Chapter 24

The book perched on her collar-bone, concealing the fragile stretch of her neck and the slight swell of breasts. The blanket he had spread over her, late in the evening, had been thrown off during the night.

Sawyer cleared his throat.

Renee woke instantly, tension flooding her body. Her eyes snapped open and- after meeting his- dropped to his hands. She righted herself slowly, wary as a rabbit might be in the face of a predator.

That a simple act required such fear- that she felt she she should be cautious- almost made him abandon his plan right then.

"Good morning," he said, quiet.

"Good morning," she repeated, the mask already slipping into her speech and across her features. Her face was empty of emotion and fear, but her posture broadcasted her unease.

Renee waited, steeling herself for what was to come- what had finally come. She waited for his hands to grab her, for his voice to order her to undress, for the malice and excitement to fill his eyes. It was a relief, almost, for the long delay to end.

He would do as all the masters did. She would no longer need to bother speculating on his motives and intentions.

The hands would be the first sign.

Sawyer leaned back into his chair, fists unclenching and laying casually on his knees. He smiled, false nonchalance better than showing her the jitters threatening to take over his body. He took a deep breath.

"I, um, got you these." He gestured at the table. Upon it lay a few boxes- he should have wrapped them, he realized with a pang.

The girl, after a pause, lifted the packages without any sign of eagerness- and perhaps a little dread.

Renee pulled the top off the first.

" ... clothes?" She glanced at him, over the box, meeting his eyes. "But- I already have-"

"None of your own." Sawyer shrugged. An information scan had given him her sizing information. "These will probably fit you better, too."

The garments were simple- two pairs of jeans, a few camisoles, a t-shirt, and sweater. No logos or patterns. He'd considered buying her a dress, but the variety was too daunting.

"You didn't need to- to spend money-"

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Just open the rest."

With trepidation, she pulled the next present to her. It was heavy, though small. And inside-

Her eyebrows rose and genuine surprise stole her features. She slipped her tiny fingers along the edges of the cardboard and let the box fall to the floor.

"You bought me a book," she breathed. She stroked the soft leather cover, outlining the title's grooves. Her breath hitched, one tear escaped her shining eyes and struck the publication.

The expensive old thing suddenly seemed worth every penny. He had stopped at the antique store as an afterthought, the meticulously bound tomes in the window a curiosity from another age; there were plenty of books in his room and online.

"It's not fiction," he said. "I, um, noticed you didn't ... know so much about history." He felt the heat rise to his cheeks as stared him, an expression of both delight and confusion on her face.

"The History of the Americas: 1776 to the Present," Renee read. "You don't- I mean-" She swallowed, and met his eyes steadily for the first time. "Can I keep it?" Her voice wavered at the end, ruining an otherwise perfect impression of indifference.

"It's yours." Sawyer grinned. "You can do whatever you want. It could be the start of your own library."

"Thank you," she said, voice soft. She pulled it close to her chest. "I- thank you, Sawyer."

The sincerity of her gratitude summoned a ghost of unease to his stomach. The last box- the first thing he had purchased- now seemed unnecessary.

But he couldn't very well snatch it from under her fingers.

The synthetic opened the tiny box, revealing something worth much more than the book.

Sunlight seemed to make the delicate bracelet glow; then interwoven bands of silver and gold glinting from the case.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"It'll automatically adjust when you put it on, so it won't slip off all the time." He shrugged uncomfortably.

Renee slipped her hand through and the circlet tightened like a noose.

A very pretty noose.

"Thank you," she said. "I ... I'm sorry, I don't have anything I can give you."

"Actually, there's something." said Sawyer; he either didn't see or ignored the suspicion that clouded her features. "I want to talk. Not like we have been- I want an actual conversation. Every time I ask you anything you just ... clam up, and I don't know why, and I can't change whatever I'm doing if you don't say anything.

"So I have a proposal." He smiled. "Let's trade questions. You ask me something, and I'll answer it to the best of my ability, and then I'll do the same. Okay?"

" ... why?"

"You've been living here for weeks, Renee, and I hardly know anything about you."

She glanced away. "I'm your synthetic. It's not like you need to know me."

"But I want to." He shrugged. "I won't force you to tell me stuff you don't want to. But I will tell you whatever you want, and I won't get mad."

"Anything, huh?" She pet the book in her lap, eyes distant. Questions, inquiries she would never have posed to Claude or Zack, rebelled against her better judgment; the last thing she wanted to do was give Sawyer more information about herself. Despite his assurances and gifts, she wouldn't- couldn't risk being hurt more.

But answers could help her escape.

"Why does he call you 'Sauce'?" she asked. That's safe enough.

"Zack?" Sawyer brushed his bangs aside and settled back. "Well, he started doing it when we were kids. You ... probably don't remember the escalation, like, fifteen years ago?"

She shook her head.

"Yeah. It was mostly over by the time we were getting old enough to understand it, but people were still being paranoid about anyone asian. You can't tell now, but my grandpa was chinese, and when I was little, I looked it.

"So, I was a little asian looking kid, the only one at our school. I don't think either of us can remember what made him start picking on me, but Zack began following me around- calling me names and stuff. 'Soy Sauce' was his favorite. Sawyer, Soy- you know?"

"He calls you a name he used to mock you with?"

Sawyer held up a hand. "My turn." His smile faded. "Why are you afraid of me?"

"I'm not afraid of you," she said.

Too quick, she thought, the silence a plain indicator of his skepticism. She shifted uncomfortably under his steady gaze.

"You aren't?"

"No," she said, willing conviction into the answer.

"I walk into the room and you flinch, Renee." Sawyer bit his lip and leaned forward. "I talk to you, and you mumble one word answers. I just look at you, and you practically turn into a brick, the way you tense up.

"If that isn't fear, I don't know what else to call it."

" ... how do you want me to act?" she whispered.

"I don't, " he snapped. He took a breath and leaned across the table, waiting until she met his eyes. "Renee, I don't want you to act, but I don't want you to fear me, either. I don't understand why." He sighed. "Okay, yes, I know that you have to listen to me, but you must see that I won't make you do anything you don't want to."

"But you always could." She shook her head. "Whatever you intend, it doesn't matter. I have to obey, because you own me. I must. You could- could just command me to not move from where I sit now, and my body would comply, no matter how much I'd try to get up." She bowed her head.

"You could put food and water just out of reach," she continued, "-and no matter how hungry and thirsty I was, I wouldn't be able to reach it. Even when my mind gets cloudy.

"You could forget about me, and I wouldn't be able to get up, not- not even to use the bathroom. Not without your permission." The words rolled out of her, as unstoppable as a forest fire.

"You have power over me that I cannot fight, and I have tried. Not using it doesn't make you safe, because you still have it. At any point in time- maybe you're just having a bad day, or maybe you finally start listening to Zack and stop caring- you could hurt me.

"I'm a synthetic. I can't fight you. I can't run away. I can't even kill myself without you telling me to.

"So don't tell me not to be afraid, Sawyer." She exhaled slowly and forced her fists to open. "My fear is justified. Maybe once you get a better program, one that can control me better, you can take it. But my emotions are the one thing that separates me from the robots that clean your floor, and I will not give them to you."

Renee didn't dare look up from the book in her hands, her stomach a knot. Throwing anger into the face of her master was a surefire way to incur punishment.

But no blows fell.

After an eternity, she ventured a peek.

His mismatched eyes bored into her, so intent they seemed to burn.

"Is that what he did?" he asked. "Monty- Montague. Is that what he did to you?"

"He did worse."

Sawyer broke the connection. He reached out a hand, across the table, then seemed to think better of it and withdrew. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"I don't need you to feel sorry for me. You wanted to know the reason I'm on edge all the time- well, there you go." She drew the blanket around her, stared at the book in her lap. "You could set me free."

"That's ... impossible," he said. "If you weren't registered to someone, you'd shut down- like you were when I found you."

"There has to be a way to bypass it. Humans designed synthetics, and they aren't infallible."

"Renee ... your kind has been here for a hundred years. They'd have worked out the kinks by now."