Wesley grabbed his pack and shoved the bar inside. His hands moved on autopilot—power down the stolen tap, cover the equipment, check for anything incriminating in plain sight.
“[Calculating] There is a problem,” Roz said.
“Just one? That’s optimistic.”
“I cannot fit through the ventilation shaft.”
Wesley stopped. Looked at Roz. Looked at the shaft. She was right. He’d built her to human proportions—his mother’s proportions, though he tried not to think about that—and the shaft was barely wide enough for his shoulders.
“You’ll have to stay,” he said. “Hide behind the tarps. Power down completely. No emissions, no heat signature, nothing.”
“If the drones scan this room—”
“They won’t. They’ve never come this deep. The shaft angles are wrong, and the power signature is masked by the main conduit running overhead. I’ve tested it.” He grabbed her shoulders, looking into her eyes. Artificial eyes, LEDs behind glass, but somehow still hers. “You’ll be safe. I promise.”
“You cannot promise that. You are not in control of the variables.”
“I’m promising anyway. That’s what humans do.”
[Processing]
“That seems statistically unwise. My confidence interval for ‘I promise’ resolves to no.”
“Extremely. Welcome to humanity.”
He helped her into the corner, draping the heaviest tarp over her frame. From three feet away, she looked like another pile of salvage. He’d hidden things here for years. This was just one more.
“Wesley,” Roz said, her voice muffled by fabric. “[Analyzing] The object. The bar. My sensors indicate a crystalline lattice, a non-standard isotope signature, and a thermal profile inconsistent with any cataloged alloy.” [Pause] “Or my sensors are broken. I find that I am broken on most of my parts.”
“I know.”
“If security scans detect non-cataloged alloys—”
“I know, Roz.”
[Stirring]
“I am concerned for you. Is that a normal function?”
Wesley’s throat tightened. One day old. She’d been active for one day, and she was already worried about him.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s normal. It’s called caring.”
“[Absorbing] I see.” [Pause] “I do not enjoy it. It creates processing inefficiencies. My system wants me to file a complaint. But I would be filing it with my creator. [Conflicted] I do not enjoy this.”
“Welcome to humanity,” Wesley said again. “Stay hidden. I’ll be back.”
He squeezed through the ventilation shaft, the metal cold against his shoulders, the bar pressing against his hip through the pack. The passage twisted twice before opening onto a maintenance gantry that overlooked Level 3’s main corridor.
The drones were already there.
Three of them, hovering in formation, their scanners cutting blue lines through the recycled air. The lead drone’s casing had a Partisant compliance sticker half-peeled, someone had started the job and been reassigned mid-scrape. Level 15 security. Wesley pressed himself flat against the grating, trying to calculate angles. The nearest drone was maybe eight meters away. Its scan pattern swept in a slow arc, left to right, methodical. Searching.
For what?
For the bar, probably. Something that valuable didn’t just fall. Someone had dropped it. Someone was looking for it.
And he’d shoved it in his pack like an idiot.
The drone’s scanner swept toward his position. Wesley held his breath. The blue light crept across the grating, centimeter by centimeter. He could feel the bar’s warmth through the fabric, through his shirt, against his skin. Could the sensors feel it too? Could they detect whatever made it warmer than it should be?
The light touched his boot.
Stopped.
Wesley’s heart stopped with it.
Then the drone shrieked, pivoting hard, chasing movement on a lower level. Something had spooked it. Someone running, maybe. A decoy. An accident.
Wesley didn’t question his luck. He scrambled down the nearest ladder, dropping the last two meters to save time, landing hard enough to jar his teeth. The main corridor was chaos—people pressing against walls, keeping their heads down, the universal posture of don’t notice me.
He joined them. Matched their “hunched over” shuffle. Roz’s voice echoed in his head: Your left heel drags approximately two centimeters. He corrected it, lifting his feet properly. Became invisible.
“Got something good there, Farrow?”
Wesley’s jaw clenched.
Glendin Caine materialized from a service alcove, his wild curls damp with sweat, his grin sharp as a blade. He’d been running too. The drones had flushed everyone. Wesley and Glendin were running next to each other.
“Nothing,” Wesley said. “Just getting home.”
“Funny route.” Glendin’s eyes dropped to Wesley’s pack. “What’s in the bag?”
“Parts. Salvage. None of your business.”
“Everything in Stack 5 is my business.” Glendin stepped closer. “Stack 6 too, once I pass the Beta Test. Maybe Stack 7. I’m ambitious.”
“You’re Stack 6. You walked down one flight.”
“Harsh.” But Glendin’s attention stayed on the pack. “The drones came from the upper levels. Fifteen, maybe higher. They were tracking something.” His grin widened. “Something valuable. Something forbidden.”
Wesley kept his face neutral. His hands wanted to shake. He didn’t let them.
“You’re paranoid.”
“And you’re sweating.” Glendin reached for the pack.
Wesley stopped and stepped back. “Touch me, and I report you for assault.”
“Report me?” Glendin laughed as he too stopped running. “With what evidence? It’s your word against mine, and everyone knows your family’s got problems. Your mom got recycled for a reason, Farrow. Apple doesn’t fall far, yeah?”
His mother’s face flashed behind his eyes, not the frozen image from memories, but something else. Something newer. A vision of frost and glass and impossible cold.
He blinked it away.
“Stay away from me,” he said quietly. “I m-mean it.”
“Touchy.” But something in Wesley’s voice made Glendin hesitate. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face before the smirk returned. “See you at the Beta Test, Pestley. Hope you end up somewhere fun. Waste processing, maybe. You’d fit right in.”
[ENCRYPTED:He vanished into the crowd.] Wesley exhaled slowly.
His pack felt heavier than before. The bar pulsed against his back, warm and patient. Waiting.
Find me, his mother had said in that single audio file. Build her, and she’ll help you find me.
He’d built Roz. She was hidden in a maintenance alcove with a tarp over her head, one day old and already worried about him.
Now he had a bar that shouldn’t exist, filled with data he couldn’t read.
And somewhere above, drones were hunting for it.
Wesley pulled his pack tighter and headed home.