four)
The paper fluttered in front of her, as fast as she could make it go, and still it wasn't doing much to cool her down. Even her brow was dappled in sweat. She shifted a clump of blonde hair behind her ear.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
Zeta looked up at Ro. "Yes. The air conditioning unit's vent has a busted fan blade. If I can just solder the fan blade back in position—"
"Just as long as it starts putting out frigid air in five seconds, Zee."
"It will. Give or take five seconds." He nodded just once, this time analyzing the soldering gun and the questionable fan blade in the recesses of the air conditioning unit. Even while sitting cross-legged on the hotel room's floor, he could feel Ro's hostile energy oozing off her and towards him. The heat of Colorado was beginning to make her cranky, and they'd managed to stop at the one hotel and get the one room with no working AC. Ro had made a mumbling about luck which he'd failed to fully interpret.
He pulled away, the soldering gun returning inside his hologram, inside a chest cavity, while his right arm lifted to the unit's controls. Before pressing the 'ON' button, he twisted his head to Ro. "Better stand back. If I did it wrong, the blade may fly through the air and injure you."
"Uh, right." Ro took a step back. "You're really going to have to work on your self-confidence, Zee."
The button was pressed. At first, nothing happened. Zee stared at the unit, wondering what he'd done wrong, waiting in agony to hear Ro's grumble of disapproval. But she didn't grumble. Instead, she reclaimed her step and lowered a long-fingered and docile hand to the controls.
"I think this is the problem." She touched the 'COOL' button three times.
"Oh," Zee replied, getting to his feet, "of course. The temperature setting."
And just as Ro leaned triumphantly away, the unit kicked on, fan rotating to an ever increasing and then infinite speed. Zee got an elbow in his side. "Good as new!" decided Ro. Zee caught the shine of dampness on her face.
"You have," he paused and lifted his hand, "some perspiration on your nose, Ro."
Ro reached up to wipe it away on her wrist before a servile Zee could do it for her. "One way to solve that!" She went to the unit and shoved her face directly above the fan. The blast sent her cropped blonde tresses billowing out in wavy lines behind her head.
While Ro went through this kind of dry refreshment, Zeta tumbled into the small room's only chair and crossed his ankles in front of him. Out of boredom, he ran a systems check, rather annoyed that everything was functioning without difficulty. He would've liked something to do. The days and weeks and months on the road had led to many adventures for Ro and him, but it made the times between adventures seem like runnels of endless monotony. Synthoids, by definition, shouldn't really experience boredom. That was usually because they had some central programming to focus upon. Zeta, by definition, was a synthoid. But Zeta, by definition, no longer had central programming. So, by definition, Zeta could become bored.
Thankfully, there was Ro: enthusiasm housed in his rambunctious teenaged friend. Gusto that alleviated and nearly obliterated all forms of boredom from his life.
"Hey, Zee?" she queried directly into the fan. Her voice was garbled.
"Yes?"
"I'm hungry. What's to do about food?" She pivoted away from the fan, rose up to her full height, and tested to make sure her nose was perspiration-free. For once, she didn't give a second thought to her hair, now standing on end all over.
"Well," there was a stop to actually pretend like he had to think about the options, when he'd thought about the options even while signing into the hotel, "we have to go out. The hotel doesn't offer room service of any kind—"
"And we already know it's limited on amenities and budget," she said, throwing a hand at the repaired unit.
He threw a careless glance at it as well, then back to Ro. "Right."
Ro dived upon one of the two beds in the room, the one nearest the fan, as was usual. She rolled upon her back, taking with her the electronic telephone book placed in every room. This was how she usually found a suitable place to eat for whatever type of food she was in the mood for.
Zeta then embarked on what Ro had often called 'cheating'. He took out a Reader device from an internal cavity. A Reader was a lot like a mobile computer, but had no GPS tracking capability. In the hands of a renegade, who could be tracked down by anything with GPS, the Reader was a much better option. He accessed The 411 website after logging in through the hotel's wireless internet and putting up firewall after firewall in the process, so it would be difficult for the agents to track. The 411 website listed everything the electronic yellow pages did, but he could search through it a lot faster than a human like Ro.
"There's a ma-and-pa diner up on I-25 a little ways," he announced. "You always like going to small places."
Ro growled a little, because he'd beaten her. "Cheater," she spat. He was right, though; she did like going to smaller restaurants, avoiding the big corporate chains whenever possible, save for the occasional leap into a Ground Wire cafe. It was becoming less and less frequent that this was required in order to find Dr. Eli Selig. Zee had his Reader device, and usually he could steal the internet of hotel rooms, like he exhibited then. Ground Wires were good for two things: chocolate cherry cappuccinos and espresso sticky buns.
She shouldn't have thought of food. Her stomach grouched and rumbled. Zee shot her a surprised look from across the room.
"Sorry," she murmured.
His mouth tightened. Ro thought for sure he was trying not to smile.
"Well," Ro threw herself up on her elbows and gave him a deep glare, "at least I don't snore!"
Now he was definitely frowning. This wasn't a game he was particularly good at. But for the sake of defeating boredom, he'd give it a shot. "At least I don't look like a cat with a shaved face."
Ro had no idea what he was talking about. For certain, he was picking words at random again and trying to pass them off as insults. That was Zee's problem: He had no heart for insulting anyone. Most of the time, during this game, his insults came off more like rude valentine messages. "Your conceit is very unbecoming" was one of her favorites. "Your shoes match your hair" was another ambiguous attempt at being naturally observant and failing entirely. "I wouldn't be as witty as you, Ro, for all the Doctor Seligs of the world" was no doubt the one remark that proved Zee could possess a sense of humor, as long as he kept working on it.
He understood that his insult had escaped meaning. He touched his own hair. "It's your hair. You look like a—a—"
"You don't have to say it!" She rushed into the bathroom. Zeta heard a shriek. A second later, Ro had stormed to him to punch him repeatedly on the arm. Her girlish hits were no match for him, but he endured it and shied away as if the damage was real. "Why didn't you tell me I looked like this!"
"I thought I just did."
Ro returned to the bathroom. Another surprised shriek ensued. The light from the bathroom spilled onto the floor and filled the tiny hallway by the door. He heard the sound of running water, meanwhile looking through the Reader and storing the information found there. She returned about a minute later, damp hair flat against her scalp. Having seen her do this several times before, he knew the hair would dry and be as it always was, in a kind of ratty pageboy.
"Where else can we go for sustenance?" she demanded. "Your shaved-faced cat is still hungry. Meow and such."
"Another place not far from here called Club Pierre," he said. "I went to their website. They have live music."
"What kind of music?"
"Jazz."
Ro didn't know much about jazz. "Do they serve food?"
"All kinds. Mainly Americana, although there seem to be a lot of Polish dishes involved, too. Pierogies, kielbasa and beef entrées, and beers. Maybe we should go there."
Her brow furrowed at the intensity of his voice. "What is it?" she prompted.
He didn't regard her while replying. "Their website says they're owned by the Houston family."
"So? Who are they?"
Zee kept his head cleverly angled behind the Reader. "Irving Houston was a scientist on the Eta Project."
Ro could only fold her arms at this oddity. Her face contorted in mass confusion. "The Eta Project? Eta was after your time, Zee. Eta is Greek for 'seventh'. Zeta is Greek for 'sixth'. Seven comes after six. But that just means this Irving Houston guy had nothing to do with your creation. Right?"
He finally dropped the Reader, wrist to his knee, eyes cast away into the far corner of the hotel room. "Yes. You're right. After me."
"Maybe it's not the same family," she said to try easing his ponderous thoughts.
"No," he shook his head, one short look back to the Reader, "it is. Irving Houston's daughter is one of the managers of Club Pierre."
"Well," her shoulders lifted, "you've obviously done a lot more research on these so-called 'Projects' than I've given you credit for."
He had no reply. "Maybe we shouldn't go," he murmured after a moment, his eyes locked to Ro's.
"Why not? You could find out for sure if it's the same family. Although what this Irving guy's got to do with you—"
"Read this." Zee sat up the chair and handed Ro the Reader. She read the highlighted portion while Zee sank next to her. She veered a suddenly sharp gaze to him.
"You're joking!" A laugh bounced the words, a laugh of astonishment, not a laugh of humor. She twirled a lock of dampened hair around her forefinger. "I guess if the website says it's a hangout for military types, maybe we really should consider eating somewhere else." The glaze had fallen over his expression again. Ro's shoulders fell. "Great. Now what?"
"I should've told you this sooner," he started.
"I'm not so sure I want to hear this."
He wasn't so sure he wanted to say it. But, then again, if they did fall into danger, it was best if she knew. "Colorado Springs is a huge government city, Ro. There are many facilities and outposts here."
"Like?"
"Well, there's Fort Carson. The Air Force Academy. And NORAD."
"What's NORAD?"
"North American Air Defense Command. You can see the antennas for their base on top of the mountain. It's actually built into the mountain. Then there's also—"
"Oh, no! Not the National Security Agency! Zee!" On her feet, Ro was shoving her palms into her eyes, groaning. She dropped her hands. Zee saw the tips of her ears had gone red. Never a good sign. "I can't believe this! Zee! You brought us to one of the three cities in the entire nation we'd actually like to avoid? I don't believe you!"
He remained silent. Ro put her hands on her hips and pointed a toe, leaning into one leg. The tips of her ears were still burning.
"At least tell me you know where the base is so we can avoid it."
He nodded solemnly and spoke quietly. "I do know where the base is."
"Well, now I'm completely relieved," she hissed in sarcasm.
"It's just to the west of Fort Carson's northern entrance—."
She waved her hands wildly until he stopped. "Don't tell me! I don't want to know! I don't want to know where the NSA is! You can't just freely volunteer information like that!"
He could. And he would. "You go down the road until you come to a junkyard on the north side of the road. You'll take a curve, and then you're by the Gate A entrance to Fort Carson. After the street angles to the south, you'll be in an industrial complex. The NSA's building is the first one on the left. There are invisible laser fences all around. An above ground garage where the employees park. A delivery system on the east side. Agent Bennett's office is on the second floor. The secretary's name is Patrice. Can you remember all of that?"
She was staring. "Why are you do telling me this?"
"In case something happens to me," he remarked steadily while folding up the Reader and replacing it.
Ro remained gawking and silent. He stood, lowered a hand to her bony shoulder, and patted. She grimaced, angry all over again. "I hate you for telling me that."
"You'll get over it," he said in his casual way as he headed to the door. He pulled and held it open for her. "Come on. We're going to Club Pierre."
She stepped out, arms folded, all of her cross and showing it. "I've got a pretty nasty feeling about this."
Zeta didn't want to say anything, but he didn't feel all that great about it himself.