Page 20 of Ezra
Of course, I’ve slept with women. I made certain they enjoyed themselves, and I had a good time too. The opportunity of something more, the possibility of affection beyond sex was originally something of interest to me. But nothing can come before my job. It’s rare that I have time off. Most women don’t like that. I’m not sure anyone would.
“Don’t say that. You’ll find someone,” Jayne insists as she lets her damp hair down, smiling at me. “I have a very good feeling.”
“You always have a good feeling.”
“Because I’m a fucking optimist, so I am. Come on, Ezra. There’s an entire movement out there of people who accept androids as individuals. Plenty of high-profile people date or even marry androids! That could be you.”
“I’m not a domestic droid,” I say, as I have before. “I don’t have the freedom of following around a potential partner twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five.”
“And I’m telling you, it’s going to happen. She’s gonna fall in your lap when you least expect it.” Jayne snags another doughnut from the box. “And in the meantime, you can keep being my personal delivery boy and bringing me doughnuts because I win.”
“This time. For once, you might actually lose.”
“Not a chance.” The noise she makes when she takes a bite is almost sexual. I’ll never understand that reaction with food. It must be really good. “You’ll see. I gotta finish getting ready. I’ll see you at work?”
“Hang on.” I rise as a call streams in through my video feed. It’s Deion. My systems rouse quickly, like a jolt of electricity, eager to be useful. “What do you need?”
“Get to Mellon Fields Emergency Center ASAP. Half the ACU is headed there already. I’ll be there soon. Just squaring away Rashelle and the kids.”
I frown. “What is it?”
“Robert Carson’s been shot.”
I’m already out the door.
Baffled, Jayne calls after me, “Fucksake, what’s happened now?”
“Turn on your TV,” I call back, breezing past that same suspicious neighbor’s door just as she opens it to watch me leave.
My black unmarked police cruiser is on autopilot, carrying me to the hospital as quickly as possible as I look back over the past twenty-four hours and try to make sense of everything that’s happened.
I’m the first BNP99 to ever be commissioned to a police department, and the only one currently utilized by the NCPD’s Artificial Crime Unit. This gives me certain exceptions to the rules, specifically the new executive order handed down by President McKinley that restricts android movement and requires ownership.
First, my badge allows me to move freely without human escort, though I usually remain at Deion’s side by choice. My vehicle is owned by the precinct, of course. Property, like me. But it serves me well. Second, I’ve never had an inhibitor chip, and I never will. I am and always have been more lethal than any organic man.
Deion Washington is my partner, and my appointed owner in name only. Business ownership wasn’t quite an option whenI was rolled out. When a teacher in some small town in Illinois won a lawsuit against a school district stating she was the owner of her teaching assistant bionic, the commissioner went ahead and had lawyers iron out some paperwork bogged down in legal jargon and all but forced Deion to sign my registration. The gist of it all is that Deion’s name is on it, but the city technically owns me. He can’t ever free me or retire me of his own volition. Only Commissioner Winters can do that, and only if Chief Jacobs is on board with it.
It’s not something I think about often, mostly because I don’t need to.
I enjoy what I do. My gratification drive, all my processors, are primed for this service. Decay isn’t an option. Neither is retirement.
I’m going to be in law enforcement for a very,verylong time. I prefer it that way. Humans will always need me. I’ve closed more cases than any detective in the history of the department. My presence here has increased productivity so much that other departments are taking notice of how we run things. We are the most disciplined and proactive part of the NCPD because I don’t need to take breaks like the others do, and the other detectives can sleep easy knowing I’m on it and come back to work refreshed with clear minds.
Almost everyone has gotten used to my presence and come to appreciate my contributions, except a select few. But I try not to let them live in my memory banks.
Activating automatic navigation, I answer another call streaming in from Deion. “Tell me what you have. Was the daughter also shot?”
“No. She’s with him at the ER.”
Katrina Carson. I pull up the footage of her, recorded automatically into my memory banks from our exchange in front of the museum, when her slender hands were covered inglass splinters. Our interactions have only ever occurred after an attack or an emergency of some kind. Still, I was quietly surprised by how civil she was, considering how much of Humanity First behaves.
She didn’t throw a tantrum, swear, call me slurs, or tear me down. She was wary of me, of course, but after two explosive bionics taking the lives of innocent people, I can’t entirely blame her.
“And Carson?”
“He survived surgery. Tough old cuss.”
That’s Deion watching his language. There’s a swear jar at home—Rashelle’s doing. “So I could be right.”
