Plasticity Page 18

  “Don't know. I don't know how any of that stuff works. Never really cared about it, until yesterday, when I met those guys.”

  Judging by the tone of his voice when he said it, he meant something slightly different. “When you met her, you mean?” Portland was stabbing in the dark, but she was pretty confident in her aim, as she was in most things involving herself.

  “Yeah, I guess. Also, Alan's rich, apparently. Doesn't use any of it, and I've been angling for some kind of job, but don't tell them that.” He smiled a warm, genuine smile.

  “So, why didn't you tell Hayley about any of this? Why does me showing up with Thom come as such a huge surprise to her? How does she not know there's a flesh version of her out there?”

  “Well, I didn't know if it was true, myself. Like I said, I was hired to find the missing plastic. They could have fed me a line, just in case I had to explain myself to anyone. The only corroboration I've had was when you showed up about five minutes ago. Before that, I just assumed it was the story they told me to make my job easier. As a goon, surely you know how that is.”

  Portland did know exactly how that was. You got told what you needed to be told to do the job they wanted, preferably in a way that didn't let you easily figure out the true story. It was rare to get the true story out of the gate, and often times you never got to know the true story.

  “Plus...” He hesitated. “Now, don't tell anyone, but I kinda think I like the girl.”

  Portland snorted. “If you like that one, you should meet the flesh one. That plastic's a black and white picture of a rainbow. The real one is incomparable.” Portland chuckled, deciding a little subtle vulgarity might balance out the sappiness, “Tastes like stolen cherries, too.”

  Cyrus went into a coughing fit, veins straining against the skin of his face, and he had to roll the window down and let the cool night air into his lungs. Portland realized she may have missed the mark on the subtle part of that vulgarity, but she didn't care. She had come up with her new favorite thing to say about someone, and she couldn't wait to use it again.

  Before they knew it, they found themselves well outside of town, traveling through woodlands. An occasional mail box would whiz by, with no obvious home anywhere near it, sometimes clusters of mailboxes in the middle of nothing but trees and dirt. They crested a slight incline and the car in front of them had vanished. Portland, in half a panic, braked and looked at the tracking app to see that the car was moving perpendicular to their current location. It took a second for Portland to see the entrance to the narrow dirt path that would easily be missed at even half the speed limit out here. She looked over at Cyrus, again, taking pity on him. He had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Well, what she had gotten him into.

  “Sorry, Big Guy. This won't be pretty.”

  Cyrus started to open his mouth, but quickly shut it as he tensed the rest of his body, and fought through the muscle spasms to grasp at the ring and nylon device hanging above his head. He was on the verge of realizing that the strap he was gripping was a modified subway handle, but the entire concept disappeared in the noise and violence that the interior of the car had become. Portland was sure that the passenger seat was wailing on his kidneys right now, but there was nothing to be done about it. The car scraped and crashed and chirped and rocked up the rough dirt path. Cyrus was positive he heard parts being left behind in their wake, but Portland looked mostly unconcerned. He was clearly not enjoying himself, but he didn't look too green, so Portland kept up speed. Eventually, as all things do, for better or worse, the car ride had ended. Cyrus poured himself out of the passenger side, unable to even form a good joke about the situation. He leaned against the car for a moment, thankful it was over, but displeased that he could still feel the vibration in his body.

  “Sorry 'bout it, Big Guy. Didn't think we'd be off-roading tonight.” Portland's flippant attitude did nothing to sooth his poor battered guts, but he had gained a strange kind of respect for her. It took a special kind of person to be so disrespectful to an obviously expensive piece of equipment. Too many people he knew would baby anything they put that much time and money into, to the point where they couldn't enjoy it for a single second. He made a decision that night, right there next to the poor abused car on the dirt path, in the dim light of the autumn evening, standing across from a pretty, synthetic, robot-woman. He was going to take up bicycling.

  Portland heard the others walking through the underbrush, up a slight hill to the right of the parked cars, and she set out to follow them, letting Cyrus take his time catching up. It was a brief walk into the woods, no more than five-or-so minutes at most, before they came to a small clearing with a wooden cabin set in the middle. It looked like an over-sized trapper's shack, and it would have fit the cabin-in-the-woods horror scenario perfectly, if it weren't for the clean front porch and warm, glowing light from inside. It looked peaceful and inviting, and if Portland had just one ounce more of sentimentality to her, she would have found it oddly romantic.

  Hayley led them into the cabin, then paused hesitantly. She looked at Alan, then drooped her shoulders and hung her head. “Guess I'll have to reveal the secret.” She sounded almost despondent, as she pulled something out of her pocket, and crouched to the floor. She pressed on the floor, and a small block of wood popped up, revealing a tubular cam lock. She turned the key in the lock and slid the door into a hollowed out section of flooring, revealing a short set of steep stairs leading into a room beneath them. Cyrus eyed the opening and looked to the group. He wasn't going to fit down there, even if they closed their eyes really tight and wished as hard as they could.

  Alan showed no signs of being remotely interested in the room, though, despite Hayley's expectancy of shock and wonderment.

  “Well, now you know my secret, Alan.” Hayley sounded like she was giving up her claim to some precious resource, but Alan just shrugged.

  “Oh, uh, okay. I don't really care about the library, though. Nothing to do down there but read books. I don't really have the...” He stopped, looking for the right word. “Brain? Okay. Brain for reading. The words don't work, and it gives me a headache.”

  Hayley had gone from looking sad to looking out-right defeated. The only thing worse than losing her hiding place was knowing that Alan knew about it the whole time, and he just didn't care.

  Alan looked at the opening in the floor, then looked at Cyrus. “I can stay up here with Cyrus... I'm sorry, I don't know your full name. If you can get the girl to come upstairs with you, I can talk to her, then.”

  Lydia, given the choice to follow a secondary into potential danger, or stay with her primary, made the obvious choice. “I'll stay with Alan. Scream if you need me.”

  Nobody had an issue with this, and so they went, one-by-one down the awkward stairs. Thom had to turn and back down the stairs, shaking all the way down. He blamed his natural lack of balance, though no one had really asked.

  The girl was waiting for them when they arrived. She stood in the middle of the room, just watching, as they clambered down into the library.

  Hayley was trying to keep her guard up, but she knew it was mostly useless. If she was going to get hacked, it was going to happen. She didn't seem to have any kind of defense against it. Then, she thought about the fact that Portland was plastic, too, and that she was probably as susceptible to the witch's powers as herself.

  “Better watch out, Portland. She's a witch.” Hayley was completely sincere, but she could tell from Portland's face that she had her doubts.

  Portland smirked, “Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?”

  The girl cocked her head, “I do not believe in good or bad.”

  “You're supposed to say 'Why, I'm not a witch at all.' Don't you know anything?” Portland found this little girl irritating. That was a snap judgment, of course.

  “Ah, well, I do not know what you are talking about, but the idiot is right. I am a witch.”

  Portland glanced at Hayley with a pained express
ion, then turned her attention back to the girl. “I don't know what she told you, but there's no such thing. I mean, the tech to make something like that doesn't even exist. She'd have to be able to connect to your brain, over-the-air, somehow, then she'd have to run code on a protected system. I can't even begin to understand how you'd do that, unless you want to say it's just 'magic,' which is ridiculous. It's impossible for the same reason someone can't just give you a virus. You'd have to download something infected, then install or run it without performing a virus check." Portland didn't take her eyes off the weird doll-girl, watching for micro-responses, but she was a brick wall, until she hrmphed and smiled at Portland.

  Portland took that as a challenge to her statement. “Well, you can't hack me, so don't even bother trying.” Portland's dislike of this girl was increasing.

  Finally, the girl spoke. “Oh, can I not?” It was, now, Tabitha's turn to smirk.

  “Portland, what are you doing?” Thom's horrified expression told Portland that something was wrong, but didn't do much to explain what was wrong.

  “I told you. A witch.” Hayley shook her head, but didn't make a single move to try to stop it.

  “And the eyes of them both were opened...” Tabitha's voice had a light, robot-tinged, distortion to it, like a speaker with a cut in it. After a brief, but effective, display of witchcraft, Tabitha let go, and returned control of Portland's body to Portland.

  Portland looked down and saw that her coat had been opened and her bodysuit was pulled together between her breasts. She pulled the bodysuit back around each breast, one at a time and buttoned her coat back in place.

  “Okay, new rule, hack me again and you die.”

  With the way today was going, Thom was surprised Portland even bothered to use words, anymore, instead of just assaulting everyone.

  Tabitha smiled without mirth and gently shook her head. “You cannot kill me,” then, Tabitha, Hayley, and Portland said, in unison, “I am everywhere.”

  Portland shuddered. “Hayley, remember when I said I was beyond offense? I was wrong. This is how I can be offended.”

  Thom saw his chance to be helpful, so he reminded Portland. “Uh, that was actually Flesh Hayley. Plastic Hayley hasn't known you for more than an hour or so.”

  Portland whipped her head around to face Thom, obviously angered, and Thom realized he had not been very helpful at all. But, when she opened her mouth to say something, her face relaxed, and she seemed to calm herself. “You really have to find a better way to distinguish between the two. 'Flesh Hayley' is awkward to say, and it sounds abso-fucking-lutely terrible.”

  Hayley chimed in, as well. “While we're at it, I don't want to be called 'Plastic Hayley' either. Think up something cool to call me, too.” Portland's shoulders drooped a bit. Plastic Hayley was kind of a disappointment, compared to Flesh Hayley. Flesh Hayley was kind of stupid, but it was stupid in a different way. Not like she actually lacked intelligence, just that she was happy, bubbly, and preciously naive. This made her loads of fun to be around. While Plastic Hayley felt like a cheap knock-off. A dumbed-down, dollar store Barbie. Like playing dress-up with the little girl next door, instead of her rich, Manhattanite older sister. Tammy, she thought. We could call her Tammy, Portland laughed.

  “That is not a very nice thing to think, Miss Mean-Old-Lady.” Tabitha didn't feel like she needed to remind them of what she could do, but she figured it couldn't hurt to keep them on their toes.

  “And you! I swear to fucking God. Back off with that shit, or I will disassemble your ass.” Portland was genuinely angry, to the level of finger pointing. Thom had not seen her like this since they were kids. She reached out and grabbed a handful of the girl's dress collar, pulling her up to her face. “Go ahead. Do it again. I fucking dare y—” Portland let go of the collar and her face softened into a sweet, innocent smile. “Wait a second... Yeah... I'm a goddamn genius.”

  At this, Thom and Hayley were left perplexed. Something seemed to be going on, but it didn't look like Portland had been hijacked, just that she had changed her mind about something.

  “I could, I guess.” Tabitha shrugged with disinterest. “But, what is in it for me?”

  “Well, Little Girl, what do you want? I am the king of getting things. The King of Things. To you, Little Girl, that's my name. Go ahead, name your price.”

  Tabitha took less time than it took Thom to blink. “My father.” And that was it. Just like that. An impossible request.

  Portland stumbled a bit. “Your father, huh? You wanna elaborate on that, or...”

  Tabitha's whole demeanor had changed. Where once stood a haughty, spoiled brat, now stood a sad, but hopeful child. She suddenly looked so tiny and vulnerable. Portland couldn't help but feel bad. “I just want to see him again, even if just once. I just want to talk to him again.”

  Portland looked from Thom to Hayley, who raised her eyebrows with her shoulders, her hands turned palms-up with uncertainty. “I don't know what she's talking about, necessarily, but she did claim that this was her father's place, and that someone killed him, and that she got her revenge and then came back here because I triggered some alarm when I started using this library as a hangout.”

  “That was a lot of backstory we could have used before walking into the cabin, but, whatever.” Portland rolled her eyes. “Well, let's go upstairs and we can discuss this with the others, figure out what we can do about your dad, and hopefully, find our Hayley before morning. Whattaya say, Kiddo?”

  “My name is,” Tabitha started sternly, then decided, since she didn't know her real name, she probably shouldn't get too upset about people using other names for her. It's not like she had a spiritual attachment to the fake name she had been given by some random old lady. “Whatever is fine.”

  No one was really sure exactly what she meant by that, but they let it slide, and scaled the stairs to see two lounging men and one very angry, redheaded woman.

  “Who's everywhere?” She was doing some kind of comic-book anger pose, complete with a tapping foot, for effect. It looked absurd.

  Tabitha smiled, pleased with herself, while the others looked at her in mild surprise. “Literally everywhere, when I want to be.”

  Alan sat up in a jerk, with a look to show how incredulous he was. He recognized the girl, and apparently, she recognized him, as well.

  “I know you. We had pictures of you in our house. I saw them in a drawer in my dad's desk. I don't remember why he had them, though.” Alan looked up to the ceiling, wringing through distorted memory.

  “You, I know, but you cannot be you, so who are you?” Tabitha was probably being intentionally vague, but Alan remained in thought, only casually noticing that he was expected to respond.

  “I'm Alan Rice. This is my shack. I almost remember something about your picture.”

  Hayley had formed a hypothesis, so she was sure the girl had to have come to the same conclusion. “You think Alan's father is your father? Are you Alan's, like, long lost sister, or something?”

  “He does look enough like my father that the conclusion seems inescapable. It also lends credence to his claim of ownership of this place. I was unaware that my father had any family, spousal, progeny, or otherwise.”

  Hayley had just come to another hypothesis, but it was complete madness. There was no way she could be right about this one, but she had an idea.

  “Alan Rice, could you join me in the workshop for a moment?” She gestured with her head, then opened the workshop door, holding it to her chest, waiting for Alan to enter. “Please, give us a moment.”

  Alan went into the workshop and waited for Hayley to close the door. She walked to a work bench and started handling parts. Not doing anything in particular with them, just turning them over in her hand, hefting them, shuffling them around. Thinking while fidgeting.

  “So, you've been working on these robot parts for a while, right?”

  Alan looked at her funny. She knew he had been, so why would she ask?


  “What were you going to do with a complete body? Leave it blank, or did you have a plan in place for adding someone to a body?” Hayley had a feeling she knew the answer to this, as well.

  “I, um, I knew I was going to install the basic operating system, but beyond that, I had not really made plans. I don't know too many people, as it is, and I don't know anyone good enough to ask if they wanted one of my bodies.” He seemed distracted, hovering near Hayley's creation, not having seen it since it had a head installed. “She's pretty, huh? That was one of my favorite faces.”

  Hayley realized she had never asked him where he got these parts from. She had just assumed he had been buying them, but maybe something more was going on here. Something that might solidify her thesis.

  “Alan Rice, where do you buy these parts from?” She had joined him at her creation, stroking the cheek-line, admiring the eyes.

  “Oh, I don't buy them, Hayley Acero. I make them here.” He unlocked and slid open a drawer, revealing sheets of materials, fine metal mesh, dry carbon weave, thin sheets of titanium, and, most astounding, hermetically sealed sheets of flesh.

  Hayley's mouth would have watered, if such a thing were possible. Alan was sitting on a fortune in flesh and titanium, alone. She looked at the other drawers, all with the same kind of locks on them, and her mind swirled.

  “Okay, then.” She was working hard to maintain her composure. “Where do you keep the electronics?”

  Alan unlocked and slid open a drawer at the bottom, and a small puff of air escaped. It held stacks of sealed hard drives, separated by a thin polymer divider, from stacks of brain cases. Enough that he could have given birth to a baseball team in this small room, managers and all.

  “Tabitha...” Hayley turned and began to call out, but the girl was already walking into the workshop.

  “Born here, huh?” Hayley had built a pretty solid foundation for her conclusion.