Writing As We Go, Chapter 9

[DukeNukem 2417]

With the care and precision that she'd ignored when ripping off the borrowed face of the Community Watch NonSen, Lexi reattached her own face to the armatures that allowed for the subtle movements indicating emotion, inflection of words and the like. Any minute now, the call from her employers would arrive—she considered, for a moment, just taking the call without her face on, but figured—

“You have failed to retrieve the solid state drive.”

Even without the upper half of her face attached, Lexi rolled her eyes at Zina's “greeting”. “And hello to you, too.”

“An Agent of CAEDIA has been killed due to your actions—”

“Leave no witnesses, remember?” Lexi carefully manoeuvred the artificial skin into place. “He shouldn't have tried to drag me off to a repair bay without checking my validation codes—which he never did.” Her lips, already in place, curled into a smile. “What happened to him was his own fault.”

“You engaged a CAEDIA Officer—”

“Detective,” Lexi corrected. “And not just some run-of-the-mill gumshoe with a Bogart fetish, either.” With a delicate, measured touch, she stretched the synthetic flesh of the right “eyehole” of her face back into position. “I think he's been to the mat before—he had the scars to show for it.”

“You were told not to draw attention to yourself—”

At this, Lexi groaned. “I didn't,” she insisted. “I was in disguise, or did you not catch that part?! Stolen uniform, stolen hair, stolen face—and not a single fingerprint for CAEDIA to trace!” She giggled at the almost lyrical tone of her words.

“You attacked this detective with traceable weapons—”

“The throwing spikes? They were clean—and again, no fingerprints!” Lexi knew Zina held a level of disdain for her that bordered on obsessive—the specifics as to why she felt this way didn't really matter. “They didn't even put the building on a full lockdown while I was doing my job,” she added. “Also, I think I found some additional targets who know about the drive.”

“Who?”

“A meatbag and two 'bots—give me a second.” With her free hand, Lexi plugged a cable into a depression behind her right ear. “Spotted all three in the lobby. I think the meat's related to Harry Morgan.”

After a pause, Zina spoke, her tone far more reserved than it had been: “See to it that whatever they know about the solid state drive is suppressed, and that they themselves do not become problematic.”

“And the hardware?”

“The two gynoids are of no consequence. One is a non-sentient, barely even worth our attention.”

“I dunno,” Lexi countered. “She was going from kiosk to kiosk, picking up literature—and I don't think it was just to give to her owner, either.” She continued to gently press her face back into place, the vanity mirror (left behind by a previous occupant of the room across the hall—her own bolt-hole hadn't had one) providing much needed aide. “Maybe—”

“Retrieval of the drive is your first priority.”

“What about 'leave no witnesses'? Pretty sure the meat and the other 'bot saw my act in the lobby.”

There was another long pause from Zina's end. Lexi smirked; she'd set up her “act” in the lobby to be spotted—granted, she wanted to be spotted while disguised as the Community Watch NonSen whose identity (if NonSens even had their own identities) she'd usurped, but still. The entire point had been to send any observers chasing after a ghost—they'd look for the mysterious NonSen and find nothing but discarded clothes, a torn-off face and maybe the hairpiece.

“Were you damaged in your escape from the Regional Headquarters?”

“A three-story drop isn't going to put me down. I'd have loved it if I blew a line when I landed—”

“Were you damaged or not?”

Lexi moved a few strands of hair away from her eyes with her free hand. “I wasn't.”

“None of the CAEDIA Officers—”

“None of them had a chance to draw a bead on me.” Lexi leaned in as she tapped the skin above her nose back into place onto the contact points of her facial animatronic armatures. “And by 'them', I mean the detective and some blonde who looked pretty good in uniform.” She grinned at the memory of the blonde Officer in question. “Makes me wonder how they'd do if it was a straight fight.”

“Do not attempt to further engage any CAEDIA Officers or Agents directly.”

“Aww,” Lexi cooed, in mock appreciation. “Does that mean you actually care about me?”

The anger in Zina's tone was obvious in every word that followed: “My sole desire is for you to retrieve the solid state drive and have it sent back. Any further delays in this objective—”

“Will not be tolerated, on pain of decommissioning, yadda yadda yadda.” Lexi's sarcasm was accompanied by mocking gestures with her free hand—her other hand was still ensuring the correct fit of her face to the armatures built into her head. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a NonSen.” She smirked, knowing it would further infuriate Zina. “You repeat yourself often enough to be one.”

Another brief silence was almost enough to make Lexi assume the call had ended. “Guess she got bored.”

“Your guess, as always, is inaccurate.”

The rumbling, guttural voice that had first sounded in her aural sensors after her reactivation barely drew any response from Lexi. “How mad is she this time?”

“Consider yourself fortunate that you are not in her immediate vicinity, otherwise her anger would be directed at you.”

“I'm tough,” Lexi boasted. “I could take her.”

What might've been a chuckle sounded in her ears. “That would almost be an amusing prospect.”

“I'm guessing you're not as miffed with me as she Is,” the blonde gynoid mused, tamping down her face and leaning in to make sure she'd correctly fitted it. “Otherwise you'd be warning me about this or that 'dire fate', or being scrapped, or something else along those lines.”

“Your flippancy is problematic, as are the delays in the drive's return.”

“But?”

“The data of your memories from the Regional Headquarters mission have been analysed.”

“Looking through my thoughts, hmm?” Lexi tested the re-connection of her face by making several exaggerated looks at the mirror. “How scandalous.”

“I would regard that as hypocritical, given your predilections. As for the contents of your memories, we have learned much. CAEDIA is as yet unaware of your existence, or your capabilities—I intend for their awareness level to remain that low, for the time being.”

“So I have to hide.” Lexi propped up her chin with both hands and made exaggerated kissing faces at the mirror.

“You may either remain in hiding, or begin to eliminate the trail you have left in your wake.”

A devious smile crossed Lexi's face. “Starting with?”

“Chasing Robert Pariello was a fool's errand from the start. It would be wise to focus your efforts on silencing Harry Morgan and those closest to him, instead.”

“Silencing is good,” Lexi agreed, licking her lips in anticipation. “Any way I want, or do you have preferences?”

“Ideally, your best approach would be to eliminate him from a distance, when he is isolated and his absence is unlikely to be noticed for hours, if not days.” Another rumbling sigh sounded in Lexi's ear. “Granted, I understand you prefer the 'up close and personal' approach to your work—”

“Oh, I do,” Lexi crooned, shifting in her seat. The familiar feeling between her legs was building again.

“I must reiterate that discretion is a necessary facet of your work. Your use of the throwing spikes was both brazen and, I must admit, admirable. If at all possible, use such tactics to dispatch Harry Morgan, or anyone else in his employ.”

As she examined the makeup applied to her face, Lexi grinned. “And the other meat?”

“However you choose to eliminate Harry Morgan—”

“Maybe I should, I dunno, get to Harry through the other one,” Lexi mused, tapping her chin as if lost in thought for a moment. “Might be entertaining to string him along for a while before I pounce.”

“Zina would more than likely chastise you for indulging in your sadistic whims.”

“And you?”

“I have lived far too long to harbour any delusions of 'containing' the chaos you can bring to bear. Use whatever method you find effective to manipulate Morgan's relative—just be sure that your twisted games end with his demise.”

A shiver ran through Lexi's form. “Oh, he'll meet his demise,” she replied, her tongue playing over her teeth on the last word. Her thought processes were already forming vivid images of was she might lead Harry Morgan's nephew along the path to his inevitable death. “I guarantee it.”

“As expected. And should you, by chance, retrieve the solid state drive—”

“I know the drill. Send it back ASAP.”

“May fortune favour your endeavours, and death come swiftly to your opposition. End communication.”
-----
“Any luck?”

Sierra had spotted Detective Logan's reflection in the glass window of the observation bay, but didn't react. “Any sentient 'bot that tries to activate the testing rig starts seeing and hearing things that aren't there,” she replied, nodding towards the room on the other side of the glass. The solid state drive retrieved from Harry Morgan's house was hooked up to a deactivated test rig. “I saw what it can to do NonSens, back at Morgan's house—they're not viable, either.”

“What about human personnel?”

“Nobody's volunteered.” Sierra scowled. “It's just an SSD,” she muttered, “but it's almost like—”

“Like the drive's been cursed?”

Sierra regarded the detective with a frown. “I wasn't going to say that.”

“Blake's being transferred, we've got a janitor with a concussion, and some psycho 'bot breached security on orders from someone.” Detective Logan counted off the occurrences on one hand. “That's three incidents since that drive got here.”

At the mention of Agent Blake, Sierra's anger faded. “The transfer worked?”

“Dyson called ten minutes ago. Full success.” Detective Logan stared out at the drive, his impression impassive. “It'll take Agent Blake a while to get used to his new body—the Institute has chosen to let him be the one to toggle certain systems, so he doesn't get 'distracted' on the job—” The odd scoff Sierra made seemed like almost a challenge, or a dismissal. “Something I said?”

“I've always wondered,” Sierra muttered, “how accurate those transfers are. How many of the memories they get right, how many aspects of a person's self they really duplicate.” She regarded her colleague with a frown. “What if a little bit of someone is just lost, when they make a transfer?”

“Dyson's success rate is the highest out of all transference firms,” Detective Logan assured her. “And for most cases, they have the organic mind—and its owner—in stasis to make sure they don't lose anything if the data gets corrupted somehow.” He gave a snort, less of derision and more of frustration: “It was too late for them to try that with Blake,” he added. “Damn nerve agent, or whatever it was, wrecked too much. In any case—”

“I wasn't talking about neural mapping,” Sierra admitted. “I meant...never mind.”

Detective Logan let the question drop. “I could have a crack at that SSD,” he offered. “After all, I'm human—”

“With medical-grade augmentations.” Sierra turned to face her colleague, carefully lifting the sunglasses off of his face; “If your optics get fried out there,” she reminded him, “you'll be out of action for weeks, maybe months—”

“It's s risk I'm willing to take,” the detective assured her.

“You don't need to blind yourself over that stupid drive, Tommy!” Sierra insisted. “Let someone else handle it!” For a second, Detective Logan said nothing. The plastic plating of his facial graft remained immobile as he regarded his colleague, silently; eventually, he gently reached for and retrieved his sunglasses. He pretended to examine them for a moment, checking the lenses for dust he knew wasn't going to be there. “You're the second teammate I've ever had,” he mused, “who's been this worried about me.”

Erin tried for a scowl, but couldn't meet the detective's gaze. “Who was the first?”

At this, Detective Logan merely chuckled. “Someone I never had to worry about.”
-----
“Can she actually fly?”

Diana's question earned her a frown from Erin; she glanced up to the TV in time to spot a commercial for the Saturday morning cartoon that depicted a highly-fictionalized version of ALPHA's most visible and internationally-famous operative, Galatea. The ad showed the silver-skinned gynoid agent battling ominous “enemy forces” in what looked like the hangar of a moon base, soaring alongside a passenger jet and confronting a towering mechanical monstrosity. The montage was set to a synthesizer-driven soundtrack, adding a sort of 80s vibe to the whole thing.

“You're asking if she can fly commercially?,” Erin began, “or—”

“With the wings,” Diana clarified—her face the picture of innocence as she spoke. “And the 'propulsors'.” In the advert, the cartoon Galatea was firing laser blasts form her palms that matched the purple-and-pink of her hair.

“She can,” Erin replied. “Can't say how, though—I mean she can't say it. Confidentiality agreements with ALPHA, the DOD and a few other wonderful three-letter bureaus and defence contractors.” She chuckled. “It'd be a hell of a way to travel, no doubt.”

“Oh.” Diana nodded.

Erin turned her attention back to what she'd been doing before Diana's question. Seconds later, she frowned again; someone else in the living room had been distracted by the TV, to their own detriment. “You're seriously watching cartoons right now, Lloyd?”

“I'm studying,” Lloyd corrected, holding up a tablet computer. “End-of-semester test is coming up—I'd still be on campus if it wasn't for Uncle Harry asking me to help out with the story this past week.” He nodded to the TV. “I was just taking a break from reading over my notes from Mechanical Engineering class,” he explained. “If it was more like what goes on in the Shop, instead of diagrams and equations about metal fatigue—”

“You're seriously complaining about Mechanical Engineering class?”

“It's not the class itself,” Lloyd admitted. “It's...I just thought we'd be doing more hands-on work, is all.”

Erin smirked as she took a seat on the couch. “That's like going into Chemistry and thinking everything was fizz, foam and colourful fluids from Day 1,” she mused. “You have to walk before you can run.”

“I know.” Lloyd sighed. “Speaking of, you ever wonder how—”

A “text received” chime from his phone cut him off. He dug the phone out of his pocket and quickly read the message: “Hey, can we study together? My other study partners are busy.” The message was, of course, from Mandy.

Lloyd almost dropped his phone, which earned him an arched eyebrow from Erin; Diana was too busy concentrating on the television to reply. “It's Mandy,” he explained. “She wants to know if she can come over to study.”

“Harry didn't say anything about visitors today.”

Erin frowned and glanced at Cam. “He also never said we couldn't let Lloyd get help with his classes.”

With a quick look at the Heartelligence gynoid, engrossed in the cartoon, Cam nodded her approval. “I can take care of Diana.”

“Good call. You two should head back to the shop—Diana can recharge while she's there.”

With that, Lloyd replied in the affirmative to Mandy's text; Cam and Diana made their way across the room, heading for the back door of the house.

A few minutes later, Lloyd was still engrossed in his notes when the doorbell rang; sure enough, Erin was admitting Mandy into the front room. She'd brought her own tablet, PC too. “You didn't have too much trouble getting here, I hope,” Erin offered.

“The rideshare driver didn't have any problems,” Mandy replied. “I just—oh, hi, Lloyd!”

Mandy's cheerful wave was reciprocated, as Lloyd left the couch. “Hi, Mandy. I, ah, didn't expect to see you again so soon after the party last night,” he admitted, mentally cursing himself for such a lame remark as she took off her shoes.

“I just figured we could help each other study for next Thursday's exam,” Mandy reasoned.

“Right, right. I was looking over my notes before you showed up, actually.” Lloyd nodded at the table—trying his best to forget Pam's glitch-ridden malfunctions on that same table several days prior. “Which section were you going over before you got here?” he asked, pulling a chair for Mandy before he took his own seat.

“Well, I was just making sure I had all my notes on...” Mandy set her tablet down. “Give me a sec.”

Erin looked over at the two for a moment, before quietly excusing herself to return to the shop.
-----
From her hiding place, Lexi watched.

It'd been a gamble to leave the bolt-hole, no doubt, but it'd pay off in spades. All she had to do was surprise a NonSen, steal the clothes (and hair, and face), and she'd be free to move about Billings with impunity. From there, it'd just be a matter of what to do next—find the Morgans and have her fun with them, or...

Footsteps approached. Precise, measured—and accompanied by those ever-so-faint whirring noises.

A vapid female voice, pondering whether or not the speaker had purchased some brand-name dish soap, sounded for a few seconds. Anyone with either a trained ear or fine-tuned aural sensors could easily detect the digital waveform in the words—the speaker was a gynoid. Probably a NonSen, as well.

Unseen by her prospective prey, Lexi smiled. This would be easy.

The NonSen moved further up the pavement, still extolling the virtues of the soap she couldn't remember having bought or not. Lexi followed, always out of sight and barely audible as she moved. Soon enough, the NonSen would turn one corner and only “realize” her mistake. Any minute now.

The NonSen turned the corner. Her GPS unit was fifteen nanoseconds too late to realize the error.

On a server farm, owned by the advertising company that had fielded the NonSen, several bizarre error messages and alerts were making themselves none. Messages about blunt force trauma, damage inflicted with a bladed weapon, unauthorized removal of the facial dermal layer and something about high-impact damage to the NonSen's groin area were all recorded. The automated response system crashed for a full 20 seconds trying to sort through all the messages.

By the time it rebooted, the NonSen was no longer responding to pings from the ad agency. Inquiries would be launched, in the wake of the incident. None would find the true cause of the problem. Said cause—now wearing the NonSen's face, hair and clothes—left the alley the NonSen had entered seven minutes prior.

What was left of the NonSen would be recovered three days later, in a state unfit for salvage or repair.
-----
Despite the fact that she didn't need a charge at that moment, Diana was still seated at the base she'd been shipped with, reading some of the literature she'd acquired from the lobby at CAEDIA's regional headquarter during the adverts. Each sentence read seemed to bring just a bit more comprehension, a bit more clarity to things. She was so engrossed in reading the pamphlet on the Allied League for the Protection of Humans and Androids (ALPHA) that she didn't notice Erin entering the shop—at least, until Erin accidentally knocked something off of the desk as she closed the door.

“Forgot they moved all of this earlier,” the gynoid muttered.

The blatant artificiality of Erin's appearance seemed odd, when paired with her tendency to wear normal clothing that she technically didn't need to. Somewhat surprised at her own curiosity on the matter, Diana decided to return to reading the pamphlets she'd pocked up from the CAEDIA building.

“Still reading all of those?” It took Diana a moment to realize that Erin was calling out to her. “Yes. I am.”

“You're also still wearing the clothes you had on from the party last night.” Erin regarded Diana with a skeptical look as she approached. “Might want to consider changing out of those pretty soon, otherwise you'll seem a bit odd.”

Diana frowned. “Odd?”

“Humans generally change clothes once every day or so. We don't have to unless we get dirty, but it helps to blend in more..” Erin sighed. “Anyway, I was just at the house—Mandy just showed up to help Lloyd study for a test they have this week.”

The mention of Mandy's name garnered another frown from Diana.

“You want to change clothes, there are some over in Costumes,” Erin continued. “Actually, let me help you pick out what to wear—don't want to go back to the house dressed in Regency-era gear, that's for sure.” She nodded at the blonde gynoid, gesturing for her to follow. “I'd also advise against spandex—” She glanced over her shoulder to see if Diana was following (she was), and smiled. There was something about the Heartelligence gynoid that set her apart from most other NonSens; when they weren't following a script, they were often just standing around, running tests or generally not doing a lot of interacting with anyone.

All thoughts regarding what made Diana so unique trailed off—the blonde was stripping out of the clothes she'd worn since the party in the doorway of the Costumes area, in full view of anyone who might be passing by. “Not here,” Erin quickly muttered, “not—go inside, then change!” She ran up to bustle Diana into the room. “And get a set of underwear to go with whatever you put on,” she added. “Pro-tip: people change clothes in private, not standing in an open doorway.”

She leaned out of the door, checking to see if anyone else had spotted Diana stripping out of her outfit; to her relief, only Cam was there, counting the inventory. No other employees were present.

It took a minute or so for Erin to find a set of clothes that fit Diana—another pair of jeans and a plain shirt. “Socks are strictly optional,” she advised. “You want a pair, feel free—and try not to break buttons or bust zippers, if you can help it, when you're changing clothes.”

It took a moment for Diana to get dressed. “And turn,” Erin advised, nodding her approval. “Nice!”

“Thank you.” Diana smiled. The floor felt far less cold against her feet, now that she'd put on her socks.

“If you want to keep topping up your batteries, feel free,” Erin offered. “And if you leave, grab a pair of shoes first.”

Remembering Erin's earlier mention of Mandy, Diana gave a silent, thoughtful nod.
-----
Trying and failing to get any meaningful studying done in the living room, thanks to an impromptu sing-off between two employees who might've had a bit too much to drink, Lloyd decided that the only solution was to ask Mandy to join him in his room for further studying. “I only have the one desk,” he apologized.

“That's fine,” Mandy assured him, sounding a bit winded.

Lloyd gallantly offered Mandy the desk seat, going so far as to pull the chair out for her to sit on. Once she'd gotten herself situated, he moved to the bed, retrieving his tablet PC and trying to find the page he'd been reading when Mandy had shown up. “So, you said you were checking all your notes on—”

“Give me a sec.” Mandy scrolled through her tablet. “It's hard to keep track sometimes.” A brief cough cut her off.

“Did you get the presentation Ms. Newton had suggested downloading?”

“I did,” Mandy replied. “It's on the tablet.” She fiddled around with the straps of her short overalls and occasionally pulled up her knee socks, which kept falling down—anything to not call attention to how shy and nervous she seemed to be. She reached down to her belt, where her Emergency Respiratory Aid was, just to help her feel secure.

Lloyd didn't notice any awkwardness, but the cough was starting to concern him as found the page he'd been reading before Mandy had shown up. “I, ah, kinda thought you'd be studying with Kim, or Gloria,” he admitted. “Or even Ellen.”

Mandy merely sighed. “Ellen's studying with Tami,” she replied. “Kim and Gloria had to finish each other's notes over the past few days.”

“They misplaced the originals, or something?” Lloyd was scanning through the page to find exactly where he'd left off before Erin had announced Mandy's arrival.

“Kim left hers on campus,” Mandy replied, “and, to be honest, I was just down the street. I was hoping you'd say yes.”.

“Really? Well, I'm glad I did.” He felt his face flush, so he changed the subject. “So, ah, you catch the trailer for the new James Bond movie?”

Mandy was still scanning through her notebook—and, absent-mindedly replied. “Not...not yet.” She cleared her throat.

“I saw it earlier in the week, before Uncle Harry ran the story.” Lloyd gave what he thought was a nonchalant shrug. “I don't really have a problem with the new actor they cast as Bond. I mean, if you're gonna start over, you might as well go with someone like—”

Clearing her throat turned into another bit of coughing from Mandy, cutting off his thoughts on the new 007. “Are you feeling okay? Can I get you some water?”

“I'm fine,” Mandy assured him. “I just need a bit to acclimate to new places. Water would be nice, though.”

Lloyd returned quickly with a biodegradable bottle of water for the both of them. Mandy seemed really thirsty, but it calmed down her cough.

With the water retrieval out of the way, the two set to work comparing notes, and found that they'd both missed different bits of information that would probably turn up in the exam

Lloyd was surprised. “I don't know how we missed those!” Both of them smiled. They looked at each other for a moment before a cough from Mandy distracted her and she finished off her water. Lloyd hadn't opened his yet, and decided to offer it to Mandy.

“Sorry,” she apologized, “it's just that something in here is aggravating my cough. Can we open a window?”

Lloyd took care of that, but by the time he got back to the desk, Mandy still was coughing intermittently. “I'm sorry if my room is kind of dusty.”

Mandy just shrugged. “I've been in worse places before. You know my heart stopped twice in the hospital!” Lloyd's eyes went wide. “Yeah, I got a pretty severe variant of the virus, and my mum was still anti-vax. They said if hadn't been in as good shape as I was, things may have been worse.” Lloyd had never asked Mandy about her hospital stay, and was a bit stunned she could be that casual about her heart stopping; he could only nod mutely in reply. They tried to continue studying, but Mandy's cough persisted, despite her taking small sips of water. After a few minutes, the cough was out of control—to Lloyd's horror, Mandy's lips were turning blue and her face was pale.

Lloyd saw her having difficulty and asked nervously if she needed any help. Something in her eyes made it clear that she was used to handling the issue herself, but that she was also grateful for his concern. He nearly tripped as he ran to her side, his hands brushing against hers as his fingers got the pouch open. He saw most of the space inside the pack seemed to be taken up by filters and other hardware. “Just give me a second,” he muttered, “I'll have it out in—”

The fact that his bedroom door opened to reveal Diana—in different clothes, at last—barely registered with Lloyd until he heard the gynoid speak: “Do you need help with anything?”

“Diana?! What—why are you—”

Another wheeze from Mandy cut Lloyd's frantic questioning off; he quickly unfolded and read the instructions for the ERA, which were far more complex than the “put over face and inhale” stuff found on an airline's drop-down oxygen mask. “So this,” he muttered, holding up a hose, “connects to that.” As he dropped the instructions, Diana picked them up and read them quickly. Lloyd barely noticed, his attention on the quarter-sized dot on Mandy's neck. “And these go there, and once that's all done, I just press the switch on the thing at the bottom of the pouch?”

Mandy gave a weak nod, her eyelids fluttering as she struggled to breathe. Lloyd fumbled at first, and Mandy was clearly in no position to help. Diana quickly took the apparatus out of his hand, startling him.

Before Lloyd could say anything, Diana followed the instructions exactly from the paper she'd just read. Once everything was connected and activated, Mandy's eyes opened wide as the Emergency Respiratory Aid fulfilled its designated function. She motioned for Lloyd to help her over to his bed; he obliged, draping her arm across his shoulders and helping her cross the room. As she lay down atop Lloyd's sheets, her breathing slowed to a more normal pace, and her posture became more relaxed.

“Are you okay? Sorry I messed up putting your breather on”

“Yes, I'm okay.” The ERA made Mandy's words sound somewhat synthetic, almost as if she were on autotune. “Sorry if I scared you. I just have problems with dust sometimes. And thank you, Diana.”

While Diana was positively beaming, Lloyd was cursing his forgetfulness. “It's the stupid carpet,” Lloyd muttered, “or dust from the attic, or something.” He felt like a fool—of course a rug that spanned the entire length of a floor would be a magnet for dust! “Should've vacuumed it earlier—”

“Why does your voice sound the way it does now?”

Diana's question went unanswered by Mandy, if only because of Lloyd's exasperated groan. “Diana, what are you doing up here? I thought you were charging back in the shop!”

“Erin said that Mandy had arrived,” Diana replied, sounding unperturbed by Lloyd's annoyance. “I wanted to talk to her.”

“You wanted...” Any lingering irritation on Lloyd's part faded instantly. “To talk to her?”

Under the watchful eyes of posters for various films, Diana moved to stand next to Lloyd's bedside. “I want to learn,” she reiterated. “More about you, more about her...” She glanced at Mandy. “More about everything. I don't know why I want to learn,” she continued, “but I do—and I want to learn why I want to learn.”

“Learning is good,” Mandy agreed. “Lloyd and I were just about to study.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “We have a test,” she continued, her voice sounding more normal, “at the end of the week—the last of the semester.”

“What kind of a test?”

Lloyd, far calmer than he'd been when Diana had first entered the room, decided to speak up. “The class is Mechanical Engineering,” he explained. “Nothing too complicated, yet.” He paused as Diana sat on the bed, near Mandy's feet. “I was just about to go over the notes with Mandy before she, ah...”

“It was nothing,” Mandy assured him. “Just a bit of a coughing fit.”

“It didn't sound like nothing,” Lloyd began, but Diana cut him off. “May I take a look at the notes?”

Mandy glanced at Lloyd, as if expecting him to protest; he merely shrugged. “Can't really see anything wrong with it,” he mused. “Just, ah, watch where you tap the screen, please. I don't want to lose any of my notes.”

Diana nodded as she accepted the tablet, and began carefully scrolling through it as soon as it was in her hands. Even as she read, she continued asking questions; occasionally, Mandy would answer, with Lloyd jumping in whenever he felt the need to provide his take on things. Eventually, however, Diana's questions veered into other topics—where did Mandy (and Lloyd) attend college, did they have many friends, etc. The topic soon turned back to the coughing fit Mandy had been suffering from when Diana had entered, and how she mitigated it.

“Well,” Mandy admitted, “the ERA helps with it a lot. Basically it's an air filter that hooks up to a tracheotomy in my windpipe. Then the wires activate the filter and negative pressure pushes the air deep into my lungs.”

Diana looked fascinated; Lloyd had to admit he was a bit curious, too.

“I have electric implants in the damaged parts of my lungs as well as my diaphragm,” Mandy continued, “and once the tube is connected, it activates those, too, so everything moves in tandem. Also, my lungs are gradually getting better, due to the stem cells they injected. But until the doctor says so, I've still got to carry this pack around for situations like this. If I ever stayed here for a night, I'd need my actual ventilator to plug into.”

That bit made Diana smile a bit. “Then you're like me; you have to plug in at night, too!”

Lloyd was too busy thinking of Mandy sleeping over, and the logistics of bringing a ventilator over to another person's house, to notice Diana's parallel.

“Well, sort of. It makes sure things like this don't happen when I sleep. I think I'd wake up in time to put my ERA on, but the vent also allows highly oxygenated air deep in my lungs and in my bloodstream. And don't worry, Lloyd, it's a little bulky but very easy to transport.” Mandy winked.

Lloyd flushed, and Diana grabbed a piece of plastic to fan him and hopefully cool him off.

Mandy giggled, and Lloyd couldn't help but join in even as he waved away Diana's attempt, leaving Diana confused but happy to be part of something. It was something she couldn't quite understand, just yet, but it was most definitely something.
-----
“I told you this was going to happen.”

Sierra's remark did little to stop the groans from Detective Logan as he knelt before a sink, his sunglasses on the counter and the upper half of his face cushioned with a towel. “Didn't expect,” he began, only to make a gagging sound; without warning, he lunged sideways towards the nearest urinal. Sierra steered him towards a toilet stall instead, waiting patiently as the most physical after-effect of his exposure to the solid state drive made itself manifest.

It'd gone badly as soon as he turned on the test rig. Despite his repeated assurances that he could “handle it”, it had soon become evident that whatever had sent the Persuader signal to the NonSens at Harry Morgan's house was having no difficulties sending a similar signal to his optical hardware. He'd managed to hold out for a few minutes, the failsafes built into the facial prosthetics and built-in cameras doing a commendable job of keeping him safe. In the end, though, his brain did indeed fall victim to whatever bombardment the signal had sent to his optics. The test rig had barely been online for a full seven minutes before he'd had to turn it off.

“Feeling better?”

Sierra's question was answered by a groan as the detective blindly groped for the toilet's flush handle.

Without a word, she gently moved his hand to the chromed handle; his fingers tightened on it and forced it down, the resultant rush of water flowing down and away from the toilet bowl almost drowning out another groan.

“Allow me to repeat my question—”

“I'll feel better,” the detective croaked, “when my are optics back in.” He reached for the rails on the walls of the stall, one hand still holding the towel to where his facial prosthesis had been. “How long'd they say it'll take to debug it?”

“Another hour.” Sierra draped her colleague's free arm around her shoulder, helping him to the door. “What exactly—”

“Visual stimuli,” Detective Logan grunted, “tailored to disorient, and to overwhelm the visual centres. Only reason it didn't do more damage is because it can't fry a human brain like it could break a NonSen's.”

“So it threw you for a loop,” Sierra finished. “And—”

“As soon as I get my optics back in, I'll be back to work,” Detective Logan assured her. “This doesn't change anything about this case—that solid state drive needs to be analysed.”

Sierra held the door for the detective. “Maybe you should take Dr. Dyson up on that offer to get an improved optic set.”

“The old ones work fine,” Detective Logan insisted—mere seconds before he stepped on a floor-level cleaning drone at his feet. The drone merely gave a beep and rolled off, continuing to dispense the sanitizing solution from its underside as it went. Before Sierra could comment, she spotted a CAEDIA technician. “Any news?”

“On the solid state drive, or on Detective Logan's optics?”

“Both.” Sierra glanced back at the detective; even with the towel held up to where his facial prosthetic had been, he still radiated a sort of aura that made it quite clear how cross he was with his current situation.

“Well,” the technician replied, “the solid state drive is being analysed by Digital Forensics—humans only. I was just down there myself, actually,” he admitted. “Utterly baffling stuff. Multiple encryption layers, for one thing—whatever's been stored on that drive, it's more than just a load of cryptocurrency.”

Sierra frowned. “So no progress.”

“Some progress,” the technician corrected. “Not a lot, but just enough to know that it's definitely not the same kind of encryption most militaries rely on. It's also too complex for anything used by civilians.”

“So we have something belonging to a foreign government?”

“That's definitely a possibility. There's also, ah, the matter of the detective's optics.” The technician tented his fingers, a look of regret crossing his features as he glanced over to Detective Logan—who was clearly annoyed at having to stand in one spot, holding a towel over where his eyes had been. “To put it bluntly, they've been fried.”

The groan that Detective Logan issued at hearing those last three words was punctuated by a rather unique swear.

“However,” the technician continued, “we've got a call going with Dr. Dyson, regarding Agent Blake's transference—if you want, I can—”

“Put me through to San Jose. You know the number.”

The technician very audibly swallowed. “You're sure?”

“I told her I'd only call in an emergency,” the detective grunted. “Pretty sure this qualifies.”

After a helpless glance at Sierra, who merely shrugged, the technician nodded. “You'll have to find a monitor, first,” he informed the detective.

“I know.” A low, borderline-static hiss followed the remark. “Sierra...”

It took a few minutes for the pair to find a room with a monitor; once Sierra helped the detective take his seat, and the comm-monitor was switched on, he took a deep breath. “I'd like a bit of privacy, if you don't mind.”

“Tommy—”

“This is between me and...” He turned. “Sierra, please.”

Even though she knew he wouldn't see it, Sierra nodded. “Just knock on the desk to your left when you're done.”

“I will.”

Sierra left the room, with the technician following behind her. She'd worked with human partners before, in San Jose, but none were as fascinating—or as surprisingly vulnerable—as Detective Thomas Logan.

Incoming Call: Lt. David Pierce.

“If you find out anything new about that solid state drive,” Sierra instructed the technician, “let me know.” She tapped her right temple with two fingers, her eyes taking on a glow as the image of Lieutenant Pierce appeared in her field of view. “Birch here. Anything to report?”

“Pariello's saying he wants to file a civil suit against CAEDIA. Says you people set him up for a fall.”

“Just like he said Harry Morgan stole his wife—we have sworn testimony that he didn't, by the way.”

“Figured Pariello's full of it, but he's getting more out of hand by the minute.”

“By the minute?” Sierra echoed, frowning. “Why—”

“I can send you all the claims Mr. Pariello has been making,” Lieutenant Pierce replied. Despite his usual stoicism, it was clear that he had zero faith in any of Bobby's “claims”. “He's, ah, got quite an interesting set of theories he'd like to make public on various matters.”

“Did he already say that he thinks the President of the United States is a gynoid?”

Lieutenant Pierce did a commendable job of not showing any amusement at the theory. “Not yet, but—” He frowned, looking off to the side; somewhere on his end of the call, someone in the distance was screaming. “Ah, correction,” he clarified, “I believe Mr. Pariello did just communicate that exact theory to the staff.”

Sierra groaned. “I doubt he's going to be a flight risk, but if he keeps this up, you might want to move him. Oh, and we'll do our best to keep Billie away from that drive—it's affecting artificial staff, and that'd be a hell of a way for a sleeper to wake up.” She decided not to mention the fate of Detective Logan's optics.

“Appreciate it.” The Lieutenant was very protective of his sister. “Meanwhile, we're looking into all available options as to how to deal with Mr. Pariello.”

“If he keeps causing problems—”

Incoming Communication: Technician T.S.

“—sorry, I've got another call. Let me know if there's anything CAEDIA can do to help with the Pariello situation.”

“Will do, ma'am.” With that, the call to Lieutenant Pierce ended.

Sierra opened a line to the technician she'd met out in the hall (and dismissed mere minutes ago). “Anything?”

“We know where the solid state drive is broadcasting its 'find me' signal to.”

Sierra frowned. “I didn't know there was a 'find me' signal.”

“The Persuader code was masking it—and, ah, when I say 'we know where it's broadcasting to', I only mean in the sense of 'which country', not a specific location.”

“It's better than nothing. What did you find?”

“It's actually sending a forked signal—well, a tri-forked signal. Three different sites of reception.”

“Three?” Something roughly equivalent to what a human Officer would've called their “gut feeling”, or simply “Instinct”, kicked in. “It's sending a retrieval message to three locations?”

“All overseas, and all of considerable interest.”

After moving out of the centre of the corridor, so as to not create a block for the foot traffic passing through, Sierra resumed the call. “Which regions is the signal forking to?”

“First reception site is an unknown address somewhere in Russia—we're trying to pin it down, but it's definitely in that country. Second, a location in Turkey—just like the first, address unknown. The third one's the one that worries us.”

“How so?”

“It's being sent to this state.”
-----
“Should I, or shouldn't I?”

Pretending to watch traffic from across North 27th in Billings was already getting boring. Yes, she was once again wearing a different face—and different clothes, and different hair—but Lexi no longer cared about being spotted. The fact that Bobby Pariello was still alive—and currently in a cell at the Billings Police Department HQ—galled her to her core.

She'd have to rectify that oversight, and soon. Preferably, very soon.

On the one hand, she could go for an “I'll be back”-style blowout—grab a truck, storm the place and drag Pariello out by whichever extremity she could grab. The relevant movie scene was already replaying itself again in her mind (by far, the first film in the series was the greatest—the sequels, especially that trilogy after the third one, not so much). It'd be a hell of a way to rattle the people, and to give Pariello a final jolt before his inevitable death.

On the other hand, bringing down that kind of thunder would probably open a can of worms entirely too big for her to close. Getting Pariello out and finishing the job would be worth it, yes—but at what cost? She was only one gynoid, after all; she could handle a meatbag like Pariello, no problem. A joint police/CAEDIA response team, however...

Various scenarios loaded in her thought processes, each one running in the background. This would take some thinking.

As she watched a cruiser circle the building, Lexi did her best to look like a NonSen meant to shill dish soap—all the while, considering whether or not to grab Pariello out from under the noses of the law.

“Should I, or shouldn't I?”
-----
“They haven't heard anything unusual, but if something comes up—”

“I get the picture. Any luck on getting through the decryption?”

“None so far. Had to dismiss another human tech from the tests when her cochlear implants started picking up weird sounds and what she called 'some kind of muttering'.”

“We may have to get that drive quarantined.” Sierra shook her head. “Call me if you get any more information.”

“Will do, Officer.”

Three knocks on the desk from the room across the hall caught Sierra's attention as she ended the call; “Guess Tommy's done with his long-distance bit,” she mused, opening the door. She caught the briefest image of the face on the other end of the line before the monitor winked out. “There should be a paper in the printer over there,” Detective Logan muttered. “It'll have an address on it.”

Sierra spotted the printer—and, as the detective had stated, the paper resting in the output tray.

“I need you to bring me there tomorrow. They'll have a new set of optics done—compatible with the prosthetic I use, and with the port they put in after...” He grunted something barely audible. “I miss anything?”

“Pariello's being a pain at the PD,” Sierra replied, as she helped the detective out of the chair. “They might have to move him soon.”

Detective Logan shook his head, one hand still keeping the towel in place over his face. “Why am I not surprised.”

“Oh, and we need to keep Billie Pierce away from the SSD,” Sierra added. “I was just on the phone with her brother, while you were making your call—”

“I read her file. Sleeper. Not the best way for her to wake up.”

“Which begs the question of who that drive belongs to and why it's rigged the way it is.” Sierra shook her head. “Blew out your optics, and it'd probably do worse to her.”

“I'm surprised it didn't do worse to you.”

Sierra frowned. “All synthetic Officers, Agents, Operatives, Specialists and Sentinels are shielded,” she reminded her human colleague.

“And Billie isn't?”

“Sleeper, remember? Dave wasn't able to bring her in to get upgraded.”

Detective Logan sighed. “So we have to keep an eye on her and make sure the drive gets looked over,” he muttered. “A wonderful way to spend a Saturday.”

“It's part of the job,” Sierra mused. “Speaking of—”

“It didn't get brought up during the call. She's with ALPHA first, but she's considering dual-status.”

Sierra rolled her eyes. “I can't see why she wouldn't join CAEDIA. She'd be a hell of an ally to have.”
-----
Diana nodded intently, having listened intently to every word as Mandy explained why she had the medical implants that helped her to breathe. Apart from the white dot on her neck and the slight affectations to some of her words, there were almost no physical signs of the implants at all. “Thank you for explaining.”

“The vaccines helped,” Lloyd mused. “The rollouts were pretty much what curbed the whole pandemic thing after seven months, too.” He glanced at his notebook—and Mandy's. “We should really get back to prepping for the exam, y'know,” he mused. “Ms. Newton gave us all a lot of heads-up, and—”

“How do they see inside you?”

Diana's question sounded, at first, slightly morbid. “To check the implants?” Mandy clarified.

The blonde gynoid nodded. “Do they have to—”

“Human bodies don't, ah, come apart as easily as an android or gynoid does,” Lloyd admitted. “If they need to 'see inside' Mandy, they use MRIs, x-rays—”

“CT scans,” Mandy clarified. “MRIs might disrupt the implants.”

“Ah.” Lloyd nodded. “Didn't realize that.”

“It's okay—they use ultrasound, too, by the way. That doesn't risk damaging the implants, either.”

Again, Diana nodded.

“I know some people are getting more advanced implants, or 'augmentations',” Lloyd mused. “That detective we talked to back at CAEDIA Regional, Tommy something—”

“You had to talk to a detective?”

Remembering all too quickly that he'd completely forgotten to explain the morning's events to Mandy, Lloyd sighed. “It's a long story,” he admitted. “This guy Uncle Harry knows, Bobby P., showed up here earlier today—threw rocks at the windows, yelled about some kind of conspiracy against him or something.”

“His house got torn up,” Diana added, her voice completely neutral.

Noting Mandy's shock, Lloyd quickly continued: “He thought one of Uncle Harry's inventory did it—none of them did, by the way—but the cops and CAEDIA had to check every NonSen on the—”

“Wait.” Mandy glanced at Lloyd, frowning. “Your face...someone hit you!”

“It was Bobby P.,” Lloyd muttered. “He was trying to open Diana's crate, calling her...things.” He turned away, only for Mandy's hand to gently turn his head to face her again. “I tried to stop him, and he blasted me with one hit.” He winced slightly as Mandy carefully touched the bruised area of his face. “The cops had to haul him off—he wouldn't shut up about 'conspiracies' and saying Uncle Harry stole his wife, or something—” The second half of the word “something” left his lips as a hiss.

“You should get that looked at,” Mandy advised.

“I will,” Lloyd assured her.

“Hey, Diana, since you've seen a bit how I work, can I see how you work? What you look like inside?”

Lloyd was surprised at the question, but he could see why Mandy was curious. At first thought, Lloyd thought it came off as somewhat morbid—or would've, had it not been for Diana's artificial nature making it far easier to answer said question. He sensed Mandy and Diana sharing a connection of sorts.

Diana nodded, turning her attention to Lloyd. “Why not?” Despite the apparent apathy of his answer, Lloyd did want to get a better look at Diana's internals; thus far, Cam had been the only one to access them, the day Diana had first been activated. “Maybe we'll have questions on the internals of a Heartelligence 90S-50-D gynoid on the exam this week,” he joked. He almost made another remark, if only to ease the tension of the moment—but Diana beat him to the punch by peeling off the shirt she'd changed into.

Lloyd's eyes widened. He glanced at Mandy, hoping she wouldn't think he'd reprogrammed Diana with some kind of “fast strip” mode—to his relief, she was watching the gynoid disrobe with a look of mild curiosity.

The only article of clothing left on Diana's upper body was a simple black bra, which was quickly removed. There were only some freckles for identifying marks on her flawless breasts (Lloyd decided not to dwell on his probable incorrect estimation of her cup size when she'd been unboxed); the only noteworthy feature was a sort of rectangle just above them, which was slowly becoming more pronounced as a panel. “You can remove it, if you want,” she offered.

Knowing his face had probably gone beet red, Lloyd turned to glance at Mandy—who was staring at Diana's topless form, and the now-prominent panel, with obvious fascination. “If Lloyd doesn't mind,” she mused.

“I don't!”

Mandy rose from where she'd been sitting on the bed and approached Diana. Her fingers gently worked into the seams of the panel before removing it with a slight pop. “Your skin feels so real,” she mused.

“Thank you.” Diana smiled. “It was designed to emulate the tactile sensation of actual human skin.”

Mandy and Lloyd were both staring at the panel Mandy had just removed—and, from it, into the opening it left.

LEDs, indicator bars and smallish text that signified warning messages were visible on the surface that had been behind the life-like artificial flesh. At its edges were gaps—small, but just enough to offer tantalizing hints at the intricacies of Diana's design. Mandy started to ask a question, only to stop; another panel was making its borders visible, this one a sort of oval in the middle of Diana's abdomen. It was Lloyd who moved to put his fingers into the gaps, this time.

Steadily, he tugged, the synthetic skin unsealing with a faint pop.

Aside from an intimate look at clusters of microcircuitry, servo armatures and the space where a Caloric Intake Converter could eventually be installed, the newly-opened section of Diana's abdomen also gave a clear glimpse of the “spine” of her endo-frame. Hoses and tubes ran from some unseen reservoir, probably housed further up in the gynoid's torso, to a terminus point below her beltline. Cam's remark about Diana having one particular set of components that Pam had lacked came back to the forefront of Lloyd's thoughts. Fascination was, thus far, holding back far more lustful impulses.

Mandy gave voice to what Lloyd was practically kicking back into the corners of his mind: “She's designed for sex?”

Diana cocked her head slightly. “I am configured to make full use of my sexual hardware and programming,” she stated, as casually as if she were answering a question about the temperature outside. “I can demonstrate—”

“Not now,” Lloyd breathed; the blood that had rushed away from his face had already been rerouted elsewhere.

If she detected any signs of unease from Lloyd, Mandy didn't show it. “It's amazing,” she murmured. “I'm seeing inside of you, right now, but you still look—still sound like a real human being!” Her tone was bordering on awe. “Could you turn around and maybe stretch, like you're yawning?”

Without hesitation, Diana did so. Her back arched, her shoulders and arms tensing in a believably human way. “I can be configured to consume food, too, but I don't have the required parts yet.”

“Incredible.” Mandy glanced at Lloyd with a smile. “She's amazing, Lloyd!”

“She is, isn't she?” Lloyd was surprised Diana seemed to have an interest in eating.

Diana had just hooked her thumbs in the belt loops of her pants when Mandy's phone rang. “I have to take this.” With an apologetic smile, she ducked out of the room.

“Are you feeling well?” The question was probably asked out of concern, but Lloyd could barely focus on it. Memories of his dream from the night before, and the dream he'd had after Pam's malfunction, flooded back, intermingled with the reality of Diana standing before him, topless and with two of her main panels removed.

“Lloyd?” The gentle utterance of his name snapped him out of the fog he'd nearly descended into. “I'm, ah, I'm good.” He blinked a few times, as if to reassure himself that he was, in fact, good. “Just, ah, when Mandy gets back in, you might want to get dressed—reattach your panels, first, then the clothes—”

“Do you think I look attractive?”

Lloyd glanced at Diana, now, her smile as friendly and warm as ever—which was just enough to keep him from staring at her breasts, or the panels she had yet to close.

“You look beautiful,” he replied. “Inside and out.”

Before either of them could comment further on the remark, Mandy reentered the room. “That was Dad,” she informed Lloyd. “We need to go back to my aunt's house—her caretaker 'bot might've been fried trying to de-crumb the toaster, or something.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Lloyd quickly glanced at Diana—as he'd suggested, she was pressing her panels back into place and retrieving both her bra and shirt. “Did he say if the 'bot needed repairs?”

“Dunno—he just said we might have to go uptown again on Monday, after class.” Mandy collected her notebook and laptop. “The rideshare car should be here soon—Dad called one to come get me. I told him I'd be studying with you for an hour or so before I left. I knew you'd say yes.”

“Right.” Lloyd did his best to ignore the stirrings below the beltline. “If there's anything I can do to help—”

“With the caretaker?” Mandy offered.

“That, or studying.”

Mandy grinned. “We could go over our notes while we wait for the ride-share car to get here,” she mused.

“Sounds like a plan to me—ah, Diana, you might want to put your shirt back on if you're going downstairs with us.”
-----
“'Leave no witnesses', he says. 'Dispose of all evidence', he says. He wouldn't keep saying it if he were the one out here having to do it!”

Despite her apparent annoyance at her employer's demands, Lexi was still grinning like a fiend as she dragged the body (unconscious—one death too many, especially out in the open, would be bad for business) towards a bench. There'd been no witnesses to her cold-cocking the poor sod—who'd ironically been the only witness to Lexi's attempt at disposing of the NonSen whose identity she'd usurped. The 'bot, as such, had been haphazardly shoved into the open maw of an eWaste “container” (apparently, “dumpster” was too ugly a term for it); the college-age girl who'd chanced upon the incident, by contrast, was now out like a light, “sleeping off” her injury on a bench.

Admittedly, Lexi hadn't just been about to dump the NonSen—her peccadillos had resurfaced midway through stripping the 'bot of her “uniform”, and she'd nearly given in and gotten it on right then and there. Caution had won out, and she'd relocated to what was supposed to be a secure locale—some quiet back alley that few people, if any, had any reason to walk down.

Fate, of course, wasn't on her side. One “Hey, what are you—” later, and...

The borrowed face fit even worse than the last one. It wasn't so much that it didn't fit properly; it was more a case of not meshing with its new wearer's personality, or her bad intentions. Her entrance into CAEDIA Regional had been a massive fluke; the Billings Police Department weren't about to let a random NonSen enter the building for the purpose of shilling dish detergent.

A caveat—“Unless accompanied by an owner”—had been promising, but was dismissed in the end. Abducting a rando off the street and keeping them under control long enough to pose as her “owner” would be too much trouble.

As she left the incapacitated collegian on the bench, careful not to betray her true nature to anyone watching, Lexi was certain that she'd have to think different if she intended to get into the station and give Pariello the sendoff he obviously deserved. The “I'll be back” option was looking more and more tempting, but would still be risky as all get-out.

There had to be another way to grab Pariello from the station. But how?

Her vision filled with a picture-in-picture view of the Billings police station. The windows and doors were secure; going in from under was probably a death wish, as well. Only one potential entrance vector remained.

“Should be a hell of a climb,” Lexi mused, her tongue playing over her teeth. This was going to be good.
-----
“And what's bugging you?”

Cam frowned as she looked up from the exposed internals of the 'bot she'd been working on for the past few minutes. “I don't quite understand what you mean.”

“You look like someone just waved a rotten egg under your nose,” Erin mused. “Pretty sure you've had that look since Diana went to see what Lloyd and Mandy were up to.” She grinned, even as she twirled the canary-yellow hairpiece that she'd just detached from her own head on one finger. “Don't tell me you're jealous!”

“Jealous?”

“Are you?” With a no-look throw, Erin sent the hairpiece into a container several feet behind her.

“Why would I be?” Cam replied, turning her attention back to the task at hand—and considering that, despite her own reluctance to admit it, Erin might be right. “Diana's a NonSen—”

“So were you, once,” Erin reminded her. “That changed.”

“Diana is accelerating towards her own sentience at a far more rapid pace than I did,” Cam admitted. “The proprietary triad of co-processors Heartelligence designed for the task have played a significant role in her—”

“This isn't about hardware or software,” Erin mused. She'd retrieved another hairpiece, this one a slightly coppery red, from a crate, and was in the process of attaching it to her head. “It's about you and Lloyd.” She snapped a few of the contact points into place. “I heard you two chatting in the laundry room, the other night.”

Cam seemed to stiffen. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Say it two more times and you might hear a rooster.” Before Cam could question the reference, Erin sighed. “The walls may not have ears,” she admitted, “but voices carry—especially for 'bots. I was in another room when I heard you asking him if he needed 'satiating' or whatever—”

“It was nothing like what you think.” Cam flinched at the sound of something hitting the workbench, before realizing that it was the tool she'd just slammed down onto it. “I wasn't—”

“I heard the whole thing,” Erin assured her. “I know you two weren't about to do the do right on top of the washer.” She finished attaching the new hairpiece, giving the synthetic hair a flourishing toss. “Ever since Lloyd first got here, he's gone to you when he needs someone to talk to, someone to hang out with and someone to just goof off with.” There was a hint of maternal wisdom in her smile. “You're his best friend around here, and that's something to be proud of.”

After a moment, Cam nodded. “That does make sense.”

“I'd hope so. And I trust you to not do something like, say, push Diana out of a second-floor window at the house and make it look like an accident.” Erin smirked. “At least, I hope you wouldn't.”

Cam frowned. “Why would I—”

“Joke,” Erin reminded her. “I know you'd never pull something like that.”

“I wouldn't,” Cam replied, turning her attention back to the 'bot lying face-up on the workbench.

“Like I said,” Erin chuckled, “I hope you wouldn't.” If Erin had looked back at Cam, she would've seen a bit of smile flutter across her lips as the thought of the morning's interaction played back in her mind.
-----
As he went over the notes for the impending Mechanical Engineering exam in his room, Lloyd couldn't help but reflect on how the day had unfolded. From Bobby Pariello's screaming, rock-throwing tirade outside to the visit to CAEDIA Regional HQ—and from there to Mandy showing up asking if Lloyd wanted to study for the exam with her. All of it seemed to blur together, soft at the edges and barely discernable.

Night had fallen, by now. Everyone was either going about their last business for the day or preparing for bed; Diana was back at her recharging station in the shop, while Erin and Cam were both running checks on the inventory.

Lloyd wondered what Diana had thought of Mandy, after having learned so much more about her condition and the medical implants meant to mitigate the damage. He also wondered what Mandy thought of Diana, having seen her up close, personal and with a few panels off. Somewhere under those thoughts, he also had to ask: what did they both think of him?

A yawn worked its way free of his lips. He hadn't realized how tired he felt.

With a sigh, he turned off the tablet PC and set it down on the desk. He was too tired to study, as it was.

From somewhere down the hall, Harry was loudly proclaiming that, if he could help it, he'd never want to talk to Bobby Pariello again. “Phone call, probably,” Lloyd muttered—not carring that he'd voiced what he was thinking. With a sigh, he left his room, ready to begin his nightly routine, as always.
-----
Seated at her charging station in the shop, Diana reflected on what she'd learned.

She'd been online, in Autonomous Mode, for almost a day and a half, now. Her IPU, EPO and EVPU scores had all gone up, and were continuing to increase. Slowly, but surely, her base autonomous state was beginning to form the makings of a personality. Her personality.

There was still so much to learn, so much to understand, but this was a start.

The feeling that might've been jealousy, directed towards Mandy, had subsided somewhat. It was clear that she meant a great deal to Lloyd, even if she was unaware of it. Questions of whether or not Lloyd meant anything to Mandy were already forming, in Diana's mind—but she'd have time enough to ask them later.

Her thoughts and feelings unpacked themselves, as they'd done the night before. Sorting through them all would take some time, but it'd definitely be worth it.

A smile formed on Diana's lips—not a preprogrammed response state, but a genuine, contented smile.
-----
From across the shop, Cam regarded Diana at her charging station. Something was on the NonSen's mind—in which case, she might not technically be a NonSen anymore. Regardless of that fact, Diana was still inventory, for now.

And yet...

Cam thought back to the day Diana had been unboxed and first activated—when Harry had objected to the idea of Diana “ascending”. He'd quickly changed his tune, of course, telling Lloyd “never say never”.

The thought—the memory—occurred to Cam, at that moment, that she'd frowned at Harry's objection that day.

Perhaps, as she'd been with Lloyd, Cam could be the friend Diana needed. Jealousy was, after all, irrational; Diana hadn't “stolen” Lloyd, nor had Lloyd been exclusively bound to interact with Cam before Diana's own arrival.

Emotions could be finicky, sometimes. Finicky, but very much worth having.
-----
“The joys of working late.”

As the Pit bubbled away, Erin couldn't help but scoff. The 'bots earmarked for auction and sale had already been moved out of the shop, with the next batch Harry had ordered (including the returning Magnus) due in on Wednesday—a day when Lloyd would be back on campus, possibly taking his Mechanical Engineering exam. It'd be dull, without him around to help.

Before then, there'd be the requisite meeting with Adrian Reese. Bobby Pariello had, once upon a time, loaned Harry a pittance to help get StoryCrafters off the ground, and had thus been listed as one of its founding members—which made little sense, considering how Bobby had only ever attended one meeting, showing up late and very obviously hungover, and proceeded to bash the idea as one of the dumbest things he'd ever heard of. He'd never been to a meeting since—but his name remained as a founder of StoryCrafters. Thanks to his false accusations against Harry that morning, that arrangement would soon be brought to a swift and long-overdue end.

Erin chuckled. “'bout time,” she mused. “I never could understand why Harry was ever friends with that slob.”

With her work done, and a quick check of The Pit revealing it to be safely locked (and its lethal contents contained), she rose from the desk she'd had put in the Pit room as her secondary office. It'd been a long week—long, and apart from Pam's spectacular meltdown, productive. Once the issue with Pariello was sorted, and Lloyd's exam was out of the way, everyone could prep for the last big story of the year.

Afterwards...

The case under the tarp was undisturbed, as it always was. Erin regarded it with none of her usual snark—out of every employee Harry had hired, only three knew what was in that case, under the tarp. She was one of the three, and found herself thankful that Pariello's attempt at a rampage through the shop that morning had been brought to a halt by the Billings PD. The thought of him getting a look at—or possibly damaging—the contents of the case...

“He wouldn't have. They'd have stopped him.”

Anyone else in the room might've found it odd that Erin was apparently talking to herself. She couldn't bring herself to care. She was used to people mistaking her for a NonSen; the UB-357 bodykit was never going to win any awards for Human-Real Simulation, after all.

Granted, a lot of people also made assumptions about the mind behind that off-white sillicone face of hers. Too often, she knew that friends of Harry's thought he'd “written” her, that her snarky personality was just the product of clever coding or programming trickery.

Like the contents of the case, only three people knew the truth. One was Harry Morgan. The other was Erin herself.

The third, meanwhile—

“Diana's just entered Sleep Mode for the night.” Erin hadn't heard Cam open the door to the Pit chamber. “Thought you'd want to know.”

“I did,” Erin replied, without looking away from the case. “Thanks.”

Cam nodded—at least, Erin was pretty sure she did—and closed the door to the Pit chamber.

With a sigh, Erin turned away from the tarp-covered case. The thought of lifting the tarp, just a bit, briefly surfaced.

As she'd done so often in the past, Erin ignored the urge. She knew what was under it, after all.
-----
“I should consider myself fortunate that you decided to silence your vocal hardware before I contacted you.”

Lexi paid no heed to her employer's remark—mainly because she was too busy delving into herself with three fingers of one hand, her lips forming silent cries of ecstatic passion. Memories—some of maintenance sessions from decades prior, others of her more recent actions—flooded through her mind, playing back like movies in her field of view, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

“It is my understanding that you intend to find and terminate Pariello.”

What would've been an ear-splitting shriek, accompanying the inevitable orgasm Lexi was undergoing, was shaped out by the blonde gynoid's mouth. The throes of her climax sent her, as they always seemed to do, off of the bed of her bolt-hole, her juices leaving a trail on the sheets and pooling under her on the faux-hard wood.

“Yet again, I can see why Zina deferred this call to me—”

“YES,” Lexi gasped, “oh, yeah...” A few seconds into the afterglow, the ecstatic gynoid was aware of the familiar eyes watching her from the bolt-hole's “borrowed” TV. “Like what you saw?” she teased.

“You know the answer to that question as well as I do.”

Her employer's annoyance was met with a giggle. “So why'd you decide to call me this time?”

“As I previously mentioned—”

“Pariello must die,” Lexi droned, already gathering up the sodden sheets and pulling them free of the bed. “Should I, or shouldn't I?”

“Carry out his sentence however you see fit—as long as it does not attract undue attention.”

“No promises.”

“Need I remind you—”

“All I need to figure out is how to get him out of the drunk tank,” Lexi admitted. “After that, I've got a ton of ways to put him down.” She casually dumped the bedsheets into a bin, fumbling around in the bedside table for something. “I'm sure you have a suggestion or two.”

“Ensure that anyone investigating the 'break-in' at his residence has reason to regret their decision.”

The click of a cigarette lighter served as an eerie precedent to Lexi's reply: “Oh, I will.” Her grin, as she forced the lighter into a “stay lit” configuration and dropped it into the bin, was positively demonic. “I think I know how to get to Harry Morgan, too,” she added, casually dragging the bin over to a window.

“Again, subtlety—”

“I'll be subtle,” Lexi promised, hefting the bin up and over the sil. “The meat won't even know I'm after him until it's too late!” At the last word, she cheerfully butt-bumped the bin out through the window, sending it to the ground below with a crash—and, from whoever had just been draped in flaming bedsheets, a scream.

“I sincerely hope that your definition of subtlety is not incompatible with the standard.”

Lexi—still nude—regarded the chaos at ground level with a smile. “Actually, put Zina on the line. I have an idea.”

The TV screen was blank for a moment—just a moment, as Lexi barely had time to blink before the imperious, beautiful Zina appeared. “Explain.”

“It's not so much something I can put into words,” Lexi admitted, “so just let me be direct.”

Before Zina could question the remark, Lexi's eyes flashed through the color spectrum—her plan sent directly to the digital mind of her employer. The cruel smile never left her lips. “And done. Your thoughts?”

For a few seconds, Zina's eyes seemed to move, as if she were reading an invisible page before her. Upon completion of the “cold read”, she glanced at Lexi (or rather, the “camera” sending her image to Lexi) and—for the first time in their correspondence—smiled. “This plan is most unexpected, from you.”

“Figured it might be nice to do the sneaky thing for a change. You got my shopping list?”

“An account will be unlocked for you to purchase what you need—all funds are untraceable, of course.”

“Just the way I like it.” Lexi beamed. “And once I'm done, Pariello will be...” Her tongue danced over her smile. “Well, we'll see what he'll be, when I'm done with him,” she murmured.

“And you are sure that this plan of action can be carried out undetected?”

“I scouted the place out myself. It'll work.”

After a moment, Zina nodded. “Let us hope, for your sake, that your optimism is not misplaced.”

“Oh, it won't be.” Lexi paused; whoever the flaming blankets had fallen on at ground level was still screaming.

“Acquire your resources, and carry out your plan at the first available opportunity,” Zina instructed. “Send word as soon as your operation has completed.”

“You know I will.”

Zina's usual annoyance returned, but significantly lessened than before. “See to it that you do.” The hint of a smirk played at her lips as the TV screen went blank again.

Lexi—still nude, and twirling a few locks of hair between her fingers—giggled as she pondered the aftereffects of what she had in mind for Robert Pariello. Yes, going in through the roof of the station would've been fun, no doubt—but the minute she'd have been detected, the entire building would've gone on lockdown. Pariello would've been moved to a secure location, and every cop in the station would be armed to the teeth and hunting for the intruder.

As much as she loved the direct approach, a more subtle option was—in this particular case—a necessity.

The smile was still on her lips as she sat on the bare mattress of her bed, thinking of all the details she'd noticed when casing the station. Several specifics stood out, almost highlighted in her thought processes.

In an hour or so, she'd pay a visit to a secure ATM and withdraw the needed funds. After that, time to buy.

Lexi fell back onto the mattress, her naked form swaying as if she were in water. Yes, this plan was a lot better than a direct approach, or even going in from the roof—it might even be more fun than either of those ideas. Already, it was playing out in her view, every step going flawlessly.

Her eyes closed, the blonde gynoid laid back and laughed. She'd nearly forgotten how fun subterfuge could be.
-----