“These are not our visiting hours,” the woman says, looking directly at Yvonne and ignoring me. I’m doubly grateful for the glasses, even if they’re a little odd inside.
“Sorry,” Yvonne says. “The door was open. We’re actually looking for someone.”
The woman’s eyebrows twitches, but doesn’t turn her head to look at me even when Yvonne gestures vaguely in my direction. Great. Extra argumentative is always fun.
“I’m trying to find the records of a child who came from this planet, but he was given over to Amerov in 5635 when the outbreak hit the hardest.”
Finally, her eyes slide my direction. “How is that any of your business?”
I bite back the it’s not any of your business comments that springs to mind. I try to weigh which excuse would be better. That I’m hired to find out? Or than I have a personal investment in it? Hired out sounds more official, and this woman doesn’t give me the impression she’s going to be swayed by emotions.
“Hired by the family of the kid,” I say. “They’re trying to figure out what happened to their relative when he was strangely sent to Amerov and never returned.”
Hey eyebrows furrow. The sketchy behavior is making her appear more suspicious than I think she intends. She’s certainly old enough to have been here during those years. Was she working here at the time? Does she remember someone fitting the description? Even if she was the one who signed off on me—if it was me—being surrendered to Amerov, that wouldn’t make her guilty of anything. It was a perfectly legal thing to do. There’s always the most obvious option: she doesn’t like nosey, unregistered cyborgs around the kids she’s caring for.
When she doesn’t speak, I say, “I realize you don’t give out personal records, but I’m just looking for confirmation whether or not the kid was here and surrendered to Amerov. There’s nothing involving the law going on here.”
I say it to reassure her, but she seems more insulted than anything. “We’re not hiding anything from the authorities here, but I’m happy to call them myself if you don’t leave.”
I grimace, but Yvonne levels a glare at the side of the woman’s face she doesn’t appear to notice. Taking off her glasses, she says, “We’re looking for a name, and no more than that, for a very upset family. The other places we’ve checked have been helpful, but we’re going to have to go back to the family and tell them we got answers from everywhere but your establishment. Seems a little suspicious, don’t you think?”
Slowly, the woman turns to match Yvonne’s glare. When did I become the good cop in the situation?
Without bothering to respond, the woman turns back to me. “We don’t like your kind here.”
Huh, maybe she just hates Amerov as an entity. Maybe I should’ve mentioned I’m unregistered. If that were to help, it would be a first.
Bat sighs softly. Yvonne looks about ready to throw a punch, but I say, “Don’t worry, I don’t either. But I’m here on business.”
“You’re unregistered. You’re not on anyone’s business.”
I suppose she figured it out on her own. Not exactly a tough thing to work out for anyone who’s interacted with a cyborg before. Perhaps this city has a few wandering around. “If you think people don’t hire us out, you need to get out more.”
Slowly, as if I’m dense, she says. “We. Don’t. Like. Things. Like. You.”
Anya says, “Why are you such a bitc—”
Without thinking, I clap my hand over her mouth. Kid’s getting worse manners as the days pass. That might be my partially my fault. Yvonne purses her lips, looking at the wall so she doesn’t laugh. They’re both more offended than I am, which is pretty funny considering how Yvonne acted when we first met. With them both fuming on my behalf, it doesn’t much bother me that this strange woman thinks I’m a monster.
When did that happen?
The woman’s eyes narrow to needles at Anya standing half behind me. “I suppose whatever happened to her has nothing to do with you?”
Heat tightens my chest, not because of the implication I hurt a child, but because Anya’s still recovering, and has been worried from the start about people staring at her prosthetics. I know the feeling, but I’m not a shy ten-year-old anymore.
Just an uncomfortable thirty-four-year-old.
I tuck Anya a bit more behind me, not allowing myself to feel awkward when she leans against my back.
“Huh, insulting injured children. If I’m a monster what does that make you?”
If looks could kill.
At least the passing murder on Yvonne’s face eases a fraction. As funny as it would be for her to throw down with this woman in the middle of her shiny lobby, I don’t think that would be wise. We’re tying to keep a low profile, and even this argument has me concerned someone in the back room is listening in and will call the authorities. Perhaps we should cut our losses on this one and make a break for it. I tap my finger against the side of the desk, feeling too stubborn to admit defeat over something so unthreatening. We’re not exactly facing down ForceZero numbers here.
A young man walks out from the back, stops dead, chews a mouthful of gum with a loud smack, and turns right on his heel and heads back from where he came from. Smart guy.
I don’t wanna run for it, but we better wrap this up quick.
In the same tone she used on me, I say, “I. Would like. You. To check. Your. Records.”
For a full five seconds, I’m connived she’s going to call the authorities. Then she stalks behind the desk, holding my glare, and slaps the front tablet awake.
“Name.”
“Aaron. That’s all we know.”
“Year.”
“Surrendered to Amerov in 5635.”
She taps in something, rests her hands on the desk with more attitude than I’ve ever had in my life, and says, “No records.”
Big lie. “Not a single kid here named Aaron that year.”
“Nope.”
Every other orphanage had at least two or three, sometimes more. “Show me.”
“If you don’t leave, I’m calling the authorities. I should anyway, having one of you wandering this city.”
Well, at least now Yvonne probably gets why I hate mingling. The look on her face reminds me of Captain’s when he thought I purposefully killed one of his numbers. I wonder if a vein’s gonna pop out in her neck.
It’s not worth arguing with this woman here and now. I believe she’ll call the authorities, and with our bounties that’s about the worst outcome. Sure, we could be out of here by the time they get there, but I’m not up to these types of risks right now, not for this. Too bad for her we’re perfectly capable of breaking back in here and hacking their system. It isn’t necessary, we’re going to Zar anyway, but I’m tempted just out of spite. All we’d have to do is take an extra day and wait for night to fall. I’m sure Bat would be thrilled.
“Let’s go,” I say when Yvonne doesn’t move.
She gives me a look like she wants to go off on this woman and I’m interrupting her fun. But she isn’t a princess right now, not to this woman, no matter how nasty she is.
“If I don’t get to hit stupid humans, you don’t get to.”
The woman bristles, straightening and taking a glaring step back.
Yvonne’s lips twitch. “I argue that since you don’t get to, I should be able to.”
I’d think her kidding, but her feet are planted, in no hurry to head for the door. I’m paranoid enough about the young man who momentarily walked out back there calling the authorities that I hook my hand under Yvonne’s arm and haul her across the lobby. After a few steps, she stops putting up a fight, giving a final glance over her shoulder and making a hand gesture I don’t see but can nicely imagine. I try to imagine her glaring at Captain in much the same way and fight back a grin.
“These are not our visiting hours,” the woman says, looking directly at Yvonne and ignoring me. I’m doubly grateful for the glasses, even if they’re a little odd inside.
“Sorry,” Yvonne says. “The door was open. We’re actually looking for someone.”
The woman’s eyebrows twitches, but doesn’t turn her head to look at me even when Yvonne gestures vaguely in my direction. Great. Extra argumentative is always fun.
“I’m trying to find the records of a child who came from this planet, but he was given over to Amerov in 5635 when the outbreak hit the hardest.”
Finally, her eyes slide my direction. “How is that any of your business?”
I bite back the it’s not any of your business comments that springs to mind. I try to weigh which excuse would be better. That I’m hired to find out? Or than I have a personal investment in it? Hired out sounds more official, and this woman doesn’t give me the impression she’s going to be swayed by emotions.
“Hired by the family of the kid,” I say. “They’re trying to figure out what happened to their relative when he was strangely sent to Amerov and never returned.”
Hey eyebrows furrow. The sketchy behavior is making her appear more suspicious than I think she intends. She’s certainly old enough to have been here during those years. Was she working here at the time? Does she remember someone fitting the description? Even if she was the one who signed off on me—if it was me—being surrendered to Amerov, that wouldn’t make her guilty of anything. It was a perfectly legal thing to do. There’s always the most obvious option: she doesn’t like nosey, unregistered cyborgs around the kids she’s caring for.
When she doesn’t speak, I say, “I realize you don’t give out personal records, but I’m just looking for confirmation whether or not the kid was here and surrendered to Amerov. There’s nothing involving the law going on here.”
I say it to reassure her, but she seems more insulted than anything. “We’re not hiding anything from the authorities here, but I’m happy to call them myself if you don’t leave.”
I grimace, but Yvonne levels a glare at the side of the woman’s face she doesn’t appear to notice. Taking off her glasses, she says, “We’re looking for a name, and no more than that, for a very upset family. The other places we’ve checked have been helpful, but we’re going to have to go back to the family and tell them we got answers from everywhere but your establishment. Seems a little suspicious, don’t you think?”
Slowly, the woman turns to match Yvonne’s glare. When did I become the good cop in the situation?
Without bothering to respond, the woman turns back to me. “We don’t like your kind here.”
Huh, maybe she just hates Amerov as an entity. Maybe I should’ve mentioned I’m unregistered. If that were to help, it would be a first.
Bat sighs softly. Yvonne looks about ready to throw a punch, but I say, “Don’t worry, I don’t either. But I’m here on business.”
“You’re unregistered. You’re not on anyone’s business.”
I suppose she figured it out on her own. Not exactly a tough thing to work out for anyone who’s interacted with a cyborg before. Perhaps this city has a few wandering around. “If you think people don’t hire us out, you need to get out more.”
Slowly, as if I’m dense, she says. “We. Don’t. Like. Things. Like. You.”
Anya says, “Why are you such a bitc—”
Without thinking, I clap my hand over her mouth. Kid’s getting worse manners as the days pass. That might be my partially my fault. Yvonne purses her lips, looking at the wall so she doesn’t laugh. They’re both more offended than I am, which is pretty funny considering how Yvonne acted when we first met. With them both fuming on my behalf, it doesn’t much bother me that this strange woman thinks I’m a monster.
When did that happen?
The woman’s eyes narrow to needles at Anya standing half behind me. “I suppose whatever happened to her has nothing to do with you?”
Heat tightens my chest, not because of the implication I hurt a child, but because Anya’s still recovering, and has been worried from the start about people staring at her prosthetics. I know the feeling, but I’m not a shy ten-year-old anymore.
Just an uncomfortable thirty-four-year-old.
I tuck Anya a bit more behind me, not allowing myself to feel awkward when she leans against my back.
“Huh, insulting injured children. If I’m a monster what does that make you?”
If looks could kill.
At least the passing murder on Yvonne’s face eases a fraction. As funny as it would be for her to throw down with this woman in the middle of her shiny lobby, I don’t think that would be wise. We’re tying to keep a low profile, and even this argument has me concerned someone in the back room is listening in and will call the authorities. Perhaps we should cut our losses on this one and make a break for it. I tap my finger against the side of the desk, feeling too stubborn to admit defeat over something so unthreatening. We’re not exactly facing down ForceZero numbers here.
A young man walks out from the back, stops dead, chews a mouthful of gum with a loud smack, and turns right on his heel and heads back from where he came from. Smart guy.
I don’t wanna run for it, but we better wrap this up quick.
In the same tone she used on me, I say, “I. Would like. You. To check. Your. Records.”
For a full five seconds, I’m connived she’s going to call the authorities. Then she stalks behind the desk, holding my glare, and slaps the front tablet awake.
“Name.”
“Aaron. That’s all we know.”
“Year.”
“Surrendered to Amerov in 5635.”
She taps in something, rests her hands on the desk with more attitude than I’ve ever had in my life, and says, “No records.”
Big lie. “Not a single kid here named Aaron that year.”
“Nope.”
Every other orphanage had at least two or three, sometimes more. “Show me.”
“If you don’t leave, I’m calling the authorities. I should anyway, having one of you wandering this city.”
Well, at least now Yvonne probably gets why I hate mingling. The look on her face reminds me of Captain’s when he thought I purposefully killed one of his numbers. I wonder if a vein’s gonna pop out in her neck.
It’s not worth arguing with this woman here and now. I believe she’ll call the authorities, and with our bounties that’s about the worst outcome. Sure, we could be out of here by the time they get there, but I’m not up to these types of risks right now, not for this. Too bad for her we’re perfectly capable of breaking back in here and hacking their system. It isn’t necessary, we’re going to Zar anyway, but I’m tempted just out of spite. All we’d have to do is take an extra day and wait for night to fall. I’m sure Bat would be thrilled.
“Let’s go,” I say when Yvonne doesn’t move.
She gives me a look like she wants to go off on this woman and I’m interrupting her fun. But she isn’t a princess right now, not to this woman, no matter how nasty she is.
“If I don’t get to hit stupid humans, you don’t get to.”
The woman bristles, straightening and taking a glaring step back.
Yvonne’s lips twitch. “I argue that since you don’t get to, I should be able to.”
I’d think her kidding, but her feet are planted, in no hurry to head for the door. I’m paranoid enough about the young man who momentarily walked out back there calling the authorities that I hook my hand under Yvonne’s arm and haul her across the lobby. After a few steps, she stops putting up a fight, giving a final glance over her shoulder and making a hand gesture I don’t see but can nicely imagine. I try to imagine her glaring at Captain in much the same way and fight back a grin.
