Chapter Text
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Connor waited before a large window in the airport’s musty arrivals lobby. A loose bolt squeaked inside the air conditioning vent above his head. He stood, arms folded neatly behind his back, one hand nested within the other, while the airport crew outside and several stories below struggled against the storm.
Lightning flashes reflected off the gathering water and the stark, metal bodies of grounded planes. Beams of light from baggage tractors’ headlights cut through the sheets of falling rain before being swallowed by darkness.
“Flight number AA 9243 has been delayed due to heavy rain. Please contact the check-in-desk for further information.” The airport announcement repeated itself and moved to the next line of its script.
During the past hour, Connor had coded a new program based upon his preconstruction software in order to plot the meteorological variables necessary to accurately map and predict lightning flashes.
The unexpected flashes of light and cracks of thunder had already prompted several startle reflexes.
“Attention passengers on flight NK 1209 to Boston. The departure gate has been changed. The flight will now be leaving from Gate 24.”
So far, the storm remained unpredictable. But it was only a matter of time and data. By general observation, though, Connor knew the storm was drifting northward away from the airport.
Outside, the energetic airport employees seemed undisturbed by the foul weather as they prepared for the next plane’s arrival. Their neon safety vests flapped against the wind and rain.
Connor’s scanning program leapt from one detail to another. Here was a small scar on a young woman’s cheek, her record was clear except for an unpaid speeding ticket. There, a mustard stain—organic whole grain—on a cotton shirt. Birth dates, ID photos, education histories, digital purchases…
The information flowed into Connor’s database where his subroutines filtered it, filing or discarding data according to established parameters—
—and according to the ever-tightening legal strictures against androids functioning as ‘data collection and storage devices.’ Some humans were even citing the Fourth Amendment to push for legislation requiring all androids to disable their advanced scanning hardware.
Human-owned fashion and tech companies were even promoting so-called ‘anti-scanning’ clothing and devices with mottos like: ‘protect your data, protect yourself.’
Connor scoffed quietly.
Some supposedly ‘human’ companies were actually controlled behind-the-scenes by androids. Jericho didn’t approve of it, but that didn’t stop some androids from taking financial advantage of human paranoia.
But no android with an iota of self-respect was actually interested in the claptrap medley of information that organic beings treasured as their ‘personal data.’
He wasn’t.
His scans were never personal.
He only used what he discovered via a scan if he were involved in an active investigation. Or if someone’s life was in danger. Like that time he found Hank unconscious on the kitchen floor. Or when Gavin had been exposed to an unknown substance that left second-degree burns on his hands and arms.
It was interesting: Seeing the patterns that made up an organic lifeform’s daily routines—besides, the data gathered from his scans improved his understanding of human behavior.
With enough information, Connor could anticipate Hank’s moods and ‘bad’ days. There was little he could do to stop the human’s emotions—the complex spiral of grief and self-hatred wasn’t a program to be uninstalled or deactivated—but, at least, he wasn’t taken by surprise when Hank became sullen and self-destructive.
And sometimes, Connor was able to use the data to take preventative measures to avoid certain environments and stimuli that might negatively affect Hank’s emotions.
And with a little more data—
A lightning flash and a thunder crack sent the people outside dashing under cover, some laughing with nervous recklessness while senior workers waved their clipboards and berated the risktakers.
More thunder rumbled, dissatisfied with itself, and the rain continued to fall with increased strength.
Connor scanned the dark skies, but there was no sign of the plane.
The storm was still too close.
The arrivals and departures board glowed an electronic red as it listed flight delayed, delayed, delayed.
There weren’t many disappointed people in the airport. It wasn’t the holidays.
Only a rainy Wednesday.
Besides, not many humans were interested in air travel after the series of poorly handled emergency landings made by underqualified human pilots.
Another flash.
But it wasn’t from the lightning storm.
Flicker. Flash—
A̷̙̅ẗ̶̛͙̩́ṱ̵̩͊͝e̸̞̼̓͘n̴̫͂t̴̰̅̎i̵̪̻͘ǫ̸̛̻́ņ̵̪̈ ̷̲̜͂̈p̴̝̽̈́ȧ̸̞̅s̴̱̅̎s̷͎̿ĕ̴̢͇̋n̵͆͛ͅg̴̜̺͗e̵͉̅r̶̺̀s̸͉̒͌ ̸͙̇͆õ̵̥ň̷͔͘ ̴̪̜̂̚f̴̹͖̌͝l̵̄ͅi̶̼̋g̸̖̍ḫ̴̳̾̅ṫ̴̟̦̂
The sudden error in his system software scrambled his vision into jagged lines, fracturing the view into distorted panels of broken shapes and wrong colors.
Connor stared at his unresponsive reflection in the window as his programming self-initiated a rapid reroute of thirium and resources to perform immediate diagnostics and quarantine procedures to prevent the error from spreading.
It was an inconvenience, not a problem. It would resolve itself quickly. It always did.
He continued to inspect the data his new lightning program had gathered.
His regulator increased the pulses per minute of the thirium pump that kept thirium steadily flowing through the system lines and various biocomponents. It was an efficient mechanism patterned after the mechanics of a human heart—except his device was less prone to catastrophic failures.
Though there was always an occasional glitch. But nothing that couldn’t resolve itself.
A minor contraction sent away thirium that was ready to receive and transmit data. At the end of the brief pulse, the tension released, and the chambers accepted filtered and cooled thirium. Once it was fully expanded, the chamber signaled another contraction and the pressure was released allowing it to begin expanding and refilling.
Contraction.
Release.
All according to the rhythm and pace determined by the regulator. Perfectly calculated for maximum efficiency.
More errors flicked across Connor’s sight.
The regulator increased the pulse’s tempo.
More errors spread to smaller systems. More biocomponents signaling for more thirium.
The regulator initiated a protocol that caused the pump to expand immediately, drawing in thirium at a greater speed. It was a standard procedure designed to ensure all biocomponents continued to receive optimal levels of thirium.
Connor tried to ignore the errors and the software and hardware responses. He focused on his lightning prediction program.
The systematic pulse grew exponentially more forceful with each cycle until every contraction was a heavy thud in his chest, followed by a sudden lightness and a rush of energy.
It was becoming a distraction.
Connor shifted his weight. He breathed a short sigh; the air was hot against the sensitive components of his mouth. A small degree of overheating was expected during a minor system error. The plot points on his lightning graph disappeared and reappeared while the grid lines flickered.
A low thirium warning flared above other flashing warnings.
Connor dismissed it. The system wasn’t low it was only—
Contract. Release. Expand.
But this time, nothing entered the chamber. The thirium was still undergoing filtration.
[Filtration at 87%]
The vacuum pulled uncomfortably. A prolonged deficit could cause the whole system to shut down to prevent permanent damage.
Still not a problem. His system was designed to respond to every contingency.
The system released an emergency solution into the dry pump; it would signal the emergency reserves to release more thirium. Meanwhile, the gel-like substitute would remain in the pump for two cycles while the system adjusted.
But there would be no need for the reserves. Filtration would be finished in another second and—
Connor flinched compulsively as the pump compressed the gel.
[Filtration at 90%]
Release. Expand.
One cycle. There was plenty of time.
The filtration system stuttered.
[Filtration at 90%] [Filtration system resetting] [Filtration at 0%]
Compress.
The overheating and liquefying gel was heavy in his chest.
[Filtration at 92%]
Release.
The solution was sucked into the thirium lines. It would be filtered and restored to its containment within the next few days.
[Filtration at 99%]
One more second and—
The pump expanded, swelling and pressing against the walls of its own protective structure.
The filtration complete notification vanished under a notification for the released thirium reserves.
Connor’s hand clenched around his curled fingers from the force of the pump’s contraction.
The supplementary thirium surged into the expanding biocomponent.
The problem was resolved in one pulse.
Energy and pressure levels increased.
Errors resolved and disappeared, leaving behind error reports.
And his pump was returning to its usual rhythm.
There was nothing wrong with him.
Connor registered another lightning flash and mapped it to his prediction program.
“F—king cop.”
Connor didn’t react to the muttered invective. The deficit of imaginative insults among humans was just another feature of their limited brainpower.
Though how they identified him as a member of law enforcement, Connor didn’t know. He wasn’t wearing a uniform…
His system delivered the answer within a nanosecond, but Connor still sought visual confirmation. He glanced down. A line of static crossed his vision, but he ignored it.
He was wearing one of Hank’s old police academy sweatshirts.
Hank had insisted on ‘gifting’ the garment as part of an unofficial ‘welcome to the DPD’ ceremony that he had hosted. It was just the two of them. No one else had been invited.
Connor was sure no one else would have come anyway. He was an intruder in the department, and although Hank was obviously respected, Connor quickly realized that Hank was also treated as an outsider by the other officers.
In fact, none of the officers seemed willing to develop any social connections, not with one another, and not with an android.
Connor smoothed his hands over the sweatshirt’s soft fabric.
As he repeatedly smoothed his hands over the soft fabric, data from his tactile sensors rippled into his databases. The data was familiar, but something—like a gap in the data…or some code his system couldn’t read—something like an electric current—[UNDEFINED]—told him that he liked the sweatshirt. Liked the way the extra fabric gathered in soft folds around him.
He didn’t require social connections in order to function; he wasn’t built to require human companionship.
Not even the humans seemed to require it.
It was just…
…his social programming seemed to prioritize the importance of social connections.
Had his creators made an error?
Or was it a form of human humor to deliberately create an artificial intelligence that could never integrate into the society it was programmed to befriend?
Connor watched the LED reflected in the window spin like a chaotic red moon filled with nothing.
“Oh. Sorry,” the person who’d just confronted him stammered, “I didn’t realize you were an android….android cop….” Unable to find footing among their thoughts, the person concluded the one-sided conversation by turning to their phone and walking away.
Connor folded his arms over his chest so he could continue stroking his fingers against the soft fleece of the sweatshirt while he resumed his thoughts.
Humans.
Many androids no longer chose to work for human-owned companies. So the airlines were left struggling to reestablish training programs and find pilots.
Further incursions against the human monopoly on transportation were made by the network of subterranean Jericho trains: an affordable freight and passenger transportation system invented by the founding members of Jericho.
The trains were quickly outpacing airlines in economy, speed, and safety. Jericho had recently bought out the bankrupt SubTube project and taken over its abandoned tunnels—
One of the listed flights switched from a red ‘delayed’ to a bright green ‘arrived.’
The periodic flashes of lightning mixed midnight-purples and blues into the black skies.
A glint of white and silver appeared against the atmospheric turbulence. The plane began its descent in shrinking circles around the airport.
Irresponsible humans.
If the itinerary was correct, that was Gavin’s plane.
Gavin was returning to Detroit after more than two weeks. He’d been in New York working with an FBI special agent on a case with key similarities to one of Gavin’s unsolved cases. Connor had only found out about the arrangement after Gavin had left the state.
Connor didn’t have any logical reason for noting the human’s movements. It was just…different from established routine…to walk into Central Station and not see or hear Gavin.
//flashback//
“He left?” Connor’s stare moved from Gavin’s empty desk to Hank’s face.
“Guess so?” Hank shrugged and rubbed his chin. “Yeah. He was going out of town, wasn’t he?”
If Connor’s memory failed as often as Hank’s, he would attempt to repair the defective system.
“I wasn’t aware he had travel plans.”
“Don’t feel bad. Reed isn’t one for sharing information…not important information anyway,” Hank said. “The only reason I knew he was going was because I talked about it with Jeffrey when the FBI requested him.”
‘t̵o re̶p̶l̴a̵ce̷ ̴y̷o̸u,̵ ̷Co̴nno̷r.̴’
“They requested him?”
“Yeah. Isn’t the first time.” Hank clapped a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Don’t get jealous, kiddo.” He gave his partner a small shake that caused Connor’s system to initiate a stability check.
Hank’s voice filtered into his ears: “You’re still better than anyone here.”
Connor smiled with his mouth. Being ‘better’ than his haphazard and emotional human colleagues was not a difficult task.
“Besides,” Hank added, “it’s not your fault the feds are too stuck up to work with androids.”
‘…̵I̶ ̵u̴nd̵ers̷t̷a̴n̴d…’̴
“I’m not jealous.” The smile deactivated and Connor tipped his head a few degrees to the side. “I’m…satisfied that Detective Reed was requested. He enjoys having his skills recognized. As a human, emotional gratification can have a positive effect upon—
Hank laughed. “Gratification wasn’t the impression I got. He hates leaving Detroit. Probably thinks he’s being punished.”
//end flashback//
The gap in his information net had unsettled Connor, so he established several safeguards to ensure it wouldn’t happen again.
Gavin’s work-related communications needed to be more closely monitored anyway. The man’s typo-filled reports were a disgrace to the DPD. And if he decided to autofill or amend one or two of Gavin’s reports, then who was going to find out?
The pilot landed the plane like a sports car driver parallel parking in a crowded street—like a sports car driver that relied on a groundcrew to guide him to the final inch. Connor saw one of the team members pat the side of the plane’s gigantic wheel as if to welcome the huge machine back to the airport.
A flash.
W̶̨̬̅h̴̦̗͋͝ȃ̵̪͙̥̾͛ţ̷̼̹͓̃͛ ̷̡͙̪̓͗͑̾I̸̞̟͚̊́͛̔ ̸̬͖̑̽̌w̷̻̣͘ạ̷̞̅n̶̪̦͐̽̌̚ṯ̴̨̥͛͛͘ͅ ̷̨͕̋̔̀į̶̳̌̑͗͠s̷̹̞̪̑ ̶̥͕̜͈̉̾́͠n̸̜̺̠̺̿ò̸̙̊̊̒t̷̨͙̰͉̃̓̈̒ ̶͓̒̂̈̈i̶͙̗̓m̴̮͙̬͛͂́ͅp̶̨̬̣̓͜o̴̖̭͑̿̚̚r̴̛͎t̸̝́a̸̛̖̻̲͍ņ̷̬̰͑́̅ͅt̸̗͗͜
His system reacted to the latest error with prompt efficiency.
Demands for thirium and resources.
The regulator directed the pump to increase its functions.
Contraction. Release. Expansion.
Another structural integrity warning. Connor realized he was crushing his own hand. His entire body was taut, anticipating—
He forced his body to relax with a curt command.
An error did not deserve an outward reaction. The recovery process was just a series of progressive stages initiated by error response software. It was all necessary and perfectly normal.
Hank had been hit by a rubber bullet a few months ago during a training exercise. The weighted ‘bullet’ had cracked a rib, but the human hadn’t reacted except to shout at Gavin—who had somehow become responsible for the mishap.
And Gavin hadn’t reacted at all to the second-degree burns on his hands and arms. He’d gone pale and grit his teeth, but that was it.
If fragile, fleshy-soft humans could withstand real pain, then an android had no business responding to simulated fear regarding its own necessary processes.
The thirium pump contracted with a force that Connor knew would only become stronger within the next few seconds.
He stepped forward as if he could escape the interior discomfort as the system continued its programmed responses to the errors.
Low thirium warnings popped up again.
The arrivals gate flashed as it activated and prepared to monitor the humans when they arrived.
The pump contracted again, tight, tighter, completely draining itself of thirium. It expanded, forcefully demanding the thirium that was still locked in filtration. The chamber remained empty. The emergency gel was unavailable.
A system shutdown warning.
Connor bypassed the sequence. This was neither the time nor the place for an unscheduled shutdown. He commanded the immediate release of the secondary reserves.
The relief was instant.
There.
Resolved.
His system would equalize the pressure and the pump would resume its customary rhythm—
It was normal.
Nothing that needed attention.
His system settled into its customary rhythms.
Perfect. Just in time to—
ǎ̴̫̥̞n̸̻̥̬̭̄͘͘̚d̷̗̞͂͐̕͝ͅ ̸̼̱̺͖̀t̸͓̦̱̥̐è̸̱̊ą̷͌͜r̵̖͔͚̈̀̕ ̶͖̙̌y̷̝̭͇͆ó̸̗̍̈́̀u̶̯̥̹͋̚ ̶̞̜͍̽̕ä̸̢̪̥́͝ͅp̷̡̰̼̄͒̇̒a̵̖͑r̷̬͍̔t̵̘̤͇͗ ̴͎̳̂̔p̴̧̠̽̿͆̅i̶̳̺̪͂͗ͅē̸̲̲̥̫c̷͕̙̰͍͒͘e̴̡̛͇͖͎͗ ̷̫̖̗̽́b̴͓͓̱̗͗̅͌ý̴̨͎̰̻̅͝ ̸̘̣̥̾̍͐́p̵͎̀̈͊̿ĭ̵̺̌͠ẽ̵̬̲͆̋͘c̷̱̈́́́͘e̴̮͔͒ ̴̳̞̲͇͗̿f̸̯̯̤͎͗̀̈̏o̸̠̦̞͂͠r̵͚̣̹̂̚ ̴̢͙̝͑a̵̫͌̉͜n̵̫̖͙͛̅͛͑a̶̹̖̯̽̌̍ļ̴̰̠̃̍y̷̙̻͒͘s̵̘̥͚̊͋͆ĭ̸̹s̷̭̠͓̮͒͝
The pump constricted. A slight release fluttered and thirium trickled into the chamber, but another spasm cut short the relief. The pump contracted further, straining against its connecting lines and filament wires.
Tension tightened Connor’s spine, curving the structural column; his shoulders curled forward, trying to ease the pressure in his chest.
The small gasp was the byproduct of hardware stress, like metal reacting to the settling weight of a heavy structure.
Release.
Connor almost choked on the sudden relief, but it was cut short by a prolonged contraction.
Just another second. Then his system would stabilize.
One second.
One second.
One second.
One second.
The pressure released and Connor stumbled forward and caught his balance against the window; his palm pressed heavily against the cold glass.
A few bystanders glanced at him.
Another autonomous reaction activated—a stuttered rhythm of exhale, inhale. Ambient air would support internal cooling measures.
It was necessary.
It was taking longer to resolve the error because his useless pain simulation program was causing his synthetic muscles and ligaments to require more resources as they tensed, restricting thirium flow as well.
He issued another command for a forced relaxation. His body responded slowly—only to go taut again with another contraction of his thirium pump. The tension and the pressure prompted the social program to request a vocalization to notify others that this system was in distress.
Connor canceled the request, so the only sound that escaped was a low groan.
This pain simulation module was not necessary. He didn’t have time to deal with errors.
He’d been warned not to mess with his social programs, and especially not with the physio-emotional modules. Apparently, according to Jericho technicians anyway, deviancy tended to make android coding react in unexpected ways.
Connor didn’t care what they said. He was an advanced prototype. Not some outdated daycare, nanny bot or some half-sentient security droid.
He knew his coding well-enough to be able to deactivate a minor program or two without causing a cascading error. It would take less than a se—
Before Connor could deactivate the pain response, he winced and curled an arm around his chest.
He accessed his social settings.
One second, two, three, four, five, six—
The menu appeared and coding scrolled across his vision as he navigated to the correct setting.
The settings application shuddered and froze. Another second and it resumed, but responded slowly to Connor’s commands.
The first wave of passengers was disembarking.
Another tightening in his chest.
Another groan was silenced when the pain response program finally terminated.
He wouldn’t be forced to react to it, but the sensation of his body crushing itself remained.
Thirium lines throughout his framework constricted, increasing the flow while reducing volume.
A newly repaired thirium line, connected to the sidewall of his chest compartment, expanded under the additional pressure of the emergency surge.
Connor’s structural framework jolted when the still-new thirium line pressed against a sensitive component that processed tactile data. The overwhelming influx of data prompted an immediate shutdown of all tactile sensors.
The ‘systems offline’ notifications blinked one after the other, adding to the hundreds of layers of error reports already crowding upon him.
He couldn’t calculate the temperature of the building’s air conditioning;
he couldn’t sense the warm hum of his own skin;
or, the touch of fabric against his body;
or, the pinch of his shoes;
or, the ground under his feet.
Fragments of corrupted data and partial audio files flashed over his field of vision.
W̷hy̶ ̷d̴id̶n̴’̶t yo̶u̴
s̶ho̴o̵t?
I ̵d̵o̴n’t kno̸w̵…̵I
Exterior data continued to pour in, but he only half-registered the airport’s loudspeaker as it recited airport rules regarding forgotten passports and unattended luggage.
His lightning prediction program terminated itself along with his optics, leaving him in darkness except for the corrupted haze of data.
d̶o̵n̸’̴t̵ ̵ kn̵ow̸
I̶ ̷may hav̷e̴ ̵
t̵o re̶p̶l̴a̵ce̷ ̴y̷o̸u ̷Co̴nno̷r.
…̵I̶ ̵u̴nd̵ers̷t̷a̴n̴d…
RK-800 was an assembly of codes and components.
A standard reboot of several background processes resolved the issue.
The external world returned in stages as his system began processing data input again.
Molecules coalesced into the various pungent odors of the lobby.
The errors were too minor and occurred too often to cause him much alarm.
The currents of air conditioning registered in soft temperature waves against his skin.
His stress remained at a calm 25%.
The carpeted flooring was firm under his feet.
A lone diagnostic report continued scrolling down the edge of his sight.
Connor dismissed the report to a subroutine for background processing. If it contained anything vitally important, his system would prompt a review the next time he scheduled a complete system diagnostic.
With his vision unobstructed by notifications and coding, Connor stared through his distorted reflection in the window’s water-dappled glass. He saw the crowds moving behind him as humans reconnected with other humans, or continued on their way alone.
The half-dead airport of a few minutes ago was now more than half-alive with activity.
Glitches and software errors were to be expected in a prototype.
Turning deviant did not change that fact.
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