“Of course he does,” Kir said. “He’s the one running our good friend K-B here.”
“No one—”
But before Kawnac-B could finish, the elevator door opened, and two enormous robots covered in black nonconducting bulletproof vests and helmets stepped into the room brandishing carbines. A squat robot in a black suit, no more than four feet tall, stood behind them. In comparison to the armed robots, he looked like a child.
At the sight of them, Kawnac-B’s screens went black. He wasn’t going to get involved.
“Mark Sysigns, Homeland Security,” the robot in the suit said.
A movement in the room down below caught Laughton’s eye. Two more robots in riot gear, the letters “HSI” in white on their backs. “Shit,” he said. “Can I see some ID?”
“Oh, right,” Sysigns said, pulling a badge from his pocket.
“He’s legitimate,” Kir said. They’d already exchanged credentials electronically.
Laughton checked the proffered ID anyway. It was for the Coast Guard Investigative Service. Sure, the Coast Guard was Homeland Security, but why would they be this far inland?
“I called in Department of Health and Human Services,” Kir said to the Homeland Security man.
“We were closer,” Sysigns said.
“If you’re that close,” Laughton said, “why has this club stayed open?” Laughton kept expecting to see more forces, but other than the three robots in the room, and the two down below, no other robots appeared. It seemed like a small team for such a raid.
“We’re here now,” Sysigns said. Realizing that wasn’t really an answer, he said, “Jurisdiction.”
“Nobody contacted me,” Kir said.
One of the HSI men was removing Laughton’s mag damper from Kawnac-B’s silent figure. When it popped off, Kawnac-B’s screen flickered on, showing nothing but a smiling mouth.
Laughton’s muscles tensed with a desire to punch the robot in the face, crack his screen.
“We’ve got everything under control now,” Sysigns said. “No need for you to stay.”
“We can wait until the HHS arrives,” Kir said.
“I called them off,” the short robot said. “We’ve got this.”
Laughton and Kir exchanged looks. Laughton could see that his partner was even more skeptical of this whole thing than he was. “Come on,” Kir said.
“I want my maglock back,” Laughton said, holding out his hand.
Sysigns took it from the agent, and held it out to Laughton.
“Elevator?” Laughton asked.
“Be my guest, gentlemen,” Sysigns said, stepping out of the way.
The chief and Kir stepped forward.
“You’re sure you don’t need help?” Kir said.
“Most of the patrons here were on the run by the time we showed up. I’ve got men trailing them outside.”
This whole thing felt wrong. It had felt wrong from the moment they’d pulled up to the club, but this was even worse. “Fine. Whatever,” Laughton said. He entered the elevator, and Kir joined him. Once the door closed, the chief said, “What the hell?”
“They got here very quickly for Homeland Security,” Kir said.
“Why am I starting to feel like the whole preserve is a sham?”
“It’s not a sham, but Homeland Security’s anti-sims policy might be based on this bullshit.”
“At least we found Jones,” Laughton said.
“Yeah,” Kir said, but he was thinking, his mind somewhere else. Or maybe he was actually conversing with someone in his department silently.
Laughton wondered how he had been so unaware of what was happening on and around the preserve. Maybe Liberty was a way of putting his head in the sand, and he was fooling himself to think he was doing anything of importance. It seemed like there were many greater forces involved.
“Let’s get Jones and get the hell out of here,” Laughton said as the elevator door opened into a room adjacent to the larger dining room.
“Hell yeah,” Kir said.
But when they returned to the dining room, it was empty. Jones was gone.
It was a little after 2:00 a.m. when Laughton’s truck pulled into his driveway. The plucky GPS announced, “You have arrived.” Laughton was awake, but his face hurt and he needed the day to be over. Tossing the maglock, the weight leaving his hand, and then the satisfying snap as it attached itself to that metal bastard… that had felt good. A million times better than playing limousine service to a bunch of drunks. But the bad taste of their run-in with Homeland Security soured an already terrible evening. And Jones was in the wind again.
Inside, Laughton used the flashlight on his phone rather than turning on the lights. “There’s a charger cord in the corner,” he said, shining the light in that direction. “We’re one hundred percent solar, so I don’t know how strong a charge you’re going to get.”
“It’s fine,” Kir said.
“You need anything else?”
“Go to sleep,” Kir said. “You need the rest more than I do.”
But Laughton wavered. He felt the pull of the bed upstairs, but he didn’t want to leave Kir either. It wasn’t that he had something to say to him. He just wanted the companionship, the comfort, feeling like himself in a way he hadn’t realized he didn’t anymore. “I missed you,” he said at last.
“You wouldn’t believe…” Kir said.
“Okay. Good night.”
“Jesse, we’re going to get them,” Kir said. “We always do.”
“Selective memory,” Laughton said.
“Robots can’t have selective memories.”
“Right,” Laughton said, laying some heavy irony in his voice. He turned and went upstairs. Halfway up, he could hear the charging cord unspool from the wall socket.
On the landing, he considered Erica’s door. It was closed, but not latched, the cool glow of her nightlight just visible between the door and the jamb. She liked to have it closed enough to block out any noise that he or Betty might make before they turned in, but having it latched made her anxious, so this was her compromise. He peeked through the crack, but it was too dark to make her out. He was afraid if he went in, he would wake her, so he turned to the bathroom instead. He propped his phone on the edge of the sink so that the flashlight was shining on the floor, giving enough light to see by, but not so much as to hurt his eyes.
He used the toilet, thankful for the Liberty waterworks that prevented the horror of the bathroom out in Santee. He counted the hours before he needed to be up again, and it was too short. He flicked off the light on his phone, and went into the bedroom. Betty rolled over on the bed, her shape a black outline in the darkness. Her voice, coated in sleep, came out with a sigh. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he whispered. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”
“How was your thing?”
“Fine. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“No, I’m up, I’m up,” she said, slurring her words together. “Come.” And he could see the silhouette of her outstretched arms. He pulled off his shoes, slid the shirt over his head, undid his belt, and stepped out of his pants, climbing into bed in just his boxers and socks. He lay on his back as Betty scooted herself over to him, rolling so her head was on his chest, her body wedged against him. Every muscle in Laughton’s body relaxed. He felt himself sinking into the mattress. He closed his eyes, his face tingling.