Chapter 2
Sera
“That’s impossible. You must have counted it wrong.”
I reached for the tablet in the clanker’s hand with irritation, but my consultant rolled away in its office chair, gesturing at a white wall. The lights lowered, and the chart with MSA’s pricing bloomed crisp and blue on the wall.
We sat in a large, comfortable conference room devoid of windows. The clanker just told me the only protection I could afford was from one of its kind.
“See?” I said with exasperation, quickly counting in my head. “I can afford a shehru, for example. I have enough money!”
The clanker’s face was perfectly neutral, its voice calm. “Yes, Miss Evans. But that’s only the daily rate. As the bodyguard’s employer, you are also responsible for food and accommodation. That will add about twenty percent to the fee. The shehru eat a lot.”
“Oh, for fuck’s—” I pressed my lips together, furious with myself for not having considered this. I was good at research normally, but the bomb screwed with my head. I unraveled.
“Take your time, please. I will work with you to find the most favorable solution, and I promise I’ll do my best to help you stay safe.”
I glanced at the thing. Its handsome, perfectly symmetrical face sported an expression of amiable helpfulness. For a moment, I was grateful. I felt desperately alone ever since my car blew up, and neither the police nor my friends were willing to help me.
“We’re doing everything we can, Miss Evans. Oh, another email filled with death threats? Put it in the pile, we’ll get to it.”
But my so-called friends were even worse than the indifferent police officers.
“What did you expect, Sera? You’re hurting their business, and all they care about is money. I’m surprised they waited this long before trying to shut you up for good. Do the smart thing if you want this to go away. Apologize and drop this vendetta. It’s been six years. Long enough to grieve.”
It was three days ago. I just told Su, whom I considered my closest friend at the time, about the bomb.
I told her in detail how it blew up while I stood nearby, close enough to feel the blast, far enough to be spared injuries.
I told her about the cat that jumped on the hood, triggering the explosion.
About what was left of it.
All she had for me was annoyance and exasperation. Her opinion was clear. She thought it was my fault.
My consultant was the first… entity… that expressed any sort of kindness. But that was how they were programmed, I reminded myself. An AI will agree with you on everything, flatter you, and be your best friend—until it fucks up so bad, you’ll end up with your brains splattered on the windshield.
I slumped in my chair, staring at the pricing chart. So this was it, wasn’t it? I was truly out of options.
“What if I only hire him for a week…” I began hesitantly, but the thing shook its head.
“We have three shehru agents in the Los Angeles area, and all are occupied at the moment. For your needs, I would suggest a golem or an ursa, but their rates will be higher considering your current risk level. They are not completely bulletproof unlike the shehru.”
My eyes kept straying to the cheapest option. Battle Enhanced Cyborg. All one needed was a wall socket. No food, no bed. After all, it was a machine that didn’t need personal space or any comforts. All it would cost me was the fee.
Moreover, I would be able to get it for almost two months. Right now, two months seemed like an eternity. I could figure things out in two months. I could solve this.
But the ease was a lie, and the price for believing it was death.
I shook my head, but my consultant spoke before me.
“Let me show you our statistics.” The chart on the wall changed, displaying two columns with percentage values.
“On the left, you see the success rates of our organic agents, and on the right, the success rates of our cyborg agents. As you can see, both are high with the organic rate slightly higher.”
“Eighty-six percent for the cyborgs,” I muttered, frowning in disbelief. “What do you consider a success?”
“The client is alive and structurally intact at the end of the assignment.”
I rolled my chair around to stare at him. “Structurally intact? What does that mean?”
He—it—gave me a small smile, and I pursed my lips, looking away. It seemed so unnatural for a being made of metal to be able to smile, but the material his face was made of was a patented composite that gave it the durability of titanium and the flexibility of silicone. It was uncanny.
“It means no broken bones or significant physical trauma. We regard scrapes or shallow flesh wounds to be acceptable, considering the general nature of our assignments.”
“So, out of a hundred clients, eighty-six survive to tell the tale?”
His smile widened, and I huffed in exasperation. My treacherous ape-descended mind gave this thing a person pronoun because it smiled at me. Next thing I knew, I would trust it, and then I’d be dead.
Just like Mom.
“No, Miss Evans. Out of a hundred, ninety-four clients survive. Out of that number, eighty-six are in almost perfect condition. The other eight have to recover from broken bones, severe burns, gunshot wounds, or radiation exposure. I see here you have been threatened with decapitation, rape, prolonged torture, drowning, and dismemberment among others. Currently, the risk of those threats becoming a reality is very high. If you employ the Monster Security Agency, the risk of your demise will fall to around six percent.”
I bristled. “How do you know about the threats? Have you hacked into the police records? That’s illegal!”
The machine slowly shook its head. “You’ve made that information public yourself. It’s on your blog.”
“But I have anti-AI protocols…”
“I am not an AI as you understand it. I am sentient. Also, it would be remiss of me not to inform you those protocols are not reliable. Your blog has been indexed multiple times from what I see.”
I gritted my teeth and looked away, thwarting the rage boiling in my stomach. I wanted to rant about devious algorithms devouring my content to churn out stupid, soulless slop for lazy people. But it wouldn’t help me, would it?
That’s not important right now. Focus!
Right. My task was to survive. Everything else I could take care of later.
I stared at the numbers until they danced before my eyes. An eighty-six percent success rate was high, but I would never believe an AI could actually protect someone that well. The numbers must have been rigged somehow.
I swiveled toward the door, my heart pounding sickly. It was time to face the music. There was nothing for me here.
“Our cyborgs are the most advanced on the market,” Charlie spoke, making me jerk. He was so still, I almost forgot him, too preoccupied with my terror. “They are manufactured by VerdeLumen Biomechatronics.”
He paused, and I shot him a surprised look. “Really? Hardly anyone uses VerdeLumen in the US outside of highly technical applications. All other companies that offer cyborg protection use models from Zenkyoza.”
He inclined his head, and I berated myself once more for giving him that undeserved pronoun. He’s not a person!
“We believe in excellence. That is why we’ve chosen the most excellent robot supplier on the market. Zenkyoza models are cheaper, but for the MSA, price is of little consequence.”
A tiny spark of hope flickered in my chest. VerdeLumen was not involved in my mother’s accident. Maybe I could…
But no. AI was AI, and I couldn’t trust it.
“Do you know why we call our mechatronic agents cyborgs, Miss Evans?”
I shrugged. “Probably to make them seem less soulless. Cyborg implies a strong sentient element. After all, the word originally meant a member of a sentient species enhanced with implants or other cybernetic features. They are a person at their core.”
He nodded, and if my words offended him, he didn’t show it. “Precisely.”
I blinked. “Really? It’s a marketing gimmick to make them seem more like people?”
“It’s to signify that at their core, our cyborgs possess a powerful sentient element.
Our databases are like no others, including millions of hours of footage from our agents in the field.
On top of that, each of our duty-ready cyborgs has undergone extensive training shadowing multiple organic agents.
Their programming allows for advanced flexibility prioritizing one thing only: the client’s safety.
They don’t have safeguards—not as you understand them.
We allow them to come as close to free will as possible for an artificial intelligence that has not awakened. That is—attained sentience.”
I considered this. VerdeLumen was the only robot manufacturer I had no dirt on, and not for the lack of trying.
They were scrupulous to a fault and never released a model that wasn’t thoroughly tested.
There were no deaths on their conscience as far as I could tell, which might have meant, of course, that they were better at hushing things up than Zenkyoza.
I was honest enough to admit it wasn’t likely. VerdeLumen models were made with enough attention to detail to be reliable and safe.
People called their creations “ethical AI”. I scoffed. All AI technology was unethical. It should all be abolished.
Lobotomized and killed. I winced. It was unfortunate some people saw my endeavors that way when all I wanted was to make the world a safer place.
“Were you also manufactured by VerdeLumen?” I asked Charlie, who nodded. “And are you available?”
It was a hypothetical question, I told myself. I couldn’t betray everything I stood for by hiring a cyborg, no matter how desperate my circumstances were.
“No, Miss Evans. I work only as an MSA consultant. I’ve left active duty behind on the day of my awakening.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why? Are you less capable now that you’re supposedly sentient?”