Barren Cove Read Free Page B

and I found it quite intimidating.
    â€œWho are you?” I said, stepping back.
    â€œClarke,” he said, bringing his hand to his chest in a wide sweep and making a mock bow. “Black sheep of Barren Cove,” he said. He moved each finger on each hand in sequence from his pinkies to his thumbs and then back again. The metal of the armature clicked with the movement. “And I’ve come to say welcome.” He grabbed the back of one of the chairs, jumped over it so that he was settled in it, his legs outstretched, his hands linked behind his head. “I love what you’ve done with your arms.”
    I opened and closed my clamp. It didn’t have the same intimidation factor as his finger trick had. “Kapec mentioned you.”
    â€œKapec, Kapec, Kapec,” Clarke said. “He’s one crazy old robot.”
    Crazy was the word I had been thinking of in relation to Clarke. I decided to play it cool. I sat in the chair I had used the night before, facing him.
    â€œDid you meet the old man?”
    â€œMr. Beachstone?”
    â€œHa, ha, ha, ha, ha.” The sound was metallic, a downloaded sound effect. It was effective. “Mister. Nice. Yeah, Beach­stone.”
    â€œAre you a Beachstone?”
    Clarke leapt from his chair, his metallic hands gripping the arms of my chair, his skeletal face inches from mine. “Do I look like a Beachstone?” he said. He opened and closed his jaw. The effect, like his hands, was intimidating.
    â€œYou said the old man. I thought . . .”
    Clarke considered me at close range for another moment. “How old are you?”
    â€œI’m not . . . I mean . . . what does . . . I’m paying good money here,” I said.
    He opened and closed his jaw again, stood slowly, and then ran all of his fingers for good measure. “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.” The same sound effect. His bag of tricks was small, it seemed. He went back to his chair and entered a relaxed position. “How long are you staying with us, Mr. Sapien?”
    â€œI’ve come to get a good rest,” I said. “It could be quite some time.”
    â€œThen be ready for me,” he said.
    â€œAnd your friends?” I said back.
    He cocked his head.
    â€œA girl I saw down here yesterday.” I was angry now that he was at a safe distance and my fear was fading. “A freak likeyou. Pink hair, bicycle for legs. She seemed to be coming from the house.”
    â€œI’m impressed, Sapien,” he said. “Pot calling the kettle, but I’m impressed. Maybe you’ll be fun to have around.” He pushed himself out of the chair. “I think I’ll keep you after all.” He went out onto the beach and disappeared around the edge of the cabana.
    The sound of the ocean urged me to action, or perhaps inaction. What had I gotten myself into? In the city the looks and comments had been quiet, polite, and they could be lost in the bustle of city life. But this family—if they were a ­family—seemed dangerous. Was this what happened when robots lived in the countryside? Did the loneliness, the uselessness, the boredom drive them insane? I thought of Kapec and his bushes. What did they do out here? What would I do out here? Dean could tell me. “Dean,” I said.
    â€œYes, Mr. Sapien?”
    I stood up and circled the table. It took only eight steps and I was right back where I started. I considered the tile on the floor—ceramic, well kept.
    â€œCan I help you, sir?”
    I had forgotten that I had addressed her. I sat down again. “What happened here?”
    â€œAccess restricted.”
    â€œThere must be something you can tell me,” I said.
    â€œI’m sorry, sir.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with Mr. Beachstone?”
    â€œMr. Beachstone is sick.”
    Mary had said the same thing. I watched the colors change in the sky from blue to purple. Then I