Chess
There was something about the sunlight that Dorian never quite understood. He could calculate the temperature and accurately predict increase or decrease of solar radiation within a point zero-zero-eight degree margin of error. The technical aptitude he possessed wasn't in question, but his sanity was.
The light in Rudy's lab, for example, wasn't particularly drab, not when compared to how most humans prefered their atmosphere. Sunlight peeked through windows high above the ground, never really touching any part of Rudy, but still managing to bring a shine to some of his work and his equipment. Electromagnetic radiation should not have that effect on anyone, but somehow, for Rudy, it did.
"Have you ever played a game of chess, Dorian?"
Rudy asked. He hadn't.
"I have," he lied, deducing that a lie in this situation would make Dr. Lom happier and more at ease. Dr. Lom recognized it as a lie, of course, after their first match concluded. As it turns out, chess was not just a game of evaluation and strategy, but about reading your opponent. For that, Dorian needed something he felt he could never have—the understanding of the human persona.
"Well, the way I've always seen it," Rudy said, pointing to the holographic game board first, then raising a slender finger to tap the edge of his eye socket. "It's not the board you're supposed to look at, or even the pieces. It's the eyes. You can win just about any game of chess if you already know what the other player's thinking."
Dorian smiled—by now that was a reflex, and he liked it. He actually only ever smiled when he was with Detective Kennex or Dr. Lom. Strange. Was that an operating glitch, or adaptive human behaviour?
"So, can you tell what I'm thinking, Dr. Lom?" he joked, suspecting a negative answer. If the eyes were indeed the 'door to the soul', as some humans believed, then he could never be 'read'.
"Oh, sure I can," Rudy responded, leaning back and reaching for a magnetool: his surgeon's scalpel, as it were. The lanky robotics engineer playfully brandished the tool towards him across the board. "Here, allow me to demonstrate!"
As Dorian's smile widened into a grin, he reflected on an internal driver the nature of this conversation. Rudy performed a different social routine when they were alone, as opposed to the times when Detective Kennex or another human was present. His official file with the police department stated that his elevated intelligence drove him away from people. Dorian suspected the true reason was that Dr. Lom could, in fact, 'read' androids such as himself with very little difficulty, whereas he could not begin to fathom the peculiarities of human interpersonal relationships.
So in that case, he and Rudy had a lot in common.
Had a lot in common.
It was during a case that Dorian learned first-hand the complexity of human fragility.
The FX-01 android model was dangerous. Even so, that description failed to do it any justice. The model was unique, custom-built to tailor specific, gruseome roles in the world of premeditated murder and designed for a sole purpose—to destroy other androids.
As such, it wasn't classified an 'assassin' in the department's records, but a high security risk item. It was treated and transported with the same amount of care and indifference as one might expect for a bomb or a deadly virus. The FX-01 was a weapon that had the potential to cause collateral damage with minimal risk to human life.
No matter its classification, it was a very good thing that it was currently lying inactive on Rudy's work station. Its programming core had long since been removed and carted away by security professionals to allow the doctor to operate, as it were.
"Don't tell me it's not that simple, Rudy, because it really, really is!" Kennex was yelling.
"I've told you, I'm sorry, but while yes, I can remove the specific data from Dorian's memory, that it won't do any good," Rudy was explaining to Dorian's partner, and was struggling to hold his composure in front of the overbearing detective. "Once the FX-01 series has its target grafted to its objective programming, they won't...stop until either its target, or all of the FX-01's are destroyed."
"There are five of these things in the streets, and they all want a piece of Dorian. What do you wanna do then, Rudy? Lock him in a metal box? Put him into protective custody? You're supposed the be the android expert here, so tell me what we're supposed to do."
"Rudy," Dorian interjected, knowing full well that if he didn't, John might bully him right out of the concentration he needed. "Is it possible to use this FX's global locator algorithm to locate the other five androids?"
"Yes and no." Dr. Lom made a wise decision to avoid eye contact with Kennex as he said that. Still somewhat hunched over, he turned to hover over the lifeless killing machine's open chest plate. Very delicately, he pulled a very small object from the components inside its torso and held it in front of his face with his pliers. "This used to be the relay which decrypted the location data the FX-01's use to track each others' movements. The shot that deactivated this FX also obliterated it—it would take months just to crack the first layer of security, so...um," he continued, looking subdued under Kennex's hard stare. "No, the short answer is...no."
John Kennex whirled away from the doctor and began to pace, his fingers pinching his forehead—a gesture that Dorian speculated would precede another outburst.
It wasn't just John's concern for his safety, Dorian knew, though that thought in itself was flattering in a way he couldn't quite describe. His partner had experienced a difficult event in his life which involved another, similar android several years ago. No one would fault him for being more aggressive in this situation, but that did not mean Dorian condoned it. It would only serve to make John lose focus, which he desperately required right now.
Finally, Detective Kennex spun on his heel to face Rudy again, his face taut with misdirected fury. "Is there anything in that garbage pile that can help us wipe out the other five?"
With a sigh, Rudy put down one of his tools and gently wiped his hands on his apron, which was already streaked with grease and bluish liquid. "This FX is completely inoperable without its power module; even if there was some sort of 'holy grail' to be obtained from it, there's no way to safe—"
It was so fast. It should have been easy to spot—a heat signature, a twitch of movement, perhaps—but Dorian missed it. It was already too late when the blood appeared on Rudy's lips.
The FX-01 pulled the long screwdriver out of Rudy's lower back in a slow, deliberate motion. Dorian was supposed to see that, and take practical notice of Detective Kennex's shout of fury and move to draw his sidearm. A mere 2.219 seconds had passed, but Dorian's eyes were malfunctioning, unable to leave Rudy's pale, shocked face as it careened towards the floor.
It was the gunshots that woke him. Bullets ricocheted off the FX's chassis as it launched itself at Dorian. The screwdriver, slick with blood, was 6.15 inches from the DRN's face when Dorian finally reacted, seizing the other android's wrist in mid-swing and twisting with 98% of his full strength. That output was triggered by emotion. The FX's arm splintered like a twig.
John emptied a full clip into the killer's metal skull, obliterating the exposed artificial brain, and dropping it to the floor.
For a time Dorian considered very unorthodox, he could only stand there, clutching the FX's forearm. Faintly, he recorded that the synthetic skin of the murderous hand was glistening red. Highly unusual, since the lubricants for any highly functional -X series were blue, so where had—
And then his mind played back the events of the past five seconds. Followed by five seconds he could not remember. Followed by a minute he wished he could forget.
"Rudy. Rudy, focus on me," John's voice was reprimanding, harsh, but a malfunctioning crack in it emerged on the word 'focus'.
Dorian could see. Even though there were paramedics on their way, he knew that no doctor, human or synthetic, could repair the damage done by a mechanically accurate stab wound through the spleen and lungs. Not in time.
Dorian knelt, vaguely wondering why servos in his knees felt numb, as though experiencing a major glitch. He observed his partner's vain attempts to stave off the inconvenient imperfection of life below him. Rudy's eyes danced, searching frantically for whatever his 'focus' was, his throat pulsing and gulping with effort to inhale through his saturated lungs.
"Breathe, Rudy," John ordered him. "That's all you have to do; forget everything else. Just breathe and stay with me."
MX's were already bursting into the lab from the southern entrance, filing in and taking up positions around the fallen killer android. They focused their attention on it, not on Dorian or John and least of all Rudy. No concern for the human dying in another human's arms, because their programming determined priority until every threat could be confirmed neutralized by a human in charge. These were the same MX's that Rudy had spent hours repairing, tweaking to perfecting, polishing and upgrading in order to better protect their human partners.
And for the MX's own safety, of course. Rudy was like that.
"Mem-" Dr. Lom's voice choked, sounding wet and hoarse, but the worn lines on his face seemed even more determined to get his message out. His wiry fingers clasped John's sleeve in a ball, and he barely coughed, "Memories."
It's the eyes.
Rudy's eyes were open as he died, staring into empty space. For a split second, Dorian was sure he could see life, just for a fraction of a moment before it flickered out. John reacted as though something had left his body, too. His face looked waxy, beaten, and full of disbelief. Silence fell. And stillness.
Rudy's finger stretched out and gently knocked over the holographic king on their chess board. "That's that, I suppose."
"You're not taking your first loss very gracefully, Dr. Lom," Dorian advised him.
"Neither are you, Dorian."
Dorian's arm froze in mid-reach for the holographic 'reset' button. "Excuse me?"
Not for the first time he'd observed, Rudy sighed and looked characteristically uncomfortable, fidgeting with the pockets on his apron as he slowly brought the words up. "It's...very human, to...to grieve. In fact, I'd say that, that's probably the main reason why the DRNs were deactivated. No one gave them the chance to...to cope."
This conversation was not the one Dorian expected. In fact, it was completely impossible. This was another malfunction in his processor of some sort—perhaps he'd replayed this memory too many times. No other explanation existed.
"Look, the FX-01 killed me because I was in the way. But I've been inside your head, and you're probably blaming yourself, and...and you really shouldn't."
Dorian could only gaze at him, trying ineffectively to process this change in procedure.
"Memories, Dorian," Rudy told him, leaning forward over the holo table. "This is going to sound...terribly cliche, but look inside yourself. That's...that's what memories are there for. You have to, um...let go. Stop trying to beat me at chess."
The DRN sat across from an empty chair, in the empty lab he called home. It had been empty for many days now. Dorian almost shut down the virtual memory, fearing his mind was getting corrupted by the same virus that had doomed all DRNs to the same fate. It was his fourteenth replaying of this particular memory, one of hundreds he'd recovered from a drive given to him by Rudy himself. Memories of a time long before his reactivation, when a single DRN and a very lonely scientist defied the misunderstood perception of society and became fast friends.
But this wasn't the same memory.
Rudy's face lifted into a rare but friendly smile, and then he was gone, leaving behind a new memory for Dorian to reel over. The holographic king piece still lay flat on its side, flickering slightly as the dusty air wafted across the table.
He no longer cared if he was malfunctioning, or simply undercharged. He'd learned so much about humanity and mortality from Rudy. It was a hard lesson, but he was going to cope.
And maybe teach John how to play chess.