The Essential Laws of Human Robotics
Part Three
.
Wasabi
As Wasabi pulls an updated report on the photon movement of his plasma shield, he wonders if he should be insulted that Gogo and Hiro still think they're fooling everyone.
It's a Friday afternoon, one of the warmest ones in the year so far and a rare moment in the team's weekly class schedules in which everyone is free at the same time of the school day. Once upon a time, they might have gathered for a quick patrol or a snack at Lucky Cat, but nowadays, with Wasabi, Honey Lemon, and Fred scrambling to finish their senior theses before the end of the year, most of the team's breaks are spent in the school lab. Hiro and Gogo typically commiserate by puttering around on their own class projects at the same time, though at a noticeably less harried pace than their teammates.
Today, despite the hour, the five of them are the only people using the lab, and that makes the distraction of Hiro and Gogo all the more obvious. The pair of them had come in later than usual, coughing in a way that makes Wasabi think of the lifelong smokers that haunt the front porches of the houses in his neighborhood. Both of them have red-rimmed eyes, their shoulders slumped in fatigue, and Wasabi can't be sure, but he thinks Gogo is hiding a slight limp. They wave off all concern and claim to have caught a cold since yesterday, but how they'd have both caught something that had progressed to such a severe degree in just a few hours, Wasabi can't imagine.
Still, after brushing off all questions, the two of them settle down to work, Gogo at her usual workstation near the door and Hiro right across from her at the far wall.
Wasabi probably wouldn't have been able to tell they were lying if he didn't know them as well as he does, and even then it's hard. Hiro and Gogo are great liars: Gogo is as flippant as usual, her typical abrasive manner toned down slightly for those she considers friends. She smirks at Wasabi's complaints about misplaced tools and listens patiently to Honey Lemon's exuberant rejoicing over the successful tweaks to her tensile stress project. After a time, she even drifts over to Fred, who is sprawled out across the beaten sofa in the open floor of the room, drawing him into a debate about the narrative strength of the story arcs of various superheros. The move might have seemed to many like a casual one, but Fred's frustration over the wording of his thesis has grown obvious, and Wasabi's pretty sure she meant to distract him from his frustration. If it weren't for the fact that her attempts at nonchalance seem a bit too forced, Wasabi might have bought it all.
Hiro's feigning isn't quite so masterful, and it doesn't help that he seems to have gotten the worst of the coughing fits between the two of them. Even so, Wasabi imagines that he'd still be a credible liar to anyone unfamiliar with his personality. Like Gogo, he smiles and jokes as usual as the morning passes, and if he could stick to that behavior alone, he might have been able to convince even the team. But when no one's looking, he has the tendency to get lost in thought, chin resting on his fist as he watches the branches of the blossoming cherry tree outside scrape against the windowpane. The look on his face is distinctly guilty.
Tadashi used to have almost that same look. Back before any of them had met Fred and Gogo, it had just been the three of them Wasabi labels even now as the original team: him, Tadashi, and Honey Lemon. And Tadashi was the troublemaker of their trio, not that it said much considering their mutual tendency to be straight-laced and studious. His types of mischief included pranking their rude substitute teacher with a small and well-timed explosion during a high school chemistry class, or sticking one of the school's paper mache mascots right near the classroom window so that the giant raptor head poked through just near the teacher's desk. He'd always been the one most likely to dive into a little mischief, which had always been punctuated by a guilty look—though he'd worn his with a smile. Wasabi had always worried when he saw that look.
Worrying is Wasabi's job, after all. It always has been, if only because the rest of the team doesn't do enough of it. Still, Hiro and Gogo are playing it well enough that Wasabi might have almost thought they were telling the truth. Under other circumstances, anyway.
Except that Baymax is a dead giveaway.
For all of Hiro's and Gogo's posturing, their weak point is the robot. Baymax has never successfully learned to lie in anything more complicated than a game of Go Fish, and if it's possible for a robot to wear his heart on his sleeve, this one does.
Wasabi usually starts to worry around the time Baymax clams up. At the Lucky Cat Cafe, silence would have been pretty normal. There, the robot often entertains himself by studying the gamut of human behavior and the interplay of emotions. But here in the lab, he normally spends his time documenting the mechanics of everyone's projects, making suggestions for improvements, and asking a hundred thousand clarifying questions about everything from the direction of their projects to the stupid jokes they're cracking.
Today, though, the robot is watching everyone from the corner of the room near Hiro's workstation, silent and brooding like Mochi a hot summer day. Wasabi counts himself lucky that Hiro and Gogo haven't realized Baymax is the main giveaway in their little web of lies, or else they'd probably have coached him to act more normally.
"So what do you think?" Honey Lemon asks quietly, sidling up to his workbench. She lowers her head, leaning over the table. She must have done this strategically, Wasabi thinks, because her curtain of blonde hair perfectly shields her solemn face from the rest of the team. It probably looks as if she's looking for a tool to borrow rather than talking to him.
Wasabi grins. "Having fun?"
"Shh. I'm being sneaky," she laughs, but her expression quickly sobers. "So. The verdict?"
"The verdict?" Wasabi echoes, yanked from his thoughts.
Honey Lemon runs her fingers across an extension clamp, holding it up as if to inspect it before laying it back in place. She looks at him pointedly. "Do we believe they're both just sick?"
Wasabi drops the printouts atop the scribbled pages of his notebook. "No," he says. "We don't."
"Didn't think so."
"What do you think's really going on?" Wasabi asks. She shakes her head.
Out on the middle of the lab floor, the others are taking a well-deserved break. Fred laughs at Hiro's impressions of classic versus reboot Godzilla; Gogo makes snarky criticisms from her perch on a nearby crate. "Normally, I'd bet you they were out on the streets," Honey Lemon says. "Gogo has that kind of smug look. She was weirdly smart alecky over breakfast this morning, too. But with the coughing…"
"Yeah, what's that about?"
Honey Lemon shrugs. "It's weird. Can't be a cold—what are the chances they'd both suddenly get sick the same way overnight?"
"Baymax is weird, too."
"So weird. He's not even doing his whole health thing; he's just..." She glances toward the group. "Something's up."
It makes Wasabi feel better to hear her say it. He's been accused of paranoia before, of being a little too watchful. "Yeah. Okay," he says at last, slowly getting to his feet. "Let's find out. I'm going in. Back me up?"
She smiles. "It's not an interrogation, you know."
"Might as well be," Wasabi grumbles under his breath. She shakes her head and follows him toward the others, all of whom are too wrapped up in their debate to pay him any mind. For a minute, Wasabi just looks at them, at the easy camaraderie flowing between them as they joke, and he wonders if he's wrong about everything.
Then Hiro's laugh turns into an uncontrollable cough. He bends double at the waist, mouth pressed into the crook of his elbow to catch the worst of it, and a sheepish look creeps over Gogo's face as she pounds him on the back.
"You okay, Hiro?" Honey Lemon asks once he's regained his breath. He doesn't seem to trust himself enough to speak, but he flashes her a thumbs up.
"Hey," Wasabi begins, somewhat awkwardly, "what's up with that, anyway? The coughing fits?"
Gogo shrugs. "Came down with something. You know," she replies, her tone flippant.
"It's not just the coughing, though," Wasabi says cautiously. "You're kind of...stiff. Like you've been hurt." He doesn't phrase it as a question, but they both know he's grasping for answers—and there's the guilty look again, this time on both of their faces as they carefully look away from each other.
"Gogo's limping," Honey Lemon adds, confirming Wasabi's suspicions. "Is that a part of your cold?"
"We were sparring," Gogo retorts, smothering a cough. "It's not a big deal. Just got a little carried away, that's all."
"Sparring," Wasabi says flatly, letting his tone of voice tell her he doesn't believe it for a second. "Late last night. While you had colds."
Honey Lemon nudges him with her bony elbow. "What's really going on?"
"Nothing's going on. It's not like we're dying or anything—so we came down with colds, and we're a little bruised."
"You swear you weren't out on patrol alone?" Honey Lemon asks, her expression caught somewhere between pleading and demanding. "Or out on the streets at night—Hiro, you promised your aunt the bot fighting thing was over, and Gogo, you said the same about the races."
Neither of them says anything, and that's enough of an answer for Wasabi. It's not like Hiro and Gogo have never slipped up before, or that they don't understand that their friends are only worried for their safety. But at all of the other times, he, Cass, and the others have caught them in the lie only by chance, usually a slip of the tongue on their part—or more often on Baymax's part. Wasabi can't remember a time when they returned so obviously hurt.
Wasabi almost asks another question, but when he glimpses the tense, almost mutinous look on Gogo's face, he stops himself. The room has grown weirdly tense in the past minute, with Hiro stiff at Gogo's side and Fred and Honey Lemon looking on with troubled expressions. They've all argued over this before, can probably recite their dialogue by heart, but this is different. It's tense in a way Wasabi doesn't understand, the air fraught like before a storm.
"Ah!" says a voice from behind him. "I thought I'd find you here."
Wasabi turns to find Dr. Tabesh, the absolute worst person to enter the conversation right now. His thesis advisor is a tall, lanky woman in her early sixties with sharp bones and a sharper smile. She nods at the others, all of whom she is currently teaching or has taught in past physics and engineering classes, and to Wasabi's relief, the strained atmosphere dissipates almost instantly, everyone shuffling in place like schoolchildren caught in mischief.
If Dr. Tabesh notices any of this, she doesn't mention it. She opens her mouth to speak, but Wasabi knows whatever's coming out could mean disaster, so he cuts her off as politely as he can. "Hey, Dr. Tabesh. I meant to swing by during your office hours later," he tells her. "I know we have a lot to talk about, so I didn't want to bug you about it randomly during the day."
She catches on at once. "Right," she says shrewdly. "Well, in that case, do you mind if I steal you away into the hall for a minute? I know you're working, but it can be brief."
He agrees, and the others, used to the occasional professorial interruption, return to their own projects. With more grace than her bony figure belies, Dr. Tabesh leads him out into the hallway.
As soon as the doors slide closed behind him, she whirls around, eyebrow already raised. "You haven't even told your friends?"
Wasabi shrugs helplessly. "Honey Lemon and Fred know—or at least they know I was going for this. The others don't really...but I will. Eventually. It just never seems like the right time. We're always working on our projects, or editing our theses, or…" Or fighting. He sighs. "And I guess I just don't know how they'll take it. New London's pretty far. And five years is a long time. Maybe it makes sense not to tell them unless I'm sure."
"That's what I'm here about," she replies. "I just wanted to check in with you. It isn't as if the deadline to accept the scholarship is coming up soon. It's only that…" Here, she hesitates.
Wasabi understands. "You don't know why I haven't just accepted it yet?"
"You worked on the application for months. And with the scholarship...well, you know better than most how few people get a scholarship to St. Kakichi University. Their master's program is extremely elite. I know what it means to you that they're offering." She shakes her head helplessly, and somehow the gesture makes her bony figure appear to teeter in place. "One of my colleagues there reached out to me today, wondering if they were losing you, and I didn't know how to respond. I just don't understand. Help me understand."
Dr. Tabesh says this gently, almost pleadingly, in a way that makes Wasabi feel a whirl of guilt in his chest. Dr. Tabesh knows more about Wasabi's life than anyone outside of his circle of close friends—not that it means much, given how private Wasabi is—and she's worked closely with him on this since his sophomore year. She, more than anyone, deserves to know why Wasabi hasn't yet accepted the scholarship he's toiled so hard to secure.
Except that he himself isn't sure why he's hesitating.
The scholarship is a lifesaver, hands down. Without it, Wasabi's education would have ended here at SFIT. He loves working with plasma, learning about its limits, and St. Kakichi's has the foremost program in the world for those kinds of studies.
It's not a future he would have imagined for himself a decade ago. Wasabi's childhood had been one of neglect, and he'd only managed to escape by legally emancipating himself when he was fifteen. He'd been smart enough, even then, to earn a meager living through odd jobs, mostly through fixing things, and to pay rent for his own place. Only Tadashi had known all of it, or as much as Wasabi had been willing to say: that he was only at SFIT thanks to his scholarship, that he'd dreamt of going to St. Kakichi ever since his dad had told him he'd never make it. That Wasabi would do anything to get there.
At least, that had been the plan. Now, he's not so sure.
"I don't know," he says honestly. "I don't understand it myself.
Dr. Tabesh gives him a long look that he can't interpret, but at last she nods her head. "I know what this means to you, Wasabi. And you've earned this. More than any student I know. I can't make your decision for you, but you know I like to stick my nose where it doesn't belong," she says, smiling. "And I'd never forgive myself if I didn't at least advise you to accept the damn scholarship. Because I think you'll never forgive yourself if you don't."
Wasabi frowns. "Yeah," he says. "I know. And I'm going to accept it. I just…"
"Tell your friends," Dr. Tabesh tells him firmly, setting a hand on his arm. "It's a big decision, and I understand that. Talk it over. You know where to find me if you need me as well."
"Okay," he replies.
Her frown lines ease away, and she pulls her bony elbows in close. "I am going to lose so much sleep over you, aren't I?" she asks wryly as she makes her way down the hall. Wasabi doesn't know whether or not he's meant to respond. He moves back toward the lab.
Through the frosted glass window beside the lab door, Wasabi can just make out a rounded white shape that reaches about his height. He taps on the glass, activating the sensors to turn it translucent.
"Psst," he says, tapping again. This time, Baymax turns to look at him. Wasabi presses a finger to his lips and makes a "come here" gesture, both signals even Baymax is familiar with. The robot looks back toward the lab, and for one second, Wasabi thinks he might say something to alert Hiro anyway, or that he might be too obvious about his departure. But the robot only waddles toward the door, which slides open for him to step through.
"Are you well?" Baymax asks at once, tilting his head in concern.
"You tell me," Wasabi says. It's his customary reply, though he doesn't give the robot enough time to perform a scan. Instead, he jerks his head away from the door and walks a little ways down the hall. After a beat, he hears the robot follow.
"Is this a surprise for Hiro?" Baymax inquires.
Wasabi snorts, turning around. "Something like that. Look, I just want to know what's up with him. With both of them. Something happened last night, didn't it? Those two don't just randomly have twin colds."
The robot shifts in place, a behavioral habit he picked up from Hiro a while back. Nowadays, Wasabi isn't sure the robot even knows he does it. After a few moments in which Baymax looks as uneasy as it is possible for a robot to look, Wasabi tries again. "Okay. We've been through this before, man. They asked you to keep it quiet, right? And...well, you're not programmed with the Hippocratic Oath or anything, but I know you try to follow it, and there's that whole privacy statement or whatever. But before even that, you're supposed to be looking out for Hiro's best interests. Does Hiro always know what's in his best interest?"
Baymax stops shuffling. "He very often does," he replies diplomatically. "But not always."
"And sometimes, does Hiro know something's not in his best interest and do it anyway?"
"It is...not unusual."
Wasabi waits for a few beats. "You don't have to tell me everything," he cajoles. "But give me a something to go off of, at least. Like last time, when they tried to get to some kinda custom bike race thing down on the coast and you started dropping hints about them needing gas money or whatever." When Baymax hesitates still, Wasabi adds, "Put it this way: I don't even need you to tell me about their health. And I already know they were up to something. I just need to know what."
This isn't exactly true—there's a part of Wasabi that's still hoping the two of them are really just sick. But the bluff pays off, because Baymax's head bobs once in agreement. "I do not believe this was a wise decision," he begins, and Wasabi's heart sinks, "but Hiro and Gogo and I spent a fair part of last night doing the activities they have previously been forbidden to do, bot fighting and street racing."
Wasabi groans, running a hand over his face. "Right. Of course you guys did." He sighs, bracing himself. "Okay, what happened? Did they get into a fight again?"
"Yes, but not in the way you are most likely thinking. Abigail reached out to Hiro with information about a possible break-in, and—"
"Whoa, whoa, Abigail?" Wasabi asks. "She only calls when we're on patrol. Or—at least that's what we agreed. Why would she even be awake and checking the scanners at that time?" It's a stupid question, and he shakes his head. He knows Abigail's had a hard time adjusting to the psychological aftereffects of her rescue, and he's heard her talk of insomnia more than once. "Okay, and why the hell would she be pinging Hiro or Gogo in the middle of the night like that? And directing them to go out on a call without the team all of a sudden?"
Baymax shifts again, uncertain.
"Oh no," Wasabi says slowly. "This wasn't a one-time thing, was it?"
"No, but none of the other incidents have so severely impacted Gogo and Hiro's health," Baymax replies. "The other two incidents were false alarms. In addition, Abigail is very conscious of their safety and only asks them to patrol if she is fairly certain the incident is a routine investigation and that they will come to no harm."
"Not certain enough this time," Wasabi growls. He doesn't know how to bring this up with Abigail, who's been a godsend in coordinating their patrols ever since she and Hiro cleared the air between them a while back. Plus, she's got like eight years on him. And the structure of their team is still a fragile thing—there's no clear leader, and they mostly make decisions by squabbling and debating in a democratic (if juvenile) fashion. But if anyone's in charge of the patrol aspect of the team, it's probably Abigail, who coordinates most of their actions on the job.
That's a problem for later, Wasabi thinks. "Okay," he says, trying to make sure the robot doesn't misinterpret his gritted teeth as a sign that he's angry at Baymax. "Well, talk to me about what happened. Or if you don't feel okay doing that, at least tell me if anything happened last night the team needs to know."
Baymax hums. For a moment, Wasabi thinks he'd better rephrase the whole anything the team needs to know part of his statement so the robot knows how to answer, but then Baymax starts to talk.
.
By the time Wasabi returns to the lab, he's livid and sick with worry. He's familiar enough with Gogo and Hiro's defensive habits that he knows he can't let that part show, so he reels it in and tries for something gentler instead.
The whole stopping-of-illegal-nightly-activities thing is a frequent source of tension in their group. Has been for ages. A part of Wasabi knows he should at least be glad that Gogo and Hiro sneak out together now instead of separately, but they still need to stop. It doesn't help that Wasabi and Gogo butt heads over everything. Where Wasabi's all about control and a place for everything, Gogo works best with chaos and turbulence.
Really, Wasabi thinks, Tadashi had been the only thing holding them all together. He and Wasabi and Honey Lemon had melded well since their first class together in freshman year, but bringing wildcards like Fred and Gogo into their group might have been impossible without Tadashi's endless good humor and calm. It's weird to say it, because Wasabi's come to care for Gogo like a sister, to care for all of the team like family, but he also realizes that sometimes he doesn't know how to act around them anymore. Wonders if they even would have all been friends without Tadashi. Wonders how he's supposed to keep them together now that Tadashi's gone.
From the sudden quiet and the way all eyes fall onto him, Wasabi realizes he must be doing a terrible job of keeping calm. Behind him is the faint, rubbery squeaking of Baymax as he waddles forward, and Hiro sighs. "Baymax," he groans.
"It's not Baymax's fault," Wasabi says grudgingly. "I pressured him."
"What's going on?" Honey Lemon asks before Gogo turns her withering glare into a retort.
"Apparently, Abigail sent Gogo and Hiro out on a patrol yesterday evening," Wasabi replies, folding his arms across his chest, "since they were already out doing their usual."
Honey Lemon grimaces. Fred drops into the grungy sofa in the middle of the floor. "Dude," he says, looking betrayed. "I thought you guys promised you were gonna stop. And you even patrolled without us?"
Fred probably doesn't know it, but his genuinely plaintive expression is probably one of their best weapons against Gogo's anger. Wasabi watches as she deflates, frowning. "We didn't promise. We just...look, none of this is as big a deal as you guys are making it out to be."
"Not a big deal?" Wasabi can't help but raise an eyebrow. "You guys had to be dragged out of a burning building yesterday. Krei's burning building—which, really? You didn't think to mention that? And I mean, Abigail was online, sure, but she doesn't exactly count as backup! She's too far away if anything goes south. And from what I heard, you don't even plan to take a day to recover. You're just diving into the next thing Krei asked you to do, because he's so trustworthy now, which is running around in the sketchiest area of town—"
"Oh my God, everything's the sketchiest area of town to you," Gogo grumbles.
"Gogo, you have to know this isn't cool. There's no way you guys can go out again tonight."
"I know this is news to you, but you can't tell us what we can and can't do, Wasabi," she retorts hotly.
"I'm just looking out for you."
"No one asked you to," she gripes. Behind her, Hiro frowns and shoves his hands in his pockets, agreeing with her by association. Wasabi wonders at his friend's wounded look.
"Okay." Honey Lemon interrupts before Wasabi can reply. She faces Hiro and Gogo but holds a hand out to Wasabi as if they're sparring and she means to hold him off. Wasabi rolls his eyes but sits down on his desk. "Okay. Let's all just…" she gives a frustrated huff. "Look, before anything else, are you guys hurt? Seriously, you've been coughing like crazy, and you're limping, Gogo."
Gogo's too stubborn to reply, but Hiro pipes in. "We're okay. Baymax scanned us. No complications or anything, as long as we—" He cuts himself off. Wasabi thinks he knows what Hiro would have said.
"As long as you rest up?" Honey Lemon asks gently. They don't answer. "It could have been really bad, couldn't it? If you weren't dragged out...Baymax dragged you out, I guess?"
Neither of them meet her gaze.
"Guys. You could maybe have died," Fred says suddenly, sitting up straight. "That's not cool."
"Can you guys at least admit that what you did was super dangerous?" Honey Lemon adds. "Tackling burning buildings on your own?"
"It wasn't like we meant to do it when we started out," Hiro replies. Gogo is scowling still, but she's less likely to shout at Honey Lemon than Wasabi. "It's just that Abigail called us to check out Krei's labs. She thought it was a false alarm. We didn't think we were really gonna get into anything. It was just for her peace of mind."
That makes it slightly better, at least. "But c'mon," Fred says. "You guys know how easy it is for stuff to get out of control. Happens all the time, even when we're all together."
"Yeah, the thought crossed my mind," Gogo replies grudgingly. "But what were we gonna do? Say 'No, Abigail, we're not gonna check it out...so hopefully nothing bad is going down?'"
Honey Lemon sighs exasperatedly. "I don't know. Maybe. I just wish you would have called us." And there it is: the patented Tone of Disappointment. Hiro and Gogo shrink down as surely as if one of their own mothers had scolded them. It's never been enough to stop them altogether, but guilt is a pretty good tool for getting them to slow down, anyway. Knowing better than to solicit a promise they'll ultimately break, Honey Lemon moves on. "Alright, how likely is it that one or both of you is gonna try to sneak out tonight?"
The pair of them blink, surprised, but say nothing.
"Pretty likely," Fred replies with a frown.
"Okay," Honey Lemon says. "Fill us in. We're coming with you." Beside her, Fred nods.
"Wait, wait, what?" Wasabi interjects. "We're not—we can't just—"
"If Hiro and Gogo feel like it's important enough to go, we should go together. Yeah, they messed up, but they did it to protect someone. Which is what we do." She turns to Wasabi. "Olive branch," she whispers.
"This sounds like a terrible idea—"
"Team vote!" Fred exclaims. "All in favor?"
Unsurprisingly, everyone but Wasabi raises a hand, though Hiro and Gogo exchange bemused glances as they do. Even Baymax, after a brief hesitation, lifts his arm into the air. Traitor, Wasabi thinks.
"Great," Honey Lemon chirps. "Let's do it. Tell us what we need to know."
.
Gogo wins the fight over who drives Wasabi's car, if only because it made zero sense to have her grunting directions at Wasabi the whole way over. She drives like a maniac, maybe out of spite, speeding through intersections when the light turns yellow and ignoring the existence of her turn signal. Wasabi grimaces but says nothing, because even he (sometimes) knows when words will only make things worse.
Wasabi's only driven through Setsuzoku Heights during the day, and it's always seemed quiet. People tend to keep their heads down around here, lingering in the shade of refueling stations and watching the streets from inside buildings swallowed by algae and rust. Tonight, though, it seems like all of San Fransokyo has arrived expecting a street party, at least in a couple-block radius. Traffic is terrible, mostly because of the half-drunken ravers who mingle on the asphalt, their sweaty faces warmed by the glow of car headlights. As they roll slowly through a crowded train underpass, the windows of Wasabi's car rattle to the thrum of electronic music.
He takes it as a bad sign when they have to resort to on-street parking several blocks away from their destination. Gogo's given up getting any closer, and she hops out of the driver's seat, slamming the car door shut behind her.
Wasabi pulls himself out of his seat and glances around. "We're leaving it here?" he asks.
Hiro blinks. "We gotta park it somewhere."
"Yeah, but…" Wasabi gestures ineffectually in a way he hopes means do you see where we are? Across the street is a hunched apartment building with bars on the windows. Next to them is a tiny, overgrown lot with abandoned vehicles peeping out of the grass like dark animals. Wasabi knows his car isn't anything special, but he spent ages saving up for it.
"No one's stealing your car right now," Gogo snorts, reading his mind. She moves into the crowd as Fred and Honey Lemon follow. "You drive a compact SUV."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Wasabi says hotly, but he stops when Hiro shoots an amused look across the street. A few custom cars are lined up near the curb, their owners chattering proudly with bystanders or leaning possessively across gleaming chrome hoods.
"Point taken," Wasabi grunts, appeased.
Gogo leads the way. The filtered neon lights of bars and strip clubs fall across them as they wade through, keeping to a straight line as much as possible. The noise makes talking difficult, and Wasabi finds himself recoiling from the humid grime and coarse shouts of the crowd.
Ahead, Hiro shoves Baymax to the front of their line, and trailing behind robot's girth makes it easier for them all to push forward. The stench of alcohol and piss is heavy in the air. Gogo laughs at something Hiro says, but Wasabi's too far back to make it out. For the life of him, he can't figure out what draws the two of them here. He'd thought he might understand, that coming here might help something click, but he only feels wary and uncertain.
Before Wasabi can take any more time to study them, Hiro and Gogo slow to a stop on the sidewalk. Wasabi realizes after a moment that they mean to enter the seedy-looking building to their right—The Penthouse, Wasabi reads on the half-faded sign out front. An ancient security camera droops from the gutters, overlooking a trio of teens smoking something sour and foul. Wasabi can't make out much through the gloomy windows, but the shouting suggests some kind of squabble.
"We're gonna stick out like a sore thumb," Gogo complains to Hiro, smirking back at the others. Wasabi might have argued, but he already feels it: somehow, the stares that slide right off of Gogo and Hiro cling to the others. Baymax probably isn't helping—the robot often attracts curious stares—but Wasabi has the feeling they'd still be somehow marked as outsiders even without him. It can't be their clothes, since they're all wearing the same casual wear they'd had on earlier. Looking at Honey Lemon, Wasabi realizes it must be something in their expressions, in the anxious way they scan the area as if they've been thrown to the wolves.
Fred, at least, looks more curious than anxious, lazily spinning around to take everything in. "Is that gonna be a problem?" he asks Gogo.
"Nope," she says at once, "but maybe let me do the talking." Then she pivots on her heel and leads them into The Penthouse.
"If it's a bar, Hiro probably shouldn't—" Wasabi begins, but Hiro is inside before he can finish. Wasabi grumbles, and Honey Lemon shrugs amiably and follows him inside. The air is oddly musty, and Wasabi waves smoke from his eyes to see a line of bar stools and several booths, mostly occupied by glowering men griping to each other in small huddles. Gogo slips through them all to lean over the counter, murmuring something to the bartender that Wasabi doesn't catch. The girl, a short blonde with sleeve tattoos, nods at Gogo and Hiro before jerking a finger toward the back of the bar. Gogo cranes her neck to see, apparently finding whoever she's looking for, as she makes her way in that direction.
Hiro catches the bottom of Wasabi's t-shirt as he starts to follow her. "Let's let her do the talking, remember?" he says at Wasabi's questioning look. "She knows Bug better than anyone."
In the distance, Gogo approaches a tall man who somehow reminds Wasabi of a spider. He gives her an odd grin, and they bend their heads together.
"Huh," Fred says, looking back and forth between Hiro and the doorway. A bouncer leans against the wall just inside the threshold; they'd passed him without noticing. "They just...let you in?" Fred asks. "You don't exactly look like you're eighteen and up." He's got his arms folded across his chest, but his eyebrows waggle playfully.
Hiro shoves him, but he doesn't look at Wasabi or Honey Lemon. "They know me around here is all," he explains. "It's hard not to get recognized when I'm with Baymax all the time. Some of the bot fights happen in the alley out back, and people...y'know, congregate in here. When there's downtime, they'll serve nachos or potato skins, and they don't really care who buys that stuff as long as it gets bought."
Wasabi frowns, but he's not sure he wants to pick this fight. Hiro takes advantage of his silence to play it off. "Hey, it's not actually illegal, and aside from the bot fighting, it's not like I'm doing anything risky. We can't all be Mister Responsible here." He grins at Wasabi almost shyly, just to show there's no malice in his words.
Wasabi wants to stay mad at him, at both of them, but it's hard. As always, he feels his resistance slip away in the face of that grin. Behind Hiro, one of the bartenders thumps Baymax cheerfully on the back, and the robot tilts its head and gives a little wave. "Yeah, yeah," Wasabi says with a shrug. "Be cool if you could just pretend you're mature enough to be in college, though." Hiro takes no offense, just shrugging as he presses his back against the counter.
"Holy Red Tornado, they have a trivia night!" Fred crows from behind them, flailing in the general direction of the chalkboard behind the bar.
Honey Lemon pulls him back by the collar. "Fred, we're not coming here for trivia night," she whispers.
"What's going on with you two, anyway?" Wasabi asks Hiro in a low voice, ignoring them both. Now that he's got Hiro alone, he thinks, he's much more likely to get a straight answer. "I mean, seriously. You guys slipped back into this from time to time, but after you got in that fight a few months ago, you swore up and down you'd stop, and I thought it was over...but I feel like every time I turn around lately, you're sneaking out at night and we don't find out 'till later." He pulls away from Hiro to let a trio of half-drunken girls stumble between them. In the sickly yellow light of the lamps, Hiro looks terribly guilty. "You gonna tell me what all this is about?" Wasabi prompts.
Hiro frowns at the floor. "We...well, it's just…" He shakes his head. "It's hard to explain. I don't think you'd get it."
"Try me."
Hiro stares at him doubtfully. If he notices Honey Lemon and Fred leaning in closer to hear him over the clamor of the bar patrons, he doesn't give any sign. "It's just...look, it's really fun. It's awesome. Gogo and me, we were the underdogs at first. Sometimes we still are, but mostly we've climbed our way up to where people actually take us seriously now. We're matched against new people all the time, so, so...it's always a new challenge, right? And it's really hard, and we have to work at it, but bot fighting is fun. Street racing is...well, that part's not as fun to me, but it's fun for Gogo," Hiro grins.
"Yeah, until someone slips up and she crashes into a freaking tree," Wasabi retorts. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Fred wince. "Okay, harsh. Whatever. But you know deaths still happen in pro racing, not to mention street racing. It takes one second to lose control, and then…"
"She takes care of herself. You've seen her lab work. Airbag jacket, stability control—"
"None of that's perfect. You know that."
Hiro heaves out a frustrated breath, and Honey Lemon sidles closer to take up Wasabi's end of the conversation. "It's not like bot fighting is all that much safer," she reminds Hiro gently. "That fight a few months back, between you and that guy—"
"He thought I was cheating!" Hiro protests hotly. "It's not my fault he couldn't get over himself. And it's not like I get in fights anymore over hustling. People actually know who I am now, so that wouldn't work."
Honey Lemon holds her hands up in the air. "Not to mention that it's illegal."
"Bot fighting is not illegal," Hiro replies, but Fred and Honey Lemon chime in as he completes the statement: "Gambling on bot fighting is illegal."
"But you also do that part," Fred points out.
"It's lucrative," Hiro says cheekily.
Something in his expression, in the familiarity of this argument, annoys the hell out of Wasabi. "We've been having this fight with you for ages, Hiro. Seriously, this has been going on since before Tadashi. What would he say if he saw you still doing this stuff?"
It's a low blow. Wasabi can tell because Fred and Honey Lemon instantly move their attention elsewhere, fidgeting with their clothes or scanning the bar menu. Hiro meets his gaze coolly. "I don't know. He's not here," he says at last. "And it's hard for me to say, because I'm not like him. Or like you. Obviously. Because it sounds like you shared a lot more with him than you do with Gogo and me."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Dunno." Hiro looks away. In the distance, Gogo and her contact are making their way through the crowd toward them. "The two of us might as well be total outsiders. Just seems like you guys are jumping on our case a lot to tell you everything, but we're kept out of big stuff, like we can't handle team decisions or something."
Slowly, Wasabi draws himself up to his full height. Does he know? Automatically, his eyes go to Baymax, as if looking for clues. But if Baymax has anything to add this time, he doesn't show it; instead, he gives Wasabi an unfathomable stare.
"Besides," Hiro adds before Wasabi has a chance to work out a question that won't give it all away. "You can't knock something 'till you've tried it. And you've never given bot fighting or street racing a chance."
"That's because it's illegal," Fred reminds him kindly.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Hiro replies with a wave.
"Hiro! Baymax!" A voice calls. Gogo and the stranger have finally pushed their way through the roiling crowd to arrive at their side. Up close, Wasabi realizes the man is even older than he'd originally thought: the greying hair at his temples and the crow's feet at his eyes suggest forties or so. "I suppose I should have known you two would be the friends Gogo mentioned."
"Right," Gogo says breezily. "Everyone, this is Bug. Bug, everyone. You guys ready to take a quick walk?"
She's moving toward the door before anyone has time to answer, Bug at her back. As anxious as Wasabi is to get out of this overcrowded bar, their sudden exit takes him by surprise. "Hold up," he calls to Gogo, and though she doesn't stop, she slows enough for him to catch up to her. "Where are we going?"
"We need to find out more about the Technotage, and Bug's kept tabs on them. He knows the city better than you know your own face."
"That's kind of you," Bug tells her. "If creepy."
"Sooo...who are you again, and how'd you get your cool superhero name?" Fred asks Bug as they follow him out.
"Yeah, but where exactly are we going?" Wasabi asks.
"The Higashi Expressway overpass, just a couple of blocks out." Bug throws over his shoulder. The lot of them slip out of the bar, Wasabi gratefully drawing in a breath of cool night air and hoping to shed the stench of alcohol and smoke as they walk. "Technotage keeps close enough to the city center to come and go as they please, but they prefer to be on the outskirts. Basically like their philosophy," he adds, and Wasabi has caught up with him enough to see him roll his eyes. "They're a fringe group, so they sit on the fringes. I think they like the symbolism there."
Bug ducks into an alleyway between a pair of boarded-up buildings, Gogo close behind him. Tall weeds poke through cracks in the cement, and Wasabi brushes them aside as he passes.
"How d'you know them?" Hiro asks, nearly tripping over a few discarded planks of wood. Baymax catches his shoulder. "Technotage, I mean. When we talked to...well, it sounded like they were kind of...secret?"
"Hm," Bug says, shaking his head. "Not exactly. Or not exclusive, anyway. They don't trust just anyone, for obvious reasons, but it's not as if no one knows they exist. Where'd you get that idea?"
"Oh, just what I've heard," Hiro replies. Wasabi realizes suddenly that they must not have told Bug that source of their information is Krei himself, meaning they haven't instantly put their faith in him. It makes Wasabi feel at least marginally better to know that they aren't spilling everything to strangers.
They clear the smaller buildings and step onto the open stretch of land that houses the mountainous sixteen-lane expressway. It's late, but the roar of car engines echoes overhead, and the residual glow of the solar-powered streetlights bathes the ground in pale yellow. Sitting in the shadows of the roadway is a long building lined in dark windows, its walls and roof patched here and there with corrugated steel.
The field is blanketed by tall grass and wild shrubs, and Bug turns aside and leads them through as best he can. "Let's take the railroad," he says.
"The railroad?" Honey Lemon parrots, shaking mud off of one boot.
Before they have time to question him further, Wasabi realizes what he means. A few yards away lie a set of heavily rusted train tracks. It must have been decades since trains have run in this area, but the heavy gravel and stone ballast has done a good job of keeping the weeds at bay. Bug steps carefully across the wooden sleepers, and they file down the track toward the darkened station looming up ahead.
"To be honest, I wouldn't have expected you guys to be interested in them," Bug says mildly, breaking the silence.
"Why is that?" Hiro asks.
"Well, for starters, Technotage is a group of technophobic luddites," Bug says, grinning. He rubs the side of his face, his stubble making a noise like scraped sandpaper. "And you two don't really fit the bill."
"Neither do you," Gogo replies with a snort. "You said you used to be involved with them?"
Bug shrugs. "Once upon a time, yeah. Some of what they say is valid. I do think we need to be more responsible with how we're using technology. I mean, some of the things we're ok with are pretty messed up. You can implant spy cameras into your eyes now, we're hacking DNA and geoengineering half the planet, and don't even get me started on freaking artificial intelligence—no offence, Baymax."
"No offense taken," Baymax replies mildly, waddling beside Hiro. The robot can't seem to work out how to walk on the train track, and Hiro is holding his elbow to guide him across the wooden planks, giving him the appearance of possibly the least threatening robot in the history of science.
"Anyway, I'm a paranoid nutjob, so it makes sense for me to run with that sort of crowd," Bug continues bluntly. "But they're...paranoid. I mean, even for me. They're afraid of everything. I mean, yeah, the government is almost definitely spying on us, but I don't think they're doing it through our lamps." At this, Bug cracks up laughing, a harsh and feral sound. Honey Lemon and Wasabi exchange a look, but neither Hiro nor Gogo seem to be weirded out.
"I don't get the joke," Gogo points out. She's peering as best she can through the tall weeds, where the building rises out of the grass. Now that they're getting closer, Wasabi realizes that it's leaning a little to the side.
"Ah," Bug wheezes, still grinning. "Right. It's just, they don't even do electricity. No lights, no phones, no...nothing. They don't do plumbing either, but that's just because it would basically cost them an arm and a leg to get that running again." He lapses into silence as the wind brushes his frazzled hair to the side. "They also run a meaner protest than I'd feel comfortable with," he adds, sobering. "Kind of zealots, in a way."
Up ahead, Gogo and Hiro exchange a knowing glance. "What do you mean?" Gogo asks casually.
Bug doesn't answer right away. He's leading their line, and Wasabi can only make out the hunch of his back now, not his expression. "Let's just say that when we start working on homemade explosives, that's where I tend to back out of things."
"They just let you go?" Honey Lemon asks.
"They just let me go," Bug confirms. "They're crazy, but not that kind of crazy. They aren't actually in it to kill people in cold blood, anyway. Sure, they don't think through the consequences of their actions, but they're not trying to be evil. They just want to tear down the technology people are working on. To send a message."
That didn't inspire much confidence in Wasabi. "Wait, but...they were making explosives, and you just left?" he asks, brow furrowing. "Didn't turn them in or anything?"
At this, Bug actually does turn around. Wasabi doesn't know the man well enough yet to read his expression, but there's something like disdain in the twist of his mouth. Then he snorts. "Honor amongst thieves, I suppose," he mutters to himself. Wasabi drops the subject.
They've grown close enough to the building now that it's easy to make out signs of life: neat stacks of firewood are piled on the outskirts of the area, metal bike frames glint in the darkness, and the grass is bent and well trodden underfoot. A smattering of tents dusts the field, some store bought and others fashioned of tarp and wood; clotheslines weave through a series of poles. Wasabi half expected all of it to be grimy and neglected, but the rows are orderly, everything kept with an almost military precision.
There are people around, too, bundled in well worn coats and chattering around fires. Some of them stare in suspicion until Bug nods their way, but no one stops them as they head toward the station doors that gape open in the night's gloom. This close, Wasabi realizes that the train station isn't completely dark: candles glow on tables and in wall sconces, and if it weren't for the tiled floor and walls or the industrial metal beams crossing the ceiling, Wasabi might have thought they'd stepped back in time to a medieval castle.
Seated at tables are people ranging in age from high school to elderly, all of them chattering away as they eat, plates piled with vegetables and some sort of pilled grain. Most of them don't even look up as Bug leads them in. It's uncanny, Wasabi thinks. Too different from the picture of elite, hardened thugs he'd had in mind.
"Wait. Is this a cult?" Wasabi whispers. "Have we just walked into a cult?"
Hiro elbows him discreetly as Bug leans over to murmur to the nearest group. An acne-ridden teen points in the direction of a giant stairwell at the far wall.
"C'mon, she's this way," Bug murmurs.
"That was way easier than I thought," Honey Lemon says. "You didn't even have to...I don't know, infiltrate or go through the proper channels or anything."
Bug barks another laugh. "They run a tight ship, so I guess I see where you'd get that impression. But really they're not all that official. There's a definite hierarchy in terms of need-to-know information, but otherwise they're kind of like a bunch of people who just happen to hang out together."
"I was hoping it would be more secret lab-y," Fred confesses.
"I think we've had our fill of secret labs," Gogo replies.
Up the stairs and around the corner, the crowds thin out. The corridor is lined with open doorways that must once have been offices. Now, they're quiet chambers where people sleep on bundled blankets or murmur in low voices. Bug leads them on. "She's in the main room," he explains, and for the first time that evening, his footsteps slow as he approaches the threshold. Finally, he stops and steps aside. "There's no bad blood between us, really, but this is as far as I go. I don't need to see her again. And I doubt she needs to see me."
"Thanks for bringing us this far, Bug," Gogo says, thumping him on the shoulder. "Appreciate it."
"I'd feel that appreciation a lot more if you'd throw another race or two. Not that last night was intentional, I guess."
Gogo breaks out into startled laughter. "Not a chance," she says.
Bug shrugs with one shoulder and turns back the way he came. After a moment, the rest of them head inside.
The room rises high overhead, one long window spanning the length of the far wall to showcase the constellations of fire and candlelight set in the field outside. The other light, to Wasabi's surprise, comes from the glow of computer monitors. In a past life, the room might have been some sort of customer service center, with four or five hubs of computer terminals bolted to the ground. A few people sift through stacks of paper as they mill about or sit and stare at the blue screens. Wasabi doesn't realize how confused he must look until someone speaks.
"They aren't connected to anything but our local net," a woman explains. She glances up as they enter, her gaze calculating, before turning back to the computer screen. Dark, scruffy black hair frames her oval face, a pair of narrow frame glasses perch on her upturned nose. Something about her is instantly familiar to Wasabi, though he can't put his finger on why. "Not that we need them, but the firewalls are strong enough to keep out God himself," she adds.
"Yeah, but why d'you need so many?" Fred asks. "And no offense, but I thought you guys were like, all technology must die kinda people."
She smiles indulgently. "We get that a lot. I'm sure it must seem that way. But we don't hate technology. We just have a reasonable level of distrust. We have on-site generators, and information collected on the computers here that we control, and the long and short of it is that our systems make sure we don't let anyone else in. In the modern day, that's safety."
Swiveling in her seat, she rests her chin on a fist to stare at them for a long moment. "So. Big Hero 6, right at my doorstep," she says quietly. It takes a second, but a jolt runs through Wasabi, the skin on his forearms instantly breaking into gooseflesh. They aren't in suits.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Fred exclaims, lurching back. "No one knows who we are. It's like, the first law of superheroes."
"Don't act so surprised," the woman laughs, glancing back at her computer screen. "We've met before. It wasn't a hard leap."
"Oh my gosh," Honey Lemon says suddenly. "You're—are you Mr. Krei's personal assistant? We've seen you before, at the SFIT showcase."
"Aria Fujita," the woman says as she nods approvingly, and Wasabi can almost see it now. Her hair is longer than it used to be, almost to her shoulders, and he thinks that must be what threw him off. "That was a while ago. Almost a lifetime," she adds. She types something up onscreen, and Wasabi isn't sure if she's intently focused or just deciding what to say next. At last, she turns back to them. "So. Can I guess why you're here?"
Wasabi shares an uncomfortable glance with Honey Lemon, but none of them reply.
"Alistair sent you, I imagine."
Again, no one answers right away; none of them are sure how much is wise to say. For a moment, irritated wrinkles crease Fujita's forehead. "Who's your leader, then?" she asks impatiently.
No answer. After a beat, Wasabi realizes that all eyes are on him. His brows rise in bewilderment, and he meets the almost guilty gazes of Hiro and Gogo before answering. "We don't really have one."
"Mm. Seems like you do," Fujita replies. Before Wasabi can decide whether he feels flattered or overwhelmed, she aims her next statement at him. "Don't let your team do anything Krei tells you, and don't believe a word that comes out of his mouth. He's dangerous. Unstable. And he'll only get you hurt. The majority of what he says is a lie, and I can usually prove it."
Her calm words are a lot to process all at once, especially because Wasabi is still waiting for the crazed babble he expected to come from a hardcore conspiracy nut, a repeat of what they'd gone through with Callaghan. Instead, he has a neatly dressed woman in a clean button-down telling him she has evidence to back up her claims. He's inclined to trust her, he realizes, but not because of her appearance.
"So. You know what happened to Abigail Callaghan," he replies slowly. Fujita nods. "She's a friend of ours. Guess you probably know that, too," he adds, wondering how closely she's kept tabs on them. "Anyway, what I'm saying is that we already have evidence that Krei's more than willing to take things too far. For me, Abigail's all the proof we need of that." He expects a protest from someone given that they made the trip out here on Krei's word, but the others are quiet. "So if you've got something to say about Krei, or...or whatever it is you were trying to stop him from doing in his labs, we'll listen."
Fujita nods once and beckons them to follow her. She leads them toward the open window and through a door at the corner of the room. They file inside to find a small sort of library, one that might have been in use even when the station was still open, if the books on boxcar transport are any indication. There's a wooden table that takes up most of the floor space, and Gogo drops into a seat without being asked. The others follow suit more cautiously, Baymax squeezing past them to stand in the narrow space between Hiro's chair and the nearest bookshelf.
"Not that this isn't the sort of conversation that shouldn't be overheard," Fujita says with a hollow laugh as she takes a seat. "Everyone here knows about it; it's the only thing we're working on at the moment. But it still feels like it's not the kind of thing you say aloud. Or in polite society. Or at all."
Out of the corner of his eye, Wasabi catches Gogo's attempt to hold back a grimace. He can't say he doesn't feel the same. There's something about Fujita that makes it hard to tell if she's being genuine.
Fujita folds her hands in front of her. "I know you must be suspicious still," she says, as if she's read his thoughts. "You came here to investigate us, after all. But I want to assure you we aren't the enemy. I know what I'm going to say will sound ludicrous, but it's the truth. I just hope you'll give me a chance to explain in full."
"What is it?" Gogo asks impatiently.
Fujita frowns. "I assume Krei must have shown you his latest experiments."
"The robots?" Hiro asks, exchanging a glance with Gogo. "He showed us these...they were, like, the most human-looking robots I've ever seen. They mimicked vocal patterns and facial expressions better than anything I've ever seen on the market, or even in heard of in R&D. I can't even imagine the kind of work he must have put in to program them, or what the code would have even looked like."
"There's a little more to them than that," Fujita explains, her expression satisfied. "There's no programming at work in them, not like you'd expect to find in a traditional robot." Her eyes flick to Baymax and back. "Or I suppose there must be, but not to the degree you think."
"What's that mean?" Fred asks, cheek propped up on one fist. "A traditional robot?"
There's something slick and satisfied in Fujita's smile. "They're not like any robots you'll have encountered before. Krei is experimenting with mind uploading."
There's a beat of silence.
"Mind uploading?" Gogo says doubtfully. "Like, literally uploading someone's mind to a computer? But isn't that still...speculative science? It isn't real, is it?"
"Not to mention that kind of testing's got to be unethical. Maybe illegal?" Honey Lemon adds.
"Yes and no. Some forms of cognitive-computerized testing are acceptable given the current ethical standards, and I'm sure Krei is pretending he passes those standards. But I assure you that nothing going on behind the doors of his laboratories is ethical in the least."
"I don't understand," Hiro says, frowning. "Mental uploading isn't...no one has been able to move past the mental mapping stage, and that's had issues. Even with serial sectioning...no matter what AI they're using, it's been impossible for the technology to run a successful simulation model of a biological human brain's information processing. So no one's at the point where it would be indistinguishable from the original brain's processing. Not even close."
Wasabi blinks in surprise. Not that Hiro can't get really technical when discussing the coding required for Baymax and his healthcare services, but Wasabi hadn't known this was one of his points of expertise.
Fujita, too, looks at Hiro in astonished pleasure. "That's correct. Although from what I understand, Krei has managed to perfect the layer analysis of his serial sectioning method, further than what the latest studies would have you believe possible."
"But it's not possible." Hiro presses.
"No," Fujita agrees. "It's not successful in the way we would traditionally think. Scan a subject's brain tissue, copy it into a device, and in doing so transfer their consciousness. Digital immortality, preservation of memory and information...none of that is possible at the moment. Even for Krei."
"Okay," Hiro replies, exhaling as if he'd been holding his breath. "So what is he doing, then?"
"Oh, he's been telling people that's what he's after, though—immortality and that sort of thing. Maybe he really is after it in the long run. Easier to get funding that way. Not to mention the volunteers." She leans back in her chair, plucking a folder from the shelf behind her and bringing it to the table. "People near death, so far, mostly terminally ill. Donating their bodies to science. Maybe a little hopeful Krei will find his breakthrough with them, that they will be the one saved."
"Have any of them…?" Honey Lemon asks hesitantly.
"None," Fujita replies shortly. "And the procedure is intrusive. Painful. Krei promised his stakeholders at a meeting last month that they would work to 'ensure the viability of the procedure,' basically work on making it less harmful, before moving forward. But I've heard all of his excuses before. I made them on his behalf for almost eight years."
Her face grows stony, and Wasabi wonders if she's considering the time investment, all of it gone down the drain. "Money talks to Krei. Not to mention fame. He'll do anything to be touted as the successful tech genius and billionaire investor, even if it means breaking a few laws. I think if he'd made a move to temporarily stop the experimentation schedule, even to slow it, I might have believed that he was honestly trying to plan for an alternative…" she trails off, closes her eyes for a moment, reconsiders. "No. No, I wouldn't have. I don't believe him. He always follows through with something if he thinks there's an advantage in it. It's one of the things that drew me to the job at Krei Tech in the first place, but now…"
"I still don't understand," Hiro says apologetically. "The people he's working with for the mind uploading, the operation isn't successful for them, but he's still harnessing that data for his robots, because…"
"Because he wants a better AI," Fujita replies, eyes still closed. "The mental uploading doesn't work as planned—the personality is not retained, memories are fragile and vulnerable to data decay, among other things. Our understanding is that nearly all memories are lost in his experiments. But the mental structure, the very humanoid method of information processing, that doesn't go away. The contents of the mind don't keep as planned, but that doesn't change the fact that you're left with a mind capable of complex thought processes beyond anything we've been able to muster with artificial intelligence. Not human, not quite so advanced, but still a large leap."
"So...so…" Wasabi is struggling with the concept, not because it's difficult to understand but because it has become suddenly repulsive to him. He feels nausea roll from his stomach to his chest. "He's basically mind-wiping a bunch of terminally ill volunteers in order to create the mental structure for robots he can sell."
Fujita opens her eyes. Stares. "Not so surprising when you really think about Krei, though. Is it?"
It isn't. Not really. But it doesn't make Wasabi's skin crawl any less.
It's Fred who finally breaks the lingering silence. "So what are we gonna do about it?"
"You have to stop him." Fujita replies. "You have to help us."
"Looks like you were fine on your own the other day," Wasabi retorts pointedly. "Until the fire caught for real and my team had to come bail people out."
Nothing in Fujita's expression changes. "We made a mistake," she says at last. "Our initial reports suggested that the staff would have emptied the parts of the building we set fire to. For that, I'll apologize. It isn't our intention to take human lives. We only want to do enough damage to stop him, or at least to slow things down. We want to send a message.
"And aside from that, our mission yesterday…well, there aren't enough of us willing to try something like that. And those of us who are willing are…" she pauses, shrugs, and makes a vague gesture to herself, to her cropped hair and wire-rimmed glasses, her pale button-down shirt. She looks nice. Maybe her outfit isn't as professional as it might have been during her stint as Krei's executive assistant, but she looks nice all the same. "We're not equipped for it. And those things are...real. They have real defenses, combat programming that we can't overcome on our own. Three of my four guys are laid up in bed today—broken ribs, broken arms, broken legs. It's not pretty."
She leans forward, her expression earnest. "That's why we need your help. We know what's going on, we want to stop it, but we're just some techs with an idea. We're not...you."
"So…" Honey Lemon begins, hands clasped under her chin. "So, you want us to…?"
"We need you to sabotage the project. The robots, the lab—delete everything."
Wasabi shakes his head. "Whoa now. That's not really who we are."
"It's your only choice."
"What about the police?" Honey Lemon asks reasonably. "I mean, no offense, but this doesn't seem like something super urgent. Why not just have them do an investigation, or...?"
She trails off as Fujita shakes her head. "Getting the feds involved will slow him down, but not stop him. And it won't even be an issue for long. Krei's team of lawyers is very...resourceful, and that's the most polite way I can think to put it. In all the time I've worked with him, he's never been pinned for anything. Well, except for what happened to Abigail Callaghan, but any jury would have had to been blind and deaf not to side with her after all the evidence came out about what he did. No, if we make a move like that...there's just no point. Not if we want to stop him."
The room falls silent once more. It's a huge task, and not one Wasabi's sure they should tackle.
"So what do we do?" Gogo prompts, glancing around the room to make it clear that she's talking only to the team this time. In spite of whatever had happened earlier when they'd all looked to Wasabi for leadership, they'd reached a comfortable level of synergy with regular, democratic polls, which doesn't look to be changing anytime soon.
"I'm in," Hiro says at once, biting his lip as everyone turns to face him. "I think...for Abigail. I'm in."
Fred heaves a long sigh at this, leaning over to press his forehead to the table. "Yeah," he says at last. "If we can keep stuff like that from happening to someone else, I think we have to."
A sense of dread fills Wasabi. He turns to meet Honey Lemon's gaze, eyebrows raised, and she frowns back at him apologetically. "I agree," she says. "This isn't our norm, but I think this time around, it might be for the best."
They all turn to Wasabi, who grimaces up at the ceiling. It's not that he doesn't agree at this point, or that it wouldn't be the right thing to do. And either way, it isn't like he can do anything against the current vote. But he feels somehow bitter about the way things turned out. Thus far, sabotage and destruction are unintended side effects of what they do, not their primary purpose. This isn't what he signed up for, and he can't help but think they might not have ended up in this situation were it not for Hiro and Gogo.
"Yeah," he says finally. "We do what we gotta do."
"Alright then," Fujita says after a beat. "Let's figure out how this is going to work."
.
By the time Wasabi and the team trudge from the building, fatigue heavy in his shoulders, the fires and conversations have died down. Except for a few stragglers, the campground is dark and still, bathed in the same yellow glow of the expressway streetlights overhead.
It's been a lot to take in, and the single-file trek across the train tracks and through the grass is mostly silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts or in a fog of exhaustion. Wasabi hears Hiro murmuring to Baymax behind him, but it feels like too much energy to listen in. As they leave the grassy lot and step back into the alley, Gogo soundlessly sidles up to him.
It must be early morning, because the sky to the east has a purple tint to it instead of the deep black to the west. The bars are nearly empty as they pass. A municipal droid rolls across the sidewalk on the other side of the street, sweeping trash and debris into its bin.
Wasabi is tiredly trying to recall the name of the cross street they'd parked the car on when Gogo finally speaks. "So," she says, voice lowered so only he can hear. "I guess the moral of today is that me and Hiro are both reckless idiots who probably need someone besides a marshmallow pushover to talk us out of dangerous stuff."
With a snort, Wasabi shoots a glance over his shoulder at Baymax, who seems to be falling victim to Hiro's argument about carrying him piggyback the rest of the way. "You think?"
Irritation flashes across Gogo's face, but it softens. "Look, let's be real for a second. The bot fighting and street racing stuff? Probably not going to stop. It's what we like to do, we're safe about it, it's not super illegal—"
"Not super—what does that even—!"
"—but what we did with Krei, going on the patrol without you guys...that wasn't okay."
It takes him a few beats to recover from his surprise. "No, it wasn't," he agrees. "I mean, that's why we're a team, right? To head into stuff like that together. You guys could've gotten hurt, and even Abigail wouldn't have known. None of us would have had any idea."
"Yeah," Gogo sighs. "I get it."
Ahead of them, Fred and Honey Lemon have jogged forward to peer down the next cross street for Wasabi's car. Honey Lemon turns to say something to him, a grin on her face, and Fred's replying laughter is way too loud for this hour of the morning.
"Okay." Wasabi says. "So next time…"
"God, I hope there's not a next time," Gogo laughs. "But if there is, we'll...I dunno. Radio you, I guess."
"You'd better," Wasabi retorts. "And no trying to cover it up like you did this morning. No more secrets."
At this, she turns to look at him, her expression closed off once more. "Yeah," she says finally, looking down at her feet. "No more secrets."
.
.
.
A/N: Confession. Everything here is pseudoscience. Everything. In case you were wondering.
Wasabi thinks too much. This chapter got way outta control, and I'm so tired I'm almost delirious so hopefully it was semi-coherent :) Thanks for reading!
~ket