Wu Ah was part of a generation of Chinese people who proudly wore their original names, denigrating the old ways of adopting an anglicized name. He had never understood this tradition, preferring to keep faithful to his roots. And if ever the American accent scratched a little his name, the future policeman did not offend; he instead appreciated the effort.
The car barely trembled. The windows were showing either dark tunnels or the horizon of Detroit waking up, marking the beginning of a new day. The cold rays of the December sun gave a blinding glow to the metal that encompassed the passengers, and under this brutal light, blond hair shone, beards flared, eyes narrowed under the splinters. The retinas had forgotten how hot the caresses of dawn could be. Wu did not hesitate to close his eyes, enjoying the warmth that flew over his slightly round cheeks and his collar that seemed to absorb that dull summer.
The more days passed, the more Wu was gaining insurance. He did not quite understand Lukas' appeal to Detective Reed, clearly preferring the company of less mocking police officers like Chris or Alice Person, an Asian too, who enjoyed quietness and often ate out, only accompanied by a book. As a big reader himself, Wu had then sympathized with her by discussing books, sharing their discoveries in the staff room. There was also Martin Wilson, a sensitive and secret nature, quite the reverse of his younger brother, Alfred Wilson, talkative but pleasant.
The future policeman saw in his mind the faces that accompanied his new daily, happy with this experience.
Mickael Nelson seemed the least enthusiastic, struggling to find a place in this office so active, perhaps dreading an unsuccessful future because of the RK900 and other androids. After all, it was true: the four young people had an uncertain future, ruled by massive unemployment. But damn, this RK900, it was so impressive! It did not look like other androids: it was more advanced. It was as if it represented on its own a new form of life.
At this thought, Wu shivered, opening his eyes all at once. Technology had become a wild plant, escaping the hand of man to develop on its own, adapting and becoming encrusted in this landscape of bitumen.
Nobody knew who was the Android that led the revolution last year: the RK200 was recovered by CyberLife who promised to analyze the machine to reduce the risk of deviance. Yet, this android had since disappeared into the meanders of the company, buried by the turbulent period that had swayed the giant multimillionaire. Fed by news reports, Wu had worried about the deviance of androids and he could not darer to imagine what could happen if the RK900 went crazy.
Shouts of voice then attracted his attention: a bunch of morons was bothering a couple for a matter of feet trampled. The bursts of the morning hollowed out the features of the woman who did not know what to do: she kept apologizing, in vain. The man held her hand, spreading her behind him while trying to calm the dispute, but nothing worked: it was the kind of group that was trying to fight right out of bed.
Another passenger dressed in a beautiful suit stood up, joining his voice to those of the victims to relativize the drama. His involvement had the opposite effect, of course. Wu admired the two other people who got up in turn, ready to intimidate. Following a crowd effect, his card giving him courage, the young policeman eventually leave his seat too. Wu understood the looks people were giving him; he was delighted to be underestimated because of his size, and the effect when he opened his leather jacket to root out the police academy card was truly enjoyable. He was not even a trooper, but it was the word "police" that counted, provoking a cold shower effect.
"Is there a problem? I'm on my way to the police station, we can fix everything there if you want. It won't take long."
This simple warning threw water on the ardors: each tried to explain, to justify itself to this authority without uniform. Wu finally nodded, making it clear that if the conclusion was put, he could return to his place.
"Okay, so it's fine. Have a nice day, ladies and gentlemen."
Repressing a smile, the young recruit settled down again, eager to tell the story to his colleagues.
At the end of his story, Tina burst out laughing, congratulating him with an arm around his neck. Martin Wilson hid a smile in his cup.
"I love when artists talk about addiction to appear on stage," said Alfred, "our pleasure is to scare the creeps."
Gavin could only approve. He remembered one night in a bar, when he was accompanied by three friends and they all drank quietly, chatting about things and others before being pissed off by a guy who was enjoying his fifth pint. He had settled down at their table, landing heavily and beginning to ask each of them indiscreet questions. At the time, the detective was only a trooper but he had pulled out his badge, one hand on his belt to remind him of the presence of his gun. The police emblem had a sobering effect and the man was gone, letting the friends laugh with all together.
Other colleagues began to recount their own moments of glory, using impressive details, provoking nice jokes. Tina was always the first to play around with her colleagues, then asking for forgiveness by throwing a piece of sugar in theirs cups for, she said, adding sweetness in this cruel world. Still, Ben Collins was placing his hand over his coffee, preferring it strong.
"Which bar do you prefer?"
During those three weeks, Lukas had managed to get closer to the detective. Tina had confirmed to him that Gavin was single and that if he also liked thriller movies, he could talk with this colleague for hours. As long as the job was done, the young rookie could flirt with his older fellow.
"I've my preference for the Charlie's, and I always go there with good friends."
He winked at Tina, who returned it to him, full of complicity, before going back to bother Ben.
Lowering his voice a bit, Lukas struggled against the redness that was trying to invade his face when he asked:
"Do you think I can be a good friend, then? I've never been to the Charlie's, maybe I could go with you?"
Gavin restrained himself from glancing at Conrad, who was analyzing complaints at its office. Despite the shy approaches, he understood that the trainee was flirting with him, but now, Lukas was more direct. The android and the man had not named yet their relationship, and even if it was secret, it was mostly stable and serious, so Gavin did not intend to go elsewhere, surprising himself to really appreciate his artificial lover. If the situation of robots was not so complicated, he would assume this relationship more easily—
So what could he say? Nah, thanks, I'm already with the latest prototype of CyberLife, I just wait for people to become less dumb to speak about it freely? Instead, he apologized otherwise:
"Maybe one of these days. I'm leaving for Milwaukee tomorrow and I'm not coming back before two weeks," in fact, he would stay at his mother's house for five days before returning to Detroit for the last week of holidays, but Lukas did not have to know all the details, "we'll see later."
"Oh, yeah, of course. You're going to visit your family?"
The detective was thinking of going to smoke to end this conversation. Conrad was only a few feet away and Gavin did not know whether it could hear them or not. Finally, he agreed to talk to the rookie: as long as he did not encourage Lukas' expectations, he did not feel guilty about Conrad.
It was the second time that Conrad had been driving to Virginia Reed's, helping the detective who could rest next to it. A trip very different from the first, much more serene. Although the titles of Poets of the Fall were played, recalling some memories.
Gavin had Gnocchi's cage on his knees, sliding his fingers through the fence to bring meager comfort to the still terrified cat. On the side of the road, the snow had accumulated, resistant to the rays of the sun, perhaps daring enough to shine until Christmas.
Childless policeman, Gavin had taken his holidays before the end of the year, leaving the week of Christmas to colleagues like Chris. But to work during this period was to undergo a collection of bullshit.
"That much? Why?"
Its question made Gavin laugh:
"Because of family meals. Don't you know these clichés? The drunk uncle who provokes everyone, the teens who are bored and do everything to get out of the table, the people who leave by slamming the door— Alcohol and beautiful silverware, you can be sure to have some drama. Hospitals and police stations are crowded at the end of the year."
"It's quite curious. Human is a social animal and yet, the more you are, the more you g out of control."
"If you know that, Terminator, then you know everything you need about the human race."
Conrad was flattered and took Gavin's hand to bring it to its lips. It had never sketched this gesture before, and especially not in daylight, but the car was rolling and the other drivers were marveling at the landscape rather than watching what was going on in the neighbors. Despite the heating in the vehicle, Gavin's fingers were cold: the heat from the lips of the android was welcome.
"It's because I'm learning from you. By the way, these family meals, it has a ring of truth about it, you experience it a lot?"
"Never, in fact. My mother sometimes invited one or two friends, but I always spent Christmas in small groups. My father took off, my grandparents died before I was born— I guess I was lucky in my misfortune: I have no problem with Christmas."
The RK900 was unaware of its date of creation, since it was modified a lot, but it was sure of one thing: its memory had no trace of these weeks full of decorated Christmas trees, colorful garlands. It still did not know the smell of gingerbread and candied orange.
The streets of Detroit had begun to be decorated with silhouettes of angels and stars hung in the trees, these silver figures replacing the missing leaves. And in the parks, occasional vendors offered roasted chestnuts or hot coffees, signaling their presence with these raw fragrances. Conrad had also noticed the tired looks of passersby caused by the gifts race.
Because of the gap, Gavin would celebrate Christmas in advance with his mother and Conrad had accompanied its teammate in a candle shop, then a clothes one to buy a cozy plaid. The detective could have ordered them via the net, but it was an opportunity to go out and the RK900 discovered something other than the path between the apartment and the police station. In the aisles of the shops, the fingers had not touched but the glances had been numerous, just like their jokes. No one had been paying attention to them, igniting perfect ignorance as long as the two men looked like friends.
"Have you planned to do something in Detroit?"
"There isn't a tree in the living room, Robocop."
Yes, it was obvious. Conrad had forgotten that the decorations that lit up the street had not contaminated Gavin's apartment. The garlands that went from one facade to the other were already ample. These artificial stars colored the ceiling with golden and silver gleams, making the day eternal.
"Do you worry?"
From the passenger seat, Gavin could not see his partner's LED, but he would have bet that it was leaning more and more towards the yellow as the miles traveled. Before the departure, they had discussed their situation: if living in the shadow had an exciting side, the frustration was too heavy and, with a very personal revolution, they could try to impose themselves in this technophobic city.
The RK900 already dreaded the reactions of humans, used to confine its deviance while Gavin, on the contrary, needed to hit the world. It was the only way to give this relationship a chance.
"I trust you."
"Hey, for now, we're just friends, no big deal. I think colleagues have already noticed this detail and nobody told me anything. But maybe because I scare them too much for that."
"Or because they like me more than you?"
Gavin had left his hand on the android's shoulder after kissing his fingers, and even though he knew he would not cause any pain, he pinched Conrad's neck.
"No, in fact, I'm sure they like me and you, you scare them. Terminator."
Conrad was happy to come back here. Heaps of snow had replaced the piles of leaves now, it could see them shining despite the dim light, and when the light from the front steps lit up, the silver turned into gold. This time, Virginia took the time to wrap herself in a shawl before opening the door. Her smile was however the same, so radiant to drive away loneliness. She waited at the top of the stairs for her son and companion to take the bags out of the chest.
"Holy fucking shit, I'm freezing!"
An icy wind was blowing. Gavin had not raised his collar in time and his mother came to read on his lips. When he approached, she lectured him, advising him not to take advantage of her deafness to be so vulgar. The RK900 rethought all the swear words pronounced every hour and kept its facial muscles to maintain a serious look.
At first, Virginia had wondered who was the one who accompanied Gavin before finally seeing the LED. The detail that the android was wearing a sweater and a jacket then was blindingly obvious.
Gavin leaned over to embrace her mother, feeling under her frail shoulders how strong and loving she was. But as for the android, the little lady did not know what attitude to adopt, so it was the android who reacts by extending its hand.
If Virginia could ignore the blue ring, the robot could look like an authentic human being. Curious, she then placed her hand in its and Conrad itself initiated the movement to greet her, gently waving their wrists. The android felt a genuine sympathy for Virginia: after all, she was one of the creators of the man who mattered so much for it.
Entering a doubt, Virginia pointed to the face of the RK900 and asked her son if it was the same android as the last time. Gavin nodded. So much for the better: if her mother got to the subject herself, it would be easier.
"He changed."
Again, the son confirmed. He went to the living room, casual and quiet, so that his mother would follow him. Virginia had to wait for Gavin to finish using the coffee machine by placing two cups under the hot tip, his hands moving, then mute. He took advantage of this time to look for the words to sign. Then, he settled down in front of his mother, giving her one of the steaming cups. She calmed her cold palms against it. A first sip of coffee for a last moment of reflection and finally, the man said:
"Do you remember last year's revolt?"
Of course. She had worried about him.
The deviance, the feelings of androids, just like the emotions— all these things still escaped Gavin, but he could pretend to know the subject a little. If that was enough to convince humans, the lie was perfectly justified.
While trying to be convincing, Gavin explained to her that androids seemed able to feel like a human being, that they could develop a personality, tastes, opinions.
With a gesture, he suddenly invited Conrad to approach: until now, the robot had remained in the entrance, watching the exchange from afar. Prudent and anxious, it obeyed, taking a seat between the mother and the son.
"Conrad has become deviant. We became friends."
Through her glasses, Virginia examined this friend's face. She had never owned an android herself, not giving in to this fashion, but even she knew that a red LED was a worrying sign. When Gavin put his hand on the robot's shoulder, the ring turned blue.
With a frown, his mother observed:
"You didn't like androids."
"I changed my mind."
She did not feel hostile to the idea, just skeptical about this turnaround. Last November, her son had assured her that he had his weapon all the time on him, ready to shoot in the first deviant plastic skull.
"The media said they were dangerous."
"It depends."
Conrad kept its palms on its thighs. It knew how to seize a right when it was with other androids, like the delivery model, last time, but with humans, it lacked daring. And it was Gavin's mother. The probabilities of regret in case of failure were too great.
"Conrad was never violent," a new lie, but the RK900 only showed its anger to specific people. A behavior close to that of Gavin in short. "We work together and we're close now. Everything is going well."
Although she was skeptical, Virginia turned to the RK900. There was no armband on its sweater, no code was written on its clothes: if the LED was on the other temple, concealed, it would have looked like a man.
"Do you remember me?"
The android had changed and the old lady wondered if its memory had been altered. She knew nothing about technology and artificial intelligences. But the sweet smile it addressed to her was unequivocal:
"Of course I do, you're Virginia Reed. You didn't want me to clear the table with you because it's your home."
She laughed. A laugh very different from the son who always let himself go to laugh. On the contrary, if Virginia revealed teeth damaged by time, her voice was contained in a sneer stuck in the throat. She made other signs to compliment it:
"I remember you sign very well."
"Thank you. So if you have any questions, I'll answer them."
The gnarled index went back and forth between Gavin and Conrad:
"Have you been friends for a long time?"
"Almost three months," replied the android, sparing her the steps of this friendship, "we talk a lot. Gavin made me discover cinema, music."
"Do you live with Gavin?"
Unlike the detective, Conrad did not want to lie and some details had to be revealed in order to dig a path to their secret.
"Yes. For three months."
Gavin was drinking his coffee, following the fluid exchange between his mother and Conrad. The need for answers made her talkative, encouraging her to ask questions about the android, about its relationship with her son.
This first approach comforted the human. Maybe there was hope after all. Under the table, his foot touched the RK900's ankle.
A neighbor had lent his AP700 so that some wood would be stock behind the house. With Conrad's help, Gavin brought some logs back to the fireplace. The soles crushed the snow still intact, marking their passage in the icy humidity. The android extended its arms to carry a few logs and, in this sleeping corner of the garden, it took the opportunity to ask:
"Do you think your mother will accept the idea that you— that you're dating an android?"
"I'm too cold to discuss, Conrad," his nails were almost blue, he felt it without needing to see them, "and I don't know."
Conrad would have liked to be able to sigh. Once again, Gavin was not classifying their relationship. How many weeks, how many months before he decides?
Gnocchi was curled up against his master's loins, enjoying the warmth even though Gavin had only the blanket over him. The wind had calmed down, but a few squalls persisted, making the flaps shake and the branches cracking outside. The dust accumulated on the radiator diffused a slight smell of burning, of forgotten room.
To deceive his impatience, the detective was reading articles, scrolling through the titles on his cell phone, reading what the reporters had written on the RK900. Although Conrad was not intended for sale, Gavin was surprised that CyberLife was so discrete about its latest prototype. On the contrary, the RK800 was entitled to several articles, especially after interrupting the deviant revolution, attracting waves of praise.
Did technicians avoid being too pretentious to regain easier the trust of their customers after the many cases of deviance? After all, Gavin knew it: the RK900 was a failure, also being touched by emotions.
The door barely squeaked and the cat opened his eyes, suddenly hypnotized by the LED that had just appeared. Gnocchi knew he would not stay in his place for long: the robot would come to bed, occupying his side. But the cat was stubborn and he stayed on that corner of already heated cloth. In fact, the android took place on the edge of the bed, on the side of Gavin.
"You aren't sleeping yet?"
"No chance I would sleep before you come," Gavin turned off his screen. In the dim light, Conrad began to remove its sweater. "I was reading articles about you."
The rustle of the fabric was pleasant and to suppress a smile, Gavin bit his lip, enjoying seeing the azure band, this sign of nakedness. When they made love, this part was always boiling.
"What do they say?"
"Not much for the moment, they especially put forward the fact that you helped for an important investigation. But they forget many details."
"Really? And what would you add?"
Gavin grabbed the android's arm and tipped it over, kissing it while helping it to pull the rest of clothes away. His way of hugging replaced the words he could have written. They had already explored each other so many times, but neither of them was tired of rediscovering their body. Embarrassed by the gestures of the arms pulling the blanket, Gnocchi shifted, but only a few inches. He was not going to give in to all their whims.
"I would write that you're a bit too sexy to investigate."
"I could say the same thing about you."
"It's not the same thing: you have no scar."
"Because I know how to tame cats," Gavin hit its thigh with his knee to laugh, "I can even cuddle the worst of them."
When Conrad slipped a hand on his stomach, Gavin did not want to laugh anymore, he admitted defeat under this hot touch. Under the sheet, the legs opened, tightened, embraced. The sometimes abrupt movements served to surprise, to dominate, to love. Gnocchi was a silent witness who did not judge them, mocking the laws. Though the laws did not forbid the metal to marry the flesh: only the feelings were condemned by society.
Conrad was almost jealous of the BL100s: if this number model had replaced the RK900 on its jacket, Gavin could have presented it as a romantic partner, not a professional one.
There was so much warmth from the plastic body that the blanket was no longer needed, so Gavin pushed it away with a wave of the arm, pulling it back above the cat who uttered a confused mew, ignored by the two lovers. Gnocchi yawned, tired: when the bipeds had fun, the pet was forgotten.
The android straightened slightly, the torso captured by the thighs of the human. Gavin had the flexibility of a cat and, even though he often asked for massages after days of sitting like a child, he always managed to surprise his partner by kissing it by surprise, and if the lips were inaccessible, his mouth found another target. He touched the armband, playing with the flickering light as when the synthetic skin disappeared.
The wind could roar, nothing seemed terrifying that night. The flesh was associated with the unveiled plastic, composing the union already repeated many times. They were alone and allowed themselves to love each other.
Conrad then put its hand against Gavin's mouth, putting its lips down his neck. It loved when its partner called him, yet it also discovered pleasures that really put the biocomponents of his lower abdomen to the test. And this dangerous heat, the android always welcomed it.
"Why are you trying to gag me," Gavin asked, pulling its hand away from his face, "so who cares if we make some noise?"
"I know, but I like to hear you fight."
This response provoked electric chills.
"And now I'm aroused by a tin can—"
Gavin put his lover's hand on his smiley mouth.
Making love with an android asked for a time of habituation that had first destabilized the human. The absence of breathing, of moan deprived the partner of the most obvious clues, but by persevering, Gavin was getting better and better to find his bearings and understood that everything in the android was tactile. The most fascinating thing was when he masturbated Conrad and placed his other hand under the robot's shoulder blade, where he could feel the metal protrusion move with jerks, feeling the pulsating muscles. This reaction replaced all possible sighs.
Gnocchi persisted in sleeping even when the head of the bed began to shake, almost hitting the wall. Sitting on the Gavin's crotch, Conrad slowed down the rhythm of its hips, containing both its euphoria and the springs of its joints. Under its palm, Gavin was smiling. Arrogant, the man suddenly planted his teeth in the flesh of the hand, biting and kissing. This texture too smooth did not bother him anymore, just like this taste of plastic.
His muscles began to liquefy. Gavin was ready to let go, ready to be grabbed by the first spasms, when he felt warm drops falling heavily over his stomach: the RK900 was turning itself off.
"Fuck! Conrad! Stop!"
As he straightened up, Gavin pushed aside the murderous hand that had tried to extract the heart and re-inserted the thirium pump. He was also used to this maneuver. To protect the android from itself, the man pressed it against his chest, ignoring the last blue drops that slipped against his skin. This slimy blood had an awful tendency to stick to the hair, but it was more important at the moment.
Conrad was still paralyzed, the blurred view of overheating alarms, unrecognizable, incoherent messages and shaky biocomponents. Its arms circled Gavin's shoulders, taking a more secure hold to better emerge from this state.
Finally, he managed to articulate:
"I'm sorry, Gavin."
The man sighed. These suicidal gestures were an automatism that occurred four times out of five, cutting the momentum and destroying the embrace.
Still trapped by these rigid arms, Gavin lay the robot at his side. Obviously, Gnocchi was the only one to appreciate the heat diffused by the mechanical body, coming to snuggle there as when he settles on a radiator.
"It's okay, don't worry."
In fact, if was pissing him off: Gavin could not bear to not understand. Maybe these moments were damaging the android. After all, if it was not programmed to make love, its primary duties may have condemned this sentimental deviance.
Gavin left the ridiculous concept of "doing something wrong" to whining songs, but if they did something dangerous, then it was different.
Gradually taking control of its mouth, reclaiming its body, Conrad succeeded in kissing the brow of his partner, hoping to calm this frustration.
"It's not and I'm sorry: my reactions spoil our moments, and even I can't stand it."
"Maybe I should tie you?"
"I might break the handcuffs and my wrists at the same time. I don't want to go back to CyberLife, especially to replace my wrists. The leg was an accident during a mission, but how do we explain that I was handcuffed? At your home and completely naked?"
While Gavin was trying to laugh, the towering tower appeared in the memory of the android. The RK900 had made the decision to flee this place, refusing to take the risk of being disabled and replaced. Even if samples of its memory remain in a new RK900, Gavin would never accept the new model. Like humans who were afraid of being buried alive, Conrad was terrified of being in an envelope without being touched.
Yet this Babel certainly had the answers it needed.
If the fate of other androids left Gavin indifferent, the one of his partner was of any other importance. Yet, because of the respective natures, Conrad was not sure that the human understands its desire for freedom. To develop further, the RK900 had to talk with other humans, maybe even with other androids, to get rid of what it already knew.
It put its fingers on Gavin's temple, exactly where a LED would have shone if its partner had been a machine too. But under the skin, it perceived the beat of the blood, a rhythm peculiar to human.
Conrad let Gavin kiss it while thinking about these options. After its lover, the first trustworthy name turned out to be Christopher Landru's. The RK900 had admiration for the forensic scientist, thanks to the painful decision of the ZK200s and the reason of his attachment to Moira. The man seemed tolerant and it would surely be the last to judge their relationship.
Yes, if it had managed to talk half-words with Virginia Reed, Conrad could reveal the situation to Landru. But it was a decision it kept for itself, fearing that its partner would forbid it to ask the doctor for advice.
The thirium pump worked with strange jolts, suffocating under the weight of certain secrets. On the last night of their stay in Milwaukee, Conrad did not come to the bedroom. Around two o'clock in the morning, Gavin had come down, asking it why it had not come to join him.
"I didn't want to" was the only answer, and it had the effect of a punch for the detective. The android choose poorly its words, meaning it was afraid of committing another fault, but Gavin felt like he was being repulsed. Instead of asking it for a better explanation, he had gone back to bed, his cheeks red with anger and his heart bubbling.
They had not discussed it again and after their return to Detroit, their daily lives were so busy that they had other things to think about. Their evenings bore the coldness of simple cordiality, and only Mark Spencer's engaged speech resounded in the living room.
As soon as the politician raised the question of androids, Conrad listened with great interest. There were people protesting across the United States and some states had already changed laws after months of debate. Much to the surprise of the RK900, a BL100 had married its owner in Maine. The skeptics claimed that the android did not know what the ring on its finger meant when others encouraged the initiative, delighted to see this beginning of harmony. When the screen showed the BL100 wearing a white dress, a beaming smile, Gavin pretended to be focused on his cell phone, keeping his opinion secret. In Oregon, a little boy beaten by his father had asked to be adopted by the AX400 that had saved his life, preferring to be raised by this machine capable of loving rather than the fists of flesh that hit him. A wish that could not have been answered but had moved the audience.
So why was the situation in Detroit so disastrous? It was the origin of the revolution and the turmoil had changed the mentalities around, but the nucleus where was implanted CyberLife did not change. The RK900 intended to end this contrast, little by little, but it needed to learn more about Markus and its revolution. It needed answers.
Mickael Nelson had just left the police station with pensive silence. His colleagues showed such motivation, such enthusiasm that he felt out of place in this excited troupe. The young man was not so sure of his path: they had started a month ago but he was not sure he wanted to manage drunkards or couples who confused love and hate. It was not a facet of the society he wanted to see. Cop might not be a job for him, eventually—
In the street, both humans and androids received the spits of melted snow, hitting their faces: contempt fell on this crowd and the sky made no distinction between the two species. The frost had spread over the walls of the subway, covering the tiling with glistening, shaped by the moaning wind. At the open-air station, passersby were careful walking with caution, avoiding to slip on an icy trail.
Mickael was eager for the first suburban train to arrive: the sign announced it in three minutes. Three minutes to look at the heavy snow hammering the metal roofs, to meet sleepy eyes, to pat the foot to resist the winter. The young recruit amused himself by watching the windows turn on or off in the buildings above, marking a teeming rhythm of life.
Finally, the suburban train arrived and people rushed inside, looking for a place and heating. Mickael could take his time: he was going to the other end of line E and would not go down until fourteen stations, aiming for the last stop.
On the other side of the window, in the androids compartment, the machines were lined up. Each had its place and function, imitating organized bees.
Two stations later, an old lady came in and a teenager with a huge suitcase stood up, leaving her seat.
"You're nice, but I'm going to stay up."
"Don't worry: I just spent four hours on a plane, I had my quota."
The two passengers laughed and the elderly person could sit down. Under his scarf, Mickael smiled. That was the society he wanted to see. This pleasant, human atmosphere that opposed the rigidity of the machines at the bottom of the wagon. The trainee would wait until the end of the internship to make up his mind, but he would certainly abort this career that would not make him happy.
There were not many people left in the compartment. It was the last Friday before Christmas, and some of them were carrying bags that hid gifts. The weekend promised to be festive. Mikael would visit his parents-in-law with his girlfriend: last year, Christmas was celebrated at the Nelson's, but this year, it would be the opposite.
There were eight other passengers and four androids.
Rachel Hall was eager to go home. She did not like those times when the night was so greedy that it devoured the sky around six o'clock. In front of her sat a rather imposing man, graying hair. His thick fingers were gripped by nervous twitches, jolts of sleep. The young woman had hesitated to wake him during the trip, but maybe he was going to the last stop, like her. As long as he did not follow her to her house—
She was stupid. Two days earlier, she had seen with her sister a horrible film about a serial killer and the story had shocked her, preventing her from sleeping the first night. Rachel lived only thirty meters from the station, so she was safe. All of a sudden, her hair became electric, becoming thick around her wool collar, scraping it off. The sensation was so unpleasant that she started to grumble.
And the car stopped. Suddenly plunging passengers into complete darkness. The lights of the city seemed so distant, imitating ice stars. Rachel looked up, facing the metal that reflected the sparks of color. She jumped when an android's forehead hit the window: all the LEDs were red before turning off. No one on board understood what was happening.
The doors opened while they were between two stations, a few minutes from the terminus. An android entered, sweeping the wagon with a greenish yellow lamp.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We apologize for the inconvenience, we will fix this technical problem as soon as possible."
Like a ghost from an urban legend, the model at the service of the Detroit transport company moved between the seats. Passengers had risen, leaning over, curious. Mickael prevented the android from accessing the control panel, so he excused himself before moving away.
The ray of light sought, inspected. As the minutes went by, the passengers were won over by the annoyance. The imposing man had got up and was walking down the hall. He accidentally hit the passenger who was sitting in front of him a few moments earlier.
"Sorry."
Finally, the android had completed its task and thanked the passengers for their patience. The machine dug a path in the small crowd around it and left the wagon, letting the doors close behind it.
The vehicle resumed but the lights did not come back immediately. When the bulbs shone again, all the passengers looked at each other with livid and haggard skin tones. The slightest problem could really create a feeling of unease. They all felt ridiculous!
The train arrived at the final destination and Rachel, sorry, gave a small smile, ready to leave the wagon and her companions who had shared her anxiety.
A passenger collapsed and under his dark coat, towards his stomach, blood began to flow. Another woman stumbled, suddenly feeling a sharp pain in her ribs. Her palm flew over the place and moved away, red and shiny.
The panic was no longer laughable as blood streams began to spill onto the floor. Rachel was in pain too, without understanding where the twinge was coming from a few inches from her belly button. She was too scared to lower her face, but she felt her legs slip away under her weight and the back of her skull hit the edge of a seat.
Even if Mickael had his throat knotted, he managed to get out his cell phone: five passengers had just collapsed, frightened and wounded. They needed an ambulance. His trembling fingers were tapping on the screen. And while he was giving the necessary information on the phone, the young recruit noticed that androids were still disabled, as well as dead.