Page 6

Allie and I are at her favorite bar in Beverly Hills.

I don’t see any movie stars at the moment, but one could appear suddenly, as if by magic or through a portal—if we’re lucky. Once, I saw an article featuring Kim Kardashian’s monochrome kitchen. I’ll never forget it. Now, I could draw on that memory and teleport over there at will. Then again, she isn’t a movie star. A social media star, yes. On second thought, chatting here at the bar with Allie is pretty much perfect. Nice ambiance, nice music. An all-around nicely dressed crowd, if kind of uppity. A cacophony of lively chatter. And my best pal presently listening to me in earnest.

“Wait, Sam. Hold up. You’re telling me there’s some type of AI Robot/human hybrid out there, potentially raising hell?”

“Not quite hell yet; at least, not yet. Nothing yet is out of order. For now, all is well in San Diego.”

“San Diego?”

“That’s where the surgery was done.”

“And where he... it?... escaped?”

“Let’s use he or him .”

“How would we even know if he was raising hell?”

“I’m guessing we won’t, though the crew at Micro-Neura might pick up on something.”

“Are the police in San Diego aware of the potential for problems?”

“All local police are. All monitoring systems have been engaged.”

“I haven’t heard anything about him on the news.”

“It made it out to some of the news channels, podcasts, websites. For the most part, officials are keeping it as much on the down-low as they can. They don’t want to scare the public—not if they don’t have to.”

I had to look hard for mention of the rogue patient, but I did find an article or two buried deep in some news sites. As of now, it appears no one is taking it seriously; at least, not yet.

“Boy, I thought those implants were there just to help the disabled navigate on a computer.”

I shrug. “Then you know more about it than I did. Turns out, some chips were stronger and bigger than others, capable of doing more things.”

“And he got the big one.”

“Yup.”

“Oh, boy.” She takes a drink from her cosmopolitan and swallows. “Sam, you’re used to fighting demons and devils. How on earth are you going to tackle this?”

“He’s kind of a demon or devil,” I say. “In a way, he’s supernatural.”

“Because he can tap into his full potential? Is that how you phrased it earlier?”

“That’s how Mr. CEO phrased it.”

“The billionaire?”

“Yeah.”

“I think you need my help with this one, Sam.”

“Ya think?”

“No matter how smart or clever the robot man is, he shouldn’t be able to hide from me—but he might know you might be using a distant viewer.”

“How would he know that?”

“Because it’s within the realm of possibility. Even police use us.”

“Okay, fine. How would he combat it, then?”

“Mask his energy signature?”

I shake my head, marveling all over again at the kinds of conversations I find myself in these days. “And how would he do that?”

“By shutting down those parts of the body not needed. In short, switching off cells that aren’t being used. That would effectively—and temporarily—unalive parts of his body and decrease his energy output enough that I can’t track him.”

I shake my head. “I seriously doubt the AI will take things to such extremes.”

“Well, it might, if it wants to stay in control of its host, but we don’t have to worry about any of that.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m already seeing him.”

“Based on the picture I showed you?”

“Yeah. He’s in a work room of sorts, under the city streets. He’s a shell of his former self, if I had to guess. He’s cold, but he’s fighting it. He’s scared, but he’s fighting that, too.”

“Maybe we should go back to your place and do a more controlled reading,” I suggest. “I may want to leap straight to him if we can zero in on where he’s hiding.”

“Sounds good. Might be the easiest case you’ve ever had.”

“Famous last words,” I say, standing and snatching my purse. I drop my phone in it and reach inside for my keys. “You ready?”

“Yeah, but I may need you to drive me home. I’m feeling a little tipsy.”

“I’ll do you one better,” I say.

“Bathroom?” she suggests.

“Yup.”

Which is where we head to next, cramming our way into a narrow stall. With the chatter of other women at the sink—along with the sounds of flushing and the clacking of heels on tiles—I take my friend’s hand and summon the single flame. I see within it her simple living room—and we make the leap to her apartment.