Ezra (New Carnegie Androids #6)

Chapter 4 #6

Katrina asks.

A pulse of discomfort runs through my circuitry. I’m not sure I want this particular subject to continue. My gratification drive wills it so, but it doesn’t always get what it wants. Damn thing doesn’t know what’s best for it at times. This is too deep, too soon, and too raw a subject for me to comfortably discuss with anyone.

I stand. “I have to get back to work. You should too.”

“You’re right. You’ve got killers to catch,”

she says quickly, then pauses. “Ezra?”

I glance at her. “Kat?”

Her blue eyes light up considerably when I call her by her nickname. I didn’t mean to. It just slipped out of my mouth naturally in response to my name on her lips. “You called me Kat.”

“Apologies, Miss Carson?—

“No, no, I like it. Please. Call me Kat, or Katrina. Either is fine.”

She hesitates, almost shyly, as though she isn’t exactly sure what she wants to say. “And for what it’s worth, I really appreciate you opening up to me. I know that must be strange and difficult, especially since it’s me. I’m grateful you’re protecting me. And that you’ve agreed to be my friend, even though everyone will probably tell you you’re crazy.”

“Maybe they will, but it’s my choice to make.”

“All the same,”

she insists. “Thank you.”

Our time together is limited. I’d rather not travel down another dead-end road, where there’s no room, no place for me.

“You’re welcome.”

A few days later, Katrina receives a call from her mother. Her father is finally being released from the hospital and is going into protective custody. She puts her phone on holo-call mode and gazes at the soft, silvery three-dimensional projection of her mother pacing the lounge area in front of the windows excitedly.

But when she notices me, her comfortable conversation with her daughter takes a somewhat awkward turn.

“Hello, Ezra,”

she says haltingly. “Thank you for taking such good care of my daughter.”

I wonder how difficult that was for her to say. Mrs. Carson does her best to stay out of the limelight; she doesn’t seem quite as zealous as her husband.

“You’re welcome,”

I offer with a slight nod.

Katrina keeps pacing, keeping me out of the camera view as she mouths sorry to me with a cringe. “Anyway, where’s Dad?”

“He’s napping until our security detail comes to pick us up. I made him, honestly. He’s turned his hospital bed into his office and has been making all sorts of calls for this gala. I’m worried he’ll work himself to death, but doctors think he can continue resting in a home environment. He wanted me to ask—how did it go with your old dean?”

“I’m afraid I burned that bridge,”

Katrina admits. “I won’t be proudly wearing my alumni ring anytime soon.”

I should probably make myself scarce. I like to do daily sweeps the lower floors, the stairwells, and the reception area of the tower for any signs of danger. Whatever I can do to give her a little privacy.

“I wish they could’ve placed us together. I hate being separated from you,”

her mother says as I step away.

“I’ve been more than safe, I promise.”

When I reach for the door handle, Katrina mutes her phone, calling, “Ezra, it’s okay. Stay.”

I squint at her. “What?”

“Stay,”

she says. I zoom in, studying her features as she beckons to me, genuinely imploring me. She’s quiet, but troubled. “Please?”

No. Vulnerable. Perhaps nervous. I’m not sure why.

I give a slight nod. “Very well.”

I step away from the door, head over to the other side of the lounge, and stay close by as she wishes.

“Here’s your father,”

Mrs. Carson says. The holographic projection jiggles in place a bit as the phone is exchanged.

“Kitty.”

Robert Carson is still bedridden, and his smile is fatigued. “Good news. I’ve made a few calls, and we’ve got almost two hundred attendees for this gala.”

“Dad.”

Katrina sounds worried. “You should be resting, not taking point on this. Surely one of the others can take over for you.”

“You sound like your mother.”

“Good,”

Katrina huffs.

“I’ll rest later. I’ve no doubt between this and your online fundraiser, the families of the museum victims will have enough to cover funeral costs and whatever else they may need. It won’t replace the people they’ve lost, but if we can take this financial burden off their shoulders, it’s something. Everything set up at the college?”

Embarrassed, Katrina shakes her head. “Had some choice words for the dean, and it didn’t go well.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,”

Carson says.

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m still kicking. Make no mistake. It’ll take more than a bullet or two to bring me down. If anything I’m more determined than ever to combat these TerraPura cultists. How are you doing? Is Ezra keeping everything locked down well?”

“Yes,”

Katrina replies. “He’s done a splendid job. Would you like to speak with him about security measures? I could put him on if you like.”

So that’s why she wanted me to remain. I’ll admit I’ve been curious about Carson ever since I learned he initially planned and designed me. But I’m not sure what there is to discuss. I’m not afraid or repulsed—though a slight wave of temperature differentiation flows through my systems.

My existence was first plotted by this man’s mind. He was friends with my maker. But he’s been quite vocal about shutting androids down completely, before.

Was that pure resentment for the loss of his friendship with Schroeder, or did he truly mean it?

I’m more inclined to take him at his word and keep my distance.

But Carson sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, Kitty, but that will only dredge up old memories I’d rather forget. I’m glad he is doing his job well. And that you’re safe. You said the NCPD isn’t utilizing him?”

“Not presently, no. It’s ridiculous. It’s like they’re trying to slow down the investigation on purpose. Pandering while people are in a panic. He shouldn’t be wasted on me.”

“I disagree. Your safety isn’t a waste,”

I speak up.

Katrina looks at me appreciatively.

Carson makes a small noise, almost like he’s impressed. “Got a strong voice box installed on that one.”

He returns his attention to his daughter. “With any luck, we’ll all be safe and back together soon. Keep doing what you can.”

“It’s all I ever do,”

Katrina said. “Love you, Dad. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

The call ends. She turns to me, flustered. “I’m sorry I volunteered you like that without asking your permission first. I just hoped speaking to you might be a small first step.”

“Don’t apologize,”

I reply gently. “I appreciate what you tried to do.”

“I’m hopeful I can get him to retract some of the things he’s advocated for,”

Katrina laments. “I don’t know if I’ll have any effect on Humanity First to encourage people to try to find middle ground, where both displaced workers and pro-bionics can speak without shouting at each other, and work together.”

“If anyone can, it’s you. I have to ask, though...”

I keep my expression as neutral as possible. “Kitty?”

She rolls her eyes and throws a decorative lounge pillow at me, which bounces harmlessly off my chest. Her steps are lighter as she heads to the kitchen, and I can’t help but smile when her back is turned, shaking my head in quiet appreciation of the view she grants me when she walks away.

Two days later, it’s Friday, the entire city is drenched with endless rain, and I know the ACU is exhausted.

I’m trying to double my work capabilities from a distance to assist rookie investigators, because burnout is becoming a danger for the team.

Deion has instructed them to go home tomorrow and rest before returning on Sunday.

These hours are harsh, but we can’t rest until we’ve made arrests. I perk up from standby mode when Jayne Rose calls me in the early evening.

“You won’t believe what’s happened,”

she says, positively giddy. “We nabbed the android shooter—and the owner, more importantly.”

“You caught him?”

I ask, stepping forward. From the corner of my vision, I see Katrina peeking out at me from her bedroom, listening in, and I turn to motion her over.

With just a few of my basic internal commands, I project my optic screen to the wall-sized TV so Katrina can see and hear. Jayne sits behind a desk, wearing a pair of black-framed glasses, her rosy hair resting around her shoulders. Another switch, and she can see the both of us standing there as well.

“Oh!”

She waves awkwardly, adjusting her glasses on her nose. “Ezra, putting me on the spot.”

“This is Jayne. She’s one of our lead investigators,”

I tell Katrina with a slight gesture to the screen.

“Hi,”

Katrina similarly offers, waving sheepishly. Her hair, damp from the long bath she’s just taken after a long day of designing, is covered by a pink bonnet, and she’s wearing a silken peach robe tied tight around her waist. “Sorry, didn’t know I’d be on camera.”

“Same,”

Jayne scoffs. “Ezra, you ought to be ashamed, putting us ladies on display without asking first, you silly cabbage.”

She grins. “He’s a cheeky bastard, isn’t he?”

“Cheeky.”

Katrina chuckles, looking at me. “I like that word. It suits you.”

“I’m not cheeky or a bastard.”

Muttering, I fold my arms. Jayne’s accent and colorful vernacular charms almost everyone. “You said you got them?”

“Oh!”

Jayne nods excitedly, typing away at her keyboard until a holo-screen projects behind her. She waves her hands through the air, moving around different information modules so we can see. “Right. Washington and I located the bionic shooter because the neighbors across the street had security cameras set up on their porch, and we got his face captured as he fled the scene. See?”

She replays the footage for us then pauses it, zooming in on the face and dialing up the image to high definition.

“A BN2075,”

I say, stroking my chin.

Katrina tenses. “That looks just like the droid from the shooting,”

she murmurs.

“Needle in a haystack, right?”

Jayne says.

“What does that mean, BN2075?”

Katrina asks. “I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with the different model numbers. What’s special about them?”

“As far as bionics go, not much.”

I glance at her. “Think of BN2075s as a fleet of rental cars. They’re stock. Non-customizable domestic units. A few minor differences, like skin, facial structure, and hair, depending on what year they were sold and if you preordered. But you get what you get?—”

“And you don’t throw a fit?”

Katrina interjects with a smile.

I offer a brief smile in return, before remembering that Jayne is watching us. “That’s something Rashelle likes to say to the children. Yes. Anyway, they’re by far one of the most produced models by BioNex, and their affordability means there’re a lot of them.”

“Over ten thousand in New Carnegie alone,”

Jayne says. “It was not fun combing through BioNex’s registration index, let me tell you. I had to spearhead a fuckin’ miniature task force. You know how stressful that is, lording over ten other nerds doing the exact same mundane thing over and over again?”

She sighs. “I am not for spreadsheets.”

“Sounds like fun,”

Katrina offers dryly.

“It was shit.”

Jayne sniffs. “Anyway, based on the droid’s appearance, we narrowed it down to five hundred models in that particular style, then we cross-referenced owner data with social media to see if we noticed anything odd. Then we found him.”

She presents a mugshot of a balding middle-aged man. “His name’s Andrew Clayton. No criminal record. He’s a pharmacist, works not even five minutes away from the Carson residence in that little mom-and-pop place on South and Bezos. He bought his android three years back.”

“Any link to TerraPura?”

“Absolutely. He’s been dabbling with them for a couple years now. Lower echelon. Apparently, his investment portfolio crashed when DigiPenny went under. Just one poor decision after another from there.”

“Why go after the Carsons?”

“Oh, he’s not telling us. He lawyered up and everything.”

Jayne leans back in her chair. “But we subpoenaed his bank records, and he received three fairly large deposits in the past three weeks. Nine thousand nine-hundred ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. Every time.”

“All nines?”

Katrina asks. “Does that mean something?”

“Any deposits ten thousand dollars and over have to be catalogued and reported by banking establishments,”

I reply. “Federal law. It’s how they combat money-laundering and the funding of terrorist activities.”

“Right.”