Chapter 69
“Besides, aren’t you getting bored with those silly-billy
She’d even adopted an excellent imitation of Lucy’s voice. Now she kicked off her high heels and tucked her small feet under her shapely rear.
“Anna, you might want to consider a different role model,” I suggested.
“If you say so, Hays. But I’m programmed to be very observant. I pride myself on it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on. There’s so much tension between you two. You could cut it with… a butter knife. Competitive. Sexual. Gender-bending. Anyone could see it. But enough about you and Lucy.”
I bristled. Just what I needed-an android playing shrink. And being right.
“There is some tension, I guess,” I said. “And plenty of good reasons for it.”
“The main one is that you’re very attracted to her. Admit it-at least to me. You’re
“That’s nonsense, Anna.”
“I don’t mean to argue with you,” she said soothingly. “But how could it hurt to give
I couldn’t help smiling at that one. “Very cute.”
“Yes, I am.”
Anna glided gently up onto my lap. Her voice took on a silken tone. “I promise you, I’m a lot more fascinating than those simulator toys. I change with your mood, your every wish, your desires. I’ve been told that I’m the best in Europe.”
I didn’t have a problem believing that. Not at all. Anna’s warm body pressing on mine was starting to weaken my defenses.
Almost against my will, my hands began exploring Anna’s new shape, and, along with her breathless gasps of pleasure, they confirmed my guess about her anatomical perfection. Anna was all woman, all over, all the time, all mine-if I wished.
She deftly unbuckled my belt, cupped my vitals, and slid my pants down.
“I see I finally have your interest-up,” she said. “My, my, Hays. You just might be the best in Europe yourself.”
But sonofabitch if the front door didn’t open just at that second-and in walked, of all people,
She folded her arms, eyebrows rising, and leaned back against the wall.
“Well, well, now I know what I’d look like if I were a street whore,” she said.
“It would be an improvement over your current pig-farmer style,” Anna shot back.
Lucy seemed amused rather than angry. “Not bad, roboslut. But playtime’s over. Sir Nigel wants to see your boyfriend.
Chapter 70
A few minutes later, thoroughly chastened, I was in a speeding car with Lucy at the wheel. London continued to be a revelation to me, especially the tasteful blending of old and new architectural styles. This was such a refreshing change from monolithic New Lake City with its streamlined, very modern
There was one disturbing similarity with the Elite world that I had known though: toys were all over the place. Both for children and adults.
“Plenty of those creepy little dolls around here. I guess a fad is a fad,” I muttered as Lucy drove us through the outskirts of London. Little Jessicas and Jacobs seemed to be everywhere. One of their tricks was to wave at cars and their passengers. I didn’t wave back.
“Look who’s down on toys all of a sudden,” Lucy said, giving me a sidelong glance and a chuckle. “You were having a pretty good time with one just a few minutes ago.”
“Let’s just look at the scenery, please… Now who, or what, are
A gang of street punks, dressed all in black and carrying long iron crowbars, were hanging out on the corner ahead. When they spotted our official-looking car, they thrust their crowbars into the air, then tapped them menacingly against their palms. Very, very
“Smashers,” Lucy said. “They’re like Betas, except they specialize in destroying anything civilized: monuments, art, books, schools, museums, churches-of course-even cemeteries. The Elites pay them to do it, supply them with addictive drugs like wyre. That’s another fad sweeping the world.”
I nodded grimly. What she was saying would fit with the overall Elite plan-to degrade and demoralize humans in any way possible.
It was clear that they were succeeding too. While downtown London was well policed, parts of these outskirts looked shockingly like the human slums in New Lake City. We were the only moving vehicle in sight. The neighborhood people watched us with dull, wary faces.
The difference was that, back home, the ugliness stemmed from neglect and poverty. Here, as Lucy said, things of beauty were specifically targeted. The stained-glass windows of graceful old churches were bashed to splinters, stone walls were ruined by painted scrawls, park greens were ripped up by car tires, statues lay toppled, fountains and ponds were open sewers for waste and poisons.
The Smashers were always busy, earning their pay, having their fun.
The punks on the corner were starting to yell at us now, a monotone, three-syllable chant.
“They like to work people over with those crowbars-then hang them on hooks to die,” Lucy said. “Their idea of a good time.”
Suddenly, a bottle came flying toward the car provided to us.
My impulse was to jump out and feed it back to the scum who’d thrown it. I was armed now-the MI7 had given me a couple of compact pistols. But I reminded myself that Sir Nigel was waiting and we had to keep moving.
In the next instant, a second bottle exploded into a fireball, rocking the car from its wheelbase. A sheet of flame shot up beside my face. I could feel the heat through the closed window.
Another crude petrol bomb blew up ahead of us-then another. I swiveled around to look behind and make sure we were safe. We weren’t. The gang of Smashers was racing toward us, howling like werewolves and waving their trusty crowbars. More of them were pouring out of nearby buildings.
We’d fallen into an ambush, hadn’t we? There was no way we could make it through the alley ahead without the car being disabled-which would leave us on foot and at the mercy of this raging, hot-blooded mob.
“One eighty!” Lucy yelled in warning.
She stomped hard on the brakes and yanked the wheel around to bring us into a screeching spin. I clawed one of my pistols free of its shoulder holster and lowered the window. I aimed into the teeth of the nearest charging punk. “Get back, get away!” I yelled. He didn’t. He swung his crowbar at me instead.
I fired and his face dissolved, fragments of flesh and bone exploding like one of their petrol bombs.
I kept shooting as our wildly fishtailing car slammed into more of the screeching attackers.
