Machine Man (serial)

I grabbed a hand, six fingers, and two thumbs, and hurried out of the Repository. None of this made much sense. I was just carrying whatever I could. I wished I could take some legs, but they weighed a ton. Two tons, in the case of the Fragmenters. And here I was with weak, fleshy arms, which could barely manage two bags of groceries. If I had my metal arms—but I wasn’t thinking about that. I wasn’t thinking about where my metal arms might be right now. Who they might be attached to. I squeezed my multifunction fingers to my chest and let the Contours bear me away.

The elevator was empty. I was glad about this, because if the doors had slid open to reveal Better Future guards, I don’t know what would have happened. There might have been some kicking. I was agitated and not confident of making completely logical decisions. All I could think about was gathering everything I valued in one place and defending it.

So I went to Lola. But she was not in her suite. She was not anywhere on that level; at least, I didn’t see her when I roamed the length of it, calling her name. I saw a few managers, and quite a lot of personal assistants. From their expressions, it became clear that I would soon also be seeing some security guards, so I turned back to the stairs.

The Contours were surprisingly bad here. Twice they stopped, and I had to soft-reset them, by imagining raising my knee three times. I think they had trouble identifying level surfaces. I would have to investigate this later. It meant that by the time I emerged on the sub-level for Lola’s old medical recovery room, and kicked the stairwell door off its hinges, the guards had already arrived.

“Dr. Neumann,” said one. Not Carl, of course. A substitute, young and sweaty. “I would very much appreciate it if you could calm down a second.”

I weighed my odds of getting past these guys on the Contours before anyone drew a weapon. I thought they were pretty good. A temporary solution, but still: better than letting them take me. Then Lola emerged from a doorway. “Charlie? What are you doing?”

“What are you doing? I’ve been looking for you.”

Lola glanced over her shoulder. “They asked me to help. There’s a man, who… well, they thought I could help.”

“What man?” This seemed to come out of my mouth very slowly, as if I were drunk: Whaaat maannn.

“It’s, um, that security man. His name is Carl.”

“Uck,” I said.

“He doesn’t have any arms,” Lola said, and in her eyes I saw a terrible light, like love.

68.