Predictably, as soon as she left the hospital, Jane started worrying. The Dirty Robber? What was she thinking? It was nowhere near fancy enough for Dr. Isles. For that matter, why had she decided to ask the doctor to dinner? It was such a crazy, stupid idea. The two of them would have nothing to talk about, or if they did, she would mortally offend the doctor once again. She wasn't sure she hadn't already offended the doctor by asking her to do something she literally could not do. Even if the robot wasn't actually capable of feeling emotions, it would be awkward to have her just sitting there watching Jane eat.
Stamping up the street toward the town hall, though, Jane realized that it was ridiculous to worry about hurting the doctor's feelings. She was just as incapable of feeling anything—gratitude, shock, distress—as she was of eating.
It did seem, however, that the doctor was extremely capable of mimicking human emotional responses. She might as well treat the doctor as a human, since she was clearly committed to acting as much like a human as possible. Why, Jane didn't know. Perhaps it was that "politeness" she was known for among fellow robots. A malfunctioning computer chip? Something that made her different from other robots Jane had interacted with. One way or another, by the time she got to her office, on the third floor, Jane was resigned to the idea. She was taking Dr. Isles to dinner.
For the rest of the afternoon, she tried to do research. But trawling the internet for reputable websites with information about the functioning of robots was boring and unprofitable. You'd think that there would be ample resources for a human interested in finding out how not to offend a robot, but either nobody knew anything about the workings of robots or the robot government was cracking down on information. Jane, remembering her cringe-inducing first meeting with Dr. Isles, could readily believe the latter hypothesis. What she didn't know was why.
She stretched out in her chair, making a noise of dissatisfaction. She was so unsuited to desk work it wasn't funny. She wanted to be out on the streets, or at least working on solving a mystery more important than why robots were the way they were. She wanted to be doing something, not waiting around to go to dinner with someone she didn't even like.
When she stepped outside of the building that evening, the sky was already dark, and the temperature, which had been low earlier, had dropped to eyelash-freezing depths. It took the whole drive home for Jane's car's heater to warm sufficiently for Jane's teeth to stop chattering. She felt frozen into her coat, shrunk into a smaller version of herself. As soon as she got home, she turned the heat up to 75 and stood in front of the one reliable heating vent in her apartment, hugging herself. She suddenly felt exhausted; this cold had a way of taking the life out of you. She considered canceling dinner, but dismissed that plan as even more embarrassing than showing up. Reluctantly, she trudged to her bedroom to find something a little dressier to wear.
Jane walked into the Dirty Robber a couple minutes after seven. She didn't see Dr. Isles right away, and for a moment she was sure the doctor had decided not to come, but then she spotted a perfectly coiffed head of blonde hair sticking over the top of one of the booths. She walked over and slid in across from Dr. Isles.
"Good evening, Ms. Rizzoli."
Jane had started to accept that Dr. Isles, outside the lab, was always flawlessly dressed. Tonight she wore a simple, dark, long-sleeved dress that somehow managed to look about a hundred times classier than what Jane had picked out (a fancier version of her everyday clothes: a button-down and a blazer with dress pants.)
"How was your afternoon, Dr. Isles?"
"It went very well, after your little interruption," said Dr. Isles. "Tell me, are you always that awkward around robots? You are the human-robot liaison for the city of Boston, correct? You must have some experience with robots."
Taken aback by the doctor's directness, Jane was grateful for the interruption of a waiter who came by to take their order. Jane ordered what she usually ordered: a burger and a beer. She was surprised when Dr. Isles ordered a cup of coffee. Surely she couldn't drink it? She was trying to think of how to ask this politely when Dr. Isles answered her unvoiced question. "I thought it would look odd not to order anything.
"But answer my question, Ms. Rizzoli. Are you always this awkward with robots?" She leaned forward, trapping Jane in her piercing gaze.
"Well, to be honest, I haven't had that much experience with...robots..." Jane admitted. "I've only been in this job for two weeks. You're the first robot I've ever interacted with in my official capacity as liaison." She sighed. "I mean, before this, I was a cop, so I've only really interacted with robots who've committed crimes, and I've had enough run-ins with that type that...I don't really trust robots." She rotated the beer that had just been delivered to the table in her hand, avoiding Dr. Isles' gaze.
"If you distrust robots, you must have some reason," said Dr. Isles, her voice utterly emotionless. "Did something happen to you to cause this uneasiness?" She didn't sound annoyed or angry; tentatively, Jane met her gaze. There was a long moment of silence during which Jane weighed what she was about to say: the advisability of telling this near-stranger her story, her chances of re-offending Dr. Isles. But there was something about the doctor that made Jane think that she could be trusted.
She wasn't sure who'd christened it the "Screwtape Incident," or why. The case hadn't involved anyone named Screwtape (of course it hadn't; what kind of name was Screwtape?). But a couple days after it was all over, Jane started hearing people referring to the Screwtape Incident, and then the name had caught on. When it became a matter of national interest, that's what they called it. Korsak had mentioned something about some writer, but Jane ignored it, as she did most literary nonsense.
It had begun a month ago—maybe before that. It's hard to tell when exactly these things start, when it would have been possible to disentangle yourself the whole mess. But that was when they'd begun to investigate a series of suspicious deaths in the West End. Over the course of a few weeks, they'd traced the murders to a resident of the neighborhood, a man known as Shady Jack. Jane and her partner, Frost, had staked out the place he was staying, and after a couple of days, they spotted him leaving the building. The man fit the description they'd gotten from neighbors; he was middle-aged, with thinning brown hair—unremarkable except for a slight limp.
Jane had confronted him, and when he tried to run—a stupid decision on his part, given the limp—she'd tackled him to the ground. They'd taken him in, questioned him. He seemed like your normal, run-of-the-mill serial killer, except for one detail. Shady Jack turned out to be a robot.
It was unclear how many humans had been involved in his plots, but it seemed he'd been able to convince some of his neighbors to assist him in the murder of several apparently random victims. Aside from the fact that he was a robot, it was no more horrifying than most of the cases that Jane worked, and she was somewhat surprised when it started getting massive amounts of attention from the media. Sure, the case was a mess, but once they'd locked the robot and his accomplices up, the murders stopped. There was a considerable faction of the population, however, who called for the government to send "Shady Jack" back to Canada. There was also a—very vocal—percentage who thought that Jack had committed crimes against humans and should be punished by humans (although there was no consensus as to how that would be accomplished.) The whole thing was a massive headache. Jane was grateful her role had been limited to arresting the guy—and discovering that he was a robot—but even at that she'd gotten some attention from the media. It was her untypically reticent answer to one reporter that brought her to the attention of the mayor, and subsequently to this job.
"I guess we're going to have to come to some sort of agreement with the government of Canada," she'd said on that particular occasion. "My first priority, now that we've stopped the murders, is maintaining the peaceful relations we've had for the last century. It would be a mistake to upset the balance over one criminal."
The thing that really sickened her about the whole thing was the prejudice. No, it wasn't quite that—it was the discovery that she was just as prejudiced as the next person. She found herself lying awake at night, wondering if she'd treated Shady Jack any differently after she knew he was a robot. Jane didn't like moral ambiguity. She was only concerned with bringing killers to justice. As far as she was concerned, her job should have ended as soon as Shady Jack was in custody, but somehow, the case had become tied to her name, and then her role as "the cop who dealt with robots" was cemented with her appointment to the role of liaison.
In the Dirty Robber a month later, Jane swallowed the last of her beer. "So now I'm forced to think about this shit all the time. I guess what I feel like is, sure, this guy was scum, but he was no worse than most of the types we pick up. He was almost...human." She paused, reflecting. "And something about that was incredibly creepy to me, that he managed to fool everyone. I don't really care whether its our government or his that punishes him for his crimes."
Jane lowered her head into her hands. She felt wound up from the tension of telling the story. "I'm not sure why I told you this. It's not anything that will help you with your case, or anything." But Dr. Isles looked very interested.
"The human mind is a fascinating thing, Ms. Rizzoli," she said. "I've always been of the opinion that robots can learn from the way your minds work."
"I guess." Jane looked doubtful. "You're the first person I've talked to anyone about this thing," she said eventually, the pause before 'person' so slight that only a robot could have detected it. "There's no reason it should've gotten under my skin the way it has. I just keep thinking...it's ridiculous, but what if...Shady Jack was able to fool everyone around him into thinking he was human so easily. What if...any of us...could secretly be...anything we wanted? The difference between robot and humans...what if it's not as definite as we think it is? " She laughed quietly at herself babbling incoherently to Dr. Isles. "I'm sorry, this doesn't make any sense. Just ignore me."
"You're troubled by the continued existence of evil, even in this day and age."
"Yeah, I guess, I mean, that's my job—that was my job." Jane rubbed her hands together meditatively. "Evil is one thing. I'm—it sounds terrible, but I'm used to evil. What I'm not used to is feeling like what I am can so easily be imitated. Some humans might be evil, but at least they're human, you know? I can't say I understand what makes a man want to disembowel a small child, but at least I feel like I can relate to the part of him that's still human. I don't want to have to worry about something that's so...alien."
"But are robots really alien? You could make the argument that we came from humans. We're as familiar to you as your own children."
Jane stared at the doctor, her face twisted involuntarily into a look of doubt. "I don't...how would you know what it's like to have children?" She immediately regretted taking this tone with the doctor, but before she could apologize, Dr. Isles had responded, calmly,
"It's true, I don't know what it's like to have children. But neither do you, Ms. Rizzoli, from what I understand."
Jane stared at the doctor.
"Cultural identity is a very complicated issue, I understand, one that many humans never get around to scrutinizing. Nor do most robots, for that matter," she added. "I apologize if my metaphor was inappropriate. Clearly, we both come from cultures that are profoundly uncomfortable with each others' existence. It is my great hope that your work as robot-human liaison will go some way toward ironing out the kinks in our cultures' relationship. Your willingness to entertain discussion of these sensitive issues is clearly a great asset."
Jane had nothing to say to this, but she was saved by the arrival of the bill. She paid it without protest from Dr. Isles, then set in on the edge of the table.
"Well," said Jane, feeling awkward. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow. My boss is pretty set on the two of us developing a tight relationship. But, um, it was nice to eat dinner with you, Dr. Isles." She'd intended to lie, but realized as she was saying it that it was true: even though Dr. Isles hadn't eaten anything, and despite the rather heated discussion that had ended the meal, it had been a nice evening. "Sorry for, you know, overloading you with unnecessary information."
"No information is unnecessary, Ms. Rizzoli," Dr. Isles said quietly. "And you can call me Maura."
Jane was taken aback by this personal gesture. "Oh! Okay...Maura. You can call me Jane." And with that, Jane got up to leave, feeling that this very strange evening had reached an appropriately strange ending. She was stopped by a hand on her sleeve. She looked down at Dr. Isles, who had a serious look on her face. "Thank you for telling me your story, Jane," the robot said quietly.
Jane couldn't bring herself to do anything more than give the doctor a quizzical look. Leaving the bar, she felt an unexpected lightness. It had been a long time since she'd talked to anyone so...interesting. Someone that—she had to admit to herself—she liked.