BATTER 56

In the middle of it all, Harrison cut in.

“Since he’s an expensive-looking android, they probably thought they’d kidnap him and sell him off—things like that. But then, after a few days, Mr. Bijou would come back bringing the kidnapper along as a ‘new family member,’ so it never turned into a major incident like this.”

“So you’re saying you people accepted kidnappers into the fold just because they were ‘family’?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Harrison affirmed this while adding a rather useless digression. He didn’t explain in detail, but the smell of suspicious mint wafted strongly from that dramatic turn of events. Baron gave a faint, hollow laugh and changed the subject.

“You seem a bit different from the other residents, Doc.”

“In what way?”

“How do I put it… you talk more like… the people on the surface?”

“Are you criticizing my accent?”

As if they had suddenly become close, Harrison shot back with an uncharacteristic joke. When Baron just stared at him for a long time without responding, he shrugged his shoulders and continued.

“Most of my brain has been cyberized, you see.”

“Hmm.”

Baron gave an ambiguous response with a casual twitch of his eyebrow. If he understood correctly, it meant that even without the drugs taken during the “Hour of Hope,” Harrison could control his own pain and memories. A human who had no need for the mint-scented grace. Thanks to that, he was at least worth talking to. Baron didn’t pry further and turned his head. Bijou, meeting his eyes, lifted his head straight.

“So, Darling. You’re going to let us put the tracker on you, right?”

“If doing so puts you at ease, then of course.”

“Right, right, whatever. Anyway, you heard that, right? He’s in.”

Lawrence, who had been watching the situation as silently as a security camera, nodded. It guided Bijou toward the medical clinic to examine exactly where to attach the tracking device. Since Aria, who had been down in the greenhouse, had returned to the dining hall, there was no reason for Harrison or Baron to stay behind either.

The children, unaware of his criminal record, seemed to prefer Aria—with her round, warm impression—over the inorganic, assembled humanoid. Baron left a wink for Trixie, who was sitting there with a sulky face, and headed for the clinic.

When he arrived, Bijou was already leaning back in the unit chair in the examination room. Half-perched on the chair, Bijou looked up as he was pulling off his sleeveless T-shirt. He was in an awkward pose with the garment caught around his shoulders. Baron gestured for him to finish what he was doing and leaned against the clinic wall.

As the younger man pulled the clothing off his arms, his long hair was dragged along with it. The blonde strands that had been caught in the folds of the fabric slid down weakly, settling over his bare ribcage. Under the bright, pale lights, everything looked even whiter.

As Bijou twisted his waist to adjust his seating position, a reddish line drawn near his prominent shoulder blade became visible. Baron realized it was a mark he had left the previous night and let out a short laugh. If he had known it would leave such a clear mark, he would have bitten and scratched harder. A distinct, murky satisfaction flowed down the curves of the shoulder blade.

To the humanoid Lawrence, this mark—clearly a fingernail scratch—was neither a cause for suspicion nor a necessary piece of information. Lawrence spread his white palms. The surface, made of white thermosetting plastic, was precisely interlocked at the boundaries of the major muscle organs, providing a sense of visual stability, though it could be rearranged as needed.

The thin surface covering its palm retracted in an orderly fashion, revealing a black endoskeleton. A dark gray chip, fitted perfectly into a groove in the center, was emitting a rhythmic light. It looked less like a separate, optional part and more like something built-in and functional, but before anyone could object, Lawrence removed the chip. Even after being detached from the main body, the component blinked with a small light.

―The news that one unit of our model intentionally hid its tracking device was partially misreported. All units of our model simply had tracking devices built-in so that guardians could check the real-time location of both the child and the childcare robot. It is more accurate to say that the unit in question dismantled part of its own components to use for its ward.

“Now I feel a bit awkward. It makes it sound like I’m asking you to tear off a piece of your body.”

―This matter does not directly affect my functionality. Therefore, there is no problem.

Lawrence turned his head to stare blankly at Baron. There was no emotion visible on its face or in its voice, but Baron suddenly thought it looked as if it were smiling.

The tracking device, slightly larger and flatter than a thumbnail, could be tucked in anywhere as long as a small gap could be made. The modified humanoid’s fingers mechanically traced down Bijou’s back. The machines were engaged in a serious discussion about where the device should be inserted.

How about tucking it between the skin? No, it’s too thin, the color will show through, and so on. After much deliberation, Bijou turned to sit facing forward. A slender groove opened over the skin covering the center and lower part of the collarbone—the spot Baron had licked like a dog last night—revealing cracks like a simplified anatomical chart.

From the boundary of the smooth pectoral muscles, the casing gradually retracted. The sight of the rib-like organs opening up beneath that perfectly beautiful face was quite strange and grotesque. It felt like looking into the glass coffin of a princess who had met a tragic, bizarre death. At the same time, it looked like a technical scene of opening a car hood to inspect the main engine. A landscape where a car and a pale princess from a fairy tale existed simultaneously.

Lawrence’s hands, reassembled as finely as thin wires, intruded between the chest plates. A rhythmic noise leaked out from inside the chest, which had opened like the door to a birdcage. The components packed inside his chest were the primary devices for pumping circulatory fluid and maintaining homeostasis.

Unsurprisingly, the organ that performed a function similar to a human heart was a dull, blackish color, contrary to expectations. However, a multicrystalline luster, similar to bismuth crystals, flickered occasionally as if flowing along the membrane.

Just as when the new artificial eye was transplanted, Lawrence installed the tracking chip into the empty space inside the ribcage with a delicate touch. Even in the unfamiliar body, the chip emitted a small light, signaling that everything was normal. When Harrison, who had been staring at the monitor, manipulated the screen, a red dot appeared on the satellite map of New-New York.

“Great, it’s working perfectly.”

Harrison made a smacking sound with his lips and turned the monitor. After tapping the screen a couple more times, an alert buzzed on Baron’s wrist. A message window had appeared asking whether to authorize synchronization with the new device. Upon accepting, the same screen was provided on Baron’s digital band. When he pulled the screen closer with his finger, a helpful guide was projected in the air a few inches up.

<Device: 7H2390―IP49 is 2M away.>

“Yeah, I see him just fine. How much time is left until midnight?”

“Twelve hours and three minutes,” the man replied while closing his wide-open outer casing. Bijou dressed himself again and stood up from the chair. His long hair was tucked inside the back of his shirt. When he tried to pass Baron toward the doorway, a casual hand caught his pace.

Baron hooked his fingers between the man’s hair and the nape of his neck to tidy his appearance. The tresses slid like waves over his protruding knuckles. When Bijou stared with wide, curious eyes, Baron spoke rather curtly.

“Don’t go around looking like a mess.”

To that, Bijou said something completely different.

“What are you angry about?”

“What? No, why would I be angry.”

“But you’re feeling anger right now.”

As he chattered on persuasively, Baron laughed with a scowl. Or perhaps he scowled with a laugh.

“Don’t start acting spoiled. I hate being bothered.”