Retiree, page 5
“Especially after just paying for your full resurrection,” Bennett rejoined the party, took a slice of cake on a paper plate, shook Brett’s hand, and then left the briefing room, presumably heading back to his office.
Alana finished her slice alone amongst her coworkers.
After the party died down and everyone else returned to work, leaving Wen Jing to clean up, Brett returned to Alana’s side, “What do you want to do now, Inspector?”
Alana watched Wen Jing do a domestic dance around the serving table, placing uneaten cake slices on individual plates and covering them with cellophane wrap, picking up used plates and utensils and selectively trashing them or dropping them into a recycle bin as appropriate, “Doesn’t Wendy work the night shift?”
“Uh, yes, Ma’am. As far as I know.”
Alana said, “I want you to take the rest of the weekend off, but I’ll drop you off and keep the car.”
Brett seemed genuinely surprised, “Ma’am?”
“There’s nothing going on this weekend that I can’t handle myself.”
“Well... Thanks. Since I’m not working this weekend, my family is having a get-together tomorrow afternoon, from lunchtime to about five. You’re invited, of course.”
It was Alana’s turn to be surprised, “I—I don’t know where you live.”
“The car does. And you will too if you drop me off on your way home.”
“All right,” Alana said with an uncharacteristic feebleness, her gaze still fixed on the young lady who, transparently, had a serious crush on Brett. Her thoughts began racing again. Did she want to befriend another assistant, only to risk losing him in the line of duty as well? And could she even trust Brett?
Chapter 7
Alana instructed her Vira to wake her up at eight in the morning, which it did with a loud, repetitive pinging. As she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes and trying to decide whether she was going to go to Brett’s birthday gathering or try to keep pursuing her cases, she quickly ran through a list of possible tasks she could undertake in pursuit of her goals. She could not think of anything other than visiting Rhys’ house and looking for evidence, and Chief Bennett had explicitly forbidden her from doing that. So, party time it would be.
After rising, with body fully recharged and brain well-rested, Alana put her uniform in her laundry basket and took a hot shower. Even though she did not sweat, her mechanical body still collected dirt and grime. Hot showers were one of her favorite things before retirement, but it wasn’t satisfying in the same way it was when she was alive. She could tell that the water was coming out of the showerhead at a hundred and ten degrees, and she could feel that it was warm, but it wasn’t like feeling it wash over her live body. Shampooing her genuine imitation hair was the closest experience, except that when she rubbed her fingers against her scalp, she could feel the pressure, but not the therapeutic aspects of the massage. On the positive side, the shampoo did not cause her cyber-optic eyes to burn.
Alana towel-dried her hair and set it in medium-length, heavily textured and asymmetrically crunched curls. She usually just allowed it to fall straight along the sides with long bangs in an unfettered bob-do, but she decided to work on it a little today. As it air-dried, she teased and lifted the roots on top to increase the volume, using a curler on the ends around her neck. When she was finished, she checked her work in the mirror. It wasn’t too bad given that she was out of practice, but she succeeded in creating a look that was loose and natural looking. She was afraid that she might overdo the ‘do, but she also felt so incredibly guilty about how she had ignored Brett’s need for a personal life the previous day that she wanted to at least try to make up for it by appearing at his birthday party well-groomed. Brett said he’d be thirty-five today, and that was Alana’s age when she was forcibly retired by a terrorist car bomb, and that further impelled her toward additional primping.
Alana then headed to her closet, and she ended up staring at the contents for a long time as she tried to decide what to wear. There were two business suits, three business casual ensemble outfits, five copies of her police uniform, and her old Army dress uniform was still zipped up in a garment bag.
There was only one non-business outfit for her to wear, and its slit skirt and plunging neckline would clearly be inappropriate for a family gathering. She had bought the overly sexy red evening dress for another party, when Rhys took her out on Sunset Boulevard to celebrate her promotion from Inspector to Chief Inspector. The dress was unfit even for that occasion, as it was fifty degrees outside that evening and she did not have an overcoat to go with it, which spoiled the illusion she wanted to give that she wasn’t a cyborg. When a young man they passed on the street snidely called out to Rhys, “Nice doll, Gepetto!” Alana made quite a scene, threatening to insert her pump into the man’s ass while she was still wearing it. A nearby traffic control robot had to intervene.
“Vira, have my financial accounts been synchronized to my new body yet?”
“Yes, Alana. Would you like to know your balances?”
“Just my checking account.”
“You currently have sixty-two thousand and seven credits in your checking account.”
“What time is it?”
“The current time is ten-oh-seven o’clock AM.”
Alana grabbed one of her spare business casual outfits off the rack, a white blouse with loose blue necktie and black slacks, and dressed completely enough to go outside without being cited for public indecency, “That gives me about an hour to go shopping.”
Alana hadn’t been clothes shopping since she had bought the dress that almost got her arrested for assault. Two days ago, she had eaten for the first time since she had retired. Yesterday, she felt guilty for the first time in recent memory. She was still sorting out how she felt about her old friend and assistant Rhys’ death. She expected that she would be angrier, but she wasn’t. For now, she was repressing her memories of the four years they had worked together, focusing on how to get him out of Limbo so he could at least be resurrected, like her. Like her. Would his emotions also be dulled by life inside a mechanical shell?
Later, dressed in a newly purchased fashion of a dark gray sports coat over a royal blue blouse and black knee-high skirt with medium heels, Alana turned up fashionably late at one o’clock in the afternoon. She was able to tuck her bulky shoulder holster under the coat without it showing overtly, though it did make her left breast look slightly larger than her right. Her car piloted itself to the front of Brett’s house, but the nearest street-parking spaces and the driveway were all taken. She ended up parking beside the road at the far end of the street.
In daylight, the neighborhood looked very different than it did under night vision. Palm trees lined the street, which ran up and over the crest of a hillock. The Crabtree residence was atop the hillock, with the road sloping gently downward in both directions. It was one-floor, and had a faux-adobe facade, as did every other home along the street. A large, tinted bay window behind a row of trimmed shrubberies and framed by two late-blooming cherry trees faced the street. The driveway ran along the left side of the home, and a flagstone path led from the drive to the wooden front door.
As Alana walked up the graying tarmac driveway, she could hear voices of both adults and children of both genders issuing from behind the house. Instead of going to the front door, she instead circled around to the back. The backyard was of modest size, as was almost all housing in the area built in Alana’s lifetime. A chain-link fence ran around the perimeter of the square area, connecting with the back corners of the house. A swinging gate was pulled to and latched. Alana approached the gate and could see six people beyond. She only recognized Brett, who was wearing an apron and holding court over a gas grill, passing judgment on what appeared to be wieners.
An older woman, probably in her sixties, saw Alana and waved. She walked over to Brett and pointed to Alana. Brett quickly removed the current round of franks from the grill, placing them on a plate and handing them to the woman, who took them to a nearby folding picnic table. Brett wiped his hands on his apron and walked over to Alana, opening the gate and motioning for her to enter. Brett began, “Hi, Inspector. Thanks for coming! You’re just in time for lunch.”
Brett started pointing out the assembled folk, “That’s my mom, Helen and dad, Ralph. That’s my sister, Sally. Over there is her daughter, my niece, Bernice.” Alana noticed that Sally did not have a wedding ring, but it was the twenty-first century after all, and that was not unusual. The fact that she had a child who resembled her mother these days was of greater rarity.
Brett pointed at a late-middle-aged couple lounging on a bench upwind of the grill, “That’s Kevin and Carol, the neighbors from across the street. They moved in when I was still a kid, so they’ve known my parents for about thirty years. Everybody, this is Inspector Graves, my boss.”
A round of waves, handshakes, and other greetings were exchanged between Alana and the assembled friends and family while Brett dropped another round of hot dogs on the grill.
Alana noticed that the neighbors were pointing and sharing a snicker, apparently at her expense. She looked around, trying to spot what it was she was not seeing. Brett stepped away from the grill and grabbed a knife from the table. He walked toward Alana. Alana instinctively took a step back before silently chiding herself for being stupid.
Brett said, “Hold still, Inspector.” He reached behind her and did something with the knife. He then handed Alana a price tag she had forgotten to remove from her new blouse.
Alana admitted, “That’s somewhat embarrassing.”
Brett smiled, “Nah! I’m honored that you’d buy a new outfit just for this little gathering. I know exactly how busy you’ve been the last couple of days. And you look nice for a boss-lady. New hairdo?”
“Yes. Too disheveled-looking?”
“Nah! Suits you. I need to get back to the grill. Grab something to eat if you want.”
“Hot dogs? Those haven’t been banned by the Geneva Conventions yet?”
Brett shrugged, “Well, they’re all synthetic protein and stuff. Not real meat. They’re pretty good though.” He pointed to a table loaded with condiments ranging from three kinds of mustard, sliced or chopped vegetables, dill and sweet relish as well as pickle slices, hot sauce, ketchup, and chili. “Load one up and try it!”
When she was still alive, Alana had avoided sausages of all kinds as if they were land mines. They were one thing that she could not bring herself to eat, despite assurances by all kinds of authorities that they were safe for human consumption and wholly lacking in rat parts. But now, being wholly mechanical from the neck down, she reasoned that not even wieners could damage her cast-aluminum interior. She wrapped the hot dog she created in a napkin, wary of repeating the same mistakes she made with the cheeseburger the previous day, and stepped away from the crowd to dine.
Alana deliberately ignored the chemical analysis report that popped up to the left of her field of vision. It was almost certainly toxic to humans, but she didn’t want to know because the first bite was delicious. So was the second bite, which she let linger in her mouth longer than the first, savoring it before swallowing.
Alana heard a double-ping sound. She turned away from the party, “Vira, what is it?”
“Your waste reservoir is at eighty-percent capacity. You should purge it soon.”
She looked at the remaining third of her hot dog and, reasoning that there should be enough room for it, she finished it off. She then found Brett juggling between using a pair of tongs to turn hot dogs on the grill and tossing a small, multicolored plastic ball back and forth with his niece, “Do you have a lavatory?”
Brett laughed aloud, “‘What goes down must come out,’ right? Go inside, second door on your left.”
Alana opened the back door and stepped inside, pulling it closed behind her to keep the air conditioning in. It was a fairly mild day for April in southern California, but it was still apparently warm enough to trigger the house climate control. She found a small lavatory, with a basin and toilet. She turned on the light and pulled the door closed behind her.
“Vira, how does that purge feature work?”
Her Vira replied in its increasingly annoying sales-pitch, “The reservoir purge feature works exactly like normal, human waste disposal, only you get full control over when and where the purge takes place. Merely assume an advantageous position over an appropriate waste receptacle, such as a toilet, bidet, or large bucket and then issue the command, ‘Purge reservoir now.’ It’s that simple!”
It wasn’t that simple of course, as the purge was faster than she expected. Alana had to spend some extra time cleaning herself and the lavatory before emerging to rejoin the gathering. There was a ventilator fan to turn on and a spray bottle of air freshener that Alana applied liberally, both to the room and, in a fit of pique, to her posterior.
As Alana exited the house, the young girl, who couldn’t have been older than five or six years of age, darted past Alana while she was still in the doorway.
Sally, Brett’s sister, yelled after the girl, “Bernice!”
She met Alana halfway between the door and the grill, “I’m sorry about that, Inspector. Is there anything else I can call you?”
“Inspector is fine.”
“Right. Like I said, Bernice can be a little hyperactive at times—”
“It’s all right. I was probably just like her when I was her age.”
Alana noticed that Sally was keeping her distance, and she looked distressed. Could it have been that she did not take sufficient care when cleaning up? She didn’t smell anything—
From inside the house, a scream rang out, clearly from little Bernice.
“Excuse me!” Sally dashed inside.
Several painfully long minutes later, Sally reemerged, holding Bernice by the hand. Bernice had her thumb and forefinger clamped over her nose. The little girl said, hyperbolically, “Do not go in there!” probably aping something she had seen an adult do either in person or over some entertainment medium.
Sally reached down and popped Bernice lightly on her behind, “Behave, girl.”
Alana hadn’t noticed that anything was wrong after her abuse of the air freshener. She said softly, “Vira, is there something I can do about odors from my waste reservoir?”
“Certainly! ‘Evensong’ brand, a pro-biotic, vinegar rinse from Zumpco is available at all fine cybernetic supply retailers! Just drink a cup after each purge, let it sit for an hour, and then purge back to springtime freshness!”
“You make it sound like an oral douche.”
Her Vira offered no additional comment.
Sally released Bernice back into the wilds of the backyard, where she resumed running around chasing her ball. She then walked over to Brett and whispered something to him.
After transferring what was to be his last round of hot dogs from grill to plate, Brett walked over to Alana, “Hey, boss—”
“I should probably just go. I’m embarrassing you.”
“Bullshit, boss. But I want you to come with me for a minute.” He took Alana by the hand and pulled her back inside the house.
Alana was contrite, “I think I made a mess when I went to the bathroom. I’m sorry.”
Brett answered, “Oh, you did no such thing. Bernice crapped her underwear. She got too busy playing and wouldn’t go until it was too late. This is about something else.”
Brett led Alana past the smaller lavatory, through the maze of corridors inside the house, eventually leading her to what looked to be his bedroom.
Alana quipped, “I had the impression that you were interested in Wendy from work.”
Brett quickly released Alana’s hand, “Oh! No! It’s not that! You’re my boss! And a—I’ll be right back.”
Brett opened an adjoining door and flipped on the light. It was another bathroom. Alana could see part of a shower stall as she heard Brett knocking a few things over around the corner as he searched for something.
Alana took the opportunity to inspect her assistant’s living quarters. He apparently maintained two clothesbaskets, an in-basket and an out-basket, from which he inserted and removed clothes as required. Modern, wrinkle-free synthetic fabrics doubtless assisted him. From the sparse bedclothes, she could see that Brett did not make a habit of making his bed, relying on a light comforter when needed and sleeping atop the covering sheets. From the thickness and arrangement of his pillows, he was a side sleeper, using one pillow for his head and the other to prop up his torso. Was he hugging the second pillow in his sleep? One wall section held a series of framed certificates ranging chronologically from top left to bottom right. There was his high school diploma, a BA degree in criminology, and several police commendations. He was apparently a swimmer of some ability when he was younger. Everything appeared ordinary for his position. Nothing set off any alarms, which for Alana, was enough to set off alarm bells. She was thinking that Brett might be too normal to be real.
Before she could scrutinize anything else, Brett emerged from the bathroom with a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and a bottle of mouthwash. He offered them to Alana, “Sally was right when she noticed that your breath was a bit off. I’m guessing that cyborg mouths need cleaning just like human mouths when you eat stuff.” He nodded toward the door, “You can use my bathroom.”
Alana closed her eyes and zeroed-out her expression. Being slightly more human than she had been since she died was proving to be a colossal pain in the synthetic ass.
By two o’clock in the afternoon, the sun had raised the temperature to over twenty-five degrees, and the sated, and in some cases, bloated, party moved indoors.
Brett’s family did not keep the typical wall-sized video monitor that most other families had used to adorn their living spaces for over a century-and-a-half. Little Bernice asked, “Where’s the TV?!?” Helen picked up a notepad and offered it to Bernice, “Honey, do you know how to use a book reader?”
Bernice crossed her arms and pouted as if her face was made of self-rising dough. Helen took her by the hand and led her into the nether reaches of the house, “Come with me, honey, and I’ll teach you how we did it when I was growing up.”
Alana finished her slice alone amongst her coworkers.
After the party died down and everyone else returned to work, leaving Wen Jing to clean up, Brett returned to Alana’s side, “What do you want to do now, Inspector?”
Alana watched Wen Jing do a domestic dance around the serving table, placing uneaten cake slices on individual plates and covering them with cellophane wrap, picking up used plates and utensils and selectively trashing them or dropping them into a recycle bin as appropriate, “Doesn’t Wendy work the night shift?”
“Uh, yes, Ma’am. As far as I know.”
Alana said, “I want you to take the rest of the weekend off, but I’ll drop you off and keep the car.”
Brett seemed genuinely surprised, “Ma’am?”
“There’s nothing going on this weekend that I can’t handle myself.”
“Well... Thanks. Since I’m not working this weekend, my family is having a get-together tomorrow afternoon, from lunchtime to about five. You’re invited, of course.”
It was Alana’s turn to be surprised, “I—I don’t know where you live.”
“The car does. And you will too if you drop me off on your way home.”
“All right,” Alana said with an uncharacteristic feebleness, her gaze still fixed on the young lady who, transparently, had a serious crush on Brett. Her thoughts began racing again. Did she want to befriend another assistant, only to risk losing him in the line of duty as well? And could she even trust Brett?
Chapter 7
Alana instructed her Vira to wake her up at eight in the morning, which it did with a loud, repetitive pinging. As she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes and trying to decide whether she was going to go to Brett’s birthday gathering or try to keep pursuing her cases, she quickly ran through a list of possible tasks she could undertake in pursuit of her goals. She could not think of anything other than visiting Rhys’ house and looking for evidence, and Chief Bennett had explicitly forbidden her from doing that. So, party time it would be.
After rising, with body fully recharged and brain well-rested, Alana put her uniform in her laundry basket and took a hot shower. Even though she did not sweat, her mechanical body still collected dirt and grime. Hot showers were one of her favorite things before retirement, but it wasn’t satisfying in the same way it was when she was alive. She could tell that the water was coming out of the showerhead at a hundred and ten degrees, and she could feel that it was warm, but it wasn’t like feeling it wash over her live body. Shampooing her genuine imitation hair was the closest experience, except that when she rubbed her fingers against her scalp, she could feel the pressure, but not the therapeutic aspects of the massage. On the positive side, the shampoo did not cause her cyber-optic eyes to burn.
Alana towel-dried her hair and set it in medium-length, heavily textured and asymmetrically crunched curls. She usually just allowed it to fall straight along the sides with long bangs in an unfettered bob-do, but she decided to work on it a little today. As it air-dried, she teased and lifted the roots on top to increase the volume, using a curler on the ends around her neck. When she was finished, she checked her work in the mirror. It wasn’t too bad given that she was out of practice, but she succeeded in creating a look that was loose and natural looking. She was afraid that she might overdo the ‘do, but she also felt so incredibly guilty about how she had ignored Brett’s need for a personal life the previous day that she wanted to at least try to make up for it by appearing at his birthday party well-groomed. Brett said he’d be thirty-five today, and that was Alana’s age when she was forcibly retired by a terrorist car bomb, and that further impelled her toward additional primping.
Alana then headed to her closet, and she ended up staring at the contents for a long time as she tried to decide what to wear. There were two business suits, three business casual ensemble outfits, five copies of her police uniform, and her old Army dress uniform was still zipped up in a garment bag.
There was only one non-business outfit for her to wear, and its slit skirt and plunging neckline would clearly be inappropriate for a family gathering. She had bought the overly sexy red evening dress for another party, when Rhys took her out on Sunset Boulevard to celebrate her promotion from Inspector to Chief Inspector. The dress was unfit even for that occasion, as it was fifty degrees outside that evening and she did not have an overcoat to go with it, which spoiled the illusion she wanted to give that she wasn’t a cyborg. When a young man they passed on the street snidely called out to Rhys, “Nice doll, Gepetto!” Alana made quite a scene, threatening to insert her pump into the man’s ass while she was still wearing it. A nearby traffic control robot had to intervene.
“Vira, have my financial accounts been synchronized to my new body yet?”
“Yes, Alana. Would you like to know your balances?”
“Just my checking account.”
“You currently have sixty-two thousand and seven credits in your checking account.”
“What time is it?”
“The current time is ten-oh-seven o’clock AM.”
Alana grabbed one of her spare business casual outfits off the rack, a white blouse with loose blue necktie and black slacks, and dressed completely enough to go outside without being cited for public indecency, “That gives me about an hour to go shopping.”
Alana hadn’t been clothes shopping since she had bought the dress that almost got her arrested for assault. Two days ago, she had eaten for the first time since she had retired. Yesterday, she felt guilty for the first time in recent memory. She was still sorting out how she felt about her old friend and assistant Rhys’ death. She expected that she would be angrier, but she wasn’t. For now, she was repressing her memories of the four years they had worked together, focusing on how to get him out of Limbo so he could at least be resurrected, like her. Like her. Would his emotions also be dulled by life inside a mechanical shell?
Later, dressed in a newly purchased fashion of a dark gray sports coat over a royal blue blouse and black knee-high skirt with medium heels, Alana turned up fashionably late at one o’clock in the afternoon. She was able to tuck her bulky shoulder holster under the coat without it showing overtly, though it did make her left breast look slightly larger than her right. Her car piloted itself to the front of Brett’s house, but the nearest street-parking spaces and the driveway were all taken. She ended up parking beside the road at the far end of the street.
In daylight, the neighborhood looked very different than it did under night vision. Palm trees lined the street, which ran up and over the crest of a hillock. The Crabtree residence was atop the hillock, with the road sloping gently downward in both directions. It was one-floor, and had a faux-adobe facade, as did every other home along the street. A large, tinted bay window behind a row of trimmed shrubberies and framed by two late-blooming cherry trees faced the street. The driveway ran along the left side of the home, and a flagstone path led from the drive to the wooden front door.
As Alana walked up the graying tarmac driveway, she could hear voices of both adults and children of both genders issuing from behind the house. Instead of going to the front door, she instead circled around to the back. The backyard was of modest size, as was almost all housing in the area built in Alana’s lifetime. A chain-link fence ran around the perimeter of the square area, connecting with the back corners of the house. A swinging gate was pulled to and latched. Alana approached the gate and could see six people beyond. She only recognized Brett, who was wearing an apron and holding court over a gas grill, passing judgment on what appeared to be wieners.
An older woman, probably in her sixties, saw Alana and waved. She walked over to Brett and pointed to Alana. Brett quickly removed the current round of franks from the grill, placing them on a plate and handing them to the woman, who took them to a nearby folding picnic table. Brett wiped his hands on his apron and walked over to Alana, opening the gate and motioning for her to enter. Brett began, “Hi, Inspector. Thanks for coming! You’re just in time for lunch.”
Brett started pointing out the assembled folk, “That’s my mom, Helen and dad, Ralph. That’s my sister, Sally. Over there is her daughter, my niece, Bernice.” Alana noticed that Sally did not have a wedding ring, but it was the twenty-first century after all, and that was not unusual. The fact that she had a child who resembled her mother these days was of greater rarity.
Brett pointed at a late-middle-aged couple lounging on a bench upwind of the grill, “That’s Kevin and Carol, the neighbors from across the street. They moved in when I was still a kid, so they’ve known my parents for about thirty years. Everybody, this is Inspector Graves, my boss.”
A round of waves, handshakes, and other greetings were exchanged between Alana and the assembled friends and family while Brett dropped another round of hot dogs on the grill.
Alana noticed that the neighbors were pointing and sharing a snicker, apparently at her expense. She looked around, trying to spot what it was she was not seeing. Brett stepped away from the grill and grabbed a knife from the table. He walked toward Alana. Alana instinctively took a step back before silently chiding herself for being stupid.
Brett said, “Hold still, Inspector.” He reached behind her and did something with the knife. He then handed Alana a price tag she had forgotten to remove from her new blouse.
Alana admitted, “That’s somewhat embarrassing.”
Brett smiled, “Nah! I’m honored that you’d buy a new outfit just for this little gathering. I know exactly how busy you’ve been the last couple of days. And you look nice for a boss-lady. New hairdo?”
“Yes. Too disheveled-looking?”
“Nah! Suits you. I need to get back to the grill. Grab something to eat if you want.”
“Hot dogs? Those haven’t been banned by the Geneva Conventions yet?”
Brett shrugged, “Well, they’re all synthetic protein and stuff. Not real meat. They’re pretty good though.” He pointed to a table loaded with condiments ranging from three kinds of mustard, sliced or chopped vegetables, dill and sweet relish as well as pickle slices, hot sauce, ketchup, and chili. “Load one up and try it!”
When she was still alive, Alana had avoided sausages of all kinds as if they were land mines. They were one thing that she could not bring herself to eat, despite assurances by all kinds of authorities that they were safe for human consumption and wholly lacking in rat parts. But now, being wholly mechanical from the neck down, she reasoned that not even wieners could damage her cast-aluminum interior. She wrapped the hot dog she created in a napkin, wary of repeating the same mistakes she made with the cheeseburger the previous day, and stepped away from the crowd to dine.
Alana deliberately ignored the chemical analysis report that popped up to the left of her field of vision. It was almost certainly toxic to humans, but she didn’t want to know because the first bite was delicious. So was the second bite, which she let linger in her mouth longer than the first, savoring it before swallowing.
Alana heard a double-ping sound. She turned away from the party, “Vira, what is it?”
“Your waste reservoir is at eighty-percent capacity. You should purge it soon.”
She looked at the remaining third of her hot dog and, reasoning that there should be enough room for it, she finished it off. She then found Brett juggling between using a pair of tongs to turn hot dogs on the grill and tossing a small, multicolored plastic ball back and forth with his niece, “Do you have a lavatory?”
Brett laughed aloud, “‘What goes down must come out,’ right? Go inside, second door on your left.”
Alana opened the back door and stepped inside, pulling it closed behind her to keep the air conditioning in. It was a fairly mild day for April in southern California, but it was still apparently warm enough to trigger the house climate control. She found a small lavatory, with a basin and toilet. She turned on the light and pulled the door closed behind her.
“Vira, how does that purge feature work?”
Her Vira replied in its increasingly annoying sales-pitch, “The reservoir purge feature works exactly like normal, human waste disposal, only you get full control over when and where the purge takes place. Merely assume an advantageous position over an appropriate waste receptacle, such as a toilet, bidet, or large bucket and then issue the command, ‘Purge reservoir now.’ It’s that simple!”
It wasn’t that simple of course, as the purge was faster than she expected. Alana had to spend some extra time cleaning herself and the lavatory before emerging to rejoin the gathering. There was a ventilator fan to turn on and a spray bottle of air freshener that Alana applied liberally, both to the room and, in a fit of pique, to her posterior.
As Alana exited the house, the young girl, who couldn’t have been older than five or six years of age, darted past Alana while she was still in the doorway.
Sally, Brett’s sister, yelled after the girl, “Bernice!”
She met Alana halfway between the door and the grill, “I’m sorry about that, Inspector. Is there anything else I can call you?”
“Inspector is fine.”
“Right. Like I said, Bernice can be a little hyperactive at times—”
“It’s all right. I was probably just like her when I was her age.”
Alana noticed that Sally was keeping her distance, and she looked distressed. Could it have been that she did not take sufficient care when cleaning up? She didn’t smell anything—
From inside the house, a scream rang out, clearly from little Bernice.
“Excuse me!” Sally dashed inside.
Several painfully long minutes later, Sally reemerged, holding Bernice by the hand. Bernice had her thumb and forefinger clamped over her nose. The little girl said, hyperbolically, “Do not go in there!” probably aping something she had seen an adult do either in person or over some entertainment medium.
Sally reached down and popped Bernice lightly on her behind, “Behave, girl.”
Alana hadn’t noticed that anything was wrong after her abuse of the air freshener. She said softly, “Vira, is there something I can do about odors from my waste reservoir?”
“Certainly! ‘Evensong’ brand, a pro-biotic, vinegar rinse from Zumpco is available at all fine cybernetic supply retailers! Just drink a cup after each purge, let it sit for an hour, and then purge back to springtime freshness!”
“You make it sound like an oral douche.”
Her Vira offered no additional comment.
Sally released Bernice back into the wilds of the backyard, where she resumed running around chasing her ball. She then walked over to Brett and whispered something to him.
After transferring what was to be his last round of hot dogs from grill to plate, Brett walked over to Alana, “Hey, boss—”
“I should probably just go. I’m embarrassing you.”
“Bullshit, boss. But I want you to come with me for a minute.” He took Alana by the hand and pulled her back inside the house.
Alana was contrite, “I think I made a mess when I went to the bathroom. I’m sorry.”
Brett answered, “Oh, you did no such thing. Bernice crapped her underwear. She got too busy playing and wouldn’t go until it was too late. This is about something else.”
Brett led Alana past the smaller lavatory, through the maze of corridors inside the house, eventually leading her to what looked to be his bedroom.
Alana quipped, “I had the impression that you were interested in Wendy from work.”
Brett quickly released Alana’s hand, “Oh! No! It’s not that! You’re my boss! And a—I’ll be right back.”
Brett opened an adjoining door and flipped on the light. It was another bathroom. Alana could see part of a shower stall as she heard Brett knocking a few things over around the corner as he searched for something.
Alana took the opportunity to inspect her assistant’s living quarters. He apparently maintained two clothesbaskets, an in-basket and an out-basket, from which he inserted and removed clothes as required. Modern, wrinkle-free synthetic fabrics doubtless assisted him. From the sparse bedclothes, she could see that Brett did not make a habit of making his bed, relying on a light comforter when needed and sleeping atop the covering sheets. From the thickness and arrangement of his pillows, he was a side sleeper, using one pillow for his head and the other to prop up his torso. Was he hugging the second pillow in his sleep? One wall section held a series of framed certificates ranging chronologically from top left to bottom right. There was his high school diploma, a BA degree in criminology, and several police commendations. He was apparently a swimmer of some ability when he was younger. Everything appeared ordinary for his position. Nothing set off any alarms, which for Alana, was enough to set off alarm bells. She was thinking that Brett might be too normal to be real.
Before she could scrutinize anything else, Brett emerged from the bathroom with a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and a bottle of mouthwash. He offered them to Alana, “Sally was right when she noticed that your breath was a bit off. I’m guessing that cyborg mouths need cleaning just like human mouths when you eat stuff.” He nodded toward the door, “You can use my bathroom.”
Alana closed her eyes and zeroed-out her expression. Being slightly more human than she had been since she died was proving to be a colossal pain in the synthetic ass.
By two o’clock in the afternoon, the sun had raised the temperature to over twenty-five degrees, and the sated, and in some cases, bloated, party moved indoors.
Brett’s family did not keep the typical wall-sized video monitor that most other families had used to adorn their living spaces for over a century-and-a-half. Little Bernice asked, “Where’s the TV?!?” Helen picked up a notepad and offered it to Bernice, “Honey, do you know how to use a book reader?”
Bernice crossed her arms and pouted as if her face was made of self-rising dough. Helen took her by the hand and led her into the nether reaches of the house, “Come with me, honey, and I’ll teach you how we did it when I was growing up.”
