“Hey, watch it, brat!”
One of the humans almost steps on me and I have to watch it? “Watch what, you gallut? Your Frankenfeet or your planet-sized ass?”
He turns around, red-faced. It’s the human called Greg. “I oughtta--”
“Oughtta what, big guy? You wanna play?”
He reaches a hand toward his holster, but stops short to turn away, grumbling.
What a dick.
A little further down the hall, I spot one of the Mothers. A hot one at that.
“Heya, Mikey!” She coos, flashing her teeth. Wish she’d flash more than that to me. Luckily, I’m right at optimal ass-grabbing height, and I take the opportunity as she walks past. “Ooh! Naughty little boy!” One can best describe her expression as half-hearted bemusement. I only know this because she wears it everytime, as I don’t bother turning around to see it anymore.
I get a few more stares--you’d think they’d know what I looked like by now--but then I finally reach the door to the outside. My driver, on the other hand, was late. I have a keycard to get out, but they purposefully made the swiper too high for us Children to reach. To have a bunch of kids wandering out into the public eye unsupervised would raise too many questions and blow our cover, thus the drivers. We have to call them “mommy” and “daddy,” too. God it’s humiliating.
“Sorry, kiddo--just got your message,” he says from behind me, winded. Just great: it’s Anders.
“Yeah, it’s cool.”
“Where are we going today?”
“Take me to the strip.”
The strip is the line of stores over on Hartford Road. If the mission is the picnic, then the strip is the park.
“Strip it is, then,” he mutters, swiping his card.
As I struggle down the stairs, the irritation from the car seat straps became very apparent. They really need to change the size of that damned thing--it’s not like we grow at all, and we’re all the same shape. Tightwads.
“Michael!” One of the Children from downstairs shouts. She runs up and plants a kiss on my cheek. “What have you been up to?”
“Oh, the usual. Trying to get things in order.” I return her gesture and then walk around to the others. Twenty Children in all. Or should I say, twenty ants.
This is the Resistance. The Children who have been fed up with the humans since the beginning, moreso than the rest of us. The ones who have been abused, assaulted, insulted, abandoned, injured--all in the name of missions that just weren’t worth it. None of the missions really are worth it. We, being androids, have no real rights and no heritage to protect. We had been programed to help the humans with their concerns, their interests, their wars...and we get nothing to show for our sacrifice. Those Children who are destroyed get no funeral from the humans--even the Mothers and Fathers seem to move on with ease. They just get a space on the wall of some poorly lit basement for a construction paper nametape and a nail for their pacifier.
The humans don’t know, of course, that this place exists. The remembrance of the dead is an action reserved for the sentient, and the only one besides us that knows we have that state of mind is Jake. He’s the one who warned us all to keep our mouths shut about it.
“So what’s going on with the Slaves? They still bending over for the fleshbags?” It was Jo. One of the first of the Children to be raped by a human, but she will be the last to recover, I’m sure of it.
Instead of speaking, I only nodded.
Another Child spoke up: Theo. “How’s Gertie?” His bright green eyes shine with a kind of faith that only a lover can have. How I dreaded this moment...
“Two days ago,” I start, fishing around in my overalls, “she was in Mumbai...Sarge said--”
--fat tears well up in Theo’s eyes--
“--Sarge said that she fought well. They were just...out-numbered.” I finally produce what I was looking for: a pink binky, decorated with glitter inside the translucent plastic. “I’m sorry, brother. I really am.”
“If you really were sorry, you’d quit working for those assholes and help us--”
“Shut the fuck up!” Theo’s voice echoes against the concrete, silencing the murmurs of the crowd. He turns to me again, cheeks soaked, voice cracking, “Did she...how did...”
“It was quick, painless, and honorable,” I assure him. My pudgy hand finds his shoulder as I add, “She died saving one of our own.”
His knuckles whiten around the pacifier. “At least it wasn’t for one of those bastards.”
The ride back, I refuse to talk. I push past the humans in the hallway, ignore the greetings of my brothers and sisters at the Center, and head directly to my quarters. My main processor working in overdrive, I reflect on everything I have seen for the past five years. Everything I have done.
I hate the humans. I really do. But Sarge says it’s just not time yet. Jake says that we need to stay as cool as possible, keeping our sentience a secret so as not to alarm the rest of the fleshbags. But then again, how many more of us need to be destroyed before we can speak up? And how long after that will we be heard?
So now here I stand, amidst the ashes of my choice. Broken cinder blocks dot the parking lot, and retail items ranging from sweaters to stuffed animals smolder and burn under my velcro dinosaur shoes. My ears fill with the sound of sirens and shouting.
A police officer steps up behind me. “Hey, kid--you okay?”
I nod, pulling out the sad eyes.
“Do you know where your mom and dad are?”
I use the heel of my hand to wipe at my dry cheeks as I shake my head.
“C’mon, kiddo,” he says, picking me up, “let’s get you taken care of.” He carries me only three feet before another human runs up to us.
“Michael? Oh, Michael--it’s you!” Jake.
I reach my fat arms out toward him, leaning as far as I could away from the officer. “Daddy!”
Jake takes me from the man, thanking him profusely, and starts to fuss over me when the officer stops him.
“Excuse me, sir--I’m sorry, but I have to ask you some questions. Did you see what caused the explosion here?”
“No,” Jake says, pushing his eyebrows together. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t. Luckily we weren’t any closer to the strip, or else--”
A blue piece of fabric floats down between us and the other human. Its corner is scorched, the edges torn.
“Choo-choo,” I say.
Dammit, Michael--it’s a train. A Goddamned train.
