Ezra (New Carnegie Androids #6)

Chapter 3

[ 3 ]

Katrina

I let out a high-pitched scream, a knee-jerk reaction to that horrifying eight-legged monster I just saw. The bathroom door slams open, loudly crunching as it flies off its hinges. Startled, I jump backward, slip, and nearly fall in the shower, but I grab the glass door handle and manage to save my balance.

Ezra brought the door down with a single kick. He scans the entire bathroom with his firearm drawn. “What is it?” he demands, clearing the area before peering at me. “What’s wrong?”

I stare at him dumbly for a moment, mouth agape. Then, remembering I can in fact speak and that I’m incredibly naked, I scramble for cover.

“Holy shit, Ezra. You broke the door!” I fumble with a towel around my body, trying to cover myself.

“You screamed,” he declares. “Why?”

“I saw a spider!”

He blinks and lowers his pistol. “A spider?”

“Yes! Some people scream when they see spiders.” I point to where it’s already scrambled away. “But it was huge . A-as big as those ones you see in Australia. Like a tarantula on steroids!”

Ezra is skeptical. “Tarantula on steroids,” he repeats.

“You don’t believe me? It was there. I swear!”

He holsters his firearm with a sigh. “Okay.” He goes to where I point and crouches down, peering behind the bathroom toilet. I can’t see his face, only the back of his head. He reaches for something, then rises to his feet.

“It’s not a spider.” He turns, cradling something in his hands.

I wasn’t imagining things. I stare in shock at an odd mechanical creature that looks similar to a jumping spider, made of black metal and plastiglass orbs. Eight legs with bolts for joints, two large eyes surrounded by smaller ones that glow white as they peer at me. It trills and chitters, shifting in Ezra’s hands.

“What the hell is that?”

Ezra’s pupils shutter, narrowing and widening as he gently rotates the little metal spider in his hands. “It’s a miniature bionic. Model is BM05-1. Apparently, an invention of Dr. Schroeder’s. A line of android pets that require no clean-up and are meant to be played with like toys, marketed to both human and bionic children.”

I grip the towel around me. “How do you know that?”

“A capability of mine. When I touch other bionics, I can access their memory banks,” he replies. “This little one wasn’t popular with trial audiences, so the line was never launched in the private sector. But it appears Dr. Schroeder couldn’t bring himself to shut it down.”

I stare at it, and it stares right back at me, trilling again. “A spider bionic?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“So, it’s like you, but a spider?”

“Not quite. Its motherboard is very...” Ezra searches for the word. “How do I explain it? It’s intelligent, but innocent.”

“Like a dog?” I venture tentatively.

“More like a crow or a raven.” He offers it to me. “And quite harmless, if you’d like to hold it. It was stowed in a closet in the bedroom. It heard your shower, powered on, and came to investigate.”

I tie my towel a little tighter, unable to stop myself. Now that I can see it clearly and not through steamed-up glass where it was little more than nightmare fuel, a blur of black and skittering legs, I can appreciate how complex it must’ve been to put together. I hold out my hands and shiver when it crawls onto them, blinking up at me.

“Wow...weirdly enough, it’s kinda cute.” It chitters at me, a cacophony of pleasant sounds. “Is it saying actual words?”

“Sort of,” Ezra replies. “Not full sentences, just words. More like expressing an emotion.”

“An emotion?”

“Yes. It’s currently experiencing confusion.”

“You can understand it?”

Ezra nods. “All bionics can experience sensations like you can. Discomfort. Fear. When you screamed, you startled it just as much as it scared you. It’s part of our programming.”

Emotion. That’s not something I ever anticipated from any bionic, let alone one I screamed at in fright. I’m strangely taken with its appearance. I didn’t expect it to be so cute. I’m normally startled by spiders—not deathly afraid, but certainly not comfortable, especially when it’s a giant one that belongs in a zoo and not on a bathroom floor. Somehow, I’m quickly becoming fond of this one.

“Hello.” I feel silly talking to a bionic that’s built like an animal, but if it can understand, perhaps it’s worth a shot. “I’m Kat.”

It trills and crawls up my arm to my shoulder.

Ezra studies it before glancing at me. “It likes you.”

It likes me. I shouldn’t be enchanted with this little machine, but I’m already girlishly wondering what I should call it, like I’ve discovered a stray puppy on the side of the road.

Don’t name it , I remind myself silently. Katrina Elizabeth Carson, we aren’t getting attached to machines .

Then I remember I’m wet and barely covered. As the little spider bionic tucks itself against my neck and taps my cheek, I gently push its leg away and stare at the door lying on the floor off its hinges.

“Do you bust into rooms like this at home?”

“I’ve never had to. Nobody at home shouts like they’re being murdered when they see an insect in the house,” Ezra replies.

My cheeks flame hot. I’m still very naked beneath this towel, and his presence is making my stomach do flips. I shouldn’t care that a machine is seeing me in such a state, but he isn’t a walking computer looking at me, is he? That’s why he’s always makes me a little nervous when he gazes into my eyes. I’m more than aware of Ezra’s masculinity, his strength, his ability to reason, and his intellect.

Despite the broken door, I’m reassured that I’m in the safest company I can have. If there really was danger in this place, looking for me? They wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Well—thank you, anyway.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll let you finish up.” Ezra turns on his heel, pauses to survey the damage he’s done, then continues on out of sight.

For a moment, I’m not sure what to do. The door isn’t fixable, and any semblance of privacy—in this bathroom, at least—is shot.

I’m already wet, and the shower is still running. Deciding I’d rather not traipse through the house to use another bathroom, I take the little bionic from my shoulder and place it on the bathroom counter.

“Now you behave,” I tell it, wagging a finger. “And you stay right there. Can you do that?”

It makes little beeps and boops as it stares up at me and waves a leg like it understands me. Fuck. Why is it so adorable? Ten years ago, teenage Kat would’ve been begging her dad for something like it if I saw it displayed in a store.

“Stay,” I repeat.

It tilts its head sideways. Ugh . The cuteness is killing me.

I return to my shower, hot water continuing to send a lazy drift of steam through the room. With the door open my mirror isn’t fogged anymore, and there’s a chill coming in, but I feel better knowing Ezra’s out there with a high reaction time. I don’t think he’ll ever be tempted to spy on me, but I’m definitely better defended here than I was at home. I pause, wondering why I thought about Ezra spying on me naked.

Why would he care about that? He’s programmed for care, not—not other things, right?

But as reasonable as I try to be, I can’t help but replay what just happened in my head, over and over again. He practically turned that door into kindling with one kick. He didn’t hesitate at all to come to my aid.

Androids are strong. Insanely strong. Despite my own opinions, you can’t avoid news about it. I’ve heard stories of robots like Ezra rushing into burning labs or buildings to save people trapped in blazing fires, fending off attackers long enough for their owners to escape, all sorts of things. There’s even an all-android squad in the military now that’s utilized when the risk of human life is too great.

It all sounds wonderful on paper, but just because we can do something doesn’t mean we necessarily should, right?

And yet . . .

My thoughts return to Ezra. I can’t shake them. He looks so natural, so human, and his face was painted with real concern, like he actually cares about me. I could try to say he doesn’t really care, that it’s just numbers and software. It’s what Dad always says. Don’t fall for it.

But damn. Him busting into the room like that was kinda hot. Okay, really hot.

I’ll never tell anyone that , I swear to myself. I’ll just keep it secret that I even thought about it. But it’s true. He can’t know about how I’ve wished I could find a man like him, how I’ve daydreamed about those holo-projections of ancient humans in the museums, of primal men who killed and hunted, provided for and protected their families. The limited clothing and fur loincloths help, sure, but the bodies are just a bonus. A really big bonus. I wonder if Ezra has a body like that.

Easy, girl. Settle down. Time to think of something else and ignore the sudden spike of warmth traveling to my core between my legs.

I distract myself somewhat by reminiscing about my childhood as I wash my hair. I was the girl wistful and wishing for adventure beyond paper swords in my backyard, wondering why knights in shining armor couldn’t exist anymore. In high school, while my friends were chasing football jerseys and binge-drinking beer, I was at home reading Tolkien wishing for a king of my own, relating hard to a loyal shield-maiden being passed over for the beautiful elven princess. Talk about a bummer. I don’t think I voluntarily picked up another fantasy book after that one, losing myself in my love of ancient history instead.

College wasn’t any better. It wasn’t like there was a slew of bad guys around. Some of them were just fine. I watched as my friends found their own heroes and cheered them on. But me? I couldn’t ever settle for fine. I still can’t. Not if I want to eventually go abroad, study cave paintings, oversee new digs and discoveries, get my hands dirty. There aren’t a lot of guys on dating apps who know what paleoanthropology is, let alone any who’d want to follow me around from place to place, elbow-deep in ancient ruins or burial sites.

If there was a man, a brave man, who respected me, wanted to see the world with me, and could keep up with me? I’d never let him go. But such a man doesn’t exist for me. I can’t be tied down here. I won’t let it happen.

I shut the water off and step out of the shower. I’m greeted by the cool draft let in by the open—broken—door and dry myself off, then get dressed. The little spider bionic is still on the counter, watching me. Its eyes have turned from a glowing white to soft blue.

Maybe that means it’s happy? Blue is a color that usually implies calm. I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask Ezra if he knows.

I should probably give it a name. I try to think of spiders from literature. There’s Shelob from The Lord of the Rings , but she was evil and frightening. Maybe not that. Charlotte’s Web ?

“Charlie,” I say after a moment. “Mind if I call you that? Charlie?”

The little metal spider makes a series of soft whistles. Including one final one that sounds like a garbled catcall.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I hold out my hand. “Come on.”

Charlie hops onto my palm and skitters up my arm. Two of its eight arms curl over my shoulder. I’m amazed at how light it feels for being so large. It must be made of a special kind of alloy.

“No tickling. I can’t be held responsible for anything that happens to you if you tickle me. Got it?”

Charlie beeps and settles in place.

“Good.” I’m literally talking to a mechanical spider like it can understand me. Now, that’s something I never imagined I’d do. I think about how far BioNex has come—and fallen. What started with two friends, Schroeder and my dad, and their obsession with robots brought the BioNex vision to life, once upon a time. Maybe they felt a need to create good people we don’t see anymore because the heroes they grew up with didn’t make headlines, the people who do things because it’s the right thing to do. Altruistic, kind, courageous, selfless.

Androids were made to make our lives easier, but they ended up becoming better versions of us. Us without hatred, resentment, anger, betrayal, deceit, violence. Except they’re machines. That’s the problem. We can’t just manufacture better human beings because we refuse to better ourselves. It’s not the way it works.

As impressive as Ezra is, someone in a lab created him that way. I have to remember that. No matter how human he looks, he can’t have a heart or a soul. He’s metal and plastic and synthetic. That’s what sets him apart. Puts him beneath me, Dad would say.

Except now, I’m second-guessing all of that. Unsettled by this deep thinking, I push my thoughts aside, along with something I’m currently denying with every fiber of my being.

Ezra is hellishly attractive.

And that’s a thought I definitely shouldn’t be having, above all the rest.

Dosed with a potent mixture of guilt that comes along with admitting that to myself, even a little bit, I try to think of other reasons why I should dislike him, mistrust him, as I brush through my damp hair and take the time to toss it through my fingers and style it.

Surely, Kat, you can think of something . Beyond the whole being-a-robot thing, which is definitely reason number one. I definitely care about that. Just like my father does, I do.

Don’t I?

Perhaps some of this confusion is stress-induced. I can’t pretend I haven’t been through horrible things these past few days. Maybe I’m just breaking.

No. Come on, Kat. Keep thinking.

Ezra is direct. Too serious. And far too complicated to be only a computer. Who decided androids could deliver witty comebacks? Wait, where was I? Oh, right. Complicated. Wait, I said that. Ugh, why can’t I think straight about this guy? He’s not a real human being.

“Not real, not real, not real,” I repeat under my breath as I finally step out of the bathroom.

“What’s not real?”

I squeak and whirl around. Ezra’s standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

“Holy shit, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Didn’t want you to fall victim to any more spider-related incidents in there.” He straightens and walks past me. “It appears you’ve made a friend. And given it a name.”

“You heard that?”

“I hear everything.”

“That’s got to be annoying at times.”

“It can be, yes. But I make do.”

I lightly tap Charlie’s leg with my fingertip. Like a real spider, Charlie withdraws it before placing it back where it was and tapping me in response. It trills. “There’s a children’s book. Charlotte’s Web . I figured it fit.”

“Getting attached to a machine,” Ezra quips. “Is that allowed?”

He’s teasing me. I can hear it in his voice. He’s usually so forceful, so businesslike, from what I’ve seen. Now he nearly sounds human.

“Yes, it’s allowed, because he’s not going to steal my job,” I reply matter-of-factly. “And he’s cute and can’t talk back. Thank you very much.”

“Oh?” Ezra’s eyes stop shuttering, and he focuses upon me. “It’s a he?”

“Peeped at a lady in the shower. Seems like a male to me.”

“Can’t blame him,” Ezra replies.

Charlie beeps, like he knows he’s being discussed. I open my mouth to speak but stop short. Another indirect compliment? My face heats, and I’m at a loss of words. I was trying so hard to convince myself that Ezra, as complex and impressive as he clearly is, remains a machine. But a cut-and-dry android wouldn’t say that to me. A human man, on the other hand, absolutely would. That was definitely almost flirting, but—no, Ezra would never flirt with me. I’m imagining things now. Clearly, that had to be sarcasm. Just how jumbled am I right now?

I need to change the subject. “What’re you working on? Or is that a secret?”

Ezra’s irises and pupils change shape, almost like an old-fashioned camera lens. “It’s no secret. Not to you. You were there. I’m trying to make sense of any new findings at the museum, but it’s difficult for me to analyze when I couldn’t be on-site for more than a few minutes.”

“They wouldn’t let you in?” I ask in surprise. “But...you were there.”

“I was,” Ezra replies. “I’m also an android, and it was an android that killed those people. My superiors are hesitant to give me the same freedom I once had in these instances.”

“Because of androids being the ones responsible for the attacks?”

“Yes.”

“So they assigned you to me to keep you out of the way?”

“I suspect so.” Ezra pauses. “I apologize. I’m not sure why I said that. That was unprofessional. Complaining about my current directives isn’t appropriate.”

“No, it’s okay. I’d be upset too,” I reply. “I imagine it’s difficult, when assisting your partner is literally first and foremost in your programming.”

Ezra doesn’t answer at first, like he isn’t quite sure if he trusts me yet. Maybe he’d be right not to. To shut down the conversation and leave it at that. He regards me carefully before responding. “Thank you. Yes, it is.”

The whiteness of his irises is so intense. I quickly look away, amble to the fridge, and take out the smoothie I partially finished. There’s fruits and vegetables in there as well, but the thought of putting anything solid into my system makes my gut churn uncomfortably. I usually love strawberries, salads, carrots, but I can’t stomach the thought of them right now.

“This may sound odd, but can I ask you something?”

“You may.” He’s no longer looking at me. His pupils shutter again.

That makes me curious. “The thing your eyes do, the way they look like a camera? What is that?”

“It’s how I control different subject matter on my optical screen,” he replies. “You can compare it to zooming in and out or swiping left and right.”

“So that’s you doing your job even here?”

“Yes.” He focuses on me again. “I’m always reviewing case information, even when it appears like I’m doing something else. Right now, I’m reviewing security footage that may have been tampered with. I have a lead, but I’ll need to go to the crime scene at some point to confirm if my suspicions are correct, do a side-by-side comparison.”

I point to his tablet on the table, which occasionally lights up with notifications. “Then why use that?”

“That’s for Deion and the department’s benefit. And for organization’s sake. It’s connected directly to me.” He doesn’t seem keen on expanding on anything, his answers clipped, every word deliberate and thought out before speaking. Very businesslike.

“Deion?” I ask, arching a brow.

He glances away toward long crystal windows glistening with gray rain. “Detective Washington.”

“Oh.” I sip my smoothie slowly, like I’m trying to remember how to eat. Even this is difficult for me, but I know I need it. I need something to keep me going. Speaking with Ezra is helping distract me somewhat, so I continue. “You’re on a first-name basis. Do you primarily work with him?”

“Yes.”

“He doesn’t tell you what to do?”

“He’s the lead investigator of the Artificial Crime Unit under Chief Jacobs,” Ezra answers. “I follow his orders. Same as everyone else on our team.”

“What about outside the office?”

Ezra is quiet for a moment. “Deion and his family are my family. They don’t command me. They ask.”

How my father would respond to hearing this. I imagine it would be one of the few times he could be dumbstruck. Not because of Ezra’s calm and stoic demeanor, the way he answers questions, how he mimics human conversation perfectly, but because of his intentions.

“So bionics at the police department, they don’t get placed in armories, they go home with their partner and reside there, sort of like police dogs?”

Ezra snaps his head up. The backlit glow of his white irises flicker, his lips turning thin. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Is that anger?

“Do I look like a dog to you?” he says flatly.

I’ve touched a nerve. He has patience and impatience, he’s capable of both gentleness and displaying a temper, which from what I can tell, he’s harnessing at the moment.

“That came out wrong,” I say. “Of course you’re not a dog. I only meant?—”

“That I’m sent home like a pet,” Ezra interjects.

“Yes— no —let me start over,” I say. You’d think I was an android myself, the way my body is beginning to overheat from embarrassment. “I don’t think you’re a dog or a pet. I’m just curious about your life, your routine, because you’re so different from other bionics. You wrecked that door like it was nothing.”

“Oh, I’m different?” Ezra’s annoyance is laced in his voice and unmistakable. He grunts, arching a brow. “And how many bionics do you know?”

I just keep digging myself into a deeper hole. “Not... many. Okay, you’re the first I’ve met beyond simple greetings.”

“My directives may be different from the standard housekeeper, but we are all assistants, and assistants are not pets.”

“I understand that?—”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” I insist, exasperated. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just meant you’re incredible, and I—” I clamp my mouth shut. Shut up, Kat . I plop on the couch in defeat. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to talk to bionics very well.”

Ezra’s voice is flat. “Clearly.”

Chastised and knowing full well I deserve it, I let out a sigh. Charlie skitters down my arm and into my lap. The little mechanic spider chitters and twirls around twice in my lap like a cat before finally settling down with his legs curled slightly beneath him.

“At any rate,” Ezra says, sounding restrained, like he’s trying to settle himself down. “There’s hardly anything incredible about busting down a door. Any bionic assistant with a steel mainframe can do that. Some humans too.”

“It’s not just that, it’s—everything you are,” I say. “Dad and Dr. Lewis had such dreams for you, and...”

Ezra stops completely. The way he turns to face me head on, his hands at his sides, flexing into fists makes me almost wary. He’s a powerful machine. I know for a fact now that he could do harm if he needed to.

He’s my protector. He’s deadly. And I may have just pissed him off.

“What are you talking about?” he demands. “How do you know Dr. Lewis?”

“He and my father were friends,” I reply. “From college, right up until the end. Dr. Lewis was sort of a...” I try to think of how to describe it. When Charlie blinks at me from his nestled position on my lap, I tentatively brush my palm over his head. His dozen little eyes squint. I assume that means keep doing it. “When Schroeder and Dad stopped talking, he tried his best to be the go-between. And he was a good man.”

A minute of silence passes, but it feels like an eternity. “I never met him,” Ezra says at last, his tone softening. “He died before my initial activation.”

The corners of Ezra’s mouth twitch downward for the briefest moment, ever so slightly, his mask of stoicism pierced by something unmistakable.

Sorrow.

He can experience sorrow. Distress. Before everything that’s happened—three attacks that nearly took my life or the lives of my family—I might’ve tried to reason this away as just a reflection of how he’s seen humans behave. That he can’t possibly go through the same sensations I can, that his body doesn’t respond to situations in the same way.

But I know that’s not the case. I’m uncomfortable with the truth in front of me. I suddenly want to comfort him. To commiserate with him. Tell him about Dr. Lewis’s funeral, and...

No, I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t help things. Not now, anyway. I pause my petting of Charlie, who makes a few indignant beeps and taps my hand insistently.

The noise draws Ezra out of his thoughts, and that glimpse of pain is gone in an instant. “No one ever spoke of this to me,” he says. “Was he in much pain when he died?”

“No,” I reply. “It was quick. We all thought he was recovering.” I wonder if I should apologize. I’m yearning to provide relief somehow, aware that my words brought him pain I didn’t mean to inflict. “I’m sorry. If it helps, Dr. Lewis’s family was so proud of him. And you. To be able to touch the hand, the face, of Dr. Lewis’s last creation meant so much to all of them.”

And to me. I was there. Standing with everyone else, admiring Ezra before he was activated, his head turned down as though he was asleep while standing on his display cylinder. I reached out and touched his hand, felt how real his synthetic skin seemed against my own, devoid of warmth.

“I have questions,” Ezra replies. “Why I am the way I am. Ones I can’t answer without him.”

He has questions about his existence. Another thing that’s so decidedly human. My god, Schroeder, how far did you go with these droids? Our conversation is so natural, I can’t help but empathize. Especially after all he’s done for me. I could tell him another truth, here and now. I’m not sure if I should. “You were my father’s brainchild,” I admit at last. “Ezra Lewis designed you, yes, after Dad and Schroeder fell out, but as a BNP99—you were Dad’s idea.”

Ezra tenses. “Why?”

“Dad originally loved the idea of androids. He wanted them to be there to help bring families together, make them stronger.”

“I imagine Humanity First would riot if they knew the truth,” Ezra remarks. “Why did they fall out, then? Your father and Dr. Schroeder?”

I sigh, gently petting Charlie’s head. “BioNex ran out of funding. Making androids is expensive, and Dad wanted to tour the country, bring in private investors. Schroeder felt like that was a waste of time, so he turned to corporations, big business. Dad was against that from the start. He knew what would happen. Schroeder felt like they had no choice. And when those contracts were drawn up, Dad walked away.”

Ezra frowns. “And then founded Humanity First, proclaiming I’m something between an abomination and a toy. He envisioned me and now wishes to see me destroyed.”

When he points out my father’s hypocrisy, the words sting. It’s never sat right with me. There have been times where I’ve wondered if my father was doing what he thought was right, or if he was trying to upend what was meant to be partially his company. If he felt betrayed by Schroeder, more than incensed by the violation of people’s livelihoods.

“People are suffering. All over the city, the nation. What would you have us do?”

“Change your narrative. Deactivating me won’t change the damage that’s been done. So what’s standing in your way from holding these corporations accountable for that suffering, instead of me and those like me? Besides your own societal constructs, your own laws, your own corrupt politicians?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“It never is,” Ezra replies. “But injustice existed long before my makers chose to bring me to fruition. Perhaps that should be your concern, instead of my existence and what it means. Now if you’ll excuse me. I have work to do.”

I’m left with my thoughts as Ezra goes to stand by the windows, staring out over the city. He’s right. My father has always been more vehement in his dealings with androids than I have, never once taking the time to speak to one. Perhaps because he knows they’ll speak the truth. We can’t blame androids solely for the world’s problems. I’ve always known that, spoken that. Our numbers increased by nearly thirty percent once I began speaking on Humanity First’s behalf, doing what I could to salvage our image and reputation. We aren’t criminals. We never have been. But when a machine made of metal, numbers, and synthetics can figure out what the hell is wrong with us as a society, why can’t we?

Hours pass. I spend them mindlessly in front of the TV. All news stations cover the museum attack, and the anchors’ coverage is more grating than anything as they speculate about the current investigation. I put on the cheesy romance channel instead, because at least everything on there is fluffy and formulaic and safe. In the back of my mind, the museum’s horrors lurk, ominous and taunting. My hands tremble slightly. I ignore them and pull up scientific journals on my phone about new archaeological findings while playing with Charlie on my lap, and then I check in with Zoey. She’s safe at home now, recovering from the blast.

Curled up on the couch, I doze, exhaustion finally catching up to me. When I wake, it’s because I’m being lifted. I nearly flail, but Ezra holds me firm in his grasp.

“Hey, what are you?—”

“You’ll sleep better in a bed,” he says, carrying me into the bedroom and setting me down gently.

My entire body is warm, heat crawling up my neck and into my face. “I can walk, you know,” I mumble wearily.

“I prefer to skip any unnecessary arguments,” he replies, drawing back the covers and blankets. “Sleep. You need it. Perhaps your appetite will return in the morning.” He pauses by the door. “I’ll be just outside if you require anything.” Then he slowly shuts the door.

I try to relax my muscles. Minutes pass where I stare at the ceiling, my eyelids drooping. He lifted me like I weigh absolutely nothing. I’m not heavy, but still. Not just every man out there can pick up someone like that without some strain. His strength is like nothing I ever imagined.

There’s a scratch at the door, and a soft trill. The door opens slightly, letting a pillar of light stream in. Charlie skitters up onto my bed and comes to rest on my breasts.

“Are you a spider or a cat?” I remark softly, giving him a little pat as he nestles against me, making little beeps.

Reassured that I’m safe, that no one is going to find me here, of all places, and the most formidable android in existence is just beyond that wall, I give into exhaustion and fall asleep.

I wake with a start several hours later, jolting upright, causing Charlie to beep in surprise and shuffle away before lightly tapping my hand with his front legs.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m fine.” I exhale, lying back on the bed. “It was just a dream.”

A horrible dream. The bombing, all over again, except this time I was trying to stop it. I saw the android responsible, the one in the baseball cap. I opened my mouth to shout and alert everyone to the danger, but no sound came out. My body was weighted like lead, and I was unable to chase him or throw myself on him to stop him. Complete and total helplessness, just before the detonation happened again before my eyes, how I thought it might look.

I’m wound tight. My jaw aches from how hard I’ve clenched it. Sighing, I rise to get myself a drink of water and head to my door.

From the bedroom and the crack in the door, I can see the living room. It’s the middle of the night, the sky black as pitch. It’s still raining, droplets glistening different colors from the neon lights streaming into the dark, shadowy penthouse through the windows and illuminating the outline of Ezra’s body leaning back in a chair pointed toward the couch and affording me a look at him in his entirety.

My eyes widen, and my breath hitches.

He’s removed his coat. His light blue shirt is partially open, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His belt is unfastened, dark pants unbuttoned. But that isn’t what has my attention.

His long, hardened cock is out in plain view. I knew androids have realistic human anatomy, but I’ve never seen one, especially not one like Ezra’s, in all its erect glory. Ezra’s hand curls around the base, pumping in slow motions. His head is tilted back, his lips slightly parted as he works himself.

My mind swims. I’m wide awake now, and molten heat washes over me, settling between my legs. Ezra is a law enforcement assistant. An android. Yet here he is, doing something yet again that’s so entirely human, seeking pleasure—for relief, to alleviate stress or boredom, or just because it feels good, I don’t know.

He looks so sexy as he masturbates, stroking his thick cock in long, fluid motions. I cover my mouth, remembering what he told me—he hears everything. Can he hear me breathe, or the way my heart is racing? I shouldn’t be watching this. He’s a droid, yes, but I feel so dirty hiding here, ogling him. I should return to bed, afford him privacy.

But I can’t bring myself to look away, all too aware of the slickness of my pussy and how wet my panties are as I stare, entranced by this beautiful artificial man as his motions slowly increase in speed. He mimics the quickness of human breath as he approaches release.

Droids can release , I think to myself, oddly disconnected from the discovery I’ve made tonight, too aroused to observe him like a scientist.

He’s so incredibly stunning. His cock twitches, and he bites back a groan, holding himself in place with a few final, slow strokes.

“Katrina,” he pants softly.

I stiffen. My name—he just said my name. Was he fantasizing about me? I should be repulsed, but I’m not. I’m flattered. Thrilled. Turned on. I’ve never imagined that mine could be the name a man might whisper as he goes over the edge.

My stomach somersaults. I was wet before, but now I’m utterly soaked as he finishes. He doesn’t produce any cum. No mess to be made. Only bliss.

Something touches my ankle. I glance down as Charlie looks up at me with his beady, glowing orbs, and beeps in curiosity. In the quiet of the apartment, the noise is loud.

Shit .

When I look up at Ezra, he’s zipping up his pants, fastening his belt buckle. His white eyes are open, staring right at me through the crack in the bedroom door.

I back up several paces, nearly stumbling, my heart pounding as I quickly return to bed. I try to reason it all away. Maybe he couldn’t see me in the dark. Maybe he was too distracted, and he couldn’t hear me. Trying to ignore the ache of my body, begging me to pleasure myself in the same way and find similar release, I cover up with piles of blankets and rest my head on the pillow. Charlie returns to nestle against me, trilling softly and petting my arm as though he means to soothe me. I turn on my side, away from the door.

I hear Ezra’s footsteps draw near, lingering outside the threshold. The door creaks, but only for a moment. It doesn’t swing open all the way. Silence. My eyes are shut, and I pretend to be asleep, but that unreasonable part of me wonders if—hopes—he’ll come to me.

He doesn’t.

His footsteps across the hardwood floors fade as he returns to the living room, and I allow myself a sigh of both relief and disappointment. What in the world is wrong with me? Lusting over a robot. My parents, my entire organization, would be horrified.

It takes me a long time to fall asleep again, but eventually, I do.

In the morning, I somewhat convince myself that everything I witnessed was a trauma-induced fever dream, and I’m clearly losing my mind. My stomach rumbles as I change into fresh clothes and style my hair. My phone rings, and I answer. “Hello?”

“Hey, Kitty, it’s Ramsey Feldman!” I recognize the nasally, swift-speaking voice of my father’s most trusted social media guy, the techie Dad relies on to keep the Humanity First website and all his platforms running seamlessly with posts every day. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I emailed over some digital proofs of the posts I want to publish on the website and on PhotoGram. I didn’t want to shoot them off without the go ahead. How is your dad, by the way?”

“He’s fine, he’s recovering,” I answer gratefully. “Thank you for doing this, Ramsey, it means a lot to me and my family.”

“Of course! Anytime. This cause is worth fighting for, and we can’t let people forget it,” Ramsey says eagerly. “I’ll wait for your response, but if there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. Talk to you later.” I end the call. It’s hard to think of anything else when my stomach growls again. Finally, I want some food. With Charlie skittering in front of me and me trying not to trip over the little bionic, I head to the kitchen and retrieve some fruit from the fridge. I’ll start small and eat more when I feel ready.

“You’re awake early,” Ezra says as he comes out of standby from his position in the living room. His low, gravelly voice sends a shiver up my spine. “How are you feeling?”

“A little hungry,” I reply, praying he didn’t see me last night and that if he did, he won’t try to talk to me about it. “It’s progress, at least. How’s your investigation going?”

“Slow,” he says. “But there’s little to be done from here, anyway.”

I pop a grape into my mouth, relishing its sweetness. “I know we got off on the wrong foot. It’s bound to happen, since, well...” I motion between us. “But I realize you could be doing a lot more constructive things with your time right now than protecting me. I guess I’m trying to say thank you.”

His gaze locks with mine and lingers. “You’re welcome.”

I hesitate before eating a strawberry. There’s so much unsaid that suddenly pulls at me, needing to be broached. “Look, I’m not going to pretend you’re not perfect.”

Ezra furrows his brow in surprise. “Perfect?”

“Yes, you’re every inventor’s dream. You walk and talk and sound and act incredibly human, just like Dad and Dr. Lewis wanted. And you’re right about what you said about corrupt politicians, systems, everything. Everything’s so complicated. I’m doing my best to sift through all of it.”

Ezra is pensive. “Perfect is something I never thought I’d hear from you, Miss Carson. Are you suggesting I’m causing you to have second thoughts about Humanity First?”

“No,” I say, speaking sincerely and not out of anger. “I think the mission to remove androids from certain jobs and penalize corporations that lay off human workers is a just one.”

His expression flattens considerably. “What do you hope to achieve by ridding the world of androids?”

“I don’t want to be rid of them at all,” I protest. He seems to relax a little. “Having androids in the home is fine. Androids in law enforcement and fire and rescue is fine, but there has to be some balance, or everyone will be starving by the turn of the century. We need to return the world to some semblance of normal.”

“That’s a fool’s errand.” Ezra chuckles bitterly.

“It’s not,” I insist. “Balance is everything. What’ll happen to us if we’re completely reliant on all of you? If we don’t know how to cook, or clean, or even raise our own children? How will our future generations survive if we aren’t self-sufficient?”

“Your logic is flawed,” Ezra replies. “Perhaps you’d like to return to a world where there are no cell phones because life is supposed to be difficult. No computers. No cars or planes, because travel was meant to be difficult.”

“That’s different.”

“Except it isn’t,” Ezra says. “Whenever anything is invented that’s intended to hand humanity back hours and years of their daily lives, people complain. Humanity First is filled with sycophants who’ve dug in their heels and cling to a past that’ll never come back, rather than adapting to a new present.”

“We’ve got city strikes, unemployment, and terrorists killing people because they think you’re better than us,” I reply. “How is that ideal?”

“Those things existed before I was created.” Ezra’s voice is edged. “And they’re right in one regard. We are better than you, in a way.”

My face warms. His arrogance is so close to setting me off. I rein in my temper, but I can’t stop the passion flowing out of me. “Please, enlighten me.”

“I don’t make excuses for myself or for android shortcomings, for one.” Ezra’s lips are a thin, stern line. “My programming enables and upholds three primary directives—investigation, protection, and the care of people. Not other androids. People .”

I purse my lips.

He motions toward the windows and the bustling city around us. “I don’t have an innate fear of the unknown or uncertainty in general. I’ve never wanted to kill, conquer, steal, rape, destroy, or take advantage of anyone else in any way. I’ve never been overcome by greed or a need for money at the expense of others. These are all things humans do to one another out of fear—that you’ve done throughout your history for thousands of years. And you always make an excuse to justify your bloodthirsty nature, be it race or religion. Yet, you have the gall to blame bionics for humanity’s shortcomings.”

“I don’t,” I declare heatedly.

“Perhaps you don’t.” Ezra becomes just as heated. “But you stand with many who do. And I’ve yet to hear you correct them. If you honestly think everything was fine and normal before we were created, then you have no understanding of the world or suffering in general. Your father made us out to be the villains. We’re not at fault. You are. The longer it takes you and the rest of Humanity First to understand that, the easier it’ll be for TerraPura to create more chaos.”

“I know!” I shout, my own volume startling me. I compose myself, willing my hands, jaw, every muscle in me to relax. “Believe me, I’m well aware. And I’m scared. Because like it or not, the stakes are higher now.” Ezra looks like he’s about to retort. I drive on. “Look—I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’d rather not spend all this time arguing. Humanity First, pro-bionic. We’ve both got better things to do. My opinions don’t really matter right now. People have died. I have fundraisers to organize, and you have your investigation, right? So let’s just drop it.”

“It’s not like I can investigate much from here.” He crosses his arms. “But—fine. Consider it dropped.”

I walk away to get myself some water. I glance at my purse. “Ezra?”

His tone is cordial. “Yes, Miss Carson?”

I sift through my purse and pull out a property sensor on my keychain. Diana’s extra security measure for the museum, entrusted to me during her leave. Only she and Arnold Vaughn have one. It disarms the museum security, but only when paired with an authorized handprint.

My handprint.

“What if I told you I could get you into the crime scene?”