Machine Man (serial)

“You’ve killed him.” Cassandra Cautery stepped carefully over the broken glass, braced herself against what was left of the window frame, and peered down. “Look at him. He’s just lying there.”

I tried to say: I didn’t mean to. But I couldn’t get the words out. My chest was squeezing tight my lungs.

“That guy is dead.” There was a touch of awe in her voice. “He is definitely dead.”

Against my better judgment, I looked. Most of the space between Better Future and the road was occupied by a wide, healthy lawn. It looked soft. But it was bisected by a narrow concrete path, and on this lay the Manager. I am tempted to claim this as really bad luck, but given his position, I couldn’t honestly say he would have survived if he’d landed on the grass. I couldn’t see his head.

My legs took a step forward, surprising me. Now I was teetering right on the edge. It was as if my legs wanted to look at what they had done.

“Oh, Charlie,” Cassandra Cautery murmured. Her eyes didn’t move from the Manager’s tiny, broken body. “You are in so very, very much trouble.”

My legs tensed. Four key sections contracted two inches. I felt scared and confused, because I wasn’t making them do this. And maybe it was a fear reaction: maybe my terrified brain was barfing out static that the Contours misread. But that’s not what it felt like. It felt like they were making decisions on their own.

Behind me, someone screamed. I didn’t have to turn to see that picture: the Manager’s beautiful assistant, one hand on the door handle, the other flying to her mouth, shocked eyes wide, drinking in the scene. I didn’t have to hang around to know what would happen next: the alarm call, the security guards, the lockdown. My legs were right, I realized. They had summarized the situation faster than I had. Now we were on the same page, and I took a breath, and we jumped.

90.