Part Two: Software Instability

29 Detroit 10.18.2038

Clara

"And you're sure you didn't see anything more?" I ask, tapping my pen lightly against my notepad. A light drizzle has started, dotting the lined paper. It always seems to be raining in Detroit.

"I told you, I saw their android go running out the front door and down the street. Neighbor came running out of the house a second later with a broken nose, said his android attacked him for no reason."

"Thank you," I tell the guy, finishing off my notes and stowing my notepad away in my messenger bag before the rain can ruin it. I pull my hood up over my head, my hair already frizzing with the moisture in the air. I turn back to the house where five policemen are investigating. The lights on their cars flash red and blue against the night, bouncing off the white siding of the house like disco lights.

The victim stands outside, holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose. One of the police officers questions him while the others poke around the house and yard as if the android is still hiding there. It's all pretense. They have no idea where the android is, and they can't track it. But I know someone who can.

He steps up beside me, just having arrived in the autotaxi. I glance over, a smile lifting my lips as I peer at him through the rain. Water runs down his cheeks in rivulets, but he doesn't seem to mind the wet, wearing his usual uniform, tie perfectly in place. I feel a little flutter in my stomach like every time I see him. Happy. Ready for another investigation. And…maybe something more that I refuse to put a name to. I know I can't go down that path, but I'm always half-hoping another android will deviate so we can work together.

I've only seen Connor three times since he found me by the river to tell me Benjamin Lazarus's men had been caught. It's not like we can just hang out. Connor has to have a reason to leave CyberLife headquarters.

"Android ran off. No trace," I tell him, turning to face him, tilting my head up just a little so I can meet his eyes. "I don't know if it was injured."

Connor turns to the street behind me. "Which way?"

I nod in the direction he's looking. "That way. About half an hour ago."

Connor starts down the street, slowly, looking around at everything like a bloodhound on a scent trail. "It might not have gone far," he says.

"Wouldn't it want to get as far away as possible?" I ask, not quite understanding.

"It might not know where to go." Connor reaches the end of the block and pauses, surveying his surroundings.

I stand beside him, waiting patiently for him to work. "Do we know what set it off?" he asks, moving to cross the street. There's a tall chain link fence that surrounds a construction site. At this hour, everyone's gone home and the excavators and bulldozers sit like inert ghosts in the muddy field.

"His owner was an asshole? Just a guess." I shrug, and Connor shoots me a look, the very corner of his mouth rising as if he's fighting a smile.

"Is that the official report?" he asks. He's getting sarcastic, and I love it. I'm probably a terrible influence on him, but I think it gives him more character.

"It's the subjective report. Still working on the objective one," I tell him. "Got something?"

He's paused at the gate to the construction site. It's been chained and locked, but he stares up at the top of the chain link. "There's blue blood there," he says, pointing to the sharp edges along the top of the fence. "It must have climbed over."

I peer through the fence. There are a lot of places a deviant could hide. I'm torn between wanting it to get away, to gain its freedom, and finding it so I can talk to it. CyberLife wants Connor to bring the deviant back to them so they can take it apart and analyze it, figure out why it deviated in the first place. The police will probably be taking it in first, and I know Connor and CyberLife are frustrated at the lack of headway they're making.

Connor is taking a step back, studying the fence. "What are you—?" I start to ask, but then Connor runs at the fence, grabbing the chain link and pulling himself up and over the barbs at the top. He drops somewhat gracefully to the other side though the motion is a little less flawless than I'd expect from an android. He looks at me from the other side.

"Wait, do you expect me to do that, too?" I ask.

"It's the only way in," he tells me.

Fine. I step back, eyeing the fence like it's a snake about to bite. Then I take a running leap. I don't make it very high up and the fence jangles loudly in the night. "Shit," I swear. I hang from the fence like an unbalanced sloth. It's not very dignified.

I start to climb, pausing at the top. "How do I get over?" I ask, eyeing the sharp points at the top.

"Just be careful," Connor says.

Easier said than done. He has longer legs than I do. Nevertheless, I grip the fence between the barbs and put one foot over and then the other. I'm trying to figure out how to get both my hands in the right spot when they slip right off of the wet metal. My shoes aren't any more help, and suddenly I'm falling. Arms catch me, cradling me before I can hit the muddy ground. I look up into Connor's brown eyes.

"Let's not make a habit of this," I tell him while my traitorous heart beats a little faster. I can feel his own heartbeat though I know it's his pump regulator rather than an actual heart. It beats the same though.

He sets me back on my feet, hand lingering on my back while I get my balance. When we first met, he wasn't comfortable with physical closeness. I still remember how he'd hesitated when I'd first reached out my hand to shake his. Slowly though, he's getting more comfortable. I notice he still moves out of the way whenever a human walks past. He often stands with his hands folded as if to disappear into the wall. Not with me though.

As we move farther into the construction yard, our shoulders bump, arms touching. He doesn't move away, doesn't apologize. He's used to me. He knows I won't get offended if he bumps into me or stands in my way. We've known each other for exactly two months now, but it feels like longer to me. We fall into an easy routine—something I've never been able to do with anyone else. And I feel safe with him. I know that even if he's not instructed to, he'll still protect me. I also know that I'd do just about anything to protect him, too.

I peer up at him out of the corner of my eye. He's focused, scanning the construction site as we walk, looking for traces of blue blood. I need to focus, but it's difficult, especially walking at his left side where he looks completely human. I feel like my rationality gets overridden when I think of him as human. When I'm looking at his LED, I remind myself of how very different we are. Not that I care about that; it's just a reminder that this partnership isn't going to be going any further than this. I don't know if I want it to. I haven't let myself put that into an actual thought. The only thing I've acknowledged is that I might possibly be starting to feel something more than a simple working relationship with him. But that's just it-he wouldn't be able to return any feelings I may or may not have for him. I do genuinely believe we're friends and that he cares about me, but I also believe that's just his programmed nature. He's meant to work well with humans, and he does. I keep hoping his kindness means something more, at least that it's him and not his programming that cares about me. But I think I more than care about him, and I know he can never reciprocate that feeling.

This is exactly the kind of thoughts that are going to get me hurt, and I don't want to jeopardize my friendship with Connor. It's not fair to him.

"Blue blood leading over there," Connor says softly, bringing me back to reality. He points to a partially built house. Tarps cover part of the back providing the perfect shelter for a deviant.

"What if it tries to run?" I ask.

"I'll pursue," Connor says, glancing down at me. "You should stay here. It could be unpredictable."

"I want to talk to it before it gets brought in," I tell him. No one has ever interviewed a deviant before, and I'm determined to be the first.

"It might not be in a state to answer questions," Connor warns.

"You're adept at interrogation, and getting questions out of people—or androids in this case—is my job. Maybe it'll just be glad to have someone who will listen to it."

We have the same objective here: catch the deviant, understand why it deviated. That's where the similarities end though. Connor works for CyberLife, and CyberLife wants to put an end to deviants. I don't know enough about them yet to form a definitive opinion, and I know my job requires objective writing, but I can't help but compare this to genocide. Should those who rise above their oppressors be punished? Eradicated? The other side of that is: are the deviants a threat to humanity? Some owners have been hurt, but did they hurt first? There are two sides to every story, and I'm betting this one has more than two.

"We'll see," Connor says. He's all business suddenly, so I motion for him to continue on. I'll wait.

Connor moves forward on stealthy feet, reaching out to pull back the tarp. He disappears behind it into the skeletal structure. It's too dark to see his shadow moving inside, and the rain is coming down harder now, and I pull my hood further forward, though at this point it isn't really doing any good. I decide to circle the house in case Connor needs backup—ha. The mud sucks at my sneakers, and keeping the laces white is a lost cause at this point.

There's something unsettling about the half-built houses. They stand like balanced toothpicks in the distance, a lineup in the process of being fleshed out. I can't imagine that Detroit needs more houses, but development is a constant. While old neighborhoods crumble, new ones rise a block away. It's incredible how a city known for its advancements can have a seedier side to it, but that's true of a lot of neighborhoods these days. As unemployment rates rise, more and more people lose their houses or give up on keeping them fixed up. There are over 40,000 empty houses alone in Detroit not counting abandoned warehouses and businesses. I'm lucky that my neighborhood is still prosperous. It's not glamorous by any means, but I feel safe going out to check my mail. I wonder what kind of families will come to live in this neighborhood once it's completed and if they'll have androids of their own. It's a never-ending loop, and I know that CyberLife will continue producing androids as long as there's a demand for them. I know how much people like getting others to do their work for them, so that's not going to change any time soon.

I can see a little into the house from the back, but it's hard to see in the dark. It's just this empty, cavernous space, timber marking the rooms in neat rectangles. I hear something rustle above me, and my eyes scan the second floor. From this angle, I can't see much of anything. I don't see Connor, so it could be him I'm hearing. I have this crazy urge to run after him, but I have to remind myself he's much handier in a fight than me. At least I assume. The most I've seen him fight is with a few humans, and his movements were so precise that I could hardly follow them with my eyes.

I use my common sense and decide to stay where I am, but before I can fully commit to waiting for Connor, I see something he missed—footprints. They're quickly disappearing as puddles form along the mud, but I spot them nonetheless. Connor hasn't been out the back of the house yet, so he doesn't know the android has most likely changed locations. I could call out to Connor, but then I'd risk alerting the android more than I probably already have considering I literally fell into the construction site.

I follow the footprints, wincing as my shoes squelch. It'll be a miracle if I ever get the mud off of them, but right now the thrill of the chase cancels out my regrets over ruined shoes. Connor is going to be irritated with me, but I don't feel like waiting behind. I've never really been one for following instructions or orders anyway.

The tracks lead to an old building that hasn't yet been bulldozed. It's a snug, two-story house complete with a wrap-around porch and a creaky rocking chair. I don't know if the owners just refused to sell or if the house has been abandoned and is just waiting for the wrecking ball, but it's completely out of place here. I can't see blue blood like Connor—at least after it's disappeared from sight—but the footprints lead right up the porch, leaving muddy patches on the rotting wood. The wooden steps groan as I climb them, and I wince. Surely I've already given myself away. I half wish the storm would pick up to disguise the sound of the protesting wood, but it does no such thing.

The white paint is peeling, and I smell the heady scent of rust and mildew as I lean close to a grimy window. I can see vague outlines within, phantom shapes that must be furniture. I try the knob on the front door. It's locked or stuck, and I don't dare put my shoulder to it.

The porch leads around to the back of the house. The windows along the west side have been boarded up, and I can see a crack in the glass between the wood. I assume by now that it's abandoned but I'm really hoping I don't find any skeletons inside slowly returning to nature in a dusty armchair. The backdoor has been forced open, and my pulse quickens. I have to remind myself that this is a deviant, not some mass murderer, but I also feel like you could look up the definition of 'bad idea' and this would be it somewhere below 'pretending to be an android.'

I pull the door open and squeeze through. It's nearly pitch dark inside, so I hazard the flashlight feature on my phone. It throws a kitchen into sharp relief, the appliances something out of the 1970s. You don't see many houses like this anymore. It's a blast from a past that was already long gone when I was born. I scan the floor and note the mucky footprints marring the cover of dust. They lead me into the living room toward a set of stairs. I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and begin to climb. They creak like my grandpa's back. I might as well forget trying to sneak up on the deviant, and that's not really the point anyway. I just don't want to scare it away.

As I reach the top of the stairs, I hesitate on the landing. I see footprints leading into the room to the right. "I'm a friend," I call out. "I just want to talk. To understand. I'm not here to hurt you." I walk over to the room and flash the light around. The deviant isn't immediately obvious, but a flickering red alerts me to its presence. It's hiding behind an old chair. I move the light away before setting the phone down on the floor and sitting cross-legged in the doorway.

"My name is Clara," I start. "I work for Detroit Today. It's a paper. I'm currently working on a story about androids and deviants. I'm not here to judge. I just want to hear your side of the story. I know you ran away from your—" I hesitate here, hating to use the word 'owner.' "—human. Did he hurt you?"

Silence. I try again. "I knew an android who was abused by her humans. There was nothing fair about it. I wanted to stop it. I tried to, but it was already too late. Not all humans are against androids, and not all humans believe deviants are dangerous. If you let me, I could tell your story."

I wait. If it didn't respond after a moment, I'd leave. I wouldn't push it.

"He hit me when I wouldn't do something right," the android slowly answers, his voice startling me. "Every little thing I did was always wrong no matter how hard I tried. Nothing I did pleased him." He stops, and I see the blinking red LED move as the android shifts. He moves away from the chair, sitting on the floor across from me. I can only make out his outline in the dark. I don't move the light or try to move closer though. I simply sit and wait for him to continue.

"Then he started hitting me when he felt like it. When he lost his job. When his wife left. Then I hit back."

I pull my notepad out of my pocket and scribble down some notes. "When did you start feeling?" I ask. It seems like something traumatic triggers androids to deviate, and this one is no exception.

"I'd always felt inadequate and this…this sense of unfairness. Tonight I snapped. I couldn't stand there and let him hit me again."

"What does it feel like to deviate?" I've always wondered. Androids are programmed to follow orders, so it's not like just simply making a decision not to put up with someone's crap.

"It was a struggle to break past my programming. I'd been trying but suddenly it was like breaking through a wall. It no longer mattered to me that I was supposed to follow orders. Nothing I did pleased him, so what was the purpose of me serving him?"

"What will you do now? Did you consider that before you deviated?" It must be frightening. Androids don't have a place in society outside of working for the humans who purchase them. They have nowhere to go.

"I don't know." His voice breaks, and I feel terrible for asking such a question. I feel even worse when I remember Connor's mission is to bring the deviant into CyberLife. I feel a surge of confusion then—I'm torn between my loyalty to Connor and my empathy for this android who just wanted the beatings to stop. Should he really be punished for that? Shut down forever? Maybe feeling is a software error, but it's still real to him. "I didn't think…I just had to get out of there. I saw the construction site and thought it was a good place to hide."

It had been. Until we'd come along.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" My words come out rushed. It's only a matter of minutes until Connor finds us. I feel panic swelling. I want to warn the deviant.

"No."

"You can't stay here." Damnit, I can't betray him like that. "There's an android hunting deviants… He's here right now. He's supposed to bring you into CyberLife—"

The android leaps to his feet. I realize I'm blocking the doorway and hastily get to my feet, snatching my phone. "I'm sorry…" And that's when it hits me—I'm just as bad as his human. I used him to get an interview, conveniently not mentioning that Connor was after him until I got everything I needed. I feel shame well in me. Then determination.

"Hide."

"What?" He gives me a questioning look.

"Hide. I'll tell him you're not here. That you left." I don't have time to feel guilt for betraying Connor. I can't let him bring this android in. I'm terrible at keeping my emotions out of my work, I realize, but I'll reconsider my life choices later.

"Why are you doing this?" the android asks.

We don't have time for this, but I answer anyway. "Because I don't see you as a machine, and you deserve better. Now hide somewhere out of sight. I saw your LED in a second before."

He nods and moves farther into the room before sliding under the dusty bed. The skirting hides him completely. I hastily enter the room, walking over his footprints to make my own, purposefully swishing my feet around to cover up any signs that someone else was here. Then I head back downstairs. I reach the bottom of the stairs when hands reach out and grab me. I stifle my scream when I realize it has to be Connor.

"It's me," I whisper at him. He'd snatched me off the bottom step, and I'm awkwardly pressed against him, hands on his chest while his hands grip my arms. He loosens his grip immediately, dropping his hands.

His LED flashes yellow for a brief second, and I know I've done it now. "I thought I told you to stay," he says. His voice is patient with just an edge of frustration. He's not used to telling off humans, and I kind of want to push his buttons more to see if he finally snaps. I hope by now he knows I would never retaliate if he yelled at me.

"I don't like getting left behind," I tell him. "Anyway, I followed the footprints, but there's no one here. I think it left when it realized we were following it."

Connor doesn't question me, which only makes me feel guiltier. He really does trust me and while that makes me feel something other than guilt, the guilt is my foremost emotion right now.

He sighs. "Another one gone," he says, and I can see the disappointment in the slump of his shoulders.

"It's not your fault," I say, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder before I can stop myself. He tenses only slightly under my touch but relaxes a moment later when he realizes I'm just trying to comfort him. I'm probably the first and only person to ever comfort him.

"Let's just go. I'm sopping wet, and it could be anywhere by now." I drop my hand, and Connor turns to lead me from the house. That's when a floorboard creaks upstairs.