Noemi would call that evil, and Abel decides he would agree.
Two young women walk by wearing shiny short jackets and long dresses, a combination Abel has seen on the streets often enough to identify as fashionable. One of them makes eye contact with him as they walk by, then glances back over her shoulder at him, a small hopeful smile on her face. She thinks he is a human male, about her own age, one she finds attractive. Although by objective standards he understands her to be attractive as well, he can only think that she is not as tall as Noemi. Her hair is longer, not nearly so dark. This is well within natural human variation, but Noemi Vidal has become the standard by which he judges beauty.
In politeness he should smile back, but he pretends not to see. He can’t afford to draw any unnecessary attention.
I will not return to Mansfield. Therefore, I have only one remaining purpose: Protect Noemi Vidal.
The thick fog shrouding London’s streets hides the stars even better than the city lights would. But Abel’s inner compass is unhindered by any lack of visual input. He’s able to look at the patch of sky that would reveal Genesis’s star.
Either Noemi is now imprisoned on Stronghold or she has returned home. Abel hopes with all his might that it’s the latter. The Queen and Charlie might have stood down; since the Queen manually (and messily) deleted her higher consciousness subroutines, she ought to have reverted to standard procedure and left Noemi alone.
So Mansfield said. But the more Abel considers the question, the more he doubts Mansfield was telling the truth.
I was unable to find information on Noemi’s arrest via standard communications channels, he thinks with determination, ignoring a few partiers swooping by on repulsor cycles, 2.3 meters above the ground. As their shrieks and laughter vanish around another corner, he barely notices. It’s unlikely I’ll be able to discover anything more than that from Earth. Therefore, I must return to Stronghold.
But how? He fled Mansfield’s home without any preparation; he had to, or he might have had no chance to escape at all. So he is without a ship, any money, any allies, or even a change of clothing.
Money, at least, can be obtained.
Abel walks toward a banking kiosk, outlined in brilliant yellow light. As images of unnaturally attractive, thrifty people play around him, he interfaces with the operating system, finds an account belonging to someone of considerable wealth, and withdraws the bare minimum of credits he’ll need for his purposes. It’s unlikely the person he stole this from will even notice the missing amount. All the same, his programming makes him feel a brief pang of guilt.
But very brief. Noemi’s in danger, maybe in prison, and he would do worse than this to rescue her.
Next, he must find transport to Stronghold. His best bet will be to purchase a berth on an immigration freighter, which can be done at the nearest spaceport.
It all seems so simple—and yet the entire time Abel walks toward the spaceport, he can’t stop staring at the other mechs around him. Any one of them could be assigned to Mansfield; as his identification on Wayland Station proves, Mansfield sought Abel so desperately that he programmed every single mech created in the past thirty years to immediately report finding another mech beyond the twenty-five standard models. If one quick move or too-swift calculation betrays his true nature, Abel can expect to be accosted and dragged back to Mansfield’s home.
Would Mansfield even pretend to care about him at that point? Would he smile and say reassuring things even as he strapped Abel in for his mind to be drained? It seems to Abel that having Mansfield pretend to be kind to him would be even worse.
Infected by very human paranoia, Abel decides to stop in at a food counter at the outskirts of the spaceport. He needs to check the credit dataread to make sure the money has transferred properly and that no fraud flags have been raised on it.
He purchases a bowl of miso ramen without suspicion from the human waitstaff. Abel takes one of the chairs at the long plastic table, just one of many weary travelers. He browses the flight schedules casually, or what he hopes is casually, as he eats his ramen—making sure to occasionally fumble with the chopsticks, of course—
The sound on the wall holo draws his full conscious attention as the newsreader says, “—due to appear in court tomorrow, Riko Watanabe is considered to be a key member of Remedy and one of the ringleaders behind the Orchid Festival bombing. Sources at the Marshalsea Prison say she could yet strike a plea deal if she offers the names of more Remedy leaders—”
New data requires new calculations. Abel remains frozen in place, noodles hanging from his half-raised chopsticks, as he considers the possibilities.
Riko Watanabe has contacts with the resistance throughout the galaxy. This means she has access to funds and ships, not to mention sources of intel on the various colony worlds of the Loop. She would naturally be suspicious of most strangers, and consider any offer of assistance in escaping from prison to be entrapment. However, Riko has met me under circumstances that will lead her to consider me no ally of Earth. If I offer the necessary help, she will help me in return.
Remedy sources may also be able to tell me what has happened to Noemi. If Noemi’s in trouble, Riko can help me get passage back to Stronghold.
And if Noemi is safe—if she has, in fact, already begun her trip home to Genesis to stop the Masada Run—then what will he do?
The emptiness stretches around him again, the dark purposeless void of his future without Burton Mansfield or Noemi Vidal in it.
But Abel will determine his ultimate purpose later. For now, he has to break Riko Watanabe out of prison, to gain the ally he needs to save Noemi.
As swiftly as possible without betraying his sense of hurry, he finishes the miso ramen, then strolls out of the food counter, out of the station, farther into the darkness of London at night, in the direction of the Marshalsea Prison.
37
THE CELL CYCLES UPWARD AGAIN, JOLTING THEM ALL. Noemi loses her balance, stumbling against the far wall, and sees Virginia toppling toward the still-open cell door. She grabs the hood of Virginia’s sweatshirt and hauls her backward, until Virginia’s butt lands solidly on the floor.
Ephraim’s backed into one corner; Riko remains seated on her bolted-down bunk. Noemi takes the opportunity to turn off the cell lights.
“Oh, great,” Virginia mutters. “I was just wondering how we could make this situation better. Plunging us into darkness definitely works.”
“If the human guards come by, they’ll notice light from the open door.” Since they’ll be steady for another few minutes, Noemi chances a look down outside; they’re already ten meters off the ground and only going higher.