Since I was going to betray all my principles and my dead mother’s memory, I might as well get something out of this—and I could do things if my safety was guaranteed for a month. Maybe I could solve this. A tenuous plan formed in the back of my mind.
Charlie nodded, and a moment later, the door leading to the cyborg room opened. One of the machines came out, bearing a tray.
The drink was in a tall, frosted glass. There was a pink umbrella in it, and a long metal straw in the color of slick, shifting purple.
I stared, my face numb and frozen, as the enormous cyborg walked steadily, making as much noise as a cat stalking prey. It stopped in front of me and lowered the tray to the perfect height for me. I gaped at the drink. It was green with pink tapioca balls on the bottom.
“How…” I began then stopped, taking a deep breath. It smelled like kiwi and watermelon, and I sighed. This was my favorite.
“There is a smart drink bar hidden in the wall,” Charlie explained helpfully. “Most clients hiring our cyborgs tend to be wary just like you, Miss Evans. We have established through trial and error that being served their favorite drink by their bodyguard tends to lessen anxiety by fifty-nine percent. An ice-breaker, if you will.”
“Oh, I will,” I said, gripping the cold glass. “How do you know I love boba tea? I suppose I’ve blabbed about it on my blog, too?”
“You have posted eight pictures of boba tea on your social media, with the majority of them containing kiwi and watermelon emojis in the descriptions.”
I nodded, vowing silently to purge any personal content from my social media accounts once this was over. Of course, I never posted anything revealing nor did I provide any material of myself that might be used for a deepfake. I was famous enough to be used that way. My haters—mostly tech bros who loathed the way I cramped their style—would likely piss themselves from joy at any chance to run my image through a nudifying AI and humiliate me.
“Does it speak or is it mute?” I asked, gesturing at the silvery clanker that now stood nearby, the tray still in its hand.
Charlie was aheand I couldn’t help it, but this thing was anit.
“His name is Dean, and yes, he speaks when addressed.”
I sighed, bracing my shoulders, and turned to the thing. It towered over me, gleaming and large, perfectly proportional. Its eyes blinked blue like Charlie’s. I swallowed, deeply aware that this thinking, scheming entity was legally mine for the duration of the protection detail. Though—I didn’t sign anythingyet.
“I’ll call youClanker,” I said uneasily, looking at the thick cables making up the thing’s neck. Its face was creepy. Not at all emotive like Charlie’s.
“My name is Dean, but if you wish, I will respond toClanker.Be advised that it’s a less efficient name to call in a crisis. A one-syllable alternative would be better.”
Its voice was smooth and masculine, and yet there was an androgynous quality to it, like the speaker was just an octave away from sounding feminine. It spoke clearly, but I could immediately tell there was far less warmth and personality in itsvoice. I shot Charlie a sharp look. So was it true? Was he truly—sentient?
“Will you do everything I say?” I asked, turning back to the machine even as my back crawled with foreboding.
“No. I will prioritize your safety above all else. If your instructions aren’t aligned with that goal, I will not carry them out.”
I looked at Charlie helplessly and he smiled. “I’ll give you an example. I once had a client who was a compulsive gambler. His enemies knew that and observed all the large casinos in his area. It was in his best interest to stay home where he was safe, but he wanted to leave. When I tried to stop him from sneaking out, he threatened to take his life if I didn’t let him go. He had a knife.”
I swallowed roughly. “What did you do?”
“I injected him with a harmless, short-lasting sedative and tied him to a chair. Upon his awakening, I had a secure online gambling setup ready for him that satisfied his compulsion enough to keep him from leaving. My job was to protect his life, not his finances.”
“That… makes sense,” I said slowly, turning to my clanker. “I forbid you from injecting me with anything.”
Its eyes flared brighter. “Noted.”
Charlie clicked softly, and I turned to him just in time to see him take a tablet from inside his torso. It seemed like the lower part of his ribcage was hollow, and a part of his armor the size of my two hands opened like a little door. It closed as soon as he had what he needed.
He offered me the tablet.
“The contract, Miss Evans. Press your index fingertip to the screen and Dean is all yours.”
The contract was sixteen pages long. I stared at the number, too weary to even try reading it. I knew it was a mistake even as I pressed my finger to the screen, but at this point, the cost of refusing to sign it was death. Whatever lurked in that contract couldn’t be worse than that.
“Thank you, Miss Evans. I’ll see you in a month.”
Charlie put the tablet back in the compartment in his torso, then closed it. The door integrated seamlessly with the rest of his armor. I wondered what else he stored in there as he walked away, disappearing in one of the rooms down the corridor.
My clanker watched me impassively, its arms loose at its sides. I blinked at it on a whim, pressing my eyelids shut with exaggeration. It was a game I used to play with my mom when I was a kid.
