Alan sat beside Abby in the audience of the Arthur Miller Theater, dabbing at her forehead with a damp cloth. The fabric had been torn from the hem of his inconveniently well-made hostage tunic. The water had come from his lunch ration. Whether his ministrations did anything, it was hard to tell. Alan had no first aid training, and there wasn’t any medical scanner around for him to use.
They’d drugged her. Whether it was the Chain Breakers’ doing or some clever guesswork by the officials on the outside dosing her food, they’d gotten a sedative slipped into her system. He suspected the children doing the deliveries had intervened, reporting the severity of Abby’s pain and soliciting help to ease it.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” Alan whispered to her, though he knew she couldn’t hear him. The hand mopping his grandmother-in-law’s forehead trembled.
I can’t deal with Ned Lund, he told himself. But I have to. None of the others show any sign that they’ll do it.
Alice was picking at a meal that had gone cold an hour ago. Kripesh was catatonic. Hans and Kevin played checkers with scraps of bread crust and stale potato chips for pieces, ignoring the other hostages. Dawn had her eyes closed, lips moving silently—in prayer or meditation, Alan guessed. The rest were either sleeping or pretending to.
Ned’s boots beat the floor like the drums of an invading army.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded.
Alan looked up, checking to see whether the leader of the Chain Breakers might possibly be focusing his fury elsewhere. His hopes sank when he met Ned’s glare without meaning to.
“She’s out cold,” Alan said. “Overwrought? Drugged? I’m no doctor.”
Ned jabbed a finger at the comatose Abby, stopping just short of a bruising impact with her temple. “This… this isn’t what I need right now. I got confirmation that all those Martians stuck in Earth’s brainwashing camp are coming back. She’s getting results. Damn me six ways if I’m going back to waiting on Earth to send someone who can deal.”
“She’s old,” Alan replied lamely. “There’s only so much she can take. I’m sure she’ll wake up soon.” Soon was a comfortably flexible term.
Ned shook her by the shoulder. Whether he was imagining it or not, Alan thought he could hear joints grinding with Abby’s every limp motion.
Alan thrust Ned’s hand aside. No sooner had he separated the terraformer from Abby but that hand came and slapped him across the face. “Don’t you touch me!”
“You need a negotiator,” Alan said, blinking to clear his vision and dabbing at the side of his face to check for blood. “Let me talk to Dana.”
“You?” Ned asked with a snort. “If I wanted some carpet-bagging Martian wannabe acting as a go-between, I’d have used your wife. I need someone with authority, someone who can get those Earthbound committees off their collective asses to deliver what I asked for.”
Alan couldn’t take it anymore. “Maybe they’ll send Charlie7,” he said through his teeth.
He cringed, expecting another blow from Ned’s hand.
Instead, Ned chuckled. “Let ‘em try. I don’t care how fast that black chassis of his is. My thumb’s faster.” He pulled out the bomb collar remote.
Alan’s hand went instantly to his neck, as if laying a hand on the device might do the least bit to save him if it went off.
“Maybe…” Ned said. “Maybe it’s time to show them that if they expect to dole out items from my list one by one, they’re going to have to pick up the pace. If Abbigail Fourteen would rather nap than haggle, maybe it’s time I wiped another robot.”
Alan shook his head. As best he knew, the only one they’d killed had been the robot Ned wanted to frame Alan for murdering. That seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Don’t,” Alan said. “Please don’t.”
“Then wake her up,” Ned ordered.
Alan patted Abby’s cheek. “Abby?” he whispered. “I can’t do this. I need you. We need you. One of the robots is going to die unless you wake up and do something.”
Ned scratched at the short beard he’d grown during his time away from civilized amenities. “Maybe I’ll make you pick,” he mused. “Guess a number, one to five.”
Alan swallowed and shook his head. “Abby,” he pleaded. “Please.”
“Pick one,” Ned insisted. “Or I’ll wipe two of them. All the same to me. Maybe one and a half, since one’s a defective anyway.”
Alan looked up. The question was clear in his eyes.
“Everyone knows Toby521’s not right in the head,” Ned said. “Maybe I’ll just put him out of his misery and some other poor crate of spare circuits.”
There was just no getting around that Alan had a soft spot for Toby archetypes. He’d been raised by the original Toby. Dr. Toby had been every bit the father to Alan despite there being no biological connection between them. All the Toby mixes held a shred of that father figure in them.
“You wouldn’t hurt a Toby,” Alan said with tears in his eyes.
“Superstitious Earthling nonsense,” Ned scolded. “Nobody needs Tobies on Mars. We’re not afraid to work with our hands. And don’t give me the saline leaks over some robot. They’re not real people. They just think they are.”
A shout from up on stage turned both Ned and Alan’s heads.
“Boss, we… we’ve got a problem!” It was Wil, and the nervous stammer wasn’t like him at all.
Ned perked up. “Are they trying to force their way in?” He was already headed for the steps onto the stage. Despite the prospect of violence, Alan felt thankful to be out of the line of Ned’s ire.
“No,” Wil shouted back. “A new negotiator.”
“Well,” Ned said, pulling up short in the main aisle. A grin broke out on his face. “That’s more like it. Someone who can move those good-for-nothing committee chairs, you think?”
“It’s Eve Fourteen,” Wil replied.
Alan watched the Chain Breaker struggle to process that name. At first, the two words struck him and refused to enter his ears. Then he blinked, perhaps trying to guess what might have been said that sounded like “Eve Fourteen” but wasn’t. Then reality set in, and Ned’s jaw hung open.
Wil cleared his throat. “She’s actually… already in the theater.”