Chapter 5
“How long have you been standing there like that?” Electra asks, stepping out of his room. She comes to stand beside him and joins him in staring at the bleak image framed by the empty particle panes.
“Not long,” he lies. It’s been almost an hour since Tommy left.
She nods to the smog-filled Minneapolis–Saint Paul cityscape. “Is that the real outside?”
“Unfortunately,” he says, trying to imagine what his world must look like to a woman who could walk outside without a respirator during her time.
She covers her mouth as tears well in her eyes. “How horrible. Was it gradual or all at once? Can you still go outside? What about the plants and animals?”
He shakes his head, glad he won’t have to be the one to deliver such disappointing news. “Tommy said he downloaded some history videos for you to watch. They’ll answer all your questions.”
“He did. It would have been nice if you’d shown me how to work the tablet.” She crosses her arms defensively.
“I’ve already been scolded by Tommy for my negligence.”
Beside him, she huffs. “Are you sure you’re not a robot?”
Some unknown gravity has him pivoting toward her. She turns to face him as well, and her freckles, considered a genetic defect by modern standards, draw his attention. They’re so lovely, reminding him of the stars that dot the night ceiling in the simulation chamber.
“What?” she says, brushing fingers across her cheek.
“I’m no more of a robot than you are,” he says.
Her lips quirk. “Well, considering I’m one of these resurrected manupartner people, that isn’t as comforting as you think it is.”
He takes a long inhale, releasing it slowly. “Do you feel hungry, Electra?”
“No, I do not,” she says robotically. Her hands shoot up so her arms bend at a ninety-degree angle, and she starts walking around the room stiffly. “Do you feel hungry, Res6?”
A sudden burst of laughter surprises him as he realizes what she’s doing. “Are you making fun of me? That is highly inconsiderate.” Though he should be offended, the teasing evokes a distantly familiar lightness, reminding him of when Jerme was alive. No one has teased him since Jerme.
“Obviously. To answer your question, no, I’m not hungry. I’m not a houseplant you put in a sunny corner and water once a week.”
He groans. What does she expect from him? He really needs to lay out a plan like Tommy suggested. She follows him to the kitchen. He grabs two bottles of Storm Brew from the refrigerator, pops the resealable caps, and hands one to her.
She inspects the blue and gray bottle. Its label displays bubble lettering being blown around by a cyclone. “What’s this?”
“Alcohol. I rarely drink, but—”
“I’m driving you to it?” She grins at her own joke.
“Precisely.”
Her nose wrinkles as she takes a tentative sip. She coughs, smacking her chest with her free hand. “This is bad,” she chokes out.
“It’s an acquired taste. You don’t have to drink it.”
She takes another sip that goes down better. “Don’t worry. I’ll acquire it.”
He walks back to the living room, assuming she’ll follow. She does a moment later, carrying the Storm Brew, a bottle of water, and a box of Crack Tacks. “I’m not hungry. I just can’t drink without eating something. Bothers my stomach.”
She sets everything down on his coffee table and opens the box, lifting it to her face.
Her nose wrinkles as she sniffs. There is a part of him that could watch her all day, as unhealthy as that sounds.
She’s so unlike the people of his time. Expressive?
Flawed? Definitely sarcastic. But she’s funny.
Her snappy way of speaking isn’t remotely measured, and she most assuredly needs a Respectful and Considerate Conduct Course at some point.
It reminds him of Jerme’s easy demeanor and—
An exaggerated moan slips past her lips. “I don’t know what this flavor is, but I love it.” She hums in delight as she chews.
The sound is mesmerizing.
She finishes the crunchy snack and glances up, catching him staring at her.
He lowers his gaze as heat crawls up his neck.
A few beats of silence pass. Her brow furrows—shit, he’s staring again.
It’s unsettling how his eyes keep gravitating toward her, but what is he expected to do? She’s just so . . . different. Real.
But if he tells everyone they encounter that she’s a prototype, it might just work.
The potential publicity, if he considers it from that angle, is intriguing.
Seems that an initial test is in order. Tommy said she needs clothes, so they’ll go on a trial shopping outing.
There. Two problems solved. “Since you’re clean,” he says, and she gives him a derisive snort, “and dressed, perhaps we should venture out to find you some clothing so we can begin your acclimation to the world now.”
“I thought you said you were too busy with work.”
He said that, didn’t he? Technically it’s true, considering the copious amount of time he’s spent this week oscillating between what to do with her and the implications of resurrecting his twin.
At least he came to a determination about one of his two issues.
Now that he’s officially decided to bring Jerme back—or attempt to—he’s eager to get the first trial underway, but one task at a time.
Once he has a solid plan for the woman in his unit, he’ll redirect his full focus to his brother’s resurrection.
It’s unrealistic to think he’ll succeed on the first try.
He considered accelerating the grow time, but that typically yields a higher failure rate.
The experiment might carry on for a few weeks; therefore, his Electra problem is more immediate.
He shakes off the thought. “My work can wait. Tommy illuminated the error in my logic.” He gestures toward the door. “Shall we?”
“Not that I’m not thrilled at the opportunity, but shouldn’t I learn a little about the world so I know what to expect before you thrust me out into it?” she asks.
Ah, finally something he has a solution for. He clears his throat authoritatively. He needs to convey that he has everything under control. “No need to worry. I have a plan.” She grins, buoying his resolve. “You can be one hundred percent yourself.”
“What’s the catch?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.
“No catch. If anyone notices anything off about you, we’ll say you’re a new manupartner prototype.” See, Electra. I can be a considerate human being. He awaits her approval.
“Okay . . .” She’s clearly still skeptical. “Sounds too easy. You aren’t afraid of our being caught anymore?”
Not exactly, but Tommy’s suggestion of saying she’s a prototype seems like a rational middle ground. Maybe he’s giving her too much credit. “I assume you have enough common sense not to mention that.”
She nods, which is reassuring. “So, when someone is curious about me, we just tell them I’m a new prototype. Easy enough, I guess.”
“Exactly. If Tommy is right, everyone is going to be curious about you, which will create interest in what is next from CHOICElover. I would expect to see a bump in sales next quarter.” He motions toward the door.
“Shall we?” Her mouth has fallen open, and he’s unsure if he’s said something wrong. “Electra?”
Abruptly she gets up, abandoning her drinks, and for a moment he thinks she’s agreeing to venture out.
But then she angles around his desk, heading not to the door which would lead out of his unit, but back to the bedroom.
He’s on his feet and marching toward her before he can consider his actions. “Electra, wait! What have I done now?”
She spins. “I stupidly thought maybe we were getting somewhere. But your big plan is to use me as advertising for your horrendous company?! I’ve never in my life—” She slams the door in his face.
He groans. Not this again. Her emotional outbursts are so like his brother’s, it’s uncanny.
Jerme. His blood runs cold. What if she harms herself?
He hadn’t been paying close enough attention, and he failed his brother.
He can’t let that happen to Electra. He needs her.
Well, the data from her scans. Plus, she’s his responsibility, so in a way, his conscience needs her alive.
Considering she and Jerme seem to be similar, maybe having her around will be good for Jerme too—when Res6 gets him back.
Connecting them isn’t a terrible idea. Between her shower and Tommy’s several excellent suggestions, this is really turning out to be a productive day!
“Electra,” he calls through the door. “Please come out. I didn’t mean to upset you. Doesn’t shopping sound fun?”
The door flies open, and her head pokes out. “I loathe shopping. I don’t want anything to do with you or your unicoin!”
“But how are you going to acclimatize? What are you going to wear? Tommy said—”
“I don’t care what Tommy said! You know what, I think I’m going to go watch those history videos now so I can see what is wrong with you people. Then I’m going to figure out what I can do about it.”
The door slams closed.
Well, that doesn’t sound like she wants to harm herself. And why wouldn’t she care what Tommy says? The man has been his and Lextr’s voice of reason since he hired him ten years ago. If it were up to Lextr, she’d be decommissioned. So what now?
You need to do some research. Figure out who she was. Ah, yes. Research. It’s annoying how often Tommy’s right. He should write down his suggestions while they’re still fresh in his mind.
Another Storm Brew is exactly what will make this task more pleasant.
He shoots his closed bedroom door a final annoyed glance before going to the refrigerator.
Beer in hand, he sits down at his computer and opens the Scrawl app.
At the top of the list, there are a dozen new Brain Dump files, obviously from her.
What could she possibly fill so many entries with?
Maybe he’ll read them later. No, terrible idea.
Nothing of interest, to be sure, and certainly not worth his time.