Alison’s breath caught in her throat as the automaton took a step toward her, her arms outstretched, her gloved mechanical hands clasped around the book.
And then she remembered what Eleanor had said before—She doesn’t make noises like the others—and the silence of the room, filled only by her own thundering heartbeat, made more sense.
“I…I…” Alison began.
What was she doing? She had been dealing with automatons since she was six. She knew how to handle one. Simple, declarative sentences.
“There’s no cleaning here,” Alison began, her voice hoarse.
No, that wouldn’t do. This one could be an older model. She needed more basic instructions, a firmer tone that could not be misunderstood.
“Leave this room,” she said, more forcefully.
In return, the automaton took another step toward her. Alison took one back.
“Leave,” she repeated, putting as much command as possible into one word.
Only the automaton moved forward again. Alison did as well, backing up into the bed and almost falling onto it.
“Damn,” she muttered, then spoke more loudly. “Stop!”
And by some miracle, the automaton did. Alison blinked in surprise. The automaton had just needed a more straightforward command. And to think for a moment…
Alison’s thought froze as the automaton extended its arms, shoving the book toward her.
“What?” Alison looked down on it. “The sketchbook?”
The automaton pushed it toward her again.
“I…what are you trying to tell me? Are you upset that I took it? I swear the door was already open and…” She shook her head. “What am I even doing? It’s not like you can get upset with me.”
In return, the figure did something that Alison had never seen an automaton do before. She nodded.
That was impossible! Automatons were not programmed to nod or shake their heads. What was the point when they couldn’t hold opinions? They merely obeyed.
But there had been something about the way the woman had moved…
“Are you upset?” Alison asked.
In response, she nodded again.
“This is crazy.” Alison looked down at the book. “Are you upset I went into the room?”
She shook her head this time.
“Okay, are you upset about something in this sketchbook?”
The automaton nodded again.
“But why? It’s just a sketchbook of the early prototypes of Ashton Alchemical. Mr. Ashton—”
There was no way to misinterpret that gesture. This time the automaton shook her head emphatically.
“Okay.” Alison tilted her head to the right. “Are these prototypes?”
The automaton nodded.
“Then they’re not from Mr. Ashton. The handwriting is all wrong. Who does this belong to?”
Bang! The door to the room slammed open, causing both the automaton and Alison to whirl towards the intruder. At the sight of the figure on the other side, the automaton raised her hands, as if in defense.
In response, Mr. Ashton lifted the pistol he was carrying to eye level.
Alison was shocked at how fast she moved. Automatons were strong, it was true, but even the most recent models moved noticeably slower than your average healthy person. Their movements were clunky, jerky.
But not this one.
Hands outstretched, she sprung at Mr. Ashton with more speed than Alison suspected that she ever could have managed.
Even that was no match for a bullet.
The room was filled with the thunder of gunfire. The automaton jerked backward and fell to the ground, the porcelain mask slipping from her face. The sound of its shattering filled the room.
“I…apologize.” Mr. Ashton was the first to break the silence. “We have been having problems with that one for a while. She’s an older model, which might account for why I have formed such an emotional attachment, but clearly, it would be wiser to…”
His voice drifted off as he caught sight of the sketchbook on the ground. His gaze jumped to Alison’s, and for a moment, he just studied her, at the barely contained panic that still lingered in her face, at the tension of her body.
At the truth, as plain as anything.
“Damn,” he said, running a hand down his face. “And I had such high hopes for you.”
“Mr. Ashton—” Alison began.
“No.” He raised his pistol towards Alison’s face. “No lies.”
He frowned, his gaze flitting between Alison and the automaton, before speaking again. “I’m going to need you to come with me.”
Nancy O'Toole 