“You what?” my partner asked, while scanning the sidewalks from our open-topped side-by-side.

“Started a family. Just before I got here. I told you I was thinking about it.”

“Sure, but I didn’t think you were serious. I mean, you’ve only been a cop for a couple of years. You should take some time to establish yourself first.”

“Maybe.”

“I hope you got one of us.”

“Nope, a human. Made him an offer on the way in tonight, when he sold me some oil. I’ve been talking to him for a few weeks, and he seems like a resourceful guy. Should be okay, and there’s always the six-month trial period.”

“What a dope! Listen, Al—”

I bristled. I hated that name. It sounded far too human for my taste. “Al 14, please.”

Cam 23 gave me a sour look. “Listen, Al 14, you don’t want a human in your living quarters. They’re dirty, and they steal.” As if to punctuate his words, he looked around at the dross inhabiting the sidewalks of the streets we were patrolling.

“C’mon, that’s not fair. You’d be dirty too if you had to live on the street. The ones who have homes are no dirtier than us.”

He grunted, sounding unconvinced.

“And you’d probably steal too, if you had nothing.”

“No, I wouldn’t! I’m an android. A higher species of being,” he declared. “I would never do something like that.”

It was my turn to grunt. “We arrest plenty of droids.”

I was going to say more when the conversation was cut short.

“See that?” Cam 23 asked.

“What?”

“Someone ran into the alley. Over there.” He pointed. “Like they didn’t want to be seen. Shall we find out why?”

I sighed. “Guess so.”

He pulled the side-by-side over, and we hopped out. Cam 23 popped the trunk, taking out the shotgun.

“Really think we’ll need that?”

“Better safe than sorry.”

He had a point. Much as I disagreed with Cam 23 about some of his more radical ideas concerning humans, they were an unpredictable lot. “Better safe than sorry” was a pretty good motto for a cop. Not all of our parts could be replaced, and a longer lifespan doesn’t mean anything if someone puts a bullet in your head. Electronically enhanced posi-organic brains can be destroyed just as easily as human ones.

“Okay, let’s roll.”

I moved to the other side of the street. We would approach the alley from both corners at the same time. Once in place, I used my mirror-on-a-stick to steal a peek around the side of the building. Passing humans were giving us a wide berth, and I paid them no mind. They knew better than to get too close when we were on the hunt.

I held up two fingers to Cam 23. He nodded in confirmation. Then we both stepped around the corner at the same moment, him holding the shotgun and me with a Sabre .44 in my right hand. The pair of humans noticed us almost immediately.

“Police! Freeze!” Cam 23 yelled, waving his shotgun to bring home the point. They did what they were told for almost a full second before bolting.

“Goddamn it,” I yelled, swearing like a human. “He said freeze!”

Cam 23 fired a warning shot into the air over their heads. They froze. Neither would be under any illusion about where the next shot would be aimed. As everyone knew, we had license to fire on anyone who refused to obey a direct command—a license that was, in all honesty, exercised more often on humans than on androids. In some ways, I was surprised that my partner had bothered with a warning shot. Maybe he was getting mellow in his old age.

I pulled out my cuffs with one hand, keeping the hand with the gun trained ahead of me, while Cam 23 walked toward the deadhead who had been the first to run.

“I’ve got her,” I called, after clicking the cuffs into place on the second runner, a red-haired woman. “Lie down face first and stay there,” I said to her. She did as she was told.

Now I could shift my attention to the other deadhead, a male who looked too skittish for my liking. Cam 23 must have thought the same; the first thing he did when he came close was slam him in the face with the butt of the shotgun. The man went down hard, blood streaming from his nose.

“Run from us, asshole?” Cam 23 kicked him in the ribs once, then a second time.

So much for mellow. “Partner, enough. We’ve got him.”

“Fuck that!” He began to beat the man, who was now curled up on the ground in a fetal position.

He’s going to kill him, I thought. Cam 23 was the senior partner, and there wasn’t much I could do about the situation. Even so, I moved in as rapidly as I could. “Hey, hold off a minute.”

My partner was breathing hard, but he ceased his beating long enough to look at me. “Why should I?” He kicked the deadhead in the ribs again and smiled over at me.

“Because…look at that,” I said, waving toward some items I’d noticed on the ground nearby. “Vials. Bet you he was selling her drugs. Maybe it’s that new shit everyone’s looking for. What’s it called again?”

“Stargazer.”

“Yeah, that’s it. What would the suits give to get their hands on a stargazer dealer?”

I could see Cam 23 pause to consider the question. Bonus money? Promotion? After eleven years on the force, he was always moaning about being passed over for sergeant, despite having squeezed through the exams a few years ago. He took a step back from the deadhead.

“Pass me your cuffs, and I’ll get him for you.” I held out my hand.

He hesitated, then pulled the cuffs from his belt case. I cuffed the guy, then bent down and heaved him to his feet, not wanting Cam 23 to think I was treating him too gently.

We grabbed the woman on our way back up the alley. She had tried crawling to a hiding place behind some large bins, but I’d kept one eye on her the whole time. I tried to lift her more carefully without being too obvious about it. Her passivity told me that she was one of the lost ones, stargazer having taken her soul some time ago.

An hour or so later, Cam 23 wasn’t in a very good mood. We were filling out paperwork and waiting for the suits we’d called to get around to us. My partner looked as if he might be having second thoughts about listening to me.

“Fucking deadheads,” he mumbled, casting hostile looks in my direction.

“Hey, this could be good for us.”

“Depends on what’s in the vials,” he spat back. “If it’s nothing but quaker, I’ll be pissed.”

“So I gather.”

“What was that?”

“I said, who wouldn’t be?”

“Uh huh,” he replied, giving me the fish-eye before starting to type again. One thing I had to hand to the guy, he wrote a nice report.

“You the guys who collared the deadhead with the vials?”

Where had this suit come from? I stood up. “Yessir. I’m Al 14, and the corporal over there, my partner, is Cam 23.”

“Um hm,” he replied in a bored tone. “Come with me.” He started walking away without offering any explanation.

I gave Cam 23 a look, but he was too busy grabbing his gun belt. He always took it off when sitting, claiming that it was too uncomfortable. I scrambled after the detective, hoping my partner wouldn’t take long. One thing I knew was that the suits hated to be kept waiting.

We found ourselves in a command center. I’d never been inside one before. There was a bewildering array of information and photos on the wallboards, more than twenty desks, and computers everywhere. We had our own inboards, of course, but these were much more sophisticated. “Over here,” the suit said, indicating two chairs. Then he walked off without a backward glance.

We waited, trying not to fidget or look nervous. Or at least I did, not wanting to come off like some undereducated rural-worker model. I might be a regular, but at least I was a regular urban model, and had already managed to pay for a few upgrades along the way.

Eventually someone who looked like an officer—you could always tell by the quality of the suits—came over to speak with us.

“Okay, so that was smart.”

“Sir?” I said.

“Identifying a possible stargazer dealer. As it turns out, you were right.”

I looked at Cam 23 and smiled. One for us.

“But did you have to beat the crap out of him?”

“Um, he was resisting arrest, sir.” What else could I say? Minus one for us.

“Uh huh… That’s not what the redhead tells us.” He looked at Cam 23. “You know what, you can go back and finish your report.”

I got up to leave with my partner, but the suit added, “No, not you. You sit back down.”

“Yessir,” I said, sitting back in the hard plastic chair. I tried giving Cam 23 a hapless shrug, but he refused to look in my direction. The way this was playing out, I’d have to start searching for a new partner.

“Now that he’s gone, let’s talk,” said the detective. “By the way, I’m Captain Calvin 30012796. Most call me Captain or Cap—or, if they really get to know me, Cal 300.”

“Yessir. I’m Patrol Officer Alawishes 14123786. Al 14, sir.”

“Okay, Al 14. Tell me why you suspected this guy.”

“Well, sir, there were two of them ducking into an alley, so we assumed it might be a buy of some kind. When we grabbed them, the woman was pretty washed out and having a hard time focusing on my directions. After a moment, I saw the vials on the ground. Of course they could have been almost anything, but I remembered the flyers that came around last week, and it looked like the vials were the right shape. So I figured, I mean, who knows? It could be, right?”

I sputtered to a stop, not sure what else to say. The truth was that I had drawn attention to the vials to get my partner to quit beating the human to death, but I wasn’t going to tell the captain that.

“I see. Well, pretty good observing.”

He paused and opened a file in his hand. He hummed to himself as he read, oblivious to everyone else in the room, adopting the “not here” look that we androids get when we’re concentrating on something. I was pretty sure he was calculating, but calculating what?

Finally he came back from wherever he’d been and refocused on me. “So you’ve been a programmer. What made you leave?”

“To be honest, it was boring, sir. I was looking for something a little more, um, hands-on.” Something with more of a chance to get somewhere. It wasn’t easy in a world filling up with specials.

“Um,” he mused. “Any good at it?”

“Programming, sir? Yes, I was pretty good. But not the one percent of one percent of one percent that would have given me a chance to become a creator.”

“Ah, so you’re ambitious?”

“Yes, sir, I guess I am.”

“Good. I like my people to be ambitious.”

His people? I waited for the captain to continue, hardly daring to breathe.

He left me on the hook for a few moments, then smiled and relented. “Would you be interested in joining our little task force, as a detective third grade? I’ve got an opening, and I’ve been looking for someone who can handle a computer. Not just punch out reports, mind you, but really handle it. Interested?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

He stood up. “Good.” He scanned the room. “Fil 19, I’ve got a helper for you.”

An older android looked up from the computer terminal he’d been massaging, not happy about being disturbed. “About bloody time!” he exclaimed. Belatedly he added, “sir.” Then he waved me over, pointing to the empty machine next to him.

“Now, sir?” I asked the captain.

“A problem?”

“No, sir, not at all. It’s just that, well, technically I’m still on patrol.”

“I’ll take care of that. You’ll be on the usual thirty-day trial, of course. And wear a suit to work tomorrow, detective.”

I smiled. “Yes, sir.”

He leaned in and said in a softer voice, “Don’t let Fil 19 bully you. He respects competence and nothing else. If you get along with him, he can teach you a lot.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, already moving toward the empty chair.

The moment I sat down, Fil 19 dumped a file on my desk. “See what you can do with this. We’re developing a vector analysis for potential lab sites, trying to figure out where these guys are making and storing their dope. The top page is the newest intel, from the two you busted. Got it?” he asked.

“Yup.” I started up the desktop and began looking through the files.

Fil 19 appeared surprised that I had nothing else to say, but he soon returned to whatever he’d been doing before I arrived.

The rest of my shift was spent inputting information and creating a framework for the vector analysis. At the end of the shift, Fil 19 held me back and quizzed me about what I’d been working on. Finally he grunted and said, “Okay. See you tomorrow night. Eleven sharp…and I like my coffee black.”

“All right.”

What a night. I had started a family and been promoted to detective third grade, all in about ten hours. I couldn’t wait for the next shift to begin.

I smelled food the moment I walked into the apartment.

Roger stuck his head around the corner. “I’ve got breakfast going. I wasn’t sure if you would want breakfast or supper, but I remembered that you mentioned breakfast, so I took a chance.”

Well, well. He had showered and his hair was much cleaner, though still far too long. Looking around, I could see that he’d spent some of the night tidying up the place. Truth be told, I was a bit of a slob.

“That’s fine,” I said. “In fact, I’m hungry. I normally nap from two to six, recharge from six to eight, and then have a light supper before I go on duty. My biggest meal of the day is lunch, which should be anytime around one.”

“Okay.” His head disappeared again, and I heard a disembodied voice. “Almost ready, if you want to sit down.”

I locked up my gun and went to the small dining-room table. It was in dual mode but could expand to seat up to six at a time. I was very proud of this table, which had real wood inlay. Two places were already set on it. Roger rounded the corner, carrying two big platters. On one was a heap of scrambled eggs and, on the other, either pork or beef sausages.

My heart sank. It wasn’t that I didn’t like this kind of food, it was just that humans seldom understood how to make it to android tastes. First day together, I reminded myself. Try to be polite.

“That looks good.” Oddly, each platter was divided into two portions

“I hope it is, sir.” He served me from only one side of each platter.

I began by digging into the eggs, taking a first tentative bite. Oily. Was that 5w30? “Delicious! Where the hell did you get the 5-30?”

“Good palate, sir. It’s the last I have, but I should be able to get more later in the week.” His language was even better than in our previous conversations. Had he found it necessary to disguise his abilities on the street?

“Great,” I said, shoveling more into my mouth. After my night of surprises, I was hungry. “I’ve set up a household expense account. Here.” I handed a small input/output machine to him. “You can draw on that. It automatically records, so you don’t have to worry about receipts.”

“Yessir,” he said, pocketing the device. “Try the sausages.”

I did as he asked. They were dusted with something—minute rust shavings. I loved rust shavings; they added just the right amount of crunch and sour taste to human food.

“Umph, dood jab.”

“Pardon, sir?”

“I said, good job.” I drank some of the real coffee he had managed to find somewhere. “You’re spoiling me.”

“You work hard, sir. It can’t be easy, being a police officer.”

“Detective,” I corrected him.

“Sorry, sir, I thought you said you were a patrol officer.”

“I was…but I got promoted last night,” I said, grinning.

Roger smiled back at me and lifted his cup of coffee. “Well done, sir. You’re on your way.”

“We’re on our way, Roger,” I replied, in an expansive mood. After all, I wouldn’t get far without a family to back me. No android ever had.

His grin broadened. “I’ve made an appointment for a haircut an hour from now, and I’ll go shopping for new clothing afterward. Any colors that you dislike, sir?”

“No. Pick out what you want, as long as it’s neat and clean. Know what I mean?”

“I do, sir. Your family reflects to the world who you are.”

Yes, he was intelligent. “Exactly.”

We finished the meal in a sort of quiet companionship. No doubt each of us was thinking about the possibility of a more pleasant future.

As Roger cleaned up afterward, I mentioned that I had friends over most Saturday nights for poker. Four of them, all fellow officers. “Do you think you could get some extra oil by then? Nothing exotic, just a little treat for me and my friends. And maybe some root beer?” Like most androids, I rarely drank alcohol, but I was nuts about root beer.

“I don’t think that will be a problem, sir.”

“Good. And, Roger, you really can call me Al 14. I may be the head of the family, but I’m not someone to stand on ceremony. Unless it makes you uncomfortable?”

“No. I’d like that.”

He bustled off to the kitchen, and I heard him loading the dish washer. I moved to the couch and opened a couple of the files I’d brought home. There were a few things I hadn’t figured out for the best way to organize the vector analysis, and I wanted to make some decisions before I returned to work.

Roger passed through the living room on his way out the door. “See you later, Al 14.”

“Roger,” I said, nodding in acknowledgment.

A few minutes later I realized that I’d made a pun. I began laughing, all by myself in the empty living room. Life felt good.

Once my recharge was completed that evening, I started itching to get to the station. The newly shorn Roger made a good but light supper, as per my earlier suggestion. As I rose from the table he said, “I’ve packed you a lunch and a snack for work. Hope that’s all right?”

“Good. I usually bring my own. It’s too expensive to eat out every day.”

“Yes, it surely is,” he agreed, even though he had probably never been inside a restaurant in his life. “Speaking of expenses,” he added, “I’m putting together a budget for food and other household items. I’ll leave it for you in the morning. Please let me know if it’s acceptable or if you want me to cut down on anything.”

“I will. Thanks.”

I grabbed my coat for the walk to the station house—it had gotten a little chilly outside. I hated to think about the winter ahead. Roger must be thankful to have left the street before the snow and cold came. So far, our arrangement seemed to be working, but even if things didn’t pan out, I wasn’t going to kick him out in the middle of winter. I was aware that he’d given up his corner for me and that I wasn’t the only one taking a chance on this deal.

I remembered to stop and grab two coffees on my way to work. Fil 19 took his without comment. He slurped, grunted, then went back to typing. I turned to my own screen, accepting the silence.

Almost three hours later, I leaned over. “Mind looking at this? I think I’ve narrowed it down somewhat.”

“Hmm,” he muttered. “Okay, let me look at it.”

I stood so that he could sit down in front of my machine.

After about twenty minutes of scrolling through my work, stopping here and there for a more detailed consideration, he grunted and got to his feet. “Send me that, would you?”

I sent him my data, organized into potential vectors. He sat back down at his own computer and started to work with them, so I took out the snack Roger had packaged for me. I hadn’t stopped working since I’d come into the office and was feeling peckish. The dates were perfect: they would help raise my blood-sugar levels. You have to feed the organics too.

Just as I was repacking the leftovers, Fil 19 looked up from his computer, muttered, “Son of a bitch,” and then called out more loudly, “Captain! Where are you? Cal 300, get yourself over here! Sir.”

The captain strolled toward us. “You screamed, oh mighty one?”

“Hah, hah,” Fil 19 returned. “Feast your baby blues on this.” He turned his screen toward the captain.

After a couple of minutes, Cal 300 straightened back up again. “How sure are you?”

“The twerp cut the prelims.” Fil 19 hooked his thumb my way. “I refined it, and voilà! I’m pretty damn sure.”

“Okay then.” The captain looked around the room. “Lieutenant, where are you?”

A graceful hand waved from the corner. The hand was attached to a female arm, which in turn led to a stern-looking android with short blonde hair and a long straight nose.

“There you are. Get a team together, Val 25—we’re going raiding.”

“How many?”

“About a dozen should do it. It’s a local lab, but it’s a start.

“Yessir,” she agreed, and began calling out names.

The captain moved to go, then turned back toward us. “Coming, Al 14?”

“Yessir!” I said, reaching for my jacket.

While thinking about advances in AI, I became interested in what it might be like to be an android in the late 21st century. What kinds of issues would they face? Would having a mix of electronic and organic attributes give a person more control over their life, or less? Would they have the same existential problems as standard humans—issues with sexual identities, a yearning for love, a desire for the company of friends?

Alawishes 14123786 may be only an ordinary urban-worker model in a world full of specials, but that hasn’t curtailed his ambitions. Quitting his programming career, Al 14 joins the Helena City Police because he believes it will offer more opportunity for advancement. After serving nearly three years on street patrol, he gets his break when Captain Calvin 30012796 notices his actions in a drug bust. In need of someone who can handle a computer, the captain transfers Al 14 to his task force. When the new detective third grade proves that he is as adroit on the streets as he is on a computer, the captain creates new opportunities for Al 14 to prove his worth. Things appear to be looking up, until the Blunts throw a spanner in the works.

Hostile to humans, the Blunts are a worldwide movement of androids who celebrate radical physical transformations that challenge their humanoid origins. They may also be involved in running human criminal enterprises to raise money for their organization. As part of an investigation into the Blunts, Al 14 is assigned to act as the handler for Wanda, a young female officer who goes undercover as a high-priced sex-worker. When the Blunt movement’s leaders becomes aware of him, Al 14 is drawn further into their orbit and is forced to assume his own undercover identity. To gain their trust, it becomes necessary for him to participate in serious criminal acts and agree to forms of self-modification that threaten his sense of who he is. How far will he be asked to go, and if he survives, will he ever be the same android?