We zoom into Vinterberg, and the realization hits me as hard as a plummeting meteor. Mom’s dead. I’m going home to an empty house—no, not empty. It’s full of memories, memories of a mother I never really had. I’m not even an orphan. Being an orphan means I once had parents. I never had parents. I had a maker—is it really so different?
I’m not even seventeen yet. Who will take care of me? Where will I live? Will they schedule me for decommission? The questions ricochet in my mind, and my insides tangle into knots.
“T, you okay?” Rurik couldn’t have asked a more asinine question.
“Not even close.” I stare straight ahead. “What will happen to me now?”
“We could call my dad. He’ll know what to do.” Rurik keeps his eyes focused on the lights as we swerve through the suburb toward my house.
“No.” I’m emphatic. “I’ll call Asrid.”
Rurik nods and hands me his moby. I dial Asrid’s number but can’t bring myself to call. More explanations, more apologies. I can’t do it. Not now. If Asrid unfriends me because I’m an android, I’ll have lost everything.
“Tomorrow rather.” I hand the phone back, and our fingers brush light as feathers. “Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and this will have all been a bad dream.” Maybe Mom didn’t really die impaled in the stairwell. Maybe I’m not really a fake human.
We pull into the driveway and sit a minute, lost for words. I want Rurik to tell me everything will be okay. I need it, need his arms around me, and his lips kissing my hair. Do I? Or is that just some programmed response? Nothing I’m feeling is real, none of it ever was. My emotions are nothing more than clever code.
“Thanks for the lift.” I break the awkward silence and disembark. Glitch trots after me into the house. I wait for Rurik, but he starts reversing. With a deep, shuddering breath, I open the door and limp into the lounge. The house is dark except for the lamplight spilling through the windows. Miles isn’t here.
Alone but for Glitch, I collapse in the middle of the couch. My life has been reduced to splinters, no, to ones and zeros. That’s all I am—a sequence of ons and offs. My hand still throbs, the bones grinding together when I flex my fingers, and my thigh is tender. There’s no trace of my other injuries. I guess that’s one positive of being a bot.
A knock disturbs my pity-party. I stalk to the door half-expecting Adolf Hoeg to be standing on the porch ready to drag me back to a cell. Did Hoeg die? And if he did, was it from my kick to the head or from the blasts? Did I kill a man today? My stomach churns at the thought as I open the door.
Rurik stands on the porch, pale and disheveled.
“You came back.” I can’t believe it.
“I couldn’t leave you, not like this.” He drums his fingers on the door frame. “Listen, T, I … I don’t really know how to deal with this.” Rurik gestures to all of me. “To you being … ” He shakes his head. “But you’re still you. I mean … you’ve always been you. You haven’t changed.” He brushes ash-streaked hair from my face. “I’m not sure I understand any of this, but I’ve loved you since I can remember.” His voice catches, and he clears his throat.
“Rurik—”
“No, let me finish.” He drags his fingers through his hair before lifting his gaze. “I’ve always loved you, and I guess that means I’ve always loved android you.” His eyes smolder. “Are you sure you’re an android?”
“I think artificial human was the term they used.”
“Then I guess I still love you despite whatever it is you are.” He looks as nervous as he did on our first date.
“Why do you love me?”
He takes a moment, puts his hands in his pockets, pulls them out, and folds his arms instead.
“I guess it’s because you’re so definitively you, and not like anyone else.” Rurik frowns in concentration. “You’re the girl who sticks sheet music to her ceiling, who can talk for hours about a violin piece written by some guy who died four centuries ago, and can look good wearing ten different shades of black at the same time. You’re passionate and infuriating and brave and—”
I don’t let him finish. I kiss him, pressing my blood caked, mostly naked body against his and inhale his cinnamon scent. Automated response or not, this feels good. He eases away from me without kissing me back.
“You’re filthy.” He gestures to my pajamas. “Is that blood?”
“Mine. It’s synthetic.” I don’t want to think about how much might be Mom’s.
“Do you want to come in?”
He nods and steps across the threshold.
Despite the cold and my shredded clothes, I feel warmer now that Rurik’s here. It’s not as if I can forget for even a moment that Mom’s gone, that Quinn probably is too, but the loneliness isn’t quite as suffocating with Rik beside me.
“I have no idea what’s going to happen tomorrow.” My voice is a tremolo.
“Whatever happens, I’ll be here for you, T.” He meets my gaze. “No matter what.”