chapter 4

[aemilius]

Trying to answer the phone while you were deeply asleep never ended well.

Slurring your words to your superior was bad enough. Worse, though, was slapping the phone clear across your apartment when you were only trying to press the “answer call” button while still being convinced you were in the throes of a dream world. He'd only fully woken up when the phone's vibrations caused it to go knocking into the recycling bin, sending the neat stack of soda cans all crashing to the floor. He all but leaped out of bed, ending in a wildly undignified crab crawl across the apartment, to grab the phone just as the voicemail clicked on. The little device slid from his fingers as his head came to rest with a defeated thunk against the linoleum.

By then, it was the third call, and the insistent, increasingly irritated voicemail messages informed him his security team was only half an hour out from his garage, and he'd damn well better be ready to ship out the instant their convoy rolled up. He could only stare at the phone in mute dismay.

They'd just gotten back from a job. He'd just fallen into bed not an hour ago. Hestia probably wasn't even recharged all the way. What the hell was going on? There was no conceivable way life was this unfair. Even as his fingers hammered the “CALL BACK” button, he was scrambling around, looking for which chair he'd tossed his pants onto. It was always on a chair – never the floor – but the specific chair tended to change from night to night. Much like the rest of his little apartment. Everything was cluttered, but organized, as if the sheer force of organization could keep his things neatly in place on their shelves.

It was a one-room, bare walled little hole, perched precariously above a massive mechanic's garage. You had to go across the hall to get to the bathroom, shared by the building's actual owner and one other tenant. His kitchen was little more than a mini fridge, a sink, and a hot plate, all clustered together beside the apartment's single countertop, over which hung a sagging, half-open cupboard housing all the cooking utensils and eating equipment a bachelor could ever need – a frying pan, several bowls, and mismatched plates. Beside the “kitchen” stood a wire stand of shelves doing double-duty as pantry and clothing-drying-rack. A tiny table, bed, and secondhand dresser completed the shabby place. Every available surface was clean, the dirty dishes in the sink were rinsed, waiting to be washed, and no clothes littered the floor. Even the windows, though hidden behind gritty plastic blinds, were spotless, letting in the late afternoon sunlight. One wall held a cork-board, upon which were taped numerous bits and pieces of household detritus. Everything from paid bills to a flier for a national robotics convention, hosted, this year, in Portland itself. Shabby though it was, this particular hole was kept up as best it could be.

Save for days when you were jarred out of a deep sleep by your phone, after just falling into bed.

He growled something inarticulate, pressing the phone to his ear, as if that would somehow improve reception, or his mood. Neither seemed to be turning out very well today.

“Sebastian.”

Not even a hello, or a good morning. Go figure. Then again, it wasn't Captain Taylor on the other end of the line, but a vaguely mechanical, male voice. Which made more sense. The two SSCs always handled communications, on or off the road. “Yep, speaking. Finally. So, which one's this?” he asked, pulling a pair of worn, clean jeans on. “Aemilius? You guys know none of us can tell you apart on the phone, right?”

A gentle laugh. Nope – definitely not Aemilius. Aemilius' laugh was always far more mocking, taunting, than his partner's. “I'm sorry, Sebastian,” said Aelius. You could almost hear the apologetic smile. “It's Aelius. I sometimes forget our vocal pattern is similar to human hearing.”

There was a pause. Someone murmured in the background. A woman's voice. Seb could almost picture the captain standing in front of the SSC, hands on her hips, pointedly, Aelius perched on some crate or even on Gaius himself, one hand pressed to the side of his head, like a human being would speak into their headset. “I take it you received the message?” Aelius went on. “Captain Taylor was most insistent we keep trying to reach you.”

“Uh, yeah.” He started combing through his dresser, yanking out anything remotely clean and tossing it on the bed. He'd kick it all into his trunk in a minute. The last job had done one hell of a number on his laundry basket. Or lack thereof. “So it's legit?” he asked. “We're moving? Again?”

“Unfortunately, yes, it's a legitimate order,” Aelius said. He sounded as unhappy with the situation as Seb was. “We're only half an hour out from your location. Please be ready to accompany us to Portland in that time.”

“Shit, Lee, I don't know if the big girl's going to be mobile by then. Her cells took a pounding on the way back here.” He scrubbed a hand through short, wiry hair. “Hestia's pretty drained – no pun intended.”

There was a soft sound. If he were speaking to anyone, or anything else, Seb would have labeled it as a sigh. “Aemilius is in similar straights,” the SSC murmured, more regret in his voice than even before. “He's plugged into the mobile generators, currently, but...” Another huff of air. “When we pick you up, might I ask a personal favor, Sebastian?”

He'd shoved a toothbrush into his mouth as Aelius expositioned at him, but popped it into the corner of his lips to answer. The words came out only marginally garbled, as a result. “Uh, yep, shoot.”

“Could you look at him?” Aelius asked, with quiet concern. “His power lines, that sort of thing. I'm worried there may be some short... he doesn't typically burn out this quickly.”

Seb chewed the end of his brush. “How come Erik didn't page me?”

“He and Noah are rather preoccupied of late,” Aelius said. “Opiter's pilot has recently become unattached, and they... well.” The silence that followed could only contain a shrug. Nothing more needed to be said, unfortunately. At least, not where the twins' hormones were concerned. “Our basic needs are seen to, please don't worry over that. This is a fairly minor thing, and I felt it best to ask you directly, while you were on the line.”

“Uh huh...”

Honestly, he'd rather be packing, and getting Hestia geared up to go. But if Aelius was this concerned, there had to be something there, right? Besides, wasn't as if Seb couldn't talk and toss his stuff together anyway. They were going to Portland, not middle-of-nowhere-Philomoth. If he forgot a razor, he'd grab one from a gas station.

Resignedly staring at the slowly filling trunk, and the sudden, apocalyptic mess he was rapidly making of his tiny apartment, the mechanic gave in to the inevitable. This was worse than being an ER doctor, sometimes, he swore. At least your patients tended to rotate, then. You didn't have to deal with robotic hypochondriacs and whatever the hell was going on in poor Brutus' metal head ninety-percent of the time. But, by the same token, he could no more ignore Aelius' request than said ER doctor could ignore a bleeding patient on a gurney.

God dammit.

“Sure. Okay. I'll look him over when I get on-board. Deal?” He didn't wait for a response, yanking his toolbox off the laptop-sized piece of plywood and metal that served for a kitchen table. This, unlike his other personal effects, was set gently down beside the bed, without so much as a muted thump of protective metal on worn linoleum floor. It looked like a black metal briefcase, but much wider, about a foot across, locked with heavy steel clamps and a keycode. One took their trade tools very seriously, after all. Wasn't too many years ago that an unlocked toolbox was free game for anyone who came across it. “Gimme some details first, yeah? He doing anything differently? Are you still working tandem or is he doing more of it?”

Aelius hesitated. Markedly.

In the silence, Seb edged the phone away from his ear, squinting at it askance. “Are you two trying anything different?” he asked, immediately regretting the words coming out of his mouth. “You know. When...” Words failed him, and he picked up a fork from its lofty place in the sink, tapping it rhythmically against the faucet. “Clang clang clang?”

The AI made a choking sound. Someone in the background could be heard, distinctively asking what the matter was. Aelius must have waved them off, because they fell silent, and he regained his usual composure. “Um. No. Not at all,” he hedged. “Not really.”

“Which is it, Lee? Not at all, or not really?”

“You're going to be upset.”

“Aelius, you asked me to be your... what the hell do I even call it with robots? Sex? Dialing up? Interfacing?” He dragged a hand down his face. Robots didn't have urologists, there was nothing there to, for lack of a better term, “ologist”. What the hell did he call it? “Okay, when you and Aemilius first hooked up, you asked me if it was safe and shit, so, that makes me your... cable guy. And as your cable guy--”

“Cable guy,” Aelius interjected, wry amusement in his voice. It sounded much more normal than the uncertainty.

“Yes. Your cable guy.” He tucked the phone into the crook of his shoulder, reaching under his bed to haul out the trunk. “As such – you get to tell me all the horrible details about your love life and I explain why that's a terrible idea, and regret all my life choices so far.”

Which was only partially true. While, yes, sometimes he did sincerely regret offering to be the SSCs' sounding board, it was fascinating to him, in its own way. Seb was well aware of the occasional AI relationships springing up from time to time, especially among those with close connections like SSCs, but research, studies, and even personal accounts, never took this aspect into consideration. They never mentioned intimacy like this. Aelius and Aemilius made no secret of their feelings, romantic, physical, the works, for one another. At that thought, he tossed a worn, spiral-ringed notebook into his trunk, before slamming it shut with a bare foot.

He'd started a paper on the duo, when they'd first met, several years ago. Back when Taylor's team was just forming up, and both he and the Mueller twins were fresh faces out of their respective schools. His research wasn't anything like scientific. Hell, a college student could probably do better than he could. Still, though, once he garnered enough information, it was bound to be useful to someone, somewhere. Maybe even helpful, should another pair find themselves in similar straights.

Up until this decade or so, no one even thought AI units were capable of feeling genuine affection, let alone love for another being. The discovery of the close bonds between SSCs, however, had changed that. What Aelius and Aemlius had, Seb didn't know if anyone would venture to call it a relationship, not by human standards anyway. But it was something, regardless of what human minds wanted to call it, or how their pilots apparently had decided to ignore it. It existed. It was very, very real. It had all the hallmarks of a typical relationship – the arguments, the close physical contact, fretting over one another... Everything he'd ever done with his ex-girlfriends up until the point they actually became exes, and Hestia had to start playing dutiful, consoling, sister to her poor, brokenhearted brother-slash-pilot. He had to say, he was a little envious of the two AI units. They seemed to get all of the benefits of a relationship, with none of the nasty drawbacks. Seemed, being the keyword. So far, Seb had never witnessed it getting in the way of their work...

But if they really were trying something new, and therefore stupid, it sounded as if it were going to. Which was where he came in.

“May I tell you in person?” Aelius asked, finally. “I would rather not discuss it where it can be overheard... and Brutus has been staring at me for quite some time now.”

“Christ, that's literally the last bot who needs a sex talk.”

Aelius' laugh was light, rippling. “Indeed,” he agreed. “But you'll look over Aemilius when we collect you?”

“Deal. Just lemme take notes, and I'll give him a full workup on the road.”

There was no disguising the relief in the SSC's sigh. “Thank you, Sebastian,” Aelius said. One could almost picture his head bowing, the wing-top helm dipping down to his chest. “We'll be at your location in twenty minutes.”

“Roger roger,” said Seb, and hung up the phone.

He kicked the trunk unceremoniously down a narrow flight of stairs, leading out his proverbial front door. With a canvas jacket flung over one shoulder, and the all-important toolbox in his other hand, there wasn't much else he could do, save to kick the damn thing down the stairs. He heard it land with a satisfying series of crashes, and marched after it, his head held high, and a smug grin on his face.

A grin which withered almost immediately upon passing the building's owner, exiting the bathroom. The look he got in return for his noisy exit elicited an apologetic sort of nod, before he hurried downstairs after his wayward case. Whoops. Apparently, life just decided to screw with him this morning-slash-afternoon. Glorious.

Which boded oh so well for the apparent mission at hand.

The stairwell lead down to the mechanic's garage itself. There was another one on the other side of the building for those whose brains weren't partially jacked in to a giant AI. But this one was far more convenient.

It was a huge space, mostly empty now, as the owner's business had shifted elsewhere – something about Ebay and ceramic cats – save for Seb's own supplies. All of them were neatly stored in a corner, cables rolled up on their reels, tools stored on wheeled carts, computer terminal braced against a support column, neatly out of the way. A big solar generator took up one whole corner, its wires plugged into a broad slab along the back wall. Two more slabs stood before the garage's doors, their berths hooked up to jacks much like those a traditional mechanic's shop would use – save for one difference. These berths contained heavy foam, more like a therapy bed than a carjack. Seb himself had sacked out on them once or twice in the past, when his supplementary work kept him up too long the night before. Broad florescent lights swung idly overhead, their motion prompted from the crashing vibrations of his falling trunk moments before.

He headed for the slab at the back of the room.

The generator's lights were on, blinking steadily as its turbines whirred with a dull thrum of activity throughout the room. He stepped up to it, reached out, and thumped his hand several times, palm flat, against the massive metallic form lying atop it.

“Hestia. Up and at 'em. Rise and shine. Get your groove on, etc. We got work, my lady.”

The reaction was instantaneous. A visor flashed to life, its lighting yellow and darkening to gold as more awareness flooded into the huge frame. At nearly twenty-feet tall, the AI stood almost as high as most heavy-duty construction and mining frames, making it one of the larger models currently available. The plating was a mottled grey and white, pleasing to the eye, almost soothing. Red panels accented the paler colors, drawing the attention, making sure the model stood out, while, at the same time, presenting the calming, almost sterile, exterior. Like all AI, the frame was biped, obviously humanoid-based. Though, there, the similarity more or less ended. This particular frame sported two sets of arms, one pair from the “shoulder” portion, and the other the “waist”. The second set was noticeably smaller, and remained folded unless needed.

It was an MCU – mechanic capable unit – the tow-truck-slash-EMT of the AI world. Typically, the massive units were restricted to use on army bases, or other places where their size and strength could better be put to use. You didn't find them in rural cities very often – people didn't need a massive AI to repair their tractors, they could typically handle those sorts of repairs on their own. But, since Seb himself was only a freelance mechanic, he and his AI weren't technically allowed to move into any sort of base, be it private security company or military. Something about security policies.

Thus, the cramped apartment, and the spacious repair shop, for those slow times when Captain Taylor's team wasn't summoning him along for two jobs in a row. It hadn't been an ideal choice, and he hardly considered it to be long-term. For now, though, it worked, and that was all he could really ask for.

Slowly, the behemoth began to push itself into a sitting position, all movements sluggish, groggy as a person roused from deep sleep. “Already?” the AI rumbled. Unlike the majority of MCUs, the voice rumbling through Seb's shoes was undeniably female, albeit deep in tone. It wasn't as if female-identifying AI units were rare, more they tended to appear in other units, like the combat-class units, or DECUs. Not that it particularly mattered, since Seb had yet to meet an AI who gave half a damn over what pronouns it picked – more, it became an interesting observation over the years.

“Yep,” he said, giving the leg beside him a companionable thump again. “Aelius called me a few minutes ago. They're already on their way.”

Another groan. Joints complained as Hestia heaved herself upright. Her visor flickered off and on a few times, calibrating. “They say why?” she drawled.

“Nope.” Seb was already walking as he answered her. She moved to trail after him, and his steps shifted, bouncing to accommodate the sudden tremors in the floor as she talked. Wordlessly, he began punching in the generator's shutdown codes. Hestia started removing the plugs from her side, rolling them in large hands with practiced ease. “Be ready for anything,” he told her. “Aelius was all buzzing about Aemilius' power systems, so I couldn't get anything out of him.”

If Hestia had possessed the ability to snort, she would have. Instead, there was a wash of hot air, huffing out of her vents. “Figures.”

“If it's a rush job, it's probably nothing good.” Seb had moved on to the computer banks now, punching keys and shutting down one terminal. Behind him, Hestia regarded a huge rack of what appeared to be oversized mechanic's tools – ones nearly identical to Seb's own, in all but size. “Plus, they're bringing us along, not calling up some poor bastard in Portland to deal with whatever fallout blows their way.”

Another huff from the big AI. “So they're expecting a fight,” she said.

“Gotta love it when they spring it on us like that, huh?”

He wasn't facing her, but the curious tilt of her head was practically audible. “I thought us getting contracted all the time was a good thing,” she said. “Keeps us off the farm, yeah?”

Seb grimaced, rubbing at his mouth with one hand. She had a point, much as it galled him to think about. Getting called up with zero notice was never something you really wanted to have happen. Though, on the other hand, not getting called at all typically meant something far worse. They'd struggled too damn hard to get even this position – he knew he needed to be grateful, because the alternative, Hestia wasting away in an auto shop in the backwoods, working junkyard scrap detail, or getting tossed into storage, was far from ideal, either. Sort of par for the course with everything from his schooling to his general life experience so far, really.

Back in school, they'd told him learning and finding a mechanic's contract wasn't a competition. Told him it wasn't about who got the most finished, or how fast they did it. They told him it was all about quality, about syncing with your unit in a way everyone benefited the most.

He'd known it was all bullshit. Time and efficiency mattered more than anything if you wanted to get signed on with one of the major operations – be it mining, explorations, security work, or theoretical deep space colonization, it didn't matter. Jobs were tight, they'd always been tight. Even the rise of AI use did little to alleviate the problem, causing the schools specifically designed to instruct and educate MCU pilots to become hotbeds of intrigue and sabotage, with everyone vying for attention, approval, and, most importantly, a contract. You had to stand out. People had to take notice of you and the unit you worked with, or else you'd be stuck in some backwoods shop piecing together farming mechs for the rest of your natural-born life. It didn't matter your background, or how much your parents had paid to put you through your education. Unless you paid off someone, you weren't ever going to be noticed without winning the proverbial race.

His father, the socialite investor he was, advised doing just that – going so far as to send him a blank check, just in case. Because, clearly, everything could be solved with the application of more money. It was tempting, he had to admit, given his situation. Either he made this work, or they deactivated his unit and sent him home. He'd work on the damn farms instead of allowing that to happen to her. Or to himself.

Both of them were just plain lucky their unique little trick emerged when it did. Otherwise, Seb didn't particularly want to think about what might have been.

The sudden clatter of tools startled him out of the brief reverie, and he turned, seeing Hestia heft her own large toolbox up onto one shoulder, her head tilted, waiting for him. “Yeah,” he admitted, folding the portable terminal into another box. “Sure does.”

Captain Taylor's convoy rolled up as they stepped out of the garage, Hestia handling most of the baggage. The massive trucks took up most of the roadway – larger than the average semi, and riding low with the weight of their cargo. Seb could never figure out how the damn things made it through the mountain passes unscathed, and, frankly, he'd long ago decided he was better off not knowing. Two trucks passed by – one for the lighter combat-class units, one for the equipment and baggage – the last two pausing on the street outside. The SSC's transport, and Gaius', Seb figured. Hestia tended to share a ride with the HCC, out of deference to Aelius and Aemilius' personal needs. Or maybe she just liked riding with Gaius, who knew.

Today, however, as the doors swung open, and Captain Taylor emerged from the last transport, Hestia hefted her luggage, starting toward the other parked vehicle. Down the road, the baggage and combat-class trucks had stopped, waiting for the other two to collect their passengers before proceeding. Taylor watched her go, arching a dark eyebrow. But that was all. She stepped forward, extending a hand to Seb. He shook it, briefly, her grip neither too firm, nor shying away from his.

“Sorry for the short notice, Worthington,” she said, crisply. “If we had the order earlier, you'd have known.”

Seb all but cringed. “Just... 'Seb', please,” he said, holding up his free hand, in a vain attempt to forestall further use of his last name. “I told you like a thousand times, ma'am.”

The barest hint of a grin flicked at her lips. “It's not proper for a superior officer to address someone so casually,” she said. “As I've told you, nearly a thousand times, in answer.”

He wasn't given time to retort as she spun on one heel, marching back toward the last transport. Casting a glance toward Hestia, Seb hefted his own luggage and jogged after her. The MCU had already stowed her gear, and was now climbing into the SSC's transport, without so much as a prompt from him. Good girl.

“So what's the story?” he asked, clambering up the ramp beside the captain. His shoes made dull slaps in contrast to the smart thud of her boots. “Aelius was kind of vague on the phone.”

“I see.”

They entered the transport, both of them dwarfed by the massive, dark figure seated at the far end. Gaius' visor was off, his head bowed to his chest. A generator's line ran up into his chest, tucked away under armor. Regardless, Seb raised a hand, giving the HCC a little salute. Always paid to be polite to big, combat-trained AI units. Could save you some trouble in the future. Maybe. Gaius didn't respond, but it felt good to do, all the same.

In addition to the AI harness against the wall, the other walls held all sorts of slings and shelving, designed to store various cargo and the different equipment the team needed on their assignments. Battery-powered, fluorescent lights ran down the ceiling of the transport, bathing everything in a stark, white glow. Along one side, there was a terminal, a fold-down cot, and an actual window, for the pilot traveling along with the AI. Usually, transports held more than one such setup, given they were usually designed to carry more than one AI at a time, but, Taylor's status and Gaius' size made it possible for them to have a mobile room to themselves.

Probably for the best, if Seb thought about it. Not that he would dream of actually giving voice to that little thought. He wasn't crazy.

Taylor seated herself beside the console, presumably typing in commands to the head of the convoy, indicating they should move out. Seb plunked himself down on the floor, looking up at her expectantly. Only when the transport began to rumble forward did the captain turn her dark eyes to him, the look suddenly tired, under all its usual steel.

“If you're waiting for a better explanation, I don't know if I can give you one,” she admitted. “Our own information was severely limited. I can give you a basic rundown, but nothing more.”

Seb just shrugged. “Well, basic is sort of better than nothing,” he said.

“We're being called in to investigate a string of robberies... apparently linked to someone's personal AI unit.”

“And... cops can't handle a personal assistant going haywire?”

Her face twitched in a soft grimace of mingled amusement and resignation. “Apparently, no, they can't.” She gestured to the terminal. “I've been doing digging on my own, but, news reports are as vague as our current information.” The grimace deepened, the amusement fading. “Or technophobic. Take your pick.”

“Yeah, well, scare tactics do good ratings, and the media once said apples cause cancer,” Seb said, waving a hand. It was meant to be reassuring, but keeping the scorn out of his voice was difficult. “Their 'didn't do the research' file is bigger than my unit is tall.”

She smiled a little, turning back to the computer console. “It's all petty theft. I can't stress that enough. No murder, no rampaging, no property destruction...” Taylor shook her head, blowing strands of dark hair out of her face. “It should be a matter for the police... but here we are. Rolling out again.”

“Company heads aren't talking?”

“Not a word. If they didn't have their own SSC units, Aelius and Aemilius would be neck-deep in their files right now, I can promise you that,” she said, with no trace of remorse.

That made Seb arch an eyebrow. Taylor was a fair woman, one who upheld the safety and protection of the populace – she always had, ever since Seb had come to know her. Sometimes, he had her pegged for a cop, if circumstances had been different for her. For a woman like her to openly admit wanting to break into secure files, she had to believe the situation was something corrupt, or worse. He tried to meet her eyes, and found her staring resolutely at her screen, fingers folded into a solemn steeple beneath her chin.

“Maybe they're just being careful,” he suggested. “There's a big robotics convention in the area, and some random PA bot breaking and entering isn't going to make anybody look good.”

Her eyes flicked to him. “A convention?”

“Yep.” He nodded. “I got an invite to the panel on mechanics and AI culture from a friend. They're supposed to be hosting some kind of big-shot with his prototype genius model, too.” His fingers drummed against his leg, for want of anything else to do with themselves. “It'd probably look pretty bad if the day the guy comes out, the thing the convention's supposed to be promoting is causing havoc.”

“It does make sense...” she mused, chewing on her lip. “But, I'll reserve judgment until I see what Aelius and Aemilius can dig up.” After a moment, she jerked her head in the direction of the unused cot, her fingers returning to their steady typing. “Take a seat. This is going to be a long ride.”