2163
Two-and-a-half days on the road in a sputtering old van took them from Exclusion Zone Beta to Wilmington. The cowboy-hat-wearing gentleman who sold Cain the van had looked them over skeptically, but mercifully walked away without question. X—somehow so light that Cain and Sig could take turns carrying him solo—had been laid out on the rearmost seat to rest—was that something androids did? When would he wake up?—and Cain had been checking on him in the rearview mirror every few minutes since, even while driving.
X had stirred briefly on the second day and asked where they were, looking dazed. Cain pulled them over to the side of the road and held his breath. Preston answered; X stared out the window for a moment, asked to be woken when they reached their destination, fell back asleep.
Cain in the passenger seat as Wilmington lights came into view, climbed back past Sig and Marty.
"X, we're getting close," he said, kneeling down on the van's old musty carpeting. X woke gradually.
"Glad you could join us again," Preston said from the driver's seat.
Cain realized X was studying his face closely; his gaze softened, turned down.
"Sorry to worry you," he said.
"No, no," Cain said. "Well, you did have us worried, but it's enough if you're all right."
"Where are we?"
"We're entering the city of Wilmington, in what used to be North Carolina," Cain said.
"A port city. Crossing the Atlantic?"
"That's the intention," Sig said, turning back. He raised his brows at Cain and mouthed 'Maybe now?'
"We're going to check into a hotel for the night while Preston takes Marty to a hospital," Cain said. "While she gets taken care of, we have a little breathing room to figure out next steps."
X's gaze drifted to Marty, who was still sleeping herself. He rolled down his window and said nothing.
Preston pulled the van up in front of the Porter Hotel just outside the heart of town, waited for Cain, Sig, and X to step out, and promised to return in a few hours. As they stood on the sidewalk, Cain was aware both of the number of stares X's towering form drew, and of how unaware of these X himself was. He and Sig picked up their duffels and each used their free hands to urge him along.
The clerk at the check-in desk was absorbed in his sudoku puzzle and needed to be alerted with an aggressive throat-clearing. He jumped slightly in his seat when he saw X.
"Keerist, they're making 'em big nowadays! You Norwegian, son?"
X looked himself up and down, then to Cain.
"German," Cain said, thumbing at Sig. "This big guy's nephew. So, we're looking for five beds for at least two nights."
"Huh, German," the clerk muttered. "No one room with five beds, but I can get you a two-bed and a three-bed on the tenth floor pretty easy. Though, uh, I don't think the kid's gonna fit in any of 'em."
"We'll figure something out for him," Sig said.
"Right, well. No room service here," the clerk said, fishing two sets of room keys from under the counter and sliding them over. "There's a bar-and-grill setup here in the lobby, last call's around four in the ay-em. Check-out time's eleven in the morning and if you're gonna stay longer than two nights, gotta tell me tomorrow evening. It'll be one-forty-five a night."
Payment made, keys in hand, the trio made for and took the first elevator up to the tenth floor.
"How up to talking do you feel?"
"Sig, come on."
"I should be fine for a few hours," X said. "As long as I don't have to shoot any drones down this time."
"Thankfully we're past that," Cain said. "Though how you did it was certainly . . . Well. What Sig and I want to discuss with you is—"
"'Next steps', you said before." There was an uncanny neutrality in X's voice, as though this was all happening to someone else.
"That's right." Cain searched his eyes, but there was no more sign there. "I recognize that we may have assumed some things about your willingness to come with us. For that, I'm sorry."
"We both are," Sig said. Cain felt his hand upon his shoulder, that slight shake of approval. "But we hope you understand—"
"The situation warranted it," X said.
"It did," Sig said, "But now that we're out of danger, you should know that we'll respect any choice you make. Er, assuming you can choose for yourself."
X began to speak, but shut his mouth as the elevator doors opened and they had to push past a middle-aged couple dressed up for a night on the town. They walked silently through the halls, noted the locations of their rooms relative to each other, and stepped into the larger one, setting their baggage down.
"Are you sure it's safe to talk in a room like this?" X asked. Cain had the impression that X was in disbelief at himself for asking. Even the simple act of sitting in the chair nearest the window showed hesitation. Note to self, Eusebio.
"We'll be all right."
X nodded, watching his own fingers glide ever-so-lightly along the arms of his chair. "Then what did you have in mind?"
"Research and development, simply put. Even assuming you're not a true android like you claim," Cain nodded to Sig, "you're clearly light-years more advanced than anything seen since the Cataclysm. We want to figure out what makes you tick and how that can be used to better the world."
"Make more androids?" X asked.
"Possibly," Sig said, "though God knows how long that would take. There are very few manufacturing facilities with the equipment needed to make basic robots, let alone anything like the models from just before the Cataclysm. It could take decades just to—"
"I could . . . teach you," X said.
"You could?" Cain asked.
"I believe so. I have extensive catalogs of design specifications and blueprints for most fabrication devices that had been developed when I was . . . being built." He screwed up his lips, unsatisfied with the feel of the words in his own mouth. "If I agreed to this, could anyone actually act on that information?"
"I could," Sig said. "I run an engineering firm in Bucharest that just launched the first line of newly-built robots since the Cataclysm. We have tens of thousands of man-hours researching robotics between us."
"There's really only one other possible candidate," Cain said. "Tanganyika Group."
Sig waved the idea off like a bad smell.
"What's wrong with Tanganyika Group?" X asked.
"There are some ethical concerns," Cain said.
"Ethical concerns?" Sig snorted, folding his arms over his chest. "Akilah Mkapa is a glorified arms dealer."
"Look, I'm not going to defend their corporate history. But X, let me make something clear: here in North America, the Remnant Church—the folks that want us dead and you to stay buried?—they're weak. But in Europe, they have real reach. In Bucharest they could—"
"They've plenty of influence in Africa, too," Sig added.
"—well, yes, but Tanganyika Group has the influence and resources to protect us against any backlash, and there will be backlash."
"Why?" X asked.
Why? Cain thought. Do you ask why a dog barks? X stared at him unblinking, lost. If you'd never seen a dog before, it would be the most natural question, really.
"Ah, that's right, you don't . . . Sorry. The short version—"
"Eusebio, wait." Sig crouched down by X and looked up at him. "X, how many people do you think there are in the world?"
X's gaze turned to the ceiling. "Records show it was just over eight billion at the time I was being created. Projected population by twenty-one-sixty-three was twelve billion." He was studying their faces, reflecting their severity. "But there's this 'Cataclysm'."
"Our best estimate is that around one billion people were left after," Sig said.
"How could that . . . Nuclear war?"
"Your guess is as good as ours," Cain said, shrugging. He drew closer to X as well. "None of the survivors had clear memories about it. There are vague ideas, but . . . The point is, people were angry and scared and looking for answers. Most folks turned to God."
"The Remnant Church holds that the Cataclysm was God's punishment of Man for creating artificial intelligence." Sig shook his head. "You can see how that puts us at odds with them. They have many adherents all over the world."
The absolute stillness of X's body stretched the agony of silent seconds. He looked to each of them, then past them to the far wall.
"Then maybe it would be better if I go back to being buried. I don't want to be the reason for bloodshed. I've already—" He swallowed whatever else he was going to say.
Cain had seen incontrovertible truth days before that he was facing some marvelously sophisticated machine, but all he could think of in the moment was the youth and gentleness of that face.
How many years had it been since you felt tenderness? You dragged the boy here, you owe him something.
"Maybe there will be violence, and I can't speak for the whole world, but I can promise you that there are lives out there that you can make better just by stepping into the light, mine included. When you have a chance to do good, should the chance someone might respond with evil stop you?"
"Doctor Doppler, what do you think?"
Well, what do you think, Sig? What's that hint of shame at the corner of your eye?
"Tanganyika Group," he said. "The world is better off with you in it, I believe that too. I don't trust them, but this is—you are—more important."
Not that he hadn't played this moment out in his head hundreds of times while failing to sleep over the past few days, but when it came, the bottom still fell out from Cain's stomach. Which was worse, he wondered: the fact that if X refused, he would certainly be dead within a week of crossing the ocean; or the fact that he would spend his last days knowing what he had found and had to let go of?
"I admit, I have doubts about the good I can do. But for whatever reason, I feel I should go along with you for now."
"Whatever reason?" Cain's mouth went dry as soon as the words passed his lips; something disturbed flashed across X's face for a fraction of a second. Have I crossed a line? No, that face isn't closed, it's embarrassed.
"People have been willing to risk their lives over this, including the four of you. The least I can do is see what it's all about."
"We'll do everything we can to make sure your trust in us proves well placed," Sig said. "I should head down to the bar and fetch a bottle; this deserves a toast. Er, can you drink?"\
"Alcohol? Yes."
Cain pat X's hand gently. "Thank you." He rose and made for the door.
"Doctor? Where are you going?"
"I think I'd like to take a walk, let everything sink in with a bit of solitude," Cain said. "Haven't had any in a while now."
"Are you sure that's safe?"
"Cain has more experience watching his back than anyone I know," Sig said. "He'll come back in one piece—and join us in our drink, yes?"
"Of course!" Cain grinned and drew the door shut behind him. Down to the lobby and out onto the street, down a block, then two through the night. He stepped into a different hotel—a model of pre-Cataclysm chic with its rammed earth, cleverly concealed lights, stainless steel, high ceilings.
In the lobby in a gently curved chair sat a shaven-headed man in an immaculate slate suit, perusing a newspaper and sipping from a cocktail glass. Cain stood with hands folded behind his back for near a minute; the man smiled and gestured to the matching chair opposite him and returned to his paper, taking the time to finish his article before folding the sheets and setting them on an end-table. The instant his eyes turned to Cain, they laid a great weight on his shoulders. Cain took a sudden deep interest in the cocktail glass.
"Sazerac," the man said.
"Can't say I'm familiar," A waiter appeared as though summoned, looking positively tolerant. "Sazerac, please."
"Of course, sir."
"So. Desmond Saidi, is it?"
"It is, Doctor. Miss Mkapa sends her regards."
"And you."
Desmond leaned forward, folding his hands neatly. "A touch of vanity, I think." He chuckled softly. "Trust me when I say the fact that I am here is a clear sign of how seriously we are taking this business. Anyone else in the world could have reached out promising what you had and never heard back from us at all. But you being who you are . . . Well."
"Then you'll be pleased to know everything's lined up as promised. Sigmund is on board. X is in the Porter hotel, room 1041 right now if you want to confirm things. By the way, how will you—"
"Discreetly. And the other two? DeWitt and Sy?"
"Pay them enough and they'll sign whatever you put in front of them."
Desmond nodded, leaned back raising a single finger as his other hand reached down into a satchel beside his chair and returned with a thick stack of papers. "Speaking of signing."
The sheaf was titled 'Doppler-Cain Robotics Articles of Incorporation' and contained more tiresome legalese than Cain had ever voluntarily read. While he flipped through it, Desmond snapped his fingers and two men approached, taking whispered instruction before leaving the hotel lobby.
"You will want to discuss the specifics with your colleagues, of course." He tilted his head slightly. "Or perhaps you will not. Either way, we will verify this 'X' is what you claim, and then we can countersign."
Cain was aware of his hands gripping the paper tighter than he should, was aware of Desmond noticing it.
"If what you told me over the phone is true, I believe Doppler-Cain Robotics will do great things."
"It will. Just one thing."
"Yes?"
"How does Cain-Doppler sound instead?"