BACKTRACKER, Milo Fowler [books that read to you .txt] 📗

he was given momentary respites from the peltingrain, he came to himself. He almost turned around.

The boy clenched his fists down at his sides and grit his teethagainst the cold. He willed his father onward. They both needed to know whereshe was.

The old man's eyelids fluttered against the rain, and his unshavenjaw trembled. He squinted against the glaring lights. He ducked his head andsniffed, wiping his nose along the sodden and frayed sleeve of his coat. Helooked up again and shuddered. This was it; this was the place. He just had to go in.

If only he had the nerve.

A taxicab splashed toward the curb behind him, sending a murkywave over the backs of his shoes and across the sidewalk. He gasped as hissocks were soaked. He turned to share a choice word or two but found a bustlinggroup of umbrellas headed his way. He bumped from one to the next, carriedforward by their momentum all the way to the dark awning in front of the club.They laughed at him. They thought it was a game, shoving him playfully about.

He struggled against them, but they whirled him around with cheersand jeers to face the guard at the door. His heart nearly stopped. He looked upat the imposing frame of the mandroid and knew this was a very bad idea indeed.

"Name?" the well-dressed machine droned, standing headand shoulders above him and everyone else.

The robot's eyes glowedwithout human expression. They expected an answer—aquick, precise one that could be checked against the programmed guest list. Theowner welcomed one and all to The Pearl aslong as they made a reservation, and as long as their credit checked out.

"Tell it your name, buddy," prodded the tuxedo behindthe boy's father. "Aren'tyou on the list?"

More laughter, from all of the umbrellas.

"Name?" the mandroid repeated, but this time it reachedforward mechanically with a scanner in its massive hand.

"Oh-oh, look out," cried the tuxedo. "You better betagged, or you're gonna get it, Pops!"

The boy's father tried to back away, but he was pushed forward,stumbling. The mandroid snatched his forearm and pulled the coat sleeve awayfrom his wrist, applying the scanner in a routine manner. It lit up with awelcome chime. The chuckles behind him subsided into curious murmurs.

"Cyrus Horton." The automaton stepped aside andswept an outstretched arm toward the glowing warmth and music that emanatedfrom within. "Enjoy all that The Pearl has to offer," it said in adeep monotone.

If a sudden gust of wind had decided to blow at that moment, theboy's father wouldn't have stood a chance against it. He swayed again. Hestared into the club and blinked at the sparkling white evening dresses on thewomen as they pranced side to side on the dance floor with their tuxedoedpartners. The music was alive, and it coursed through everyone in there, pulsating in every smile andglance and movement. Even the pairs seated at their small round tables on thetiered upper levels nodded their heads and tapped their feet in sync with thebeat. It was a symbiotic relationship: rhythm and host.

He wasn't sure he belonged.

"It said you're in, chump!" The tuxedo jabbed his back,nudging him forward. "So make up your mind already—or get the hell out ofour way!"

He swallowed and drew in a quick breath. With a glance at themandroid, frozen in its congenial gesture, he took a step forward and thenanother, deliberately. The rainwater squished in his socks. He was glad themusic kept anyone else from hearing it.

"Your coat?"

He looked up from his shoes and found that he'd already steppedinside. What's more, he stood at the coat counter. A pretty girl with frecklesand bright eyes was asking for his coat. She smiled like she didn't think hewas intruding here at all. He wondered if she was a synthetic.

"Uh—yes, thank you." He shrugged out of the heavy sleeves,just as she came around the counter to lend a hand.

"Wet out there." She lifted the soggy wool from him andheld out a ticket in her small ivory palm.

He looked first at the ticket, then into her eyes. For him?

"For your coat, whenever you want it back." She smiledtoo warmly to be human.

He hesitated, then pinched the ticket from her palm. She giggledlike gentle bells and took his coat behind the counter, back to the racks whereothers like it, only newer and not so wet, already hung in rows. He watched hergo until she was out of sight. Then he took a quick breath and started down thesteps into the heart of The Pearl, where the music was loud and the lights werebright.

This was it. Now or never.

The dance floor drew the crowds. The BigBand on stageplayed like their lives depended on it, their clean silver instruments gleamingin the lights. Their slick black hair shone like wet asphalt. The music wasGershwing—or Glenmiller. He couldn't be sure. It had been so long... Two hundred years, at least. He watched the dancers for afull minute as he stood there dripping on the plush carpet.

Most of the tables around the perimeter of the club were taken.Pairs sipped drinks in between chatter and laughter and involuntary movement tothe rhythm. They couldn't help themselves. It was in the air.

There were a few tables in the back, in the corners, on the uppertiers. It was difficult to tell who sat in the shadows, appreciating theirprivacy as much as the music and the drinks, served by quiet waiters. People ofinfluence of all kinds usually preferred dark corners.

If he was here tonight, he would be at one of those tables.

Theboy's father looked side to side, scanning the largeroom. He found the stairs. With another quick breath, he headed toward themlike a man on a mission, ignoring the looks from the pairs seated at their tables as he passed. Unlike the coat girl, theyknew he didn't belong.

But he was on the guest list, as surprising and strange as thatwas. They could see for themselves, if they wanted to go and check.

Was that a good thing? He didn't know, couldn't decide. His brainwas getting fuzzier these days. Perhaps due to his age. All that