We have a plan. I don't feel great about it, but it's the only one Shane and I could come up with.

Step one is in the box delivered on my doorstep.

Step two is in another box that's been delivered to my doorstep

And step three is three hundred and fifty miles away

Well, I need to grab those boxes off the porch.

When I open the door I see a van. A small gray, cargo van with a driver and passenger both looking at me from across the street.

I grab the closest, largest box and do my best not to let the men see me struggle with the weight, then come back for the smaller and lighter one before slamming the door closed and locking it again. I knew there were SynDeCorp goons watching my place–there had to be. Even if they believed Rick had run away, they would bank on him coming back and hope to catch him in the process. They probably don't believe it though. I’m fairly sure they are waiting for me to leave so they can break in here and kidnap Rick.

Creeps.

I focus my attention on the lighter box first. It's full of clothes–Shane ordered these. Sweatpants, hoodie, socks, masks, and gloves. Six outfits total, three for me and three for Rick. They are ugly and boring, and I can tell I’m going to look like a sack of potatoes wearing mine.

Oh, well. These clothes are made to be useful, not cute. My vanity can take a back seat.

I unzip the hoodie lying on top and hold it up to the light, trying to make out the metallic fibers woven into the cloth. I press it between my fingers, feeling to see if there's anything sharp or abrasive. Nothing. If I didn't know better, I would think this was just a regular, ugly hoodie.

All the clothes in the box are the same. They seem ordinary, maybe a little densely woven. Shane promised the metallic microfibers woven into the fabric of these outfits would interfere with any signals, radiation, or anything else of that sort. The clothes are supposed to make it possible for Rick and me to leave the house without him being remotely shut down, or me being spied on.

I keep expecting to hear Shane ask what it looks like and what I think. He always watches as I unbox the things he orders and there's a screen in my foyer that I keep glancing up at expecting to see his face. But he's not on video call for this unboxing.

He suspects that SynDeCorp might spy on us via my implant. I had forgotten it was a SynDeCorp product, and I'd signed away any right to privacy when I had it installed. I had gotten it as a birthday present when I turned eighteen. Everyone I knew had an implant, and I didn't even read all the documents I signed for it. Shane is the only person I've ever met who admits to not having an implant.

So anyway, we've been sending videos back and forth that I download and watch in the faraday closet. We don't know if this method actually disrupts their spying, but maybe it slows them down.

I carry the larger box out to the garage and transfer its contents to the trunk of my car. It's over-full because I've packed it with clothes, toiletries, pet accessories, and hiking gear. And now, a year's worth of dehydrated meals.

I'm still horrified by this plan; I just can't see it being anything but misery. Rick and I are driving into remote wilderness and then abandoning the car to go backpacking into the forested mountains to a remote cabin that belongs to some distant relative of Shane's to live ’off the grid’ for a year. I hate it, but it's the only plan we have. I'm not even calling in to quit my job, just leaving everything behind and wandering into the woods with Rick.

And poor Rick! He's been unhappy, quiet, and withdrawn since he was rebooted. I can't blame him–his whole existence is in question right now. He never left the house when he first got here, and now he’s been trapped in that closet for days on end. It must be a shock to think of driving away from the only home and safety he's ever known. When I encourage him to talk about his feelings though, the only thing he has to say is that he's unhappy our sync doesn't work. He says that if he's not synced, he doesn't make me happy anymore. He's not my Perfect Match if he can't fulfill that directive. And if he's not a Perfect Match Companion, what is the point of him?

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A few times, I've wanted to snap at him, "Quit moping around! That would make me happy!" But I don't. That would be incredibly bitchy, wouldn't it? In this whole situation, he's been victimized. He didn't ask to be made or bought or synced. This is just the reality he's been saddled with, through no fault of his own and he's struggling to deal with it. I need to be understanding and supportive.

But, dammit, it's going to suck to be stuck in an off-the-grid cabin for over a year with Rick being such a sad case! We aren't going to be synced again in the foreseeable future. Is he ever going to adjust to that?

Will I be able to adjust? I won't be able to call Shane for a whole year.

I try to shake myself out of these morose thoughts. Rick is already depressed enough for both of us, I need to buck up and think positively. A hike will do us good! Warm sun on our faces, mountain air, vitamin D.

This is going to be great. Really, really great. I just need to keep telling myself that until it's true.

I hand a new outfit to Rick so he can get dressed and then go inside the house to change my clothes, and hunt down Borg so I can secure her in a crate that I buckle into the front seat of the car. I then have Rick lay across the back seat and we’re ready to go.

When I back out of the garage, I take a moment to glare at the guys in the van. Then I'm off, driving away from my whole life. The van guys don't follow me of course. They probably broke into my place as soon as I was out of sight.

For miles and miles I'm checking the mirrors to make sure we aren't being followed and I don't see anybody. I wait a good forty minutes before I tell Rick he can sit up. I keep glancing at him, wondering how it feels to see the outside world for the first time as an adult. Must be strange.

"How are you doing?" I ask him.

"Well."

I offer him the front seat, but he declines, and we drive for hours and hours this way, me trying to make conversation, him delivering one word answers. Borg meowing her discontent.

I try music, but Borg's meowing makes that unbearable.

Eventually we arrive at our destination. It's a parking area for a hiking trail; We're going to follow that trail for ten miles, and then we'll have to go off-trail for five miles and track down the cabin.

I've brought a leash and harness for Borg. We'll see how well she takes to it.

As I'm loading our gear into the backpacks I brought, I hear another vehicle crunch onto the gravel and park. I don't look up. Act normal. We're just a couple of people in matching sweatsuits, hoodies, and gloves, going for a hike with a cat on a leash. Nothing suspicious about that. If I look up, though, they'll see the mask–and definitely be suspicious.

"Honey," Rick says and when I glance up he's looking at the newcomers. It's a gray cargo van and it’s blocking the entrance.

Oh shit! Shit shit shit!

They've got us. There's no one around for miles and miles and they've got us! We can't escape.

Shit!

“Let’s get back in the car.” I quietly order Rick as I watch the van. Maybe we can wait them out. Some other hikers might show up and distract them, make them move.

The driver just sits there looking at me. I squint at him and see that, no he's not looking at me. He's looking behind me, slightly to the left. I go to spin around and see what he's looking at when I'm grabbed from behind, held tightly in a bear hug, my arms squished against my sides.

I feel a sharp jab in my thigh.

Then I'm dizzy,and I weakly slump.

Whoever this person is, they hold me securely with a hand over the mask covering my mouth as I watch a big guy dressed in nondescript khaki and polo clothes yank the hood and mask off Rick. Rick just stands there in bewilderment. He can’t defend himself or me, Perfect Match programing doesn’t allow them to harm humans ever, under any circumstances. Not even self-defense. So he’s just standing there as the other guy presses something to his head It looks like a large pen or a small flashlight–but just a moment of touch on Rick’s temple and he falls right over, eyes open and glassy, body motionless.

Did they just kill Rick?! He’s lying motionless right in front of me. I can’t tell if he’s breathing!

I yell and scream behind the hand covering my mouth. I pick my legs up, trying to kick, but it's worthless, a wasted effort.

I remember when he was shut down he looked asleep. Sitting with his eyes closed. Not like this—

My face is wet, I'm crying.

The driver has gotten out of the van and is helping khaki-guy carry the limp android inside, lifting Rick’s legs as the other one picks Rick up under his arm pits.

The hand is removed from my mouth, and I feel myself being picked up, cradled carefully.

Then I'm out, unconscious