Freaks in the City Read online

  Enough. Even cyborgs had their limits. “Mrs. Davidson, that’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Marissa bristled, her hazel eyes sparking fury. “What makes you say that?” she bit out.

  “Because only God gets to do what the hell he wants. The rest of us mere mortals must live with our limitations.”

  Michael made a choking sound that he turned into a cough.

  Marissa’s lips curved in a triumphant smile. “But you’re not a mere mortal, are you Jay?”

  Tyler chose that moment to jog downstairs and burst into the living room wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips. “Have you seen my—?” He stopped dead, his hands shooting to his waist to ensure the towel was firmly secured. His gaze skimmed over his mom, to his father, then back to Jay. “Uh, hi.”

  “You left your robe at your apartment again, didn’t you,” Jay said. “You can borrow mine if you like.”

  The heightened color of Marissa’s cheeks had drained away, leaving her milk-pale. She raised a shaking hand to press it against her lips. “How can you be in a relationship with something like her? It’s unnatural. It’s… it’s… disgusting. She’s a thing, for God’s sake!”

  “Marissa, that’s enough.” Michael’s voice cracked out, whip-like. He slanted Jay an apologetic glance.

  It didn’t bother Jay to be called a thing. But to hear her relationship with Tyler—a relationship she treasured and nurtured to the best of her ability—labeled disgusting and unnatural…. That was more difficult to tolerate. She knew Marissa was lashing out from worry that Tyler would get hurt. But Jay would never intentionally hurt Tyler. Surely Marissa could see that she was only the one hurting him right now?

  The impulse to protect Tyler pricked Jay’s nervous system and flooded her body with adrenaline. She clamped down on the desire, locking her muscles and keeping herself very still. She knew from past experience that when her underdeveloped emotions overwhelmed logic she reacted in unpredictable ways. She could not afford to “lose it” with Marissa. Not now. Any loss of control would only give Marissa more cause to poison Jay’s relationship with her son.

  “Yes, Mom,” Tyler said, his voice sounding as cold and hard and inhuman as Jay knew her own voice could be. “That’s enough.”

  “Stop thinking with your hormones and start using your brain,” Marissa raged at him. She, too, seemed to find it difficult to stay still, for she pushed up from her seat to confront Jay, bristling and wild-eyed. A mother defending her young. “You’re doing something to him, aren’t you? Something to make him infatuated with you.”

  “If you mean secreting a specific mix of pheromones that will make your son desire me sexually, then the answer is no.”

  Marissa rocked back on her heels. The edge of the seat hit her in the back of the knees and she collapsed onto the couch. “God,” she said, the word sounding strangled. “You can do that?”

  “Yes. I can also manipulate the chemicals manufactured by my body to produce a number of useful substances that I can excrete through the pores of my skin. Flea-repellent, for instance. Fifi benefitted greatly from this ability.”

  “Fifi?”

  “Your elderly neighbor’s dog.”

  Michael rubbed a hand over his face and appeared to be at a loss for words. Jay suspected he’d reached his limit for drama.

  “Please tell me you’re not sleeping with him.” Although Marissa’s words were barely above a whisper, Jay had no trouble hearing her.

  “I can’t speak for your son, but I am what you would medically term a virgin,” she informed Tyler’s mother.

  “Not that it’s any fucking business of yours.” Each carefully enunciated word sounded like it’d been ripped from Tyler’s throat. Jay didn’t need to examine his set features and clenched teeth to know how angry he was right now.

  Marissa gasped.

  A groan issued from Michael’s direction.

  Jay felt a twinge in her chest and recognized it as sympathy. Poor Michael. Despite claiming otherwise, Marissa had not forgiven him for walking out on his family and vanishing without trace for five whole years. But Jay was in a unique position to understand Michael’s actions and reactions. If she’d been able to bring the man she’d called “Father” back to life, she’d have spent a lifetime trying to make up for what she’d done to him, too. Guilt was a powerful emotion, and Marissa was using Mike’s to her full advantage.

  Marissa sagged back against the padded back of the seat, her entire body radiating relief. “So it’s not serious then. You’re just hanging out here because your apartment is a dump and your roommates are pigs.”

  Tyler raked a hand through his damp hair. After a tense moment he finally said, “Jay’s my girlfriend. For me it doesn’t get more serious than that. Get used to it, Mom.”

  Marissa’s face crumpled and her lower lip wobbled. Jay watched her fighting back tears and felt…. Nothing at all. She rose to her feet and calmly invited Tyler’s parents to stay for dinner.

  Marissa, of course, declined on Michael’s behalf. And when Michael protested, his wife struggled to her feet and cut him short with a sharp gesture.“I’ll wait for you in the car while you talk some sense into your son.”

  “Marissa—”

  But Marissa was heading for the door, leaving Michael with the unenviable task of choosing between his wife and his son.

  “You should go,” Jay told him. “She needs you. She’s not herself at the moment.”

  Marissa whirled to glare at Jay from the doorway of the living room. “You don’t know me. Sure, you can analyze a bunch of data like some… some… glorified calculator, but you don’t know me. You don’t know what’s going on inside me.”

  Jay arched her brows. If what she suspected were true it might explain Marissa’s volatile temper. She could not be one hundred percent certain given the available data at this stage so she did not dispute Marissa’s claim.

  “And you don’t know Tyler, either,” Marissa was saying. “How can a cyborg, a machine, possibly understand what it is to be human?” Her bitter laugh infected the room. “You’re lying to yourself—and him—if you try to pretend otherwise. If you claim to care for him then prove it. Walk away and let him find a human girl he can make a real life with.”

  “God, Mom. When did you turn into such a bitch?”

  Marissa flinched as though Tyler had somehow reached across the room and slapped her. Then she pivoted on her heel and vanished into the hallway. Silence reigned until they all heard the front door slam.

  “You might want to consider apologizing to your mother,” Jay said.

  Tyler’s lips compressed to a thin, unrepentant line. He slanted a challenging gaze at his father. “Well, it’s true.”

  Jay knew it was a waste of breath to try and convince Tyler to change his mind. She focused on his father. “I’m sorry, Mr. Davidson. I wish this encounter could have gone differently.”

  Michael managed a tired smile as he stood. “Me, too, Jay. I never got the chance to thank you for what you did. Whatever you said to convince that bastard Caine to let me walk, gave me back my family, my life. I can never repay you for that. And for what it’s worth, despite what you are and all the problems that presents, if you make Tyler happy—”

  “She does, Dad,” Tyler was quick to say.

  “Then that’s good enough for me.” Michael patted Jay’s shoulder before venturing over to give his son a quick hug. Tyler submitted to the embrace, but held himself stiffly. He wasn’t going to let his father off easy. Michael was between a rock and a hard place. Little wonder he’d done his best to stay out of it.

  “Jay’s right,” Michael said. “Your mom’s got a lot on her mind. She’s not been herself lately. Don’t worry, I’ll talk her ’round.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Given Marissa’s vehemence, Jay did not believe Michael would be successful in “talking her ’round”.

  Michael must have read her doubt because he said, “From what I hear
, she liked you well enough before she learned you weren’t human.”

  “Yes,” Jay said, because it was true. But it was also true that Marissa’s previous “like” did not count for anything at present.

  They both walked Michael to the door and waved him off. Jay shut the door after him and considered how best to broach the deafening silence. “That went well,” she finally said.

  Tyler grabbed her ’round the waist and drew her in close, resting his chin atop her head. Jay cuddled into his chest. She liked this position. She analyzed her responses, her feelings, and decided it made her feel… safe. Loved.

  “I was being sarcastic,” she felt compelled to tell him.

  “I kinda got that.” His chuckle vibrated through his chest and she felt the tension in his muscles dissipate. A wave of contentment washed through her. She might be a “thing”, but she’d understood her human boyfriend well enough to make him laugh and to give him a measure of comfort when he needed it. Even Marissa would have to concede that counted for something.

  ~~~

  Mike got into the car, leaned back against the seat, and closed his eyes. The dull throb behind his eyes signaled the onset of a headache.

  “I suppose you told them.”

  He opened his eyes to confront his wife. “No, I didn’t. I promised I wouldn’t let the cat out of the bag because you wanted to wow him with our news. When are you are going to start believing I keep my promises?”

  Her gaze slid away. “Maybe when we’re old and gray and you haven’t upped and vanished on me again.”

  Mike blew out a heavy sigh. “I’ve explained myself over and over, Riss. How many more times can I apologize for wanting to keep you and the kids safe?” He jabbed the key in the ignition, started the engine, and flicked the indicator. Once he’d safely pulled into the flow of traffic he said, “When are you planning on telling him, then?”

  Marissa turned her face away to stare out the window. “I don’t know. When she’s not around I guess.”

  “Make it soon, Riss.”

  She jerked her head around to glare at him. “Or else, what?”

  “Or else, nothing. He’s our son. He deserves to know. So does Caro.”

  Marissa hunched down in her seat, trying to get comfortable. When she closed her eyes, the bluish shadows beneath them were more evident. She looked exhausted. Even the bright auburn of her hair seemed dulled. “I’ll invite them both down for a weekend—just the two of them. We’ll tell them both then.”

  “Okay,” Mike said. Anything to keep the peace. Anything to keep his family together. He’d already lost them once. He didn’t want to lose them again.

  ~~~

  Chapter One

  The techs were intent on putting the cyborg through its paces—too intent to notice him slip through the security doors and take a seat in the topmost row of the viewing chamber. Another man might applaud his employees’ single-minded focus. Evan Caine, CEO of Goodkind Electronics, was unimpressed.

  This sector of the Experimental Research and Development Department was located in an underground bunker. Only five people were permitted to enter without first being cleared by Caine. He owned all five, body and soul. The more senior of these two techs, Sloane, was one of the five. He’d been with Caine for more than two decades now, but that was no excuse to be lax. Not when the stakes were so very high. Not when another cyborg was at large—a rogue cyborg that had thus far eluded Caine and bested him time and time again. If anyone—or thing, in this case—was capable of breaking into this facility, bypassing the stringent security measures, and sabotaging his life’s work, it was the cyborg that called itself “Jay Smith”.

  Caine curled his lip and contemplated how best to reprimand the techs for their inattentiveness so the moment would be emblazoned on their memories for the terms of their natural lives.

  Safe behind the glass fiber-reinforced polyester resin composite window of the viewing chamber, Sloane, a grizzled, beefy man in his forties, thumbed his mic. “Cyborg Six-Point-0 confirm voiceprint Sloane, Goodkind Employee ID 7-8-3-1-2.”

  “Voiceprint Sloane confirmed. Good afternoon Mr. Sloane.”

  “Commence course on my mark. Three. Two. One. Mark.”

  The cyborg exploded into motion.

  Caine settled back to observe its progress.

  The muttering of the two techs took on a note of excitement as Six-Point-0 neared the midway point of the Navy SEAL-styled obstacle course devised to test its physical capabilities. Apparently Six-Point-0 was acquitting itself well.

  Caine leaned forward in his seat. He had always been a betting man. If the cyborg beat its previous time by ten seconds or more he would administer a private reprimand rather than hauling these two up before their peers.

  Six-Point-0 launched itself over the hip-high vaults that comprised the last obstacle, taking them two at a time. It sprinted to the line, planted its bare feet, and ground to a halt, awaiting further instructions.

  “Cyborg Six-Point-0, confirm course time.”

  “Three minutes thirteen-point-four seconds.”

  Despite appearing human in all the ways that counted, the cyborg’s voice lacked some quintessential human characteristic. If Caine had to describe its voice he would call it “flat”—an unscientific term, but apt. He knew the techs were irritated by this slight flaw, that to their minds it marred the perfection of their creation. Caine didn’t care about barely detectable deficiencies in Six-Point-0’s vocal capabilities. Ultimately, Six-Point-0 wouldn’t need to speak. It would only need to destroy.

  Sloane consulted a chart. “Looking good, Sixer,” he said, using the nickname a female tech—a hardcore Philadelphia 76ers fan—had given the cyborg.

  Caine frowned. He’d stripped the woman of her seniority and reassigned her to grunt work for what he saw as her misguided attempt to humanize Six-Point-0, but the nickname had obviously stuck.

  “Eleven seconds off the previous time,” Sloane said.

  “Incorrect,” the cyborg countered, its voice echoing through the chamber. “My time has improved by eleven-point-six seconds.”

  “Cyborg Six-Point-0, enter standby mode. Confirm.”

  “Standby mode confirmed.”

  Sloane toggled the mic to off and exchanged a glance with his colleague. “Thought we’d sorted that damned glitch.”

  The younger man—Williams—groaned, slumping lower in his chair. “Everything was fine during the last trials.”

  “Better schedule another full diagnostic. If Sixer decides to correct Caine without prompting, the shit will hit the fan.”

  “God knows I get enough backchat from my kid sister without putting up with this sort of BS at work,” Williams said, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head from side to side to stretch out his neck muscles.

  “Pity we didn’t think to install a remote mute switch.” Sloane scratched the stubble on his chin.

  “There’s an idea. Mute your kids or your nagging wife at the flick of a switch. Be a best-seller, I reckon.”

  Caine stood and shot his cuffs. Enough of this banter. Six-Point-0’s supposed “glitch” was inconsequential. Running diagnostics to fix something that had no need to be fixed was a waste of time and money—his time and his money. The cyborg had been programmed to verbally respond to basic commands from a select group of people identified by their individual voiceprints, and even then only if given a correctly sequenced, logical command. Only Caine could override any instruction or programmed behavior. He could compel the cyborg to do anything at all. It was his creature, his tool. And if its newfound tendency to backchat irritated him, he would merely command it to be silent in his presence.

  Sloane had caught Caine’s movement. He nudged Williams.

  Caine couldn’t be sure but he thought he heard Williams mutter something to the effect that their asses were toast.

  Sloane pushed up from his chair and stood to attention. “Good afternoon, sir. Our latest results are promising. There are a couple of m
inor issues we need to work through but—”

  Caine’s sharp hand gesture cut Sloane short. “It’s time for the next phase. We will see how Six-Point-0 copes when pitted against a group of our best fighters in a hand-to-hand combat situation. Six volunteers will suffice.” He paused to let his words sink in. “I have cleared my schedule for the next two hours.”

  Williams slanted a panicked gaze at Sloane, who stood stony-faced, revealing nothing of his inner thoughts. The younger man visibly swallowed and foolishly decided to take matters into his own hands. “Mr. Caine. Sir, I would, uh, strongly advise against pitting Sixer, uh, I mean, Six-Point-0, against human opponents. We—” his nervous hand gesture included Sloane “—are not, uh, entirely confident that Six-Point-0 won’t see the men as a threat. And, uh, seriously injure the volunteers.”

  Caine switched his focus to Sloane.

  “I recommend we draw volunteers from our security forces,” Sloane said. “They’re certain to give Six-Point-0 a good workout.”

  “Make it so.” Caine resumed his seat. He could have left the techs alone and returned to his office. The padded leather chairs were far more comfortable than these molded fiberglass ones, and his PA would be at his beck and call. He stayed because he enjoyed the discomfort of others, and he wanted to observe Williams’ reactions firsthand.

  The young tech had an extraordinary mind. He was an asset to this program. But Williams had a regrettable tendency to voice his opinion unasked. Such outspokenness might be valued in the world of cybernetic research and development, where Williams had proven himself before succumbing to the lure of the big money Goodkind Electronics had offered. Now Williams needed to learn to jump when Caine told him to jump, and only ask how high on the way up. And, asset or not, Caine saw no benefit in keeping Williams around if the man didn’t know when to shut up and follow orders.

  Williams seemed to realize he’d blotted his copybook for he abruptly became all business. Caine watched, evaluating the way the two men divvied up the tasks. Williams arranged for a cache of martial arts weapons, while Sloane co-opted volunteers from the available pool of security forces. Both men barked crisp orders into their mouthpieces. Satisfied, Caine pulled an eReader device from the inner pocket of his jacket and immersed himself in the latest edition of The Economist.