Machine Man (serial)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I said, “No.”

“So far we’ve been able to keep the authorities out of this.” Cassandra Cautery adjusted her grip on the towel she was pressing to her head. The way she did this implied it was hurting quite a lot. “But that required calling in a lot of favors, and that’s not sustainable. I don’t want to bore you with politics, but there are some things you can’t ask a government official to do no matter how much you contribute to their campaign. And one of those things is ignoring a mentally unstable robot-man wandering around breaking things.”

“No. No.”

“All we need to do is take Carl down. Then this whole situation, it was a little internal product test that didn’t go quite right. We have those. We put out a statement, making the right kind of soothing noises, and it’s no big deal, there’s no story, no congressional investigations. You see? You see how close we are to making this okay?”

“Stop. No. I can’t say this strongly enough. I am not going to shoot at Carl. I am not going around with a gun in my arm.” I heard panic in my voice, because when two people disagree about something obvious, it means one of them knows something the other doesn’t.

“Online,” said one of the men.

I felt a distant prickling, like somebody telling me a story about my childhood. At first I couldn’t tell where it was. As it grew sharper, I realized it was in my arm, the one I didn’t have a second ago. “Ow. Ow.” I gripped the metal bicep with my organic hand, trying to choke off the line of electric ants I could feel marching there.

“That’s your brain adapting to the nerve signals,” said Jason. “It’ll feel weird for about six days, but then you’ll get used to it.”

“Take it off!” At this point I must have gestured, because the gun-arm swung in an arc and nearly decapitated one of the men who had attached it. “I want it off!” It made a rapid clicking noise, like a nine-year-old riding a bike with playing cards stuck in the spokes. I had seen a boy cruising down a hill like that once, when I was a kid. I thought it was the coolest thing ever.

“He’s firing!”

Jason said, “Dr. Neumann! Please stop doing that. You’ll damage the hammers.”

“I don’t want this! You hear me? I’m not a super-soldier! I’m not doing this! I’m not!” The gun-arm rattled, stopped, rattled, in spasms.

“Dr. Neumann—”

“Take it off!”

“Charlie!” shouted Cassandra Cautery. I jumped, because a woman opening her throat and letting rip: I didn’t hear that very often. “He took Lola.” Her voice softened. “Carl took Lola.”

154.