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The student wouldn’t stop doing her homework, and it was going to kill her.
Jack sat cross-legged in the middle of the Arctic Sea, balanced on the gently curving, uncanny invisibility of her submarine’s hull.
The weird runs deep here.
Could this clickbait story be about that batch of Zacuity she’d unloaded last month in Calgary?
120 years in the future and we’re still saying “clickbait”
she pulled out some 420 and sparked it up.
Really?
“It’s the center of the human resources industry. A lot of bad guys there. Black-market slave shit. People there don’t value human life so they build with this cheap crap that lets in way too much ultraviolet. Iqaluit looks exactly the same—except a lot cleaner and newer.”
Paladin wondered if Eliasz was opposed to the system of indenture. There were entire text repositories that focused on eliminating the indenture of humans. Their pundits argued that humans should not be owned like bots because nobody paid to make them.
She was designed to look human, her face the replica of a woman whose image Med’s tissue engineer had licensed from an old Facebook database.
Bits of this are brilliant
The man kept his eyes on the now invisible gun apertures in Paladin’s chest.
Seriously, do we really need five pages of the loathsome Eliasz fetishizing and eroticizing his indentured military robot? I don't need to know that he gets an erection when he fondles the guns in it's chest or that he needs to shower after they shoot up a bunch of targets. Squick.
with a group of neurolinguistics students who were more interested in vowel shifts than patent injustice.
I miss those days.
“Some of the robots said they were learning about human sexuality. Do you think military robots need to do that?” Blood rushed to Eliasz’ face and electricity arced over his skin. “I don’t know anything about that. I’m not a faggot.”
Seriously?! WTF.
He reached over and touched the curved shell of Paladin’s shoulder unnecessarily. “You got that, buddy?”
I hate Eliasz
Youssef was crying, his body going into shock. “Why are you doing this? Are you IPC agents?” “Yes.” Eliasz squeezed off a shot. “And that makes you a dead pirate.”
Lame.
I have an IPC rep here who is not very happy. He wants to know why you almost burned down a valuable energy source for Iqaluit.
Because Eliasz is a privileged white male macho asshole.
“I call it Retcon,” she said.
That's awesome.
Dr. Cohen,
What are the odds?
Many of them would be stopping at one of the dozens of Prague-style secret teahouses that had sprung up here over the sixty years since the late twenty-first century Collapse, which left populations and farms ravaged by plagues.
44% in and we're only just now getting the tiniest peek at prior events that shaped the current society.
Through his rear sensors, Paladin could see that Eliasz was trying to hide a matching grin of his own.
This is just cringy.
When Paladin told Eliasz about his failure, the man raised his eyebrows. “That wasn’t a fail, buddy. You got great intel. Nobody is going to tell you directly how to find illegal shit. That was genius, asking for something cheap. He was able to tell you everything without admitting that he knew anything.”
This bot is a moron.
“I make custom penises.”
Oh goody.
All we have to do is follow her. When we get there, you grab her and I’ll give her a taste of my medicine.”
Ugh.
It’s true that he was asking the wrong question, but if she listened to the words behind the words … he was asking her consent.
On what bizarre planet?
“You’re SlaveBoy? From Memeland? Are you serious? I used to read you all the time.” She paused, remembering. “I thought you were dead.”
Heh
Wynn had suffered some kind of catastrophe in the twenty-first century that made melted skeletons of its penthouses.
It's only a century later - pepole don't remember/know what happened outside of "some kind of catastrophe?"
Eliasz was suffused with a feeling more powerful than any humiliation his long-ago experiences could possibly supply. He had no trouble identifying it as love.
Eliasz would greatly benefit from therapy and thicker skin.
She guessed the human agent would be standard-issue IPC: highly trained, on fire with righteous belief in property, as likely to kill her as anything else.
Nailed it.
“Alright—I get it! We’re totally fucked and it’s my fault!” Threezed scrambled across the bench seat to grab Med’s shoulders and shake her. “Now that we know we’re fucked, what are we going to do to help Jack?”
More than anything, her useless and irrational feelings for Eliasz were testimony to her continued autonomy.
Bleh.
So I bought out your contract. I can’t stand the idea of the woman I love not being autonomous.”
Gross. And with that line, I’m out. The last seven pages can’t be worth the torture
