Battery-powered for up to eight hours.
Now all she could see was Delores, squatting over her, her four stinger-like appendages aimed directly at her bare abdomen. Rita saw a distorted reflection of herself in the bright silver of Delores’s undercarriage.
Oh God.
This was really happening.
“Systems ready,” Delores said.
This was really happening to her.
Delores was GOING TO OPERATE.
ON HER.
AWAKE.
“Delores,” Finney said. “Initiate laparoscopic appendectomy protocol.”
“Of course. Initiating laparoscopic appendectomy protocol.”
With her head in its new angle, Rita could see everything. Delores’s motors ground and whirred as the camera and the three Swiss Armies spun a foot above her bare torso.
“Deploying scalpel.”
There was a loud click as one of the Swiss Armies extended its scalpel—
(one badass switchblade)
—and moved toward Rita’s skin.
She tried to close her eyes. But her eyelids were paralyzed. She watched, terrified, as the scalpel snaked toward her skin, like an enormous stinger, and tried not to picture the sharpened steel biting through the fat, nerves, and muscle that lay underneath it.
Is this hell? she wondered. Is Finney my own personal devil, punishing me for my sins?
Now, from the speaker next to her head, she heard Darcy. It sounded like she was on the phone. With the boy from Santa Cruz? God, she hoped not, the guy sounded like such a loser—which was an absurd thought, because what did it matter now?
Even though she’d never been an especially religious person (Spencer, Spencer was the religious one, he’d been praying the day we’d met), Rita prayed.
Prayed that it would be over as soon as possible. For both of them.
Delores’s scalpel moved toward her with inexorable precision.
Please God let this be over fast.
Closer.
Please God. I’m sorry.
Closer.
I’m so very sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.
She found herself wishing for second chances.
Spencer, I’m so sorry, for throwing it away, for treating someone as good as you so badly …
The scalpel was an inch away from her skin …
SEBASTIAN
… and then the scalpel stopped, hovering a fingernail’s distance over her navel.
A red light flashed on the side of Delores’s central unit.
“System error,” Delores declared. “Wireless connection broken.”
“What?” Finney frowned at Sebastian, who shrugged.
“It’s the same thing that happened earlier today, in the operating room.”
Finney opened his mouth and closed it, like a fish. He seemed incapable of processing this.
“Well,” he snapped. “You were there. Fix it.”
Sebastian looked at him.
He’d done everything Finney had asked.
He’d captured Wu and transported her here, without anyone’s being the wiser.
Lucky.
He’d placed an IV in her arm and induced anesthesia without making her heart stop.
Lucky.
He’d managed to slip the endotracheal tube down her throat—
(Like with Gary Indiana on that combat mission, just like Gary Indiana)
—without killing her.
Lucky.
He’d successfully hooked her up to Morpheus, the anesthesia machine, and preset the proper infusion of paralytics.
Lucky.
His luck eventually would run out.
“This wasn’t part of our agreement, Mr. Finney. As agreed, I got her into position for surgery. Now make the payment, and I’ll consider fixing Delores for you.”
“Fix it first. Then I’ll make the payment.”
“No.” He had the advantage, and he’d be goddamned if he wasn’t going to press it.
Sammy and Sierra’s money.
Finney’s lower lip quivered, both fists clenched. He looked like a little kid about to throw one hell of a tantrum.
“Fine.” With his earpiece and tablet, Finney made a terse phone call that lasted all of ten seconds, after which he nodded at Sebastian. Using his phone, Sebastian completed the transfer into his anonymous overseas account through a secure third party previously arranged for him by Blade. In a burst of text, the party confirmed the deposit.
Eighteen million dollars.
“Done,” Finney said. “Now. Fix it.”
Sebastian hesitated.
Should he screw Finney over and just walk? After all, he had what he needed: more than enough money to last a lifetime and to buy his family a better life. Getting the hell out now was one hell of a tempting proposition.
He gazed at Wu, stretched out helpless on the makeshift operating table, which he’d fashioned from a large wooden pallet (the same type used to board up windows) and two wooden sawhorses.
“Fix it,” Finney repeated.
What the fuck are you waiting for, Sebastian? Just go!
Wu’s sister was on the phone. He could hear her on the speaker he’d rigged, talking to some guy.
Goddamn, but she sounded young.
When did I become one of the bad guys?
Leaving the two women alone with Finney didn’t feel right. He wasn’t sure what he would do once he fixed (if he could fix) the robot. Hell, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
But he still had the program Blade had given him.