Wounds on your Lips

No one knew for sure

if "good" deviants existed.

The silence inside the cabin was practically dead. The radio was playing at the lowest possible volume, and that was quite enough to keep one from going insane. Sitting motionless throughout the night was not an easy task, not just physically, but morally as well. A stakeout was the most crucial part of catching a criminal, but simultaneously the deadliest boring part of a detective's work. It did not weigh on one of them, while the other was dying of boredom, counting the minutes until dawn. "...the Detroit City Council is voting on the issue of unemployment benefits..." "...security system breaches have become more frequent. Experts are calling for increased measures..." "You know, sometimes I think about how strange it is to exist in this world, where humans and androids coexist," a velvet baritone interrupted the evening news host on the radio. "I am still trying to understand what it means to be human; perhaps it includes understanding one's own feelings as well." Continuing to look straight ahead, he turned the volume down so that he wouldn't have to raise his voice and his companion could hear his quiet speech. The night was so muffled that it began to weigh even on him—a man who loved to chat about everything and nothing with his partner. "What do you mean?" "I mean that I look like a human, I talk like a human, but I have no human rights," the thinker continued measuredly. "Nevertheless, I am doomed to drag out a human existence without being human." The woman in the driver's seat tensed slightly, knitting her brows. Her appetite vanished, and the last piece of the croissant would no longer go down her throat. They often chatted about everything under the sun without a hint of shyness, yet this was the first time she had heard notes of an identity crisis in the speech of her always-stable partner. "Since when have such thoughts been visiting you, Rich?" After washing down her food with a gulp of cold coffee, Kate cast a suspicious glance at the passenger seat. Could it be that this poor guy was so incredibly bored by the succession of tedious work shifts that he had spent his idle time over-analyzing himself? The thought that one of these evenings she might find herself sitting not with her reliable android partner, but with an unpredictable deviant, was something she didn't even want to contemplate. "It’s just that this feeling..." He fell silent, searching for the right words, while continuing to stare straight ahead, but his companion finished for him. "Causes cognitive dissonance?" Only now, peering at his deep-in-thought profile, did Catherine realize that her "nine-hundred" had begun to delve into philosophy far too often lately. He was sitting right there in the passenger seat, not having shifted his posture even once, so it was impossible to see his LED to assess the android's current psychological state. Finally, the introspective RK900 turned his head, and their gazes met: hers—wary, and his—thoughtful. While Richard had been rambling, looking through the windshield, he hadn't noticed at all that he was causing his human partner anxiety. Her monologues hadn't made her this wary before, but this time, he sensed her apprehension on a physiological level. Kate's heart rate had accelerated, her breathing had become irregular, and her pupils had dilated. She was looking at him as if he were a criminal who had snuck into the car. "Forget it," the android brushed off his thoughts like an annoying fly. He usually diligently kept those thoughts that wandered in the wrong direction to himself, but for some reason, this time he had wanted to share them. And what had he been expecting? Understanding? Empathy? Friendly advice? "As you say," Kate replied, reaching for her jacket in the back seat; she quickly slipped it on and hopped out of the car, slamming the door behind her. The inquisitive and slightly guilty look of his gray eyes was sincerely ignored. She wasn't scared at all, and she didn't intend to run away from him. Going to throw away her cup and the wrappers from their simple snack was just an excuse to stretch her legs, which had gone stiff from sitting on her ass for so long. Every time humans died, news feeds immediately bristled with ambiguous headlines: "Humans are being killed!", "Deviant revenge!", "Did we really exterminate them all?". Catherine desperately didn't want her cozy, reliable, submissive Richard to become her demise one fine morning. She didn't know for sure if "good" deviants existed, and she believed that those who became so did not do it out of a good life. For example, those rare, skillfully hiding individuals who had gained free will and were being hunted across the States were not particularly friendly. Every single one of them. And the mere memory of last year's hostile machine uprising, where they spiraled out of control, still made her blood run cold. She had never asked herself such a question before, but could Richard harm her if he joined their ranks? Did he have any reason for revenge? Had she treated him well enough all this time? "God, what gloomy thoughts," when the wrappers were tossed into the bin, Catherine continued to stand by the trash can, furtively glancing toward the car, "I worked myself up over nothing." In her peripheral vision, she noticed that Richard's LED was pulsing a steady blue, and that was somewhat reassuring. However, for some reason, she didn't want to return to the car; her feet felt as though they had taken root in the cold November ground and wouldn't let her move. Had this "Socrates," resting his chin on his hand, really unsettled her that much with his strange speeches? "Okay, calm your anxiety," Kate tried to reassure herself. "We have a normal relationship built on mutual respect and dark humor." Her sense of humor, to be fair, was quite specific; for the most part, she was the only one telling the jokes, while Richard would melt his circuits every time, trying to figure out "where to laugh." Glancing toward the passenger window, she felt the urge, for the first time, to ask him a rather untypical question: "Are you satisfied with your life, Rich?" It was a pretty foolish thing to ask, considering she wanted to pose it to an android, but she was incredibly curious about how he might answer. Her pose as a statue by the trash cans was starting to look suspiciously strange, and she had to pretend that her lungs were craving nicotine again. Luckily, the pack of cigarettes and a lighter were in her jacket pocket, but unfortunately, the gusty wind "devoured" her cigarette all too quickly, and she had to return to the awkward silence of the car cabin soon enough.

***

"The rabbit didn't come out of the hole." Inside the warmed car cabin, her cheeks immediately began to sting. Rubbing her frozen hands, Kate reflected on how, for months now, they had been chasing not so much a criminal as his shadow. "Another night wasted." Such was the obvious conclusion of today's stakeout for both of them. Four months ago, a car belonging to an employee of the Detroit Central Police Department had exploded in broad daylight. Two officers had died. Someone had planted explosives under the chassis right outside the police building. No fingerprints, no witnesses, no evidence—nothing. All they had managed to learn from the information they'd gathered was the outline of a silhouette that, for a single second, had crouched by the blue Volkswagen to "tie its shoelaces" and then walked calmly out of the cameras' field of view. The description "average height, average build, likely a middle-aged man" could fit nearly half the population of the entire United States. For months, the entire team had been chasing the trail of the elusive bomber without success. The killer of the two officers had seemingly dissolved into thin air, disappearing from the camera view in that ill-fated dark archway, which looked more like a deep burrow. It was because of this association that Catherine had affectionately dubbed him "The Rabbit." "Nothing on the perimeter, either," Richard said, staring straight ahead as before, his elbow resting on the door panel. "Which was to be expected. It was too thin a lead, Detective." Kate cast a fleeting, cursory glance at him, disguising it as a standard attempt to stretch her stiff neck and look around. The android looked focused but relaxed. "Stable." The LED wasn't visible, but from his furrowed brows, she could guess that his processor was currently occupied with some complex cognitive task. "Checking the cameras?" she asked, as if in passing. So pensive, with his hair slightly mussed and his shirt not quite fully buttoned, he looked just like a human. He even tossed a brief "uh-huh" in response. During his time with the police force, Richard had picked up many habits from his colleagues. And if not for the strict black-and-white jacket with the signature CyberLife branding, along with the neon circle on his right temple—currently hidden from view—he could easily have been mistaken for an ordinary young man bored to death, resting his head on his hand. Catherine smiled to herself, remembering that she had personally had a hand in his "humanization" process. He had seemed so stiff and formal to her at first that she’d decided something had to be done about it. After all, it had been nearly a year since they started working together. And in that period—brief for some, but an eternity for her—they had managed to go through enough that others might have filled a whole career with it. Their joint record included dozens of petty crimes solved, armfuls of thieves and rapists caught, seven killers cornered, and two genuine, hardened "serial killers." They had even managed, on the side, to track down several underground groups and take down two major drug cartels. But since "red ice" wasn't their concern, the cases were handed over to specialized departments, leaving her and Richard with a nice fat plus-mark on their service records. Over that year, the pair had seen as much crap as this city could spit out at them almost every night. Yet, her partner had never—not a single damn time—let her down. He had always remained a reliable, obedient, efficient android, even if he now possessed some hellishly human quirks. "I suppose there's nothing left for us to do here," Kate said, clearing her raspy throat after realizing she had been staring for too long. Smoking was a bad habit as it was, and in the freezing cold, it was even worse. "Time to pack it up; I'm exhausted." A sudden, overwhelming urge to be home under a warm blanket washed over her. The fruitless, sleepless night stakeout, a creeping cold, and her android partner’s strange monologues—all of it at once sparked a desperate need to distance herself from any potential new problems that, as her "detective intuition" suggested, would surely catch up with her soon. The key turned in the ignition, and the old car’s engine let out a strained rumble. Her size-eight foot pressed the clutch, but a second later, the car gave a short, dead lurch—Kate’s body jerked from the surprise, and she released the pedal too sharply. The engine stalled. A heavy hand, wrapped in white fabric, was the first to grab the steering wheel, silently but eloquently hinting that it was time to replace the driver. "I’ll drive. You’re too tired," Richard stated confidently, with an unappealing note of finality in his tone. "Driving in this physical state can be dangerous." His tone, which tolerated no objections, didn't exactly force her to comply. It wasn't that Kate truly wanted to argue, knowing it would be futile, but she was still capable of driving. "It’s alright, Rich. I can drive." Ratherine stubbornly reached for the ignition. The man’s hand released the wheel, but as it turned out, not to give in. Richard yanked the door handle and jumped out of the passenger seat. Even the blast of freezing, biting air didn't erase the bewilderment from the detective's face when, two seconds later, her own door was flung wide open. "I still insist," he said calmly, waiting patiently for her to vacate the driver's seat. "Either I'm overthinking this, or something is definitely wrong with him today," Catherine thought as she slowly stood up and silently walked around the car, taking Richard's seat. A gust of cold wind hit her face again as the android slammed the door shut behind him. Now she could clearly see his LED: a steady blue.

***

The drive home was heavy with a chaotic mix of thoughts. With her arms crossed over her chest and her neck tucked into the collar of her jacket, Kate glanced at her driver from time to time, but she focused more on his LED. Richard looked as peaceful as a sleeping cat: he drove calmly, strictly following traffic laws, tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the music, and even changed the radio station a couple of times. Secretly observing her partner, she felt a burgeoning pang of shame regarding what they occasionally did at the end of such slow shifts. His tousled chestnut hair, the black shirt not tucked in perfectly, the unbuttoned collar… It was as if he were deliberately ensuring she didn't forget how hot it had been inside the car cabin just an hour ago. Not a single living soul knew about their escapades in the back seat of the car. Not that anyone—especially Captain Fowler—would care. The captain was completely indifferent to what officers did with their android partners, as long as they didn't recklessly throw themselves into the line of fire, protecting the department’s financial resources, and, of course, as long as they consistently solved cases. Jeffrey took little interest in anything that didn't affect crime clearance statistics. It was as if he didn't know that most of his subordinates took their "nine-hundreds" home to have someone to drink with, to discuss the "infinitely eternal," or for other purposes that he simply didn't care to know about. Kate felt a pang of conscience because, after a long time of working hand-in-hand, she had come to perceive Richard as a person—yet she was shamelessly using him for her own pleasure, and he had no right to refuse her. Her orders had smoothly shifted from "go and do" to "could you," and she found herself increasingly asking for his opinion, seeking his advice, joking, and even flirting in jest. Richard, for his part, didn't understand his partner’s jokes and persistently failed to acknowledge her flirting. The android was simply studying her, moving slowly, trying to grasp the depth of her personality in order to interact with her productively, though he often erred in his judgments. Adapting to a person who is quite secretive by nature takes a considerable amount of time. And today, he had made a mistake yet again, which was perfectly natural. There was no tragedy in it; after all, humans are complex creatures, and their motives and decisions are a complete puzzle, one that is hardly solved on the first attempt. To the destination—the home of law enforcement officer catherine White—there remained exactly eight blocks. The street was completely empty, not a soul in sight; the city was still asleep. The single gray sedan came to a halt at the intersection, waiting for the green light. "Very soon, my head, swollen with thoughts, will touch the pillow," Kate consoled herself, "just a little longer to endure." Just a little longer, and she would be back within the walls of a place that didn't quite feel like home, where she had been living for the past two years. And tomorrow, she would wake up in the company of nothing but the television and total solitude, as her husband was away on a business trip. He was a doctor of applied sciences, currently holding the position of professor of mathematics at Colbridge University—the very same one from which Elijah Kamski himself had graduated. Sometimes he goes off to lecture in other states and even other countries. And here her spouse had been, for three months now, on some island whose name Catherine hadn't even bothered to remember. It always seemed to her that the importance of mathematics in people's lives was slightly exaggerated, and his frequent "very important" trips seemed devoid of any real meaning. "Today’s report has already been drafted and will be sent to the main office at 08:00; you don't need to worry about that," a male voice pulled her from a sweet half-slumber in which the detective was already hugging her pillow and counting sheep. "I’m not worried," her chapped, dry lips stretched into a faint smirk on their own. "You’re the one in charge of the paperwork anyway; the reports are always on you." "Yes, you're right about that," Richard smirked back. After all, he was simply stating a fact that was obvious to them both. Perhaps for the first time tonight, he wanted to just chat about something other than information summaries on their current surveillance, and a topic of conversation had surfaced on its own. Today’s stakeout in the dead-end alleyway had been far too "silent" as it was. They had both given it their all, concentrating on every rustle in hopes of finally catching the criminal whom Kate so stubbornly called "The Rabbit." Even to him, a soulless machine with microchips instead of a heart, it became absurdly funny to hear such a ridiculous, childish nickname for the brutal killer of two innocent people. The opportunity to converse was dwindling with every passing minute. Ahead loomed the long-awaited weekend, and they, most likely, wouldn't see each other until Monday. Kate would shut herself away within four walls, sinking into a deep, dreamless sleep, interrupted only by rare meals and the evening news report. And Richard faced a completely different kind of "weekend"—the gray box of a CyberLife service center, diagnostics, and, quite possibly, another scheduled system update to populate his database with new data. "You don't necessarily have to return to the CyberLife base every time," Kate stumbled, feeling her heart skip a treacherous beat at the ambiguity of her own suggestion. "You could stay, for instance… at my place?" How "timely" it was that Catherine remembered there was simply no clear legal regulation in the department regarding the use of service androids during off-duty hours. There were only dry operating recommendations from the manufacturer, depending on the robot's model and purpose. The difference in the guidelines lay only in whether they were commercial units, government-owned, or domestic. The RK900s belonged to either the military or the police, but the precincts didn't lock these machines in a garage on weekends. Richard did not answer immediately. He smoothly shifted his slightly surprised gaze toward her, but only for a second, immediately returning all his attention back to the night road. His profile became static once more, yet thoughtful. It seemed the android had taken a pause for serious deliberation, as this suggestion carried certain nuances that could lead to problems for both of them. The car, with the screech of worn brake pads, rolled forward as obediently as it could, guided by his steady hand, while Richard calculated a new, unplanned route leading to a place he hadn't been before. The android, it seemed, was seriously wondering why this simple thought hadn't occurred to Kate sooner, and she would have fully agreed with him. How many inconveniences they could have avoided, at the very least, over these past three months. Richard was free to do whatever he wanted and go wherever he liked within Detroit; no one was watching his every move. Of course, he was still on a chain, like a service dog, but his invisible leash was very long. Longer than others'. With regular patrol androids in the police force, everything was simple and strictly regulated. They were kept at the precinct on special racks, waiting for a new call or order. A step to the left, a step to the right — lockdown. After completing a task — march back to the stall. That was where all the adventures of the plastic patrolmen, who didn't even have the right to use force, safely concluded. However, the entire line of advanced detective robots, due to their multitasking and unpredictable nature, was virtually unrestricted. These elite machines could dash around with their assigned human partner anywhere and for as long as they liked, only occasionally appearing in the maintenance bay. Catherine had decided for the first time to do what her colleagues had been practicing for a long time — take her Nine-Hundred home with her. And tonight, smoothly transitioning into the weekend, seemed like the perfect opportunity for it. "I can," he replied after a good minute of deliberation. "Laconic as always," she mused with a thrill at his brief answer and the events to come. Kate didn't fully understand yet what she was going to do with him all weekend, but it was definitely going to be something entertaining. The flickering of various images of how they would spend their time in her clouded mind was interrupted by the sound of an impact. Somewhere in the car, there was a quiet clatter of unknown origin, and the passengers immediately exchanged glances. The android, as expected, slammed the brake pedal to the floor in a split second and performed an instant scan of the surroundings, but found nothing suspicious. "Maybe you ran over something?" Catherine immediately suggested, peering into the rearview mirror. The sound unnerved her as well, for it did not resemble hitting a random obstacle under the wheel, but rather like the undercarriage had struck a speed bump—none of which existed in this neighborhood. "It does not appear so," Richard cautiously eased the clutch, and the car pulled away smoothly. "I have submitted a request for a technical inspection of your vehicle. A mechanical failure may have occurred." Accelerating significantly, they arrived within minutes at the driveway of a small house, from the windows of which, unexpectedly for everyone, light was shining. The winter sunrise was not due for a long time, and in the nocturnal darkness, the yellow chandelier in the living room gave away its occupant completely. "Has Mr. White already returned from the conference?" Richard asked his partner with genuine interest, to which her face suddenly dropped. It was hardly fear at the thought of probable and not very prudent burglars who had come to rob the house but forgotten their flashlights. No, there was no fear on her face, but rather the very embodiment of true disappointment. Apparently, Catherine was not exactly overjoyed by the return of her spouse from his business trip, to put it mildly. Feeling a pang of the most grating annoyance in the world, she cast a pathetic glance at the white front door, and then at Richard, for whom she had very specific plans today. The most depressing part was that the android understood everything without words or analysis the moment he looked at her. "Apparently so." Kate sighed dismally, lowering her eyes. During these three months, Detective White had slightly forgotten what it was like to be the wife of a man for whom her feelings were not exactly ardent. During this brief period of her husband's absence, she had grown accustomed to waking up alone, enjoying the silence and solitude. There was no need to talk to anyone, ask how their day was, listen to boring monologues day after day, or answer uninteresting questions. In this cozy solitude, there was room only for her and her beloved work, and she had formed a very distinct impression that she did not need a third person at all. "Well... In that case, see you Monday," she said, crawling out of the car, trying not to look at the android. Not to look into those gray eyes, not to catch his submissive gaze, which constantly reflected a tempting "just say the word." Otherwise, she would jump back into this old wreck and order him to drive her to the ends of the earth, and to hell with everything and everyone. "See you later, Detective. Have a good weekend." He didn't kill the engine, merely holding down the brake pedal. It was at this very intersection, where his partner's house was located, that Richard should have turned around and headed to the service center, yet his boot remained pressed against the brake, preventing the car from moving. The heart rate and breathing with which Kate had left the cabin told him something that she herself would not say. "Why, oh why, at the worst possible time," anger and frustration flared sharply in his veins. Walking around the car, Kate stood on the pavement, rummaging for her keys. Though, why would she need them? Her husband was home, after all. Instead of keys, her hand found a pack of cigarettes. For the last few years, the marriage had increasingly seemed superfluous, meaningless, and unnecessary. Catherine had married a "good guy" at twenty-two simply because her parents and society were pressuring her from all sides, harping on the necessity of starting a family at a young age, otherwise finding a life partner later would be harder. From the vantage point of her current age, it occurred to her more and more often that getting married hadn't been necessary at all. She would have lived these years no less wonderfully with a cat and a small ficus in the hallway. Watching the fading headlights of that twentieth-century bucket of bolts, Kate, without finishing her cigarette, tossed it into the storm drain by the curb and slowly trudged toward her dwelling. At the thought that her husband, starved for female affection, might also start coming on to her, she began to feel slightly nauseous, and the smoke caught in her throat. She would have much preferred to spend her time at work right now than at home. The office had everything she loved. There, she wasn't nagged for being overly pensive or for a lack of desire to discuss obscure, boring news from the world of science, and right now, she would have much preferred other company. Another "person" by her side. "It's only been an hour since I was with him, and I'm already thinking about it again," Kate shook her head, trying to suppress the knot growing in her stomach, and anchored herself with thoughts of her canceled weekend. Yes, Catherine White was cheating on her husband with her android partner. But the most regrettable part was that she did not regret it in the slightest.