Ezra (New Carnegie Androids #6)

Chapter 2 #2

Her baby blue eyes are striking, staring right back into mine. Beautiful. My gratification drive stirs. I suppress it quickly. Don’t .

“You’re welcome,”

Katrina replies.

I can’t decide if she’s merely exhausted from the trauma she’s been through, or if I’ve greatly misjudged her.

Katrina pulls her phone from her jeans pocket, taps through it, and presents it to me. “TerraPura is trying to assassinate my father.”

I take her phone. Her most recent PhotoGram post is a selfie of her and her father, both beaming, pressed cheek to cheek. I skim the caption before handing the phone back to her. “What makes you think so?”

“The timing of the explosion,”

she replies. “And the place where the droid detonated.”

“The café?”

Katrina nods. “My dad and I were going to have lunch there, but he canceled last minute. I’d already told everyone at work he was coming. It’s possible I was overheard. I wasn’t really paying attention. It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. TerraPura hates Dad and everything he stands for.”

Everything you stand for too , I think. “Did he receive any threatening messages? Voicemails, emails?”

“No. I checked with Ramsey Feldman, my dad’s social media guy. No messages. And Dad has no contacts from TerraPura whatsoever. He refuses to acknowledge them as anything but terrorists. And he’s old school—you don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Let’s talk about this morning.”

I track the time of her call at 8:37 a.m. “Did you see the shooter responsible?”

“Just for a moment. He was running away from the house.”

“And what makes you so sure he was an android?”

I store everything she says in my memory banks and pull out a small tablet connected to my systems for Deion’s benefit. I organize all the information I collect there, so he can access it at any time and review my findings, even if we’re apart. He wanted it that way in case anything happened to me. Sort of a backup drive. After checking it to make sure it’s streaming correctly, I put it back.

“I saw his eyes. They were white, like yours,”

Katrina explains.

“I see.”

Her heartrate spikes slightly, and I’m unsure why. “You’re certain?”

“Yes, they glowed a little, with that...I don’t know what it’s called, a backlight?”

she continues. “You know what I’m talking about, right?”

“I do.”

Another benefit of being a BNP99—I don’t need a lie detector test to tell if someone is being deceptive. I can read anyone standing right in front of me like a book. Katrina is restless, biting a nail in the lapses of silence. I suspect she hasn’t slept by the redness of her eyes. It’s been a harrowing two days for her.

“Anyway, then I ran downstairs.”

“Did he move fast? Unnaturally so?”

“Not that I noticed. He was quick, but not necessarily an Olympian. Why?”

“Newer models are lighter than some of the originals. Most older bionic models aren’t built for running, jumping, or any kind of extended or extreme athleticism,”

I say as I move my thoughts around on my optic feed, properly organizing the facts to present to Deion later. “First through fourth generations have that issue unless it’s BioNex’s luxury model line. Whatever droid you saw is likely outdated.”

“And you?”

she asks. “You’re a first gen, aren’t you?”

“I’m first of my kind, but technically second generation.”

“But you’re built for that,”

Katrina says. “Athleticism, I mean.”

“Yes, my body was designed specifically for it. And being utilized by the city means I return to BioNex for regular tune-ups and modifications. Being outdated is impossible for me,”

I reply. “Ever heard of Dr. Genevieve Taylor?”

“She’s the android engineer who lost her leg in a lab accident, didn’t she?”

“The very same. I see her every three months. She makes sure I’m always top of the line.”

I also utilize independent engineers at Tin Man’s Heart, but I don’t say as much. Kyrone Johnson’s repairs are usually off the books.

“Well, they’ve done a good job keeping you in good shape,”

Katrina remarks. “You’re impressive.”

Impressive? My gratification drive whirs to life, reacting just as strongly as when Deion or a member of the ACU thanks me or speaks positively of my work. Praise of any kind is my currency. It’s embedded in the programming of all androids. I didn’t anticipate receiving any kind of compliment from Katrina Carson.

It’s the first time I’m not sure what to say.

“I’m fortunate to be programmed, repaired, and handled by experts,”

I manage. Amusement flickers through my processors as I watch her. She’s allowed her eyes to wander up and down my form, briefly resting far south of what one might expect from someone so passionately anti-android. Suddenly, I want to test her, see how she responds to me. “My eyes are up here, Miss Carson.”

Her gaze snaps up to meet mine. She tenses. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I’m not much of a smiley sort of bot, but I lighten my voice to make her aware I’m teasing her.

Another temperature spike. Her face flushes, but she relaxes. “No one told me they make androids with a sense of humor now.”

“It doesn’t come with the programming,”

I reply. “I learned. At any rate, people only find me humorous when I see nothing funny at all in the situation.”

“So serious it’s hilarious,”

she muses. “I understand.”

She glances at her slumbering parents. “I appreciate it. Because nothing’s funny right now. But if I don’t laugh at something, I think I might fall apart.”

I’m curious if she realizes we’re having a civil, almost friendly, conversation. Robert Carson has often made it clear that he will never address androids as people or engage in conversations with them. Walking computers, he’s called us. Katrina clearly doesn’t subscribe to such an extreme rhetoric.

She turns back to me. “But you aren’t here for my entertainment, and I shouldn’t waste your time. I just thought perhaps...”

Concern about wasting my time. Acknowledging and respecting my role as an investigator. Who is this woman? I’m intrigued. “Perhaps?”

I press gently.

“You were there the day our protest was bombed,”

she murmurs. “And you were there yesterday. I thought maybe you’d see some connection nobody else could because of how you’re made.”

“Based on what you’ve told me, I think it’s possible your father was a primary target in the bombing.”

Pensive, I clasp my hands behind my back. “Regardless, there’s no denying someone wants him dead. It won’t be safe for your family to return to your home. It’s a crime scene, and clearly the person or people responsible know where you live.”

“Will the police department help us?”

Katrina asks.

“I have to report my findings to my partner,”

I reply. “And the chief. That’s a decision that’ll be made at a higher level, but I imagine placing your father into a protection program will be the next step. I need to make a call. If you’ll excuse me?”

Katrina nods, rubbing her arm as she meets my gaze. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

My gratification drive homes in on those beautiful blue eyes again. I’m seeing Katrina in a way no one else can claim. In my research of her, ever since she came on the scene, she’s always exuded strength, confidence. All I see is uncertainty for the future.

Or is it uncertainty about me?

I never set out to intend to make her nervous, but I don’t think it’s my mannerisms, my way of speaking, that’s got her on edge. I doubt she’s ever had a conversation this long with a bionic before.

And she thanks me. Thanks me , when there are a handful of people I’ve served with for years who’ve never done the same.

It’s a small thing, saying thank you. But I appreciate it, nonetheless.

Deion answers my call, irate. “Ezra. I’m stuck in traffic. Did you make it to the hospital? What’ve you got?”

“Katrina Carson definitely isn’t TerraPura,”

I tell him as I stride down a hospital corridor. “She told me she saw the shooter, that it was an android. Based on the evidence she gave, I believe her.”

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m making a sweep of the hospital. There are no droids on the premises besides me. Mellon Fields is a humans-only employer.”

“Understood,”

Deion replies. “I’ll put a call out and let the ACU know we’ve got this ourselves, refocus them on the museum bombing.”

“I think we need to place the Carsons into witness protection,”

I continue. “Katrina provided a potential lead that the attacks yesterday and this morning were linked. Carson was meant to be in the museum café.”

“How do you figure?”

“She posted about it on social media and told several coworkers who could’ve spread their movements around to interested parties without realizing the danger. Made it easy to plan.”

“These damn centennials,”

Deion grumbles. “Plastering their entire lives on the internet, no sense of privacy at all. All right. I’m going to chat with Jacobs about this.”

“He’s not going to like what you have to say,” I remark.

“No, he’s not, but we’re his least favorite department. What else is new? At least he’s a fan of Humanity First. It shouldn’t be hard to convince him.”

The bustle of downtown New Carnegie streams through his speaker. “You think TerraPura is after Carson, or his daughter?”

“Either is possible. She’s become more outspoken this past year.”

“I don’t understand why they don’t go after pro-bionics the same way,”

Deion muses. “Lucy Warren is just as vocal against them with millions of followers. Then again, Humanity First is literally everything TerraPura hates, going after their android gods. And Carson is the head of the snake that won’t shut up.”

He pauses. “Do you think the Carsons will fight us on laying low?”

“He barely escaped with his life. His daughter seemed relieved at the possibility of protective custody.”

“How was she? She give you a hard time?”

“No, actually,”

I reply. “She was very courteous.”

“She’d better be. If she gets belligerent, tell me, and I’ll handle her. Let me get in touch with the chief. I’ll call you back.”

As I wait for Deion’s call, I busy myself with double checking every nurse and doctor currently working at this hospital who’s available in the public domain.

I cross-check names with social media accounts, doing anything and everything I can to identify any potential threats to the Carsons.

Deion wasn’t wrong in his assessment of social media.

It astonishes me just how comfortable people are airing the entirety of their private lives.

They post their destructive habits, actions, and opinions for the world to see.

Within five minutes, I’ve located a doctor and a clinic receptionist who are currently engaging in an extramarital affair, if her photos are any indication.

Within ten minutes, I’ve identified a surgeon and two nurses as avid Humanity First members.

Nothing alarming there.

Many people are sympathetic, and their social media footprints are mostly political and social memes, decrying BioNex and android owners.

Certainly not friendly, but not necessarily dangerous either.

Within fifteen minutes, I’ve narrowed down potential threats to three staff members who are registered android owners—a registrar, a nurse, and a surgeon.

When I reach the limit of what I can search, I make a call.

There’s only one person who can reach information that even I can’t.

Jayne Rose picks up after a moment. “Ezra. What’s the craic?”

“I need you to check a few names for me,” I reply.

“Course, love!”

I hear her fingers clicking away on a surface keyboard back at ACU headquarters. “Send them over to me quick. Oh! You already did, look at that. Aren’t you fast. HF or TP?”

I can tell she’s biting back a chuckle at the fact TP also stands for toilet paper. Jayne is easily entertained.

I can’t pass up the opportunity. “TP,”

I reply in the most deadpan voice I can manage.

She giggles under her breath, and I smirk to myself. Success. The situation is serious, of course. But Deion says it’s important to have these little moments of reprieve and humor to keep officer morale up.

“Registrar is fine. She’s just got her privacy settings locked tight. Looks like she has a restraining order out on a rotten ex-boyfriend.”

“Understood. The other two?”

“Surgeon is fine, and—oh.”

Jayne’s lighthearted tone changes in an instant. “Nurse isn’t. Eileen Miller. TerraPura initiate since October 2069.”

“Thanks.”

I end the call and make my way back to the nurse’s desk, where several are hard at work at computers in between tending patients. “I need to speak to Eileen Miller. It’s urgent.”

I flash my badge at the young lady behind a computer holo-screen. “She in today?”

“She just started her shift, yeah,”

the woman replies. “She’s checking her assigned rooms right now.”

I frown. “Are any of those rooms Robert Carson’s?”

“Um...”

She breezes through staff information quickly on her holo-screen. “Yes. Why, is she in some kind of?—”

“Thank you,”

I interject and hurry back to Carson’s room. I swing open the door and find a nurse attending to his IV. My optics zoom to her name badge. Eileen .

Katrina is already on her feet, appearing surprised to see me again so soon. Her mother, Catherine, is awake, bewildered at my presence. “What’s going on? Why is he here?”

“Step away from the patient,”

I bark. I don’t even have to flash my badge. “ Now . No sudden movements.”

Eileen Miller stares at me in shock, then bows her head as she obeys.

“Come here,”

I command. She responds to my authority without question, making no attempt to resist. “What were you doing?”

“Checking his IV and his blood pressure,”

Miller replies timidly. “That’s all, Master.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Katrina’s face twist into bewilderment. “Master?”

she repeats.

The nurse completely ignores her.

“Do you have orders to sabotage or maim this man?” I ask.

Mrs. Carson moves protectively toward her husband, watching our exchange with a frown.

“No. I mean, not that I know of. I’m new,”

the nurse replies. “As far as I know, we want nothing to do with him.”

She isn’t lying. But she also isn’t high enough in the TerraPura echelon for me to take her at her word. “I don’t want to see you in this room or anywhere near the Carsons again.”

“Please don’t tell anyone,”

Miller whispers, worried. “If the hospital finds out, I’ll lose my job.”

I measure her vitals. She’s frightened. A fool, perhaps, but not a killer. Not yet, anyway. TerraPura’s claws haven’t dug too deep.

“After your shift, go down to the precinct,”

I tell her. “Ask for Jayne Rose. Tell her everything you know about TerraPura and go home. I’ll know if you don’t.”

“I will,”

Miller says eagerly. She’s young, new, perhaps fresh out of college and in her first healthcare position. “I promise I will.”

“Stay away from TerraPura,”

I warn her. “If I find out you’ve so much as spoken to another member after today?—”

“I won’t,”

she insists.

“Get out.”

She leaves in a flurry, leaving me alone with Katrina and Mrs. Carson.

“I can’t believe it. You really can’t trust anyone anymore,”

Katrina says, relaxing somewhat after she’s gone.

“Was it really safe to just let her go like that?”

Mrs. Carson demands, incredulous. “What if she bombs this building too?”

“She has no criminal record, and she was cooperative. I can’t arrest someone without probable cause,”

I reply. “And until the federal government declares I can arrest TerraPura members on sight, I have no other course of action.”

I turn to Katrina. She’s not as flustered or as emotional as her mother. I appreciate her restraint. “All the same, I’m going to post guards outside your father’s door, Miss Carson. Once he’s strong enough to leave the hospital, he’ll likely be moved into protective custody. My partner is working on making that happen as we speak.”

“Is that like witness protection?”

her mother breathes. “We have to go into hiding?”

“It’s similar, but it’s not the same. For now,”

I reply. “Your daughter was present at all three attacks thus far. It’s safe to assume you could also be a target.”

A call streams in from Deion, and I answer. “What did the chief say?”

“You’ll need to take Miss Carson and stay with her. Chief wants her and her parents in separate locations.”

“Me?”

I blink, looking up at Katrina. “I’m sure another officer could?—”

“I know you want to help me with the case, Ezra, but Jacobs has the commissioner breathing down his neck to bench you for this one. You’ll stay with Katrina Carson and keep her safe at all costs. Rose and I will keep you in the loop in the meantime.”

I don’t like this, but I won’t get anywhere arguing with Deion. “Fine. Location?”

“I’m sending it to you now. I’m telling you—you won’t believe it.”

Deion’s message flashes across my inner screen.

It’s Algrove Schroeder’s penthouse in BioNex Tower.

It took a long phone call from Chief Jacobs personally to finally convince Katrina she’s in just as much danger as her father.

Now, it’s getting dark.

She sits in the passenger seat of my cruiser while the car drives on autopilot through pouring rain.

Ever since that call, she’s been quiet.

Not sullen or pouting like a disciplined child, but overwhelmed, at a loss.

A silent frustration eating away at her.

She’s someone who seems like she wants to be in control at all times.

Oddly enough, I can relate.

It’s a strange thing, being concerned about her stress.

I shouldn’t be, not when she would never be concerned about my well-being.

I’m not sure she thinks I even have a being to be well with.

But watching her gather her things in her house while doing all she can to avoid the crime scene in the kitchen where her father’s blood still stains the floor and exchange an emotional goodbye with her teary-eyed mother speaks to a depth I’m not sure I ever wanted to know about.

Mulling over how I got saddled with babysitting duty, I glance at Katrina.

She’s gazing out the window at the rain and the reflection of my cruiser in the windows of the buildings we pass.

Deion says I can take the assignment as a backward compliment.

The precinct can’t argue that everyone is a little safer with me, but he and I both know it’s just an excuse to keep me out of the way.

Jacobs and Winters hate all the positive attention we’ve buzzed for the Artificial Crime Unit.

Winters, specifically, calls it “playing hero.”

If anyone’s the hero, it’s Deion.

He goes above and beyond for those people suffering from android-related crime.

Whether it’s owners, or the androids themselves.

I’m just the assistant.

The bot.