1
‘A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.’
It was a good shot, Asimov — really, it was. But, like most things, it’s better in theory than in practice. Not that we didn’t try to give the theory a fair shake. I still remember back when IBX was about to release the first Gamma models out into the populace. The commercials called them ‘The New Generation.’ The fear-mongers called them the last.
‘They have no soul! We will not let them ruin this world!’ the protestors chanted, armed with their big signs, and their crosses, and their righteous indignation.
Unfortunately for them, whether or not an android had a soul was completely irrelevant. It was designed to be equal to us in looks, speech, wants and behavior. If it walked like a human, talked like a human, thought like a human, it only made sense for it to be treated like a human, too.
In the end, though, the call was ultimately Reagan’s. And, in his mind, the compromise was to force IBX to implement the famous Three Laws into the androids’ artificial intelligence. The regulation was implemented in 1984, and IBX seemingly complied.
In 1986, the regulation was withdrawn, just in time for the announcement for the Delta model.
The reasons were many, largely stemming from a few isolated incidents, but all boiling down to the problematic definition of what it meant to ‘harm’ a human.
Two months after the Gamma models were put out, there was a string of incidents in Arizona, where employees began to physically assault their android co-workers. The androids, unable to ‘harm’ a human being, couldn’t fight back. Because the destroyed androids would not fight back, it became common practice for lawyers to claim their clients were psychologically not aware of the harm they were doing. ‘The moral anguish of hurting another person does not translate to hurting something the world is not ready to treat as living.’ More often than not, the defendant would be acquitted on this alone.
This slowly but surely became an issue for IBX. After an android’s ‘murder,’ the killer would be forced to pay the company a lucrative fine for the damages. However, with the rate of android murders increasing and culprits not being held legally accountable, IBX was beginning to hemorrhage money. Their entire business model revolved around androids existing in society, getting jobs, co-existing, making money, and, in turn, buying IBX products with that money, which they needed to exist. Spare parts, ‘food,’ batteries, chargers, upgrades — the only one providing the service was IBX. It was an economic perpetuum mobile; the perfect money-making machine.
Another hitch Asimov’s rules caused was the ‘androids getting jobs’ step of the plan. While they were well-suited for housework, more it became apparent that more intense jobs were out of the question.
How could an android be a surgeon if an incision is, by definition, using a sharp object to cut into a human being? How could they take out a beating heart out of the patient during a transplant, if they were born with the knowledge that a human needs it to live?
How could an android be a police officer, if firing a gun — even one filled with blanks — would inevitably cause the person it hits to be in pain? How could they break up a fight if it meant forcefully pulling one person away from the other?
How could they work in a bank? How would they possibly be able to deny nonsensical loan requests if they determined the client would be in emotional harm after the fact?
How could they even be artists? If they had witnessed even one person being brought to tears by their art, they would have had no choice but to destroy the works then and there as a safety precaution.
The whole thing had slowly turned into a complete and utter failure. The protestors quietly went back to their homes, assuming that it was only a matter of time before the whole matter was laid to rest.
And then — miraculously — the regulation was withdrawn.
Nobody really knows why Reagan did it. The general consensus seems to be that he wanted to incorporate androids into the military. The withdrawal was always going to happen down the line at some point, but the situation forced his hand. He knew what he had was an immensely valuable piece of technology. He wasn’t about to throw it away just for a few pissed off soccer moms.
To mitigate the damage, instead of Asimov’s laws, androids were now limited only by a single rule:
‘An android cannot lie.’
This was reasonable enough. Given that an android’s thought process was identical to a well-adjusted human being’s, it’s not as if they were about to go off on random murder sprees. On the off-chance they did harm someone, though, establishing their guilt would prove fairly simple.
Rumor has it that IBX was the one who suggested the replacement rule. A few years after I started working for them, I found out the simple reason why. Androids could never lie to begin with. R&D found it too difficult to try and nail down the logic of when it would make sense for an android to lie. And, even in the obvious cases, such as self-preservation, it became questionable if it would be beneficial to humanity or IBX if they could do even that much. Too many variables. Too much money possibly being thrown away down the toilet.
And so, 1986 came. The Delta models were released. Cried as some might’ve, the androids slowly completely integrated into society without major incident.
The year was now 1998. And the world still stood.
My name is David Norton. At the time, I was IBX’s in-house claims investigator. Whenever IBX got a whiff that there was an ongoing criminal investigation involving or directly implicating an android, I was dispatched to assess the situation. If it was established an android was legally responsible, IBX got a chance to prepare and minimize the damage to its public image.
Cops weren’t too fond of me, given that most of what I did could be boiled down to wandering around crime scenes, talking to people I probably shouldn’t have, and generally trying to divert suspicion away from any potential android suspects.
I was understandably surprised, then, when McKenna, a guy from the board of directors, called me one night and said the Los Angeles Police Department wanted me to fly down and give assistance.
“Well, they didn’t call for you in particular.” McKenna chuckled. “But I’m not sure who else they imagined we’d send over.”
“Pretty unusual, though.” I leaned over the balcony, flicking the cigarette onto the street. “Since when does anyone need to call us? Thought you’ve got people keeping a pulse on these things.”
“We do. Our guys were on it the day the investigation started.”
“So, what happened?”
“Nothing. They just determined an android couldn’t have killed the guy and moved on to other things.”
I sighed. “Ah, murder. Fantastic.”
“Right. I guess I should’ve mentioned that.”
I left the balcony. “Just get on with it.”
“You ever hear of Edward Carlyle?”
Name rang a bell. “The movie star?”
“The one and only. He was the main guy in Lost Nights.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Desert Remnants?”
“Nope.”
“C’mon, it’s his most famous one! What do you even do all day?”
“Well, whatever it is, I assure you it ain’t watching TV.” I said, throwing my body onto the bed.
“Explains how you don’t know Carlyle’s dead, at least.” McKenna coughed. “Someone went and shot him in the head. In the middle of his own party, no less.”
“A party sounds like a good pool of suspects to choose from.”
“It does, doesn’t it? As it turns out, though, only one of them doesn’t have a solid alibi.”
I closed my eyes. “The android.”
“The android.”
“Did they question it?”
“Yeah. She said she didn’t do it.”
“Then she didn’t do it.”
“The cops beg to differ.”
“And you want me to go and set them straight.”
“Now, now.” The old man chuckled again. “They’re the ones who called us, remember? The expectation seems to be that you get down there and tell them that they’ve got a miracle case on their hands. That the android had a malfunction of epic proportions and somehow developed the ability to lie.”
“I take it they didn’t say that over the phone.”
“I sensed the implication.”
“Right.” I yawned. “But I am going down there to set them straight.”
“I figured you’d appreciate the chance to lord over a room of idiots. Besides, you’re going to California! Consider it a vacation!”
“But I hate California.”
He hung up.
2
Vickers — the guy in charge of the investigation — was kind enough to pick me up from the airport. Spotting him proved to be fairly easy. Pressed suit, alligator-skinned shoes, perfect hair, and a Ford Alpaca to lean on. The guy was on top of a food chain; if not the detectives’, then certainly the fashion industry’s.
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, looked at it, then quickly shoved it back in his pocket. “Mr. Norton?”
I nodded. Couldn’t be bothered to do a whole lot more than that. It was unbearably hot. Right around that time, a forest fire had reached the outskirts of Beverly Hills. You could see the clouds of smoke in the distance. Hear the faint echo of sirens. And people still went along their merry way, thinking it as if it were another world. That’s the way Hollywood people always were, I figured. And Vickers was one of them.
I threw my suitcase and equipment in the backseat, and we were on our way.
Vickers was quick to get to the point. “I know you must be tired from your flight and all, but I’d like us to go straight to Carlyle’s house.” He fiddled with the radio. “Faster we sort this mess out, the better it’ll be for everyone, the way I see it.”
I nodded along. I wouldn’t have minded being taken to a slaughterhouse if it meant I’d get to have an hour in the freezer. “I’m still fuzzy on the details, though.” I admitted. “Not really sure what you expect me to do.”
The radio buzzed to life: “ — nd we’re sending those fuckin’ ANDIES to China to do our dirty work for us! Let me tell you — Clinton’s got no endgame for this shit. NO ENDGAME. The whole thing’s gonna blow up in our face. At some point, those things are gonna turn on us. Hell, the Ruskies are out there, probably developing the exact same fuckin’ technology! Why aren’t we doin’ anything about THAT? Well, Clinton’s too buddy-buddy with the president over there to really give a damn. OPEN YOUR EYES. CHINA IS A DISTRACTION. They’re making us think we’re fighting the Commies, b — “
“Three nights ago, Carlyle had himself a little party. He invited a couple of friends and his estranged wife to attend. His maid was there, too.”
“It was his last, I hear.”
“You didn’t have to strain your ears too hard for that one.” Vickers reached in his breast pocket, pulled out the pack of cigarettes from before, and pulled one out with his teeth. He then paused, and spat it out through the window. “Happened like this: early on in the evening, the wife excuses herself. Says she has a headache, heads off to the bedroom to lie down.”
“But, y’know, whatever. WHATEVER! For the sake of the argument, let’s say Clinton isn’t a complete goddamn Commie. Let’s just put all that aside. What if one of those Chinese bastards — just one — gets their hands on a DEAD ANDROID from the battlefield, huh? All they gotta do is pick it apart, reverse-engineer it, and BAM! Right back in our face! BAM, I SAY! BAM! BAM BAM BAM BAM! WHAT THEN, CLINTON?”
“Later on, everyone’s in the living room. Carlyle excuses himself and heads off upstairs. Fifteen minutes later, there’s a gunshot. The guests and the maid make their way to the bedroom. It’s locked. So, they break the door down and find their host on the ground, with a bullet in his head. The wife is on the bed, still sleeping. Looking like she is, anyway. When they wake her up, she seems shocked. Says she has no idea what happened. That part of the story hasn’t changed, even now.”
“Chuck from Minnesota writes: ‘Dear Casey, yesterday I was at my coffee shop, and the Andy at the counter gave me a funny look. Mispronounced my name, too! IBX has created these Trojan Horses to infiltrate our society and take over our culture. The weird looks might be justified — because they’re making US the odd ones out. US! Hard-working Americans giving blood, sweat, and tears, while these bastards just need another round of oil or whatever and they’re good to go, 24/7! God made us in HIS IMAGE, and we have NO RIGHT to defile it like this!’ Thanks Chuck, I agree wholeheartedly. And to add to it — ”
“Unfortunately for her, the key to the room was on the nightstand. The only window was locked. And nobody else was hiding in the room. The guests all checked together.”
“ — Now, there’s a rumor runnin’ around, saying that IBX is planning to release a new model that lets the Andies get pregnant. Our team is currently speakin’ with some of their people, but let me tell you, the more I look at it, the more likely it becomes. And THAT, if you ask me, is gonna be CROSSING THE GODDAMN LINE, and EVERY person out there should be outraged! It’s an abomination of nature! Clinton and his lackeys might not see it, but THE REST OF AMERICA DOES!”
“What about the murder weapon?” I asked.
“We found it outside, in some bushes. Perfect sense we’d find it there, if the killer had thrown it from the bedroom window.”
“Have you figured out who it belongs to?”
“It was Carlyle’s own. Apparently, he kept it in his bedroom. All the more evidence of an impulsive kill, if you ask me.”
“How do we know the ‘people’ running IBX are even people, y’know? How do we know Andies not being able to lie is even true? What if it’s all just a grift — a plan to take over? Hell, do we even know who RUNS IBX? What if it’s the Russians? Did we even investigate? Are we going to? Does CLINTON even CARE?! We’re saying we’re out there, fighting the goddamn Commies, but if you ask me, the White House is looking MIGHTY RED right about now!”
“You think the wife did it, then?” I asked.
Vickers chuckled. “We know she did.”
“Any chances of intruders?”
“Whole place is surrounded with CCTV cams. We’d have caught the rat if he tried sneaking in. And he sure as hell didn’t sneak out; we searched the place top to bottom.”
“Seems like you’ve got all this figured out. What do you need me for?”
“I told you. The wife’s not changing her story. She says she went to bed, slept, and was woken up by the other guests. Insists she has nothing to do with Carlyle’s death.”
I blinked. “You’re saying he was married to an android?”
He grinned. “Hey. Brave new world, am I right?”
3
Carlyle’s house wasn’t a mansion, but it was well above what you’d find in your common suburbia. It did not have a lawn, but it did have a fountain. It did not have a garage, but it did have a massive open parking space. It did not have a fence, but it did have a large metal gate, with a marble statue on each side of it.
I got out of the car. Everything was quiet, save the distant sirens. The house was on top of a hill. No other homes in sight. I would never meet him, but I could tell Carlyle was a man that begged to be left alone.
A faint wind flew through my hair. Didn’t do much good in the long run. Mirage or not, the Sun here seemed bigger than before — almost as if it was creeping up on us. It called, and we could not resist. It was dying to welcome us in its last, cruel embrace.
I sniffed. Smoke filled my nostrils.
We would all burn, soon enough.
The front door opened. A young woman, looking no older than twenty-five, now stood before us. She wore a maid uniform. If this really was the maid, I thought, then she was uncharacteristically determined to stand out, given the short, light-blue hair. Then again, wearing the uniform in that day and age was bound to make her stand out no matter what.
She merely glanced at Vickers before turning her attention to me. “Hello. How can I help you?”
Vickers spoke. “We’re here to see Mrs. Carlyle. This is Mr. Norton. From IBX.”
The maid didn’t break eye contact. “May I see some identification?”
The detective laughed. “C’mon, I’m not grifting you here. I called, remember?”
Even so, I obliged, flashing my badge. After studying it for a few moments, she merely bowed, stepping aside.
“Thanks.” Vickers strolled right in. “Christ, I’m dying for a drink.”
I followed, finding myself in a small hallway. Everything was suddenly nice and cool. My body shivered at the realization. Whatever sense of relief I might’ve had, though, disappeared as soon as I saw just how drenched in sweat I was. I sat my equipment case down and took the time to catch my breath.
“You look terrible.” The maid said.
I sighed. “Thanks.”
“Can I get you a glass of water?”
“No, I’m good.”
“I’ll take a whiskey. On the rocks, please.” Vickers slid his shoes off.
The maid didn’t seem to hear him. “I’m Klara. I was Mr. Carlyle’s maid. I was here on the night he died. I don’t think Mrs. Carlyle killed h — ”
“Please, save your opinions for yourself, Ms. Dennings.” The detective looked around. “Did you get the others?”
“Yes. They are in the living room. If you’d just follow m — ”
“No, no. We’ll talk to them later.” He looked at me. “Just to be thorough, I had the other guests show up here, in case you wanted to talk to them. About Mrs. Carlyle’s behavior before the murder or something. But right now,” he turned back to the maid, “I wanna see the woman of the hour.”
“She’s in the dining room. This way, please.”
4
She was on one end of the table. I was on the other. Vickers was aimlessly walking around the room, twirling the glass of whiskey in his hand.
I could certainly see how Carlyle fell for her. Human or not, she was stunning. Silky white hair, full red lips, perfect curves — it was not only beauty, but beauty that would never fade. Regardless of when he looked at her, he could’ve let himself be taken to a time before. No matter how pored and blotched his skin had become, no matter how skinny or fat he became, no matter if he’d lost it all or climbed to the top of the world — she would remain. With her in his home, he crossed the breach. The sun’s light became equal to that of a movie projector, and he himself had finally become a character of that movie.
In this house on top of the hill, the world marched only to the beat of his drum.
Now he was gone. The film reel snapped.
Even so, she remained.
“Please, state your name.” I said.
“Abigail Carlyle.” She spoke deliberately, but never paused for more than a moment to think about her words.
“You were Mr. Edward Carlyle’s wife?”
“Yes.”
“I am to understand that in the last few months, your relationship had gotten strained?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. We’d had a falling out. A month ago, I packed my things and went to stay with one of my friends.”
“What was the cause of the fall-out?”
“Stress from his newest picture had gotten the better of him. One morning, I’d overcooked one of his eggs, and he slapped me. He’d been in that state before, but never violent. So, I left. I’d made it clear to him that, after the movie was done, I’d come back. It was for both of our sake.”
I made a note. “How’d he take it?”
“Not well, but he understood. Edward was like that. Some people saw him as shallow, but I was smart enough to know — ” she paused for a second, having heard the strange noise Vickers had made, “ — I was smart enough to know that underneath it all, he was an exceptionally intelligent and kind person. A terrible combination for his line of work, wouldn’t you say?”
“I don’t know anything about movies in general.” I admitted.
“Imagine being locked in a room and told to slam your hand against the table a thousand times — no less, no more — and then hold that same arm up, and keep it perfectly steady for two hours.”
“I don’t understand the analogy.”
She smirked. “It wasn’t an analogy. You haven’t seen Edward’s movies, have you?”
I cleared my throat. “Did you love him?”
“I still do.”
“Was there a point where you would say you didn’t love him?”
“I couldn’t love him before I’d met him, right?”
I clicked my tongue. “After you met him, was there a point where you didn’t love him?”
“There was not.”
I made another note. “Please describe the events of August 3rd of this year.”
“Three days ago, you mean?”
“August 3rd of this year.”
“The movie shoot had finished on the 2nd. Edward let me know, and asked me to move back in. I showed up on the 3rd. It was in the afternoon. He told me that he’d also decided to celebrate. He was convinced the picture would be a success. So, he invited John Danish — the director, and Diana Grisham — his co-star — to a little get-together. Just a small, private, get-together. That’s how he put-it, I think. It was a first for him. Having people over, I mean. It was always usually just me, him, and Klara.
“The party started at around 7 PM or so. The two arrived together; I think John was the one who drove them there. We went to the living room and stayed there for about an hour. Then I got a headache and had to go upstairs.”
“Okay, hold it.” Vickers interrupted. “How can a robot get a headache?”
“She can’t.” I said. “Not our kind of headache, anyway. It’s just a design quirk. When the engineers were thinking about what they should call the sensation an android feels when they’re low on battery and need to recharge, they decided on ‘headache.’ Precisely because they weren’t going to implement an actual headache simulator.”
“So, she was low on batteries?”
“That’s right.” Abigail continued. “I usually do a quick recharge during the day just in case, but Edward had me go to town and pick up some drinks for the party, so I missed it. I wasn’t surprised when I started feeling bad at the party.”
“What did you do then?”
“I went upstairs to our bedroom. I got on the bed, plugged the charger in, and went to sleep mode.”
“Did you notice anything strange about the bedroom?”
“It looked perfectly normal to me.”
“Did you lock the door behind you?”
“I had no reason to.”
“Okay. What happened next?”
”When I opened my eyes again, I realized John was shaking me awake. Klara and Diana were there, too. And Edward was on the ground. Dead.”
“Are you saying you’d slept through your husband’s murder?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe it.” Vickers chuckled. “You can’t sleep through a gunshot.”
“She could’ve.” I pointed out. “When in sleep mode, androids only react to physical contact. A gunshot wouldn’t have woken her up, whereas someone, say, shaking her awake, would have. And it did.”
Vickers scoffed.
“Anything else, Mr. Norton?” Abigail asked.
We’d gotten to the important part. “Please repeat after me: ‘I did not kill Edward Carlyle.’”
She crossed her legs. “I did not kill Edward Carlyle.”
“’I had no intention of killing Edward Carlyle at any point in my life.’”
“I had no intention of killing Edward Carlyle at any point in my life.’”
“’After I excused myself from the party, I went to sleep, and did not wake up until I was woken up. The moment in question refers to the moment the other guests broke into the bedroom, saw Edward Carlyle’s body, and woke me up.’”
“After I excused myself from the party, I went to sleep, and did not wake up until I was woken up. The moment in question refers to the moment the other guests broke into the bedroom, saw my husband’s body, and woke me up.”
“’I know of no other Edward Carlyle besides my husband.’”
She raised her brow, but it was obvious enough for me. While answering some of the previous questions, she could’ve made herself think about another Edward Carlyle, who she had not killed, and technically spoken the truth.
Ultimately, though, she repeated it: “I know of no other Edward Carlyle besides my husband.”
“Okay.” Given the story and these confirmations, I had no reason to believe she was trying to trick me. “Do you know who might’ve wanted to hurt your husband?”
“No.”
“Have you ever held a gun in your life?”
“No.”
“Do you have any knowledge or information on who might’ve killed your husband?”
“I do not.”
“Do you think your husband could’ve committed suicide?”
“I did not.”
I paused. “Do you think he DID commit suicide?”
“It’s a possibility I can’t refute.”
“I can.” Vickers stepped in. “Autopsy showed death was practically instantaneous. If he’d shot himself, he would’ve had to throw the gun out of the window, which he couldn’t have.”
A thought crossed my mind, though. What if Carlyle had shot himself, and then one of the other people in the house threw the gun out of the window after they broke the door down?
“Did you see a gun in the bedroom after you woke up?” I asked.
“I did not.”
“After the body’s discovery, was there anyone, at any point, that was left alone at the crime scene before the police arrived?”
She shook her head. “After I woke up, me, Klara, John and Diana all went downstairs. Klara called the police there, and that’s where we waited until they showed up.”
“Don’t bother.” Vickers said simply. “Based on the others’ testimony, I don’t think someone could’ve covertly thrown the gun out the window or anything. It’s a pretty old-ass window. Creaks, too. And everyone swears nobody went near it. They just gave the scene a rough look-around to see if there was anyone hiding. And, again — they found no-one.”
Meaning, Abigail really was the most reasonable suspect. In spite of the fact that everything she’d just told me had been the truth.
5
“Mrs. Carlyle.” I said. “I’m going to have to take out your Master Disk now.”
She shrugged. “I was hoping you wouldn’t have to, but I guess you have to do what you have to.”
I got up, and went around the table.”
“I’m, er.” I coughed. “I’m sorry about this.”
“As I’ve always said — it only gets uncomfortable if you make it uncomfortable.”
“Sorry, what are we doing now?” Vickers tried to interject.
“I’m going to examine her Master Disk to check for any damages.”
She lifted her shirt up just enough to expose her back. The Master Slot was just under her bra. It seemed to be properly locked. Next to the slot was a keyhole. IBX equipped me with what they called a Master Key, letting me unlock any android’s Master Slot. As soon as I inserted and turned it, Abigail fell limp, her upper body now leaning completely against the dining room table.
A floppy disk came out of the Slot. I took it out.
“What the hell is that?” Vickers demanded. “What’d you just do?”
I unpacked my equipment case. It contained nothing more by a standard FGM-Scanner, but the thing was bulky as all hell. Vickers helped me put it on the table and hook it up.
“It’s a floppy disk.” I declared.
“Yes, of course, I know what a floppy disk is, but what is it?”
“You didn’t know, huh.” I commented. “Every android has something called a Master Disk. While android bodies might look different on the outside, they all run the same protocols and routines under the hood. Think of it like human organs. In spite of how different we all are, our bodies all conform to the same functions. Lungs do the breathing, the stomach the food processing, the heart pumps blood. What separates us — just as it does androids — is the brain. Personality, memories, speech patterns. And this — ” I held up the Master Disk, “is an android’s brain. This is Abigail Carlyle.”
“They all got a slot like that? Damn.”
“The slot itself, I guess, isn’t that common knowledge. And it’d be best if you kept it that way, detective.” I sat in front of the FGM-Scanner. “The slot has the disk. To get the disk, you need to have a special key. Mine can open any. Most only work for one specific android’s slot. Generally, androids themselves don’t have the key to theirs. Not that they can reach back there, anyway — the programming won’t let them. Since, as you can see, taking out the brain takes out all bodily function, effectively shutting them down until someone slides the disk back in.
“Androids may, however, request a key, if they can provide evidence of living with a spouse, have been adopted as a member of a family, or have a confirmed caretaker. That way, in the case of actual emergency, if the android’s body has horribly malfunctioned, it only makes sense to take out the brain and save the android from the pain until the situation is resolved.”
I coughed. “Using the feature for any other purpose is, of course, punishable by law.”
Vickers nodded at the FGM-Scanner. “So, what’s that thing?”
“It’s a device that lets me scan a Master Disk for any anomalies. If, somehow, Mrs. Carlyle has developed an ability to lie, it should show up after an analysis. In general, though, if anyone had taken her disk out and tried to modify the data on it, it’ll show up on the scanner, too.”
“You can do that?”
“Sure. The only thing that’s supposed to change on the disk is the memory bank. Behavior code can always be compared to the factory default.”
Vickers rubbed his chin. “But that’s just it. What if they tried removing some of the memories? Or adding some? Can ya catch that?”
“Someone can try doing it, but they’d be making a pretty big mistake.” I leaned back in my seat. “Memories in general are spread all over the disk, in chunks, to the point where not even the people who designed this system can tell you where in the memory bank rests which memory. And that’s on top of all the data being encrypted to begin with. The only one that can properly access it all — ”
“ — Is the android’s own body.”
“Yeah. And, chances are, if anyone tried messing with the memories, they would’ve made a mistake, the memories wouldn’t have made any coherent sense anymore, and Mrs. Carlyle would’ve had a complete mental breakdown when the disk was put back in the slot.”
“Alright. I’m starting to get the picture.” He scratched his cheek. “But what if she simply wished for her body to delete certain memories, though? What if she killed her husband, and then had her body delete the whole shebang? It’d explain how she’d be able to lie.”
I laughed. “You can’t order your heart to beat any more than you can order your kidneys to do their thing whenever you want, can you? Same thing here. Androids don’t have total control of all their functions. I mean, if they did, they could theoretically figure out how to lie and program it onto their own disk. It’d be a disaster.”
I slid Abigail’s disk into the scanner. The FGM hummed to life.
The man shrugged. “Well, alright. What would, say, happen if you tried sticking this thing into some other android’s body?”
I shook my head. “Wouldn’t work. As I said, the data on the disk is encrypted, and the only body that can properly decrypt it is the body designated for that android.”
“What if the body gets destroyed, but the disk is saved? Like in that case of emergency you mentioned.”
“Then,” I said, “the people in possession of the disk would have to order a new body from IBX. Or return the disk to IBX for recycling.”
“God, what a racket! Not sure I even wanna know what ‘recycling’ is supposed to mean.” He sat down next to me, occasionally looking over to Abigail’s motionless body. “Pretty funny, though. Their entire existence being in a cheap floppy disk.”
“The human brain requires surprisingly little memory.” I said.
“So, we could, uh, just theoretically leave her as-is, now, right? You don’t need to put the disk back in?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Well, you know, you could just ‘lose’ it, and she’d be out of commission for good.”
“Yeah. Sure. I could do that. But I’m not going to.”
He blinked back. “Right. Of course.”
I focused my attention on the scanner. The analysis was complete rather quickly.
“Well?” he asked.
“Everything seems to be in order. She can’t lie. In fact, I can’t see her disk being tampered at all.”
6
“Well, that’s excellent news.” Abigail said, not looking too relieved. Might’ve had something to do with the look of sheer disgust creeping up on Vickers’ face.
With that, Mrs. Carlyle excused herself.
“You’re telling me she didn’t do it, then?” Vickers demanded.
“She’s telling us she didn’t do it. And we have no choice but to accept it.” I said.
“Well, I don’t accept it! She was the only one in that room! No intruders, and everyone else had an eye on each other when the shot was fired! How was it done, then, huh? The only thing that makes any sense if she pulled the trigger! I — I don’t care how, but she must be lying! She’s pulling a trick! It’s a trick!”
“The scanner — ”
“I don’t care what the scanner says!”
He pressed his hands against his face. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Fine. Shit. Okay. Let’s just — let’s just go talk to the others. I guess.”
“I think my job here is done, though. I just gave you my finding — ”
“Listen. Just — Just think it over, okay? There’s only so many ways this could’ve played out. Just come with me, let’s talk to the others, and let’s see. The only alternative to Mrs. Carlyle lying is if they lied. And I think you’ll find they couldn’t have done that, either.”
“And where would that leave me?”
“It’d — I don’t know. I don’t know! It’d mean you were wrong? That scanner of yours doesn’t work properly? That she tricked you with words?”
“You were right here when I asked her the questions.”
“Look, I don’t know how andies work! You’re the expert here!”
“And because I’m the expert, you should probably trust me when I say that the scan was accurate, and that she didn’t do it.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the same pack of cigarettes from before, sighed, and put it back in his pocket. “Just hear out the situation, and at least consider that there’s something you might’ve missed.”
I think it was right around then that I realized that this guy was going to be my ride back to the hotel.
“Sure, detective. Whatever you say.”
7
Vickers seemed to make himself comfortable, now leading the charge through the house. Klara seemed irritated, but chose to keep her posture straight and say nothing. As she and I trailed behind the detective, I started to suspect Vickers wasn’t the only cause of her bad mood. After all, not like my presence was helping — the guy whose job was to determine whether or not her remaining employer got sent to jail. Or, worse yet, maybe she’d seen me reach into Abigail’s back and take out the disk. I couldn’t see her harboring any good thoughts of me after that.
I tried not to think about it. The more I did it, the more nervous I was likely going to get. That was the odd part — I’d gotten used to officials being mad at me: cops, lawyers, pesky journalists, even some of my bosses; but whenever an ordinary person that had nothing to do with the job gave me a weird look, I was overtaken by an indescribable sense of guilt.
‘Something’s not right with this guy.’
‘Corporate asshole.’
‘Look at him. Who gave that fraud the right to be wearing that fancy suit?’
‘He doesn’t care about any of this. Why should he even have the right to be here?’
They never said anything, of course — but those were the words I always heard. Voices I’d never even heard of reaching me. Telling me that I should stop. That I should be stopped.
I sighed.
Klara turned to me.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” She kept her voice down, trying to avoid getting Vickers’ attention.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I tried to sound absent-minded. Whatever thoughts were running through my head at the time had nothing to do with the actual case. The case itself, after all, was over. I’d done my job. And I had no intention of doing Vickers’.
As my eyes wandered around the narrow hallway, I finally realized that the walls had all been littered with framed photographs. All featuring either Carlyle, his wife, or both. I was surprised to find myself slowing down to get a better look at them. Klara did the same.
“They look good together, don’t they?” she asked me.
In the photos where they were together, I had to admit there was a certain invisible energy between them. Carlyle’s smile was hypnotic. It was as if someone had condensed a ball of unstoppable energy and trapped it into a human body. He seemed larger than life. Or, rather, he was trying to convince the world that he was. Is it any wonder he’d found himself paired up with a woman whose very existence defied life’s rules?
“Hey, hey. Come along now, we ain’t got all day.” Vickers shouted from the end of the hall.
The door to the living room almost seemed like a portal to a different time. It was bathed in bright colors, had a massive window overlooking L.A. for one of its walls, and was filled to the brim with oddly-shaped furniture; all with the backdrop of Abbey Road, quietly spinning away in the corner of the room.
I spotted the two figures sitting on the sofa. One was a large man desperately trying to outpace his own, visibly-aging body. The fake hair, the immaculately polished but slightly crooked teeth, the three golden chains around his neck. All stood out in their own ways, but none managed to distract me from seeing just how wrinkled his skin was.
He got up and shook my hand. “Hey there! John Danish. Pleasure to meet you.” He turned over to his companion. “This is — ”
“I’m Diana.” The woman said, not standing up. She barely seemed to register our presence at all. The other way around was impossible — she was gorgeous. It was as if being in the presence of royalty. There was a faint mist in her big blue eyes. She seemed to have whole worlds spinning around in her head. And although she was there, I could’ve sworn it was just a mirage. A trick of the sun. The real Diana Grisham must’ve been miles upon miles away.
The few times she ended up looking my way — the few times she’d decided to return to this world — I had one of those moments where I imagined what the other person was thinking. Instead of condemnation, all I heard was pleading.
‘I don’t want to be here.’ she begged.
And I did nothing to save her.
“As I explained to Mr. Norton here,” Vickers began, taking the reigns again, “you two were the guests on the night of Mr. Carlyle’s death. I’d like to go over your statements one more time.”
Danish looked at me. “Do you think she did it?”
Vickers raised his hand. “Now, now, Danish. I’ll be the one asking the questions here. Just relax, and we’ll be over with it soon.”
Danish sat back down, occasionally glancing over in Diana’s direction. “I don’t really know what else to say. We’ve been over it so many times.”
“Just one more time’ll be enough.”
Danish sighed. “Ed invited us over here for a party to celebrate wrapping up The Last Keeper, my new movie. I’m the director and Ed’s — was — well, no, he still is — the star of it. It wasn’t supposed to be anything huge. Just a little get-together. That’s the way he put it, at least.
“We got here around 7. Diana and me, I mean. Ed invited us in, we got to the living room, hung out, chatted.”
“Notice anything unusual at this point?” Vickers asked.
“Unusual? When we showed up? Well, not really. Except his wife being there, I guess.” He shrugged. “I remember Ed mentioning they were having some troubles. He didn’t go into any details, and I didn’t pry. Had no reason to — if he was upset, he could channel it in the role. See, Don, the character he was playing was a — ”
Vickers sighed. “Right. Nothing unusual, then. Was everyone gathered here?”
“Well, obviously, Ed’s wife left. It was a little before 8, I think, that she said she had to go and lie down. None of us said anything. Not like we could’ve gotten her to stay, even if we’d wanted to. When you’re outta juice, you’re outta juice. So I’ve been told, anyways. I don’t really know how andi — eroids work.” He chuckled. “Anyway, a little while after that, Ed excused himself, too. Said he had to go check up on something. Fifteen minutes later, we heard the gunshot.”
“During those fifteen minutes, was everyone here the entire time?” Vickers now turned to Klara.
She nodded. “That’s right. After Mr. Carlyle left, me, Ms. Grisham and Mr. Danish were together until we heard the gunshot. The three of us went upstairs, since it seemed that’s where it came from.”
“To be honest, at the time I didn’t even think it was a gunshot!” Danish leaned back in the sofa. “Sounded like a loud firecracker to me. I mean, I’ve had live weapons go off on-set before. I figured I’d recognize it.”
“Mr. Carlyle’s gun was high-caliber.” Vickers said simply. “Those pack a helluva stronger punch, let me tell you.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Danish smiled. “Where was I? Right. When we got up there, we weren’t sure where to go. I suggested the bedroom. We didn’t know where Ed was, but we did know where Abigail was. Made sense to check up on her first before running around to search for Ed.”
He sighed. “Of course, as it turned out, we didn’t have to search, at all.”
“The door was locked when you got there?” I asked.
Klara nodded. “Yes. I was the one who tried it first. I knocked and yelled for Mrs. Carlyle to open, but got no response. Mr. Danish was the next person to try it, but he didn’t have much luck, either. We had no choice but to break it down.”
“And there’s when you found the body.”
Klara nodded again. “The body and Mrs. Carlyle. She was on the bed. I went over to the body and Mr. Danish ran to Mrs. Carlyle.”
The director closed his eyes. “It was so bizarre. That whole scene. Seemed so surreal. Ed lying on the floor. The blood all over the goddamn place. The reason I wasn’t jumping over to him right away was because — because I thought he was still alive. I mean, Ed’s legs were… still twitching.”
“Muscle spasms like that tend to happen.” Vickers pointed out.
“Yeah, yeah, I know that now. I’m just saying, at the time… I don’t know. Part of me was almost thinking it was no big deal. That it was just some weird prank or something.”
“But it wasn’t.” Klara concluded. “Mr. Carlyle was dead. I’m sure of it. His eyes were still wide open, and — and I could see through the hole in his head.”
Diana covered her mouth. The memory she was desperately trying to repress was slowly floating back to the surface. Her lunch along with it.
“Did you find anyone else in the room?” Vickers asked.
“There were only three places where someone could’ve reasonably hid.” Klara explained. “Either under the bed, in the wardrobe, or behind the door. I checked all three, and there was nobody there.”
“Could the killer have escaped without you seeing him?”
Klara shook her head. “My first thought was the window, but when I went over to it, I realized it was locked. And I noticed the key to the room was on the nighstand, right next to the side of the bed Mrs. Carlyle was sleeping on. And the room was small enough that I think we would’ve noticed anyone trying to get away after we broke the door down.”
“In conclusion, there was no way for the culprit to get out of that room after killing Mr. Carlyle?” Vickers asked.
“I don’t think so, no.”
“God, can we stop with all this bullshit?” Diana returned to our realm. This time, I could not hear her soul beg for anything. All she looked like she wanted to do was scream. “Abigail killed him. She was there. She was the only one that could’ve done it. We saw her. We saw Ed.”
Her eyes met mine. “I don’t give a shit what she says. She killed him.”
Danish cleared his throat. “Calm down, Diana, darling, please — ”
“I’m not your darling. A — Damn it, John, get your hands off me!”
She jumped from her seat, looked at each face in the room, and stormed off. Vickers wasn’t interested in chasing after her. Instead he chose to fiddle with his box of cigarettes again.
8
“I’m sorry.” Danish was the first one to speak again. “Ed’s death has taken… a bit of a toll on her, I guess. Co-stars tend to develop a certain bond, working together for all those months, I suppose.”
“What kind of bond?” I asked.
It might’ve been my imagination, but I could’ve sworn the question seemed to startle Danish. “A professional one, obviously!”
“Do you believe Mrs. Carlyle killed her husband?”
Danish sighed. “It does seem difficult to come up with an alternative explanation, but honestly? I don’t. During our time on the movie, while he didn’t talk about their rough patch, Ed did talk about them. The way things usually were. And I don’t believe that the Abigail he described was capable of murder.”
“I can describe Stalin as a cat-lover and leave it at that. Doesn’t mean he’s an angel.” Vickers grinned.
“I guess. But I still can’t believe it. She was the reason he was even still alive, after all.” The director ran his hand through his bundle of fake hair. “When they first met, he’d just gotten down with his second film. Like the first, it was an obscure little arthouse shebang. No real splash. No real springboard to something bigger. No real pay, either. He found himself going from audition to audition — all without callbacks. His agent didn’t seem to be any more confident in the future than he was.
“He was a high school drop-out. He’d given up everything to be in Hollywood. Got a whiff of entertaining and couldn’t let it go. He was always a dreamer. And like most dreamers, he slowly realized he’d stumbled into a nightmare.
“He was gonna off himself. Just drive up to some remote hill, take his clothes off, and let himself fall.”
“But he didn’t.” I pointed out.
Danish smiled. “But he didn’t.”
“Because he found her.” I said.
Danish nodded. “Because he found her.
“She was right there. On that hill nobody was supposed to go to. Leaning against her car, looking at the stars. He parked next to her. He was gonna just wait until she left. But she went around and knocked on the car door. And through the darkness, he saw her eyes.
“Ed thought it was love at first sight. He decided to live a little longer. See how lost he could get in those eyes of hers.”
“He didn’t mind she was an android?”
“I asked him the same question. And he told me: ‘Johnny. The way she holds me in her arms gives me a warmth that no other human being has ever matched. She might not be human, but, damn it, I’m not sure I need her to be.’”
“They were a team.” Klara chimed in. “I can’t really imagine a more perfect couple.”
Vickers clicked his tongue. “And yet, logic dictates she killed him.”
“Does it?” I asked. There was still a possibility he wasn’t considering.
That the other three simply lied. Since Abigail wasn’t responsive to any sounds, the culprit could’ve broken the door down, shot Carlyle, dumped the gun, and then conspired with the others to keep a lid on things.
Vickers seemed to have read my mind, though. “I told you earlier, didn’t I? That you’d find that these three couldn’t have just made this up.” He turned to Klara. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?”
The maid winced, but said nothing.
“Let me take a page out of Mr. Norton’s book.” he continued. “Repeat after me: ‘I did not kill Edward Carlyle, and I did not assist Edward Carlyle’s killer or killers.’”
Klara sighed. “I did not kill Edward Carlyle, and I did not assist Edward Carlyle’s killer or killers.”
I blinked. “What are you — ?”
“Next!” Vickers looked like he was suddenly enjoying himself. “’From the moment they arrived to this house, to the moment we broke the bedroom door down, Mr. Danish and Ms. Grisham didn’t leave my sights.’”
Klara nodded. “That’s correct.”
He clapped his hands. “Repeat it!”
She rolled her eyes. “’From the moment they arrived to this house, to the moment we broke the bedroom door down, Mr. Danish and Ms. Grisham didn’t leave my sights.”
“One last thing: ‘When we broke the door down, I was the first one to go to Edward Carlyle’s body. He was definitely dead, and there was no gun anywhere.’”
“When we broke the door down, I was the first one to go to Edward Carlyle’s body. He was definitely dead, and there was no gun anywhere.”
Vickers turned on his heel, dramatically bowing in front of me. “Mr. Norton, I present to you an infallible witness, as you like those so much.” He gestured to the maid. “Ms. Klara Dennings — in all her android glory!”
9
Klara requested that I perform the scan of her Master Disk in Carlyle’s study. She also asked for Vickers to be absent during it. I didn’t object, and neither did Vickers. Especially after Klara directed him to a whole unopened bottle of whiskey.
Given the sheer amount of movie posters covering its walls, the study came off as more of a shrine Carlyle had made for himself. The room was dimly-lit, housing nothing of importance but a bookcase and a work desk, with a computer resting on top of it. The computer looked new — state-of-the-art, actually. Not even an average IBX employee had one of those.
“You won’t let anyone come in here while you’re doing the scan?” she asked.
“I won’t.” I said.
“You’ll put the disk back in when you’re done?”
“I will.”
Even so, she didn’t move.
“Are you afraid of me?” I asked.
“I’m afraid of what you’re going to do.” She shrugged. “Of course, to me, it’ll seem like I just blinked. But in the length of that blink, my life is in your hands. And there’s a real possibility after closing my eyes, I might not open them again.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
“But the thought will cross your mind. You’ll hold the one piece of me that matters the most, and you’ll think: ‘What if I just crush this piece of plastic? Here and now? It’s just an ordinary floppy disk. What difference would it make to me?’”
“I promise I won’t hurt you.”
She smiled. “Mr. Norton, you of all people should understand that first impressions are everything for androids. In the first few minutes we spoke, my brain ‘learned’ to recognize you a certain way.”
“And what did you learn?”
She lowered her gaze. “I saw that you don’t want to be here. I saw that you don’t care. I saw that you’re the type of person that would think of my disk as just that simple, crushable floppy.”
I blinked.
‘Something’s not right with this guy.’
‘Corporate asshole.’
‘Look at him. Who gave that fraud the right to be wearing that fancy suit?’
‘He doesn’t care about any of this. Why should he even have the right to be here?’
I could think of nothing else to say.
She sat down, looking away from me. I placed the FGM-Scanner on the desk.
I unzipped the back of her dress. I unlocked the slot on her back, pulling out the disk. In an instant, her body fell limp. I slightly panicked as she almost toppled from the chair.
I zipped the dress back up and inserted the disk into the FGM.
I had no choice but to wait.
‘He doesn’t care about any of this.’
I thought it was ridiculous. I was tired from the flight. And it was too hot outside. And Vickers was an asshole. And I did do my job. Hell, I was doing it then and there. If I didn’t care about the fact Carlyle was dead, it was because I didn’t know him as a person. If I didn’t care about Abigail or Klara, it was because I didn’t know them as people, either.
Then again — I never could, could I? They were never people to begin with, either.
Every word Klara had just told me was not something she truly ‘thought.’ It was a neural network that chose a response based on the ‘personality’ — a set of decimal-point numbers stored on the disk, along with her ‘memories’ of me — a set of images, each represented as yet another set of numbers. Just a set of numbers that added up in a certain way, and caused a certain soundbyte be played every millisecond. That’s all there was to it. Her fear of me was no different.
And the reason I saw her disk as just another floppy was because it was one. And just because I could have broken it didn’t mean I would have.
‘Fraud.’
I could’ve sworn I’d heard Klara’s voice. But, of course, I couldn’t have. She was offline. She couldn’t look at me. She couldn’t even feel my presence. Because ‘she’ wasn’t even there anymore. She was in the FGM.
‘I hate you.’
Just paranoia. Just one of those voices that crept up from time to time, like always.
‘You always saw the voices as other people’s thoughts. But my thoughts aren’t real. So who cares?’
I focused on the FGM.
‘You don’t care about anything. Me, Carlyle, Abigail. California. Anything. World could be set on fire, and you wouldn’t bat an eye.’
I then decided to search Carlyle’s desk. I figured I might find something helpful to the investigation. Most of it was just contracts for movies I probably shouldn’t have known about. There were a couple of old scripts there, as well. I flipped through some of them, but didn’t bother beyond that.
I noticed there was a trash bin tucked away in the corner of the room. I don’t really know why, but I decided to rummage through it. Old crime shows teach you that the trash is usually a goldmine.
It was filled to the brim with crumpled papers. Sketches, revised script pages, phone numbers —
I was just about to give up when, at the very bottom, I saw two things of interest.
One was a small key. Familiar in make and size. I recognized what it was almost immediately. The other were bits and pieces of blue plastic. Not a whole lot — five or six, tops. A round piece of metal, too. And another, slightly larger one.
I had an idea of what this could be, too.
Unable to find anything else, I put things back in their place. I was beginning to have an idea. A simple one — one that I probably wouldn’t have come up with if I hadn’t felt someone had deliberately hidden those two things in the bottom of the trash can. I considered sharing it with Vickers.
But then I looked over at Klara and thought better of it.
The FGM-Scanner finished soon after.
Everything was in perfect order with the Master Disk.
10
“I don’t understand the question.” Klara said. “After we broke the door down, the four of us went downstairs. I called the police. We stayed put until then.”
“Right.” I said. “But what about after the police got there?”
She raised a brow. “Well, they went straight to the bedroom, and sealed it off for investigation.”
“What about the interviews? Did the police take you down to the station, or did they do them in the house?”
“They took Mrs. Carlyle to the station. The rest of us had their interviews in the kitchen.”
“While the investigation was happening, was anyone allowed to move around the house?”
“People were allowed to go to the bathroom. Obviously, though, nobody could leave the house or go to the bedroom.”
“When did they take Mrs. Carlyle to the station?” I had no choice but to continue now. “Was it right after they showed up? Was she allowed to go to the bathroom?”
Klara shook her head. “After Detective Vickers showed up, he got the gist of the story from the other officers and had Mrs. Carlyle taken away immediately. She was in the living room the entire time before then.”
I scratched the side of my head, thinking things through.
“…Why are you asking all these things?” She sounded tense. The neural net had taken in all the data and decided that she should be tense now.
“One last question. I don’t know how long you’ve worked here, Klara, but I just want your general impression, anyway. Would you say Edward Carlyle was a kind man?”
“I would.”
“Do you think he would ever be capable of knowingly hurting another person? Physically or emotionally?”
“Are you asking me if he was abusive?”
“Let me rephrase the question: did he care?”
This, Klara answered without hesitation: “Yes, Mr. Norton. He did care.”
11
We returned downstairs to find that there was a shouting match happening in the kitchen. Calling it a ‘match’ might be overdoing it, though — the only one shouting was Diana. The person on the receiving end, Abigail, was perfectly composed.
“Just admit it already!” Diana demanded. “You killed him! You! Just stop lying!”
Danish placed a hand on the young actress’ shoulder. “Diana, please — let’s not do this. Not now.”
“No! No, I’m sick and tired of this! She killed him! She killed him!”
Abigail shook her head. “No, dear. I loved him.”
“Oh, I believe you!” The other woman laughed. “I believe you! You loved him so much that you couldn’t let him go!”
“What are you talking about?” Abigail remained unimpressed.
“Don’t play dumb! He told you! He said he was going to tell you!”
“Diana, no — !” But Danish’s protests weren’t worth squat by that point.
“He was going to leave you! Leave you! You hear?!” Diana’s eyes welled with tears. “He loved me! Me!”
“Don’t lie.”
“It’s not a lie! We were together ever since you left him!”
“I moved out. I still loved him.”
“What you thought didn’t matter anymore! He wanted a real woman! Not a toy! And he got me! And he loved me! And he wanted me! And he was gonna tell you that at the party! That’s what he went to ‘check up on!’ He finally go the courage to confront you! You couldn’t accept it, so you killed him! You killed him like the filthy fucking andy you ar — ”
And then, she stopped.
The actress’ cheek was now red. Klara slowly lowered her arm.
The neural network had told Klara that enough was enough. The neural network had told her that what she was seeing and hearing should make her angry, and angry she felt. Because the neural network — her brain — her artificial soul — was never built to be mocked.
And so — the neural network — this person who could not have possibly been an actual person — acted as a person, acted on artificial anger — and manifested it into a real, physical slap.
“Sh — She just hit me!” Diana turned to Vickers. “She just hit me!”
Vickers opened his mouth, but it was Abigail’s voice that filled the room: “And if you have an issue with it, I welcome you to press charges. Since Klara is in my employ, I’ll pay whatever fine I have to.
“Until you do that, I think I’ve had enough of this farce. Mr. Vickers, you have no warrant, and the investigation team has packed up ages ago. The others were never my guests to begin with.
“This is my house. And I now ask you to get the hell out of it.”
12
The ride back to the hotel was a silent one. Vickers never asked me any questions — probably because he figured I didn’t know anything he didn’t already. He tried to turn on the radio at one point. I promptly shut it back off. He might’ve been pissed. I didn’t bother looking his way to know for sure.
He dropped me off without saying so much as goodbye.
The first thing I did when I got to my room was call up McKenna.
“It’s done.” I said. “I don’t know what this mess is about, but none of the androids involved are lying. FGM showed everything was clean. Whoever bamboozled the cops did a good job of it. Whatever it was — it’s got nothing to do with us.”
“Good to hear.” The old man chuckled. “I take it this means you’re cutting the ‘vacation’ short?”
“I’ll probably be flying back tomorrow, yeah.”
“Alright, kid. Talk to you when you’re back.”
I peeled my clothes off, showered, and slipped into something more casual. I had time to kill, so I decided to see what was on TV. I immediately got a reminder as to why I kept it shut off in the first place. After scrolling through news report after news report about the Chinese battlefront, I eventually settled on a kids show, featuring a giant talking chicken or something.
It was around 8 that I made my way down to the hotel lobby. I had one last thing to do while I was here. A meeting I’d arranged before we’d all got booted from the house.
She was there early.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” I said. “I’m surprised you came.”
I must admit, I felt a bit embarrassed, seeing her without the maid uniform. It almost seemed like a date.
“I’m surprised myself.” she said. Her artificial brain had made an artificially strange decision. Of course, it’d still been a numbers game — an output for a given input.
She was still just a bunch of numbers. That’s all she ever could have been.
And yet, she —
“What did you want to talk about?”
And yet, I —
“I wanted to tell you the truth, Klara.”
And yet, we —
“About what?”
And yet, this —
“About who killed Edward Carlyle.”
13
We went back up to my room.
“I need you to understand something.” It was the first thing I chose to say to her. “The woman you’re working for now — Abigail Carlyle — did not kill her husband. She’s perfectly innocent. I need you to understand that. She never murdered anyone. She never made the decision to murder anyone.”
“Okay.” She crossed her legs. “I figured as much. But who did? We’ve gone over this a million times already. There was nobody else that could’ve done it. If you go with suicide, you can’t get rid of the gun. If you go with murder, you can’t have anyone else but her.”
“You’re right. The way the facts are, the order of events seems pretty obvious. Carlyle goes into the bedroom. She wakes up. They argue. And then she shoots him with the gun that was on-hand. She throws the gun out, locks the window, and pretends to go back to sleep.”
“Right. But you just said — ”
“The woman you’re working for now did none of those things. But the events I just described definitely happened.”
Klara frowned. “I don’t understand. Are you playing games with me?”
“No. I’m not. I’ve just left out a part of the story.”
“Then start from the beginning.”
I nodded. “After his marriage hit a rough patch, I do think Carlyle fell in love with Diana. Well — I say ‘fell in love’ — but I don’t know what he was thinking. Could’ve started out a physical thing and grown into something more over time. Could’ve just been loneliness. Could’ve been a mid-life crisis. Whatever it was, Carlyle was prepared to make a change in his life. He was going to leave Abigail.”
“You can’t tell me you believe what that — ”
“I do. Granted, it might not be true. But it does make the most sense given the facts.”
“And what are the facts?”
“Diana told us most of it. Carlyle prepared the party. He brought along his mistress and someone he trusted — Danish. He was going to use it to break the news to Abigail. He might’ve been pressured by Diana, hence the dramatic flair of it all. He might’ve just been naturally dramatic, being an actor at all.
“Either way, the stage was set. As far as Diana was concerned, Carlyle would go talk to his wife, explain the situation, and she would pack her bags and leave.
“But she didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?”
I smiled. “That he cared.
“Abigail had saved him from himself all those years ago. He couldn’t just walk up to her and kick her out. It wouldn’t have been fair. He wanted the break-up to be done well. But he was also a recluse. He didn’t understand the world enough to know how to even approach it. Hell, even if he had, it still would’ve been hard.
“But then he had an idea.
“What if he tried to confront Abigail? And what if, after he tried and it didn’t go well, he could just reset everything and try again? And again, and again, and again — until he got it right?
“His plan was simple. He first made sure to keep Abigail busy through the day so she’d miss her usual recharge time, and be forced to go to sleep. When he was sure she’d be shut down, he snuck into the bedroom, and using the key to Abigail’s slot (which they probably got after they got married), he took her Master Disk.
“He then went over to his study. Instead of altering the data on the disk in any way, all he did was copy all of its contents onto another floppy disk, using his computer. Now there were two perfectly identical Abigails. Each on their own disk. Each having the last memory be that of going off to sleep in the bedroom.
“Carlyle then returned, placed one of the disks on the nightstand, and put the other one into Abigail. He then woke her up.
“This would be his first attempt. If she reacted badly, he figured he could just shut her down, take the current disk out, destroy it, and create another copy with the spare he’d made earlier. And he could just keep repeating it.
“Unfortunately, the first time went as horribly as it could’ve possibly gone.
“Abigail got angry, and shot her husband.”
Klara said nothing.
“Then, she did the only thing she could’ve. She panicked. She realized that she’d acted irrationally — senselessly — in a moment of anger and frustration — and killed the one person she loved. She quickly locked the door to buy herself some time. She put the key on the nightstand. I don’t think she noticed the disk Carlyle had left there earlier. Even if she had, it’s likely she didn’t put together what it could’ve been.
“Soon, everyone gathered at the door. The best she could do now was throw the gun out through the window and try to pretend like she’d gone back to sleep. Locking the window was a mistake on her part, obviously — but even if she’d left it open, it wouldn’t have made a difference. With the cameras surrounding the estate, it would’ve been obvious there was never any intruder.
“She lied down, pretending to be asleep, and hoped for the best.”
“But — no.” Klara interrupted. “Wait. That doesn’t work. When I searched the room later, I don’t remember there being any disk on the nighstand.”
I nodded. “There wasn’t. The person who got to Abigail first took it and used it.”
“You mean — ?”
“Danish, yeah. I think Carlyle confided in him about the plan. When you broke the door down and he saw the scene, Danish realized he had to act quickly. I think Danish believed that Carlyle wouldn’t have wanted Abigail to be arrested for the murder. He also knew that he couldn’t just let a guilty person walk off scot-free after killing his friend.
“As it turned out, fate had given him the solution to both of his problems.
“He probably saw the disk immediately. He saw Abigail sleeping. Or pretending to, anyway. He knew that, if she’d killed him, the disk that was in her now was that of the murderer.
“So, while pretending to wake her up, he secretly swapped the disks. Carlyle had probably left the key inside Abigail to make it easier for himself to deactivate her if things got dicey. She likely never even noticed.
“Now, the disk inside Abigail would be the copy made right before she’d gone off to sleep. She would have no memory of the murder — because this version of her hadn’t committed one. That’s why, when she claimed she didn’t kill her husband, she was telling the truth!
“As for Danish, he took the key and the other disk, and disposed of them in Carlyle’s study during the police investigation. Probably during a ‘bathroom break.’ He made sure to crush the disk, too, since he didn’t know enough about androids to know how much data the police could reasonably get off of it.”
“He — But that means he killed her!”
“In a sense, yes. He killed the version of Abigail that committed the murder. The culprit is dead. She’s been dead this entire time. The Abigail still living is perfectly innocent.”
Klara fell silent.
She simply stared at me.
“Why — Why would you tell me this?”
It was the last question I expected to hear. “Wh — What do you mean? Because — Because I thought you’d want to know.”
“Know that — that Mrs. Carlyle is both somehow alive and dead?! Know that Mr. Carlyle was willing to duplicate and kill her countless times just to have some kind of movie ending?! What am I supposed to do now? When that asshole Vickers comes back and asks me questions, how am I supposed to lie? How am I supposed to say I don’t know who the culprit is? How am I supposed to say Mrs. Carlyle is completely innocent?”
“W — ”
“If I just say nothing, then he’ll just say I’m covering for the culprit and take me as an accessory! If I tell him the truth, then he’ll arrest Mrs. Carlyle! Yes, she didn’t kill him, but do you think he’ll care?! Do you think anyone out there will care?!”
I looked out the window.
Even in the darkness, I could see smoke still rising in the distance. The glow of flames mixing in with the city lights.
“Why?” she asked me. “Why would you do this?”
My legs began to shake. “I — No, I — I did it because I — I cared! I mean, I care! Because — Because didn’t you want to know? I thought — I mean, I just told you she didn’t do it! You’re both innocent! Doesn’t that relieve you just a little bit?!”
“…How can you even say you care? You’ve gone through all this trouble to reassure me that the Mrs. Carlyle I’m with now didn’t kill anyone. And, sure. That’s good, I guess. But it doesn’t change the fact that same being, given the circumstance and chance — did exactly that. That person still existed. That’s the person that would’ve been here right now if Carlyle hadn’t been so selfish!
“How could that not be scary to me?! I mean, Abigail Carlyle still murdered a man! The fact that ‘the current version’ didn’t get a chance to make that decision doesn’t change that she would’ve! That person is still capable of murder! That person is still her!”
I stood there, speechless.
“But — But it’s a different disk. It’s a different disk, Klara!”
She opened her mouth. Then closed it.
And without another word, she left, slamming the door behind her.
THE END
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