Sarah
By W.E. Larson
Copyright 2012 W.E. Larson
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Sarah
Two gunmen held ten hostages, half of them kids. Blinds shielded every window, and infrared wasn’t in the playbook for this scenario. The officer would be going in alone without a clue about the positioning.
She used low-yield detonating cord to take down the door. Before the slab of metal hit the carpet, she put down both hostiles with two clean shots. Sure, we’d never let it go down this way in the real world, but I was still impressed. I had downloaded the scenario into their simulator immediately before they ran the HAB officer through it. This wasn't a scripted dog and pony show.
“One second to assess the situation and take the shots,” the sales rep said when the wall screen faded back to white. “What you don’t see are the calculations to eliminate any chance of hitting a hostage. You could give us a thousand variations and a bystander would never be harmed.”
I turned to see the officer take off its simulation goggles before exiting the hamster ball that let it move in the virtual world. Almost every police force had the same kind of training equipment.
The officer looked good: skin a raceless shade of brown, and long, black hair tied back in a ponytail. The contours and features were all female even if it didn’t really have a gender. I didn’t doubt for a second that, had a woman come out for the demo, they’d have wheeled out an equally attractive male version.
I turned back to the sales rep. “It’s an impressive HAB, but you know the force isn’t going to give them guns.”
“The upgrades aren’t only for firearm use, and it’s Humanoid Analogue Bio-robotic, not HAB.”
“Look,” I said, “I’ll make a report. Tell my supervisor how great the new ones are, but don’t expect them to buy.”
“You’ve just seen the training demos. You need to see how well she interacts.”
We made our way over to the HAB officer. “Good morning, Mr. Pollard.” The words could have been coming from an automated response system. “I hope you have found my demonstration to be satisfactory.” Its facial expressions looked good, maybe too good. It’s a problem that all HAB engineers faced: the closer they got to human, the more it creeped people out. Give them enough money to work with, though, and they could build one better than close. Prairie Biotech’s high-end pleasure models could pass for human in a short enough conversation. You could always count on sex to drive technology.
I told sales rep the new HAB had impressed me. That was true enough, but I knew the force wouldn’t cough up the money to buy. She knew it too, but we smiled at each other and pretended the whole thing hadn’t been a waste of time.
At the front doors, I pulled out my phone and told my car to come get me. When my red Mitsubishi pulled up, I slipped inside and decided to grab some lunch before heading to the station. I also wanted to call Chloe and see if her business trip had paid off.
“Where to?” The voice came through the speakers in the Mitsu’s default female voice—I named her Vickie. It sounded exactly like the HAB officer had.
“Take it slow out of the parking lot; I want a minute to make a call.”
The barest of hums emanated from the electric motors as the car glided away.
“Call Chloe.” The console screen popped to life, and a second later Chloe’s face appeared. She looked as beautiful as ever. I already missed her.
“What is it, Ethan?” she asked, a bit brisk.
“Just wanted to see how you were doing, Babe. I was thinking of you.”
She flicked back a stray strand of blonde hair. I could see the luxurious leather interior of a car behind her and clear blue sky through the windows. “That’s nice. Look, Ethan, I’m on my way to a meeting, so I can’t talk right now.” Somebody else in the car laughed at a joke I couldn't hear. “Things are going well here, but I think we need to talk later. I've got something I need—"
My car screeched to a sharp halt, and my heart skipped a beat. A woman stood in front of my Mitsu with her hands on the hood, a gorgeous redhead with bright, green eyes open wide in panic.
“Sure, we’ll talk later,” I said, distracted. The link went dead.
The redhead hurried to the passenger door and pounded on the window. “Help! They’re coming after me!”
“Vickie, open.” I spoke the command before I thought.
The moment the lock clicked, the woman scrambled in. “Get me out of here!” she yelled.
“North-side station, full legal limit.” The Mitsu surged forward as the redhead ducked down, pressing her head to her knees. I couldn’t help but notice she only wore a hospital gown—a line of smooth skin peeked through the back of the outfit.
“Vickie, privacy.” The world dimmed as the windows shaded, turning black to the outside.
“You don’t have to hide,” I said. “Nobody can see in now.”
She sat up and took a deep, shuddering breath before turning to me. “Thank you.”
“Sure.”
I’d say she was beautiful, but that's like telling you the Mona Lisa is a good painting. Imagine a gorgeous redhead in a magazine photo spread and that’s what she looked like in the flesh: wavy hair a fiery shade of color-enhanced perfection, skin that looked airbrushed into flawlessness and eyes that vivid didn’t come in nature.
We sat in silence for a long moment, the only sounds the soft electric hum of the motors and the dampened noise of the city streets. Finally, I spoke. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Police station. You said someone was coming after you; isn’t that where you want to go?”
She shook her head emphatically. “No. They’ll take me back there. Please, not the police.” Those big, green eyes fixed on me, pleading.
Damn. "Vickie, find a place to park.” I told myself I’d only talk to her; get her story before convincing her to take this to the police. “Okay. We're not going anywhere. Now, tell me what’s going on.”
She frowned and slumped in the seat. “I don’t know.”
"How about your name?”
I thought that would be a simple enough question, but she let out a heavy sigh as if I'd asked her to recite all the state capitals. “I’m not sure about that either. They call me Sarah.”
“But you don’t think that’s your real name?”
“It doesn’t feel right. It's too slippery, like I can't grab it and call it my own.”
Whatever. Vickie guided the car into a space at a park. I could hear muted shrieks from the playground. Sarah turned to watch the kids climbing over the play equipment.
“Where do you want me to take you?” I asked.
“I have memories of a little girl, I don’t know if they’re me, somebody else, or my imagination. They’re just jumbled up bits, like the pieces of a thousand jigsaw puzzles all mixed together.”
“You didn’t answer—”
“Greg is calling you,” Vickie announced.
“Audio only.”
Greg’s deep, slow voice rumbled from the car’s speakers. “Hey Ethan, are you still at Prairie Biotech?”
“No, left there a few minutes ago.”
“They reported a stolen HAB, and I remembered you went out for a demo. Probably happened while you were there.”
“I didn’t see any commotion. Do they want me to go back?”
“Nah, we’ll send out an investigation unit to hunt down physical evidence. They want you to see if anyone is trying to hack a new registration code for it.”
I had a pretty good idea where the stolen HAB might be. “Greg, I need to stay home this afternoon; I have a repair guy coming. I can do the searches from there.
”
“Okay, fine. I'll upload you all the info, but don’t screw around, this is a hot case.” He chuckled. “In more ways than one; it’s their most expensive sex model, most expensive one they sell period.” His voice turned serious again. “P.B.T. is really freaking out about this, Ethan; I’m serious about getting on it quick.”
“First thing I’ll do.”
The connection closed, and Vickie's voice replaced Greg's. “A file marked urgent has been uploaded, do you want it displayed?”
“You’re a police officer?” Sarah demanded. She stared at me without breathing, her face pale.
“I work for the police, but I’m a tech guy. Look, I’m—"
She grasped for the door handle.
“Vickie, child-locks,” I ordered in a rush.
Sarah tugged on the handle, but the door didn't budge. “Vickie, open the door!” she shouted. My car is keyed to my voice and Chloe’s alone, so Sarah could only let out a frustrated grunt as she attacked the handle again. She turned to me, her eyes flashing with anger and desperation. “You can’t take me back!”
“I’m not—”
“They said they were going to deliver me to my owner; I don't want to be somebody’s property! Can’t you understand