RoboNomics

Chapter 51

It's slow going. We walk, even knowing that would take us over an hour to do so. I questioned Elizabeth's logic at the time - the logic of the group, the consensus that they'd come to. But as we walk, I begin to understand. Our numbers swell. Passersby stop one or another in our group and ask about where we're going, what we're doing.

When they hear the answer, many of them join us.

By the time the two towers of city hall rise in my vision, the mass of people have begun to chant. There's a festival atmosphere brewing, with the drum beat of thousands of feet backing rhythmic voices, melding into unison.

I strain to isolate a single sound: Chris' voice. There are loud speakers in city hall's courtyard or something else amplifying his voice. Even with the crowd surrounding me, even with a cacophony barraging my eardrums from every side, I hear the outline of his voice. Not the words, nor the depth of his baritone that once thrilled me, soul and body. But the higher tones are there, unmistakably his.

"Andrea," Elizabeth materializes by my side. "I need you with me."

She throws an arm around me and her soft palms cup my shoulders. She leads me to the front of the group and the curtain of their bodies draw back to reveal city hall square.

My eyes are immediately drawn to him. There he stands, so changed from last I saw him. Perfectly coiffed with his long locks hacked off, the blond ends now gone and revealing a darker shade of sandiness. I cannot see the blue of his irises over the crowd listening to him. But I can see every expression, believe I can see every thought etched into the lines that cross his face.

Behind him, there's a line of seated dignitaries and politicians, including Robert Newhouse. Elizabeth was right: my anger flares at the sight of them together.

My attention flicks to the crowd for only a moment. They are well-dressed, seated. It's as much as I can glean before Chris speaks up again.

"And our guests of honor have arrived." He gestures at us.

He gestures at us.

It's an ambush. It's no wonder the crowd seems undisturbed by our presence.

At the front of our group, I'm one of the first that the patrol bots descend on. They seem to come out of nowhere, from behind the TORONTO sign that was installed for tourists decades ago, old and rotten now, its color faded by the ever-growing power of the sun.

Metal and silicone hands wrench Elizabeth from me, close around me even as I scream for her. Pull me away from her.

I'm half-dragged, half carried against my will across the courtyard. As I struggle, I feel myself approaching Chris.

My screams are guttural, wordless. As much a protest of coming close to him again as being apprehended. Even as my mind turns feral, I turn my eyes to the man I once knew. He stands above me, looking out on the crowd of us, a smirk spreading on his face.

I wait for him to turn to me. But he doesn't, and I'm being dragged away.

"Chris!" I yell with every bit of strength I can muster.

He finally turns toward me as I struggle against the metal arms that hold me, pushing my face forward until my bandanna finally falls and I look up into his eyes.

I have to know. I want to leave him behind and act as though I never met him - never knew him. But I can't. I'm addicted to the thought of him, and of what we could have had. I'm addicted to my own suffering over him.

I look for any sign. A glint of guilt flash in his eyes. A void of feeling, proving that he was playing me the entire time. A recognition of knowing, of regret, of hate. Of anything.