It had been two hours since he was there and the door was still closed.
There was no locking system, no keypad: it was just a simple wooden door, and Conrad could force the handle, something was still blocking access to the other side. It must have been three centimeters thick, only pine, a panel that could have broken with its fists but as long as there was no danger, the RK900 was not allowed to destroy anything.
Surrounded by archives, relics of old years, Conrad was thinking. It had sent messages to Detective Reed's computer but of course his partner had not come. Standing, it began to analyze the surroundings: the narrow room contained many boxes that kept complete records of business dating since 1970, sorted on metal shelves or directly on the floor. But the only door was in front of it and it was closed.
Officer Chen had pretended that the handwritten data had to be entered into the computer database, a project that had been repeatedly postponed and, as things were quiet for the moment, Gavin had asked the android to help her colleague. By the time it had seized a box, she had turned and now, it was stuck in this situation.
If Officer Chen or Detective Reed do not came back and check, Conrad was not sure another officer would come and help it. At least, it had about two hundred and sixty hours of battery left.
All of a sudden, Conrad heard a noise on the other side and the door opened on a PM700, one of the models which took care of the secondary duties at the police station. Dressed in a policeman's uniform, the female-shaped android gave the RK900 a brief gaze and headed for one of the boxes, 1992 written on it with a felt-tip marker. Finally free, Conrad did not hesitate to leave, then it noticed the presence of a chair outside: a joke as stupid as old. But the Android's LED kept its blue shades and Conrad felt no sense of anger.
Straight, the RK900 was crossing the hallway, heading for the detective's office. But it did not settle down right away. Hands crossed in the back, the android looked at its partner, frowning.
"Detective, I sent you messages."
"Why?"
Gavin was focused on his cell phone, scrolling through the news-feed. The RK900 looked around it but Officer Chen was no longer there.
"Because I was locked in the premises."
Its response made him laugh, therefore he finally raised his eyes with an affected pout:
"Really? I saw nothing, sorry. But well, you haven't missed anything, don't worry."
"It isn't about missing something or not, detective, but you have to let me fulfill my duties."
"What duties? You can stay in this premises for five years anyway, you'll never be useful for anything. I don't need you."
"So why did you ask to work with me?"
The detective was not laughing anymore. His jaw clenched, just like his fists, ready to hit.
"So you can suffer as much as possible. You're going to have a fucking hard time, tin can."
The tin can rested its hands on the edge of the desk:
"I'm an android, detective, that means I'll never hurt a human being, but I can defend myself if necessary. So let me work."
"No," Gavin regained a carnivorous smile, "it would be too easy and obvious to damage you. I'm just going to piss you off so much, your program will become degenerate and CyberLife will call you back to destroy you. They always do that with their failures."
"Do you often treat your colleagues this way?"
"You're a machine, I've no qualms to get you locked up again in a premises if it leads you to be dismantled piece by piece."
Always leaning towards the human being, the android preferred to ignore this little game: to reason its partner was the best solution for the moment.
"It's true, detective: I'm just a machine, so why do you hurl yourself at it? You could simply ignore me as you ignore the coffee machine when you aren't thirsty."
"I don't mind the coffee machine since it never tried to kill anyone." Conrad tried to understand this hint of sarcasm, but could not. "Your predecessor was a major-league asshole, and if we had reacted right away, we would have avoided a lot of shit. So now, I take the lead."
Upon these words, the detective got up and headed for the staff room. The RK900 straightened up and, far from being worried by Gavin's threats, thought about the hints that escaped it.
Since it was Gavin's teammate, the RK900 was still trying to glean information about this curious human, giving data to its social program. And thanks to a bad habit, which was letting his cellphone lying around, the detective was unknowingly exposing the screen saturated with notifications to the analyzes of the android. Amsung, the streaming platform, regularly informed the user of the latest hits in crime movies and series, and thrillers, the detective's job stretching even further into his personal life. Conrad also saw which music Gavin was listening to when he had his headphones and turned his back on it. Nowadays, the Poets of the Fall's 30-year-old album was on loop, perhaps to match the season. One day, according to the pedometer, the RK900 had deduced that the police officer was getting back into running, a detail that may coincide with the restrictions with his smoking habits.
It noted as well the presence of Norwegian hairs on its colleague's clothes, just like his taste for coffee associated with chaotic eating habits. Comparing with photos from two years ago, the android realized that Gavin was once a bit more sturdy, while today he was skinny. Since it had a program with altruistic codes, the RK900 reminded the detective to eat, but each time, the answer was the same: "fuck off".
Despite the information gathered and the profile defined, four weeks passed and the smallest approach always failed, any conversation started collided with great hostility. Worse: the conflicts were growing. Gavin Reed did not hurt it, he did not do anything violent or too obvious, but he was mainly trying to slow down the RK900 and put it away, literally and figuratively, in a closet. Simple machine, Conrad could only call him to order.
The days passed and the social program of the android became more and more obsolete. In fact, Gavin was not the only one to be so cold: all the other police officers showed the same animosity towards it. Conrad knew that the presence of androids could be uncomfortable for humans, but it went well beyond that: this rancor was aimed at it, because of its face and its name, similar with Connor. Yet this hate did not cause it any harm: even if Gavin tried to tear its arm apart, the RK900 would not feel the slightest pain.
Conrad had seen Florent le Dantec again, hearing the smutty songs of a country he had never visited. Quiet, the android never attracted the drunkard's attention and, obeying Reed's orders, it let the detective intimidate this regular. In addition to Florent, the RK900 had met other well known visitors who shared Detroit's day-to-day lives, such as the couple who was always been arguing, and the death threats followed the declarations of love once they were in cell. There was also this old lady, a certain Mrs. Carlson, who maintained that a police officer had been brutal with her but her description did not correspond to any agent, so she left before coming back three days later, certifying that she had never been to this police station.
In this tense and tiring atmosphere, the police officers formed a tight team, especially since the death of one of them. They used to joke, offered coffee, remembered that they were present for each other under the distant gaze of the android. In the meantime, it social program was rusting—
A few weeks ago, Conrad would have asked the detective what he had planned for his birthday, but it just kept quiet. Gavin would be turning thirty-seven the next day and he had no intention of staying in Detroit for the event, so he had took his Friday off to go to Milwaukee and see his family. The RK900 knew it thanks to the conversations slipping around him.
And when Gavin rose, greeting his colleagues who wished him a pleasant weekend, the machine just addressed a polite good-bye to the policeman with an automatism, a plain reflex, continuing to examine the reports of the vagaries of the city.
A little later, Officer Chen arrived breathless and looked at his friend's empty office.
"Gavin has already leave?"
Ah, finally a word that did not include a withdrawal order. More machine than ever, sitting at the next desk and looking at the screen of records, The RK900 gave a succinct answer:
"Detective Reed left eight minutes ago."
"Shit."
Alone and facing the RK900, Tina hesitated. The android could have asked her why she was looking for her colleague, but it just stared at her, waiting for the officer to speak. It no longer launched any initiative to open any hostility. Obsessed with its machine condition, the police had forgotten that the RK900, like its predecessor, had been endowed with expressions, but it no longer used them. Maybe the officer became aware of it now, facing those hard-to-support steel eyes. It was not so much the color, it was their hardness and lack of emotion. It was so funny to make fun of the android at first, but it kept an admirable coolness that made it hateful. Tina was still wondering why this plastic automaton had exactly the same face as the last one. Was it Connor under another identity? Did the machines only have an identity?
She shook her head quickly and crossed her arms, unable to support those gray eyes. It must have been a talent reserved for Gavin.
"Something has happened on Gratiot Avenue. A complicated car accident, the on-site team needs a detective to supervise and Fowler asked me to warn him—"
"When did Captain Fowler warn you?"
Its question vexed the officer who turned livid.
In fact, the RK900 was not blaming her: it was six forty-three in the afternoon and the android saw on the detective's cell phone he had reserved for a movie, a remake of Se7en, which would start at eight o'clock. The film lasted exactly two hours and fourteen minutes. The android needed to establish when the accident was reported and whether he could detain the detective, or Gavin would not be notified in time.
"A quarter of an hour ago."
The android stood up: Gavin came to work by car so it could not catch him up.
Officer Chen did not give the slightest details, but dealing with car accidents was not part of the detective's duties, either the RK900's ones, which was originally supposed to be assigned to a lieutenant. If a detective was asked, then it was not just an unfortunate story.
On its way, after entering the address of the detective on the GPS available in the vehicle, the android remembered a detail: the reservation concerned two places. The detective had no alliance, or even the imprint of an old marriage on the ring finger. The RK900 simply thought his teammate was seeing someone. Spoiling a duo evening was not a problem: the mission was more important and as soon as a job came up, the RK900 took care of it.
The days were much shorter, inviting to sleep and to exile into sweet tranquility, far from the artificial suns that illuminated Detroit after dusk. After inventing fire to repel the terrifying shadows of the night, humanity needed flamboyant lamps, mesmerizing neon lights, billboards as tall as buildings, personalizing the world with these living glimmers which were slipping over the stoic face of the android. If Connor's eyes were warm, Conrad's were ice-cold, limpid enough to accommodate blues, pinks and purples shades from the crowded streets despite the autumn breeze. And none of those bright colors lit up a spark of life. The machine did not feel anything and it was a good thing: a colleague who had suffered so much bullying would have returned home while caressing the dream of being transferred. But the RK900 had no apprehension or nervousness, and when the taxi parked on the sidewalk shriveled by the building where the detective lived, it was determined to drag Reed around and know the details of this accident.
The apartment of its teammate was on the fifth floor. A modest height compared to the one the android remembered when the mechanisms of its program were launched. From the forty-first floor of the CyberLife Tower, the RK900 had a breathtaking view of the city it was going to serve; the huge towers measuring themselves to its big projects. Finally, the best prototype had fallen very low: the lieutenant was on sick leave, forcing it to work with a detective, a police officer with two ranks less, and rather than overhanging Detroit, he wandered in the arteries of the capital of android technology.
Its finger pressed the square button next to a small black screen where digital letters wrote "G. Reed". The android heard the ringing on the other side and waited until the door opened on a young woman with doe eyes.
"Yes?"
Fathia El Harbi, born May 2, 2009 in Detroit, arrested six times for active solicitation between 2028 and 2036, became an informer for the Detroit police in January 2038.
The RK900 did not understand why it met this prostitute at its colleague's home and, without forgetting to introduce itself, it elaborated some theories that it could confirm later:
"My name is Conrad, I'm the android working with Detective Reed. Is he at home?"
"Nice to meet you, I'm Fathia," the young woman held out her hand, so Conrad shook it, obeying the rules of politeness. "He's taking a shower, but you can wait in the living room."
Her lips, faded roses, drew a quiet smile, even engaging when she stepped aside to invite it. The android then crossed the threshold and heard the sound of water from his left, at the end of a corridor. Before entering the living room, it glanced at Fathia's clothes. Plum jeans and a thick black sweater to protect herself from the first caresses of October. Her hair smelled of lilac and her eyelids were covered by a golden gloss. It was the only makeup she was wearing, but Conrad knew right away that she was ready to go out, especially since her coat and purse were on a small piece of furniture in the hallway. She was the second reservation.
As it stood in the middle of the living room, between the couch and a TV stand, unsure of where to stand, Fathia sat on the armrest of an old chair, hands clasped and fingers entwined. She looked at it with curiosity but without staring.
"Something happened?"
"Yes."
"May I know?"
"No."
Like a child, she nodded, understanding. Conrad expected her to get up and warn Gavin, or to go for another occupation, just like the cat was circulating from one point to another, focused on his own priorities, which were summed up to eat, sleep and observe.
Instead of flight, Fathia continued to detail it with curious kindness. The living room lamp carved the profiles, mimicking the rays of dawn to dig cheekbones, cheeks and play with shadows. Suddenly, Fathia observed:
"Your eyes are very beautiful."
It was the first time Conrad had heard a compliment on its person. Its LED let out a yellow flash, a curious sign, and it inclined its head slightly:
"Thank you, miss El Harbi, my developers have applied themselves on my appearance and will be delighted to know that they have chosen a beautiful shade for my eyes."
The flattery was secondary to the RK900, since it was mainly a reward for the technicians who had taken care of its appearance. The lips of the android tried to stretch to make a smile, readmitting an expression slow to start. Simple mimicry. Or maybe a thank you for this first sweetness he discovered.
It was seven four when Gavin entered in his living room, his hair still wet, and spat his first insult to Connor's face, which was now Conrad's.
"What are you doing here? Your place is at the police station, not in my home!"
"I'm sorry, detective, but Captain Fowler needs you on Gratiot Avenue. There was a car accident around half-past six."
"A car accident? Do you think it's part of my job to take care of bumper cars?"
The RK900 was expecting this response and quickly stated that curious details required the presence of a police officer more senior than those already on place. Gavin glanced at Fathia: he had not planned anything else besides a good time for tonight. Shit, he has his week-end free!
"That bastard." Conrad thought the insult aimed at it, but Gavin was speaking to his guest. "Do you remember when I said I was applying for the rank of sergeant? I'm sure he's doing it on purpose. If I don't go, I won't have it, if I go, he'll ask me for other tasks, this grade as a carrot."
"Then you have to go." Crossing his arms, he greeted this advice with a scowl. "Gavin, half the people of Detroit are unemployed. You've a good place and you've the chance to be promoted. We can go to the next session."
Fathia had to stay in the detective's car. On the dashboard, the time indicated that it was seven twenty-two: the time was not against them and the young woman, quiet, watched the duo went towards the scene of the accident.
The road had been blocked and some vehicles had already been moved.
"So, what's going on?"
There were five policemen who had been busy with the traffic since one hour. An ambulance has driven to the hospital two persons seriously injured by a projectile, which had fallen on the hood of a car belonging to a university professor.
"A projectile? A big projectile?"
"Rather: it was a child."
Gavin jumped. The RK900 collected carefully all information, all impressions, as well as the structure of the place, the potential witnesses. The policeman went on:
"Well, a child— That's what we thought, that's why the accident created such a panic: it was an android, one of these children models, you know. But you can imagine why the teacher freaked: he was rolling quietly and a thing with a head, two arms and two legs smashed on his bumper. He thought it was a seven-year-old who had just killed himself on his car and, scared, he stupidly made a turn, bumping into two other cars.
"The teacher was hurt?"
"Yes, well, it's less serious than the other one who was a pedestrian, but they're both at the hospital and in a shocked state, I think. The teacher will have trouble recovering"
"And the android?" The RK900 wondered where that projectile was, but Gavin snapped his tongue and glared at it. The machine was assisting him, yes, of course, but it did not give it the right to speak.
"It exploded in pieces: we found the head a dozen meters away but it looks like a burst balloon, everything is certainly broken."
"But where did it fall from? Nobody asked for it?"
"No, that's the oddest: according to a witness, it fell from one of the windows of the hotel right there." The agent pointed to the proud building. Without even having to count them one by one, Gavin estimated that there must be around forty floors and the colleague almost pointed to the roof. "We interviewed the staff but no one remembers receiving a customer who had such a model, and it was two hours and there's still no complaint."
Gavin shrugged, remembering to watch the time. The session was about to start in twenty minutes and he had on his arms a robot left in pieces and two wounded already taken care of. The witness had already said everything but perhaps he was wrong: the android could have fallen from any building after all.
"Maybe it was one of those deviants and the owner tried to get rid of it discreetly. It isn't an emergency, we keep it in reserve and wait if someone comes to recover, still it would surprise me. If you can have the serial number, ask CyberLife for the owner's name so we can send him a fine for garbage on the street and endangered."
"Got it, detective."
"Detective," the android said, "maybe we should do more research at the hotel now. It's very big and the fall of the android was about an hour and forty minutes ago, maybe the right person hasn't been questioned yet. We could go and inspect the rooms and—
"Shut it, Connor."
"Conrad."
"You could be named toilet broom or Empress Sissi, I don't care. You already had the audacity to come to my home while I'm on vacation. It's already unbearable to see your face, if in addition you come to drag it in my living room, maybe you'll jump too from my window.
"From a fourth floor, the result would be less convincing and another model would replace me, detective."
Gavin did not let it finish; he turned on his heel and returned to his vehicle. Leaning against the door, Fathia waited, intrigued by the event.
"So?"
"So nothing, Fowler made me waste time, that's all."
"But nothing serious?"
"An android fell from a window and hit the car of a guy who just wanted to go home. As it was a child model, the driver thought he had just killed a child. A pedestrian was caught in the delirium and they're both at the hospital."
"That's horrible!"
Gavin was already settling down, but her friend was still on the sidewalk, watching the scene from afar. She had always been sensitive. Her profession embraced infidelity and invited fear in her daily life, yet Fathia could be moved so easily.
"Are we leaving or do you want to stay there?"
"Gavin! It's weird, can't you do something? Android kids are adopted for sentimental reasons, not to do the dishes, we don't throw them just like that."
"And what do you want me to do, Fathia? Analyze the traces of blue blood to find out in which direction the arms and legs flew? I don't care! It's a machine! A piano or a washing machine would have fallen on the road, it would have been the same! A dumb-ass dropped it and he'll pay for the repairs of the car he damaged, that's all!"
Conrad remained silent near them. It kept a certain distance with the detective's car, asserting its need to stay and investigate. The lady of the night was right: androids rarely fell from the sky, especially a child model, and the RK900 would have liked to recover what was left of the machine. There might have been some remnant of information, a clue of unknown events, something that a human would not be able to perceive.
"So whoever threw the android is guilty! Don't you want to stop him right away? Or maybe you'll give him two weeks off before he receives a court summons?"
"Perhaps the android has passed over the rail, these machines are so dumb, look at their revolution last year! They were over thirty and they all fell in front of the same fucking robot!"
"Who cares? A child fell—"
"It was a machine, Fathia. A fucking machine that will be replaced by another CyberLife prodigy."
Fathia suddenly lowered her voice and her head, disappointed. Gavin wanted her to forget about this event: they had planned a nice evening and he had more than five hours of driving tomorrow, so he did not want to argue.
"Hey, the movie starts in about ten minutes, we still have time to see it."
The young woman sighed and kept her arms crossed. Anger still died so fast in this huge heart, while in Gavin's one, that feeling seemed to feed on the little flesh it might found, nibbling constantly for months and months.
"I don't understand, Gavin. You want the rank of sergeant but sometimes, the laws pass completely over your head."
"So maybe I should nick you for working last night? How many customers did you have? Five?"
"You're really stupid when you're acting like that, Gavin."
In response, he slammed the door and started the car, leaving the prostitute and the android to go home. Fathia began to nibble her lips and suddenly opened her bag to look for a handkerchief that she lifted to her eyes. She had to dry those pearls of tears before she really started crying.
Gavin had never attacked her about her job, especially since he knew that she was so rigorous about the question of hygiene and her principles. But he also had this immaturity to strike the weak points, even if he regrets it later.
"I don't like arguing with him." She was not speaking alone: Conrad was still there, staring at the rear lights, which were diminishing to match heads. "There's no middle ground with Gavin: he can be a love or an ass-hole."
The android was silent. Without allowing itself to judge its teammate, it certainly had noticed this attitude: the friendship attitude with Officer Chen or the execrable behavior for the robot, the playful kid jokes or the most virulent insults.
"Will you walk with me back home?" The RK900 was surprised by this request. "But maybe you have schedules at the police station?"
"Even if it was the case, nobody would pay attention. Do you live far away?"
"A quarter of an hour, I think."
The tip of her nose was starting to turn red so Conrad started soon following her. Very quickly, she put her arm around his, walking side by side in the gray avenue, their steps tapping against the sidewalk that reflected a thousand lights.
"I didn't know your name is Conrad." Fathia suddenly observed, letting the android guess that if Gavin had spoken of it, it was not in the best terms.
"I didn't know that detective Reed had sympathized with an informer and invited her to go to see a movie."
She laughed, nervous. Fathia suddenly wondered if the machines had a sense of confidence.
"We never choose our friends. Do you want to know how Gavin and I started to sympathize?" Conrad nodded. The robot had never managed to mollify the detective so it was curious to know how this evening flower had managed to approach him. "Actually, it's pretty stupid: I started giving police news early last year. People often think that human prostitution no longer exists because of places like the Eden Club, but we still have a lot of work in the industry. A pimp began to become dangerous and with some friends, we managed to make him fall."
"Detective Reed took your statement?"
"No, well, yes. Not the first time actually, a pretty nasty chick took it. I didn't ask her to cry for us, but at least she could have shown some compassion, a bit of humanity." The word sounded strange for the RK900 and it tried to understand what the young woman was trying to say. "I had to come back and luckily, as she had fallen ill, Gavin was replacing her. He took my statement and we laughed because I made a reference to Millenium, an old Norwegian book."
"The novels by Stieg Larsson? He was Swedish."
"Oh yes, sorry!" She was so spontaneous, so frank. Her way of apologizing for such a futile detail encouraged Conrad to smile. A sore smile, barely hemmed, but its mechanical muscles seemed to relax despite the cold. "Finally it made him laugh and the conversation drifted more than once. He had a report to record so we had to be serious again. Whenever I had information to give, I asked for Gavin to take care of it."
"Would you say Detective Reed is more human?"
"I think nobody's more human than Gavin. When we know the pain, we become irreparably human."
Fathia really thought so: just like humanity, Gavin could be capable of the worst as well as the best. His remark had hurt her, but she remembered how his skinny arms rocked her during the saddest nights, how he wrapped her in the sheets for laughing, protecting her.
The android understood that the story was not finished yet. It felt the embrace around its elbow tighten.
"And one evening, at the end of November, he called me. He didn't feel well and needed to talk. It was early so we talked for four hours. The suicide of one of his colleagues had really moved him."
"Lieutenant Anderson's suicide?"
Fathia nodded and kept silent for a few moments. She only knew the old man from sight and she remembered the suffering that had marked the lieutenant's face: there were wrinkles that were time marks, but some were bites of heavy sorrow.
"As he didn't want to hang up and me either, I came to his house and we spent the night together. It happened just like this."
They had arrived at the bottom of the building and Conrad thought it had to go back to the police station and spend the night sitting in the office, the vast room lit by the evanescent screens and haunted by the androids on standby. In fact, the RK900 would spend its inactive weekend until the return of the detective like that.
"Do you want to come in?"
"Why would I come in?"
With the brutality of artificial intelligence, Conrad asked the reasons for this invitation. Since the joke of Officer Chen and Gavin, he had become suspicious.
"You're right, you don't drink tea or coffee, but maybe you still want to talk?"
No, it had no want. The machine had to mold itself to the requirements of its program and its social environment without experiencing pleasure or having the choice. Yet she was pleasantly soft and even the RK900 was touched by this rare sympathy.
"You want to talk to me?"
"Of course!"
She laughed as if it was logical evidence. Once again, the android LED pulsed, brighter, more yellow and more vivid. It was like waking up under the touch of dawn, opening your eyes to the burning horizon. Conrad then crossed the hall with Fathia, towards the elevator with her.
"Gavin won't agree to speak to you, on the other hand, I'd be glad to give you answers but I need something from you."
"What do you want in exchange?"
"To tell more about androids."
The compromise seemed fair to it.
Leaning in the corridor while Fathia was putting her pajamas in her bedroom, Conrad was thinking. He suspected that an intimate relationship was binding detective Reed and the young woman. The cop who was close to the depression and the prostitute who struggled to keep her head out of the water, capable of optimism, this sweet placebo that manages to relieve some pain anchored in the soul. But their relationship was not what interested the android: Anderson's suicide was the beginning of all the hatred that aimed the machine, and even if the RK900 was not allowed to ask questions, since his interests were fake, he needed to understand, he neededed data on this event that thwarted his existence.
"Have you already met my predecessor? The RK800 named Connor?"
"No, I haven't. But Gavin told me about it."
She appeared with a fluffy t-shirt that fell on close shorts that revealed the ink drawings on her thighs and calves. Her long legs brought her to the kitchen where the young woman began to make tea. She loved mint tea and, heiress to techniques from Maghreb, she knew how to prepare it with a precise care. The sweet scent of honey began to spread as the android watched her.
"Can you repeat what he said about the RK800?"
"I wouldn't prefer. I know that androids don't feel pain but Gavin dreamed about all kinds of torture for this android and I don't really want to repeat them."
Conrad insisted nevertheless:
"Some policemen say that Lieutenant Anderson committed suicide because of my predecessor. The RK800 had missions but protecting humans is a priority for all androids, so I don't understand how it's possible."
A delicate question for someone who had witnessed this drama from afar, yet Fathia brought together memories and Gavin's words, so she could try to enlighten the android:
"From what I understood, the deviant case was passed onto the FBI guys. Connor continued the investigation, ignoring the orders of his superior who, according to rumors, had developed some kind of attachment to the deviant androids. The RK800 shot the deviant leader down, Marc something, I forgot its name. And the civil war would have shocked the lieutenant."
Fathia chose her words carefully: for the first time, she dreaded the reaction of the RK900, since it was certainly a deviant hunter too, so she did not want to give any clear opinion about the revolt of the previous year, borrowing expressions that had been repeated in the articles back then.
"According to Gavin, Anderson already had suicidal tendencies, came to work only when he wanted to—
"Therefore he was bad lieutenant."
"I don't know. For me, he was a sorrowful man, maybe he has never been happy in his life. Gavin judged him too quickly too."
Conrad listened attentively, but it still did not understand the relationship between the RK800 and the lieutenant's death. It thanked Fathia all the same: she was after all the first human to speak to it so easily and with such kindness.
Sitting on a high chair, knees tight and hands tight around her cup, a sleeve slid down her arm. Conrad then noticed the scars that looked like winter lines on the olive skin, hidden in the tattoos.
"Why have you done that?"
Fathia did not need to know it was talking about her scarification marks. She looked down at the golden beverage, so hot it reminded the summer already far behind.
"I wasn't well. I couldn't have any emotion anymore, so I had to hurt myself so I could cry. When you can't feel anything, it's so horrible that you go crazy and look for any way to find even the slightest emotion."
The codes of the machine began to decipher a very strange question: did all human beings suffer so much? The young woman was the first person it really talked to and she had taught it that Lieutenant Anderson, Gavin and herself had gone through painful times.
She suddenly held out her hand, looking for comfort. Conrad responded to this invitation and placed his fingers between hers, feeling the warmth of this soft palm.
"We do stupid things sometimes. Like insulting."
Like looking for a culprit who was innocent.
"The RK800 isn't responsible for Lieutenant Anderson's death."
Fathia shrugged, a sad look: she did not have all the answers. The RK900 suddenly broke off contact and explained that he had to leave: he was going to see Detective Reed and discuss with him. Now that it had more information, the machine was going to defend itself, able to reason with its teammate.
Before it crossed the threshold, Fathia held it by the elbow and put her hands on its shoulders, too high for her.
"Don't be too harsh with Gavin. Anyway, I'm glad I've met you, Conrad. The next time Gavin behaves like a prick or if you want to talk, I'll be there."
The RK900 was tempted to remind her that it was a machine, therefore it had neither desire nor envy, but this young woman was so sweet, tender illusion of happiness in this dark city, even the android did not want do not wound this night fairy.
Still under the anesthetic effect of anger, Gavin ignored remorse. He had eaten alone, cooking something to barely touch his plate. In his mind, he saw the stoic air of the android and the terrifying absence of emotions. If the RK900 showed up again, it was quite possible that tonight's incident would happen again in his own street. The media would talk about androids rain.
Lying on his couch, Gavin felt a migraine begin to boil under his forehead, spreading behind his eyes. He had set a movie going to forget his argument with Fathia, he even pushed his cell phone away to not be tempted to check if he had received a message. Gnocchi tried to lie down on his master's chest as he usually did, real cushion of affection, but when his paws touched the torso, he was repulsed: Gavin felt pain towards his stomach. He did not feel well.
As he was about to turn off the screen to go to sleep and shut the pain in his stomach, he heard the ringing.
"Fathia?"
Gavin had no desire to get up, but she did not have the key to his apartment and he had locked the door, determined to bury himself at home for the night. Dizziness seized him when he got up and, while leaning on the couch, Gavin found balance. He felt squarely nauseous.
The man was going to apologize but when he opened the door on the android, all his anger went up, torturing his stomach.
"Can I come in, Detective Reed? I've to talk to you."
"No! For the last time, get out!"
But the RK900 did not move and pressed its hand against the door, preventing its colleague from snapping it in its face.
"We need to discuss my predecessor, the RK800."
"We'll discuss nothing, I don't want to talk to you!"
That was really the worst evening: now, Gavin had a stubborn machine on his landing and he was feeling feverish. Conrad noticed his complexion turned waxy.
"Are you feeling well, detective?"
Without answering, Gavin rushed to the bathroom and the android heard him vomit.
In such a situation, the android allowed itself to enter and closed the door behind it before venturing into the hallway, hearing Gavin gasp and moan in pain.
"Detective?"
"Damn— Why don't you just fuck off?"
He no longer wanted to scream at it. Conrad crouched beside him and, without touching him, and tried to make a diagnosis: Gavin must have been worse than a wounded animal, so any contact was prohibited.
"You must have indigestion."
"It's your fucking face that I can't digest."
"You have to rest."
"Machines can get sick?"
Conrad was surprised by this question.
"No, detective."
"Pity. If I had something contagious, I would have given it to you."
"It isn't contagious, you just have indigestion, it will pass if you continue to purge yourself."
"Then get lost or I'll purge on you."
The RK900 straightened up and let the detective kneel over the toilet bowl. Gavin still felt bad and did not dare to leave immediately, his mouth full of acidity, his stomach still stirred. He contracted his jaw and throat, sick also to the idea that the android was still there.
As for the robot, it took a towel in the bathroom and moistened it. The conversation was postponed but while the detective was prostrate next door, it could find out more about its partner. Above the sink, on a glass plate attached to the mirror, there was a toothbrush, toothpaste and perfume. Conrad had already noticed the smell of cedar over Gavin's throat. If there were two or three women's affairs, that was the maximum, just for Fathia when she came for the night without warning.
Conrad came back to Gavin and handed him the towel, but the detective refused it, too proud.
"I can fend for myself and I already have a mother, no need to activate your maternal program."
His knees were still shaking but the sick man managed to pull himself up, leaning on the toilet bowl, the walls but certainly not the android. And while he was washing himself, getting rid of sweat and foul taste, Conrad was going to get him a glass of water. Gavin was looking in his pharmacy for something to ease the cramps that ran through his stomach like electric currents. He glanced at the glass that the android was stretching but ignored it again, persisting in his refusal then exiled himself to his bedroom.
The night was long for both. Gavin was too exhausted to repeat to the android the order to leave, tired of fighting, preferring to go to bed. The RK900 sat on the sofa in the living room, waiting, becoming a curiosity against which the cat could rub.
The android had heard Gavin get up two or three times to go back to vomit, but the machine did not come to support him: its teammate did not need it, so Conrad was just fondling Gnocchi, enjoying how his fur was long and soft, and above all, how much less feral the creature was than his owner.
In the early morning, Conrad heard some noise coming from the detective's room: Gavin was packing his bags with the intention of driving to Milwaukee.
"Are you leaving, Detective Reed?"
Gavin did not answer; he just kept walking between his closet and his gym bag, listing the clothes he had planned to wear and choosing them according to the weather. The dark circles under his eyes were frightening and the RK900 interfered, holding the detective by the shoulders.
"Are you going to drive after the night you had?"
"I'm going to eat something and get going right after, so once and for all: leave my home.
"Your stomach needs rest, you need rest."
"Are you an android policeman or nurse?"
"Like all androids, I've a program that takes care of human beings, but you really make it difficult for me, detective."
Gavin tried to overtake it, but the machine barred him again, uncompromising.
"I won't let you drive, Detective Reed."
"Fuck!"
Under the annoyance, Gavin swung the folded sweater he had on his arms to Conrad's face, pushing it at the same time.
"I'm thirty-seven and I won't let a machine that has barely a month give me orders. I'll go to Milwaukee today and the more you hold me back, the more I lose time."
"Why are you so keen to go while you're still weak?"
Bitter, the man went to his bathroom and began to take his travel stuff, filling his toilet bag while grumbling:
"You're just a fucking machine: you don't know what a family is. In fact, it's worse than that: you can't understand why affection is important to a human being since you will never need it anyway."
From the doorframe, Conrad replied:
"Like having sex with a fink, detective?"
The barb did not hurt him. Gavin turned to it, his hands on his hips like he was exposing himself to the judgments, sneering frankly. Yes, he was committing professional misconduct, yes, he slept with a prostitute without the tariffs. He already knew it all.
"And so what? You're jealous?"
"No, but I want to be sure you understand how serious it is."
"Do you know what's serious? That you're still right on my ass while I asked you thirty times to leave!"
This new burst of anger deprived him of the little strength he had, so he clung to the edge of the sink. With the lack of sleep, a new headache rumbled in the depths of his brain.
Frustrated, Gavin realized that the machine was right: if he drove, he would have to stop too often, making the trip endless and he would not enjoy the weekend. But as the detective pulled out his cell phone to warn his mother that he could not come, Conrad moved slowly toward him.
"I'm going to drive, detective. Just give me the address in Milwaukee and you can sleep on the seat."
Gavin had rejected all RK900's approaches, all its questions, its intentions, its help. But for the first time, he was tempted to accept this service.
"What are you looking for?"
"I just want to be useful. When you'll understand that I'm here to help, you stop preventing me from working."
With a jacket rolled to imitate a pillow and clasped by a thick blanket, Gavin managed to settle in the back seat of the car. The weather was getting stormy, but the fatigue left the cold swirling around his bones, making him shudder.
Conrad put the cage where Gnocchi was on the passenger seat. The master had insisted that the cat go with them, after all, he was the gift of his thirty-sixth birthday, one year ago, so Gavin wanted to embark him. However the cat was uncomfortable, frightened and meowing from the first kilometers.
"Shut up, Gnocchi, I'm the one who should be scared: a tin can is driving my car."
Hands on the wheel, attentive to the road, the android did not listen. Some music might calm the tension, so it stretched its palm, the synthesized skin off, over the touch-sensitive surface of the dashboard and turned on the first music file that was AC/DC.
"No, not AC/DC," Gavin tightened the blanket over his shoulders, eyes closed. These tunes reminded him of a man he had hated and who had killed himself in a shabby kitchen, alone under a greenish light. "Change it."
Conrad immediately thought of the Poets of the Fall, and it picked the file, letting the languid rhythm of False Kings rock the detective.
"Is it your favorite song, detective?"
"Why?"
"We've known each other for a month and you've listened to this song seventy-five times at work, it comes back more often than the others."
Gavin opened his eyes and stared at the clouds of lead outside. He did not want to answer the android, so he mumbled instead:
"Why do you care?"
"I'd like to know you, detective Reed. You asked Captain Fowler to partner with me, I'm aware you did it for revenge, but in the meantime, you're the person I work with and I've no choice but to try to know you. Otherwise, you'll have to bequeath me to someone else, I prefer someone more senior if you don't mind, because just like the RK800, I must be assigned to a lieutenant, at least."
"Wait, I must have heard wrong, but did you just insinuate that I was too low in the hierarchy for your skills?"
"Maybe."
Gavin punched the seat in front of him.
"Dipshit."
Conrad felt the blow on its back and, curiously, its lips sketched the start of a smile.
Gnocchi had finally fallen asleep, exhausted by crying. The muzzle hidden between his front paws, he seemed to enjoy a precious sleep. Gavin soon did the same, listening only to the music, the linear roads of the highways allowing him to fall asleep.
The android was thinking of nothing, focused on the road with a rigor specific to its machine condition. The idea of meeting Detective Reed's family did not arouse any impatience. Maybe it was going to become a kind of PL600 for a long weekend, Gavin would have fun ridiculing it in front of his parents and his siblings, but the machine was not afraid of anything. In fact, Conrad did not know how many Reed there were. Was the detective the eldest? The youngest? The big brother of a little boy who idolized him? Or did he have an older sister who had martyred him during his early years? What did those who created him look like?
Conrad knew nothing, and without any data it could not establish any probability. Then it was simply driving on that road, to an unknown destination, its head empty.
The detective emerged after two hours with a loud yawn. He stretched his legs first, like a cat, then his arms and his knuckles brushed the hair of the android. He straightened up a little, vaguely recognizing the road.
"Do you know when we'll arrive, Kenneth?"
"We'll arrive at half-past three, detective. And my name's Conrad."
"Yeah, as you want."
Gavin leaned over to see how Gnocchi was doing but the cat was stubbornly in his dreams. He wanted to caress him but left the cat in his comfort. Instead, he sent a message to his mother to give her the time of arrival.
"Why don't you like my name?"
"Because it sounds like Connor."
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about yesterday, detective. I spoke with Miss El Harbi and she told me that you think Connor was responsible for Lieutenant Anderson's death."
"That I think? That all the police station thinks, you mean."
"Yes. But you're my teammate so I wanted to have this conversation with you: my predecessor isn't responsible for any crime."
"Your predecessor was an asshole and Hank was already psychologically fragile. He had suicidal tendencies, yeah, but Connor speeded up the process. But can you only understand that, metal box?"
"Connor wasn't an asshole, detective, it was only a machine that had a mission to accomplish. Your lieutenant may have imagined that he could divert it from its objectives and sympathize with it, before being disappointed."
Gavin clenched his fists but managed to contain himself. Hitting the android while it was driving was not the best solution and the RK900 certainly knew it, it obviously took the opportunity to come up to the subject.
"You, humans, have a tendency to anthropomorphism and sometimes you get attached to your androids by reproducing your feelings on us when we feel nothing. You imagine that we can be hurt, touched or happy. But we only obey our functions. Suicide's a crime where the victim's the only criminal, detective, and it's the same for Lieutenant Anderson."
Gavin would have torn out that mechanical tongue and all the rest of the blue muscle if he could. He would have smashed its jaw with a metal bar, smashing steel against titanium. But he could not be violent, so he leaned toward the ear of the android, bitter.
"Maybe you're right, maybe Hank wanted to see Connor as a human being. But it won't happen with you and as soon as the opportunity arises, I'll destroy you. The best technicians won't even be able to tell the difference between your arm and your leg."
"You see, detective?" The machine was not breathing and its thirium pump was running with the same steady regularity. It had a mechanical clock, not a heart. "What do you expect from me by saying that? Should I answer with threats? Should I beg you on my knees? If it pleases you, I could sing Poets of the Fall while you're having fun hitting me since you love them so much, or I could be screaming in pain. Which do you prefer?"
"Fuck off."
"You also anthropomorphize me even if you don't want to recognize it. You even associate me with my predecessor to get revenge, but that won't relieve you, detective. Because I won't feel anything."
Gavin had worked very hard to hurt the machine by humiliating it, pushing it away without giving in to desires for violence, yet this time he was the one beaten. On this bitter defeat, the man laid down again and tried to go back to sleep for the end of the trip. He had nothing to answer.
Conrad, impassive, kept its hands on the wheel, its back straight. At its temple, the LED adopted a golden hue, really swift yet so present.
At the end of the street, a small, unpretentious house surrounded itself with a garden littered with dead leaves. The walls were painted with a white that could no longer withstand the years, adopting shades of gray or brown on the steps of the steps, the wood being revealed. A Halloween atmosphere was already hidden between the bare and black branches around, carrying with it some smells of pumpkin pies and sweet flavors.
Once the car was parked, Conrad went out to help its partner, but their last conversation had revived the rancor that the human felt against the machine. Gavin opened the trunk and grabbed his bag, before recovering a Gnocchi who was eager for the ride to come to its conclusion.
The RK900 began counting the windows to try to estimate the number of rooms when Gavin suddenly asked it:
"Hey, machine, can you talk sign language?"
"I can, detective."
Intrigued, the android followed its colleague to the stairs when the front door opened. A little brunette lady greeted them with a broad smile, digging the wrinkles near the corner of her eyes, a sign that she was a laughing and optimistic woman. She was a head shorter than Gavin but that did not stop her from wrapping her arms around her son's neck, hugging him against her heart.
There was no sound, no exclamations or shouting, Conrad only heard the distant noises of the neighborhood and the crisp sighs slipping on the ground beneath the heaps of leaves. The android understood when it saw Mrs. Reed stepping back and talking to her son with her hands: Gavin's mother was deaf.
She then looked at the RK900 and greeted it, glad that the android said hello and introduced itself. She signed her name too: Virginia. And Virginia Reed was the only member of Gavin's family. Neither brother nor sister, the father was absent, but Conrad did not know if he had left this morning or several years ago, therefore the house was in a silence, like the seabed, recalling the same tranquility and solitude.
"Is your mother deaf for a long time, detective?"
"She's deaf from birth." Gavin gauged the android, as if he was waiting for a remark like those he had heard as a kid. The son of the deaf was his nickname. "Do you have something to say about it?"
"Absolutely not."
"You know what the only quality of the machines is? You don't laugh."
On the stairs that led to the rooms, while the android helped the detective still weak to carry his bag, the codes changed again, racing. An incongruous thought finally formed and Conrad suddenly stopped, staring at the figure of the detective who was going up before it: the advantage of having a deaf mother was that the son could cry as much as he could, she would never hear his wounded sobs, or the wickedness that his comrades told him about her.
