Sarya swallows, staring into that red cockpit, but the more adventurous part of her mind speaks up before she can change her mind. This is the actual moment, it says. This is when you reach out and seize your destiny. This is when you move from dream to action, from fourth shift at the arboretum to membership in a fierce and proud species. You will look back on this day and—
“Will we be placing the Human with the other prisoners?” says Eleven in its sunny voice.
Sarya takes a step backward. “The other—the other what?” she says.
And then she is seized from behind, because in her excitement about being Human she has forgotten to be Widow. Hood’s long and sinuous arm is wrapped around her, crushing her arms to her sides, and she is lifted from the floor. She opens her mouth but she is too shocked—too angry—to shout.
She is offered to the suit like a wrapped package, like a thrashing and dangerous animal at the end of a tether. [Next time, adhere to the script], Hood says, glancing around Dock A. [Which, I might point out, does not include either Human or prisoners.]
“Your feedback is important to me!” says Eleven. “I have logged it for future behavior modification.”
Sarya kicks in all directions, but more straps fly from the suit’s red interior and seize her. “Your comfort is of paramount importance!” thunders the suit, pulling her out of Hood’s grip and into itself like a predator devouring prey. It winds its straps around her sturdier parts, violently, apparently attempting to make her comfortable or kill her trying. “If you are injured during occupant acquisition, this suit contains a full medical suite!” it says cheerfully.
Sarya struggles with all her strength, but it’s like wrestling with the grip of the planet below. And then, finally, she finds her voice. “I am a member of a Citizen species!” she shouts, her voice echoing in the vast empty dock. “This is illegal! My mother—” And then in a moment of inspiration, she realizes she has help right here with her. “Helper!” she shouts. “I’m—”
And suddenly something has grown across her mouth.
[Thank you, suit], says Hood. [I’m often impressed by your intuition.]
“You can trust AivvTech quality!” says the suit.
“Hi, best friend!” says Helper in her ears. “Are we going somewhere? I love trips! I bet you didn’t know that, huh? I wasn’t always your helper, though. I used to go on all kinds of trips. I’ve got some great stories, let me tell you.”
What Sarya wouldn’t give for a surgical Network implant—or a helper intelligence who wasn’t an idiot. A quick thought, and her mother would know exactly where she was. Hell, the entire station would know. She struggles and bites down, but the only thing she accomplishes is a painful twinge in her jaw. She is wrapped from head to toe, pinned inside this giant suit, her eyes the only thing she can still move.
“Cargo silenced and comfortable!” announces Eleven.
“Sarya?” asks Helper’s worried voice. “Are you ignoring me again?”
And then the suit tilts forward as Hood leans into it, accompanied by a lung-searing reek of solvents and hot metal. His long, sinuous arm reaches in, crawls up Sarya’s neck and across her face, and rips her Network unit away. Her ears sting as the earbuds are wrenched from them.
[Do not allow it to communicate], says Hood, turning away and depositing Sarya’s gift somewhere in his person.
“Not a problem!” says Eleven.
Strangely, Sarya is angrier about the theft than about anything that has happened thus far. She makes another attempt to free her mouth, this time to hurl an insult at Hood, but it’s too late, because the suit has folded closed with a low hum and a heavy thunk of bolts sliding into slots. Instantly, the straps loosen and fall away from her arms and mouth. She floats in the red darkness, held up by the waist and thighs as if she were an ordinary passenger.
“Welcome aboard!” says Eleven. “Please pardon the method of occupant acquisition.”
“Buddy,” says Sarya, rubbing a sore wrist, “you’re going to need more than a pardon when my mother finds out about this. Have you ever met a Widow?” She glances around the dark red interior of the suit, across a range of holographic indicators and a single physical lever directly above her head labeled [Manual Control]. “Because let me tell you,” she continues, planning her move, “a Widow is not someone you want to—”
She feels a light pat at both wrists. “Please do not touch the manual control,” says the suit.
“I will touch,” hisses Sarya, stung to be outsmarted by such a low tier, “whatever I damn well—”
“But please do enjoy the view!”
And then the walls fade, and she stutters into silence. If Eleven’s perfectly rendered holographic interior is to be believed, she is now a four-meter behemoth looking down on Hood. To either side, she can see massive arms supporting her weight. She traces their strength with her eyes longingly. Let her reach that manual control, and the first thing she’ll do is turn Hood into a smoking ruin. The second thing she’ll do is retrieve her Network unit from his mangled corpse. And then—
[Prepare for departure], says Hood, turning away.
Goddess. This is far too real—
“Have you located the requested item?” booms the suit.
She watches Hood pause, then turn back with the screech of metal. [What item is that?] he asks.
“Your partner mentioned a commemorative item,” said Eleven. “A souvenir of your last mission, she said.”
And then Hood makes a horrible screeching sound. For a moment Sarya stares, wide-eyed, until the display helpfully adds a [sigh] tag beside his flat face. [Did she?] he muses.
“This suit noticed she seemed quite taken with the idea.”
[A souvenir…], says Hood. And then, as if that has made a decision for him, he turns away. [Very well], he says. [Remain here until I return. That is a command], he adds almost as an afterthought.
“Command logged!” says Eleven.
Hood sighs again as he departs. [I have told her a dozen times], he says. [She will be the death of me.]
Sarya has watched this exchange openmouthed, realizing that she has never felt so insignificant. Not only is she being kidnapped, the event is of so little consequence that these two can discuss commemorative souvenirs. “Suit!” she shouts, watching Hood’s shrinking back as she kicks the inner wall. She forces herself not to look at the manual control—no, if you’re going to outsmart a low-tier you should never let it know what you’re thinking. Particularly one as quick as this one seems to be. “Eleven,” she says more evenly. “I belong to a Citizen species. This is kidnapping. It is illegal and…and wrong. Do you understand that?”