Free The Machine Awakes by Adam Christopher

he didn’t move. A minute.
    Then, without a word, he got up and walked away. Kodiak watched him leave, his throat suddenly dry.
    It had worked. He turned back around on his stool and blinked as the dealer gathered up the other player’s bet with his own, added a sizeable stack from the bank, and slid the whole lot toward him with a clear plastic paddle.
    â€œCongratulations,” said the dealer. “Double-up, winner takes all.”
    The games room erupted into applause, and Kodiak realized he’d just won five million credits. He whooped at the top of his lungs and, grinning wide, pulled the credits toward him with both arms. “Come to daddy!” The exhilaration he felt wasn’t entirely faked.
    But there was still that tight feeling in his chest. Fight or flight. Even if the games computer was unaware of what was going on, there were people watching, weren’t there? Kodiak looked around again, acknowledging the applause of the sizeable crowd, noticing for the first time that his table was the only one still running, the other gamblers having abandoned their own bad luck to watch him haul in the credits. The plan might have been working, but it was hardly discreet.
    But there were still no flags in his HUD. According to his AI glasses, there were no undercover casino staff in the room. Not even the usual security.
    Wait. No security? That wasn’t right. Even on a quiet night the casino floor was patrolled by the station’s private police force.
    â€œExcuse me,” said a low voice in his ear. Kodiak flinched and turned around to find a man smiling at him. He was dressed in the crisp white tunic of the station security service. Behind him were two more officers, similarly attired.
    As Kodiak watched, the green face recognition overlay in his glasses moved over the three officers, mapping key features and characteristics. Then the overlay faded away.
    No match.
    â€œShit,” whispered Kodiak. His crosscheck algorithm was bugged. Dammit , he should have taken more time over the coding.
    The security officer closed his eyes and bowed his head, as though tacitly acknowledging Kodiak’s unspoken summary of the situation. “Mr. Helprin would very much like to meet you,” he said.
    â€œYeah, right,” said Kodiak. He returned his attention to the table and began sorting his credit chips into a more manageable pile. “Maybe some other time, pal.”
    The man gripped Kodiak’s right biceps, hard. Kodiak froze. He was held fast.
    The security officer smiled again.
    â€œThat was not an invitation,” he said. “Mr. Helprin wants to see you. Now. ”
    â€œShit,” said Kodiak as he was led away to the hushed gossiping of the other players, his pile of credits abandoned on the table.
    So much for his grand plan.

 
    7
    The holding cell was cold and uncomfortable, and Kodiak had been in it for hours. So when a white-clad security officer came to take him to an interview room, the change of scenery—the company —was a blessed relief. Still clad in his scarlet evening suit and feeling a little ridiculous in the expensive, shiny silk, Kodiak followed the officer down a featureless corridor that seemed to stretch halfway across the station. Hands cuffed in front of him, Kodiak could do nothing but follow his guide.
    The fact that the officers hadn’t been flagged by the facial recognition algorithm of his AI glasses—glasses sadly confiscated as evidence—bugged Kodiak. He couldn’t have got it that wrong, could he? Compared to the hack of the casino games computer, the recognition system was a piece of cake.
    Unless …
    The security officer punched a keypad next to a door indistinguishable from the dull gray wall except for a narrow red outline. He stepped to one side, then gestured for Kodiak to enter, as though he were a guest, not a prisoner.
    Kodiak stepped inside.
    Unless, he thought, the security officers