Back at 221B, the Baker Street Irregulars had let themselves in. Wiggins had been entrusted with Sherlock's key a while back, so they could enter his apartment if they ever needed access to his computer, or other items. Sometimes they would be sent to pick up something for him, when he was in the field. Or else they would need a safe place to stop by if they felt endangered in any way. However today, Wiggins couldn't shake a feeling in his stomach, which was twisting in and out of knots. Ever since Watson told him what Dr. Donovan had said, he felt anger. Watson didn't deserve to be treated like a threat. If anything, Watson was far kinder and gentler than most humans they knew were. To think someone thought him and his kind capable of such things.
"I'm wonderin' about these 'ere three laws of robotics," said Dierdre, from the chase lounge.
"Hmm, what's that Tennyson?" Wiggins asked. Tennyson whirred as he pulled up the Compudroid Company's site. Black-gloved fingers flew across the keys of his computer terminal with incredible dexterity.
"A for Asimov," Tennyson whirred. "Holmes 20th century SF collection…"
"Oh yeah, Mister Holmes asked me to get him caught up," Wiggins said. Picking up a slate he punched a few buttons, and downloaded the file on Asimov's book I Robot. Typing "three laws," he called up the file and handed the padd to Deirdre.
"What's this then?" Deirdre asked.
"Only one of the most brilliant writers in SF," said Wiggins. "He was the man who first widely wrote about robots and what they'd be like in the future. Imagine what he'd have thought of Watson. Langer mentioned the Three Laws, and said that all New Scotland Yard droids are programmed with Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics as the main part of their ethics program."
"Why Watson's armed with a stunner and not a laser," said Deirdre as she glanced over the rules. "So basically a robot can't let itself get right busted up, and here it says that it can't sit on its bum if a human's gonna pop it's clogs or hurt a person… and this 'ere other one says that it has to obey all laws that it's given as long as they don't conflict with the first two, right?"
"Right. So all Scotland Yard droids… and what's that… the domestics too are programmed. But Dr. Donovan said he was working on robots that didn't have those laws. I wonder who decides what the programming is"
"Dr. Calvin," beeped Tennyson. Nearby, Deirdre was sitting on Holmes' chaise lounge, glancing through her latest photographs in her digital camera. Wiggens pulled up the round stool that Holmes kept by his roll-top desk and sat down next to Tennyson.
"I don't' see why WE couldn't go to the company, right enough," Deirdre complained.
"You know how Watson and Holmes sometimes get. I mean a couple of kids tagging along may make those people at the Compudroid Company suspicious," Wiggens said as the green text flashed across the screen. Tennyson glanced over at his friend and made a series of whirrs and beeps.
"It's probably good we didn't," he said in his own fashion.
"Ya think?" asked Wiggens. "I still don't like the idea of Watson going there alone… I mean if what's true about that one scientist… I mean Watson said that he didn't like robots…"
"Funny that he works at a robotics company than," said Deirdre. "If he doesn't like 'em."
"Dr. Donovan did work for the compudroid company, the military division," Tennyson whirred. "And there is the problem that Inspector Langer talked about… that Dr. Morrison didn't want to continue working with him because his idea of robotics was developing better soldier units…"
"That's right," Wiggens nodded. "And Watson said that Dr. Donovan didn't like Dr. Morrison developing robots that looked more and more like real humans… like androids…"
"Cor, that's why 'ee hated Watson," said Deirdre with a grimace. "So droids'rr only good if they can kill and shoot people. Right nasty enough…"
"I'll say," Wiggens mumbled. "So, we have a guy who hates androids, but likes working for a company that makes robots for a military purpose. So he must have been upsetting some people… or else Dr. Morrison was. It sounds like he's a prime suspect for kidnapping her…"
"Wait, Mr. 'Olmes said that's too obvious… I mean it's too neat and wrapped up like," said Deirdre. "And I'd be thinkin' that there's somethin' we're missing. What if the robots were the ones who kidnapped her?"
"I thought the same thing," Wiggens glanced over his shoulder at her as she showed him the pictures. "What do you think, Tennyson?"
Tennyson beeped in the affirmative, but added, "Either someone TOLD Them to capture her, or they did because they wanted to protect her from a bigger threat… if she is making androids… and if there is one guy like Donovan who doesn't respect her work…"
"There could be others," Wiggens said, his eyes darkening in concern. "He's pretty high up in the company, right? I mean if he's running a display booth with model robots, he'd have to be someone that the company trusted t' represent them… a spokesperson."
"What about this 'ere Dr. Calvin…" Deirdre asked as she flicked the woman's picture on her camera. "She also argued with Dr. Morris'n. I say she's a suspect too…"
"We need more information," Tennyson beeped.
"Right. Mister Holmes is always saying you need as much data as you can get before making the next conclusion… so let's keep digging…"
"I don't like just sitting here on me bum doin' nothing but waitin for Mister Holmes and the Inspector. I think one of us should go check up on 'em… and maybe on Watson and Langer, n' see if they need help…"
"But Mister Holmes told us to wait for him here… till we got our next call… or till they showed up at four…" said Wiggins.
"C'mon, we were supposed to find evidence… of Dr. Morris'n's kidnappers. And if they'd be robots, what better than t' go nosin' around the factory…"
"Wait," beeped Tennnyson urgently. "The restaurant that Holmes and Lestrade are at… Amanda said that her father sometimes goes there… for Association meetings…"
"I can't believe your girlfriend's dad is in this rotten place and does nothing!" said Dierdre.
"Her parents are divorced," Tennyson reminded him. "She lives with her mother… remember? She hardly sees her father, except when he sends her money on Christmas and on her birthday. She only got us in because she knows his access codes…"
"Sorry," Deirdre apologized.
"I think one of us should make sure Holmes and Lestrade are ok," Wiggens said.
"And Langer n' Watson…" said Deirdre. "Just in case… maybe you should go check on Mister 'Olmes, n' I'll go check on Watson n' his new girlfriend… just follow 'em to make sure they get to the factory… n' see if anyone tries to stop them. Then one of us can tell Mister Holmes if he's in trouble, and if you see Mister 'Olmes in trouble you can call us and I can get Watson n' Langer like…"
"Let's go. Tennyson, keep in touch and keep diggin. And maybe get your girlfriend to tell you as much as she can about her dad and all," Wiggens suggested. "Maybe have her come here?"
Tennyson beeped and nodded. "Good luck," he chirped and whirred as Deirdre and Wiggens grabbed their boards and trotted down the steps of 221B on their separate missions. All three Irregulars had a gut feeling something wasn't right, and they wanted to make sure they took care of their own.
***
Meanwhile, Langer was poking at a Caesar salad, and sipping her iced tea. Watson had taken the seat opposite her, and both were discussing what had happened earlier. All around them people milled, grabbing ready-made concentrates from some places, and in others for a few more credits, real food was served. They had taken one of the tables in a café overlooking the center core of the mall tower. Banks of windows let light pass through a wall of glass, while the interior floors curled around like a spiral headed upwards. This part of the building was not harsh lines and angles, but gentle curves, with shops nestled into the rounded bays of the floors. At the core was a shaft, with the floor wrapping in a spiral about it, and the glass elevators shifting up and down to give a spectacular view.
"A piece of garden in a tech center, how intriguing," Watson commented as Langer further attacked her salad. She was packing away piece after piece of lettuce, washing each mouthful down with her iced tea, all the time not breaking eye contact with Watson. Her dark eyes did not seem to want to break their gaze from his, and he found it fascinating how focussed on his conversations she was. Holmes was much the same way, but it was for an entirely different reason. Langer seemed genuinely interested in simply talking about things like the weather, and her son. They had discussed the case, till Langer held up her hand.
"Enough about the case. That Dr. Donovan makes my skin crawl. Can you believe that zed? You ARE a police compudroid… and trying to fake a phone call," Langer shook her head.
"I still seem to think it rather intriguing that he was so hostile toward me, and yet he hardly knew me. And yet he was so quick to assume that phone call was genuine. It would suggest he was covering something up," Watson said.
"It would, but why?" Langer asked. "I think we gotta check that factory out. And soon. But not till I finish this salad, and not till you tell me more about learning to cook for Sherlock Holmes…"
"Did Lestrade inform you of my activities in Holmes service?" Watson inquired.
"Well we're mates," Langer said. "She tells me things, I tell her things."
"I do know most ladies tend to share intimate details regarding situations, and sometimes it isn't such a dark secret as much as having a friend to share things with," Watson said.
"How much DO you remember?" Langer asked. "If you read ALL Dr. Watson's journals?"
"My predecessor kept records from his first meeting with Holmes for a good fifteen to twenty years. But they are not to be altogether confused with the stories that were printed of Holmes exploits in the strand. There WERE some things changed for obvious reasons… and one thing I do remember regarding cooking is that Holmes and my predecessor depended on one another to share the responsibilities of keeping a household… at least temporarily… when Mrs. Hudson was not present…" Watson explained. "And well, cooking intrigues me. Many things do. And since he insisted I live at 221B, it seems only fair that I contribute to keeping the place up… since there is no Mrs. Hudson available…"
"So who's in 221 regular?" asked Langer.
"Well, it has been vacant, but Holmes has rented out parts of it for storage," said Watson quietly, as if conveying a secret. "As you and I know, since you assured me that you and Lestrade are friends, there was a great deal of things that were passed down, and a great deal of items in the Sherlock Holmes museum. And since the flat was cleared for Holmes and I to reside there, the exhibits had to go somewhere…"
"Makes sense," said Langer. "So you like living with Holmes? I mean it's working out and all?"
"He does tend to get lonely, even though he won't admit it," Watson lowered his voice. "And I realize just WHY he was glad to have the company of me… based on what my predecessor wrote. He and I… were a sounding board. Someone to think divergently."
"Every great hero needs a sidekick, nepradva li?" asked Langer with a slow smile.
"Well he would say there WAS a grain of truth in every legend," Watson smiled. "Though he'd be rather pleased he was so highly regarded."
"I'm going to have to do a bit more work," Langer said. "I just realized if you ARE going to continue interacting with Holmes and on his cases, you might benefit from some further mods… we had been working on some ways for compudroids to actually feel what it's like to have a synthetic skin on their hands. Sort of to make you feel even more like you fit in?"
"I'm most grateful for your assistance with the elastomask… and the further modifications since then," Watson cleared his throat. "I suppose I had never taken the opportunity to tell you so, how much I do appreciate having the ability to actually blink as if I were actually human…"
"Not just a layer of skin, but more," Langer nodded. "But something's telling me you don't MIND just having your predecessor's face. That you're happy being just the way you are?"
"I do appreciate what you have done, but I am quite content in most ways," Watson said with a nod. "And you have been most kind… in your assistance…"
"Excuse me," said the waiter as he suddenly interrupted. "Will you be wanting anything else?"
"I'm good…"
"And may I ask… why you've brought your compudroid in here?" he said slowly. "I don't mean to be rude, but unless the compudroid is either paying, which isn't likely, or is doing a service for you, I'm afraid it's not to be brought into the restaurant…"
"The lady is eating, and she is a paying customer," Watson said as he glanced up at the waiter.
"Watson is with me," she said. "And he IS performing a service. He's my co worker in a case… and he's keeping me company while I eat…"
"Well that may be, but if EVERY custumer brought a compudroid in here to keep them company there wouldn't be much room for other patrons… and our sign DOES say to leave your compudroids outside…"
"Now see here, she is an officer of New Scotland Yard… mind your manners…" Watson said firmly as he glared at the waiter.
"I know, droid, but YOU should know how to read if you can talk all fancy… I'm just doing my job…" he said. "You'll have to go outside."
"If he goes, I go," Langer said firmly. "And I'd like to speak to your MANAGER about not minding your own business…"
"Um… I um…" he said as he rushed off.
"The absolute nerve," Watson shook his head. "I saw no such notice…"
"Nor did I," Langer mumbled. A few minutes later, a gentleman in a white shirt, red tie, and namecard badge moved up.
"Inspector, I must apologize for my employee," he said slowly. "I do realize you are undertaking an investigation… but I must ask you to have your droid leave… it tends to make the customers… nervous…"
"I see no reason why," Watson said slowly. "Do you? I mean no harm to them… I am simply sitting here, keeping the Inspector company. She specifically asked me to…"
"I'm speaking to your owner," he said rudely.
"Well I never," Watson got out.
"Let me handle this," said Langer. "Look, Watson works WITH me. In case you hadn't noticed he DID say something reasonable. And unless you want a…"
"Officer, with ALL due respect, I've had people of the law in here… and the rules of this café DO state that no compudroids are allowed inside unless serving a function such as being a server…"
"I didn't see anything posted," Langer said angrily.
"If it distresses you that much sir, I'll leave, and gladly. But I thank you NOT to speak to the Inspector in such a manner. She IS an officer of the law…"
"Is this thing for real?" he asked, looking at Langer with a question in his eyes. "I have NEVER seen one of these act like this…"
"Watson, let's get out of here," Langer said as she got up.
"Officer I simply wish to…"
"Here's a citation. You don't have your rule clearly posted… that's a 100 credit fine…" Langer said as she slapped the padd down on the table. "Let's go Watson…"
"I agree," Watson nodded. "Of all the confounded cheek…"
Mumbling the manager looked at the ticket and shook his head. He glared at the waiter angrily, and saw that people had overheard the whole exchange. Watson dropped a 10 credit note by the cashier, and escorted Langer out with her arm in his. People glanced around in confusion, muttering to one another as the New Scotland Yard Inspector and the droid with the incredibly realistic face stormed out.
"Exactly why those things SHOULND'T get human jobs," the manager grumbled. "Those yardies… always thinking they can get away with breaking rules. They think that since they enforce the rules they can be above them?"
"Don't worry sir," said a gentleman at the table next to him, in a black suit. "Soon you won't have to see droids used for such a frivolous purpose. Not when they can be put to BETTER use…"
"Hmm, glad someone has sense. I can tell you are a man of purpose," the Manager said as he glanced down at the customer.
"Here's my card. It's time more establishments like you enforced rules. These machines are getting so smart they are starting to think for themselves. And I for one uphold the idea that robots and droids serve us. Why SHOULD they think for themselves…" the man said as he tipped down his sunglasses and peered at the manager with a pair of green eyes.
"Indeed… and by the way, your lunch is on the house…"
"I think that your establishment could really benefit from some remolding. Here's my card… do call me… if this inspector or her pet droid comes back?" he said.
"I will… Dr. Powell," he nodded as the man handed over a silver foil embossed namecard.
****