“I have, and there’s
literally
nothing to see there.”
“What were you doing there? Were you buying a black-market Dancer?” They laughed, their laughter resembling the cry of jackals.
Lester walked out of his room and said, “A robot assassin. Seriously.”
“Why are you listening to that stupid show?” Max said. “And really, Lester? A
male
Dancer? Jamie is going to be so pissed at you for refusing to go out with him that
one time.”
Lillian looked at Tuxedo Man again, and smiled. “Oh!” she said. “That was the robot you were converting.” She touched the robot’s hand, traced the silver D.
“I wanted a butler,” Lester said. “Okay, Max? And you! Stop touching him!”
“This is so cool,” Lillian said.
“I don’t suppose you named him Alfred Pennyworth?” Max said, and the robot raised a hand and said, “As a matter of fact—”
“I call him Al,” Lester said. He stared at Max, challenging her to say something.
Max laughed.
“Enough with this shit!” he said. “You better start telling me where you got copies of these restricted Northpoint projects!”
“You’ve decrypted the files?” Lillian said.
“With difficulty, and not all of them.” Lester sat down on his rug, and Lillian realized that he didn’t even scream at them about their shoes. “Did you hack into
someone’s personal files? Because these documents are marked with the Northpoint-Pascual logo, but when I looked into the company’s network the documents are not there.”
“The files were about this female robot?” Max asked.
“Looks like it. These are black files, Max. These are CIA-level secret shit.” Lester sighed. “You have a source. I think the best thing to do now is to anonymously tell the
authorities about—”
“You looked into the network?” Max said. “Northpoint-Pascual’s network?”
Lester, who was bent on finishing his message, had to pause to re-assemble his thoughts. “Yes.”
Max glanced at Lillian. In the background, Lester’s computer had switched to another podcast, this time with a news anchor saying, “The question is: Does this robot have a
Controller, and was this robot given a directive? Does it have a target? Or do we have a robot just walking around aimlessly with a syringe full of lethal, experimental drugs?
“Why didn’t you just ask us instead of hacking into the system?” Lillian said.
“I wake up and suddenly there’s a female robot killing people in town,” Lester said. “You’d forgive me for feeling the urgency of the moment.”
Lillian couldn’t think of a reply.
“I just saw a tiny sliver of the network,” Lester said, not seeing the panic in the eyes of his audience. “I worked on that for hours and hours, and when I got in today, I saw
nothing. Anyway, in the file I decrypted, there’s something called Project 17, and it’s a feasibility study on creating a robot for private security. Ever since SentryServ, having
private security has been deemed illegal, so that’s enough to send anyone to ja—Wait a minute. You didn’t bring Mimsy?”
“Uh,” Lillian said.
“Could they have traced you, Lester?” Max asked.
“Why would they bother? I’m not even sure I got into the
real
network.”
Someone knocked on the door.
“Jamie?” Lester asked.
“He’s at work,” Max said. “Were you expecting anyone?”
Al looked through the peephole. “It’s a woman, sir.”
“I’m not expecting anyone,” Lester said. He jumped to his feet. Max stepped in front of Al and looked through the peephole herself.
She stepped back quickly, as though burnt. “We need to get out of here.”
There was a ping, like the sound of a tapped doorknob, and the door was kicked in to reveal Felisa, Girl X, the robot of Project 17 with her gun raised. She pointed it at Lester. Al elbowed her
in the face and she staggered. Lillian screamed. The gun was still in Felisa’s hand, and the robot aimed again. Al reached over, as calm as a man
literally
nothing to see there.”
“What were you doing there? Were you buying a black-market Dancer?” They laughed, their laughter resembling the cry of jackals.
Lester walked out of his room and said, “A robot assassin. Seriously.”
“Why are you listening to that stupid show?” Max said. “And really, Lester? A
male
Dancer? Jamie is going to be so pissed at you for refusing to go out with him that
one time.”
Lillian looked at Tuxedo Man again, and smiled. “Oh!” she said. “That was the robot you were converting.” She touched the robot’s hand, traced the silver D.
“I wanted a butler,” Lester said. “Okay, Max? And you! Stop touching him!”
“This is so cool,” Lillian said.
“I don’t suppose you named him Alfred Pennyworth?” Max said, and the robot raised a hand and said, “As a matter of fact—”
“I call him Al,” Lester said. He stared at Max, challenging her to say something.
Max laughed.
“Enough with this shit!” he said. “You better start telling me where you got copies of these restricted Northpoint projects!”
“You’ve decrypted the files?” Lillian said.
“With difficulty, and not all of them.” Lester sat down on his rug, and Lillian realized that he didn’t even scream at them about their shoes. “Did you hack into
someone’s personal files? Because these documents are marked with the Northpoint-Pascual logo, but when I looked into the company’s network the documents are not there.”
“The files were about this female robot?” Max asked.
“Looks like it. These are black files, Max. These are CIA-level secret shit.” Lester sighed. “You have a source. I think the best thing to do now is to anonymously tell the
authorities about—”
“You looked into the network?” Max said. “Northpoint-Pascual’s network?”
Lester, who was bent on finishing his message, had to pause to re-assemble his thoughts. “Yes.”
Max glanced at Lillian. In the background, Lester’s computer had switched to another podcast, this time with a news anchor saying, “The question is: Does this robot have a
Controller, and was this robot given a directive? Does it have a target? Or do we have a robot just walking around aimlessly with a syringe full of lethal, experimental drugs?
“Why didn’t you just ask us instead of hacking into the system?” Lillian said.
“I wake up and suddenly there’s a female robot killing people in town,” Lester said. “You’d forgive me for feeling the urgency of the moment.”
Lillian couldn’t think of a reply.
“I just saw a tiny sliver of the network,” Lester said, not seeing the panic in the eyes of his audience. “I worked on that for hours and hours, and when I got in today, I saw
nothing. Anyway, in the file I decrypted, there’s something called Project 17, and it’s a feasibility study on creating a robot for private security. Ever since SentryServ, having
private security has been deemed illegal, so that’s enough to send anyone to ja—Wait a minute. You didn’t bring Mimsy?”
“Uh,” Lillian said.
“Could they have traced you, Lester?” Max asked.
“Why would they bother? I’m not even sure I got into the
real
network.”
Someone knocked on the door.
“Jamie?” Lester asked.
“He’s at work,” Max said. “Were you expecting anyone?”
Al looked through the peephole. “It’s a woman, sir.”
“I’m not expecting anyone,” Lester said. He jumped to his feet. Max stepped in front of Al and looked through the peephole herself.
She stepped back quickly, as though burnt. “We need to get out of here.”
There was a ping, like the sound of a tapped doorknob, and the door was kicked in to reveal Felisa, Girl X, the robot of Project 17 with her gun raised. She pointed it at Lester. Al elbowed her
in the face and she staggered. Lillian screamed. The gun was still in Felisa’s hand, and the robot aimed again. Al reached over, as calm as a man
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