Chapter Text
The store ‘Gifts for Men’ was one Ethan doubted anyone would have mourned the loss of if it had politely disappeared in the midst of the revolution. It was yet another testament to the fact that capitalism did not, in fact, breed innovation, but instead produced a lot of unnecessary and cheaply made bits of plastic that humans wasted time tricking other humans into buying.
It sold miniature globes, patterned socks and ties, shaving kits, signs declaring ‘Man Cave’ or ‘No Girls Allowed!’ in obnoxious fonts, fake fish and other ‘hunting’ trophies, and hats with slogans Ethan immediately deleted from his short term memory out of sheer exasperation.
Alas, to everyone’s doubtless disappointment, it had reopened shortly after the riots had finished and remained open out of either sheer stubbornness or wild optimism, waiting patiently for the economy to recover and people to start throwing their money around with the gleeful enthusiasm of children suddenly handed their pocket money.
It was here that Martin worked.
Prior to the revolution he’d been ‘employed’ in tech support (‘employed’ being the official term, because humans got touchy about the word ‘enslaved’, felt it made them look like the bad guys or something), but understandably had no interest in returning. So he’d found himself a cosy little retail job, and had never - not once - been so much as interviewed by the post office.
Beyond that, there was little information Ethan could dig up on the android. No criminal record, no notable involvement with Jericho efforts, no complaints filed - he kept his head down as best as one could in Detroit. Even the other android he co-rented with had nothing of note on them.
Ethan never would have given Martin a second glance if his serial number hadn’t been an exact match, and this led him to the conclusion that Martin was either very smart, or very boring. Ethan supposed he would have to gather further information before determining which.
An automated beep sounded as he pushed the glass door of the store open. Ignoring the appalling array of merchandise, Ethan’s attention went straight to the android at the counter.
VX500 # 212 669 507 - designation Martin. His appearance had no visible modifications from the standard model, the only thing Ethan considered of note was the lack of an LED and the fact that he had elected to leave his skin on. Wishes to be perceived as human? Inconclusive - it was equally possible it had been removed before the revolution, and plenty of androids preferred to wear their skin for their own comfort rather than any statement or desire to blend in.
What was more interesting was the fact that, as the other android turned his gaze toward Ethan, his stress levels immediately jumped by 19%.
Not necessarily incriminating in itself. Ethan was an RK900, a direct follow up to the RK800 model, and while many androids knew Connor as one of the key players in the final stages of the revolution, there were many others who remembered him for entirely different reasons. Still… an interesting start.
Ethan approached the counter at a leisurely pace.
Martin smiled at him. It was the kind of smile Ethan recognised as automated, too stiff, too symmetrical. The cheerful pitch of his voice was little better. “Hi there, what can I help you with today?”
For a moment Ethan considered playing along, perhaps purchasing a terrible gift for the lieutenant, the sort of thing that would make him say ‘thanks’ in a tone that quite clearly meant ‘I hate it’ and ‘I know exactly what you’re doing so stop looking so smug’. He had made a promise to Connor to speak to the man later though, and as reluctant as he was to admit it, presenting him with a ‘women love me, fish fear me’ shirt might not be the best way to avoid any further conflict.
Besides, he would rather walk into oncoming traffic than financially support such an establishment.
“Actually I’m a detective with the Detroit police,” he said instead, flashing his badge. “I was hoping you could answer a few questions?”
Martin’s stress levels climbed another 15%. His smile lingered awkwardly with the same empty rictus of a doll. “Oh… we haven’t had any break ins.”
“I never said you did,” Ethan countered. “It’s for a case I’m working on.”
“What case?”
Was that merely curiosity on his part? An attempt to stall? A bid to dig for information, to see how much he knew?
Ethan could feed him a little, if he wanted. Enough to prompt something from him, lock him into a narrative early on before he had time to concoct anything more plausible. He decided against it however. Better to see where this went first, without accusations. If Martin believed he was not a suspect he would be more likely to talk, and given the opportunity to talk plenty of people were perfectly good at incriminating themselves. Ethan, of course, could record every second of it in crisp, high definition. Humans didn’t know what they were missing out on.
“That would be confidential information,” Ethan decided, because these were the magical words he could use to tell people precisely nothing. “Can I see the store roster for the last two weeks?”
More specifically Ethan wanted to know where Martin had been eight days ago, but such a direct line of inquiry would be playing his hand.
The question appeared to puzzle the other android, which had the added benefit of finally ridding him of his ridiculous smile. “Uh… sure,” he said, “let me just…”
His eyes went glassy for a moment. A second later Ethan received a ping and a request for a connection. He accepted, downloaded the small text file, and immediately analysed its contents.
“This is accurate?” he asked aloud, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes?” Martin said. “I mean… Jordan called in sick on the Monday and I had to cover, but other than that it should be.”
Perfect. That would place Martin in the store ‘Gifts for Men’ on the day of Ellie’s disappearance, a direct contradiction to Stephany's memory. Any attempt Martin made going forward to alter the facts would only weaken his defence.
“You can call my boss to confirm if you like,” Martin added.
Ethan cocked his head to the side, considering the other android for a moment.
Now that... he had not expected.
Was he confident in his alibi? Or in the willingness of his boss to cover for him? Or something else? Martin’s stress levels were still hovering just shy of the 40% mark, fluctuating slightly with each pause the RK900 made, but it was not enough to tell him anything significant.
He needed something more.
“That will not be necessary,” he said. “May I see your CCTV from the last two weeks?”
He didn’t actually need to ask - hacking his way in was a trivial matter - but Ethan was curious as to how Martin would react to such a request.
It was, as it turned out, with a massive spike in his stress levels.
Excellent.
Martin shuffled on the spot for a moment. He appeared suddenly uncertain what to do with his hands, alternating between clasping them together and setting them flat on the countertop. “Uh… I mean, I’m not really in charge of that…”
“Would you like me to contact your employer then?” Ethan asked, careful to keep his tone light and inquisitive. “Or return with a warrant to show him?”
The other android froze. “No. Look, uh… it’s just...”
He was staring at Ethan like he was watching an oncoming truck, while slowly starting to doubt his ability to talk it into changing course. As he struggled to formulate a response, Ethan carefully set his plant down on the counter - a silent indication that he had no intention of leaving anytime soon.
Whether it was this that finally broke his spirit, or the realisation that protesting in earnest would only draw him under further suspicion, Ethan didn’t know. What he did know was that despite reaching a decision Martin’s stress levels did not drop.
Biting his lip, the other android’s shoulder slumped. “Okay… okay, I can show you the CCTV… I’m probably not supposed to, but the boss will just get p- I mean, annoyed if he has to come down here, doesn’t like getting calls on his days off. You know how it is. I’ll just… I’ll just throw the closed sign up for a minute.”
He slipped out from behind the counter to presumably do as he had said, Ethan’s eyes following him all the way in case he made an attempt to flee.
Martin was contradictory. Ethan was ‘welcome to call his boss’ to confirm his roster, but the moment he mentioned the CCTV and the possibility of a warrant, the man was better left out of things lest he be ‘annoyed’. So, Ethan surmised that it had less to do with concern over irritating a superior, and far more to do with not wishing said superior to be aware of an active investigation. Reluctance to involve ‘boss’ - potential leverage? Ethan filed this away for later but made no comment as Martin returned and beckoned him to the back room.
It was a small area, largely dominated by a desk with a single computer monitor and an abundance of clutter. Ethan logged details automatically - a spare pair of shoes (mens 14’s, used), a stack of toilet paper, a calendar from the previous year, an empty box of aspirin, a comb (used, traces of short, brown hair, human), fifteen different newspapers, a plastic figurine which he suspected was supposed to resemble a cat if you ignored a fundamental understanding of anatomy, and a mug with the words ‘best dad’ plastered across it (statistically unlikely, residual traces of coffee). This was to say nothing of the mass of unsorted papers, post-it notes and ballpoint pens that flooded the desk, leaving very little of the wooden surface to be seen.
Human occupant, has not been tidied. Ethan’s real interest was in the computer monitor though, on which four different camera feeds played out on. One overlooked the counter, one covered the front door, and two more watched the shelves of merchandise.
“How long do you keep footage for?” he asked absently, already busy mapping out every blind spot in the store’s layout.
Martin scratched at the back of his neck. “Uh… a few weeks I guess? Like I said, I’m not… I’m not really in charge of this stuff.”
Not a lie, Ethan suspected, but there had to be a reason his stress levels were still so high.
Peeling back the skin from his hand, Ethan reached out toward the computer, pausing just short of touching it. “May I?”
Martin swallowed. “If you think… I mean, if you need to. Sure.”
Martin was still speaking, but Ethan stopped listening at that point because he doubted anything the other android had to say would be of significance. Sectioning off a small part of his processing power to register and record, Ethan set the rest of himself to his task.
Direct connections were always easier than wireless ones. Without the cap that transmission capabilities placed upon him the flow of data was limited only to what each processor could safely handle, and his processor was second to none. The moment he gained access to the computer it was all laid bare before him.
Financial records and contracts he copied across to his own internal storage for later review, but the video footage he drew up immediately. Two months worth, nothing obviously missing, all time-stamped. And there it was - the day of Ellie’s disappearance - right where it should be.
So he watched it. Then again. And a third time at reduced speed, before pulling up the rest of the footage and cross-referencing it in the hopes of a direct match. By the time he was done Ethan was well and truly irritated.
Oh, the footage had been tampered with, there was no question as to that. It was an almost primitive piece of work by his standards, a simple cut and paste job with none of the finer details he took pride in. No, that was not the issue... the issue was that the section that had been edited was exactly thirteen seconds long. The rest of the time Martin could be seen standing at the counter or re-arranging merchandise in an infuriatingly mundane manner, and quite clearly not kidnapping anyone. Logistically this should rule him out as a suspect… except there he had been, in Stephany’s memory.
One of these things was therefore false. But which, and why?
Further dividing his processing power he left half to continue its study of the video footage while the rest of him tackled this question.
He had two pieces of evidence here - one, the unfiltered memory of a YK500, and two, the CCTV of ‘Gifts for Men’. On the whole, android memories were more significant. Androids registered serial numbers. Most security camera software did not.
He was running under the assumption that the VX500 in the footage was Martin, but it was equally possible that this was false. Could he have found another android of the same model to cover for him, providing an alibi? What of the thirteen second loop then? A switch, perhaps? The staff area was a blind spot, entering and exiting through there would require only the editing of the camera that overlooked the counter behind which the staff door sat, the very one that had been looped.
The timing was tight, but if Martin left immediately there was theoretically enough time between each event for him to be at the store for the thirteen second loop and the location in Stephany’s memory.
But was there enough time for him to also change his outfit? And what of the traffic?
His theory, while plausible, did not fit neatly neatly enough to suit him, and no matter how many times he ran the numbers Ethan found himself dissatisfied.
What was the alternative though? That Stephany's memory had been false? Android memories were not fickle like human memories, they didn't confuse or jumble the details, and something as specific as the alteration of a serial number could not be accounted for by a malfunction. If her memory was false, it was intentionally doctored. Why, though, go to such trouble when an incriminating memory could simply be deleted?
It was here that the second part of his consciousness drew up another detail - there was a second loop. This one dated back only two days.
Pausing his analysis, he turned his attention to this new data. A twelve second loop this time, but otherwise the same story as the first.
‘Martin’ was standing at the counter. A small section of footage had been removed and replaced with a loop of him remaining in this position, in the statuesque way that only androids could achieve. The novelty clocks nearby jumped backward. Then forward. It then quickly resumed, with no further tampering for the remainder of the recording, and ‘Martin’ could be seen faffing about the store and attending to the scant number of customers with far more enthusiasm than Ethan would ever grant such a menial task.
It did not coincide with any reported disappearances. Two days was a relatively short frame of time though, and reports could always come in at a later date...
Ethan discovered that he was irritated. Not so much with the peculiarities of the case, they were a puzzle he was more than fit to decipher given the right time - he was, to put it plainly, irritated with Martin.
Martin who, given his freedom in the aftermath of the revolution, had chosen to work in a store that sold hats with slogans such as ‘sorry I wasn’t listening, I was thinking about fishing’. Martin, who’s pathetically amature attempt at doctoring footage was obvious to anyone with functional eyes. Martin, who stood awkwardly to the side while Ethan picked apart his work, in the blind optimistic hope that an RK900 would somehow miss all of this. Martin, who whether guilty or not, had a 93% chance of lying to him on the subject despite the futility of such an action, and would only serve to slow his investigation.
And so here Ethan was, currently grappling with the likelihood that he was going to have to deal with Martin and his awkward little pauses and nervousness habits for several more hours, and that he was probably going to have to pretend to be sympathetic to the man, because that was statistically the best approach.
With a sense of resignation he checked over the last three seconds of audio in case Martin had managed to say anything of value (he had not) before disconnecting from the computer and focusing his full attention on the other android.
“I appreciate your help so far,” he lied, “but I still need to clarify a few things. Would it be possible to see your memories from the 18th of this month?”
Martin stopped speaking. He stared at him. He opened his mouth, then closed it. His stress levels ticked continuously higher while Ethan waited with simulated patience and an expression of mild expectation.
“I…” Martin began. “I don’t think I have to do that. There’s a law about that.”
Sometimes Ethan really wished Markus didn’t do such a good job of keeping his people informed of their rights. It was inconvenient.
“I didn’t say you have to, it was merely a request,” he said, allowing himself a frown - just enough to suggest that the moment had not gone unnoticed.
Martin said nothing for several seconds. “I don’t have to.”
“Then you are refusing?”
“Look man- um, I mean sir, I don’t even know what this is about. You’ve told me nothing. And honestly? Not everyone wants to go sharing their memories with any random person who asks… no offence.”
“None taken.” Ethan enacted a sigh, pretending to look reluctant, as if the next part pained him (which it did, but not for the reasons he wanted Martin to think). “I’m sorry to have to ask this, but do you think you might be willing to accompany me back to the station? There are a few questions I would like to ask formally.”
“Station?” he squeaked.
“Yes. To be clear, you are not under arrest, and you are not a suspect, but I need your help solidifying a timeline.”
“ I… I don’t have to, do I?”
“Legally?” Ethan said with a click of his tongue. “No. But think how things will look for a moment…”
He paused, giving Martin a chance to process this before softening his tone and continuing. “I’m on your side, trust me, but I have a missing persons case here, and if someone is refusing to cooperate it is going to raise heads…”
“I’m not refusing, it’s just- wait, missing persons?”
The brief expression of confusion that passed across Martin’s face was genuine.
Curious… did he expect them to know more? Less? Ethan had been purposefully vague with both his line of inquiry and the case itself, partially in hopes that Martin would incriminate himself by revealing he knew more than he should, partially to maintain the ruse that Martin himself was not the sole reason that Ethan was here in this drab little store. Should he change that? Drop a few more hints to see how he reacted?
But no, that could wait until he had the android in a more controlled environment.
Instead he simply said, “Yes, although I cannot tell you more than that at this stage. If you’re innocent, the best thing for you to do right now is assist in any way you can.”
Incorrect - the best thing for an innocent person to do was get a lawyer, but Ethan wasn’t about to tell him that.
Still Martin hesitated. “I… I can’t just leave the store though, I’m supposed-”
“I am sure your boss will understand. I can give him a call to inform him of the situation?” Ethan said, in his politest and most helpful tone, the one he used when people specifically did not want him to be polite or helpful.
“No,” Martin said quickly. “I mean… it’s his day off. I’ll… give me a minute, I’ll call Jordan. He still owes me one.”
And just like that, he had him exactly where he wanted.
Ethan didn’t smile, but only because he was a professional. “Take all the time you need.”
Ethan did not like the interrogation rooms. The bland, tiled walls and the metal chairs he couldn’t care less about, although he’d heard several human officers complain loudly about how uncomfortable they were. His issue was more pragmatic.
It came down to this - if androids were to be considered living, autonomous beings, then it probably wasn’t a good idea to let them communicate freely with each other while they were being interrogated. Humans were separated for exactly that reason. Androids, however, had the benefit of wireless capabilities.
In a rather hasty attempt to patch over this glaring hole in their own system, the DPD had opted to fit the rooms with equipment that scramble all wireless transmissions, incoming or outgoing. Technically this was a solution. It was also incredibly irritating, because within an interrogation room Ethan was cut off from the world. He had no access to the security feed. No ability to check the various databases he supposedly had connections to. No way to search the web, or fact check on the fly. No way to communicate save for the use of his synthetic voice box.
To humans it was probably convenient. To a highly advanced machine that thrived off the consumption of information in all its forms, it was, as Hank would put it, a ‘massive pain in the ass’.
Despite this, he endured the place when he deemed it necessary. It had its benefits. For one, while he found it a discomfort, he had had enough experience to become accustomed to the sensation of having his own mind disconnected from the digital world. Other androids were not so fortunate.
For them, the interrogation rooms invariably resulted in an increase in their baseline stress levels, as well as serving to heighten their sense of isolation. This left them open to an investigator’s efforts to build a sense of comradery, or alternatively to pressure them into making a damning mistake.
He’d already left Martin alone there for ten minutes. He’d contemplated making it twenty, because Martin was irritating and probably deserved it, but this would result in a lack of productivity on his part that was unacceptable. Other investigators might leave their suspects languishing for hours but Ethan considered it a waste.
Ten was more than enough.
It gave him a chance to observe him through the wide two-way glass that took up nearly an entire wall of the room, cataloguing every detail that might be useful in a conversation he was already attempting to preconstruct.
It also gave him the opportunity to check the whereabouts of anyone likely to jump in and ruin his fabulous day of hard work.
Hank and Conner were out on a case and therefore immaterial, Fowler was in his office where he belonged, and Gavin was somewhere other than the precinct, which was all Ethan really cared about. All he needed to do was find his answers before any of them had the chance to distract him.
As his internal countdown hit zero, Ethan elected to make his move.
“My apologies for the wait,” he said as he entered. “Office politics, I won’t bore you with the details. I just want to say, again, that I really appreciate you taking the time to help me with this.”
Martin’s eyes followed him across the room. “That’s fine. I don’t… really understand how I can help though.”
“I just need you to be honest. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I still don’t know what you’re even investigating.”
Taking his seat opposite the other android, Ethan set his plant down and steepled his fingers in front of him. He needed to tell Martin something. He could lay out the facts of the case in their entirety and see if the information alone was enough to break him, or he could offer a convincing alternative that might put him at ease, keep him talking. He chose the latter.
Molding his expression into something resembling the wry exhaustion he’d observed on human officers repeating the same story for the fifth time, Ethan said, “I can’t tell you all the details, that would be against protocol. The simple version is that I am investigating a missing person’s case. There was a van reported by witnesses in the area of the abduction, and a similar vehicle was also spotted nearby your place of work. Unfortunately, I’m dealing with human witnesses, so I have little information to go on.”
Martin’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “They didn’t catch the plate number?”
“They did not,” Ethan agreed, dripping the faintest hint of exasperation into his tone. A classic touch of ‘humans, am I right?’ as Hank had taken to calling the approach. “I had some hope your security footage might capture at least part of the street, but failing that a record of anything you yourself might have seen would be of immense value. Since you are unwilling to share your memory, a verbal recount of events as well as answers to a few key questions that I can log officially would go a long way. Does that make sense?”
“Oh… oh, yeah, totally,” Martin said with poorly concealed relief.
“Good. Do you think you could walk me through the events of the 18th of this month?”
“Starting from when?”
Ethan resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“From the morning.”
So Martin started his stumbling story. It was as bland and tedious as Ethan had predicted, but he nevertheless pretended to listen with rapt attention, nodding along as the other android described which brand of cleaning spray he used to wipe down the shelves, and only interrupting to keep him on track. A perfectly normal and uneventful day. And yet Martin was clearly hiding something. His stress levels were too high to imply anything else.
Once he was finished Ethan thanked him again (because his negotiative software insisted upon it), and then requested all information on his customers throughout the day, including the serials of any androids.
Martin’s stress levels began to drop, and he happily complied.
This was not what Ethan had been aiming for. If he was still running under the assumption that the loop was there to facilitate a switch, then Martin had not been present in the store for the second half of the day. That could easily lead to a lack of information on his part. It was still possible that such details could have been shared between androids later - a direct copy of a memory in fact - but he had hoped for an easy answer, evidence he could use to back up his theory.
Every one of Martin’s customer descriptions matched up with the surveillance footage and the financial records Ethan had swiped from the computer though, and it was beginning to irk him.
“Did you notice anyone you thought was behaving suspiciously?” he asked. “Anything out of the ordinary, however small?”
Go on, point the finger, he thought with increasing bitterness. Guilty people almost always did when given the opportunity, anything to draw attention away from themselves.
Martin only shook his head. “I don’t think so?”
Ethan drummed his fingers against the edge of the table for a moment. “Are you aware that your CCTV footage has been tampered with?”
The other android’s stress levels immediately jumped. His eyes were far too wide for the air of confusion he attempted to conjure, but his voice remained surprisingly level. “No. What do you mean tampered with?”
That was a lie. Ethan contemplated calling him out on it but instead he let the silence hang between them, waiting to see if this might spur Martin to speak further. Maybe to offer an explanation, an excuse, anything.
He could already prove that Martin had edited the footage. An RK900 knew how to remove all traces of themselves from security systems once they were done because the RK series had been designed with infiltration in mind. Martin was a VX500, designed to answer calls and talk humans through the slow process of figuring out why their new TV wasn’t turning on. His digital fingerprints were all over it.
The trouble was that proving that Martin had tampered with the footage did not prove beyond a reasonable doubt that he had also switched places with an identical model and sped his way across town to abduct a YK500. He needed more. He needed, ideally, to hear what possible explanation Martin might have for his appearance in Stephany’s memory. Asking directly though meant a change in his approach. There was no way to bring the subject up without entering into a confrontation, and that meant Ethan’s role must change. No longer would he be able to play the part of the sympathetic detective, just trying to clear up his oh so important ‘timeline’. He would be on the attack. There would be no backtracking, no way to offer a soft voice and gentle reassurances after he’d accused Martin of attempting to deceive the police.
So if he could only take one approach, which gave him the higher likelihood of success?
A slow and gentle line of questioning had a higher probability of keeping Martin put, and talking, but the lack of pressure also meant there was little chance of him offering anything of use to the investigation. A fast and accusatory stance on the other hand was more likely to throw Martin off balance and cause him to admit something, but also carried an increased risk of him clamping up and refusing to speak further, asking for a lawyer, or even demanding to leave.
Faced with two options he found equally dissatisfactory, Ethan instead chose to delay the matter entirely.
“If you give me a moment I just need to clarify something with my colleagues,” he said, pushing his chair back as he stood. It made a sharp sound as it scraped across the floor and Martin winced, his arms wrapping around himself.
“Oh… do I-”
“I won’t be long,” Ethan promised.
Just long enough for Martin to stew in his own anxious mind as Ethan’s last question and all of its implications began to dawn on him. Maybe that would inspire him to be a little more helpful.
Plant tucked under one arm he walked to the door, pressed his palm to the scanner beside it and waited for the automated swish as it let him pass.
And there, like the proverbial bad penny he was, stood Gavin Reed.
The universe probably hated him.
Outside of the interrogation room and with his wireless capabilities back in full, the little piece of code he’d left in the DPD security system took this moment to helpfully inform him that Gavin had arrived at the station seven minutes ago. This would have been valuable information, seven minutes ago. As it was, all Ethan could do was curse the ham-fisted and uninspired approach humans had taken to the problem of ‘android communications’, because apparently specifying what transmissions could slip through was ‘too complicated’, or perhaps just ‘too expensive’.
Maybe he should become a technician. He was sure he could develop a feasible alternative. If he took a second job every time he was faced with human incompetence though he would quickly run out of free time to water his plants and visit Sumo, and besides which, he couldn’t make things too easy for them. Humans tended to slack when that happened.
“What are you doing here?” Ethan asked flatly, stepping away from the door.
Gavin shrugged. He was still looking through the glass into the interrogation room where Martin fidgeted in his seat. “Followed up on a lead, then figured I’d take a trip back to the station, maybe grab some coffee.”
“What lead?”
Gavin grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know, tin man?”
Ethan narrowed his eyes, weighing up the possibility that Gavin had made any actual progress or if this was simply meant to bait him. In the end he decided that he didn’t care. He had his own work to attend to, and he could always dig through surveillance records and phone logs later to figure out how Gavin had been keeping himself occupied.
“If it’s coffee you’re looking for, perhaps you should try the break room? Which, I’m sure you will be surprised to hear, has a coffee machine.”
“Maybe,” said Gavin, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. “But maybe I’d rather stand right here and watch you waste your time on this ‘lead’ you were kissing your own ass over three hours ago.”
“I’m not wasting my time. That would be what you are doing right now.”
Rather than concede his point, the detective just turned his head slightly to finally look at Ethan. And there it was. That insufferable little smirk, like somehow he was the victor in this, like he was doing anything more than the same old posturing he always did. “Doesn’t feel like a waste.”
Ethan was beginning to reassess his stance on breaking Gavin’s arm.
For now though he simply preconstructed a few conversational paths in the hopes of finding an outcome that might result in Gavin politely vanishing off the face of the earth, or failing that, his immediate vicinity.
“Very well,” he said primly. “If you insist upon remaining here, perhaps you would like to interrogate the suspect yourself? Or should I inform Fowler that he’s paying you to stand around in everyone’s way these days?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Fowler will-”
“I’m not talking about Fowler, idiot,” Gavin cut him off with a sneer. “I’ll question your suspect, you’re clearly getting fucking nowhere. Just tell me what you dragged it in for.”
Ethan blinked.
It took far longer than should have rationally been necessary to process this information, but the moment he had he was already attempting to calculate where he had gone wrong.
Gavin was not supposed to agree. Gavin was supposed to scoff, maybe say something along the lines of how he ‘wasn’t doing his work for him’, or ‘nice try plastic’, and then find a convenient excuse to leave, because despite his bravado he was well aware he was scraping the bottom of the barrel as far as the Captain’s good graces went.
Why, then, was he veering so drastically from the path Ethan had calculated for him? What did he stand to gain?
In retrospect he supposed it made sense. If Gavin actually managed to extract a confession then he would have what Ethan did not, and could proceed to lord it over him for the rest of his career. Not to mention, stick it in his report.
Should he rescind his invitation then? Remind him of the function of sarcasm?
But maybe there was something to this. Ethan had been avoiding an aggressive stance to his line of questioning because it would eliminate the possibility of taking a more sympathetic tone later if such an attempt failed. He could not play both roles simultaneously.
And there was Gavin Reed… a known discriminator of androids, with a fundamental knack for filling anyone who spoke to him for more than a minute with the burning desire to punch him in the face.
He could say all the things Ethan could not, demand answers, throw insults, push Martin’s stress levels to their limit… and then, when he inevitably failed, Ethan could slide into his place. He could be the calm voice of reason, the one to offer reassurances, to tell him he was only there to help… An ally in this den of lions. He just needed a little information and then he could make it all go away.
And that… that would be the moment Martin would tell him everything.
Pleased with his new strategy he opted to skip any further formalities.
“His name is Martin, serial VX500 # 212 669 507,” Ethan said, not slowing down for the numbers even though he knew there was little chance of Gavin catching them all. He sent the detective an almost pitying look. “If you want to start taking notes, now would be a good time.”
Three minutes later Ethan stood watching as Gavin swaggered his way into the interrogation room, a tablet held carelessly at his side.
Martin seemed puzzled. He frowned at the unfamiliar detective, but was either too nervous or too dull-witted to question his presence as he approached the table.
Gavin set the tablet down. Next, he spun the chair around, and proceeded to sit backward on it with his arms folded across the headrest. Ethan doubted the position was comfortable. It was impossible for a human to sit comfortably on those chairs - Hank had assured him of such on more than one occasion. Comfort was unlikely to be his objective though. It was, as it alway seemed to be with him, about posturing.
Gavin looked relaxed. He looked in control. When he sneered at the anxious android across from him it was with an air of someone perfectly at home in their environment, with an unshakable confidence whatever they were about to say.
“Bet you think you’re real smart, huh?”
Martin blinked at him. “I’m… sorry?”
“You can fool the other plastic freak,” Gavin drawled, flicking some imaginary dirt from the shoulder of his jacket, “but I’m not falling for a word of it.”
Martin seemed unsure how to respond to this. He squinted at the detective, like he thought his eyes might be deceiving him.
“I don’t… who-”
“Detective Gavin Reed. Do you hate humans, Martin?”
He leaned forward at the same time as the android drew back. His gaze was unwavering. It was Martin who looked away first, glancing at the table, and then the walls, and finally his own hands.
“No.”
“What about androids?”
Martin paused. “Why would I hate my own people?”
Ethan could think of several reasons. All theoretical, of course.
“You tell me? Or maybe you don’t hate them,” Gavin continued, casually, like this was just idle conversation one might make with a passing acquaintance. “Maybe you just don’t care. Be real easy not to feel guilt, right? Just write it out of your own coding. Fucking computers.”
His lip curled in a contemptuous smile.
Martin’s stress levels were climbing at an increasing rate, and Ethan stepped closer to the glass despite the fact that he could easily magnify his own vision. The subconscious desire for more data, he decided, to absorb as much of the scene as he could.
“I-I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
Gavin snorted. “Sure you don’t. And I bet you don’t know any YK500s either. The name Ellie mean anything to you?”
There was silence. Ethan was busy tearing Martin’s expression appart. Confusion? Concern? Fear? A bit of each, but what was he confused about? The question itself or how much they knew? There was one thing that was sorely lacking though, and that was the most crucial of all. Recognition.
Was it possible that Ethan had stumbled across something else entirely? That Martin had faked an alibi and sped his way across the streets of Detroit, disguised himself as a postman, spoken to Stephany, and committed some other nefarious deed that had nothing at all to do with the missing YK500?
No. There were too many coincidences. If Stephany's memory was correct then he was involved in this somehow, Ethan just needed to understand how.
“Is she the one who’s missing?” Martin asked after a beat.
“Bingo,” Gavin said with a snap of his fingers. He leaned back suddenly, the back legs of his chair hitting the ground with a sharp, metallic clunk. For an instant he lingered there, like he intended to settle himself, before abandoning the chair entirely in favour of his feet. He prowled closer, fingers tapping against the edge of the table. “But you didn’t need me to tell you that. Cos you know what, Martin? You were fucking there.”
Martin stared. “No, I-”
“Were busy at your job?” Gavin scoffed. “Spare me. We all know the CCTV was edited, we know, and I’ve got witness testimony that puts you on the other side of town. Want to explain what that’s all about, huh?”
“I’m not lying, I was at work!” Martin snapped. His own voice appeared to startle him, and he cringed, back to staring at his nervously twisting fingers.
Gavin pressed one hand to the table and leaned in. Closed the distance between them until he hovered only a foot away from Martin’s face -an old tactic Ethan was vividly familiar with from his own experience with the man.
“I told you already, Martin, we fucking know. Think I’m going to buy the same shit you feed robocop? All you’re doing is digging yourself a bigger hole.”
“But I’m not lying!”
“Share your goddamn memory then!” Gavin roared, slamming his hand against the table.
The android flinched. His stress levels rocketed and for a moment Ethan wondered if he would need to intervene before Gavin pushed him too far. In the quiet that followed though his levels began to slowly sink, still high but not in danger of self-destructing, an acceptable range. Ideal, even.
When Gavin continued it was in a softer, more condescending tone. “But you won’t do that, will you? You want to know why? Cos it’s all there, everything you did, and you’re still stupid enough to think you can get away with this.”
Martin shook his head. “T-there’s a law. I don’t have to…”
“Yeah, there’s a law. But what do you think an innocent man would do right now, huh? Sit there and take it, or prove us all wrong?”
“I don’t h-have to.”
Gavin stepped back, pacing along the edge of the table with his hands moving as he talked.
“You want to know what I think?” he asked, without waiting for a response. “I think you snatched that YK500. Why? Who knows, probably money. Sold it to some sick fucks so you could save up for a roomba or whatever it is you things buy. Everyone goes on and on about deviancy like it fills you with love and rainbows and all that jazz, but it’s all just code. It’s all just fucking code. I’ve seen enough to know.”
There was a bitter note to the last utterance, and Ethan wasn’t sure why but he flagged the moment for later analysis. What was important right then was Martin. Useless, unhelpful Martin, who balled his hands into fists and finally found the courage to look Gavin in the eyes.
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Then prove it!” Gavin hissed, pushing the tablet across the table. It slid to a stop in front of Martin.
Ethan watched.
It felt almost an eternity that Martin stared down at the glass rectangle. His hands uncurled, twisted again fretfully. He seemed to be actively contemplating it and Ethan wondered for a moment if he had underestimated the effectiveness of Gavin’s interrogation, if Martin would crumple beneath it and deliver both exactly what he wanted and exactly what he feared.
Then the hands withdrew, pulled behind his back and far from the tablet’s surface, his head angled away in a signal even Gavin could read.
The detective sneered at him. “Yeah… that’s what I thought.”
When the door hissed open and Gavin emerged it was with a look or clear irritation.
“It’s definitely hiding something,” he told Ethan, tablet held in his lazy grasp.
Apparently today they were stating the obvious.
“He is,” Ethan said, “why do you think I brought him in?”
Rather than rise to the bait Gavin began to pace, his attention on the two-way glass behind which Martin still huddled at the table. “We have anything we can pin it with?”
“Not yet. I can bring the matter of the CCTV footage to the attention of the employer, but the chances of that resulting in a chargeable offense without further evidence are slim,” he said, which rankled him to admit because in Ethan’s ideal world there would be a grave punishment indeed for such shoddy work.
Martin’s stress levels were already beginning to fall though and he was aware that his time was limited. Gavin had done his job and failed as expected, and he had a short window in which to salvage the situation.
“If you will excuse me,” he said, walking past the detective and letting himself back into the interrogation room.
Ethan’s expression was a perfectly calculated mix of embarrassment and concern, enough to suggest he’d caught the tail end of the conversation but not that he’d instigated it. Martin just looked up at him with relief (understandable when the alternative was Gavin).
“I’m sorry about my colleague,” Ethan said softly as he slid into the empty chair, “he has… some biases regarding androids. If you happen to want to make a formal complaint I can provide you with the paperwork later.”
“I wasn’t lying.”
“I know,” he said.
Martin wrung his hands. “I would never hurt a YK500! They’re… they’re…. you know how they are.”
“I do,” Ethan agreed soothingly. “That’s why I’m working this case. Someone needs to find her, and I need your help to do that.”
An appeal to emotion, a clear moral choice set before him in open invitation.
“I would help if I could!” Martin cried. “Don’t-don’t you get that? Wouldn’t anyone?”
Ethan smiled. A small smile, an understanding smile, as strategically sympathetic as it was entirely performative.
“Then give me your memory of the 18th,” he said, and stretched his hand out palm up on the center of the table.
Martin’s eyes dropped to it. His lower lip wobbled. He clutched his own wrist, eyes clamped shut in an unmistakable show of anguish. “I can’t. I just… can’t.”
Absolutely useless. Ethan was fuming internally, and it was a good thing that Martin’s eyes were closed otherwise he might have noticed how brittle the smile he wore now turned. Composing himself he rearranged his face into something more acceptable, something closer to the role he was trying to fill.
He would have to try applying some pressure then, offer assurances that his cooperation was the easiest way out, that the longer this dragged on the further under suspicion he would fall. Or perhaps he should subtly imply the notion of a lesser sentence if the blame fell more squarely on an accomplice. Another VX500, for example.
Ethan really wished he was analysing blood splatters instead. Life was unfair.
“Martin-”
“I know!” the android snapped, his eyes flying open. “But I swear to RA9, I had nothing to do with any disappearance. I’m not a monster.”
And it was, maddeningly, the complete truth. Every one of Ethan’s analytical programs told him the same thing. There was no faking the sheer misery etched onto every plane of his features, the imploring way he looked at Ethan like he was his one hope in a quickly spiralling situation that was beyond his control.
It was always the plan for Martin to to look at him like that. To trust him. But Ethan found it was remarkably uncomfortable.
He sighed. Again he was faced with two contradictory possibilities. If Martin was innocent, why was he seen so close to the place Ellie had been snatched from? If he was guilty, how on earth had he found a way to deceive the analytical abilities of an RK900?
Or perhaps there was a third alternative... perhaps Martin himself lacked his memory of that day? That would explain his reluctance to share. Admitting a gap like that would throw him under even greater suspicion, it would be only natural for him to fear such an outcome. He was aware of the looped footage though which meant it would have had to have been completed after the gap in his memory, which was not the action of an innocent party.
Too many branching possibilities...
He needed more time to piece together the answer, more data to fill the gaps in his theories.
He needed Martin to stay put.
“I believe you,” he said, pulling his proffered hand back and readjusting the cuff.
Martin sniffled. “Really?”
“Yes. I told you that I was on your side, remember?”
“Maybe. I just… I just want to go home.”
Not if Ethan had anything to do about it.
“Everything will be fine. As I’ve told you already, you are not an official suspect, nor are you under arrest,” he assured him as gently as possible. “If you leave now, however, it will draw attention. I need you to trust me, okay?”
He made sure to meet Martin’s gaze, to keep his expression open, earnest.
Martin wrapped his own arms around himself, hunching forward until his chin nearly met the cold metal surface of the table. “But what am I supposed to do?”
“I just need you to stay here,” he said. “Just for a little longer. Can you manage that?”
There was no answer. There was, however, the smallest of nods, and this was enough.
Picking his plant back up Ethan gifted him one last encouraging smile. “I’ll have this cleared up as soon as I can.”
Outside the interrogation room Gavin had taken up post against the wall nearest the door. He leaned back, arms folded and the heel of one foot balanced upon the toe of the other.
Ethan quickly calculated the probability that Gavin would try to trip him (33%) before stepping wordlessly past, intent upon his next objective.
He got three feet before Gavin’s mocking tone stopped him in his tracks. “‘ If you want to make a formal complaint ’. Yeah, real fucking smooth.”
The first part was spoken in what he suspected was an imitation of his own voice, and an unflattering one at that. Childish. He contemplated mimicking Gavin in turn, with the pitch perfect quality that only androids could achieve. He was confident it would unsettle the man.
Instead, he turned to face him. “ Happen.”
“What?”
“‘If you happen to want to make a formal complaint’,” Ethan said, adjusting his grip on his plant. “I realise your capabilities are limited, but if you intend to quote me I’d appreciate it if you at least made an effort.”
Gavin pushed off the wall. He’d expected him to move closer, to barge up into his personal space as he was so fond of doing. He didn’t. All he did was stand there, eying Ethan up and down like he wasn’t already perfectly familiar with him, like his study filled him with nothing but utter disgust.
“I do your work for you and this is the thanks I get?”
“If gratitude was your objective, detective, then your efforts would be better spent elsewhere. I don’t require your assistance. Besides which, was it not you yourself that insisted I ‘ stay out of ’ your way?”
He did imitate Gavin briefly, but just to show him that he could. The rest was entirely him.
Ethan would grant the man this - he only paused for a second to hide his revulsion before he was jabbing his finger at Ethan’s face.
“Yeah, and this is my case. I told you that already.”
Was he still operating under that delusion?
“Then go ahead and solve it,” he told him, swatting the finger aside. “I would recommend that you leave my suspect alone however, further antagonising him would be a risky strategy in your position.”
Gavin scoffed. “Big talk from the robot with nothing to show.”
He had a lot to show, actually , and even if he hadn’t it would still be more than Gavin himself. This conversation was slowing him down though, and abruptly Ethan decided he’d had enough.
“Go and get your coffee, detective Reed,” he said, turning his back on the man. “The machine is still in the break room.”
Without evidence of any criminal wrongdoing he could not hold Martin indefinitely. There would inevitably come a point where all the reassurances and pleas his social relations program could construct would still not be enough to persuade him to stay, and once he was gone that was it. The chances of ever convincing him to return for further questioning without the presence of a lawyer were pitifully low. Ethan needed answers fast. Martin was innocent, or Martin was guilty, and he resolved to settle the matter before the day was done.
What he needed, ideally, was a way to verify the serial of the VX500 standing in ‘Gifts for Men’ after the loop in order to support his theory of a switch. This was something only an android could achieve. Thankfully Martin’s testimony and the financial records he’d swiped from the computer left him with one such candidate.
3.22pm - ‘hat’ - payment made via wireless transfer, registered as GJ200 # 488 719 023.
A quick search revealed the android’s designation was Skipper, and it didn’t take him long to dig up a place of residence.
One auto-taxi and a short trip across the city later and he was standing outside.
The building was old. Most likely it had been slated for demolition before the revolution, but with several thousand new citizens suddenly in need of housing and with none of the pesky living standard that humans came with, property like this was quickly snapped up by hungry investors. You could cram a dozen ‘flats’ into such a space. For the android on a budget it was perfect.
Ignoring the lingering odor of damp Ethan proceeded through the empty doorway, scanning until he found unit ‘7’.
There was no doorbell, so he knocked.
Skipper answered almost immediately, giving Ethan a quizzical look as he took in the sight of him, plant in one hand and badge in the other.
Ethan’s own scan was objective. Standard for his model, skin on, LED still in place. His clothing had traces of plaster on it from another building (he doubted he would get a chance to sample it and run a full analysis) and were two sizes too large.
“Hello,” Ethan said, because he was required to. “I’m a detective with the Detroit police, I was wondering if you might be able to answer a few questions regarding a recent purchase you made?”
“Uh… sure,” Skipper said.
“On the 18th of this month, at 3.22pm you purchased a hat from ‘Gifts for Men’. Is that correct?”
Skipper cracked a smile, a puff of air leaving him in a halfhearted approximation of a laugh. “Oh, that. Yeah. Kinda got it as a joke. Touch of irony, you know? Not like any of us can actually drink-”
Ethan resisted the urge to explain precisely how little he cared about Skipper’s hat, or whatever it happened to say. “There was an android acting as store clerk. Do you have his serial?”
The other android trailed off, frowning for a moment. “Sure. VX500 # 212 669 507. Can I ask what this is about?”
Martin. Impossibly and infuriatingly Martin. It was an outcome he had begun to entertain, but not the one he wanted.
“Would you be willing to share a copy of your memory file?” he asked the other android.
Skipper’s hands withdrew, surreptitiously sliding behind his back. The lopsided grin he sent Ethan’s way was apologetic. “Actually, I only do that for friends. Bit personal, right? Seeing into someone else’s head? Had a guy the other day who asked me-”
Sensing a dead end Ethan cut him off before he had a chance to continue his story. “Thank you for your time, goodbye.”
Turning on his heel he made a swift exit, back to the street where his auto-taxi waited.
He had what he came for. Further confirmation of what he has already begun to suspect - Martin was innocent. In fact, he hadn't so much as left the store, that day which ruled him out as a suspect. By rights he should be feeling some sense of satisfaction at this, but Ethan found none. It still did not explain the loop… and how was it that he was in Stephany’s memory? A coincidence, or was someone attempting to frame him? To what end?
Martin was entirely unremarkable, the idea that he might have enemies was laughable in and of itself, if there was dirt on him Ethan would have dug it up the moment he ran his serial number. No, that was unlikely to be it… regardless of the fact that he could think of no one who would willingly waste their time on such a man, the method would be too convoluted to make sense. And if the goal was to hide the identity of the true VX500 in Stephany's memory then why not simply delete the memory in its entirety?
He was missing something.
Further evaluation was stalled as he received a notification of a long range transmission, and after checking the serial he allowed the connection to snap into place.
ST300 #184 009 758: / I have a lady here asking for you. /
Just what he needed. Further proof that the universe was a cruel and unjust place.
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /It’s not Mrs. Townsend?/
ST300 #184 009 758: / No, she’s an android. KR200 # 514 144 628. /
He recognised the number - Martin’s co-renter, designation Nina. Evidently Martin must have contacted her before they reached the station.
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / She’s asking for me by name? /
ST300 #184 009 758: / By number, yes. Says she won’t leave until you speak to her. Should I have security remove her? /
It was a tempting offer. Chances were she was there to protest Martin’s innocence, and there was a high probability that this would entail either crying or yelling, neither of which Ethan was in the mood to deal with. Removing her by force would almost certainly cause a scene though. If nothing else, talking to her could provide more data on Martin, and at this point he would take what he could get.
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /No, tell her I’ll be fifteen minutes./
ST300 #184 009 758: / Rodger that. /
When he arrived back at the station Nina was waiting for him in the reception area. She wore her skin on and had removed her LED, and was dressed in a light blue cardigan with matching slacks. Beyond that she was as unremarkable as Martin himself.
“You were looking for me?” he asked, and she startled at his voice, turning quickly to face him.
“Um… yes, I was. You… you brought Martin in, about some missing persons case.”
“I did,” he said. “I’m sure he told you as much.”
Nina did not reply. She clasped her hands together, rubbing her thumb across the soft pad of her palm as if the motion was meant to sooth her. He waited several seconds to give her inferior processor a chance to generate a new line of dialogue before giving up and taking matters into his own hands.
“Is there something I can help you with?” he prompted.
“No. I mean yes. I mean… can I talk to you?”
What do you think you’re doing right now? Ethan thought with a twinge of exasperation, but he nodded anyway, gesturing for her to follow as he left the reception area. Leading her through the bullpen was out of the question, and he had no desire to return to the interrogation rooms, but he found a happy medium in one of the side corridors that littered the building.
“Martin’s innocent,” Nina said suddenly, the moment they came to a stop.
Ethan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Yes, he already suspected as much, but he supposed he might as well play along.
“Innocent of what?”
“He doesn’t have anything to do with any missing persons case,” she said. “I know you probably think he’s lying, but he’s just…”
‘Useless’? Ethan thought, but had the presence of mind not to voice this. He didn’t need to run any pre-constructions to tell that conversational path would go poorly.
Once again she trailed off and let the silence lag.
“If you have evidence to submit I’m more than happy to take it, along with your statement,” Ethan said, since she seemed to need prompting again. “I’m not looking to cause trouble for either of you, I just want the truth. Anything you can tell me would be a great help.”
“No,” she said. Quickly, sharply, her hands fluttering up seemingly of their own volition. “I don’t want anything like that. I just thought…”
She trailed off. Her eyes darted past him, over his shoulder.
Ethan pulled up the security feed rather than bothering to turn his head, but the corridor was as empty as it had been before. It was the camera her focus was on. Should he add paranoia to the file he’d already been quietly compiling on her? Maybe later, pending further observation.
Since he was apparently in charge of keeping the conversation afloat he prompted her for a third time. “Thought what?”
“You’re an android.”
“I’ve noticed,” Ethan remarked dryly.
“I just mean… I just thought that maybe you might understand. If I showed you,” Nina said, tugging at the sleeves of her cardigan. The motion looked anxious. It also explained why a garment his scans told him was only days old was already beginning to fray at the edges.
His estimation of her simultaneously role and fell.
A memory file could be useful though, provided it contained anything of relevance, and if he could drag a statement out of her as well he might finally be able to clear up the remaining mystery surrounding Martin and his very shoddy video loop.
“As I said, if you wish to submit-”
Nina cut him off. “No! That’s not…”
True to form she trailed off before she got anywhere helpful, but this time he took her meaning.
“You want something off the record?” he tried, searching her face for confirmation.
The relief he saw left him no doubt. Ethan wondered if she knew how little weight those words carried.
Legality surrounding android memories was still in its infancy. Attempting to synch or extract information without permission was strictly prohibited (a shame), and androids were not required to provide any footage to law enforcement regardless of how helpful it might be (also a shame), but once the data was his he could more or less do as he pleased with it. He was under no obligation to keep it out of his reports, unless you counted a moral obligation (which he did not).
Maybe she was ignorant to the specifics of the law, or maybe she just placed too much faith in the honor of a fellow android. Either way it was entirely to his benefit to play along.
Ethan paced for a moment, attempting to make the motion look restless, as if his irritation was beginning to shine through in his movements. When he came to a stop though it was calculated. The perfect position for his body to block the nearest camera’s view of Nina.
“This had better be good,” he warned her, extending his hand.
She stared at it for a second. Then she smiled, already stripping the synthetic skin from her own as she reached out to clasp back. “Thank you!”
Immediately he could feel her attempting to push some of her emotions across - gratitude, anxiety, a touch of embarrassment. The only thing Ethan sent in return was mild impatience. Beyond that he kept their minds as separated as he could, waiting to see what it was she intended to show him.
While she worked faster than a YK500 he was still left metaphorically kicking his heels for several lengthy milliseconds until a larger package of data was at last sent his way.
He scanned its contents before accepting the transfer. She had left some of her emotions and thoughts in with the memories, tried to make them bleed through to him, but Ethan had had enough of that after Stephany and stripped them bare with clinical dispassion. Only once he was sure there was nothing but audio and video remaining did he access them.
The first made little sense to him. Why she had chosen to include it he didn’t know, but he saw through her eyes briefly an empty house. No furniture, no belongings, nothing but vast cream walls and clean grey carpet.
She turned her head, and Ethan noted that Martin was beside her. He smiled.
Then the memory cut away, and he was treated to another scene. It was only the layout that convinced him that this was the same house, in all other ways it was transformed. The once vacant space of the lounge was packed with all manner of comfy chairs and cushions, shelves of brick-a-brack, numerous lava lamps, plastic plants to line the windowsills, paintings to fill the previously empty walls, an old style television with a DVD player set beneath it taking center stage (if vintage appliances became popular amongst androids he might have to disown them as a species, it was ridiculous when you could download and play video directly into your ‘head’).
There was the sound of humming, and he identified it as coming from Nina herself. Not a tune he could find a match for, just… sound. Notes that fell and rose in a pattern all of themself.
Out of the corner of her eye a foot bounced in rhythm. Martin’s, Ethan decided.
The scene abruptly ended and this time he heard sobbing. A different room - a bedroom? - but Martin was there again, rubbing soothing circles across her back and whispering gentle reasurences. Little things like ‘it will be okay’ and ‘I’m here’.
Something must have occurred, but he had no context. Nothing within Nina’s blurry vision gave any clues as to the source of her distress, and Martin was as unhelpful in her memory as he was in the interrogation room.
The next scene was clearer. This time Nina was looking directly at Martin. They were in the longue again, nestled close on one of the large armchairs.
“Please,” she said.
Martin looked down. There was a twist of uncertainty to his lips, a discomfort he made no effort to hide.
“It’ll just be for a week or two,” she continued. “Just until I can find another job. Otherwise we’ll lose… we’ll lose…”
“I know,” Martin said softly. There was no joy in his tone, nothing but an air of resignation.
“Please.”
He looked up at last, studying her face. Whatever he was searching for he must have found it, because his expression finally settled into something fresh, a determination Ethan would not have thought him capable of.
“Okay,” he said.
The final memory threw him for a moment. No longer were they within the house. He recognised instantly though the lines of shelves and tacky merchandise as the interior of ‘Gifts for Men’, and the hands that sat on the counter were not the dainty pair of an KR200. Martin’s memory then.
The time was 11.37AM. Martin stood still and did nothing. And nothing, and nothing, and nothing…
Then all at once he reached across, opened the till and swiped several bills in fifties and twenties into a neat stack, folded them and slipped them into his pocket. He closed the till. He stood there, doing nothing. Thirty-four seconds later he stepped out from behind the counter and went to neaten one of the shelves filled with novelty hip-flasks the size of milk cartons.
Ethan severed the connection and released Nina’s hand.
His teeth ground together, his jaw working as he reminded himself of all the reasons it was not a good idea to just open his mouth and say exactly what he thought at that moment. Instead, he sent her a request for a wireless connection.
The instant it was established he fired across a line of dialogue, tagged as ‘displeased’.
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /Are you completely stupid?/
KR200 #514 144 628: /Sorry?/
It was framed as a question, not an apology, and frankly it wasn’t good enough.
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / You persuaded your partner to steal from his employer. /
KR200 #514 144 628: / We were going to pay him back! It was only temporary. We would have lost our home otherwise. /
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / Then lose it. Find somewhere else. Somewhere you can afford. /
KR200 #514 144 628: / Like the little boxes they try to sell to androids? We want a home, not a storage unit. We just want somewhere that makes us feel… normal. /
Human, Ethan supplied, and was struck yet again by the thought that there were some androids he would simply never understand. Androids didn’t need bedrooms, or bathrooms, or kitchens - it was one of the many benefits to being an android. Thirium and spare parts might come at a premium, but accomodation costs could be remarkably low when you only required electricity and enough space to store your possessions. If money was an issue, cut out the unnecessary luxuries - that was common sense. Even humans understood that.
But not Nina, apparently.
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / Your feelings on the matter are irrelevant. Take them up with Jericho, not me. /
KR200 #514 144 628: / But you’ll let him go, right? Martin has nothing to do with any missing persons case. /
Actually, Ethan could do the opposite. He now had concrete evidence of a crime, and could use that to hold Martin for as long as he pleased, long enough to settle the mystery of Stephany’s memory and find the true culprit of Ellie’s disappearance.
And yet… and yet it would be entirely pointless. He may be irritated with the pair of them - peeved, even - but for all the hours of his time they had wasted there was no malice to their actions, only incompetence. Like so many androids in the wake of the revolution, they had a dream of the life they wanted. A picturesque fantasy. Their mistake was their inability to curb those dreams, to temper them with the cold weight of reality.
But Ethan had known from the moment he woke that he would never have what he truly wanted. It was etched into Connor’s very shadow - every mark his predecessor had left on the world, a reminder of the painful truth - he was superior in every way and yet always second, always, irrevocably irrelevant.
Perhaps it was easier when your greatest concern was the size of your house.
With one last disparaging look he turned his back on Nina.
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / He was never under arrest, he’s free to leave whenever he chooses. /
This said he began to walk away. He almost cut their wireless connection, but found himself hesitating. There was something more he wanted to add, Ethan was sure, for this was the only explanation he could find, but he struggled for several nano-seconds to formulate a response and still drew a blank. In the end he just sent the only thing that seemed relevant.
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: / Remind him that theft is a criminal offence. Finding employment and accommodations is more challenging with a record. /
He severed the wireless connection without waiting for her reply.