Chapter 12
Sera
I got off the subway train and walked fast, ducking between people with my face turned down so it wouldn’t be caught on camera. I didn’t know how far Clanker’s reach was—all the more reason to act fast.
I’d grabbed a complimentary umbrella in the hotel’s lobby, and now I opened it as soon as I came out of the subway station.
It was a clear-skied night, and an open umbrella would look ridiculous in any other place, but this was Neo Tokyo.
I saw people dressed as cats, someone with green paint covering all of their skin, and a massive shehru wearing a tutu.
It was the capital of happy fashion, and I blended right in.
My umbrella was pink and had ears.
Around half of the people in the crowd had robots with them, too.
They ranged from cute, robotic animals to enormous, hunkering androids clearly meant as security.
The biggest of them wore a black eyepatch, likely for show, and a pirate hat.
On its shoulder sat a slim, young woman with pink hair.
She laughed, urging her robot to go faster.
I kept my gaze low, telling myself it was wrong to miss my bodyguard, even though I did. I felt horribly exposed without him.
When Clanker was busy talking to Charlie, I couldn’t sit still and do nothing. The likelihood of them deciding to abort my mission and bring me back home was too high, so I came up with the simplest plan that could work. Maybe. If I was extremely lucky.
It was time for stage one.
I closed my umbrella when I entered a small fusion pub that was supposed to serve “Western drinks in Eastern style”.
I read on a forum that this was where Zenkyoza employees liked to go in the evenings after work—usually young interns who had no families and salaries too low to make up for their hectic work environment.
They came here to commiserate with each other and dull their stress with alcohol.
“Irasshaimase!” A life-sized hologram of a handsome doorman appeared in front of me, welcoming me inside. I almost jumped out of my skin, it was so unexpected.
“Where can I put my umbrella?” I asked in Japanese after I regained my breath, then followed the apparition to an unoccupied bar seat.
The bar was tended by two tall, muscular Japanese men wearing female kimonos and geisha makeup—white paint with tiny red lips.
Two women wearing suits sat on my right, talking quickly in hushed voices.
One still carried her employee placard pinned to the lapel of her suit.
I spied the Zenkyoza logo and smiled at the bartender.
“Could I please have some water first? Thank you.”
He nodded without smiling back. I accepted a tall glass clinking with ice cubes and sipped it slowly while scanning the room. Most patrons wore cheap suits, confirming this was likely the place Zenkyoza underlings liked to get their drink on.
It was a human bar, which I should have realized when crossing the threshold. The entrance was too narrow to fit a shehru or any other member of a large species. While the law in most countries, Japan included, prohibited species discrimination, bigots always found ways to limit access.
It fit in with what I knew about Zenkyoza and most robot companies. They were elitist and pro-human, or at least, they started that way. I knew VerdeLumen pivoted, experimenting with tentacled robots based on kraken and vodnik physiology. But Zenkyoza was staunchly devoted to androids.
Robot research and production was first motivated by a perceived inferiority of the human race.
We knew we were weaker, slower, smaller, and often had shorter lifespans than many other sentient species.
The robot industry had its roots in true cyborg research.
The pioneers first tried to find ways to enhance humans so we could keep up, and likely surpass, other species.
When it became apparent integrating robotic enhancements into an organic was far too tricky, the companies pivoted toward robot production. Now, everyone used bots, not just humans, but the elitist ethos was built into the industry.
I focused on two young men sitting together at a table partly hidden by a paper screen. Both hunched over their drinks and seemed low on self-esteem, judging by their body language and bad haircuts. I watched them for a moment, sipping my water, then left for the bathroom.
It was time to see if self-conscious Japanese men were susceptible to the same tricks as the American ones.
When I was about to enter the restroom, a short android came out, scanning me with bright yellow eyes.
It carried a box with cleaning supplies, but put it away and executed a deep bow before scurrying away.
It was clearly programmed for excessive deference toward the pub’s patrons, and I sighed with pity and distaste.
Was it just egregious technology abuse, or slavery? I had no idea, and it bugged me. Before I met Clanker, everything seemed much simpler. Now, I didn’t know what to think anymore.
All the more reason to uncover Zenkyoza’s secrets and publicize the truth.
I had no makeup, and I wore only the simple T-shirt and shorts that Clanker got printed for me.
The shorts were fine, but the tee was way too demure.
I ripped one side of my neckline, baring my shoulder and a hint of my bra, then tied the bottom, exposing an inch of my midriff.
Lastly, I undid my braid. My hair fell down my arms in long, purple waves. Good enough.
Looking over my shoulder in the mirror, I made sure no scars were visible. I wasn’t above flashing my tits in return for good information, but I drew the line at showing my back.
As I went back to my seat, I checked the men’s reactions in the mirror over the bar. Both followed me with their gazes, their faces slack, eyes eager. Yet when I turned, seemingly to shift my chair, both ducked their heads. I hid a private smile. Bingo.
Now, I had to wait. This was the most uncertain part of the plan.
I needed one of them to leave the table, so I could communicate my interest to the other.
If I approached them together, they would both succumb to their self-consciousness and either escape me or try to compete with each other, which would be tedious and unhelpful.
Five minutes later, one of them excused himself to go to the bathroom. As soon as he was gone, I sat in his abandoned seat. The man across from me had pudgy cheeks that made his face seem too big for his slim body. They were pockmarked with acne scars.
“Do you believe in soul kinship?” I asked in Japanese, letting my accent be thicker than normal. “Because I can tell you I felt something as soon as I saw you. Buy me a drink if you feel the same.”
I winked, giving him a slow smile, and sauntered back to my seat, swaying my hips. Su, my former friend, once called me a maneater after she saw this trick in action.
The man made a sound, something akin to a choking snort.
Gotcha.
Five minutes later, I sat back at his table, nursing a pink, sickeningly sweet cocktail he got for me. My target convinced his friend to leave and now gazed at me, blushing furiously. I felt a pang of remorse but quashed it. This was part of the job, and I was good at it.
“Please, I have to know.” I filled the awkward silence. “If you have a girlfriend, tell me right now. It will break my heart, but I’d rather know sooner than later.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said at once. “What’s your name? You are b-beautiful.”
I gave him the fake name Clanker made up for me and went on to weave a web of small compliments and flirtations that usually worked best on this type of man. He stuttered and tripped over his tongue whenever he spoke, and seemed relieved when I did most of the talking.
Soon, he downed his fifth cheap Scotch by the time I sipped one third of my cocktail. He grew more boisterous and confident with each one, and now got up, swaying. The table moved with a loud screech when he leaned on it to keep his balance.
“You’re right. You are my soulmate,” he said, watching me with reddened eyes glazed with alcohol. “Will you c-come home with me?”
I stood up, giving him a warm smile. “I have to make sure you are the right kind of man first,” I purred. “Could you give me a hug? I need to see how we fit together.”
He blinked at me, taken aback by such a forward proposition, but the alcohol had done its job.
After only a moment of hesitation, he lurched forward and pressed me close, his hands landing dangerously low on my back.
I hugged him and wiggled a bit, hopefully scattering his thoughts enough that he wouldn’t notice it when I pinched his Zenkyoza placard.
The bartender who served me rolled his eyes, shaking his head with reproach when our eyes met. He knew I was up to no good, but I didn’t think he saw enough to out me.
“I am so sorry,” I said, pulling away from my target.
I let my face crumple in a look of pure misery.
“I don’t know how this happened, but I must have been wrong.
You are so handsome and smart, and I was certain you would be perfect for me, but we don’t fit after all.
I apologize for wasting your time. I’m sorry. ”
He protested my assessment, at which point I pressed my hand to my mouth, faking a sob. I turned and ran out of there, grabbing a hat and a dark jacket off the coat rack by the door. I took the first corner I saw, putting distance between me and possible pursuit.
Luckily, no one followed. I chose my victim well. In the past, I miscalculated once and ended up having to knee a drunk would-be rapist in the junk. It was worth it, because my best articles were written thanks to information dragged out of horny men who fell for my kindred soul act.
I set off toward Zenkyoza HQ, patting the employee placard in my pocket. It had a magnetic strip on the back, confirming it doubled as means of authentication. I was mildly surprised Zenkyoza didn’t use more advanced methods, but maybe they didn’t bother with them for trainees.
My access would be limited with just the placard, but I wasn’t going to let this stop me. I’d improvise if I had to.
This was my only chance.
The enormous corkscrew of Zenkyoza HQ was mostly dark, with a few windows on higher levels still lit. I counted the floors to know which ones to avoid and made a beeline for a side entrance I saw employees use during my recon walk with Clanker.
The main lobby was bound to be manned, but my pilfered card would probably get me in through the side door.
I pressed it to the card reader by the door. It beeped, and the door swung open.
My hair was stuffed under the hat, and I kept my head low, hoping the jacket was enough to fool anyone who watched the cameras. I slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind me, and a clear, female voice spoke in Japanese.
“Welcome to Zenkyoza. Please, prepare for an iris scan.”
I froze. Ahead of me was another door, this one thicker and more formidable than the first. A glass panel ran through the middle, showing an empty corridor behind. Next to the door was an iris scanner, lit green and waiting for me.
I reached back blindly and pressed the door handle. The door leading outside clicked but didn’t open.
“Please, prepare for an iris scan.”
I turned toward the exit, searching for a card reader, but there wasn’t one. I tried the handle a few more times, but the door remained locked.
“An iris scan is required. Please, prepare for an iris scan.”
The scanner beeped insistently. I wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts, thinking rapidly. What would happen if I tried the scan? It couldn’t be fooled, but maybe it would let me out after it realized I didn’t belong here?
I took a halting step closer to the scanner, and froze.
Through the glass, I saw a group of six battle cyborgs enter the corridor. Their eyes shone red, and each held a long baton, clearly intended for pummeling organics into mincemeat. Their steps eerily even, they headed for me.
“I-I came here by mistake,” I said, my voice high-pitched from fear. “L-let me out! Or I’ll call the police!”
The cool female voice gained a harder edge. “You are currently on corporate premises, and thus subject to corporate law. Please, prepare for an iris scan.”
That was true. Zenkyoza lobbied for that law and won. Once in their building, I was at their mercy, and the police had no jurisdiction here.
This was all a trap designed to catch and probably disappear people like me. I stared with helpless terror at the robots marching toward me, and remembered Zenkyoza had no qualms about trying to get me killed even back in the States. Here on their home turf, they could do anything to me.
“Let me out,” I pleaded, knowing it was pointless.
Suddenly, another voice spoke from the speakers. It was female and almost certainly human.
“Sera Evans. Welcome to Zenkyoza. I’ve waited a long time to get you.”
I shook my head, confused. The speakers burst with static and the AI voice spoke again, “Please, prepare for an iris scan.”
The battle bots were almost to the door. I slammed my eyelids shut and prayed to my dead mother to save me.
I needed a miracle.
“Mom, please. Somebody! I beg you. Don’t let me die!”