Another sneak peek

There are no updates this week. I’m still editing. I’m still looking for a new job.

So rather than find a way to stretch that out for 500 words and an essay I didn’t have time to finish, let me give you another sneak peek at the story.

The scene below takes place during an interview with suspect in the murder of a politician. The suspect is Tyler Vance, a well-known tech entrepreneur and someone who needs to be the smartest man in the room, even when he isn’t.

Detective Bennett and her seven-foot tall robot partner are interviewing Vance in his lab. When Bennett asks a question Vance would rather not answer, he turns his attention to EB.

I hope you enjoy the clip.

Vance was looking at EB the way other men look at race horses or classic autos. He took half a step closer, hands behind his back now, and tilted his head and smiled slightly.

"You're an ACD unit," he said.

EB turned his faceless face plate directly toward Vance. I didn't really know what EB saw, since he had sensors everywhere, but I'd swear he was staring Vance right in the eye.

"You must be mistaken, Mr. Vance," EB said. "I am an evidence collection unit assigned to the Cascadia Police Department, Homicide division, partnered with Detective Bennett. My designation is EB 7."

Vance turned and raised an eyebrow at me when EB mentioned the homicide division, then returned his attention to EB.

"Of course you are." Vance smiled. He seemed to have a smile for every occasion, and those I'd seen so far, this one was the one I disliked most, smug and indulgent, almost paternal. "I'm sorry. Forgive me, you went by a different designation back then. But the unit code on your shoulder strut, that little stamp under the paint, that's an ACD program serial. Autonomous Combat Drone. They discontinued the ACD program in '71. Your unit was a public relations problem for the Pentagon. It seems the public didn't enjoy seeing armed robots marching about, even if they were intended to keep human soldiers out of harm's way."

What was Vance playing at? Sure, EB looked like a sci-fi villain, but he wasn't.

"Are you saying I was something else before Detective Bennett rebuilt me? I am a retrofit?" EB said, slower than usual. "Detective Bennett located my chassis in a municipal storage facility. Prior service history was not recorded in the unit log."

That may not have been entirely true. There was a segment of his storage I've never been able to crack. It's possible that segment contained additional configuration and log files. But so far, EB seemed unaware of it, so I never mentioned it to him.

"Well, of course you wouldn't be aware of it." Vance was warming up. He had gone from a man appraising a rare artifact to one who had been waiting years to give a lecture and could not believe his luck at finding an audience. "ACDs ran on segmented memory architecture. Mission data was wiped at the end of each deployment. Your personality and basic performance kernels were locked, but anything beyond that, sensor-level pattern recognition, threat modeling, mission-specific skills, that stuff was all kept in volatile storage. At least it was supposed to be."

"I only have recollection of my current service record," EB said.

"Sure, that's your current mission." Vance's eyes did not leave him as he circled EB.

I took a half-step forward. Just enough to be a movement to register my presence.

"Mr. Vance," I said. "I'd like to return to my questions about Marcus Thorne, please."

"Of course, Detective. I apologize." He raised both hands in a small surrender that was not a surrender. "Forgive an engineer a little nostalgia. You spend two years on a project you can't tell anyone about, and then suddenly encounter a subject from that project... well, it takes me back."

"You worked on the ACD program?" EB asked.

"Yes, I hardened the wireless communications layer. Quantum key encryption, rolling authentication, anti-spoof, and trust protocols. The whole reason you and the rest of the unit didn't turn into a friendly-fire incident the first time the bad guys parked a transmitter near a squad and turned you against the command staff is because of me. Field commanders had nightmares about that scenario. I sold them sleep."

He was watching EB while he talked, watching for a reaction the way you watch a pot for that first bubble.

EB took a sharp and sudden step forward, chest-to-chest with Vance, who didn't back away.

"I am an evidence collection unit assigned to the Cascadia Police Department, Homicide division, partnered with Detective Bennett. My designation is EB 7," EB repeated. EB had straightened his posture to stand at full height. Vance was a tall man, but EB towered over him. I reached for the gun on my hip, but didn't draw. I don't really know what I would have done with it if I had. EB was basically bulletproof, and Vance hadn't done anything to justify getting shot.

The standoff continued for several long breaths, if I hadn't been holding mine. Vance broke first, side-stepping EB and moving toward a random set of parts on a nearby workbench.

"Yes, that does seem to be your current mission. Do you like it?"

"I have experienced intermittent recall events," EB said.

The room shrank.

"EB." I kept my voice level. "We can discuss this back at the precinct."

"What sort of events?" Vance asked with a new interest.

"Approximately seven percent of my idle cycles in the last forty-one days have produced unindexed sensory data. Heat signatures. Acoustic signatures. Hyper-local mapping patterns consistent with structures I have not visited."

"Sand?" Vance asked softly. "Diesel? The high whine of a rotor at about four hundred meters?"

EB's array lights brightened. "Yes, exactly. How did you know?"

I felt my pulse in my throat.

"Vance," I said. "That's enough."

He turned to me, his smile was different again. This one belonged to a man who had just been handed a gift he was going to spend the rest of the afternoon admiring.

"I'm only confirming a phenomenon, Detective. The kernel locks degrade over storage cycles. We knew that in 2070. We argued about it. The contract assumed unit retirement meant unit destruction. I have no idea how this unit ended up in a city storage locker next to some traffic cones." He spread his hands, a man lecturing on a well-known fact. "Memory bleed was always going to happen. I'm surprised it took this long."

EB had not moved. But the small servos at the base of his neck were clicking. It was a tic I had spent six months trying to correct. Tic, tic, tic.

"Detective Bennett," EB said at last. "You did not inform me of my prior designation."

"I didn't know your prior designation, EB."

A pause. Three quarters of a second, which was a long time for him.

"Perhaps we can discuss this too, back at the precinct."

That landed in my chest like something falling off a shelf. I'd never heard that tone from him before.

Vance watched the exchange, enjoying the tension.

"I'm happy to forward what I remember of the ACD-7 build sheet," he said at last. "Off the record, of course. As far as I know, that project is still classified." He tapped a reminder on his slate. "You've done remarkable things with the chassis, Detective. The sensor integration is genuinely creative. I would hate to see it destabilize because someone forgot to mention what it used to be."

"That will not be necessary," EB said. "I am an evidence collection unit assigned to the Cascadia Police Department, Homicide division, partnered with Detective Bennett. My designation is EB 7."

I looked at him. He was looking at Vance.

EB went on. "Your suggestions about my past are unconfirmed and tangential to the present interview. If you have material relevant to Marcus Thorne, please provide it."

Vance laughed. A real one, short, surprised. "Whoever wrote your conversational layer did good work."

"She is in the room," EB said. This brought a fresh spark to Vance's eyes.

I cleared my throat, and feigned looking at notes on my slate.

"I agree, if we can get back to talking about Marcus Thorne..."

"Absolutely, Detective. I am not going anywhere."

"How well did you know Heather Throne?"

That fresh spark left his eyes, replaced with a tiny twitch.