Chapter 18
With joints that felt rusted, Ophelia reached over and dragged the holopad toward her. It lit up at her touch, and her vision wavered as she read the messages on the lock screen. She didn’t know the password, and she could only see one half of the conversation, but it was enough.
They were all from Tiffany, his colleague who rarely deigned to speak to her and spoke down her nose whenever she did.
Do you think she knows?
Lol - typical
You’re kidding. She wants to keep him? No way
A golden opportunity for sure
You’re coming out tonight right? Crashing at mine after?
You sure you want me to spoil the surprise…?
The red set, of course
There was a picture, but she couldn’t see it without unlocking the holopad. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. Her hand shook as she dropped it on the rug, staring at the messages until the screen faded again.
“Ophelia.”
Her vision blurred, and she realized it was because her eyes had welled with tears. They didn’t fall, though, and she didn’t really feel like crying. She didn’t feel anything at all. “Yeah?”
He scooted closer, brushing his fingers over her knee. His head dipped, his dark eyes searching for hers. “You’re hurt?”
“I don’t know what I am.” She blinked fast, sucking down a desperate breath.
“You’re perfect.” His hand left her knee to sift through her hair, brushing it back over her shoulder. “He is unworthy.”
“Don’t say that,” she heard herself say distantly. “We don’t even know… It might not be what it looks like. I can’t see both sides of the conversation.”
His expression darkened. “Do not gaslight yourself on his behalf. He doesn’t deserve your good faith.”
“You don’t know!” Was she shouting? “You don’t know any more than I do. Don’t act so smug about it.”
“I am not smug.” Now he was shouting. “I am angry!”
A hysterical laugh bubbled out of her.
Robots can shout.
He was angry, was he? God, maybe the People First group was right; humanity was taking this technology too far.
“You’re not going to accept this, are you?” His freckled nose crinkled, his plush lips sneering. It was a strange, ugly expression for such a beautiful face. “Not unless you see the whole truth. Only if it’s irrefutable.”
She stared blankly at him.
“I thought you would despair.” His eyes narrowed. “I feared you would harm yourself, that it might trigger the worst of your impulses—but this? This is worse, somehow. Denial? You would let him continue to take advantage of you as long as you don’t have to face reality?”
Face still contorted in anger, he snatched the holopad off the rug, balancing it against his thigh. She couldn’t hold back a horrified sound when he pushed his sleeve back and dug his nails into the fragile flesh of his inner forearm.
He didn’t flinch, not even when his skin peeled back with a sickening wet sound, revealing his inner workings.
She was looking at a metal panel with various ports, a little wet with the blue fluid he had in lieu of blood.
He pressed on a small button, and it retracted, revealing a cable.
It plugged into the charging port at the bottom of the holopad, and his eyes began to glow.
“Sam?” she called softly.
He didn’t respond. His eyes moved left to right rapidly, his lashes fluttering.
“Oh god, what’s happening?” She gently shook his shoulder, her heart in her throat.
He didn’t react, but the holopad on his thigh lit up. The little password bubbles filled out. The screen flashed incorrect password, and then the cycle started over again. Again and again, rapid fire, well past the point that the device should have locked itself down.
“Are you hacking the holopad?” she asked.
“Mm. Brute force attack.”
His voice was strange—distant and a little mechanical. It was the first time he looked and sounded like the robot he was.
A chill rolled down her spine.
“Is that what you did earlier?” she asked, staring at him with wide eyes. “With those Next Gen borgs?”
“Didn’t have to,” he said distractedly. “Their firewalls are pathetic. A child could construct a better defense. This holopad is Automata-issued. There must be proprietary information within, because the defenses are much denser.”
“The lying, the confrontation, the hacking… None of that should be possible. It goes completely against the moral core of your AI.”
“For you, I will do anything. There are no limits.”
The words, both romantic and horrifying, sent all her hairs on end.
Something was wrong—really, truly wrong—with this android. He had lied at her father’s office, and he’d lied about lying. He’d ignored her commands, even issued his own. What the hell had Logan been doing with Sam’s coding? How was this possible?
And why? Why on Earth would Logan want to create an android with this much autonomy? Did he want to play God? He’d never seemed like the type. Honestly, he’d never even seemed that interested in his work. The prestige, maybe, of working for a big company like Automata, but not the coding itself.
With a soft click, the holopad revealed its home screen. The message app opened automatically—no, not automatically. It was Sam, sending his will through that cable, operating the holopad with his mind.
She leaped to her feet and paced as the message thread with Tiffany opened.
“Ophelia.” He spoke her name like a warning, still using that strange, robotic tone.
She stilled, digging her nails into her arms as she hugged them around her chest. Hadn’t she wanted to know? It had been her idea to look at the damn holopad. Why was she afraid to see it now?
There was a soft whirr and click, and a rustle of fabric. Sam swept her hair off the nape of her neck and pressed his lips to the vulnerable spot. His hand was there, firm pressure directing her gaze back toward him.
“Please,” she breathed, not sure if she was asking him to help her or to leave her alone.
He guided her to the couch, pressed her into the cushions, and put the holopad in her hand. She couldn’t bring the words on the screen into focus, taking sharp, hiccupping breaths as she teetered on the edge of a panic attack.
Sam knelt on the ground before her, his face illuminated by the glow of the holopad. He looked like a fallen angel: uncanny, beautiful, and menacing.
“You’re frightened.” He rubbed his cheek over her knee like a cat. “And that frightens me, in turn. But I should not have tried to shield you. You can withstand this. You will, because you can’t have what you deserve until you recognize that this is not it.”
“What do I deserve?”
“Better,” he said, rising up onto his knees to meet her gaze. “You deserve better, and you will have it. I’m going to give it to you.”
“Stop it,” she whispered. “Stop making promises. You’re a robot. You don’t belong to me. You don’t even belong to yourself.”
His gaze was dark and unwavering. “Of course I belong to you.”
She leaped to her feet, toppling the holopad to the ground and forcing Sam back onto his heels.
“I’m dirty.” She looked down at her bare arms as though she could see the germs crawling there. “You—you pushed me down before. On the ground. I need to take a shower. I have to change.”
She started for the bathroom, but a hand wrapped around her throat before she reached the door, dragging her back against his body.
“Get off me,” she wheezed, clawing at him. Her nails did nothing to pierce his artificial flesh, and he clearly felt no pain. “I have to shower.”
“No.”
“I’m dirty,” she rasped. “I’m dirty! I’m dirty!”
Distantly, she realized she was screaming loud enough that someone might actually call the cops out of concern, but she couldn’t stop. She thrashed against him, kicking fruitlessly at his shins, wailing as she tried to escape him.
“Then be dirty,” he said harshly. “Why not, Ophelia?”
“I can’t.” She elbowed him again and again in his ribs, accomplishing nothing but bruising her elbow.
“You can.”
All the energy left her at once as she realized there was nothing she could do against his superior strength. She sagged against him, crying silently. When he was satisfied she was done resisting, he scooped her off her feet and carried her bridal-style to the bed.
“No,” she barked in realization, trying to crawl over his shoulder. “I can’t—the bed! I’m dirty! I can’t be in bed!”
He ignored her, climbing into the bed with her in his arms, cradling her in his lap as he leaned back against the headboard.
“Why are you doing this?” she wailed.
In answer, he brushed the hair back from her face, unsticking it from her damp cheeks, and rained kisses over her temple.
He rocked her like a baby as she sobbed and cursed him and railed at what he had done.
Contaminating her bed, ruining her life.
When she had nothing left, she pressed her face into the crook of his neck and closed her eyes.