Chapter 16
Electra
“Yes, Electra, you’re healed. The scanner says your cancer risk is now zero.” He keeps staring as tears bubble up and stream down her cheeks—though this round of staring is less amusement and more deer-in-headlights. “I don’t understand. I thought that would make you happy?”
She fans herself as wave after wave of emotion hits her.
She will not die like her mom did. It should be a relief, but it’s overwhelming to know that she had to get hit by a trolley and end up in the future to stop it from happening.
“I am. It’s all so much to process. Can we please leave this place now? ”
She lifts trembling hands and wipes her eyes. “True, but today, it’s a crime scene. Remember? I need to get out of here.”
Res6 grips her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. God, she’s crying into his chest again. But it feels so good, so safe, that she can’t seem to push him away.
He squeezes her with one arm. His other gently strokes her hair. His care is so warm and inviting that it makes her miss the sanctuary of his bed—
“If we go back to my unit, you aren’t allowed to lock yourself in the bedroom.”
“You can’t read my mind now, can you?” She glares at the chamber she just exited like it’s the bad guy.
He chuckles. “No bed, Electra.”
What else is one supposed to do after enduring a life-threatening situation?
Have a party? While she’s extremely grateful to be alive and have her genetic predisposition for disease eliminated, for a moment there, the other shoe felt precariously close to dropping.
Realistically, how much trauma can one woman endure?
Hasn’t she been through enough for one lifetime?
She wants—no, needs—a break. Just a few years, maybe ten or twenty, without a tragedy, thank you very much.
“Electra, the tests show that your hearing is fine, so that must mean you’re ignoring me,” he says.
Apparently, he won’t let her slink back to his bedroom to hide out. “I’m not ignoring you. I’m in my head. Sorry. Do you have a better plan?”
He looks thoughtful for a moment.
“Oh God, please tell me you’re not cooking up another one of your outings.”
He huffs. “How about ice cream?”
“We were just robbed at gunpoint, and you want ice cream?” How is he not lagging from the aftermath of an adrenaline spike like a normal person? “That’s it. You’re definitely a robot. What about your leg?”
He gives her an exasperated groan. “It’s fully healed, and even if I still had some lingering pain, it wouldn’t be enough to prevent us from getting ice cream.
” When she doesn’t respond, he adds, “We can go to the lake simulation I told you about—not the holo-lake center. This one’s in the simulation chamber in my tower. ”
At this point, she’s feeling a little lightheaded and jittery from the adrenaline overload. A private lake simulation might be nice. She nods, understanding. “Because water is soothing.”
“Exactly! You’re welcome to congratulate me on my excellent idea.” He offers her a sly grin, and she wonders if he’s pretending like she’s a manupartner again, or just finally getting used to being around a real woman. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll take my compliment.”
She laughs loudly. “That’s never going to happen, so don’t hold your breath.”
“Why would I hold my breath?” His eyes narrow. “Another metaphor?”
“Yeah. It’s a saying from my time—a hyperbole that means something is likely to take a long time if it ever even happens at all.”
“So no compliment then,” he mutters, brushing it off as if her idiosyncrasies are nothing more than a minor blip. “You’ll see. The simulation will help.”
She hates to admit it, but he’s probably right. Sleeping away her latest trauma isn’t the answer. She needs to be occupied so she doesn’t spiral. “Synthetic ice cream and faux nature sound great.”
His hand presses against the small of her back, and he guides her toward the elevators. She can’t help but soak in the grounding warmth of his touch, despite all the reasons it’s a capital-B Bad Idea. Speaking of bad ideas . . .
“Don’t we need to collect Chryl?”
Res6 grimaces. “I suppose.”
They collect Chryl, who has moved onto an abduction documentary, and head toward the SAT garages.
It’s a twenty-minute ride between his office in M Quadrant and the residential A Quadrant tower, which houses the upscale simulation chambers along with his penthouse unit.
With Chryl in tow, it feels much longer.
From the backseat, the manupartner vibrates with excitement. “I looove it when we go fast!”
“Recycling her is an option, correct?” Electra asks, smirking. Not that she really wants Chryl recycled; she’s not entirely convinced the manupartner isn’t something real-adjacent. She’d just rather Chryl not be around all the time.
“I’m fine with that too.” Chryl reaches forward, squeezing Res6’s shoulders. “Whatever my handsome man needs.”
He ignores Chryl, addressing Electra instead. “I thought you were eager to leave the lab.”
“I would have gladly stayed another ten minutes to get the deal done.” She glances over her shoulder at the perpetually grinning woman. “No offense, Chryl.”
“None taken, hotcakes. We are feelings twins!”
Feelings twins? Oh God, Chryl must mean they’re thinking the same thing. She really ought to ask if manupartners have ever murdered their owners. Or their owner’s other manupartners. The thought might not be concerning outside of Chryl’s sudden interest in murder and abduction.
When no one speaks for an extended pause, Chryl fills the silence. “I loooove ice cream. I can’t wait to try it.”
Electra shakes off the thought. Chryl probably doesn’t even understand half of what she’s saying.
When they exit the SAT, the same blonde attendant from before rushes out to greet them. “Welcome home, sir!”
The attendant’s eyes widen as he opens the back door and helps Chryl out. He escorts her around the SAT and takes Electra’s hand, while Chryl takes his other arm. The attendant, now slack-jawed, lifts her phone, pointing it at them. Electra can only imagine what they look like to her.
Res6 holds up a hand. “No pictures, please.”
The woman lowers her device, frowning. Electra is about to give her a self-satisfied smile when she notices something on the woman’s face that wasn’t there earlier.
She squeezes Res6’s hand to get his attention.
She nods to the attendant and lowers her voice to ask, “Did she have a procedure to get freckles or are those drawn on?”
Res6’s nose wrinkles. “Not sure.”
The woman responds to their staring by lifting her chin as if she’s on display. “Do you like them?”
On Res6’s opposite side, Chryl bounces. “Oh, I get it. She got freckles like yours, Electra, to impress Daddy!”
The woman’s pale skin flushes scarlet.
Res6 clears his throat. “They look nice.”
As they walk away, Electra glances back to see the woman fanning herself, making the eye roll she can’t hold back entirely justified.
The ice cream stand is on floor one hundred, along with a dozen other food stalls set up like a mall cafeteria.
Chryl steps up to the counter. “I would like that one.” She points to a rainbow-colored pan of ice cream. “Ten scoops!”
The employee glances at Res6 for approval. “Two scoops will be fine.”
“I want two scoops!” Chryl corrects.
Electra orders chocolate mint and, in an interesting twist, Res6 orders one called balsamic strawberry. A giggle escapes as the employee hands Res6 the cone.
He turns to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”
“I totally thought you were going to get vanilla.”
He chuffs, peering down at her as he takes a lick. “I am anything but vanilla, Electra Lynch.”
She glances away quickly, her stomach doing a series of acrobatic stunts she’d just as soon avoid.
How does he do that? Right, he’s definitely pretending she’s a manupartner again, though he isn’t, dare she say, flirting with Chryl.
No, even if he’s flirting with her, remember what happened last time, Electra?
He fooled you into thinking he gave a shit, then got all concerned about his precious company.
But then he saved you and let the men take the cases.
But then a murder, even if it were a manupartner as far as the world knew, would be bad press.
She takes a lick of her ice cream, deciding to ignore him.
When they turn for the elevators, they’re met by a handful of gawking bystanders holding phones pointed in their direction. Chryl steps between the onlookers and Res6, holding a palm out. “No pictures, please.”
“At least she’s good for something,” Electra mutters.
Res6 chuckles as the elevator doors slide closed.
“I’m good for a great many things, hotcakes.” Chryl looks her dead in the eye and gives her an exaggerated wink.
Wait. Does Chryl think they’re in competition for Res6’s affection?
Or is she still angling for a three-way?
To what extent do the manupartners retain human instincts or are they purely a product of genetic programming?
She needs to add that to the list of things to ask Res6 about next time they’re alone.
Not that she finds the monstrosities interesting. She’s merely curious.
It takes fifteen minutes for them to get Chryl set up in her own simulation chamber. She requested a song and dance theme, claiming “I’ve got the music in me!” which Electra’s pretty sure is the title of a 1970s pop song.
“Well, that’s something,” she says, walking past the counter for the fifth time. Is Res6’s pacing rubbing off on her? Oh God. She stops abruptly. It’s just her normal anxious energy vibrating through her that needs an outlet. She’s got to start the column soon and give it one.