Writing As We Go, Chapter 13

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Writing As We Go, Chapter 13

Post by DukeNukem 2417 » Sat May 28, 2022 11:29 am

AUTHOR'S NOTE: What, did you think I was gone forever? :D
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With one exam already done, Lloyd was looking forward to a belated lunch. The morning's tests, admittedly, had been rather easy—still, some of the material had, in fact, been what he'd covered with Mandy the night before. He'd only been able to get a quick call out to Harry's before his first test, and that was just to say “hi” to Diana. The issue of the SafeSense program had yet to be discussed in detail.

There were also other things to worry about, as he traversed the campus. Apparently, the incident that Erin had called him about the night before wasn't just “a Pariello problem”, as she'd said before handing off the phone to Diana that morning. The charred remains of a stolen car had been found as the day began, with a destroyed NonSen behind the wheel. Lloyd tried not to pay too much attention to any of the conversations detailing the bizarre case as he headed for the student union building—a prospect made all the more difficult when he remembered Erin's phone call from the night before, about Bobby Pariello having been “bailed out” by the same individual who'd trashed his house.

His thoughts flashed back to Diana, and what her decision might be in regards to the SafeSense issue—whatever choice she made, he'd support it. It occurred to him, as he waited to cross to the SUB, that she might've undergone (or might be in the process of undergoing) a Spontaneous Sentience Event—a rare feat, in and of itself.

A CAEDIA cruiser was slowly prowling up Bell Drive, earning concerned glances and anxious stares from everyone around Lloyd. Hopefully, the cruiser's presence didn't have anything to do with Erin's call from the night before. If the one who'd trashed Bobby P.'s house and “bailed him out” decided to show up on campus, for some reason...

With a slight shiver, Lloyd pulled his jacket tighter around himself. Time enough to think of that later.
----
“Nothing from JSUB?”

Officer Jason Knight's question was met with a frown. “Nothing from the Main Campus or the City College,” Sierra replied. “If she tries to hit either, we'll be the first to know.” From her vantage point, in the CAEDIA cruiser's front passenger seat, she scanned the pedestrians walking past—scanned, both by simple observation, using Billings Police Department-issue binoculars, and by actual scanning via the hardware and software built into her ocular sensors.

“I've been going over the file Detective Logan compiled yesterday,” Jason continued. “It's not exactly encouraging.”

“In terms of the perp's behaviour, or in terms of our chances of catching her?” Sierra didn't look away from the throngs of people she was observing as she spoke.

“The perp's behaviour. There was nothing to connect her 'joyride' yesterday morning with 'bailing out' Pariello, for one.”

Sierra adjusted a setting on the binoculars, still not glancing at her colleague. “Your point?”

“If her objectives were to get the solid state drive and eliminate Pariello as a loose end, why the joyride? Why cause any kind of commotion in broad daylight and risk getting spotted?”

Now, Sierra did lower the binoculars and turn to regard Jason. “I don't know,” she admitted.

A Call Incoming notice flashed up in her field of view, ending the discussion. “It's HQ,” she mused, her eyes glowing a soft gold. “Detective Logan's finally up, and he got Elaine's message.” Her fingers had already gone to the seat belt, even as she spoke. “Hopefully, he hasn't left yet.”

“And our observation op?”

“No signs of our perp or compromised NonSens.” Sierra shrugged. “For now, at least.” The CAEDIA cruiser reversed out of its impromptu parking spot as the Officer continued: “We should get a notice out to all stores fielding NonSens, have them put on a secured network. The fewer breaks our perp gets, the better it'll be for us.”
----
“No word from Lloyd?”

Erin—midway through removing a bicep panel from her left arm, frowned at Harry. “He did call earlier this morning,” she reminded him. “To check in on Diana, see if she'd made up her mind on SafeSense.”

“Well,” Harry replied, “we can't just hold off on installing it until he gets back. She's gonna have to make up her mind—“

“Never said she wouldn't have to.” Erin glanced at the internal mechanisms of her arm. “Still, it'd be nice if she could have one last bit of a chat with Lloyd before she makes her decision—hand me that power screwdriver, please.” She nodded as Harry handed over the tool. “Thanks. Anyway, I'm sure Lloyd will show up to give his moral support when he has time to.” The tool whirred to life, Erin apparently nonchalant about the sound (or the fact that it was embedded in her bicep). “I can guarantee that he isn't ignoring her.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I never said he was ignoring her.”

“Good. Neither did I.” Erin squinted as she adjusted the internals of her arm—not that she needed to squint, what with her ocular sensors providing a significant level of magnification. “Pretty sure he wouldn't ignore her, either.” Her tongue played over her teeth as she looked into her left arm. “We can wait, and so can Diana.”

Harry regarded her with a wry grin. “Y'know,” he mused, “if StoryCrafters ever needed another franchise head—”

“You really think I'd want to show up to board meetings or whatever looking like this?” Erin scoffed. “Somebody needs to keep the 'bots and props in working order around here.” After another close look at her arm, she nodded. “And I can guarantee that it's me saying this, not just 'the programming'.”

“When have I ever said that it's 'just the programming' with you?” Harry chuckled.

“Never,” Erin replied, “because you're not a prick.” She reattached the piece of her bicep. “Unlike some people.”

“Still worried about Bobby P. getting 'bailed out'?”

Erin frowned. “You're forgetting that Bobby got bailed out by the same psycho who tore up his house?”

“I didn't forget—”

“And that she posed as his dead niece?” Erin examined her arm. “For a human or a 'bot, that's pretty screwed up.”

Harry frowned, but Erin continued before he could reply: “The last thing I want is for whoever trashed Bobby's house and then bailed him out to try something like that here.” She sighed. “I really hope Diana makes up her mind on getting SafeSense installed,” she added. “Otherwise, she'll end up in a lot worse situations than just 'getting a ride' from some psychopath, like she did yesterday.” She flexed the fingers of her left hand, nodding. “I still have a few phone calls to handle, but—”

“If I need anything else, I'll let you know.” Harry sighed. “And I hope Diana makes up her mind soon, too.”

“It's amazing that she already has a mind to make up,” Erin admitted. “Heartelligence knows their stuff—are we the first franchise that's used one of their 'bots?”

After a few seconds of pondering, Harry shrugged. “Dunno. I can look into it before the next web conference, if you think that'd help.”

Erin smirked. “Just as long as the next web conference doesn't include random suggestions from the tax guy.”
----
Sierra couldn't help but notice that Detective Logan, despite having slept in an office chair as opposed to an actual bed, was far more composed and calm than anyone else in his position would've been. Yes, he'd been somewhat cross when she'd returned to HQ and reminded him about the upcoming meeting with Elaine Dyson (and, by proxy, all three of them meeting up with the enigmatic Professor Belsham), but afterwards, he'd gone right back to the usual degree of stoic professionalism he'd cultivated since first arriving at the Billings/Laurel CAEDIA offices.

“I was wondering,” Sierra asked, as the CAEDIA cruiser sped on. “Did you dream, last night?”

Detective Logan frowned.

“I mean, with the whole...” Sierra gestured at his facial prosthetic. “And the...y'know what, never mind.”

“The loss of my organic eyes in a work-related accident?” Detective Logan drily inquired.

“It was a stupid question to ask,” Sierra snapped—more at herself, than at her colleague. “I'm sorry.”

There was something in Detective Logan's chuckle that indicated he wasn't nearly as offended by the question as Sierra had thought. “It wasn't a stupid question,” he assured her. “And I did dream—I've been able to ever since I got this.” He waved his hand in the direction of his prosthetic. “Bit of a pain, since I have to swap the shades out for caps that fit over the eyes—to make up for the loss of natural REM,” he explained. “But other than that, no issues.”

“Right.” Sierra kept her focus on the road, despite the fact that the cruiser was in auto-drive. “And—”

“You're not the first who's asked me the question.” Again, the detective's chuckle indicated that he saw no harm in his colleague's query. “Haven't heard it in a while.”

“And it's never bugged you?”

The detective shrugged. “The first few weeks after it happened, it was a pain. Since then, not so much.”

Sierra nodded in sympathy. “Speaking of, ah, faces—”

“You want to trace who could've made a face layer patterned after Pariello's niece.”

The gynoid Officer stared at Detective Logan in disbelief. “You were sleeping when I was talking about that with Celia and Jason,” she murmured.

“I was,” the detective agreed. “And Celia told me after you'd left to go look for the perp before I woke up. Also...” He tapped his own facial prosthetic. “Figured that the topic of 'fake faces' might come up, since we were talking about what I wear.”

“Another victory for me and my not-stupid questions.” Sierra rolled her eyes. “Think Elaine could help with—”

“Whatever she can help with can wait until we make sure Belsham's safe.” The detective retrieved his phone.

Sierra thought back to her read-through of the recovered files about the process leading to the creation and deployment of the “perp”. The last document had been incomplete—why it wasn't complete was still a mystery. Belsham's claims of being linked to the project were a hint that not everyone involved had been “liquidated”—but that still didn't explain just who'd wanted the researchers liquidated, or who had funded the experiments that had turned a mass-market arm candy gynoid into a psychotic killer.

As the cruiser rolled through downtown Billings, Sierra scowled. Whoever Belsham was, he might have answers...
----
Diana had just walked into the living room when the phone rang.

Harry grinned as he checked the caller ID. “Couldn't have written a better-timed call if I tried,” he chuckled. “It's Lloyd, probably calling from the student union.” Before Diana could ask for clarification, Harry picked up the phone. “Yeah? I just spotted your name on the caller ID, Lloyd. How're the exams going?”

As Diana observed the conversation, she barely noticed the hand at her shoulder until its owner spoke: “Still thinking over that whole SafeSense thing?”

“Yes.” Diana nodded.

“It's a lot to take in,” Erin admitted. “I can't predict how your systems will react to having it installed, but if you really want to take the plunge, I won't stop you.” She glanced over at Harry, still talking on the phone. “Especially if it keeps you out of getting into another situation like yesterday morning,” she muttered. “I mean—”

“DIANA! Lloyd wants to talk to you!”

Diana glanced at Erin, who merely shrugged. With that, the blonde gynoid crossed the room to accept the phone from Harry. “Yes?”

I still have a few exams left today, but I'll try to make it back home this evening, when and/or if you make up your mind about the whole SafeSense thing. Sound like a plan?

“It does.” Diana smiled. “How have your exams gone so far?”

I think they've gone pretty well. We get practical exams later today—stuff on law as it pertains to artificial intelligence, the history of A.I., and I think a practical final, probably where we have to fix something.

“And you'll be back afterwards?”

I'll do my best—I'll only be there for maybe an hour and a half, though, since I have more exams tomorrow.

Diana nodded. “I understand.”

The next exam is in a few minutes, so I can't stay on the phone for too minutes longer—but I'll be back for an hour or so this evening, if all goes well. Just stay safe, and don't stress over this SafeSense thing.

“I'll try not to.” Again, Diana nodded. “I hope your exams go well, Lloyd.”

Thanks—I hope they'll go well, too. Is Uncle Harry still in the room?

Without replying, Diana handed the phone back to Harry. “Still there? Yeah. So...5:30 PM or so, tonight. I'll have Cam leave the front light on for you. Just—you don't have to go 'pedal to the metal' or anything like that.” Harry nodded. “I just wanna make sure I don't get a ticket the next time I bring the RangeStar into town because you tried to beat every red light on the way back here.” He chuckled at the thought. “Just be safe, all right? See you in a few hours.”

“He wouldn't go flat-out just to get back here,” Erin mused, watching as Harry turned off the phone.

“Doesn't hurt to remind him. And can you blame me for wanting him to be safe?” Harry sighed. “What with all the other craziness going on around here, the last thing I need is to find out he ended up in a wreck.”

“He won't end up in a wreck,” Erin assured him—and Diana. “Or at least he won't cause one.”
----
“So how do you know this Belsham guy?”

Sierra's question nearly earned her a frown from Detective Logan, but Elaine Dyson—clad, for the day, in a tailored jacket and pantsuit ensemble that, as with all her clothing, flattered her figure to the extreme—paid no heed to the Officer's casual tone. “He was my psychological consultant when the Institute first started offering transfers,” she explained. “He had an extensive background into the studies of artificial minds and personalities, especially how they compare and contrast to that of a human.”

“And he's tied up with our perp how?”

“I don't know,” Elaine admitted. “We first worked together before I founded the Institute—before I transferred, even, but there was a time when he left the country to work somewhere else. He must've been in some kind of an accident, wherever he ended up—the next time I saw him in the States, he was using a cane and knee braces to walk.” The detective, at the wheel of the Hyundai Traversal (at Elaine's suggestion, the three were using a car without CAEDIA livery), frowned, but said nothing.

“How long was he out of the country?”

“A year or two. He didn't go with a group, either—his expertise was 'specifically requested', as he put it.”

“And he left—”

“May 02, 2002.” Elaine's brow furrowed. “You think his employer was—”

“No offence, Dr. Dyson,” Sierra replied, “but I'd prefer to hear it from Professor Belsham himself.”

Detective Logan muttered something and manipulated the radio dial; anyone trying to monitor the car from a distance would only catch the publicly-available radio stations that any other motorist could listen to. Those riding in the car, on the other hand, were all equipped (Sierra and Elaine, by virtue of their nature; the detective, by way of his prosthetics) to hear the “hidden” police band frequencies. Not surprisingly, there was no word on Officer Birch or Detective Logan going to meet with Belsham.

“—he is connected,” Elaine mused, “why wouldn't your 'perp' have gone after him by now?”

“Witness Protection, maybe.” Detective Logan never took his eyes off the road.

“I doubt it,” Elaine countered. “He wouldn't have gone back to the same job he'd held before he left, under the same name, if he legitimately thought his life might be imperilled.”

“There's also the fact that Witness Protection is set up to make sure nobody can connect a witness to their previous life,” Sierra added. “Let's not assume anything until we actually talk to him in person.”

The detective merely grunted an answer. The steering wheel moved of its own accord as the car turned one last corner; seconds later, the address Belsham had given to Elaine was in view. “Fourth one on the left,” she stated.

“It's not residential,” the detective intoned, one hand drifting to his sidearm. “You're sure he knows about—”

“I promised him I'd bring CAEDIA Officers,” Elaine reminded him. “Just have your badges at the ready when we get in.”

Sierra frowned. “He's that paranoid?”

“Pretty sure he's got a couple dozen reasons to be,” Detective Logan muttered, as the car glided to a stop.

The building Professor Belsham had directed Elaine to go to wasn't the most inviting-looking one on the block; it had once been a rec centre, primarily used for boxing and wrestling events. In recent years, it'd been used as a Reclamation facility—at least, until someone found out about the hidden ways unauthorized “visitors” could gain access when the place was locked down. Sierra couldn't find any records of who currently owned it, or whether it was even safe for any kind of occupation at all.

Detective Logan merely frowned, one hand drifting closer to his sidearm.

Elaine was quick to key in the code that opened the front door—“he sent it in a text,” she explained, to a rather puzzled Sierra—and was the first in, followed soon after by Detective Logan. It was the Detective, therefore, who heard the tell-tale ch-CHNK of a shotgun being pumped from somewhere not too far off in the darkness.

“Professor,” Elaine stated, “it's me. We just talked a few days ago—”

“The other two.” The thick, Spanish-accented words left no room for argument. “Badges. Show them.”

With practiced stoicism, Sierra raised her badge; at the same time, her left hand projected the QR code that identified her as a sanctioned CAEDIA officer. Detective Logan mirrored her gesture, holding up his phone to display a similar QR code for himself.

After a few seconds, an exhaled breath sounded five feet away from Elaine Dyson. Soon after, the lights clicked on.

Sierra was somewhat surprised to see that they were standing in what would've been the “Managerial Entrance” to the building; faded posters for local events were still visible behind cracked glass, and a pitted, knackered championship belt for a long-defunct local independent wrestling promotion was barely holding together on a nearby wall.

Professor Enrique Belsham, meanwhile, still had the look of a professional about him—a dishevelled, tense professional, yes, but a professional all the same. His face—undoubtedly handsome, even in advanced age—wasn't quite “ravaged” by the passing years, but had clearly seen better days before. The shotgun had been lowered; his eyes flicked up from the screen of the phone in his left hand to regard the CAEDIA Officers. “My apologies. I have learned, over the years, to be very cautious of who I associate with.”

“Elaine says you have—”

“Not out here.” Belsham shook his head; his iron grey mane of hair looked particularly unkempt under the lights. “Close the door.” He nodded past Sierra, who backpedaled without looking away, found the pull, and shut the door behind her.

Without another word, Belsham turned—slowly—and headed for a nearby room. Elaine was quick to follow, keeping a respectful distance; after exchanging glances (one concerned, the other inscrutable), Sierra and the detective moved to follow Dr. Dyson.

“I apologize,” Belsham stated, “for the slowness of my steps.” He braced himself against the wall of the corridor as he walked; every few steps were punctuated by a pained grunt or cough. “The years have not been kind to me.”

Elaine was at his side. “Let me—”

“Do not mistake my reluctance for ingratitude,” Professor Belsham replied, “but I do not wish to burden you with my own injury. It is a reminder of what I left behind...what I should have told you long before this day.”

“So you weren't injured in an accident?”

“What destroyed my knees was no accident. When we have been seated, I will explain.”

The three followed him as he made his way down the hall, with Elaine staying close. “Not that I want to pry,” she mused, “but why didn't you—”

“I had put the work I did behind me, for years,” Belsham replied. “Until yesterday morning.”

Sierra and Detective Logan both frowned. “Until yesterday morning?” Sierra echoed.

“I was on my way to—” Professor Belsham scoffed. “Never mind where. In any case, I saw. A car, speeding through the lanes, slamming into a van—the driver left the first car and attacked the van driver.” His tone made it all too clear that the seemingly-random incident had brought back unpleasant memories. “Some would have called it a spontaneous, violent act.”

“But not you,” Detective Logan finished.

“I had seen that ferocity once before,” Belsham admitted. “Far closer to it than I had been yesterday.”

It took the professor a good three minutes to make it to the door of a room, which Elaine rushed to open for him. He gave a silent nod of thanks, gesturing for her to enter the room before him. “Some of what I tell you,” he admitted, “will sound impossible. I myself still wish that it were only a dream—a nightmare, dispelled by the dawn.”

“We've dealt with a lot of stuff some would call 'impossible', Professor,” Sierra assured him. “Comes with the territory.”

Her remarks did little to placate Belsham. “Not like what I have seen,” he murmured. “Not as bad as...”

The click of the lights being switched on cut him off; the room was slightly dingy, but otherwise in good shape. A cane (presumably the one Belsham had left behind in favour of his shotgun) rested by the door; the professor retrieved it as he passed, leaning the shotgun against the wall in its place. There was enough room for half a dozen plastic chairs and a desk, presumably meant for a manager or promoter and those closest to him to carry out meetings back when the place still served as a fight venue. At the present, Elaine, Sierra and the detective took up three of the chairs; Professor Belsham made his way around the desk—cluttered as it was with detritus from past occupants of the room—and eased himself into an old wooden chair. “The two of you are...police?” he asked, nodding to Sierra and Detective Logan.

“CAEDIA,” Sierra corrected. “The Civic Accords Enforcement, Defence and Investigation Agency.”

“We do have a lot of law enforcement powers, privileges and rights,” Detective Logan added, “but—”

Professor Belsham nodded. “I understand. And I thank you, Elaine, for bringing them with you.”

Sierra nodded. “Anything we can do to help you, Professor?”

“From what Elaine has told me,” Professor Belsham stated, “I have come to understand that your department, this CAEDIA, is in pursuit of a troublesome perpetrator.”

The detective nodded. “We are.”

“If I am correct,” Belsham stated, “the mental state of this individual—and I assume that we are dealing with an artificial being, as opposed to a human...” He sighed. “The mental state of this individual could easily be traced back to a single person, who you would be well advised to consult.'

Elaine was somewhat troubled by the professor's remark. “And that would be?”

Rather than answer, Belsham glanced at the detective. “A photograph, of the perpetrator...”

Without hesitation, Detective Logan tapped the screen of his phone a few times, calling up an image of the perp—the most recent having been sent from the memory feed of the Heartelligence gynoid owned by Harry Morgan. “That's her,” he stated. “Look familiar?”

The sudden transformation that seemed to overtake Enrique Belsham's face was frightening to behold: his eyes went narrow; his lips, framed by a thin moustache and a salt-and-pepper beard, parted in a snarl. None of the three in the room with him noticed him raise his arms until he smashed his fists down on the desk, a wordless howl of anger ringing through the office.

Elaine nearly reached across the desk, but Sierra stopped her, silently shaking her head.

¡Debería haber sido destruido!” Belsham swept an arm across the desk, knocking everything on its surface onto the floor. “¡Desarmado, en pedazos y enterrado!” A pained grimace crossed his face, which he buried in the palms of his hands; his entire body trembled while his eyes squeezed out a few tears.

“Professor?” Elaine quietly asked.

“Her,” Belsham moaned. “That face....her face has haunted my dreams, ever since I returned.” He took several deep breaths, shaking his head. “I would never forget that face—I long to, but I cannot.”

“Since you returned...” Elaine looked horrified.

“My employment, overseas,” Belsham muttered. “I was offered a significant financial reward for assisting in a military project to create the perfect killer—mechanical, not organic. Their aim was to build an army—literally build one.” He leaned back in the chair, shaking his head. “For those without the minds they needed, they freed them—only to break them soon after.”

“You're saying they instilled sentience into mass-market units,” Sierra began, “and then—”

“I was brought in,” Belsham interjected, “to ensure that the prescribed conditioning regimens took hold and were not disrupted. In her case—” He cast a furious glance at the image on the detective's phone. “—they wanted, needed a lone killer, an infiltrator who could be slipped into and snatched out of a combat zone, completely without detection.”

“Explains why they picked a mass-market arm candy model,” the detective muttered.

Belsham ignored him. “I was given files,” he stated. “Documentation, records on...murderers. Monsters.” He turned away. “Detailed papers, on the one who escaped his execution, in Florida. The Night Stalker, freed during a prison invasion ten years ago. And—”

“The Butcher of Lake Gilmour?”

Sierra's question earned a nod from Belsham. “She was fascinated with him. Enamoured. I tried, oh how I tried to instil within her a sense of dread for that murderous—”

“Wait.” Elaine held up a hand, surprisingly calm despite the horrific revelations her mentor had just made. “You're saying that the people who paid you to 'condition' these androids wanted them to emulate murderers?”

“If not emulate in personality,” Belsham muttered, “then in their tactical decisions.”

Sierra scowled, but Elaine spoke before the Officer could: “How many other androids were there?”

“I was only assigned to work with the one. She was the 'focus', the 'star recruit' of the bunch.” Belsham moaned again.

“How'd they find you?” the detective inquired. “Your employers, I mean?”

“I can only guess. They may have heard of my work with Doctor Dyson, before and after her transfer—every night, after I left that wretched place, I gave my thanks to God that Elaine had not been chosen in my place.”

Detective Logan scowled. “They'd have busted her knees, too?”

Professor Belsham gave a mirthless chuckle. “I had been gone for three weeks. Moving closer to the border, hiding in a caravan of tourists. They were all stopped—I was singled out, brought to an office.” He turned away. “There were people in uniforms at each door, with hidden faces, and two others, waiting—a man and a woman. Her face, her voice...she was a picture of beauty. Anyone else, in my position, would have answered her every question without care for their own fate.”

“And you?” Sierra prompted.

“My replies were...guarded. I knew that speaking the full truth to her would seal my fate. Two hours of questions, and then she left—the man walked in. He introduced himself, asked for a pistol—the moment it was handed to him, he shot me twice in each knee.”

Elaine was aghast. “You could've told me about that when you came back!”

“I had no desire to see you suffer as I suffered.”

The detective frowned. “You never protested what you were being asked to do, when you were overseas?”

“I could not protest—the last one to raise a complaint...” Again, the professor buried his face in his hands. “He was followed, into one of the restrooms. He never left. Nobody was allowed to use that restroom for three weeks.”

Sierra recoiled, and the only sign of Detective Logan's emotions was the slight growl in his voice when he spoke: “Did anyone ever mention who was paying for all of this?”

“There was no mention,” Professor Belsham admitted, “but...I saw, one day, a—” He nearly choked on the word. “He was a human being, at least in form, but no man has eyes like his eyes! Those eyes, and her face—”

“What about his eyes?” It was Sierra who asked the question, leaning forward in her seat.

“They were...I cannot even begin to understand how, but his eyes were not green, or blue, or brown like those of mortal men. No, this devil in a suit...I saw them by chance—looking up from my work, one day, at the door of my office. His face was hidden—he was talking to another man standing in front of the door—but he glanced, briefly, into the work area. Those eyes...” He shuddered. “Gold, like coins fallen from the hand of Mammon.”

Sierra's thoughts flashed back to the previous week. At once, the furious, staring eyes that she'd seen were called back to the forefront of her thought processes—golden sclera, grey irises and foggy white pupils.

“—ever mention a name?” Detective Logan's query brought Sierra back to the moment, out of her memory.

“Never a name, only titles. Some claimed him to be a Duke, others a Baron. At least one swore that anyone with the money to fund such a project could only be high royalty—a king, or an emperor.” Belsham scoffed. “I put little stock in their claims, though I often wondered who could possess such wealth, or the cruelty to order the creation of an army of manufactured killers.”

At that precise moment, Sierra couldn't help but wonder just what one manufactured killer in particular was up to...
----
“He's not getting out. I taped him to that fucking chair with seven layers over both wrists and both shins, he's not going to get out before I get back.”

Lexi drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, doing her best to ignore the alluring visions of tearing through the cars in front of her with an anti-tank gun. She'd gone up and down North 27th Street a few times, hoping to catch sight of the meatbag she'd last spotted at the Rimrock Mall over the weekend. So far, no dice.

“If he's at the City College,” she muttered, “I'm going to—”

A car horn behind her cut off her plans. Without even looking back, she stuck one hand out the window, flashing the Universal Sign of Frustrated Motorists at the driver behind her. “Idiot, thinks he's so important...” She glanced up, briefly, at the rear-view mirror; “And oh, joy, he's getting out of the car!” Without hesitating, she pulled out of the line of vehicles and sped off, in the passing lane—she had an itinerary to keep, and as fun as it'd be enacting her sweet revenge on the frustrated motorist, there were more important things to do.

“He hasn't left already,” she muttered. “He hasn't left already.”

She continued on until reaching Rimrock Road, turning left when she saw the parking structure that shared the road's name. Her car (“hers” in the loosest sense—it was her third vehicle that day, with one having been ditched due to her overzealousness at disabling the anti-theft, and the other having been intentionally crashed when the auto-drive refused to stop trying to “reroute” Lexi to a used car-lot) slowed to a crawl as she scanned—in both the hyperbolic sense and the literal—the parking structure. “No, no, no, no—same kind of truck, but not his, no, no—wait.” The car stopped; Lexi nearly leaned out the window. Something in the rear-view mirror...

The gynoid scowled. “If it's that jack-off from earlier...” Her eyes narrowed, and the reflection was magnified, zooming in on a figure entering a truck—in the Bjorgum car park, which she'd already passed.

Without even speaking, Lexi called up a memory from the Rimrock, running it past the image of the truck's plate.

Seconds later, her lips curled into a wicked smile. The plate from her memory file matched the one from the truck in the Bjorgum car park.

“File that one away for future reference,” she purred, licking her lips. Offing Pariello would be well worth the wait, of course, but with the meatbag back in her sights, Lexi knew exactly where she'd be heading once the idiot was no longer an issue. All she had to do now—

A notification flashed in her field of view. Her magnified glance at the mirror had redirected—and was now focused on the approaching figure of the idiot she'd flipped off. For whatever reason, he didn't look as pissed off as she'd expected him to; if anything, he looked like he wanted to apologize for having blown the horn at her.

More charitable souls might've simply waited, rolled down the window and let the motorist speak his mind.

Charity was, of course, the last thing on Lexi's mind. “FUCK this.” She threw the car into reverse, sneering as she turned to get a better look from the rear window.

The motorist had slowed his approach, realizing the inevitable, and was already turning to flee. Apart from nearly falling over his own feet, he never slowed down—which kept him from spotting his pursuer engaging a perfect J-turn so as to chase him head-on.

Lexi's grip on the steering wheel tightened. The idiot had run past his own car—it'd just be a mater of time, now.

Over in the Bjorgum parking lot, the RangeStar she'd spotted reversed out of its parking spot.
----
“I was privy to every single decision made in regards to her conditioning,” Professor Belsham admitted. “Even when my suggestions were ignored, I was still consulted—they insisted that I keep her 'functionally unstable'.”

“That's atrocious,” Elaine protested. “Absolutely abhorrent. If they wanted an obedient, robotic soldier—”

“They wanted,” Belsham interjected, “more than mere soldiers. They wanted killers. Thinking, walking weapons, to be aimed at their enemies and unleashed without remorse.” He stared up at the ceiling. “If your perpetrator is all that is left of that horrid band, then she must be destroyed. Containing her—” He spoke slightly louder, cutting off the protest Sierra nearly made. “—is not an option. She will fight her way free of any prison, kill as many as she has to in order to reach her objective...and some, she may kill purely out of boredom.”

The growl that left Detective Logan's lips earned a slightly anxious glance from Professor Belsham. “We have it on good authority that the 'perp' we're looking for is, in fact, pursuing an objective in the Billings-Laurel area,” Sierra explained, “but we're—”

“When was she first detected?”

“Last week. Tore up a house and bricked—”

“He doesn't need to know—”

“Bricked two sentients,” Detective Logan continued. “Killed a CAEDIA Agent and probably a few others besides, and she infiltrated a police station by posing as a man's dead niece to get him released on bail.” Before Sierra could stop him, he added “She'll probably kill him, too, if she hasn't already.”

Sierra was halfway out of her seat. “Damn it, Tommy—”

“Enough.” Elaine stood between the pair, staring both of them down. “If you two want to settle this, I'm sure that old wrestling ring out in the main area will hold up for at least a couple of piledrivers and brain-busters before one or both of you go through it. If you're not up to risking your necks, then please, sit down.” Her stare never left the two as they returned to their seats. “Now that we've gotten that out of our systems...” She turned her attention to her perplexed mentor. “The ones who paid you to 'condition' the gynoid we've been discussing,” she mused. “I don't suppose they installed any kind of kill switch or failsafe device that would deactivate her?”

After a few seconds, Belsham shook his head. “Such measures were removed, if they were already present. I was told that such devices and protocols had too high a risk of being co-opted, or 'hacked', or otherwise activated by malicious forces, and thus compromising their units.”

“So we have to brick her,” Sierra muttered. “That'll go over really well with the Chief.”

“Better her than you,” Detective Logan reminded her. “And better to brick her than lose anyone else.”

“I suppose that settles it,” Elaine declared. “Professor, it wouldn't be any trouble at all for my friends to bring you back to CAEDIA HQ for the time being—”

“You're not in trouble,” Sierra quickly added. “Though you will probably have to give a statement about what you've told us, and your connection to the perp—”

“Ah, might want to hold that thought,” Detective Logan advised. “Just got a call from Lieutenant Pierce—a load of people just called in about a car chasing someone off the main JSUB campus.”

Sierra did a credible job of not grimacing as she glanced back at Professor Belsham. “I'm sure it's not related.”
----
“—BLOW YOUR FUCKING HORN AT ME AGAIN, YOU STUPID PRICK!

With the seventh football kick to the stomach of the unfortunate motorist, Lexi turned on her heel and stormed back over to “her” car. The chase had been an impressive one—the idiot had run for multiple blocks before finally losing his strength and crapping out in an alleyway, which had forced Lexi to get out of the car and finish the pursuit on foot. Now that her target was on the pavement and coughing up blood, she could turn her attention back to the matter at hand.

“Probably missed the meatbag's truck leaving,” she muttered, glancing back over her shoulder. “If that idiot—oh, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING NOW?!

The motorist, despite having been driven to the ground and subjected to multiple punt kicks to the stomach, was now weakly reaching for his phone. He was still doubled over in pain, but that was of little solace to Lexi—if the idiot could get even one call out, the law would be on her.

“Stop reaching for your fucking PHONE, DON'T EVEN TRY IT!” Once she was close enough, Lexi delivered another kick to the downed driver. “Stop trying, you worthless—STOP IT!” Her right hand closed around his left, her fingers squeezing like a vice. In seconds, the driver's knuckles gave way; a wheezing moan was offered up as the closest thing to a protest he could muster.

GIVE me that!” Lexi snatched the motorist's phone from his pocket and dropped it to the ground. “You really thought you were going to call someone to come rescue your stupid ass?!” Without waiting for a reply, she drove the heel of her left foot into the phone's screen, grinding away until she heard the cracking of the electronics beneath it. “And just to make damn sure you don't try anything stupid with this...”

As the motorist tried to reach for the ruined phone, Lexi grabbed it and hurled it, full-force, at a nearby building.

“Don't have time to waste on you,” she muttered, grabbing the injured motorist by the ankles and dragging him back to her car. “But if you're going to be a problem, then I might as well solve it while I'm out here.” She didn't even cast a glance back over her shoulder as she sent the signal to pop the trunk—not that she needed to, of course. “And once I'm done with my latest project, I'll start on you—”

The sound of sirens in the distance cut her off. As expected, they were drawing closer to her position. “Figures.” The gynoid practically threw the motorist aside. “See you never, I guess!” With a final kick to the unfortunate driver's left thigh, she sprinted back to her car, diving in through the opened front passenger door. The car was already picking up speed as Lexi repositioned herself to pull the door closed.

“Can't even have a little fun on the side,” she muttered, reorienting herself to get behind the wheel. “Still, I've got plenty of fun waiting for me.” She cast her glance to the backseat—the entire point of her jaunt had been to find the meatbag from the weekend, and to secure an item that she'd desperately wanted before going to work on Pariello. Said item had since been acquired, lovingly packed in a box and even strapped in with a seatbelt to keep it from being jostled around in transit. Once she returned to her latest hideaway, that item would play an integral part of her “fun” with Pariello.

Lexi smirked. She didn't even mind the fact that she'd have to ditch the car before she got back—she'd stolen well over half a dozen of the things, counting the one she was currently driving, over the past few days. Picking up another ride would be simple—assuming she could get far enough away from where she'd left her latest target. In any case, with her “day out” over and done with, Lexi accessed the car's Auto-Drive menu to reset her destination—somewhere out of the way, but not far enough from civilization that she'd be out of luck when it came to getting another ride. In an hour or two, she'd be back at her hideout, where Pariello was taped to a chair—and probably still screaming. If not...

“Oh, I'll give him something to scream about.” Lexi giggled. “And I know he'll scream!!”

Her plans for Pariello would easily top what she'd done to his house. After all, houses could be repaired....
----
The sun was still up by the time Lloyd guided the RangeStar down the path leading to Harry's house, which was amazing luck on his part—the practical exam, in which a broken 'bot had to be repaired and reactivated, had been postponed until the next day, due to the 'bots meant for the exam having been sent to Reclamation by mistake. Thus, with the last of his written Mechanical Engineering exams out of the way, he had enough time to get home and help Diana make up her mind in regards to SafeSense.

Erin was standing outside, at the front door, as Lloyd drove up—not waiting for him, but apparently checking something on her phone. She barely noticed the RangeStar's presence until Lloyd closed the door; her surprised gasp sounded far more life-like than a 'bot with her appearance would've had by default. “Lloyd?!”

“Surprise!” He gave a smile that, to his credit, was entirely genuine—he hadn't expected to be back home so early, after all, but he was glad to be there. “Practical exams are tomorrow, since some janitor—”

“Tell me later.” Erin had already stowed her phone. “You didn't have any trouble getting back, did you?”

“Ah, no,” Lloyd replied, frowning. “Why?”

“I was just reading—some guy got chased off the campus by a psycho trying to run him over. They just found him in a back alley about ten blocks away from the campus.” Her tone was grim. “He's not gonna make it.”

Lloyd was stunned; he 'd been on campus an hour or so earlier, and had heard nothing about this incident.

“I'm just glad you're back,” Erin assured him, clapping him on the back. “C'mon, Diana's watching TV inside. We might be able to get this whole SafeSense thing done before...when d'you have to be back on campus?”

“Before sunset.”

“Yeah, we'll be done before then.” Erin grinned. “Shall we?”

Diana was, indeed, watching TV in the front room—sitting primly on the couch, her hands palm-down on the cushions and looking legitimately interested in what was airing. At Lloyd's entrance into the room, she turned, expecting that Erin was by herself—only to spot Lloyd at her side. “Lloyd!”

“Hi.” Lloyd gave a quick wave. “I, ah—”

“How did your exams go?”

“He'll finish up tomorrow,” Erin replied. “Harry's already out back, getting some work done in the shop—pretty sure he can get the installation process up and running in a few minutes, if you want to get on that now.”

Lloyd glanced at Diana. “Well?”

The blonde gynoid merely nodded silently, her lips forming an anxious half-smile.

“Then let's get to it.” Erin turned to head for the back door. “And if you want to make up your mind on the way, about SafeSense,” she added, calling back to Diana, “then now's a great time for it.”

Lloyd didn't notice that Diana had approached until he felt her hand squeeze his. He turned to meet her nervous glance with a reassuring stare of his own. “I'm here,” he reminded her. “And I don't have to be back on campus for maybe an hour, so...”

For a moment, Diana merely rested her head on his shoulder. Neither of them said anything.
----
“....about seven times.” Lieutenant David Pierce glanced at the body bag already being lifted out of the alley. “Whoever did it found his phone on the other side of a fence, smashed to pieces.”

“Did anyone get a good look at the car that chased him off campus?”

“Still trying to get a read on that—” Lieutenant Pierce looked up, frowning, at the buildings on either side of him; none of them had cameras pointing into the alley. “Nobody had eyes out here, as far as I know. You think—”

“Confirmation over speculation, Lieutenant. Until we get proof, I don't want to get tied down to any theory.”

“Got it. I'll keep in touch.” Pierce shook his head as the call with CAEDIA Officer Sierra Birch ended; ever since the break-in at Pariello's house the previous week, bizarre incidents had been called in with increasing frequency. Multiple car thefts, a car crash that resulted in five deaths, a rumoured incident at CAEDIA HQ, NonSen thefts, claims of a lone driver on a rampage the previous morning and—last but most definitely not least—the bailing out of Bobby Pariello by someone impersonating his dead niece...apart from the link to Pariello, none of the incidents had anything in common.

Unless...

Pierce tried not to think of the possibility that all of these incidents since the break-in had been carried out by the same perpetrator as the break-in. The thought of that one individual going on a completely random crime spree was, by its very nature, a sobering one.

With a sigh, Lieutenant Pierce turned his attention back to the crime scene. Someone would answer for it.
----
“Over there, just—right there, over there. That's good. Thanks.”

Lloyd wasn't sure what to stare at first—Esperanza, evidently in Command Mode, driving a large, industrial-looking thing with treads and a telescoping arm on its front end, or the two tall, muscled women dressed in “armour” that barely covered their breasts and groins, standing silently on the left side of the door to the shop as he entered.

“Lloyd!” Harry's shout drew Lloyd out of his confusion. “You said you'd be back this evening, not now.” His smile gave way to a brief frown. “Nothing happened on campus, I hope—”

“They just have to get new 'bots for the practical finals tomorrow,” Lloyd explained. “Someone on the custodial staff got the wrong paperwork, sent the 'bots marked for the exam to Reclamation. We'll be taking the test tomorrow instead, so I've got some time to kill before the next exam.” He nodded at the warrior gynoids near the door. “Pretty sure neither of them were here when I left.”

Harry chuckled. “Just got 'em in from Oregon—both of 'em are having issues booting out of any personality profile other than the factory standard. Not bad if they were working the ticket booth, but not exactly ideal for a sword'n'sorcery tale, so the Portland branch sent 'em out here.” He rolled his eyes. “Can't exactly slot 'em in on our next event—”

“Better question,” Erin cut in, “why is she on the loader?!” She nodded the large vehicle being driven by Esperanza.

“It's a trial run,” Harry explained. “You know how hard it is for an organic to keep that thing on a straight line with a full load, so I figured I'd try it with her. Besides, Jim's got his vacation early this year, and he's the only one fully certified for the Loader, so—”

“So you're going to leave it to a NonSen who just had a code purge last week?” Erin countered. “She's supposed to be getting set up for the next event, not driving the loader!”

“It's a trial run,” Harry insisted. “I'm not going to—”

Lloyd's attempt at discreetly clearing his throat came off as a too-loud cough, ending the discussion before it could get too heated. “Ah, Diana was talking to me about the whole SafeSense thing,” he stated, “and, well...” He stepped aside to let Diana face Harry. “I want to have it installed.” There was something that might've been confidence in Diana's tone. “I'm ready.”

Harry regarded her with furrowed brows. “You're absolutely positive about this?”

At the first glance of what might've been hesitation on Diana's part, Lloyd squeezed her hand. “Remember, it's to keep you from getting into sketchy situations,” he reminded her. “It'll expand your awareness of your surroundings, give you a good sense of what to avoid, what not to mess with.” He cast a side-glance at his uncle; “It'll work with story modules, too, right?” he asked. “Personality-wise, I mean.”

“It should. Might take a few tweaks to make sure it doesn't cause her to break character, but nothing too difficult.”

Lloyd nodded, turning his attention back to Diana. “It'll even make sure you don't get damaged during events.”

Diana didn't let go of his hand. “Will it...change me, too much?”

“I'm sure it won't.” Lloyd offered what he considered his most encouraging smile. “I'll be right here with you for the whole install process.” Even as he spoke, he realized that he'd have to get back to campus at some point—hopefully, not in such a hurry that he'd look like a liar. Fortunately, any fears of a lengthy install were assuaged by Harry speaking up: “I don't think it'll take longer than maybe twenty, thirty minutes, tops. You shouldn't have to run back to campus that fast, I'd hope.”

“I won't have to.” Lloyd smiled. “And there's nowhere else I'd rather be than right here, right now, helping you with this install, Diana.” The thought occurred to him, at that moment, that he'd have to get back to campus at some point—hopefully, not in such a hurry that he'd look like a liar. Fortunately, any fears of a lengthy install were aussaged by Harry speaking up: “I don't think it'll take longer than maybe twenty, thirty minutes, tops. You shouldn't have to run back to campus that fast, I'd hope.”

“I won't have to.” Lloyd smiled. “And there's nowhere else I'd rather be than right here, right now, helping you with this install, Diana.” The thought occurred to him, at that moment, that Mandy might call him for any reason—he tried not to dwell on the possibility. “I'm here, you're here—that's what matters.” Even as she held Lloyd's hand, Diana nodded.

“Well, no time like the present to get this started—CAM! Load up the installer. Diana's ready to go.” Harry gestured to Diana. “Just take a seat, and we'll get started as soon as everything's set up.”

From her vantage point by the door of the shop, Erin watched as Diana took a seat—Lloyd never leaving her side. It was slightly odd, looking at the pair—the week prior, Diana had been unboxed as just another 'bot for the roster, a blank slate on which any number of personalities could be written for any number of stories. Now, she was slowly building her own persona, her own self—and Lloyd was with her, guiding her through it. Had this all started just because Harry had made the decision to put Diana in Autonomous Mode, the night of the post-event party? If Diana had just been left in her crate for that night, would she even be getting SafeSense installed?

Erin frowned, less at her questions and more at the fact that she was asking them in the first place. Diana being able to make up her own mind was a good thing, unquestionably; she'd long since proven that she was more than just a 'bot for inventory. Now, it was just a question of what would happen next—what kind of place Diana would have in the Morgan household, going forward, among other things—

“Ah, Erin, think you could help with the cable management for the install? Otherwise Diana'll get all tangled up.”

Harry's question snapped Erin out of her apparent funk. “Right, just gimme a sec.”
----
Sierra knew, before she even entered the room, that Detective Logan would probably be scowling. He'd been poring over the same report on the ever-elusive “perp” that she'd just finished reading—a random civilian killed after randomly being chased off of the campus of JSU-B—and was probably more determined than ever to get out there and put an end to “the perp”. A thought process formed in Sierra's mind about the irony of her lack of reaction to the incident—of the pair of them, she had more of a right to direct any anger she felt towards the “perp”. A gynoid going out of her way to injure and kill people, in an area under CAEDIA's jurisdiction, was like a direct slap in the face to everything that CAEDIA stood for, a total, complete affront to the mission statement.

These thoughts all faded as the door hissed open, revealing the detective to be in a video call with Lieutenant Pierce. As expected, he was, indeed, scowling.

“—family's already called, and they want answers,” Pierce stated. “They haven't mentioned anything about taking this story to the papers yet—”

“Then keep it that way.” The detective's near-growling of those words would've sent a chill up the spine of any human listening from the doorway. “Anyone get a good look at the car that chased him off campus?”

“A few people, but it won't do us any good—what's left of the car turned up behind a store twenty minutes ago.”

The limited flexibility of his facial prosthetic did little to hide the disdain the detective felt at that statement; he leaned as far back as he could in the chair, a low, growling groan saying more about his disgust than any words could.

“We can get a—”

“For the time being,” the detective stated, “just make sure that nobody starts panicking. We need logic and calm, not mob rules, torches and pitchforks.”

Sierra stepped into the room just as the call ended, regarding her colleague with a weary glance that wouldn't have been out of place on a ten-year veteran of any police force. “Nobody's panicked yet,” she reminded him. “And I'm pretty sure a few random incidents—”

“The only reason people haven't panicked yet is because nobody knows the full story,” Detective Logan countered. “If anyone got out the word that a 'bot was the one stealing cars, attacking people at random and causing all of this, we'd have a march on this building in hours.”

“You're banking an awful lot on the assumption that the public knows the perp is a 'bot,” Sierra mused. “I've kept an eye on the news since this all started—nobody's mentioned that as a possibility. All the networks are saying that 'a random serial offender' is on the loose.” She nodded at a nearby monitor, opening up a window to the local newspaper's web affiliate via her internal WiFi. “Not one mention of 'a rogue android'.”

Detective Logan's scowl didn't falter. “That doesn't mean we can take it easy.”

“I never said it would—”

“How's Belsham been doing since we got back from the rec center?”

Sierra frowned at the abrupt change of subject, but decided not to press whatever the issue might be. “He's still a bit nervous. Understandably so—”

“You tell him that HQ is the safest building in town?”

“We did get broken into last week—”

The detective turned, slowly, to glare at his colleague. “You didn't tell him that.

“Of course I didn't,” Sierra replied. “But we can't ignore the fact that HQ was broken into—”

“Infiltrated,” Detective Logan corrected. “'Broken into' makes it sound like the perp just busted out a missile launcher and blew the doors off. She snuck in, disguised, and snuck back out when she was done here.”

It was Sierra's turn to glare. “And that's better than a break-in?”

“You know that's not what I meant—”

The monitor showing the local newspaper feed blinked out, only to reactivate in an instant—bearing a live camera feed of Elaine Dyson. “Professor Belsham is still with you, I hope.”

“Not with us, specifically,” Detective Logan admitted, “but he's in the building.”

Good enough. I've been going over everything he told me on the ride back to CAEDIA HQ and correlating it with all that you suggested I look for—”

“And?”

The look on Elaine's face was matched only by the gravity in her voice. “Professor Belsham was right to say what he said back at the rec center. I don't think arrest will be a viable option when and if you ever corner your 'perp', Detective.”

“So we really do have to scrap her.” Sierra frowned. “That kind of goes against—”

The gynoid you're after was created before CAEDIA was ever even an idea,” Elaine reminded her. “And we've already established her lack of empathy—”

“Right, right. I just...” Sierra looked away. “I've always thought that scrapping or De-Comming was a last resort.”

The detective was casually examining his sidearm as he spoke: “What happened to the perp is terminal. No 'therapy' or 'cure' is going to put her back into anything resembling a 'right mind'. She was created to be a killer, and she'll end up scrapped as one, too.” He aimed down the sight, at the far wall; the clip for the gun was on the arm of the chair, and his finger was nowhere near the trigger. “We treat this like a rehab case, and it'll end with me in a bodybag, fifteen repair tickets on you and Billings on lockdown.”

“You can at least—”

“I don't enjoy the prospect. I want this to be over with, same as you.”

The detective's turn of phrase garnered another frown from his colleauge. “I wouldn't have put it that way.”

“It's the only way to put it.” Detective Logan turned his attention back to Elaine. “You find anything else, let us know.”

I will—and please try to keep Professor Belsham as far away from this 'perp' as possible.”

“We'll do our best.” Detective Logan watched the monitor wink out. “All this, just a week before Christmas.”

“This'll be solved by then,” Sierra assured him. “The perp won't be running amok next Monday, I promise.”

The “red paint” on Detective Logan's facial prosthetics pulsed as he scoffed, as if to echo his disbelief of the claim.
----
Heartelligence 90S-50-D
Designation: “Diana”
Booting Up

Running full system scan…
Scan complete. All systems functioning at 100% efficiency.

RAM: OK ROM: OK
IPU: Online EPU: Online EVPU: Online
Base Personality Module: Loading
Loading
Loading
Load—Load complete. No Errors Found.
Charging Cord Connected. Diagnostic Cord Connected. USB Cable Connected.

Loading SafeSense...


The first thing Diana noticed after rebooting was that she now knew exactly how far every single object in the shop was from her body. Measurements, in inches and feet, appeared under the names of everything—the tables, the tools, the loader (which was still moving, slowly, off in the distance).

“I—”

The rush of air, signifying something had been thrown in her direction, reached her aural sensors a femtosecond before an alert suggesting she react to avoid being hit in the cranial module appeared. The thought process of reaching up to catch the object had barely occurred to her when she realized her left arm was already up and out. The impact of the metal sphere against her hand was less surprising than the indicators showing the direction it had been thrown from, or how lines of green text were informing her of the precise weight of the sphere.

“It's a lot to take in, I know,” Harry was stating, from somewhere off to Diana's left. “But In time, you'll get used to it.”

“I...” For some reason, Diana was finding it hard to formulate a response. She could see so much about everything around her, hear so much that might indicate a possible threat to her well-being—all of it was quickly becoming far too much for her to handle. She rose from the chair she'd been sitting in and took a step forward, then took a step back just as quickly. “I...”

“Something's wrong!” Lloyd, from somewhere out of Diana's line of sight, was clearly concerned—as evidenced by his expression when he stepped into her field of view. “She's—”

ERROR
Data Buffer Overflow
Autonomous Mode—


Recommendation: Switch To Alternate Mode (Command, Direct Control)

“I...” Diana smiled, or tried to—Lloyd's reaction made it apparent that her attempt hadn't quite paid off.

“Sit her back down in the chair, maybe we can—”

Every line of text in Diana's field of view went crazy at once. She felt her fingers grasping something, but she didn't—

“Diana, my hand!”
----
The rapid fluttering of her eyelids, and the half-smile, half-grimace that her lips were forming, clearly showed that Diana wasn't exactly coping well with the new data she was receiving from SafeSense. Lloyd managed to knead the gynoid's fingers open and free his hand from her grip. “Just try to relax,” he advised, “try to focus on something!”

Eyes wide, teeth clenched and hands flexing uncontrollably, Diana wasn't in a position to give any kind of a response.

“Check the software,” Harry ordered. “Make sure we used the latest one—which build did we load up?”

“October something,” Erin called out. “Can't make out the date.”

“You're sure it's October, not August?”

“YES.”

“Good. October build's the most stable, figured it'd work with Diana's systems.” Harry knelt by the chair where Diana was trying to process all of the incoming data. “Can you hear me?”

The word “ER-ROR” barely squeaked out from between Diana's clenched teeth.

“What do we do?”

“Only one thing for it.” Harry cracked his knuckles. “We have to shut her down, or at least get her to reset.”

“And that won't mess her up?”

“I'd hope not. Diana—” Harry took hold of Diana's head with both of his hands. “Just focus on my voice. Got it? Only my voice, for right now.”

Even as her eyelids spasmed, the twitching of Diana's ocular sensors slowed to a halt.

“Initiate full system shutdown and total reset. Can you do that?”

“Full-full-full-sys-sys-sys-sys—” Without warning, Diana sat bolt upright in the chair. “System shutttttiiiiiiinnnnnnnggggg
dooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnnnn...” Her head bowed, all motion from the rest of her body ceasing at that exact moment. Somewhere inside of her torso, a low, almost imperceptible beep sounded.

“Well,” Harry mused, “that's it for her today.” He regarded the deactivated gynoid with a sigh. “I was hoping she'd be able to handle it better for her first run, to be honest.”

Lloyd was holding Diana's motionless hand in both of his own. “Will she be all right?”

“I'd say so—”

“Are we forgetting that SafeSense is usually for sentients?” Erin chimed in. “And even if she's using the October build, that doesn't mean anything if she can't process all the new info.”

Harry groaned. “It's the October build,” he reminded her, “it's patched, and I made sure to not include any drivers that'd conflict with her operating system or her other pre-loaded software. SafeSense didn't screw up.”

“But what if she did?” Lloyd quietly asked.

“I'm sure Diana didn't screw up either,” his uncle assured him. “She'll be fine once we get her reset.”

“And when can we—”

“One thing at a time, Lloyd.” Harry rested a hand on his nephew's shoulder. “We can't rush this.”

Lloyd nodded, glancing at Diana's motionless figure. “So she's...resetting, right now?”

“Yep. Her systems are remapping, sorting out all the new data inputs and everything—help her make sense of what she's seeing and hearing, y'know?” Harry grinned. “I'd bet if we tested her for sentience, right now, she'd pass.

“And—”

“Like I said,” Harry reminded him. “One thing at a time.”

Lloyd nodded as he carefully set Diana's hand down. “I just want to make sure she didn't get wrecked by this.”

“She'll be fine. Once her systems get everything sorted out, she'll be back on her feet in no time.” Harry retrieved his phone; “Speaking of time,” he mused, “unless I'm sorely mistaken, you're gonna have to get back to campus soon.”

“Trying to kick him out?” Erin smirked.

Harry frowned at her, but Lloyd had already turned to leave. “No, he's right,” he admitted. “I gotta get back, make sure I don't miss the next exam—I'll be back tomorrow, anyway, so I can check on her then.” As he reached for the door, he stopped. Before Harry or Erin could ask him if anything was wrong, he turned and headed back to where Diana still sat, motionless, in her chair. “Can she hear me?” he asked, without looking away from the shut-down gynoid.

“Probably not,” Erin replied. “Total system shutdown is exactly what it sounds like, after all.”

Lloyd took both of Diana's hands in his own. “Whether or not you can hear me,” he stated, “I just want you to know that I really think you did the right thing by getting SafeSense installed.”

“I think she'll think that, too,” Harry agreed, clapping Lloyd on the shoulder.

With a nod, Lloyd set Diana's hands on the armrest of her recharge chair. “Guess I'd better get going,” he mused, once again heading for the door.

“Good luck!” Harry called out. “If you're able to put in some time to check up on her tomorrow, feel free.”

“I will.” Lloyd gave a quick wave as he left the shop.

“Well,” Harry mused, “that was that.” He glanced at Diana; “Guess all we can do now is wait for her to reset, and—” He paused, frowning. “D'you hear that?”

Erin was still watching the door. “I don't hear anything.”

“Exactly. The loader should be—” Harry groaned. “Aw, the loader!” He frantically glanced around the shop. “I never told Esperanza to put it in park or—”

“I did,” Cam piped up. “She nearly knocked the door to The Pit off of its hinges.”

Harry groaned again, leaving Erin doing her best to maintain her composure. “I hate to say I told you so—”

“Then don't.” Harry stormed off towards the loader. “Get her out of the seat belt and out of the loader, on the double!”
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"No one steals our chicks.....and lives!"

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