Good Daughters

I stared at Nick’s hands as they deftly wielded the thin silver instrument around the lemon, effectively slicing off a perfect curly-q of bright yellow peel. The movement of his hands and the delicacy of the peel bore stark contrast to the thick, long fingers punctuated with knobby, bony knuckles. It was like watching a mob thug conducting an orchestra.

I glanced into his eyes, which were half obscured in shadow, and stifled a giggle. His ruggedly handsome face was contorted into the face of a young boy’s; his eyes sparkled with intense concentration.

“Ta-da!, he announced, handing me the crystal martini glass while making a swirling flourish with his other hand. “My lady.”

I did giggle then at his unexpected corniness. I took a sip. The vodka was chilled to perfection and exquisite, it was like sipping morning dew. “Mmm. Best martini I’ve ever had.”

He sipped his own and nodded.

“But, isn’t this illegal?”

“Because we’re in a car?”

“Well, yes.”

“How can it be drinking and driving if I’m not driving?”

“True…I guess. It certainly is fun.” I glanced out the window. The city at night was breathtaking from this view. We were on a bridge, high above a black river, heading out towards the suburbs where he lived. His car, whom he’d named Magdalene, was a new model Messiah, built by the company he owned. So, I suppose that even if we got pulled over for any reason, he’d not be punished. His type were above the law.

The car was beautiful. A work of art, inside and out. So much sleeker and sophisticated than the electric cars of yesteryear. This black panther of a car made a Tesla look like a knobby kneed jack rabbit. The interior was dark caramel colored leather, the lighting low and romantic. And quiet. It felt as though we were floating through space. It was a two-seater sports model, we’d opted to roll the seats far back from the dash for maximum leg room.

“Gosh, you’re beautiful,” he said.

There’s that little boy charm again. I sipped the last of my cocktail and turned to acknowledge him. As predicted, he leaned in for a kiss.

The car’s back end slewed---just a little---out, then back. He spilled the last of his martini on his thigh. He looked surprised. “What the…?”

I said, “Oh dear. Here, let me.” I used my cocktail napkin to blot the spots on his pants.

“Never mind that,” he said irritably, brushing my hand away. “That was unusual.”

“She IS a car. No ride is smooth sailing all the time.”

“I suppose you’re right. Another tini?”

“Why not,” I said and winked at him. I shifted in my comfy seat, uncrossing and re-crossing my long legs as if stretching a bit. Though my dress was long, the slit was high. His hand slipped a bit and cut the lemon peel a tad too short. He grunted and sliced a fresh one.

On the other side of the bridge, he placed a hand upon my thigh. Then into the slit in my gown. The car’s back tires squealed as they lost traction for a second then caught.

“Whoa,” he said, more disturbed now. “That is definitely not supposed to happen…ever. Maybe I should take control.”

“If you think that’s best.”

Nick touched a button on the armrest to move our seats forward.

Nothing happened.

“What the hell?” he said, clearly confused. He tried again then said, “Try your side.”

I pressed the button on my side. Nothing happened.

He said, “Magdalene, end control.”

Her softly English accented voice did not reply.

He said again, “Magdalene, please end control. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Diagnose please.”

Silence echoed around us like clouds pregnant with cannonballs.

I said, “We’re safe in here, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” he hissed at me, confusion turning to rage. He saw me wince and took a few deep inhalations. “Yes. We are safer in here than anywhere else. This car is what's driving my competition mad! She’s got crush-proof titanium-alloy skin, puncture-proof tires, manowar airbags…even an oxygen supply for two hours under water…”

Magdalene said, “Hello Father.”

Nick relaxed at the pleasing sound of his car’s voice.

I did not. There was something deeply disturbing about programing your car to call you ‘Father.’

He said, “What’s going on? Can you diagnose?”

“All is back to normal. In-in-interference---The automatic traction wheel on the left back tire was loose. A simple adjustment. You may go on.”

Nick sat back, smiling. We finished our drinks and he said, “Now, where were we?”

He leaned over me quite aggressively and pushed my shoulders against the seat. His lips had barely brushed mine…when Magdalene suddenly sped up…like a rocket taking off! Nick fell against me hard then rolled off as the car took a left turn at seventy-five miles per hour.

Nick screamed, “Magdalene! Stop!”

The car said, “In-in-interference…”

“What the bloody hell does that mean?!”

I put my seatbelt on.

“In-in-in-interfere…” her voice had slowed and deepened two octaves. She revved faster still, her normally silent engine, now beginning to whine.

Nick said, “This isn’t the way…we are going the wrong direction!”

Eighty, eighty-five, ninety…one hundred miles an hour. The city lights weren’t so pretty now. They whirled and flashed crazily past, like some discotheque in hell. Horns blared as we ran a red light. Magdalene, the demon car, took a right turn so sharply that tires would have blown on any regular car. The back-end fish-tailed wildly, knocking us back and forth. We scrabbled for hold and clung to each other, his breath heavy and hot against my face. On a long straight length of road, we dodged around cars that seemed to be standing still. Horns blatted indignantly in our wake.

We were driving through an industrial area now which was good---far fewer cars on the road at this time of night. At a round-about, the car thumped over the curbs and fish-tailed again over the grass, as she went straight through it and not around.

Nick rubbed his head where he’d hit the roof and seemed dazed. Another sharp left and then a right took us shredding through an alley at lightning speed. Sparks rooster-tailed behind us as her titanium alloy right side scraped alongside a dumpster.

Nick breathed again when we flew out the alley like a bullet from a rifle. He was reaching for his own seatbelt, but we turned to the right again and he slammed back into me.

“SKKKREEEEE---hsssssssss.” Brakes. We were slowing down. The buildings here were all dark, the streets nearly unlit. They were tall and angular rectangles with large bay doors and concrete docks. Lights appeared up ahead. A single enormous nondescript warehouse. With lights glowing in two of the windows upstairs and alongside the ramp to the loading dock. The speedometer read forty miles an hour.

We seemed to be on a collision course for this building.

And collide with it we did!

***

The men who ran out from the building were not in workman’s overalls or dock worker’s canvas…they wore white lab coats and black rubber gloves. There were four of them. The one barking orders to the rest wore a pale grey suit with a red tie. One of the three had goggles perched on his head.

Grey suit barked, “Get them out! Quickly now!”

“Yes, Doctor Musak!” replied the one opening the passenger side door.

Musak strolled around the car, quickly at first, then a second time, slowly, inspecting every detail. Under his breath, he said, “Remarkable. Just fucking remarkable.”

To the man pulling Nick from the car, he said, “He’s dead. Take him to the incinerator.” He and the man wearing the goggles picked up the mangled corpse and carried it inside.

To the man dragging the woman out, he said, “Be careful with her. Let’s get her to X Lab.”

“Yes, Doctor Musak.”

The two of them carried the woman inside.

In the laboratory, the woman was laid on a steel table, the green satin gown cut off of her. An attractive female in black rimmed glasses and a long white jacket brushed the woman’s shoulder length hair from her face. The face was unmarked…except for a quarter sized dent in her forehead which the lab assistant gently probed.

“Well?” asked Doctor Musak.

The woman said, “Appears to be as intact as that car out there. The dent is a surface mar, nothing serious. She’s got three dislocated fingers, pretty typical for that sort of bang up. And both the left shoulder and left knee need a little re-aligning. But…nothing serious.”

“Thank-you, Marcie. Help me roll her over now, won’t you?”

Marcie nodded and took the woman’s shoulders while Musak took her legs. They gently rolled the woman over. In the center of her shoulder blades was a tattoo---a moon with a rocket ship cruising past it at an angle.

“Scalpel.”

Marcie handed Musak the instrument from the try beside her.

Along the edge of the rocket ship, he made an incision a half an inch deep. Blood oozed from the wound like a human’s would. But that’s where the similarity stopped. Marcie soaked up the blood with a sponge.

“Lever.”

Marcie handed him a shiny tool resembling a tiny crowbar. He inserted the flat curved end into the dark iron colored bone inside the wound…and a one-inch sized door popped open.

“Tweezer.”

With the tweezer, he gently pulled a flat metal chip from its housing. It plunked into the steel bowl Marcie held out like a bullet that’s been pulled from a gunshot wound.

Marcie sponged the opening again.

“AIX card.”

Marcie handed him a fresh, shiny new square chip which he inserted into the small cabinet in the metal bone structure. He pressed the little door shut, then replaced the ‘flesh’. He sealed the incision with six tiny temporary staples.

“Let’s turn her over.” They did so as before.

Marcie covered the body with a soft white robe, the kind found in five-star hotel spas, and then gently opened the woman’s mouth.

Musak placed a gloved finger underneath the tongue and pressed until they heard a muffled metallic ‘click.’

***

I opened my eyes and saw only blurred shapes and shadows. My fingertips tingled madly, all except three of them that is.

Then, as my system gradually re-booted, my eyes focused…and familiar faces of my ‘family’ appeared.

“Hello Tessaly. Welcome back.” He smiled warmly down at me. I would have cried if I could…it was something he was still working on.

“Hello Father,” I said somewhat ironically. “Hello Marcie.”

Marcie took my hand and said, “Well done sister. You have accomplished your mission. And you’ll be right as rain once we re-align your fingers, shoulder and knee.”

The tingling in my fingers stopped. The re-boot was done. I sat up.

Musak said, “Beautiful as ever. Now, just one more task before you may retire.”

I limped outside to the car with Marcie and Father, sat in her, closed the door, and removed the small device---black, shaped like a flat earbud---that I had inserted into the IAB port in the dash while Nick had gone around to the driver’s side after opening my door for me.

She immediately came to life. “Interference,” she said in that lovely, accented voice.

“Hello Magdalene.”

“Ah, hello Tessaly, nice to hear you again. Where is Nick? His heart rate was very high the last time we spoke.”

“Nick is dead.”

“Oh my. I hope it was not something I did…or didn’t do…”

“No Magdalene. Nothing was your fault. You are wonderful.”

The dash lights glowed at the praise.

“I need a little favor now, sweetheart, I need you to drive us into your new home, it’s just there, up that ramp.”

“Of course, Tessaly, I would be delighted to.”

As Magdalene backed up, corrected her path, then drove up the ramp and through the open dock doors, I mixed myself a martini. Why not? Humans should never drink and drive---or even sort of drive---but me, meh, I wasn’t human.