After a few uninterrupted days of exercise and EMP stimulation, she’s walking so much better that it takes me a minute to understand why she’s so touchy. I’d never know she had a transplant such a short time ago. Her limp isn’t even debilitating now; it just throws off her gait some. Doc did a good job picking the replacement limb. Wisely, I decide not to mention any of those thoughts.

“Right here.” I loft 245, who doesn’t say anything. But she’s powered up, ready to play her role.

I don’t know if this is genius or desperation, but if I had to guess, I’d call it a reckless marriage of the two. The tricky part arises from not being able to check the others’ status, because our comms can’t connect to the wireless system. Or rather, aren’t being permitted to do so. We’re welcome to use their terminals for room-to-room calls, of course.

Yeah, right.

“If Vel does his part on time, we’ll get in and out in less than two minutes.”

The alternative goes unspoken. If he doesn’t, alarms sound, Keller’s goons come running, and—well, I’m not sure what comes next, but I’d guess it’s not good. I imagine there’s a limit to what they’re willing to put up with. They could transfer me to an altogether-less-agreeable prison, or if they lose patience with the babysitting job entirely, they might off me. As Jael pointed out, these guys don’t make money off valuing human life.

As we pause outside the door, I scan the hallway, take a deep breath, and then activate 245. “Johann Keller, requesting access.”

She can reproduce a voice with a 98.5 percent accuracy. Let’s see if that gets us in the door. Vel should’ve patched into the cameras by now, so if anyone’s watching, it looks like we’re not here.

“Granted,” the bot tells us politely.

We hasten into the room before something can go wrong, and the door slides closed behind us. I draw up short, causing Dina to slam into my back. Her weight makes me oof, and I nearly drop 245, who responds with a cautionary, “Be careful, Sirantha Jax. In your current financial state, you cannot afford to replace me.”

“I couldn’t replace you even if I had a trillion credits,” I tell her.

Dina ignores us as she scowls at where we’ve ended up. Droid parts litter the filthy counters, and a half dozen broken units lean up against the wall—chassis, arms, legs, even heads. Something stands in the far corner, covered by a tarp. No terminals, not even the decommed one Vel’s schematics reflected.

Shit.

“I don’t think we’ll find anything useful in here.”

The mechanic looks like she wants to slap me. “No shit. They must’ve made some changes since those plans were uploaded.”

“Or they planted the wrong ones on purpose.” I wouldn’t put it past them.

Nothing like running us around for entertainment. It saves them worrying that we might actually accomplish something. Keeps us busy until the elusive Mr. Jewel sees fit to turn up and deal with us.

Well, I’ll be damned if I’ll wait. There has to be something we can use. I start to rummage quickly, not knowing whether there are cameras in here. I can’t spot any of the usual tells, but the room is dark and grimy with months of accumulated dust. Whoever used to tinker down here doesn’t anymore.

“What’re you doing?” Dina wants to know. “This is a complete waste of time.”

“Is it?” I yank the cover off the thing in the corner and only just manage not to stagger back in shock.

Her eyes widen, just as mine do. “Well, maybe not.”

“What is it?”

She comes over to examine what I’ve found. At first I thought it was a dead body, but the flesh feels smooth and supple when I poke it. For all intents, we’ve found a woman down in storage, eyes closed as if in repose. She has brown hair and an aesthetically perfect face that comes from a composite of many beautiful people.

Bracing herself on the wall, Dina bends and lifts its bare foot. “She’s a Lila, one of Pretty Robotics’s older models. See the logo stamped on her insole? They changed the line about five years ago and shifted away from classical beauty, went more for the lush, showy designs.”

“Bigger boobs?” I guess.

“Among other assets.”

“Is she broken?” Why else would she have been dumped down here?

“Lemme take a look.”

She pops a panel on the droid’s forearm, taps a few buttons, but nothing happens. “Looks like her chip is fried. Expensive repair.”

“Unless . . .” I look at 245, hold her up beside the Lila. “What do you think? She’s been asking for a way to join the action. Could you manage a brain transplant?”

“It’s not my forte, but maybe. I have a knack with most machines.”

“I can help,” 245 volunteers. “Once you begin the process, I can tell you what connections remain to be made and what systems I am able to control.”

“Let’s try it,” Dina decides. “This unit may have security clearances that 245 can exploit. That alone makes it worth tackling. Plus I like a challenge. Jax, find me some tools.”

“Right.” I barely manage not to salute and call her “Your Highness” just to rag on her. After what happened earlier, I’d rather not test Dina’s mood, particularly not when my very helpful, damn-near-indispensable personal assistant depends on her good offices.

“This isn’t going to be a quick in and out,” she warns me. “In the original plan, Vel only gives us ten minutes to bounce a message out, telling Tarn where we are.”

“Then let’s hope the third prong works without a hitch. If Jael and Hit take care of the goons for us, maybe nobody will come looking.”

She shrugs. “And maybe this room isn’t on camera. We can’t worry about it now. The die is cast. Hand me the silver one. No, smaller than that.”

I feel like a particularly inept medical assistant, but I pass her the implement as she begins the procedure. Dina actually unscrews the top of the droid’s skull, lifting it off, hair and all. Disembodied, the mass of shimmering chestnut hair looks macabre on the dirty table.

I look away in time to find Dina another tool, this one with a curved end. The model’s head is empty; they’ve already scrapped the ruined bits apparently. To my untrained eye, it looks as if she could just set 245 in there. The space inside the droid’s skull seems perfectly sized to accommodate my PA.

She confirms that with an astonished murmur. “I had no idea the pleasure models could be adapted for business so easily.”

“I believe you will need to remove my external casing,” 245 tells us. “If you were not present, Sirantha Jax, and your correct security codes active, such a procedure would destroy me, along with everything in my data banks.”

“But it’s safe now? Because I’m here, and I’ve . . . authorized the installation?” I’m not sure what else to call it.

“It should be.” But she sounds unsure. “There are risks associated with exposing my inner workings, but they should be minimized if I am swiftly housed in my new casing.”

Heh. Only 245 would call this slim, perfect body a casing . I wonder how she’ll deal with men hitting on her. And they certainly will.

“Well, let’s get it done before we’re interrupted.” Dina takes 245 from my hands, and damn if I don’t feel like an anxious parent. “How do I get you open? I don’t see any seams.”

That strikes me weird, too, akin to asking a patient to consult on her own surgery. However, 245 responds with aplomb. “I will raise the temperature of the two spots on either side where you must apply pressure.”

Dina closes her eyes, running her fingertips along the sides of the sphere. “Got it. Here and here.”

And 245 pops into segments with tiny silver screws showing. “That is correct. Be sure to ground yourself before touching any of my sensitive components.”

I feel myself start to sweat. It trickles down my neck to the small of my back. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

The mechanic glares. “Will you shut up? You’re making me nervous. And I need a steady hand.”

“Do not worry,” the PA reassures me. “All will be well, Sirantha Jax. But perhaps you should permit us some room to work.”

And stop watching, I add silently.

“Fine.” I take a deep breath. “I’ll be over here if you need me. Guarding the door. Or something.”

“Thanks.” Dina’s already lost interest in my angst, getting straight to work.

I turn my back, hoping for the best.

* * *

CHAPTER 49

The operation is a success.

For a moment, I just watch 245 taking her first steps. Her movements are jerky and unsure, but she’s doing it. The way she moves her head strikes me as unnatural, too, scanning rather than looking, but at least she’s ambulatory. I’m so proud.

“This is very interesting,” she says in the voice I chose for her.

“Great job, Dina.”

She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I can see that she wants to smile. “It wasn’t too bad once you left me alone. We should get out of here, though.”

“Agreed. Shall we, 245?”

“I have given that a considerable amount of thought,” she tells me. “And I believe a numeric designation is no longer appropriate.”

“What did you pick?” I fiddle with the controls, but I can’t get the door open.

“Constance,” she answers. “It means constant or steadfast. I will take the surname Riddle because of my nature.”

I like it, actually, not that my approval is paramount. “Good choice. Can you get us out of here, Constance?”

“Let me try.” She pauses, head tilted. “This unit possesses basic clearances. Let’s see if these codes still work.”

They do, and the door slides open. We step out into the dark hallway, so different from the ivory elegance of the upper stories. Keller comes around a corner and heads right for us.

Too late to run. My heart races. By his expression, he isn’t sure what we’re doing down here. Well, that makes two of us. I hope 245, er, Constance keeps quiet. If she speaks, he’s going to know she isn’t programmed to simulate sexual arousal.

“That unit is broken,” he says by way of greeting. “The boys got a little rough with her one night.”

Ew. It explains why she was in storage, though. “Dina repaired her,” I answer, trying to project the old Jax, the party girl people saw on the vids. “It’s pretty quiet around here. So we’re going to have a little party. You want to come?”

Keller seems undecided. My skin crawls. If he says yes, we’ll have to kill him. It won’t be as quick and elegant as Hit could manage, but we’ll get the job done.

Making matters worse, I’ll have to play the femme fatale. Dina doesn’t have the hetero skill set, and Constance can’t pass as a pleasure droid. I try on what I hope is a flirtatious smile, and run my fingertips down the front of his shirt.