It’s the stress. It’s the job. It’s the girl.
I really do need to make Sheila some kind of solid body when I get the time. Something with hands so she can expand her duties. Right now she’s perfection when it comes to computers and weapons. She runs all the automated systems in the cave. And I have several small robots used for cleaning that she’s wired into, so they are busy all hours of the day and night. She runs the bikes, and the car, and the helicopter.
But she cannot hand me tools. And the biology bot I call Hammer, despite his name, can’t do shit in that department either. He’s the largest robot I own at the moment. But he’s contained inside the inner labs. Stationary and mounted to a bench. He’s really just an arm with half a brain.
I sigh to stop myself from cursing too much as I try to fix the bike that Case fucked up last weekend. I had to take the whole engine apart and rebuild, and that’s just the mechanical damage. The body work is something else altogether. If Hammer was mobile… if Sheila was solid…
But wishing aside, there’s no one here but me and these bits of computer code. So I go it alone. As usual.
“Why not just build a new one?” Sheila asks, still hovering over me like a mother. “The prototype is ready for engineering.”
“I don’t have time,” I growl through a wrench between my teeth.
“You need an automatic engineering system.”
“No shit.”
“That way we can work harder for you.”
Fucking Sheila. I stop what I’m doing and look up at her. She smiles. And goddamned if she isn’t the perfect replica of a human woman in her holographic form. I’d never be able to assemble something like that. It pains me to think of reducing her to a tin can of nuts and bolts like Hammer. “You work plenty hard, Sheils. I’d be sued for violation of labor laws if you were human.”
“I’m not human. And I enjoy working. I can’t work enough. What is rest to me but time spent being idle?” She cocks her head at me.
“Well, one day. When things quiet down, I’ll have time to build more. But right now I just need to make do with what I have.”
“We have all the parts, Lincoln. I inventoried everything in stock at the moment, and your new prototype could be assembled in seven days if you gave me control of your engineering lab.”
“Control how?” I growl, still trying to concentrate on the task at hand.
“If you gave me owner access to the entire lab, I’d recode the cleaning bots to build parts. Then I’d recode the AI program in this bike and transfer it to that bike.” She stands and points to the holographic image of my dream. The perfect motorcycle. Sleek, aerodynamic, powerful, and well-equipped.
Weaponized, is the word I’m looking for. This bike, the one I’m working on, has no built-in weapons. But if Sheila could…
“I can do it,” she says, like she’s reading my mind. “Just give me access and I will get to work. Then you can stop spending so much time in here and get out a little more. Mr. Reider sent me a reminder earlier that you’re expected at a party tonight in the city.”
“He’s out of his mind,” I snap. “I’m not going to a party being held by Thomas. I’m not his fucking dog. I’m not at his beck and call. I’m not—”
“Detective Masters is going. I found her name on the guest list.”
“What?” I stop messing with the bike again and look at her. “Why would I care about that?”
“Because,” Sheila says in that superior I’m-a-genius-AI voice, “you’ve watched the footage of her in the cave at least seven different times since last Saturday. And I don’t have access to the house upstairs, but I’m not an idiot, Lincoln. You’re obsessed with her.”
“Fuck.” I laugh. “No. It’s a sign of paranoia. I was trying to gauge how much she saw just in case her memory comes back.”
“Hmph,” Sheila says. “That’s a lie. I can detect an increase in your heart rate and a sheen of sweat forming on your brow. You like Detective Masters.”
“No—”
“In fact, it’s my duty to see to your well-being. So I think we should call her up and ask her out on a date.”
Beeps sound off on her speaker system. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Calling Detective Masters.”
“Sheila, this isn’t funny. She’s a fucking cop, for Christ’s sake. Hang up.”
“Only if you go to the party.”
“You can’t disobey me.”
“Health override. You’re stressed, which affects your moods. Moods are part of my wellness recognition protocols. And I have decided you need a date.”
“Sheila, I will turn you off.”
“Oh, look, it’s ringing.”
“OK, fine! Just hang up!”
“Promise me with a pinky swear.”
“I don’t pinky—”
“Hello?” I stop mid-sentence at the sound of Molly Masters’ voice. “Hello?” she asks again.
I look up at Sheila and mouth, I swear, as I wiggle my pinky finger at her.