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Twyla
My heart was hammering like an untamed beast in my chest.
I could barely hear the woman’s words as she held the knife out, the sharp, pointed silver glinting wickedly in the light.
She knows, a voice screamed in my head. She knows you’re not Servana. Run! You should run, Twyla!
But where would I even run to? I knew I was on a small Star hours away from Royal One. I’d specifically picked this box to climb into because Cedra Holloway had ordered a model that was similar to my actual stature. The other orders had been much too varied, either with very pale skin or blond hair. There was little point in risking it; I’d have been returned immediately.
Father had based the cosmetic design of the newer models on me—his way of saying he loved me, I suppose, despite the fact that he’d never uttered those words aloud in his life.
I had been his inspiration just a few years ago...but not anymore.
We’d spent the past few years in his lab trying to piece together the perfect household bot. I only knew the basics of the technology aspect of it, but my specialty had been in customizations. With my mixed marketing degree, it was second nature to me to think about what our customers could possibly want from a household bot. The varied customizable programs I’d come up with had set the Servana 200 apart from all the other bots on the market.
That had been six months ago, and somehow, it seemed like a lifetime away.
I’d been happy then, before Father had decided it was time for me to be truly useful by matchmaking me with one of his political connections to double his portfolio. Each time I’d raised my objections, he’d shot me down with a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why this arrangement was the best for me.
I know what’s best for our family, Twyla.
The grating words resounded in my head.
He’d used them like a full stop. Whenever I heard them, I knew our conversation was over, and nothing else I said would ever make a difference to sway his decision.
Well, likewise, Father.
I’d find my way in this world—as a bot or human being, it didn’t matter.
I closed my eyes against the glint of the knife, praying the woman wouldn’t cut me. But even if she did, I could withstand a little blood, right?
Soon enough I felt the cool blade hit my skin, the edge digging in but not cutting. Despite my every intention to hold still, I jerked visibly, breathing hard.
Damn it!
Her hand tightened on my arm, and my eyes flashed open.
Her gaze was an intense, icy blue, burning into me with undivided focus.
“Who are you?”
My voice was weak, and it cracked as I replied with the default Servana intro: “I am Servana, your personal service bot. How c-can I...”
Before I could finish the sentence, she swung me towards her, holding me flush against her front with the knife at my neck.
“Let’s try this again,” she said, her breath hot against my ear.
I swallowed thickly, and the knife lodged more firmly against my heated skin.
“Please,” I gasped softly, feeling the sharp edge on my skin.
“Who are you?” she repeated. “Why are you posing as a bot? We are a closed Star.”
You are not welcome here.
The words were unspoken but I knew them to be true. There were a couple of closed Stars in the system, and they relied on their own community for survival. They produced just enough food to feed themselves and rarely had any contact with the outside world. Like most people from Royal One, I’d heard how unfriendly they could be to outsiders but I’d never experienced it firsthand.
Until now.
