succumb to their self-consciousness and either escape me or try to compete with each other, which would be tedious and unhelpful.
Five minutes later, one of them excused himself to go to the bathroom. As soon as he was gone, I sat in his abandoned seat. The man across from me had pudgy cheeks that made his face seem too big for his slim body. They were pockmarked with acne scars.
“Do you believe in soul kinship?” I asked in Japanese, letting my accent be thicker than normal. “Because I can tell you I felt something as soon as I saw you. Buy me a drink if you feel the same.”
