Free Droids Don't Cry by Sam Kepfield Page B

approached warily. He put one hand on the rusty door handle, pushed it to the side, and beheld a battered black State Patrol cruiser. The rear window was shot out, taillights broken, emergency lights shattered. The tag was current.
    His heart began thudding in his chest under the black, unmarked fatigues. He moved around the side to the passenger door. The window was down. Platt brought the laser up and thumbed off the safety.
    The passenger compartment was empty. He brought the laser down slightly just as something dropped on him from above, knocking him to the ground and sending him into blackness.
     
    Platt came to. His head throbbed, his neck twinged when he moved it, and his left shoulder was numb. He could hear movement in the barn, a flutter of wings, footsteps, the clank of metal, and the squeak of new leather. He tried to rise, but cuffs bit into his wrists and his head bumped against a post as he fell back. The footsteps drew closer with the thunk of heavy heels.
    “Don’t try shouting. There’s no one around for twenty miles, except prairie dogs and coyotes.” She strode into view. Platt winced as he craned his neck up. “I didn’t think the patrol sent troopers out alone.”
    “I’m—” He stopped. Name, rank, serial number, that was it. Don’t give her any more. “Sometimes,” Platt said woozily and shook his head. “I’m—I’m here to accept your surrender into lawful custody,” he gritted. She burst out laughing. Platt set his jaw and stared at her.
    Standing in front of him, legs planted wide, hands on hips, lisa001B was six foot two with powerful thighs and corded calves, a narrow wasp-waist flaring up into a powerful back and full bust, and bulging biceps and triceps. Her heart-shaped face looked about eighteen, and her hair was cut in a chin-length shag with sharp bangs. It was also colored electric blue, matching her eyes, eye shadow, lipstick, and the skin-tight, shiny leather bodysuit. Platt’s gun belt was around her waist. She was beautiful, she was deadly, and she looked all too human and desirable.
    She was an android.
    “That’s good, Platt. Yeah, I know your name. I jacked into the computer in your cruiser, know all about you. Although anyone could guess why you’re here, if you surf the grid or stare at the vid.”
    Platt kept his voice even in contrast to the gently mocking tone lisa affected. “I’m arresting you for the murder of Gunther Mueller, Dr. Andrea Niemann, and Omaha P.D. officer Nick Lee. Plus assault and battery on Officer Thomas Gutierrez, criminal damage to property, theft of government property, and possession of a deadly weapon by an artificial life form.” And that’s just what we know about .
    “You’ll pardon me if I don’t come peacefully.” She sneered. “Although I do admire your devotion to duty, Platt, you’re hardly in a position to carry out your orders.”
    “For now.” Christ, from her speech patterns, he figured she’d downloaded the classic movie database, Bacall and Hayworth and Stanwyck all in one. No smiling, docile, ten-year-old sex toy. Not anymore.
    “ My problem is what I’m supposed to do with you,” lisa said, eyeing him. “You’re still alive.”
    “Yeah, why is that?” Platt demanded, trying to struggle to his feet. She grabbed his right shoulder and hauled him up. He felt splinters go into his wrists. Standing, he was an inch taller than her, and although just beyond thirty-five, he looked to be a physical match for her.
    “I’m not sure, and it bothers me. Maybe the old Asimov programming is still buried, or the God Bug missed it. I’ll have to run a diagnostic.”
    “It already disabled the remote destruct commands.”
    “No shit,” lisa said sarcastically. “It’s part of the God Bug. So now what? They gonna give me time? Make me pay restitution? I can’t own property, I’m not allowed a work permit, I’m not paid a wage. In the eyes of the law, I’m no different than a toaster. Kill me and it’s