Sally's Story: Pandora's Box

	Vincent la Fontaine was, by all traces of the imagination, *not* the image of the classic detective - his sunny demeanor was complimented by a thick shag of wavy, brown hair on his head hanging above an equally dense moustache and pair of sideburns. Each step was swagger-filled, cocky even, the fluted bells around his ankles swishing and contorting with each step. The up-and-coming Vice detective was supremely cool and confident and had rapidly left behind his comrades on the beat, earning his promotion upon breaking up a sizable bet-fixing operation on the city’s north end.
	Still wearing his ever-present smile he paced deeper into the annals of the city’s main precinct before rounding to his desk in the Vice department. Reclining in his chair he lit up a cigarette before rifling through the assorted notes and letters on his desk. Mindlessly flipping through the sheets of papers between drags on his cigarette he spared a thought for his old partner, just retired after finishing a big case on a splinter ring of weathermen running drugs to fund their ‘revolution’. Fingers resting on the inane little envelopes he was alerted by a whistle at the door of the office floor where stood the commissioner himself.
	“Vince, I got somethin for you. Important business,” Crawley said.
	“Right away, sir,” he returned, scrambling to pull his feet from his desk and sit at attention. The narrow detective quickly followed behind the stocky veteran as they made their way to the elevator, sinking into the bowels of the precinct where a sprawling complex was hidden away, meant predominantly for specialized training and practice and, less ostentatiously, the loading dock and garage. Stepping out of the elevator into the humid concrete basement Crawley directed Vincent around into one of the smaller delivery areas before pointing to a large wooden crate.
	“Alright Vince, good news and bad news. Since your partner’s gone you’ll be getting a new partner. Bad news is you’re the senior detective now.”
	“So why we down here then?”
	“Well, you see Vince, with the pace technology has been taking, we - meaning I - decided to try something newer, more modern, more experimental and theoretical. Something that leaves the investigating and thinking to you, and the heavy lifting to something that can do it more quickly, ideally on the scene.”
	“And that’s in the box, I assume?” Crawley tossed him a pry bar and nodded. Vincent stepped over and wedged the bar into the side beneath the lid, jimmying the bar repeatedly as it cracked and buckled, slowly running the pry bar repeatedly around the box before the lid finally popped off. There floating in a sea of wood shavings was the lithe little form of a Sterling nandroid, messy copper hair laying frazzled around her head. She lacked the stereotypical accoutrements of her more dainty sisters, an elegant dress replaced by a simple grey sports bra and pair of briefs, the hefty charging chair by a thick extension cord and adapter.
	“You’re kidding me,” Vincent said looking back up. “You got me a robot maid as my partner? I mean this is ridiculous man, I-”
	“Save it, Vince. She’s in the same frame but what you’ve got here is a purpose-made anti-crime computer system. She’ll tag behind you on a case and do some of the technical stuff on a scene, okay? These robots are a stop gap, they make your job easier so you can focus on investigating and doing it faster.”
	“I- It’s a robot maid, sir, what good can it be to me?”
	“Look. You’re down a partner, you need one. Here she is. You teach her how to handle a gun and keep notes and she’ll follow you to the ends of the Earth.”
	“Crawley, I really don’t know about this. These things are… frail, you know?”
	“The folks at Sterling assured me she’s been retrofitted for police service. She’s not walking the beat or anything but she’s not made of glass, son. Charge her up and get her ready to work, okay?” Vincent’s face squirmed just a little bit, his youth encouraging him to embrace this change while memories and nostalgia for his partner crashed against that enthusiasm. He’d only been gone a few weeks but he could really use one of his quips, so filled with wisdom and experience, to help him through this transition. It was an odd move to thrust such a responsibility on a new detective and Vincent was justly dumbfounded. Rising from his spot kneeling at the box’s side, he straightened his face and turned to the commissioner.
	“Understood, sir. I’ll get to it.”
	“That’s what I like to hear Vince, Joe’d be proud of you, taking charge like this,” he said, clapping a hand on the detective’s back. “Now plug her in and get to setting up your new partner.”
	“Right away, sir.” Vincent knelt back down to scoop up the light robot, slinging her limp form over his shoulder as he looped the cord over the other. The pair returned to the elevator, the derelict crate scooted over to trash pickup as a flurry of patrol cars changed places in the garage complex.

	Back in the Vice office Vincent searched vainly for an outlet anywhere convenient near his desk. As he ducked and crawled among his neighbor’s desks a knock sounded on the top of the one he was currently crouched under, rocketing his head into its underside with a hollow thump. Rubbing his head he emerged face to face with the gentle figure of the department secretary, unsympathetic green eyes locking with Vincent’s as he crawled back out from under the desk.
	“Lose some change Vincent? I can spot you something for the coffee machine, you know,” she said.
	“I appreciate the offer, Sherry,” he returned, standing up. Wiping his knees he spied the thick booklet she held and then slammed on his desk. “Oh? Package for me?”
	“Crawley told me to deliver this to you, said it’s a manual for- The hell is that?” Vincent turned to follow the woman’s eyes to his chair where sat, slumped backwards like a drunk, his new partner. Leaning casually on the wall Vince threw his hair back and brought back his characteristic smile for the lady.
	“Oh you know, just high-importance police intelligence hardware,” he said, inspecting his nails nonchalantly. “I’ll be the first in the force with a *robot partner*. Pretty big deal.”
	“Didn’t know they’d let you bring your sex-doll, Vince.” The verbal suckerpunch sent him reeling as she chuckled and returned to her station, sashaying out of the windowed Vice wing.
	“Damn thing,” he said, staring angrily at the half-nude robot. Turning back to the disappearing secretary he shouted after her. “Hey Sherry! Can you lend me something for this robot to wear?” An audible sigh sounded around the open door frame as she rushed back to its edge, peeking back in.
	“I’ll see what I can do, Vince,” she groaned. “And by the way? Try the broom closet.” She pointed between the thick orange cord and the convenient little janitor’s nook before stepping away again. Cord in hand Vince swung the door open to the musty little closet and spotted, like a sign from God, an unoccupied outlet. He defiantly plugged the cord in before wrestling the robot into her new room and plugged her in, scrunching her in the back and out of the way. His job done, he returned to his desk and began flipping through the dense manual, pages upon pages of Sterling specifications and robotic analytics slowly putting the man to sleep. Snorting awake repeatedly only to be lulled back into unconsciousness, the time flew by as the robot charged silently behind him. Snapping awake one last time, the manual sprawled on his lap, the man crept back to the closet to find the robot still derelict. A passage about an ‘initial charging period’ came to mind as he gently shut the door on the slumbering android, throwing his suit jacket over his shoulder as he left the building for the night, sure he’d be training the robot the next day.