Ezra (New Carnegie Androids #6)

Chapter 1

[ 1 ]

SEPTEMBER 2070

Katrina

They just don’t make men like this anymore.

I dust my favorite display in the New Carnegie Museum of Natural History—the Pleistocene exhibit. Behind softly thrumming rails made of holo-beams, I polish several projectors built into the floor that play images of strong hunter-gatherers and how we imagine they may have looked when they wandered Ancient Europe—powerful, athletic, draped in animal pelts, carrying spears that glint with shimmering stone-flaked obsidian tips.

And definitely packing a different kind of weaponry beneath their loincloths.

Holo-technology is a beautiful thing, so versatile in every aspect.

Not only is it built into our phones so we have the option of 3D imagery when we FaceCall, it’s replaced paper and plastic bags, about half of our cardboard use, and is now featured in every New Carnegie classroom.

It’s allowed the museum to do away with lifeless wax figures in every case that look more like caricatures than people.

The days of those musty, old, sometimes plastic-like smells wafting through museum corridors are long over.

Our exhibits are all natural.

Every plant, every vine, is an actual living, breathing thing, giving way to fresh, clean air.

When you step into the Pleistocene exhibit, you not only smell what it’s like to be lost in an ancient forest or wander the plains of the Ice Age with mammoths and cave bears; you see and hear it.

All brought to life in front of you, like a movie you can participate in.

The drawback? I get to stare at these beautiful ancient humans—actors, really, paid to play the part—and wonder why I can’t find myself a rugged man like that. No such luck.

It’s fine. I’ll just die a virgin.

“Hey, look, it’s my fictional boyfriend.”

Zoey Meyer, one of the full-time tour guides, adjusts her uniform tie as she walks in from the Hall of Bulls—an exact replica built right into the ceiling of the ancient human paintings of Lascaux, another one of my favorite things about this place.

She motions to one of the hunter projections, a strong man with powerful arms thrusting his spear up with his clansmen as they attempt to bring down a mammoth calf.

I must’ve seen this a thousand times now; it plays in a loop so all visitors can experience history and what might have been.

“Don’t you have a real one?” I tease.

“Yes, but Bridger refuses to dress in a loincloth and furs for me,”

Zoey laments. “Ugh, they just don’t make men like this anymore, do they?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

I chuckle as Zoey admires the backside of one hunter in particular. “But I’m fairly sure they exist. They’re just in places I’m not, like gyms.”

“And coffee shops, and bars, and clubs,”

Zoey adds with a soft giggle, fluffing her pink hair. She’s a pale, freckled, petite little thing, freshly graduated from college.

She’s doing the same thing I did while pursuing my degree—working as a tour guide. Now, I’m a museum specialist, tasked with setting up exhibits and handling precious artifacts and fossils when they need to be moved, stored, or sent to another museum.

“Maybe hiking trails.”

“I wouldn’t mind meeting them on a trail,”

I admit. “But I haven’t had much time for hiking.”

“Girl, we need to get you back your social life. I’m not hiking anywhere, but I’m going out with some friends tonight to the Starlit Sapphire,”

Zoey says. “You’re welcome to come, if you like.”

“How are you getting into the Starlit Sapphire?”

I ask, arching a brow. “Isn’t that place pretty exclusive?”

Zoey smiles impishly. “I have my connections.”

I’m not much of a club girl. “Thanks for the invite, but I think I’ll pass. I like my sleep.”

“Are you serious?”

“Ask anyone. I’m a total bummer at parties. I start yawning up a storm by nine thirty. I’ve got a grandma bedtime.”

“Grandma bedtime,”

Zoey teases me. “What are you, twenty-two?”

“Going on twenty-six. I’m an old lady now, what can I say.”

I’m lucky some of the other employees can’t hear me. Some of my favorite people to work with are decades older than me. They’d smack the daylights out of me for saying that, and I’d deserve it. If I wasn’t joking, anyway.

We open in a few minutes, and the museum director, Arnold Vaughn, is busy in a meeting with the curator, Diana Beaumont. The meeting is about me specifically, which is why I can’t keep still. Diana is my favorite person in the world; I couldn’t ask for a better boss. She and Vaughn are both great. They’re the reason for the signs up near the museum entrance stating the museum is a proud human-only employer. They won’t tolerate or even consider the thought of androids replacing the positions here.

It’s a big deal for me, and one of the reasons I’ve been so loyal to this place. The city is filled with strife; jobless, angry people with no way to provide for their families. I’m lucky to be working in such a specialized field that I can’t be replaced. Not that I think anyone can or should be replaceable. It’s why I continue to stand up for my dad’s cause, Humanity First.

The real reason I don’t have a boyfriend.

Between my work, studies, determining where I’ll go to school for my PhD, and the extra time I spend speaking at universities, public schools, and events about the greediness of New Carnegie’s many mega-corporations, I have zero time for romance. Maybe that’s okay right now. Looking back, there wasn’t a single guy I went to school with who made me even think about it. Not that there weren’t any good men; they just weren’t for me.

That’s fine. I’ll just daydream about these Ice Age cavemen with their rippling pectorals and their strong, sturdy limbs. Now those guys never skipped leg day.

“I’m going to see if the doors have been unlocked,”

Zoey says, content with her appearance. “I’m excited. There’s a busload of kids coming in this afternoon from New Carnegie West Elementary. Kids are always fun.”

I check my phone. No messages. I frown; my dad should’ve called or texted by now. He was supposed to meet me here, then we were supposed to go to lunch and discuss a big upcoming event he wants me to attend with him as a Humanity First advocate. But there’s nothing.

Well, he is busy these days. Can’t exactly blame him after what happened at the march last year. You don’t get over a scene like that. Ever. He’s been in overdrive ever since, even meeting with some members from the pro-bionic movement to decry TerraPura, one of the worst organizations we’ve seen emerge.

Androids. It’s always about androids. Life would be so much simpler if old Schroeder just hadn’t pushed the envelope. Everything could’ve been okay if the robots never entered the workplace en masse. It wouldn’t be perfect, not by a long shot. But there’d be people employed who never should’ve been fired. People alive who shouldn’t have died.

My mind wanders to the curator’s meeting, wondering if it’s over. Diana is going to be taking time off work soon and seeing as we’re a little short-staffed and there’s no assistant curator, it means the job could fall to me. But I’m new, so I understand why they might be hesitant. After getting my master’s degree, I’m already searching for the right school that’ll fit my dream career. It’ll be school, school, and more school for me until I get that sparkly archeology PhD.

Then I can get out of the US. I can go to France, Germany, or Spain. I can study ancient human remains in what was once their natural habitat. I can see Lascaux for myself—what’s left of it—and maybe even Chauvet Cave once I’ve made a name for myself as an expert. Barely anyone gets to go into Chauvet and see those paintings with their own eyes.

That’s on my bucket list. If I can get in there, I can die happy.

The moment the doors open, the museum comes alive. It’s Friday, a busy day for field trips and out-of-towners to come view the most impressive state-of-the-art museum in the country. Not even the museums in New York City can match us now. I’m rather proud of that fact. It means I’m employed by the best, and I’ve got a bit of a competitive streak. It feels good, knowing you’re at the cutting edge.

The holo-watch on my wrist thrums with a message. I flick it toward me, reading the projected words curiously.

I’m sorry, Kat. Raincheck on the lunch today. I got roped into a few things, and I have to stay at the office.

Fair enough. My feelings aren’t hurt. I slip my phone out of my pocket as I leave the exhibit and head toward the back area for employees only to respond to Dad.

No worries. I’ll see you at home .

After sending the message, I approach Vaughn’s office. His door is open. Eavesdropping isn’t something I do often, but it’s hard not to listen to the conversation as I approach.

“She’ll do fine. You don’t have to worry. I’ll be here to help her,”

Vaughn says with compassion.

Diana is fretting. “But we have those Sandia and Zia Pueblo artifacts coming in any day now for the Indigenous Peoples of America exhibit that’s supposed to be set up by October. She’s never overseen anything like that before. I just want to set her up for success, and I feel like I’m abandoning?—”

“You’re not abandoning anyone. You’re taking some much-needed time off to spend time with your husband. He needs you right now.”

What’s going on with Diana’s husband? I take a step back, clasping my blouse a little as I remember myself. The open door means they’re about done with their conversation, but that doesn’t give me the right to snoop.

But I hope it’s nothing serious. I really like Jayden, Diana’s husband. He’s a military veteran, with infantry tours in Poland and Ukraine. He’s charming and funny, and frequently stops by to chat. There’s not a single soul in the two hundred people employed here who doesn’t know Jayden Beaumont in some way.

Should I ask after him? No, not right now. That’ll give me away. Dammit. Why can’t I just be a little more patient?

Diana sighs. “Okay. Only if you’re certain you can manage.”

“We can,”

Vaughn reassures her. “I promise. We’ll do just fine. But we’ll miss you while you’re gone, and it won’t be the same without you, so don’t go home thinking I’m going to find a replacement. You’ve always got your job here, Di. You have my word.”

This is why I love this place. Dr. Vaughn would never dream of replacing any of us over something like family leave. While other companies and businesses are laying off hundreds, if not thousands, of people, he dipped into his own salary to make jobs here, then held career fairs to hire as many people as he could. We’ve got security guards who used to work in the factories of Carnegie Steel, tour guides who used to be mechanics for Flagler Automotive, gift shop clerks from PennPaper, and people from Carnegie Electric handling ticket sales. The museum café, which is a full restaurant with an almost gourmet menu, hasn’t experienced turnover for almost three years.

Vaughn would employ the entire city if he had the funds to do it. He deserves a sainthood at this point because I don’t see anyone else in America running their business the way he does.

Chairs creak as they rise, and I quickly walk toward the break room to make it seem like I wasn’t just trying to listen in. See, this is why we don’t eavesdrop, Kat, we get caught.

Vaughn calls, “Kat? Would you come here, please?”

“Sure,”

I say, trying to sound bright and airy. I’m a bit of a morning person, so it isn’t hard.

Diana sweeps out of his office with all the elegance of a queen and the confidence of a scientist. Her dark hair is streaked with gray, and she normally greets me with a bright smile, but today she looks weary, like all the energy has been sucked right out of her. Odd, for this early in the day. I didn’t think anything would slow her down.

“I’m heading home for the day,”

Diana says. “You’ll help Arnold keep an eye on things?”

“Of course. Is everything okay?”

I ask tentatively.

“Yes,”

she says, though from the way her eyes shine when she looks at me, the answer is a most definite no. “I’m just starting my sabbatical a little early.”

“Oh,”

I say in alarm. “Well, we’ll miss you. A lot.”

I don’t want her to feel bad, so I don’t mention that Zoey and the other tour guides were plotting a potluck across all the different museum departments in her honor. Even DNA and biochem were in on it, and they barely ever come out of their hazmat-suited lairs.

“I’ll miss you all, and this place, of course,”

Diana replies bittersweetly. “But it won’t be forever. You have my number. Send me a message if you have any questions.”

“You’ll be in charge of artifacts while Diana is gone,”

Arnold replies. “This will include a temporary pay increase, of course, to cover the extension of new responsibilities while she’s gone. I’ll be helping you, but it won’t hurt you to learn, what with your desired field of expertise.”

If this were any other occasion, I might celebrate this promotion. But there’s no celebration to be had, not when Diana looks so resigned, almost miserable. I only wish there was more I could do for her.

“I’ll do my best,”

I answer. “But it won’t be the same without Di.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great,”

Diana says. “I’ll be off now. You’ll say hello to your father for me when he comes for lunch today?”

I forgot I’d told her about that. “Actually, I?—”

A loud ringing from Vaughn’s office interrupts me and draws him away. “Drat,”

he grumbles. “That’s probably important. We’ll worry about your new tasks tomorrow. For today, let’s just make sure our guests are enjoying themselves.”

I turn to speak with Diana again, but she’s already walking away. Whatever it is apparently can’t wait, or maybe she just wants to get out of here. I resolve to send her a message later, maybe give her a call, just see how everything’s going.

The museum is quiet until about ten o’clock when the school buses arrive, and families with young children file in through the doors to get an early start on their weekend. If this were any other situation, my spirit would be soaring, glad for this opportunity to prove myself in a leadership role. But Diana looked so sad. I’ve always wanted something like this to happen for me, but not at someone else’s expense.

I walk through the dinosaur exhibit, where lines of children in their little school uniforms, their teachers, and tour guides discuss history in front of towering fossils and bone. I recognize my old school colors then—blue blazers and yellow ties. I didn’t realize North Elementary was here today. Those were the days.

“Excuse me,”

a feminine voice behind me says.

“Yes?”

I ask, then realize the woman who addressed me is an android, and she’s leading a small child by the hand. She has beautiful brown skin and tight black curls.

“Oh,”

she says in surprise. “You’re Katrina Carson.”

I didn’t expect an android to know who I am. She seems wary of me, but I’m at work, and despite what some people in the pro-bionic movement like to say, I’m not a jerk.

“I am. I work here,”

I reply politely. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m a bionic teaching assistant with North Elementary,”

she explains, motioning to the child. “Can you direct me to the restroom? I’m having trouble connecting to the Wi-Fi to get my bearings.”

The little girl she’s accompanying is all but doing the potty dance. “Of course!”

I say quickly, pointing. “Go down this hall and take a right, and then it’s on your left.”

Relieved, the teaching assistant smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Hey! Hey Katrina Carson!”

I turn as the android and her squirmy little student hurriedly make their way to the restroom. Two young men come right up to me.

“Can you believe this place allows androids in here?”

one sneers, watching the assistant walk away. “I’d ban all these tin cans.”

I purse my lips. “Is there something I can help you with, or...”

“We’re big fans,”

the other says excitedly. “We follow you on PhotoGram. We’re all about Humanity First. We wondered if you’d take a selfie with us?”

“Oh. Sure,” I say.

They both squeeze in on either side of me with cheeky smiles. I offer one too.

“Say cheese,”

says the more eager of the two.

“Nah, fuck that. Say ‘burn them all,’”

the other comments. “‘No more fucking droids.’ ‘Shut them all down.’”

“I’m not saying that,”

I reply, my patience wearing thin.

“C’mon, please? It’s for our Humanity First account.”

“Yeah, we’re trying to bust our way into the influencer business!”

“I’m not saying it,”

I repeat, letting them snap one photo before pulling away. That’s quite enough of that. “I’m not going to promote violence, and I’d appreciate it if you’d watch your mouths and keep your voices down. There are children here,”

I point out sternly as a few kids scamper by to peer at an exhibit.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry, Katrina.”

Giving them one final warning look, I return to my duties.

Security guards are posted all over the museum to ensure nothing gets damaged and that little hands don’t touch what they shouldn’t. As we draw closer to noon, the museum only gets busier. I wind between guests through the Hall of Bulls, casting an appreciative glance up at the cave paintings before heading toward the café. I’m getting hungry, and since I work here, I get a fifty percent discount on food.

At the café, I order a chicken wrap and a side of fruit, but then decide I’d rather not stand around for twenty minutes waiting for my name to be called. I see Zoey stepping away from her group of school children. She smiles and waves at me.

“Lunchtime,”

she says as I pass her on my way to freshen up in the bathroom. “Anything good today?”

“I’m just going for my usual. Kids heading home?”

“Not quite, but they brought their lunches to eat outside. So I have a little bit of time, at least.”

“Want to sit with me?” I ask.

“Sure!”

Zoey says. “I’ll save us a table.”

I head to the bathroom, happy the day is passing quickly. My mind is already whirling about tomorrow, preparing myself mentally to be overwhelmed, but in a good way. This sudden promotion could mean wonders for my résumé. And a pay bump, even temporary, when I’ll be moving into my own place in a couple weeks? That extra money will definitely be put to good use.

Someone runs into me from the opposite direction. He’s tall and built, and he connects with my shoulder so hard I grasp it and stumble out of the way. I expect an apology but get none. I’m barely acknowledged. That irritates me. “Excuse me?—”

The guy, wearing an oversized hoodie, glances at me briefly from beneath a baseball cap, and I see the glow of unearthly stark-white irises.

Lovely. An android almost knocked me on my ass. I can’t do anything about it. They’re not barred from entering, although Arnold is considering making that call. We simply don’t have the funds to install an android-scanning system in preparation for President McKinley’s new order. He’s probably another teaching assistant, or perhaps a family android on holiday.

It’s odd, though. A TA or a family bionic would likely apologize to me for the mishap. Politeness is in their programming. This one doesn’t say a word, just continues on past me.