Author's Note: Thank you guys so much for your kind words! Seriously, your reviews just make me feel so confident and happy. I am so glad you are enjoying reading. I just finished my edited draft of my YA book to send out to some friends, so that will take a backseat for a while while I work on this! I've got all these ideas; I just need to actually write them!
54 Detroit 1.20.2039
Caffeine Corner Coffee Shop
10:43 am
Connor
As soon as I see Clara, I grin. I can't help myself when I'm around her. I feel this joy that wells up inside. I stand up from the table I'd reserved for us, and Clara comes over, kissing me quickly before we both sit back down. I am aware of people staring, but today I don't care. I need a little happy after my day at work. We'd been called in to investigate an arson. An abandoned house that several deviants had been hiding in had been burned to the ground. One android had died. I wasn't sure why they hadn't gone to New Jericho in the first place, but after being treated as well as they could by the paramedics on the scene, they were escorted to New Jericho and hopefully to safety. We had no leads so far, but I was hoping something would surface soon so we could get to the bottom of the crimes.
I'm dressed in the outfit Clara got me, dark jeans, a white button up shirt, and a semi-formal black jacket. I look like a detective, but without the tie, I no longer look like I 'have a stick up my ass' according to Hank.
"How was the press conference?" I ask. I ordered Clara's favorite kind of coffee just before she arrived and slide it across to her now.
"Thanks." She pulls off her mittens and takes a grateful sip, quite possibly burning her tongue from the way she winces. "It went really well. All the reporters were respectful like they really wanted to hear what Markus had to say. He delivered a great speech. I recorded it if you want to listen." She pulls out her phone, loading the video and sliding it across to me. I press play and listen to Markus ask for our people's rights.
"He's a natural leader," I tell her after listening to all the questions and Markus's well-worded answers.
"I just hope we see more progress," Clara says. "It's not enough. You can't just start giving androids rights and be like, eh, that seems like enough for now. We're not going to stop until they're equal to humans in every way!"
I smile at the way Clara always refers to herself as one of us and not them. She might as well be for how much she's advocated for androids. She takes the lid off her coffee and blows on it before taking another sip. The scent of hazelnut wafts through the air and, for a moment, I wish I could enjoy coffee like her.
"How was work?" she asks.
For a moment, I wish we could just talk about something else, keep the light mood going, but I know it's not something we can ignore. "There was another arson. One android died, five others escaped with minor injuries," I tell her.
I see the fury build behind her eyes. "Do you have any leads?" I also see determination there. We solved a few cases together in the past, but it's been ages since we've worked together on anything. Maybe it's time again. Clara has a talent for hunting down clues...and for getting into trouble. In fact, usually she lands herself in trouble and inadvertently stumbles upon something important, but I could still use her help.
"Anything on your end?" I ask hopefully.
"No. Not so far. It might not be one person. In fact, it probably isn't. That's what makes it so hard to find someone to pin these hate crimes on. Also the punishment is shit, so they don't care if they get caught. They're just a martyr for the next radical to step up."
I know she's right, but I'm still determined to do something about it. I just don't know what yet.
"Are you headed to the office later?" I ask.
She nods. "I need to type up my notes and get a story to Horowitz by this afternoon. Are you going back to the station?"
I shake my head. "I thought I'd revisit the scenes of some of the crimes and see if there's anything we missed."
"Ah, that sounds way more interesting," Clara moans. I smile at her eagerness. "Are you going alone?" she asks.
"I'll wear my hat." I wish I didn't have to hide my LED, that the DPD badge Hank stole for me to use was enough, but I know I'll draw too much attention.
"Sorry," Clara says, but it isn't her fault. I reach across the table and take her hand.
"You can come next time," I tell her, and she cheers up at that thought.
"Hank definitely needs a second side-kick."
I laugh softly at the thought of Clara tagging along with Hank and me. Hank is genuinely affectionate toward Clara-in his usual grudging sort of way, but I've seen him smile around her when he thinks we're not looking. She's impossible not to like with her boundless enthusiasm and warm compassion.
We chat about other things while she finishes her coffee, reminiscing about the first time we met. I have now been alive for six months. I feel like there's so much more to explore, and that excites me. I know there are limits, but when I'm with Clara I forget about limitations. We hold hands while we chat and, after a time, people stop staring. The baristas know us by now and will smile at me when I come in, which is probably why this is Clara's favorite spot. She refuses to go anywhere people judge me. Sometimes I forget we're not a normal couple. Sometimes I forget I'm not human. Clara makes me forget.
"What do you want to do tonight?" Clara asks, rubbing her thumb over my hand. It's distracting in the best of ways, and I almost forget her question.
"I know you're dying to know what happens in the next episode of Nearly Human." She smiles as I bring up her favorite show. It's a cheesy drama, love story featuring an android and a human falling in love. It was made long before the android revolution, closer to the time CyberLife androids were making their first appearance, but it brings me hope.
"Yeah, I kind of am," she admits.
"Then we'll watch that." I love making her happy and, if I'm being honest, I'm kind of curious to find out what happens next, too.
"Okay, deal."
We still can't do everything a normal couple would-eat meals together or walk down the city streets hand in hand with my LED exposed. Sometimes I wished I could eat like a human, but though I join Clara for meals, the food serves no purpose for me. Still, I've asked her to teach me how to cook so that I can cook for her.
"How are you going to know if it tastes good?" she asked me when I'd suggested this. "You have to taste to make sure the flavor's there as you go."
"I can analyze the contents and find the correct balance," I'd told her, the words coming out analytical. She'd made a face at me.
"That's cheating. Besides, taste is about personal preference. Maybe you think it should be a certain percentage of flavors, but my tongue might think differently."
"I should get to the office," Clara says regretfully after she drains the rest of her coffee. "Promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise. Good luck with your article." I walk her to her car, and she leans up to kiss me. I think it's meant to be a quick kiss, but as she pulls away, suddenly I want more. I kiss her again, this time deeper. Her back hits her car, but she wraps her arms around me, one hand gentle against the back of my neck. I will never tire of this-the sparks of excitement and happiness that ignite my components, the sense of profound acceptance I get from Clara. This is where I was meant to be.
Clara lets out what sounds like a nervous laugh when we finally break apart. "That, um, we should do that more often," she says, and I grin at her. A few months ago, I'd never kissed anyone. I'd had no idea what I was doing. Clara tells me I'm a good kisser, and I'm not sure how much practice she's had, but I could say the same about her. I love the spontaneity that seems to be at the heart of our relationship. I'd never had that before I'd met Clara. Everything was directions, missions, focus. Clara changed all that.
"I'll see you back at the house," I tell her, backing away so she can get in her car. She looks regretful as she gets in. I watch her drive away, happy for a moment before my thoughts turn back to the investigation.
So far we've had no leads. Each crime is similar but not enough to think we might have one perpetrator. It's hate crime, plain and simple, but if it continues we'll have something more complicated on our hands. Each crime against androids is a step in the wrong direction for winning equal rights. As long as we're being called out as different, we'll never be allowed to assimilate. It's disheartening after all we've been through. November felt like a victory, but things have levelled out since then without getting us where we need to be.
I pull my beanie out of my jacket pocket, sliding it over my head to hide my LED. It feels false, like I'm hiding something I'm ashamed of. That couldn't be further from the truth, but the anonymity does make me feel a little safer.
There have been half a dozen crimes so far. I know there's a potential for it to get much worse, but I can work with six scenes for now. I visit the most recent. Hank and I already investigated, but there's always a chance we missed something. Now that the ashes have settled, the building stands like a hollowed out skeleton, bones all that was left. The androids had been hiding out here for who knew how long, and clearly someone had noticed them.
The house is in an abandoned neighborhood, a good location for androids who didn't wish to be found, but not a good location for witnesses. I scan the surrounding buildings, but this neighborhood hasn't seen life in a long while. The burnt shell of the house sets the tone for this block, and I find myself not wanting to linger.
Deciding this site is a dead end, I head for the next recent crime scene. Here an android was beaten to death in an alley behind a bar. It's quiet during the day, the bar not open until late afternoon. There's still blue blood splattered on the walls of the building. Someone has written DEATH TO ANDROIDS in bold writing over the blood.
When I was first investigating deviants, something like this wouldn't have bothered me. I was programmed to be indifferent, professional. Now it hurts to see this, hurts to think people hate what I am. I know not everyone feels and thinks this way, but sometimes hate speaks louder than love.
I have to think the android fought back by the scene left the night of the crime. Trash cans were strewn about, lids halfway down the alley, garbage everywhere. Maybe there was something small that we'd missed. I scan the gravel around the blood and something catches my eye. It's a silver ring, the kind one might wear through a nose, and there's blood on it. Just a drop. I feel a little self-conscious as I press the ring against my tongue. The blood is dry, but the moisture on my tongue wettens it, and I can still read it.
Andrew Roscoe, 23, criminal record for assault, battery, and armed robbery. He'd also been arrested for taking part in a violent protest when he was younger. He fits the profile of what I was looking for. I imagine the ring came off during the altercation. Clearly the android had tried to fight back, but it was likely there was more than one attacker. This was a start. It's more than what I'd had before.
I decide to visit the other four crime scenes to see if there's anything else I missed. I prided myself on being thorough, but I had missed the ring. Maybe I'd missed something else.
The next scene is an abandoned parking lot near downtown. Rusting cars lie in ruin, and I see an old, desecrated body of an android no one had bothered to remove. I pull my hat a little lower, conscious of what kind of neighborhood this is. There's a splash of blue blood on the wall of one of the surrounding buildings where the android was shot execution style. It doesn't fit the M.O. for the other crimes. Each one is similar in the sense that they are committed against an android, violent enough to end in death, but the manner of violence is different.
We were able to recover the bullet from this scene, but ballistics couldn't tell us much more than what kind of gun fired it and how close the range was. Any gunshot residue would be long gone by how, but it was possible the perpetrator still had a splatter of blue blood on the clothes he'd been wearing if he hadn't gotten rid of them.
There's really nothing more here that I don't already know, just a sense of abandonment and desperation. Motion catches my eye, and I turn to see someone disappear behind one of the cars.
I scan, but whoever it is stays out of my range of sight. I move forward, careful, quiet, expecting some kind of danger. When I round the abandoned car, I find myself face to face with a human. He's homeless by the looks of it, a few teeth missing. I recognize fear and desperation on his face. He's afraid of me, I realize as he shrinks back.
"It's okay," I tell him, holding out my hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not going to hurt you." I realize he has no idea I'm an android and use this to my advantage. I also know some people don't respond well to law enforcement. Instead of telling him I work for DPD, I say, "I'm looking into what happened here. Did you see anything that could be helpful to me?"
The man eyes me distrustfully for a long moment before hauling himself to his feet. Dirt crusts under his fingernails, and it doesn't look like he's had a decent meal in some time. My sympathy goes out to him. Humans don't always treat their own kind well; how can we expect anything different?
"Maybe. What's in it for me?" he asks. I can't blame him. I pull a ten dollar bill from my back pocket and hand it over. The man grabs it so quickly the bill nearly tears.
"There were some kids hanging about coupla nights ago. Loud. Drinking. Smoking red ice. They cornered that android and made it plead for its life. Told it they'd let it go if it begged. It did. They shot it anyway."
My mouth hardens, my fist clenching. "Can you tell me anything more about the kids that would help identify them."
He pretends to mull it over and I had him another ten dollars. "Never seen em before in my life, but they all wore jackets with this symbol on it." He drags his fingers across the dirty car window beside him, leaving a depiction. It's a triangle with an X through it. An anti-android symbol? I haven't seen it before. None of the crime scenes had gang symbols graffitied nearby, just words. Could it be an anti-android gang attacking these androids?
"Thank you," I tell the man. "You've been most helpful."
"You're one of em, aren't you?" he says as I turn to leave. I pivot back to look at him.
"One of who?"
"One of the robots. I can always tell. No soul behind those eyes."
His words cut me deeply, though I don't think he means for that. I don't have a response, and he shuffles off a moment later, clutching the two tens in his dirty fist.
His words haunt me the rest of the day as I revisit the other crime scenes. I can't focus, too distracted to give the scenes my full attention. In the end, all I have is the man's testament and the blood sample. I hope it's enough to get a lead, but I feel defeated when I head back to Clara's house. Do androids have souls? Why is it we feel if we are soulless? How can we love? Maybe these feelings are a software glitch after all. Maybe my mind has never and will never be my own.
