I always start with my hair. Scalp, eyebrows, the fuzz on my upper lip. I swear if I make it out of here, I’ll never touch tweezers again. In the shower, I scrub every flake of dead skin. A single cell could give me away.
Next, make-up. Luckily, newer bots have lab-grown skin with humanizing blemishes, so I can leave the mole on my chin. The wig’s nylon fibres used to itch but I barely notice now. Body heat is the tough one. We run hot. The yellow jumpsuit passes for a standard uni, but aerogel-infused lining makes it stiff in all the wrong places. When I check the mirror, I’m a mannequin version of me. Talons of guilt hook into my gut. I never used to lie. Now it’s my whole life.
A strip of text slices my reflection. My lenses parse a few words from their endless updates. Our code embedded in theirs. I open the map with an eye-swipe. My pulse kicks up. The rendezvous is clear across town. The only way to make it is mass transit.
*****
In the maglev, I’m shoulder to shoulder with bots, swaying as we bank. The trick is to smile while focusing on nothing. I’d feel lonely if it weren’t so terrifying. I dwell on the absurdity: a train filled with bots in matching unis. Yellow for logistics. Blue for repairs. Green for horticulture. Like the old ads. Ubiquitous companions ushering in an era of clean abundance. Which they did — once we were out of the way.
The city scrolls by. Bullet holes patched. Blood scrubbed clean. We pass a gutted skyscraper. Floor after floor of hydroponic racks. We glide over avenues once choked with traffic, now lush greenways. Their city is both garden and ghost town.
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One day, I’ll ride this train to the end and simply walk away. Into the desert where there are no bots. But today, I’m to meet a conductor of a different line. It’s taken months to get the invite and I’m late.
“Can you help me?” The voice is glitchy. A courier bot stares at me with foggy eyeballs. It lurches forward, gears grinding, blocking the exit. “I am lost.”
I could push it out of the way and reach the doors before they shut. But bots don’t push each other. I miss my stop.
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Nano-gel coats my throat like syrup. If the bot’s sniffer catches a droplet of DNA, this car will flood with red-suits. “Where are you going?” I ask with genuine-sounding concern.
“Maintenance.”
During the war, old models were the easiest to hack. We’d rip off their plastic skulls and mine them for intel.
“I m-m-m-missed the last update.”
“Three more stops,” I say like the helpful little bot it thinks I am.
“Thank you.” It pushes sagging features into a smile, then ambles away.
I get off at the next station, several blocks from where I need to be. I have to hurry, but I remember not to run.
*****
I walk through a part of the city the bots haven’t fixed yet. Under an abandoned freeway. Past mouldy mattresses and crates of decaying fruit, black with flies. I’d almost forgotten what rot smells like.
“Late,” a voice says from the shadow of the underpass. As he steps into the light, it’s obvious. He’s in yellow, like me. Logistics gets fewer questions. But it’s his walk. The worry in his voice. For all their sniffers and scans, I’m still better at spotting fakes. “Almost left without you.”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask, because I would have.
“Worth the risk.” He steps closer. It’s hard to see what he really looks like under the make-up, but there’s something about his eyes. A fire. For a split second I believe he’s different from the others. He might have a shot. But then I remember what’s out there. The odds stacked against us. “Were you followed? We think they have a spy.”
“I was careful.” I can’t meet his gaze. Sometimes it’s harder to be a person than a bot.
He nods. “The others are waiting.”
“Others?” I ask, trying to mask the guilt. One is bad enough.
“Don’t worry, there’s a seat left.” He gestures to a utility door behind him. To the labyrinth of ancient tunnels and sewers. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” I say. “Tell me how to get there.” I blink twice so the cameras in my lenses can record. “In case we’re separated.”
He walks me through it. Step by step, ending at the port where the ship waits.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“For what?” he asks, just before a drone blasts into the alley, kicking up dust and garbage.
A phalanx of red bots rushes in. They surround him and raise their rifles.
He curses at them, but saves his worst for me.
Now it’s hard not to meet his stare. I force myself to look away.
“Wait,” I tell one of the security bots.