Writing As We Go, Chapter 8

[DukeNukem 2417]

(Special Thanks go to Korby, for allowing the appearance of Dr. Elaine Dyson in this chapter and future installments of the story! You're awesome, Korby! Also, credit to Saya for inspiring a moment that occurs in this chapter with a post on Fembot Labs. Good times!)

“CAEDIA, ensuring a brighter future for everyone!”

The smiling girl on the massive videoboard above the entrance to CAEDIA regional headquarters had just started to utter another rendition of the speech that played to all visitors; it wasn't quite a loop, per say, due to the A.I powering the video-board generating different inflections, alternate wordings and occasionally even varying emotional tones for each time. Still, the general content was mostly the same: a history lesson, a mission statement, and a promise for “a brighter future” (it had been “a better tomorrow”, until DC Comics altered Superman's catchphrase to use that phrase).

Lloyd had never been near any CAEDIA facility before. As the cruiser glided down the road towards the building, he saw a massive banner depicting a human being and an obviously-mechanical, but still human-presenting android shaking hands, their backs to the “camera”.

“They had to redesign that one five or six times,” Officer Birch mused. “One design made it look like they were trying to arm-wrestle each other.”

Erin chuckled. “Not exactly the image of a 'brighter future', is it?”

Lloyd was too busy to reply—mostly because he was watching Diana's reactions. The sight of banners, posters and flags all touting peaceful coexistence between humans and androids had apparently filled her with awe; her eyes widened at each new poster, every sign that changed slogans over the course of the seconds.

“The Media department tried not to be too ostentatious,” Officer Birch admitted.

As the cruiser glided to a stop, Lloyd couldn't help but stare at the CAEDIA Regional Headquarters. The outside looked more like a museum than any kind of law enforcement building Lloyd had ever seen before. He got the feeling, as he stepped out of the cruiser, that the building had been commissioned as a museum, but was eventually turned over to CAEDIA for their own use for some reason.

“Follow me, please.” Officer Birch nodded for Lloyd, Erin and Diana to keep up with her. “Regional HQ buildings have an entrance for visitors, and another for CAEDIA employees. You don't want to go through the wrong one.”

Inside the lobby of the Regional HQ, there were more video-boards that displayed various testimonials and messages of support for android rights. One bore clips of interviews, including the lead singer of a legendary British band claiming “If you're sentient, you're as good as human anyway. I don't see why people keep arguing over it.” The steady stream of visitors, CAEDIA Officers, Agents and other employees underscored just how vital the agency was to modern life. a few times, Lloyd noticed full-uniform figures wearing the same face-concealing visors as the one that had briefly stopped Harry's truck earlier in the week; they always seemed to be just ducking into a room or turning a corner as they came into his line of sight.

A brief detour towards a side hallway indicated that the questioning rooms were nearby; Harry was standing outside the one Officer Birch was striding towards. Lloyd started to quicken his pace to catch up—

“Mr. Watson, I presume.”

The low, almost whispering rasp of a voice made the hairs on the backs of Lloyd's arms stand up. The figure that had uttered his last name was leaning against a door frame: 5'10, clad entirely in black, and wearing sunglasses indoors, over what appeared to be some kind of plating that covered (or was part of) the entire upper half of his face. Strange, reddish marks were over both of his eyes, looking weirdly like face paint. His hair didn't quite touch his shoulders.

Officer Birch, noticing Lloyd had stopped, backtracked to catch up. “That's Detective Logan—a colleague of mine.”

The detective nodded, gesturing for Lloyd—and, presumably, Diana—to enter the room he was standing outside of.

“He's a nice guy,” Officer Birch assured Lloyd. “He may look a bit, well, ominous, and sound ominous, too, but he's on the same side as I am.” She grinned. “You've got nothing to worry about.”

The reassuring squeeze to his left hand, delivered by Diana, reinforced what he'd just heard from the Officer. With the blonde gynoid at his side, he made his way back to the room Detective Logan had been standing outside of. He looked over his shoulder; Harry was entering another room, with Officer Birch, while Erin had just gone into another.

The room Lloyd entered wasn't “featureless”, so much as it was bland. A table, three chairs—two to a side, though one had apparently been hastilly shoved off into a corner—and not a whole lot else. There were no pictures, no decorative plants of any kind, and not even a clock on the wall to let anyone know what time it was.

“Have a seat, please.” Again, the detective's voice sounded harsh, but his body language gave no indication of any kind of animosity towards Lloyd and Diana. “As Officer Birch probably already mentioned,” he stated, “I'm one of CAEDIA's in-house detectives. Thomas Erhardt Logan.” He reached across the table, and Lloyd shook his hand. “First thing's first, I'd like to apologize if my voice is somewhat intimidating.” He pulled aside the collar of his shirt, revealing a healed, diagonal scar that ran the width of his neck and was framed by surgical staples. “This,” he explained, “is what ended my last career, and taught me one of two very valuable lessons: never try to win a knife fight in the dark.”

Lloyd shrank slightly in his seat.

“I'm pretty sure Officer Birch also informed you—both of you—that you're not in trouble,” Detective Logan stated. “I've just been asked to ask you a few questions about a few incidents that have happened over the course of the last few days, so...” He cracked his knuckles. “Let's start with the basics. Your age?”

“20.”

“Date of birth?”

“July 23, 2003.”

“Any sexual partners at the moment?”

Lloyd felt his face go red. “No, sir.”

“Have you ever purchased or rented a NonSen for the purposes of sexual gratification?”

“No, sir.” Lloyd didn't glance to where Diana was sitting nearby, already dreading the look she might be giving him.

“Do you find sexual gratification in the intentional damage or malfunction of—”

“No!” Lloyd nearly jumped out of his chair; the press of Diana's hand on his shoulder was all it took to keep him from leaving his seat. “How is this a basic question?!”

After a few seconds of silence, Detective Logan took off his sunglasses—revealing obviously artificial, jet-black orbs set in the plastic sockets of the off-flesh, seam-lined portion of his face. “Two sentients underwent Cessations Of Function, by means of violent physical trauma, at the residence of Robert Pariello,” he explained. “Both sentients were registered with a national backup system. Given how they were rendered nonfunctional, I've been asked to set up a counselling session with them later on today.” The black optical sensors that looked nothing like eyes focused on Lloyd. “I've also been asked to establish, by process of elimination, anyone who might be connected to the incident in any way as having had anything to do with it.”

“Well,” Lloyd replied, any umbrage at the bluntness of the question having already dissipated, “I don't 'enjoy' that. Sir.”

Another few seconds of silence filled the room, before Detective Logan nodded. “The question isn't 'basic', by the way,” he added. “Given what went down at Pariello's, and what got called in from the Glacier...” He grunted something Lloyd didn't quite catch, before shaking his head.

Before Lloyd could say anything, the detective gestured at the blatantly synthetic replacement “eyes”, and the off-flesh plating around them: “These are the product of that second valuable lesson that I had to learn the hard way: never try to breach a door if you don't know who's armed with what on the other side. In my case, a creep with a Dragon's Breath sawed-off and a death wish. I counted '2', he pulled the trigger, I got registered for an experimental full optic replacement procedure.” He reached for his sunglasses. “The creep got his wish in Gen-Pop, three days later.” He gave a low, almost staticky sigh as he put the shades back on. “That was before...” He pointed at his neck.

“Right.” Lloyd tried not to picture exactly what had transpired that would lead anyone to a “knife fight in the dark”, as the detecitve had described it. He felt Diana squeeze his hand; either she was as nervous as him, or she merely chose to ease his fears with a familiar, reassuring gesture.

“Guess we should get back to the questions, then. Current education?”

“Majoring in Electronics, currently studying Mechanical Engineering.”

“Current living status?”

“I live with my uncle, Harry Morgan, at his house—he calls it a ranch house, but I dunno if it really is.” Lloyd shrugged.

“Parents?”

At this, Lloyd looked away. “I haven't seen them since 2019.”

Detective Logan nodded at Diana. “And her?”

Lloyd started to explain, but Diana stood up. “I am a Heartelligence 90S-50-D gynoid. My friends call me Diana.” The second part of her introduction drew a surprised glance from Lloyd; she merely regarded him with a smile.

“Relationship, if any?”

Again, Diana spoke. “I was purchased by Harry Morgan to take part in an interactive story event he was running for paying customers on Friday, December 08, 2023. Since that event has ended, I have been online in Autonomous Mode for the past—”

“I get the idea. Why exactly are you in Autonomous Mode at the moment?”

Something in Diana's expression and tone changed. “I would like to learn more,” she replied.

“More what?”

“More about everything.”

Detective Logan tilted his sunglasses down ever so slightly.

“She has an adaptive personality system, or something,” Lloyd began, but Detective Logan merely held up a hand. “Have you ever had any interaction with Robert Pariello?”

“I only saw him for the first time this morning,” Diana replied. “He hit Lloyd.” She scowled.

“He was trying to open Diana's crate, calling her...things,” Lloyd explained. “I didn't want him to break the crate lid, or damage Diana—I just told him Diana wasn't what he kept saying she was, I reached for his arm to pull him away, and he punched me.” He managed to not wince as Diana brushed a hand against the sore spot on his face.

“Any dealings—you can sit down now, Miss.” Diana returned to her chair. “Any dealings with him before today?”

“Uncle Harry always told me not to trust Bobby P. Said he was, ah, 'kind of out there, on a good day', and the worst of bad influences on a bad day.”

Detective Logan nodded. “Any other relatives?”

“A few cousins, aunts and uncles out of state. I only see 'em a few times a year—Christmas, July 4th, Easter, Thanksgiving. That kind of thing. They drive over from North Dakota and Wyoming—a few all the way from Montana, even.”

“Your uncle doesn't have any kids of his own?”

“No, sir.”

After a moment's pause, the detective tented his fingers. “Have you had any dealings at all,” he asked, “with a man named Jaromir Dezhnyov?”

Lloyd shook his head. “Uncle Harry handles all of that. I've never talked to Jaromir or any other suppliers directly.”

“Suppliers?”

“Of NonSens, parts, tools or anything else we might need to run stories.”

“Got it. You contribute to the work at all?”

“I go out and buy vintage clothes in town, for costumes, maybe a CD or two for appropriate music. Sometimes—like this past week—I play a part in the story.”

After what felt like another endless pause, Detective Logan sighed. “Are you aware of any possible link between Robert Pariello and Jaromir Dezhnyov? Financial, business, personal—anything?”

“No, sir. I don't think Bobby—ah, Mr. Pariello even knows who Jaromir is.”

“He's never been involved in your uncle's business in any way?”

“No, sir.”

The pause this time was shorter than those before. “Has your uncle ever had any business dealings with Mr. Pariello? I mean, dealings outside of his business—your uncle's.”

Lloyd leaned back in the chair he'd been sitting in, reflecting on the few times Harry had tried to work with Bobby P. in the past few years. “Nothing that ever really panned out. Most of it was just Mr. Pariello having some idea, trying to get Uncle Harry onboard, and then they'd go off and try it. I'd only hear about it after the fact—nothing Mr. Pariello ever came up with got too far off the ground, I think.”

“And do you know of any other reason why Mr. Pariello might hold a grudge against your uncle?”

“No, sir, I really don't.”

A few seconds passed before Detective Logan spoke again. “So far, what's been going on has been focused, for lack of a better term, on your uncle, Mr. Pariello, and Mr. Dezhnyov.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, frowning. “Your uncle's complaint about—Pam, right?”

Lloyd nodded. “She was the one with the solid state drive installed in her.”

“Your uncle's complaint about the NonSen in question is what led CAEDIA to investigate Mr. Dezhnyov. Your uncle wasn't the first to complain about the sloppy practices put in place at Dezhnyov's dealership.” The detective frowned. “If our investigation is correct, he might very well be the last.”

Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, Lloyd asked “How's that?”

“We have operatives in Russia at the moment—they were sent to make sure that Mr. Dezhnyov's license to redistribute NonSens was terminated. That was supposed to take place next week, but the paperwork got moved up in the queue, so they moved to execute the termination option as soon as possible.” The detective leaned back in his chair. “When they arrived at Mr. Deznhyov's office,” he continued, “they found it occupied by new tenants, none of whom had any knowledge or awareness of Jaromir Dezhnyov's having ever owned it.”

The sinking feeling in Lloyd's gut grew. He had several questions on his mind, but didn't dare ask any of them.

“We're still looking into who obtained that solid state drive,” the detective continued, “and installed it into Pam without the knowledge of Mr. Dezhnyov. Whoever they are—” A knock at the door cut him off. “Yes?”

“Dr. Dyson just arrived, sir. She'll be waiting in Consultation Room 4.”

The mention of the name “Dr. Dyson” drew a confused frown from Lloyd. He'd heard of her before, in relation to the field of “transference” robotics—her firm, the Dyson Institute, was on the bleeding edge when it came to the science and technology needed to transfer a human consciousness to a robotic form. He'd also heard other stories—rumours, more than anything—about what went on at the Dyson institute.

“—and tell her I'll be there to supervise in a few minutes.” The breath that Detective Logan blew out sounded just as harsh as his voice. “Elaine—Dr. Dyson, to you—is here to help run a counselling session,” he explained, his attention once again on Lloyd and Diana. “She's been brought in to help us stabilize the two sentients who went through their COFs at Pariello's—judging from what was done to them, they need the help.”

Lloyd didn't want to think about what might've been done to the two sentients at Bobby P.'s house that might warrant a counselling session. What had happened with Pam was bad enough, but she'd been a NonSen...

“In any case, I think we've established that, at the very least, you two aren't part of some plot to discredit your uncle and cause mayhem throughout the state.” Detective Logan chuckled. “You two are free to go—just, ah, stick to the lobby for the time being. I'm pretty sure your uncle's almost finished answering questions by now.”

“I'd hope he is,” Lloyd agreed.

“You might not have too long to wait.” The door to the room opened, and Detective Logan gestured for Lloyd and Diana to exit. “After you.”

The pair left the room, with the detective leaving shortly after; the door hissed closed behind him.

“Well,” Lloyd mused, “I guess all we can do is just walk around the lobby for a bit, get a look at everything. Shall we?”

Diana smiled. “I'd like that.”
-----
“—and he swore, up down and sideways, that investing in that stupid festival—Pyro, or Fyre or whatever it was—would be enough for me to retire on.” Harry groaned. “I had a hunch—a damn good hunch—that night,” he stated. “Every cent I put in, I took right back out. And wouldn't you know it—”

“I get the idea.” Officer Birch managed to keep a straight face, despite the absurdity of the story.

“And now it's 'cryptocurrency,” Harry complained. “He called me last week, wouldn't shut up about it! 'Crypto'-this, 'Crypto-'that, like he's being paid to say 'crypto-' as many times as possible in a conversation!” He scoffed. “And he thinks I sent one of my 'bots to tear up his house. Unbelievable.”

“There've been a lot of strange goings on this week, Mr. Morgan,” Officer Birch reminded him. “Mr. Pariello—”

“Whatever his theories are,” Harry cut in, “they're based entirely on spite, or something else entirely. Went to a concert with him, back in '13—the whole time, he wouldn't shut up about 'that's not really him, he died in '77, there's a site I'm on that has proof', all that crap. He nearly got us both kicked out when he started yelling about it.” He ran a hand over his face, almost exasperated at the mere memory of the incident. “I got him those tickets as a gift,” he muttered, “for Christmas, and how does he repay me? Damn near gets me kicked out.”

“So it was an—”

“Oh, he says that kind of stuff about a lot of celebrities. Thinks the President—our current Chief of Staff, the President of the United States—is a gynoid, that she was put into office by a 'corporate consortium' and they have marathon orgies in some room off the Oval Office or something every night.” Harry fished his phone out of his pocket. “Sent me a ton of texts a month ago,” he stated, “I only saved 'em because they were just so damn weird—yeah, right here.” He pointed to a few choice lines on the screen.

“That doesn't really have anything to do with the current investigation,” Officer Birch admitted, frowning at the rantings of Bobby P. as displayed on Harry's phone. “He actually believes all of this?”

“Oh, he believes it,” Harry nodded. “He genuinely thought—probably still thinks—that so many singers doing covers of that one song, what was it—y'know, 'All I needed was the love you gave, all I needed for another day'—”

“'Only You'?”

Harry snapped his fingers. “That one, yeah. He thinks it's some kinda brainwashing trigger. Some BS about 'implanting false nostalgia' or something, 'manufactured susceptibility to suggestion'. I think he's watching too much Herring News, if you ask me. He also thinks boxing's rigged, American football is controlled by Korea and that android rights are just a way to enact some kind of vague plan to 'devalue human existence'.”

Officer Birch rolled her eyes. “That may explain why he got fired from his most recent job,” she murmured.

“Look, I'm sorry if none of this helps you figure out what's really going on,” Harry apologized, “but it's just—Bobby P has been way out on the fringes, when it comes to his views and opinions. He hates the Civic Accords, he hates 'robots' in general, and when he's not trying to figure out a new get rich quick scheme, he's trying to mass-mail every politician who hasn't put him on a block list to demand that 'robots be put back in their place'. It's embarrassing.”

“Well, if it's any consolation to him, the President isn't a gynoid.” Officer Birch grinned. “If she was, she'd still have to register in the system.”

Harry scoffed. “Bobby P wouldn't care. He'd find some other 'proof'.” He blew out a frustrated sigh.

“We just have a few more questions to get through, Mr. Morgan. Now, about Jaromir Dezhnyov.”
-----
“That's just weird.”

As Diana made her way to another information kiosk in the lobby, Lloyd was keeping an eye on her—but also watching the rather incongruous sight of a lone Community Watch gynoid standing off near the entrance. There were Officers on watch as it was, which made the chestnut-haired NonSen all the more conspicuous in her tight, sky-blue uniform. She seemed to be waiting for someone, almost scanning the crowd and occasionally focusing on a person or group, only to look away. The odd spasms of her face, as if the animatronic armature under the synthetic flesh hadn't been calibrated properly, was another checked box on the “weird” meter for Lloyd.

By contrast, Diana was fully engrossed in the literature available in the lobby, moving from one video-board to the next and grabbing a copy of every pamphlet on offer. At that moment, she was watching the video-board on transference robotics, which detailed the late-2000s transference of a pop star with a decades-spanning career, and her subsequent adjustment period to “regain her voice”. Watching the blonde gynoid (he barely thought of Diana as a NonSen, now) regard the screen, her eyes wide, gave Lloyd a sense of hope: even with everything that had gone on that morning, and what had apparently happened at Bobby P.'s house, Diana was like a promise of better things to come.

“She's something else, isn't she?”

Lloyd hadn't noticed Erin take a seat next to him on the bench. “Just finished a minute ago,” she explained. “I told them everything they needed to know, and a few things just for good measure.”

“Like what?”

“Nom rederre.” Erin drew a finger across her lips and winked. “What about you? They give you the third degree, or just stick with the light stuff?”

“Just the light stuff. Mostly.”

“'Mostly'?” Erin echoed.

“The detective asked if I, ah, 'enjoyed' watching 'bots malfunction,” Lloyd admitted, quickly adding “I don't.” Even as he spoke, the memory of Pam's final moments, and the “stirrings” those brought on, slowly rose to the forefront, along with the dream he'd had that night. “Why would—”

“I heard a few whispers about what happened to the two sentients at Bobby P.'s,” Erin informed him, her tone deadly serious. “Whoever bricked them did 'enjoy' it—”

“Why?” Lloyd didn't care that his question sounded almost like a plea.

Erin leaned back on the bench, giving a surprisingly life-like sigh. “I don't know,” she admitted. “And I really don't want to know, because that'd mean I'd have to think like the creep who bricked those two in the first place.” She paused, frowning, as she noticed the Community Watch NonSen near the door. “What's with her?”

“I think she's either lost or waiting for someone else,” Lloyd replied. “Maybe—”

He stopped, realizing the gynoid was staring at him. Her expression remained neutral, apart from a brief twitch of her face; just as suddenly as she'd looked at him, she turned away, shuddered slightly, then walked further into the building with brief, only slightly jerky steps.

“Could've sworn they patched that out with the last run on those,” Erin mused, frowning.

Lloyd merely shrugged, his attention already back on Diana as she moved to another kiosk.
-----
“Thanks for taking the time to meet with me, Detective. I made arrangements as soon as I got the call.”

Detective Logan nodded as he took a seat next to Elaine Dyson. Technically speaking, “Elaine” was one of several “fax units” bearing the likeness, memories and personality of Elaine Dyson, but all were legally counted as “being” Dr. Dyson in and of themselves, sharing the same programming—except, in this case, for one major change.

“I've read over their files,” Dr. Dyson stated, shaking her head. “What happened to them was horrific.”

“It was,” Detective Logan agreed. Even as he recognized the mature beauty of the legendary roboticist, he knew that her thoughts, in this moment, weren't on Paplexus interfaces, any number of sexual techniques or how good various “extracurriculars” might feel. At that moment, the auburn-haired Dr. Dyson was fulfilling a different role designated by her honorific: that of a counsellor, a therapist to a pair of trauma victims who desperately needed her aid. “You've seen the photos?”

“I've seen them,” Dr. Dyson corrected. “Or their bodies, at least.” She glanced at the massive flatscreen on the far end of the room. “They're both linked to the system now?”

“Hinson's ready,” Detective Logan replied. “Pickett might take a while. She reactivated back at the local HQ.”

“I heard. And one of them is a transfer?”

“Hinson. We only found out after Digital Forensics cleared the scene.”

Dr. Dyson adjusted her glasses, sighing. As with her other selves, her attire was custom fitted to draw attention to her body, from either side of the aisle. “I suppose we'd better get started, then.”

“Right.” Detective Logan keyed on his phone. “We're ready.”

As the lights dimmed, Dr. Dyson turned to regard him directly. “You know,” she mused, “the Institute has done work in prosthetics and medical robotics before. If you need an artificial voice box—”

“I appreciate the offer,” Detective Logan assured her, “but I can live with the voice I have. And at least I don't have to turn it off just to fall asleep.” He tapped the plastic plating behind his sunglasses. “Can't even blink with these things,” he muttered. “That's what the shades are for.”

“If you ever want to trade up from those—”

“I'm already on a waiting list.” The detective smirked. “But thanks.”

The flatscreen kicked on with a barely-audible snap, the screen slowly filling with the image of what looked like a square room made of blueprint grid paper. The undamaged figure of Evelyn Hinson was standing motionless in the middle, her eyes closed; a look of uncertainty was clear on her features.

“Evelyn?” Dr. Dyson softly called out. “You can wake up now.”

The image of Evelyn onscreen opened her eyes, uncertainty giving way to panic. “No,” she muttered, “she's tearing me apart, trying to—what is she doing?!” Her stare seemed focused on an unseen attacker. “PLEASE,” she pleaded, “JUST STOP! WE HAVEN'T EVEN—”

“Evelyn, honey, it's okay,” Dr. Dyson assured her. “You're out of danger now. You're safe—”

“STOP! PLEASE!” The figure of Evelyn jerked, as if reliving her final moments all over again. “HELP ME!”

Detective Logan rose from his chair. “Blue Spear.”

A calming blue light washed over the room shown on the monitor. Slowly, Evelyn stopped reacting as if her body was still being damaged; her tone became less panicked. “What, what's going on, I—”

“Evelyn,” Dr. Dyson informed her, “you're not in your body right now. Do you understand?”

“I...” Even as a tear rolled down her cheek, Evelyn nodded. “I remember. Transference, and all that.”

“And do you remember what happened when you went to Bobby Pariello's yesterday?”

Evelyn turned away. “We just wanted to help,” she muttered, “try to figure out who'd trashed his house.” A tremor was evident in her words. “She was waiting for us,” she hissed. “Under a blanket, in the hall—she jumped Michelle, then went after me!”

Dr. Dyson glanced at the detective “'She'?”

“The perp's a gynoid,” Detective Logan quietly replied. “We're pretty sure.”

“Is she okay?” Evelyn called out. “Michelle? She—whoever did this to her just—she put her head through the door of the microwave! I tried to get up, to help her—”

“It wasn't your fault, Evelyn,” Dr. Dyson assured her. “And the one who did this to both of you can't get to you here—this is CAEDIA Regional Headquarters. Your self-ware is running through a secure server right now.”

The onscreen image of Evelyn took a deep breath, then stopped. “I keep forgetting I don't need to do that anymore,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Dr. Dyson gave her a reassuring smile. “It's fine, honey. Some of us still breathe to keep the internals cool.”

“You're...” Evelyn's eyes widened in apparent recognition. “Elaine Dyson?”

“That's right. I'm here strictly in a counselling role—what happened to you and to Miss Pickett is an extremely traumatic cessation of function, after all.”

“So you're not here to, ah, y'know...”

Elaine smiled. “That's the last thing on my mind, dear—”

A rather loud throat-clearing from Detective Logan cut off any prospective offer before it could be made. “The focus of this visit,” Dr. Dyson reiterated, after frowning at the detective, “is to make sure that you and Miss Pickett can maintain a stable mental state before going back into form.”

Detective Logan leaned back in his chair, frowning slightly. “Going back to form”—the act of an android or gynoid mind or consciousness being reinstalled into their rebuilt body, or a new one—was already risky under the best of situations, without the kind of trauma Evelyn and Michelle had suffered. Having to rehab two digitized beings, one of whom was already a transfer from a human consciousness, made things exponentially more prone to problems. Even with the aide of experts like Dr. Dyson, the field was still one fraught with peril.

“Can they repair it?” Evelyn quietly asked. “My, ah, body, I mean.”

“They're still working on getting it back up to 100%,” Dr. Dyson admitted, “but they will.”

“Detective? They're ready to put Miss Pickett into the system.”

“Do it.”

A beam of light appeared in the room shown on the screen, a few feet away from Evelyn—

—materializing, seconds later, into the screaming, agonized figure of Michelle Pickett.

“Michelle?! Michelle, it's—”

“HELP ME! SHE'S KILLING—” The figure of Michelle twitched, almost as if the explosions that had destroyed her body were still affecting her. “SHE'S KILLING ME! PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP—” The image of Michelle froze, only to turn ragged and fuzzy at the edges for a moment. “STOP—STOP—STOP—”

“What's happening to her?!” Evelyn tried to put an arm around her friend's shoulder, only for it to pass right through.

“Michelle, honey, just try to stay calm!” Dr. Dyson called out. “It's okay! You're not in danger anymore!”

A ragged sob cut off the looping cry of “STOP” issuing from the glitching figure of Michelle. Evelyn merely backed away, her expression one of complete helplessness.

“Michelle, can you hear me?” Dr. Dyson inquired. “Michelle, this is Dr. Elaine Dyson. We're at the CAEDIA Regional—”

“PLEA—PLEA—PLEA—” A ripple ran through the image of Michelle “KILLING ME—KILLING ME—KILLING ME—”

Detective Logan shook his head. “She's crashing, hard. We have to pull her out of the system—”

A hand on his shoulder kept him from retrieving his phone. “Michelle,” Dr. Dyson called out, not looking away from the detective. “Just try to relax. Don't think about what your body is feeling. Try to imagine that you're floating, just drifting way from it.” Ignoring Detective Logan's incredulous look, she continued. “Any pain you're feeling is just a bad dream, and you're on the verge of waking up from it. Any moment now.”

Slowly, the ripples and waves running through Michelle's image seemed to diminish.

“Michelle? Are you floating?”

A quiet, distant “yes” issued from the still frozen image.

“That's good.” Dr. Dyson nodded, smiling. “That's very good. Do you know where you are?”

“Bobby Pariello's—”

“That's where you were, honey. Can you tell me where you are?”

“I—I don't know.”

“CAEDIA Regional Headquarters. Focus on that name, Michelle. Can you focus on it?”

Detective Logan's phone went off before Elaine could give any further instructions. “Detective, the system's picking up an instability in Miss Pickett's self-ware. Something in the building is triggering it!”

“In here?” the detective muttered. “How?”
-----
Still smiling vacantly, like the NonSen everyone thought she was, Lexi's mechanical, doll-like steps had taken her through areas of the regional HQ building that most sentients needed proper clearance to pass through. Yes, the face wasn't an exact fit to her armatures, but still. The polish she'd applied to her own body, the faux-cheerful look in her eyes and her intentionally robotic movements had served her well, thus far.

Now, as her gait took her past Consultation Room 4, she paused, her head turning with an audible whir.

There were voices—three, maybe four of them. She recognized one from Pariello's—her smile briefly lost its vacuous, mannequin look, turning far more lascivious for a moment. She had been the capstone of Pariello's, the apogee of the whole affair—and yet her mind had survived. That would take fixing—

Another voice, far more anguished. Of course! The one who'd been nuked to oblivion!

A very un-robotic giggle left Lexi's lips. Her WiFi link to the two interlopers had never really shut, though Microwave (as she'd dubbed her first victim) was far more unstable than Fridge Floor.

Even as her face twitched, Lexi focused intently on Microwave's voice. With any luck, she could backtrace.

A few seconds later, her grin turned sinister.

In lieu of a witty remark, Lexi clicked her tongue against her teeth. She could easily finish her fun with Microwave, then search for the solid state drive. Two birds, one shot.
-----
“Michelle, honey, just try to stay calm and focused. You're at CAEDIA Regional HQ. Keep reminding yourself of that—”

“We've got an intrusion into the self-ware containment—it's targeting Miss Pickett!”

A vaguely humanoid, but obviously feminine form, seemingly made of smoke and fog, appeared behind Michelle on the screen. “Did you think we were DONE?!” the figure cackled, raising both hands. “We're just getting STARTED!”

Any sense of calm Michelle had been able to cultivate vanished in that instant. “NO!”

The figure's hands clapped around Michelle's ears, seeming to phase through her head. “TIME TO FRY!”

“MICHELLE!” Evelyn rushed to her friend's aide—

“Evelyn, whatever's attacking her might destabilize you, too,” Dr. Dyson warned. “If your self-ware gets corrupted, the only way to restore you would be from backups!”

“I can't just let her suffer!” Evelyn insisted.

Detective Logan had already keyed a number into his phone. “Isolate Pickett's self-ware,” he barked, “and get her into a quarantined server! And whatever the hell is attacking her, find it and—”

The image of Michelle on the flatscreen seemed to warp and distort. She gave one last, piteous cry before disappearing.

“Self-ware in quarantine, sir. Checking for personality stripping and other damage now.”

The figure who'd been standing behind Michelle turned to glance at Evelyn, before merely shrugging. “All done! Bye bye!” The screen seemed to go black, then returned; the simulated room was empty, save for Evelyn.

Dr. Dyson and Detective Logan exchanged looks—one concerned, the other furious.
-----
Satisfied that she'd done her job, Lexi turned, once again adopting the stilted, mechanical motions of the 'bot whose “identity” she'd appropriated. All that was left was to go find that solid state drive, and—

“The hell's a NonSen doing over here?”

Lexi didn't groan, even as she heard the footsteps approaching. There were contingencies for this, after all—if not from her employers, than from her own mind. She kept her smile vacant, doing her best to ignore how annoying her facial twitches were getting as a CAEDIA Agent appeared in her field of view. “Community Watch, all the way out here,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Not even a repair ticket on you.” He leaned in, moving the hair away from Lexi's right ear. “Let's get you shut down and to the repair ba-uuh!”

He hadn't noticed Lexi's left hand arc up, hadn't seen the fingernails dripping with clear liquid before they pierced the skin of his neck. Nor had he seen the vicious smile on her face just before the blow struck.

He definitely felt what was now entering his bloodstream, robbing him of his higher brain functions.

Carefully, Lexi re-positioned herself to make it look like she was helping the “tired” Agent to another room. It was just a matter of time, now; in twenty minutes, he'd stop breathing. In thirty, his organs would fail. Unless he got an antidote before the half-hour mark, death was assured.

Even as she kept walking like a wind-up doll, essentially dragging her human luggage with her, Lexi allowed the mask of a NonSen to drop for just a second. “You're my first this year,” she breathed, giggling quietly. “But you won't be my last.”

The Agent she was dragging could only give a quiet, wheezing moan in reply.
-----
“Thanks.” Detective Logan ended the call, shaking his head. “They're running scans on her self-ware now,” he informed Dr. Dyson. “It'll take another week or so to get her stabilized—she might not go back to form until next month.”

“What could've done this?” Elaine murmured. “This is a secure facility—how could something like this—”

The detective's phone rang again. “What now?” he muttered. “Logan. What—”

“Just got a call from the Camera Room, sir. Something about a Community Watch NonSen in the hall near your area?”

Detective Logan frowned. “Why would a NonSen be—” He trailed off as the penny dropped. “Lock all the doors in this sector of the building. Intercept Protocol One—Aleph Blue.”

“On it, sir.”

“Intercept Protocol One?” Dr. Dyson echoed, her tone one of concern. “For a NonSen?”

“Call it a hunch, Elaine,” the detective replied. “A NonSen wandering around this building around the time Pickett's self-ware goes haywire? I don't think that's a coincidence. And at least Hinson's secure.”

“Secure and stable,” Dr. Dyson reminded him. “Other than worrying about her friend.”

“Can't say I blame her for that one.” Detective Logan sighed. “Sorry your visit out here was under these particularly grim circumstances,” he added. “This is the first big trouble we've had in a long while.”

“Actually, this wasn't so much a 'visit'.” Elaine smiled. “The Institute may be posting me here full-time. Well, this me.”

“You can tell me all about it after we find that NonSen.” Detective Logan headed for the door.
-----
It was Diana's nod that alerted Lloyd to the approach of his uncle. “You're just finished with the questions now?”

“I had a lot to get off my chest,” Harry admitted, chuckling. “They're gonna have a pretty big file on Bobby P. after today, believe me.” He noticed the stack of pamphlets, booklets and other CAEDIA literature in the chair next to Diana's. “And I see someone's been particularly busy.”

“She was like a bee, Harry.” Erin grinned. “From one kiosk to the next—never got pushy, waited her turn. She's already read through half of what she picked up, too.”

“Well, she can read the rest on the ride home, as soon as I call Cam and tell her to bring the truck around.” Harry fished out his phone. “Also, any of you hear something about a NonSen wandering around the building?”

Lloyd instantly glanced at Diana, hoping some random bystander hadn't misconstrued her curiosity for something worse.

Erin frowned. “A NonSen? What kind?”

“Community Watch. Officer Birch got a call about it just before I left the room.”

“There was a Community Watch 'bot near the door.” Lloyd gestured to where the 'bot in question had been standing before she'd ambled off. “She was just standing there, looking at people.”

“Watching the community,” Harry droned, rolling his eyes. “The old joke made real. Wonderful.”

“There was something weird about her, though,” Lloyd continued. “Like, her face—I can't say for sure, but it looked like it might not've been fitted right.”

Harry regarded him with a curious frown. “How so?”

“Well, it was like it wasn't linked up to the contact points on her facial animatronics,” Lloyd reasoned. “A lot of spasms and twitches, sort of like someone had just pressed it onto the front of her head and ran a sealer around the border without checking the fit.”

“Might've been an older model,” Erin mused. “They never did get the faces right on those.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe she was here to file a report and just zoned out,” he offered, already dialling the house phone number. “NonSens are known to do that, if their processing power's not up to scratch.” He raised his phone to his ear. “Cam? Harry. We're all done here at Regional. If you want, swing by somewhere and pick up some lunch—not that I don't trust the vending machines here, but man can't live on junk food alone.”

“Can I eat?”

Diana's question caught Lloyd's attention. “Not yet,” he replied. “I, ah, don't think you have the hardware to convert calories into electricity and, y'know, 'process' food waste.”

“Oh.” Diana looked away, apparently not bothered by the revelation.

“Also, ah, Cam? If Adrian's not on his way to Regional, call him and tell him to see what we can do about cutting ties with Bobby P. on an official, business level. Thanks.” Harry ended the call, chuckling. “I guess this just isn't gonna be Bobby's week,” he mused. “Nothing to do now but wait for Cam to show up, and we can get back home. Shouldn't take too long, unless Cam hits a bad stretch of traffic.”

“On a Saturday?” Erin replied. “I'd hope she didn't.”
-----
“Engage to disarm or detain, not for COF.” Detective Logan's sidearm was in one hand, the throat mic clipped to his shirt sending his voice to the headsets of every active Officer in the locked-down wing. “If that NonSen leaves this wing, we'll have to undergo total lockdown.”

“We have a situation! Agent Blake, he's been—oh, damn it, someone's hit him with some kind of nerve agent!”

The detective grimaced. “Where?”

“Right into the side of his neck—we need to get him to hospital!”

“Bring him to the sally port. I'll have Reception call an ambulance.” The detective shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

He nearly brought his weapon to bear on the figure turning a corner in front of him, relaxing only when he recognized Officer Sierra Birch. “You got the message?”

“Everyone did. Anyone get a look at the NonSen?”

“The call said Community Watch. We don't have any maintenance scheduled for the Billings units today, or for the ones from Laurel.”

Sierra scowled. “What about—”

“This so-called Community Watch unit isn't Community Watch, and I'm pretty sure she's not even a NonSen.” Detective Logan readied his sidearm. “Elaine's already relocated to the second floor.” He glanced at the weapon still holstered on Sierra's belt. “That thing chambered for SCEMP?”

“Last I checked. Yours?”

“Had to get a new one from the armoury. There aren't enough revolvers set up for SCEMP rounds—”

The sound of a window being hit with something—on the floor above them—drew a snarl from Detective Logan. “She already made it to the stairs—damn it!”

“Which room is Elaine in?”

“The monitoring station—apparently, the most secure room on this floor.”

Detective Logan's only acknowledgement of Dr. Dyson's safety was a brief grunt. “You see who kicked what window?”

“It must've been in one of the restrooms—none of the cameras picked up anything.”

“Got it.” The detective tapped his throat mic. “All Officers, converge on second-floor restrooms. Remember, engage to disarm or detain, NOT for COF.” He made his way towards the nearest stairwell, Sierra in tow. “Not that I'm calling you a liar,” she murmured, “but you're sure the monitor rooms are secure?”

“There's only one part of the building harder to crack than the monitoring stations.”

“That's not—”

“I'm sure the monitoring station is secure, Sierra. Trust me on that.”

Even as she groaned, Sierra knew her colleague was telling the truth. “What about the windows?”

The pair reached the second floor landing, rechecking their weapons as they approached the door. “Shatterproof glass,” Detective Logan stated, thumbing off the safety of his own gun. “Dunno if it'll do much against our perp.” He threw the door open—just in time to catch sight of the Community Watch NonSen sprinting around a corner, in a manner far too fluid for her make and model.

“Intruder located,” Sierra declared, her eyes glowing slightly to indicate transmission of the message to organic (via their earpieces) and synthetic Officers throughout the wing. “Moving to engage.”

“Let's just hope she doesn't try to 'engage' first,” Detective Logan muttered. “Any updates, Elaine?”

“She's moving to a room just across the hall from the break room.”

The detective scowled. “There's nothing in that room worth taking—”

“But it's above Evidence Storage,” Sierra realized. As if to confirm the gynoid Officer's suspicions, Dr. Dyson spoke up again: “Looks like she's, ah, trying to dig, or at least tear up the floor.”

“You put anything in Evidence that might be dangerous?”

“A solid state drive,” Sierra replied, “from Harry Morgan's. It was—”

“Explain later. Stop the perp now.”

The two rushed to the room in question, the sounds of the floor being torn up very much audible even from outside the closed door. Without waiting for a count, Detective Logan kicked the door in; the Community Watch gynoid had one arm raised, as if about to pound the floor, before stopping to turn and smile. “How may I help you, Detective?” The digital waveforms of her voice were all too obvious in each word.

“Save it. You're no NonSen.”

The gynoid's smile didn't waver. “Unable to process request. How may I help you—”

“You can start by standing up and putting your hands on your head. Now.”

With audible whirs from her limbs, the gynoid stood. “How may I help you—”

“Drop the act and turn around—”

“She's got something in her mouth,” Sierra warned, “watch—”

The ersatz Community Watch gynoid opened her mouth wide, spewing forth a cloud of white. Sierra tackled Detective Logan out into the hall, covering his mouth and nose with her hands. Her voice issued through his earpiece: “Chlorine gas! Try to hold your breath.”

“How—”

“The room you just left was used for storage,” Dr. Dyson's voice chimed in. “She must've found a gallon of bleach and a bottle of vinegar, downed both and held the contents in her for a while.”

Any questions of where the vinegar had come from faded as the gynoid shoved Sierra aside, running at full tilt.

“She's heading for the third floor! Come on!”
-----
“Attention: For the next twenty minutes, we ask that all visitor-owned NonSens be placed in any operational mode that will allow for direct response to verbal commands. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Lloyd exchanged a worried look with his uncle as the announcement repeated. “Why would they announce that?”

“Might have something to do with that Community Watch 'bot,” Harry replied. “Diana, Command Mode.” He leaned in to whisper something in the blonde gynoid's ear; without delay, she sat bolt upright, her stare now focused on the far wall. “Acknowledged. Command Mode Initiated.”

“I'll set her back to Autonomous after we leave,” Harry assured Lloyd, trailing off as two CAEDIA Agents approached with a backpack-mounted scanner. One of them waved the scanning wand over Diana, her blank stare ignoring the device even as it passed in front of her face at least three times. Lloyd nearly spoke up, to ask what was going on, but a nudge to his side stopped him; Erin silently shook her head, as if knowing what he'd been about to do.

The two Agents finished the scan, checking the readings. “She's clean,” one stated. “She doesn't match the description from Detective Logan, either.”

The other Agent merely frowned. “More work for us, then.” The two left without a word to Lloyd, Harry or Erin.

Once the pair were out of earshot, Lloyd groaned. “What was that all about?”

“I dunno,” Harry muttered. “As long as nobody shows up with handcuffs and tells me I'll be spending a night in a cell, I'm not complaining.”
-----
“You didn't have to send that announcement back to ground level!”

Detective Logan ignored Sierra's complaint as he ran up the stairs. “If we've got more than one perp, it'll keep us free to chase this one—”

A rumbling from the landing above prompted him to flatten against the wall, with Sierra following suit; a janitor's cart, with the unfortunate janitor stuffed head-first into the large canvas “bag” affixed to it, hurtled down the stairs past them to smash into the landing they'd just ascended from. The custodian still in the cart groaned in pain as the cart fell over.

“I'll get a medical team to handle it,” Sierra assured the detective. “GO!”

The sensors built into the plating that replaced what had once been part of his face kicked on as soon as Detective Logan emerged onto the third floor; the lights had all been cut off, leaving the floor mostly dark. The occasional shaft of light from a window gave some visibility, but nowhere near enough.

Had anyone been with the detective at the time, they might've been alarmed to see his “facepaint” begin to glow.

Where his biological eyes would've needed time to adapt to the darkness, the sensors worked in concert with the orbs housed in their plastic sockets to give him a startlingly clear and crisp view of the darkened floor before him. It was only in black and white, of course, but it was better than nothing. His weapon in hand, the detective made his way through the corridors, ignoring the unhinged giggling that, at times, seemed to be everywhere around him. “Give up now,” he called out—the rasp of his voice probably sounded almost sinister in the dark, not that he cared. “If you keep this up, it's not going to end well for you.”

A deranged laugh was the only reply to his offer. Clearly, the perp was in no mood to surrender any time soon; if she really was after something on the ground floor—

Something shot past the detective's head, embedding in the wall a few feet in front of him.

With merely a thought, Detective Logan's artificial eyes isolated the object: a thin metal throwing spike.

He turned his head a fraction of a centimetre, waiting for another spike to be loosed—

A door to his left flew open, and he nearly brought his weapon to bear on who or whatever might emerge. The sensors on his face adjusted to compensate for the newly-revealed light source, stopping him from shooting a boxy janitorial drone that trundled past, emitting an almost musical series of tones. He frowned, lowering his weapon—

“GYAAAAAAHHHHH!”

The world spun for a second—or at least looked like it did. The detective's eyes hadn't been tested for compliance with sudden falls, or in this case tackles; as such, he was sent sprawling to the carpet while the orbs set into his face took a moment to reorient themselves.

“How may I help you, Detective?” The question was deliberately sarcastic, now, punctuated with an unnerving giggle.

“You can get off of me—” A knee slammed into Detective Logan's head.

“I'm sorry, I can't process that request.” A tongue, reeking of bleach and faintly smelling of vinegar, slithered around and into the detective's right ear. “Please rephrase your request in the form of a question—”

With a growl, the detective rolled over, sending the perp to the floor in a heap. “Here's a question,” he snarled. “Will you shut up already?”

The ersatz Community Watch gynoid merely giggled again. “Please refrain from rude language—”

Detective Logan's gun was trained on the gynoid's head. “I can get a lot ruder than 'shut up', believe me.”

The gesture did little, if anything, to intimidate the gynoid. Her smile, by this point, had turned equal measures sinister and seductive—a far cry from the polite, friendly expression of any actual Community Watch unit. She licked her lips as she regarded the gun, almost as if she'd hoped the detective would fire.

“Who sent you to this facility?” Detective Logan demanded.

“Please rephrase your request—”

“You give me that line one more time, and I'll put an SCEMP round up each of your nostrils! Who sent you?!”

Another giggle. “I did.”

“That's not an answer—”

“You have your orders, Detective,” the gynoid cooed. “I have mine. I don't need to answer to you.” Her posture seemed to shift, slowly, as she spoke; she ran her right hand down her corresponding leg, her other hand going behind her—

“Hands where I can see them, now!”

The gynoid merely giggled again. “A 'please' would be nice.”

“Hands where I can see them,” the detective growled, “or I WILL shoot you where you stand!”

“If you insist—”

“TOMMY, LOOK OUT!”

Sierra's shout registered with Detective Logan just as the gynoid in the Community Watch uniform reared back and threw something at him. He turned, raising his gun as if to bring it to bear, only for the thrown object—another thin spike—to knock the weapon out of his hands. Before he could react, the shirt and jacket from the Community Watch uniform were both flung at him; he'd barely batted those away when the pants hit him square in the face.

“She's running for a window!”

Detective Logan extricated the pants from around his head just in time to catch Sierra sprinting past him, and the sound of a window being wrenched open up ahead. He ran to catch up, nearly tripping over the dropped clothes. “Damn it!”

His artificial eyes adjusted once again, this time to the daylight outside of the building as he leaned through the window the perpetrator had thrown open. The gynoid had climbed out and allowed herself to fall, feet-first, to the pavement below. Now almost completely nude, she glanced back up, her smile one of pure malice; before the detective could think to shout down to her, she broke into a sprint, the fall apparently having no impact on her mobility.

“We have to stop her before she reaches the road or the motor pool,” Sierra declared. “Otherwise—”

The lights on the third floor all kicked back on, temporarily blinding Detective Logan. “AAUGH!”

Sierra guided him away from the window, shielding his brow with one hand. “I'll send the order to lock down the motor pool before she can get away,” she assured him. “For now—”

“We'll go to the motor pool,” Detective Logan corrected. “You and I.”

“You want her throwing something else your way to trip you up?”

“I can handle it.” The detective managed to make out the form of his gun on the floor; the throwing spike had lodged itself in one of the ridges of the pistol's compensator. “Get a team to the room above Evidence, and take a note to advise reinforcement of the floors on all second and third floor rooms—”

“They are reinforced,” Sierra reminded him. “Five layers. That gynoid didn't even break through one.”

“Good.” The detective retrieved his weapon. “Funny,” he muttered.

“What?”

“You said something last night,” Detective Logan mused, “about the triangle—Morgan, Pariello and Dezhnyov.”

“And?”

“I think we have our missing link.”

Sierra frowned. “How—”

“Whoever tore up Pariello's was looking for something. Morgan gets a NonSen back from Dezhnyov with an SSD installed where it's not supposed to be. We get a fake Community Watch unit in here trying to get into Evidence—”

“Where I just locked up that same SSD this morning,” Sierra finished. “That's the connection?!”

“It's not much,” Detective Logan admitted, “but it's something. Let's get back to the ground floor.”
-----
“Attention: all visitor-owned NonSens may be taken out of any verbal command-specific modes of operation. CAEDIA apologizes for any inconvenience. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Harry glanced at Lloyd with a grin. “Guess they sorted out what they needed to,” he mused. To Diana, he leaned in and whispered another phrase; her posture relaxed slightly, the blank expression she'd worn now replaced with the look of natural curiosity Lloyd was already getting used to. She regarded Harry with a polite frown. “Did something happen?”

“Dunno,” he admitted. “I do know,” he added, retrieving his phone, “that Cam just got here—”

A low whistle from Erin ended any discussion about meeting Cam out in the car park. Harry and Lloyd both turned to get a glimpse of who or what she'd spotted, and saw a phalanx of CAEDIA Officers walking in step. In their midst was a beautiful, auburn-haired woman; her button-up shirt accentuated the swell of her bust, with her skirt doing the same for her hips. Her white stockings, black high heels and tailored jacket all added to the allure she seemed to give off—but there was also an air of professionalism about her, a sense of purpose to her stride.

“Elaine Dyson,” Harry muttered. “In the flesh—so to speak.”

Lloyd, who'd been watching the woman as she crossed the lobby, frowned. “Huh?”

“Head of the Dyson Institute,” Harry explained, “and their most successful product—transferred her consciousness and memories to the first 'bot model they ever made. She's kept up to date ever since, always upgrading to the newest model a few weeks before mass-market.”

“Wow,” Lloyd managed.
-----
Dr. Dyson had spotted the group of four from her peripheral vision as she crossed the lobby, but there was no time for her to acknowledge them or even give a friendly wave. Her secure office had already been set up and prepared, and she'd just been informed of another matter that required her attention.

“The hospital just called about Blake,” Detective Logan's voice rasped in her aural sensors. “He's not gonna make it. Got hit with some kind of high-end death brew, right in the jugular.”

“Have they been able to keep his brain active?”

“They're doing what they can, but in a few hours—”

“I'll have my team prep the necessary equipment.” Dr. Dyson never broke her stride as she spoke.

“With all due respect, I've never heard of the Institute doing transfers for men before.”

“We do have the equipment to manufacture male bodies, but the vast majority of our clients are female.” The Officers surrounding her parted enough for Dr. Dyson to spot her car. “Also, when it's convenient, I'd appreciate it if you could let me know when I can set up another session with Mrs. Hinson and Miss Pickett.”

“Pickett's still in quarantine, and Hinson's being evaluated by the Stepford team. You'll probably have to wait a while to get a session with Pickett.”

“Understandable.” Dr. Dyson nodded at the CAEDIA officers as she got behind the wheel. “What about—”

“We're still looking for what disrupted the last session. I'll keep you posted.”

“I appreciate it, Detective.” Dr. Dyson waited for the Ford RangeStar to pass before she pulled out of her parking spot.
-----
“Help Diana gather up her literature,” Harry advised, “and we can be on our way.”

Lloyd nodded, scooping up the pamphlets, booklets and such that Diana had collected. He nearly dropped a few items, only for Diana to kneel and help him. The two avoided eye contact until they nearly accidentally bumped heads; just as he looked up, Lloyd saw that Diana had done the same, that beautiful smile once again on her lips. He reciprocated with his own, far more nervous grin, and continued to collect what he could.

A few CAEDIA Officers were milling about the car park, some talking into throat mics about something that sounded vaguely ominous; a group of three or four Officers were checking over a parked car, as if expecting to find something.

Lloyd tried to put out of his mind any thoughts that the oddly-acting Community Watch gynoid had been more than what she appeared to be. His thoughts turned back to Cliff Barba's remark on “psycho-bots”: less than one percent of all sentients were afflicted with any kind of major psychosis. Less than 1%. A very comforting number indeed.

The RangeStar rolled to a stop alongside the group, with Harry moving around to the front passenger's side. “The police office called,” Cam casually informed him. “Bobby P has been denied bail, but he insists that you'll be there—”

“In his dreams, I'll be there,” Harry laughed. “He shows up at my house with a gun, calls my inventory 'plastic sluts' and everything else under the sun, threatens to shoot me and burn down my house, and he still thinks I'm gonna bail his worthless—” A cough from the back seat cut him off; Lloyd was giving a pointed nod towards Diana, who was already reading one of the pamphlets she'd acquired from the Regional HQ.

“Self,” Harry continued, “out of this?”

“Apparently so,” Cam replied. “He 'promised' the police that you'd be picking him up.”

Harry snorted. “Well, that's one promise I'll be happy to break,” he declared. “In the meantime, what smells so good?”

“Lunch, as you requested. I also bought some for Lloyd.”

“Very nice—and thanks.” Harry patted the gynoid on the shoulder. “Let's head home and chow down, shall we?”

The RangeStar backed up a bit and J-turned before heading for the exit ramp.
-----
“No sign of her at all.” Sierra resisted the urge to kick over a nearby trash can. “DAMN it!”

“She won't get far,” Detective Logan assured her. “She nearly put one of ours in the morgue, and that janitor in hospital. Wherever she runs to, her face will be on Watchtower posts soon enough.”

“Ah, about that.” Sierra nodded past him to the fence that kept would-be intruders from just climbing over and raiding the motor pool for whatever they wanted. The Community Watch gynoid's face was hanging from the lock on the gate, looking for all the world like an expertly-crafted silicone mask.

A low growl rumbled deep in Detective Logan's throat.

Sierra just stared at the face on the fence, simultaneously fascinated and horrified.

Without a word, Detective Logan turned on his heel and headed back into the motor pool. Sierra didn't watch him leave; her focus was on the empty, lifeless face of the Community Watch gynoid. There'd been no mass lockdown order of the building, but that was small comfort: CAEDIA HQ had been invaded, by a rogue element that was still on the loose.

The big questions, now, were who had sent that element in, and where might that element turn up next?
-----
As the wind bit at her nude form, Lexi wanted to burst out laughing. It had been a gamble, riding into the headquarters on the undercarriage of a kitchen supply truck—leaving, under a different truck, had been just as risky. Actually, it was a more dangerous plan, thanks to the fact that her facial armatures were exposed; she'd had to turn her head to such a degree that she had a wonderful view of the landscape flashing by, or what little of it she could see from her current vantage point.

Still, she knew quite a bit more than she'd known when she'd first been reactivated.

CAEDIA had the solid state drive. That much was certain. Obtaining it from them would be a challenge, if not flat-out impossible. A lesser operative would've tried to “diplomatically” arrange for the drive to be handed over, or relied on some other, more boring subterfuge. Still, CAEDIA had the drive, and Harry Morgan didn't.

That didn't make him, or his loved ones, any less of a target.

She'd spotted three of them in the lobby, while doing her “little lost robot” act. One was clearly a 'bot, all plastic plating (under clothes, but plastic is still plastic) and artificial hair. The second was a meatbag—possibly a younger relative of Morgan's. His file didn't mention any children—a nephew?

The third was an unknown. A NonSen, but with some kind of enhanced processors and learning capabilities.

Morgan himself had been in questioning while she'd been in the lobby—Lexi knew that much, as well. She also knew, in hindsight, that Dr. Elaine Dyson (the name vaguely rang a bell from before she'd been stored) was in the building. In her digital mind, virtual tree diagrams were already forming, with branching paths leading off to multiple outcomes—how to best take out one potential target first before moving to the next, what order would be most optimal, where every target might be located at any given point. Capture and delivery to her employer were very risky options, for any target—but the risk could very well be worth the reward.

There was also the matter of tying up the loose end that was Bobby Pariello. In all likelihood, he wouldn't take the utter demolition of his home lying down—however fun it might be to watch him fly off the handle at everyone he thought was responsible, sooner or later he'd be another hurdle to clear.

Pariello would die, there was no doubt about it. How and when were matters to be sorted later.

Lexi pulled herself tighter into the undercarriage of the cargo truck, hoping that it'd be enough to shield her from the CAEDIA checkpoint it was about to pass through. If need be, she could just drop down and make with the ultraviolence, then lie in wait for a passing vehicle.

Even without her face attached, Lexi wanted to scowl. Yes, Pariello's had been fun, but there were limits to what her employers would tolerate. This would have to be solved without collateral damage.

Boring? Yes. But it was part of the job.

Slowly, moving with only the precision that a robotic form could attain, Lexi crawled along the undercariage of the truck, towards the hatch that lead into the trailer. A factoid about the trailer having been recalled for security concerns flitted into her thought processes and vanished just as quickly—it didn't matter. However she could, she'd beat the checkpoint, get back to her bolt-hole and await further orders. Once those orders arrived, she'd decide her next move. That move, whatever it might be, would be well worth the wait.

As she pulled herself up into the cargo trailer, Lexi shivered with anticipation. All she needed to do was get past the CAEDIA checkpoint—however she could—and she'd be home free.

For a brief moment, she missed having her face on. Moments like this were always worthy of a smile.
-----

[Section_Eight]

Fascinating plot developing here, but I I must note that I got a kick out of "Herring News." Heh. Lexi is a bit cartoonish in her insanity, but her scenery chewing antics are entertaining/horrifying, and it bolsters the humanity of the rest of the cast.