departs. [I have told her a dozen times], he says. [She will be the death of me.]
Sarya has watched this exchange openmouthed, realizing that she has never felt so insignificant. Not only is she being kidnapped, the event is of so little consequence that these two can discuss commemorative souvenirs. “Suit!” she shouts, watching Hood’s shrinking back as she kicks the inner wall. She forces herself not to look at the manual control—no, if you’re going to outsmart a low-tier you should never let it know what you’re thinking. Particularly one as quick as this one seems to be. “Eleven,” she says more evenly. “I belong to a Citizen species. This is kidnapping. It is illegal and…and wrong. Do you understand that?”
“Current command: remain here until I return,” says Eleven, its maddening cheerfulness apparently untouched. “If you would like to input your own command, you will need permission from this suit’s owner.”
The suit’s owner, meanwhile, lopes away with echoing clanks of metal on metal. He is not shambling, he is not limping, he is running. Apparently every part of this experience was put on for one purpose: to fool Sarya the Daughter.
And fooled she was.
“You mark my words, Eleven,” she murmurs savagely, watching Hood disappear beneath the [Welcome to Watertower!] banner. “My mother—”
And then she is on the floor of the suit, boots above the level of her head. She struggles to a sitting position with a grunt. Every strap has retracted, leaving her completely free to move. The wall in front of her blossoms open with a hum of servos, revealing an empty Dock A. And then every holographic control flips off at the same time. Left glowing in the center of the cockpit is a single word.
[RUN]
And Sarya is shoved out of the hatch like garbage. She tumbles down the gangway and hits the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of her. From her back, mouth open, she watches the suit fold smoothly shut. Its huge arms relax, its running lights blink off, and around its middle a holographic banner begins orbiting.
THIS AIVVTECH UNIVERSAL AUTONOMOUS ENVIRONMENT IS OUT OF ORDER. PLEASE HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY ELSEWHERE.
Sarya staggers up, staring at the suit and adding yet another brand-new experience to a rapidly lengthening list. Did it just—? It did. A sub-legal intelligence just outsmarted this Hood character and her, and given literally any other circumstances it would be the weirdest thing she’d seen all day. She takes a step forward, watching her distorted reflection do the same in the curved front of the suit. Eleven stands there, colossal arms fixed to the floor as if bolted down, showing no sign that any of this just happened. And then for a split second the banner around its middle changes.
I SAID RUN, YOU IDIOT.
And Sarya is ripped back from the theoretical to the present. She has no time to be insulted. She has no more thoughts of finding Humans or escaping from a humdrum life. Right now she is not ashamed to admit that there is only one thought on her mind.
“Mother,” she whispers.
She turns and sprints for the maintenance hatch.
Better to wake the storm than the sleeping Widow.
The proverb repeats in Sarya’s head as she is practically thrown from an extremely unwilling engineering drone. Clearly her mood is affecting her persuasive abilities, because she’s never had such a time trying to get a ride. She’s never actually been rejected by a drone before, but it happened twice before she seized onto this one and refused to let go until it took her to Residential. That sort of thing certainly does not do much for your pride. But at the moment, as she lays a hand on the hatch that leads into her own corridor, the opinion of a sub-legal intelligence is the least of her worries. No, she has far bigger problems.
Like her mother.
She startles several passing intelligences when she emerges, blinking, from the darkness. She is aware of their gazes as she takes a breath and squares her shoulders, but she couldn’t care less. Her mouth dries and her palms dampen with every step she takes. Her stride slows, as if she is forcing her way through something physical. Somewhere behind her is a massive metal bounty hunter and ahead of her is the safest place on Watertower, and yet she is literally dragging her feet. But, honestly, anyone who knows anything about the life of a daughter would sympathize. Because to get to her room,