Sally's Story: More Than a Robot Woman

	Vince was surprised at his own timeliness, being the first in the Vice department as the night shift quietly shuffled home. The early morning sun, at least what little could squeeze around the city’s towering buildings, illuminated the department in spirited beams of light. As he inspected the derelict desks around he noticed the consuming cleanliness of everything, the order where there had been yesterday ruffled files of papers and scribbled-in notebooks everywhere was impeccable. And there, sitting idly at his desk, was the little robot, flipping through her own manual with a mute stare. Vince backpedaled slightly, unsure who had turned the robot on and whether or not she had a hand in tidying the office. Stepping ahead again he introduced himself.
	“Hello there little miss,” he started. “I’m Vincent la Fontaine, but you can call me Vince. You’re my new partner, so welcome to Administrative Vice, BCPD.” The little android tilted her head before giving him a quizzical look, evidently not gathering everything he was saying. Vincent, at a loss for anything more than that, snatched up the manual from her hands and began to flip through it. Landing upon the section labeled ‘Setup’ he began feverishly looking for directions as the robot whirred next to him, motionless save for the rhythmic blinking of her eyes. He finally found the cause of the issue - when fully charged and *unplugged* the robot would automatically wake up but, lacking the proper setup routine, would default to minor cleaning - a holdover from their nandroid cousins. Vincent sighed as he spied the detached cord in the closet behind him, the janitor evidently knocking it loose by mistake or for need of an outlet for his vacuum, unaware of what he’d wake up.
	Vince kept flipping past the little quirks enumerated in the section, finally settling on the proper start-up. Paperclip in hand he popped open the little access port on the back of the robot’s neck as he hard-restarted her. An internal fan wheezed heavily as her head slipped forward sleepily before jolting back up, her entire body sitting at attention as she started back up.
“Sterling SALLE-V android, model 79, begin calibration sequence,” Vincent read from the manual. With a shiver the robot began reading off its specifications at lightning speed, pausing momentarily for each little piece of input from Vincent’s end as he followed the manual to the letter.
	“Officer, Detective or Law Enforcement Professional: Please provide photographic ID and name before continuing.”
	“La Fontaine, Vincent Pierre.” Vincent then showed his badge to the robot, her eyes focusing in and out before she nodded happily. She then stretched and flexed every joint in the seat before jumping up, full of energy. She took his hand and shook it furiously as she showered him with joyous praise, evidently excited to begin her work and unaware of her less than flattering state. Her revelry was interrupted by a cough at the door as Cherry walked by and, in one fluid motion, catapulted a wad of clothing onto Vince’s head, disappearing by the time he pulled them off of his head. Sorting through each article he whipped them in the air a few times to squeeze out the handful of wrinkles before handing them to the robot who took them into her arms. The secretary had graced the robot with a full-enough wardrobe, at least by robot standards: a blouse and two-piece pantsuit were more than enough for the robot, the lack of shoes not an issue.
	“What’re my orders Detective la Fontaine?”
	“First and foremost please get dressed,” he said, shielding his eyes. “After that we’re gonna go to the range.”
	“Right away Detective la Fontaine!”
	“Uh, just call me Vincent.”
	“Yes sir, Vincent.”
	“She’s certainly eager,” he thought, watching her shimmy into her new clothes, straightening her collar and cuffs quickly. The ensemble was small on her, but not baggy, the overlong pant legs just barely clearing the floor around the stereotypical Sterling ‘tip-toe’ feet.
	“What next, Vincent?”
	“Well, not much uh…” He stopped for lack of a name to give her, unsure if her designation was a proper stand in or not.
	“SALLE, sir - Sterling Adjunct to Local-”
	“Right, of course,” he interrupted. “Just Sally for you and just Vincent for me, cool? As far as I’m concerned you’re just as much ‘detective’ as I am.”
	“Understood, Vincent.”
	“Excellent. Now onto business - you’re essentially good to go in everything else. You know how to handle a gun too?”
	“I am intricately familiar with numerous ideal firearms stances and small-unit tactics, sir!”
	“They have you shoot guns before shipping you?”
	“No!”
	“Then we’ll start there, sound good?”
	“Especially good, sir!” With that the little duo paced away and towards the elevator, Vincent throwing a sidelong wave to Sherry as they waited for the car to arrive.
	“She cleans up pretty well, eh Sher? Didn’t know you’d have anything that’d fit her!”
	“Those are my sister’s, Vince. She expects them back by the end of the week.” Vince cringed as the elevator door shut on the pair, pounding it into his forehead a few times before composing himself again, Sally evidently not taking notice as she continued playing with her jacket buttons. Descending through the half-dozen stories to the basement again, Vincent ushered the little robot out and into the sprawling complex beneath the building. Sally gushed at the size of the city’s primary precinct and the sprawl of facilities for police training, ignoring the purely concrete construction, poor ventilation and stifling heat.
	Finally arriving in the precinct armory Vincent ushered the robot in and introduced her to the rangemaster. The friendly gentleman was spooked with the force that Sally shook his hand, rocking his arm violently up and down as she gushed in excitement. She eagerly tagged behind the older man as he carefully described what her ‘options’ were, eyeing Vincent for backup as she began listing statistics rapid-fire at the man, weighing her options out loud based on recent police tactics, data, and even more data not even privy to certain hardcore FBI analysts. Vincent winced each time she mentioned the ‘seven-yard’ doctrine and Newhall.
	“Sally tone it down a bit, okay,” Vincent chided. “Your sidearm is important, yes, but not *this* important.”
	“Pick something you know someone of your, er, stature can handle,” the man added. “Without being rude, you’re quite-”
	“Small, yes,” Sally huffed. “But with proper recoil control and stance anyone can handle near-any gun.” The man sighed as his brow furrowed, reaching into one of the locked wall safes and thrusting a small revolver into the robot’s hands.
	“Here, you’ll take this and it’ll serve you well. Just hit the range, please. A gun is more than numbers.”
	“Come on Sally, let’s break it in.”
	“O-Okay,” she said. Vincent tugged the little robot behind him to the firing line, a smattering of patrol officers practicing as he donned a pair of earmuffs, waving his hand forward to shoo her ahead. She sheepishly stepped to the line and readied herself, swinging hyperbolically into a weaver stance as she took aim. She squeezed off a shot before pausing, spooked, and then firing again. Working slowly into a rhythm of fire, aim, fire, however, she quickly picked up pace as she fired faster and more confidently. The small sidearm began to find its place in her hand as an extension of it, an instinctive inclination for shooting awakening in her nascent mind. She grinned impishly as she smacked the button to bring her target up, revealing a horrible grouping spread across the silhouette.
	“O-Oh,” Sally said, cheeks flaring.
	“Oh my,” Vincent muttered, catching himself. “Well Sally, it’s certainly a start! Just leave the shooting to me for now, okay?”
	“Okay.” Sally’s head nodded forward in disappointment. Vincent wrinkled his hand nervously, unsure of how to comfort a robot and loathing to pat her on the back. Mercifully a knock on the observation glass behind the pair stopped him as the two saw a patrol officer tapping the glass noisily, nodding as they both took notice. Outside Vincent removed his earmuffs before shaking his hair to order, the patrol officer waiting impatiently as he crossed his arms.
	“Detective Fontaine?”
	“That’s me, where’s the fire?”
	“We got a call on the westside, corner of 7th Northwest and Palm. Situation’s clear and the Vice Head put it forward for an investigation.”
	“On it, let’s go Sally. Hope you’re ready to work.”