"My Best Friend, the Sarcastic Robot"
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dochermes"My Best Friend, the Sarcastic Robot"
12/23/2015
I.
Gabby stomped into the rec room with as much emphasis all her ninety pounds could summon. "Timothy! You see how she's giving me a dirty look?"
"You've got a dirty look but I didn't give it to you," scoffed a completely identical Gabby following closely behind the first one.
Even though his heart sank at this confrontation, Timothy Limbo sat up straighter on the couch and turned the BBC World Service way down with his remote. It wasn't seeing two Gabrielle Elizabeth Marchettis, more identical down to skin pores than natural twins could ever be, that flustered him. He had grown used to that. It was the snarking and sniping between them.
Both Gabbys were one and three-quarters of an inch over five feet in height, both looked as if they weighed about one hundred pounds. Both had curly light brown hair bordering on outright frizz, both had round appealing faces with full lips and huge dark brown eyes blinking from behind round-rimmed glases. As always, they wore matching outfits. Today, they had black sneakers, black knee-high socks and a pleated dark brown skirt, and a rust-colored cardigan over a white blouse.
As part of the way they impersonated each other, every item of clothing had been purchased in pairs for the past few months, even the fine-linked silver bracelets on their left wrists or the plain stud earrings. As Timothy watched, one of the Gabbys unbuttoned her blouse cuffs to roll them back a turn. Less than a second later, the other one did the same.
He sat up on the couch in the KDF recreation room where he had been half dozing. "Please don't move. Stay right there. For the moment, I know that YOU, the one on my left, are the flesh and blood original. That's because you changed your appearance and the Infiltrator immediately did the same. So don't move around right now."
The real Gabby gave her likeable grin with its slight overbite. "See. I always said you were clever, Tim. You're not fooled by four hundred pounds of titanium and plastic."
At twenty-five, Timothy Limbo remained a slightly built young man a few inches under six feet in height. For once, he was not wearing his inevitable biker boots, worn jeans and white T-shirt under a black leather jacket. In deference to the holidays, he had put on dark slacks and a heavy, tasteful red and white sweater with a row of holly berries aross the front. Timothy brushed back that mop of yellow hair and came fully awake. "So, ah, Gabby, what's the situation?"
"Can't you tell? Listen to her! My Infiltrator started insulting me every chance she gets. This morning, I happened to say I was feeling down in the dumps..."
"And I agreed it would explain that aroma," chirped in the second Gabby.
"Yikes. I mean, that's unexpected." Timothy glanced back and forth between two figures who were impossible to distinguish by sight or sound. The Infiltrator was an advanced cyborg developed by the John Grim Institute, and those criminals used stolen Trom tech, so this construct was decades ahead of anything human scientists could match.
Leaning forward, he took hold of the nearer Gabby's sleeve, saying "You hold still," and turned to the other one. "I want you to bring those two chairs over and sit down in one, okay?"
"I don't have to obey, of course, but why not?" came the response. The Infiltrator picked up a pair of straight-backed wooden chairs by Sable's desk and carried them over. She seemed to be using precisely the same amount of effort the real Gabby would have, although the Infiltrator could have lifted and fetched the heavy oak desk as easily.
When both were settled down, the real Gabby pouting with her arms folded and the Infiltrator smiling sweetly with legs crossed at the ankles like a lady, Timothy hemmed and hawed before continuing, "Well... You know what, I'm going to pass the buck to Megan. She's the certified multiple discipline genius on our team. She's the one that reprogrammed the Infiltrator to be non-violent and helpful, she can figure out what the glitch might be."
Rolling those big caramel-hued eyes over at the flesh Gabby, the cyborg said, "You might wonder why SHE didn't think to call on Trom Girl. But then you can't light a warehouse with a Christmas tree bulb."
"Ugh. Let's start over." He stared right into the Infiltratror's mellow gaze. "Who are you?"
"Aw c'mon, Tim, we went to first grade together," said the robot. "It's me, Gabby. Gabrielle Elizabeth Marchetti, you'd forget where your belly button was before you forgot me."
"Then who is this person over here?"
"You know her. That's Gabby. You two have been friends since you could first walk, although God knows why. She still can't fill a bra."
Timothy's head was beginning to hurt. "Let me get this straight. You're both Gabby?"
"I don't understand the question," responded the construct.
The real Gabby leaned forward and gently rubbed Timothy high up on the back. "That's not going to get us anywhere, buddy. Megan has studied her. The unit absolutely believes it IS me, but it also absolutely believes that I'M me and its thinking process doesn't see a conflict."
Timothy exhaled strongly and clapped his hands together. "Ouch. This is beyond me. Time to call an expert in. Let me get my Link. Just a minute. Hi, Megan? Tim here. Have you got a minute? It's about Gabby's Infiltrator."
He explained the situation as concisely as he could, then answered a few questions before holding out the Link to the Infiltratror, who accepted it readily and said, "Hello?"
The clear, self-assured voice of Megan Salenger was heard, "Protocol 17, Immediate Access."
"I don't understand the question," replied the construct.
"Protocol 17, Immediate Access," the Trom Girl repeated. "Shut down motor functions and reboot."
"Do you want to talk to Gabby?" asked the robot. "She's not doing anything but taking up space. Timothy? Sure, he's right here."
Taking the Link back, Tim heard Megan's voice with a rare note of agitation beneath the disciplined surface. "I'm on my way, don't let either of them leave our headquarters building. This is an unfortunate development."
II.
As they waited for the Trom Girl, Timothy went over to a side cabinet and brought back a tray of soft chocolate chip cookies with colorful sprinkles. Both Gabbys accepted a few agreeably enough. He knew as a clinical fact that the Infiltrator could only eat a limited amount of food which would be drawn in by suction into a plastic sac for later disposal. But watching them chew and swallow, he could not see the slightest difference.
Not for the first time, he was deeply grateful that the John Grim projects had been smashed and there would be no more Infiltrators created. The idea of world leaders being quietly replaced by undetectable imposters was nightmare fuel.
"It started a few days ago," the real Gabby began. "We're on Christmas break. I said maybe I would like to go see the Bronx Zoo..."
"If they want you, they'll come get you," the robot broke in.
"There! See what is freaking me out? Why would she start saying things like that? All I mentioned was getting into the Bronx Zoo for a day...."
"The problem would be whether they would let you out," came the interruption.
Despite himself, Timothy snorted. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Gabs. That WAS funny."
"And I used to think I wanted a sister!" Gabby groaned, plucking at her cardigan sleeves.
Before the Infiltrator could wound Gabby to the core with another remark, a chime sounded in the hall. The front door could be heard closing with a bit too much emphasis and Megan Salenger rushed into the rec room.
Now in her mid-thirties, the Trom Girl had hardly aged visibly since she had joined the KDF as a teen. She was still slim and nimble at five feet four, still studying the world with dark inquisitive eyes under a tousled mop of black hair. She had not removed her bright blue parka on her way in. "Timothy. Gabby," she greeted her friends before focusing all her attention on the Infiltrator.
"I don't get it," Timothy put in. "How can you tell which one's which?"
"The chair legs are sinking deeper into the carpet," Megan replied, still staring at the cyborg. "Protocol 23. Authorization One. Respond."
"Orders received," The robot Gabby said, still in the distinctive chipper tones Timothy had known in Gabby's speech since childhood. "All systems nominal. Scan reveals no anomaly."
The Trom Girl did not take a seat herself, but stood with fists on hips and feet braced well apart. "Explain unplanned statements to Gabrielle."
"I don't understand the question."
Megan's normally impassive face had a definite frown. "Gabby, say something innocuous."
The real girl blinked. "Sorry, what? My mind wandered."
"Don't worry," said the robot. "It's too weak to go far."
"There! You see what I mean? What the HELL is a robot doing being sarcastic? Whoever heard of such a thing?" Gabby made an accusing gesture at her mechanical companion.
"Watch where you point that finger, it's got a nail in it," said the Infiltrator.
"Har! Sorry, sorry, I thought that was a good one," Timothy put in before catching himself. "You have to admit, she's quick."
Megan gave her teammate a withering glare but softened after a second. "This may not be a dangerous symptom, Tim. Gabby, try not to worry. I think I see the problem." Turning back to the Infiltrator, the Trom Girl said, "Name something that is impossible."
"A square circle."
Batting out the questions rapidly, Megan continued, "What weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of gravel?"
"They both weigh a pound."
"How much dirt is in a hole one meter wide, one meter long and one meter deep?"
"There is no dirt in a hole."
"If a rooster lays an egg on a ridge, which way will it roll?"
"Roosters do not lay eggs."
Seeing the stupefied expressions on her friends' faces, Megan explained, "Those were tests of her logic processing. I detected no hesitation before answering." Turning back to the robot, she asked, "Would you snap the fingers on both hands simultaneously?'
After the Infiltrator did so, Megan Salenger visibly relaxed. She swung around and dropped down next to Tim on the couch. "I admit I am relieved. Those diagnoastic tests showed nothing grossly malfunctioning. I should perform a full internal scan, of course, but that would take three to four hours."
The real Gabby had shifted her chair around so she could watch both her friends and her unliving counterpart. "Megan, can I ask you a question?"
"That already IS a question," offered the Infiltrator.
"You see! She's been doing this since yesterday. Isn't there an off switch for wise-ass remarks?"
Megan glanced back and forth between the two Gabbys. "I knew there was a remote chance something like this might develop. Gabby, this construct was designed for assassination.
I put in safeguards and blocks so that it will freeze up and shut down before physically harming a human being."
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Timothy interrupted. "I think I see what happened. The metal Gabby here still has a basic drive to kill but it can't overtly act on it. So it's blowing off steam through sarcasm and insults? Is that possible?"
"It's how normal humans release aggressive impulses," Megan agreed.
III.
Parking to the side of the lot, Timothy peered out the windshield at APETITOS Restaurant, a subdued dark stone building with hedges lining its front and a lovely pale blue radiance from recessed lighting on the roof. "I've never been here," he admitted. "But some solid lasagna would suit me just fine."
Next to him in the passenger seat, Gabby chuckled. "You're dealing with a bambina who's Italian on both sides, Tim. My mother would never ever be satisfied with any restaurant attempts but I'm more forgiving. I crave veal scallopini and lots of it."
"Hah, the problem will be whether we'll be able to walk to the car after eating too much." Tim adjusted the lapels on his suit jacket. "Migosh, I haven't worn this since the last time you spent a weekend with us. I had an epic struggle with the tie."
"You look fine, what's more important is what about me?"
Timothy smiled over at her. Gabby had styled her hair into a more manageable fall, she was wearing a new maroon pants suit with a white silk blouse and a single gold chain for jewelry. For once, she had taken time to apply subtle make-up, not much more than eyeliner, blush and lipstick slightly darker than her natural color. It worked perfectly, accenting her gamin appeal.
"You're gorgeous, Gabby. I know I don't say that often enough."
"Ah, but I see it in your eyes." She leaned over and gave him a demure kiss on the cheek. "Sometimes I wish I had some sort of super-power like you and your friends, so I could join your crazy KDF."
"You have me," came an identical voice from the back seat.
"Now YOU stay put," scolded Gabby. "I couldn't afford two of these outfits today, so you stay wrapped up in that coat and out of sight. Hopefully your presence will not be required for a nice restful dinner."
"You'd make a good stranger," the form in the back mumbled.
"You know where your face would look good? On a milk carton, going 'Have you seen me?' Come on, Tim."
Even this late in December, it was not that chilly and they left their winter coats in the car. Gabby linked her arm with his and sighed. "All we need is a full moon. Been doing any dating, Tim?"
"Nah, not really. My schedule is too erratic. By the second date, I always have to cancel because our team is chasing Skinwalkers or something, and there's no third date. How about you?"
"Nothing serious. I don't think I'm missing much, I see what my roommates go through. I don't want to be just another number on some dude's body count. Here we are. Is that our table?"
A waiter in a red jacket and dress pants welcomed them, saw them seated and made sure they had ice water and a basket of garlic bread. The dining room was warm and dry, filled with tempting aromas. And it was not even crowded, they enjoyed the rare luxury of having an empty table to either side of them.
"I'd weigh three hundred pounds if I came here too often," Timothy said. "Look at these offerings! Where do we even start?"
"We need to come here every Friday and work our way through the menu," Gabby offered.
"Hmm. Hah. I've never tried Caprese Chicken at all. Listen, 'Chicken and sun dried tomatoes with melty cheese, balsamic drizzle, and fresh basil served with a mile-high stack of golden crispy little potato smashers.' How can you go wrong with those ingredients?"
Gabby gave her characteristic short trilling laugh before replying. "Go for it, Tim. Live life, I say. Here's something I only had once, at my sweet sixteen party. Mushroom-Spinach Stuffed Shells. Man, three cheeses and fennel-seed tomato sauce. I was wiping the plate with a crust of bread to get the last taste. That's for me!"
They ordered when the waiter returned, adding a bottle of white wine although neither normally drank at all. Timothy didn't mention it, but he had been on the Tagra tea diet long enough that his enhanced healing meant alcohol would not affect him in the slightest.
"I've gotten so used to my little helper," Gabby admitted as they waited and sipped the wine. "It's not just that she does laundry and dishes and stuff, she's a big help with the assignments. I had a paper due on pre-Columbian earthworks and she talked me through it. And she's good company, or she was until she turned into a heckler."
Tim fiddled with a piece of garlic bread, keeping his voice uncritical. "Most people would end up letting a roommate like yours do all the work and never learn anything themselves, though."
"Oh, I'm careful with that, Tim. I know what I'm supposed to know from each class. And my pal only works every other day for me at my part-time job. Maybe I'm too honest for my own good." She sighed. "But this whole wise guy remarks thing worries me."
"Oh, I think you can put up with it. Gabs, when you start your career, you're going to have to deal with co-workers who are a lot worse."
"I know, I know. What worries me is that Megan will decide to take my pal away. Maybe she'll think there's danger of a malfunction. I couldn't handle that right now. I mean, I know she's just an AI and not a real person but... My best friend is a sarcastic robot and I don't want to lose her."
Tim raised both hands palm up. "I have to say, I'd trust Megan's judgement on this, hon. She doesn't want to hurt you, she wants you to be safe. We'll wait and see what she says. But I've been wondering something about your friend. Do you think the Infiltrator is only mimicking what people would do and say in any situation? Or do you think she's really conscious and aware?"
Gabby's face fell into seriousness, making her look a few years older. "I doubt if she knows herself, Tim. How can anyone tell? How can human beings know if they have free will or they only think they do?"
Their plates arrived, both Tim and Gabby rubbed their hands together and then gave each other a high five just as the three goons emerged from an unmarked door in the far wall.
IV.
To give them credit, the three men did not look brutal or menacing. Their suits were reasonably well tailored, they were well groomed and had intelligent faces. Only a trained eye would have noticed the small compact pistols they were slightly behind the right hip where a suit jacket would conceal the bulge.
"Sorry to interrupt you," began the tallest one, an older man with a hairline so receding it resembled a monk's tonsure. "But it's Baron Shogren. He will only keep you a few minutes, if you'll come with us."
"Have a heart, you guys," Timothy protested. "Look at this meal! It just arrived."
"We do apologize. This way, please."
With a heartfelt sigh, Tim glanced over at his companion. "This won't take long, you might as well dig in."
One of the gunmen stepped around to place a hand firmly on the back of Gabby's chair. "The young lady is requested, as well. Let's not keep the Baron waiting."
Slowly, keeping his hands visible, Timothy Limbo stood up. "Might as well go along with it, Gabs. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."
"That drat Midnight War is keeping me from the best meal I've had in weeks. All I get at the dorm are Hot Pockets and soggy PBJs." But she rose and went them. Everyone's voices had remained so civil and their manners subdued enough that other patrons at the restaurant barely noticed them walking toward the rear wall.
An unmarked wooden door slid open into a recess as they approached with apparently no one there. The three thugs within arm's reach, Tim and Gabby passed through the opening into a large room almost completely empty of furnishings. With his back to a window, seated at a plain metal desk that held three Ipads working, Baron Shogren half rose and nodded to them.
IV.
There were no other chairs, so everyone else remained standing. The office had been stripped of all furniture except the desk and chair. The wood-panelled walls were bare of framed pictures or shelves or even a clock. Mellow subdued light came from recessed tracks up by the ceiling. Behind where the Baron sat, a rectangular window five feet across was curtained so no light showed from the parking lot beyond.
"You need a few hanging plants," Gabby offered, getting a blank look from the three goons at her blithe attitude.
"Timothy Lambert, known in the Midnight War as Timothy Limbo." Despite the Baron's thorough East Asian appearance, he had a noticeable Scandanavian accent. The contradiction was oddly unsettling. Egil Shogren was a rather handsome young man about thirty, with a full head of glossy black hair and strong features. The epicanthic eyelid fold was particularly noticeable. He was wearing a spotless white lab smock over a light blue dress shirt with a black knitted silk tie. "I know all about you and your team."
"Baron Shogren, is it? You have to be the grandson of the original, or maybe the great-grandson, let me do the match. The Baron Shogren who was active in WW II was in his forties back then."
"Heh. Not so. I AM indeed the one and only Egil Shogren. I am one hundred and nineteen years old. Some of my borderline research experiments have produced more satisfactory results than others." He grinned, revealing impeccable tended teeth.
"Oh, that's right. You're a Mad Scientist like Cogitus or Karl Eldritch. I remember your file. You shouldn't be in the United States, though. The FBI has been hoping to nail you on a hundred federal offenses."
The Baron turned to his men. "Ole, please go back to your post by my van. Bjorn and Lindmer, I want you to wait out in the dining room. We may be discussing matters you will need to deny any knowledge of."
As the three men left the room without a word or even a menacing parting glance, Baron Shogren leaned back and jammed his hands into the deep pockets of his smock. "Mad Scientists, you say. I don't find the phrase insulting, but we prefer borderline researchers. Since Dr Sinclair, that is Cogitus, disappeared last year, I have managed to confiscate most of his notes and prototypes. That was how I learned about the projects that the John Grim Institute were still carrying on. And how I learned about you, child."
Gabby flinched at the final sentence. "Me? I'm no scientist. I can barely get my e-mails to work."
"Please. Give me some credit. There have been whispers for some time I use this restaurant as one of my mobile offices when I am in the metropolitan area. I calculated a seventy per cent chance that the Kenneth Dred Foundation would send a few of their agents to snoop around and I hoped it would be Lambert here.. because there was also a strong likelihood he would bring you as well."
"You're gonna have start making sense pretty soon, mister," Gabby said. "My stuffed shells are getting cold."
Baron Shogren pulled a bulky device from his pocket, resembling an old-fashioned Mauser but with a barrel ending in a three-pronged tuning fork. "Of course, Lambert would not bring his girl friend into a potentially hazardous situation. You are the Infiltrator 788, the only surviving prototype. Remain motionless. This little gadget fires a directional EMP that will freeze your circuits but leave you still suitable for study."
Still undismayed, Gabby folded her arms across her chest and began tapping one foot. "Joke's on you, Baron Whatever your name is, I'm not any sort of mechanical girl, I'm all flesh and blood the way Mother Nature wanted me to be. Except for a couple fillings."
Shogren did not smile. "Too bad for you, then. The electromagnetic pulse will fry your nervous system beyond repair."
"Looks like we could use some help," Timothy said, a little louder than before.
"Please, this room is of course sound-proofed..." That was all that Baron Shogren managed to say before the window behind him crashed inward. One slender olive-skinned hand clenched tight around his wrist and yanked it upward, the EMP gun falling from numb fingers. The other hand closed around his throat exactly as tight as a steel clamp might. Shogren wriggled without budging their hands a fraction of an inch.
"If a girl ever needed a friend!" yelped Gabby in glee.
"You need all the friends you can get," snapped the Infiltrator, leaning in through the window and still keeping the Baron from making any noise above a wheeze. "Please hold still, sir. I am not doing you any damage. That's better."
"That worked out great. Let me grab these tablets. We'll get Baron Shogren out to our car and call the FBI's Department 21 Black to take custody of him. I didn't expect him to be here tonight, Sable said he hasn't been seen in a while, but it worked out for the best."
"I guess."
"What, Gabby?"
The real girl gave the office door a wistful gaze. "I wish there was a way to go back and eat those shells. I was really looking forward to them."
Pulling the unresistant Shogren out through the smashed window, being exceedingly careful not to cut him in the process, the Infiltrator scoffed, "You need to cut down on carbs anyway."
3/22/2022
12/23/2015
I.
Gabby stomped into the rec room with as much emphasis all her ninety pounds could summon. "Timothy! You see how she's giving me a dirty look?"
"You've got a dirty look but I didn't give it to you," scoffed a completely identical Gabby following closely behind the first one.
Even though his heart sank at this confrontation, Timothy Limbo sat up straighter on the couch and turned the BBC World Service way down with his remote. It wasn't seeing two Gabrielle Elizabeth Marchettis, more identical down to skin pores than natural twins could ever be, that flustered him. He had grown used to that. It was the snarking and sniping between them.
Both Gabbys were one and three-quarters of an inch over five feet in height, both looked as if they weighed about one hundred pounds. Both had curly light brown hair bordering on outright frizz, both had round appealing faces with full lips and huge dark brown eyes blinking from behind round-rimmed glases. As always, they wore matching outfits. Today, they had black sneakers, black knee-high socks and a pleated dark brown skirt, and a rust-colored cardigan over a white blouse.
As part of the way they impersonated each other, every item of clothing had been purchased in pairs for the past few months, even the fine-linked silver bracelets on their left wrists or the plain stud earrings. As Timothy watched, one of the Gabbys unbuttoned her blouse cuffs to roll them back a turn. Less than a second later, the other one did the same.
He sat up on the couch in the KDF recreation room where he had been half dozing. "Please don't move. Stay right there. For the moment, I know that YOU, the one on my left, are the flesh and blood original. That's because you changed your appearance and the Infiltrator immediately did the same. So don't move around right now."
The real Gabby gave her likeable grin with its slight overbite. "See. I always said you were clever, Tim. You're not fooled by four hundred pounds of titanium and plastic."
At twenty-five, Timothy Limbo remained a slightly built young man a few inches under six feet in height. For once, he was not wearing his inevitable biker boots, worn jeans and white T-shirt under a black leather jacket. In deference to the holidays, he had put on dark slacks and a heavy, tasteful red and white sweater with a row of holly berries aross the front. Timothy brushed back that mop of yellow hair and came fully awake. "So, ah, Gabby, what's the situation?"
"Can't you tell? Listen to her! My Infiltrator started insulting me every chance she gets. This morning, I happened to say I was feeling down in the dumps..."
"And I agreed it would explain that aroma," chirped in the second Gabby.
"Yikes. I mean, that's unexpected." Timothy glanced back and forth between two figures who were impossible to distinguish by sight or sound. The Infiltrator was an advanced cyborg developed by the John Grim Institute, and those criminals used stolen Trom tech, so this construct was decades ahead of anything human scientists could match.
Leaning forward, he took hold of the nearer Gabby's sleeve, saying "You hold still," and turned to the other one. "I want you to bring those two chairs over and sit down in one, okay?"
"I don't have to obey, of course, but why not?" came the response. The Infiltrator picked up a pair of straight-backed wooden chairs by Sable's desk and carried them over. She seemed to be using precisely the same amount of effort the real Gabby would have, although the Infiltrator could have lifted and fetched the heavy oak desk as easily.
When both were settled down, the real Gabby pouting with her arms folded and the Infiltrator smiling sweetly with legs crossed at the ankles like a lady, Timothy hemmed and hawed before continuing, "Well... You know what, I'm going to pass the buck to Megan. She's the certified multiple discipline genius on our team. She's the one that reprogrammed the Infiltrator to be non-violent and helpful, she can figure out what the glitch might be."
Rolling those big caramel-hued eyes over at the flesh Gabby, the cyborg said, "You might wonder why SHE didn't think to call on Trom Girl. But then you can't light a warehouse with a Christmas tree bulb."
"Ugh. Let's start over." He stared right into the Infiltratror's mellow gaze. "Who are you?"
"Aw c'mon, Tim, we went to first grade together," said the robot. "It's me, Gabby. Gabrielle Elizabeth Marchetti, you'd forget where your belly button was before you forgot me."
"Then who is this person over here?"
"You know her. That's Gabby. You two have been friends since you could first walk, although God knows why. She still can't fill a bra."
Timothy's head was beginning to hurt. "Let me get this straight. You're both Gabby?"
"I don't understand the question," responded the construct.
The real Gabby leaned forward and gently rubbed Timothy high up on the back. "That's not going to get us anywhere, buddy. Megan has studied her. The unit absolutely believes it IS me, but it also absolutely believes that I'M me and its thinking process doesn't see a conflict."
Timothy exhaled strongly and clapped his hands together. "Ouch. This is beyond me. Time to call an expert in. Let me get my Link. Just a minute. Hi, Megan? Tim here. Have you got a minute? It's about Gabby's Infiltrator."
He explained the situation as concisely as he could, then answered a few questions before holding out the Link to the Infiltratror, who accepted it readily and said, "Hello?"
The clear, self-assured voice of Megan Salenger was heard, "Protocol 17, Immediate Access."
"I don't understand the question," replied the construct.
"Protocol 17, Immediate Access," the Trom Girl repeated. "Shut down motor functions and reboot."
"Do you want to talk to Gabby?" asked the robot. "She's not doing anything but taking up space. Timothy? Sure, he's right here."
Taking the Link back, Tim heard Megan's voice with a rare note of agitation beneath the disciplined surface. "I'm on my way, don't let either of them leave our headquarters building. This is an unfortunate development."
II.
As they waited for the Trom Girl, Timothy went over to a side cabinet and brought back a tray of soft chocolate chip cookies with colorful sprinkles. Both Gabbys accepted a few agreeably enough. He knew as a clinical fact that the Infiltrator could only eat a limited amount of food which would be drawn in by suction into a plastic sac for later disposal. But watching them chew and swallow, he could not see the slightest difference.
Not for the first time, he was deeply grateful that the John Grim projects had been smashed and there would be no more Infiltrators created. The idea of world leaders being quietly replaced by undetectable imposters was nightmare fuel.
"It started a few days ago," the real Gabby began. "We're on Christmas break. I said maybe I would like to go see the Bronx Zoo..."
"If they want you, they'll come get you," the robot broke in.
"There! See what is freaking me out? Why would she start saying things like that? All I mentioned was getting into the Bronx Zoo for a day...."
"The problem would be whether they would let you out," came the interruption.
Despite himself, Timothy snorted. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Gabs. That WAS funny."
"And I used to think I wanted a sister!" Gabby groaned, plucking at her cardigan sleeves.
Before the Infiltrator could wound Gabby to the core with another remark, a chime sounded in the hall. The front door could be heard closing with a bit too much emphasis and Megan Salenger rushed into the rec room.
Now in her mid-thirties, the Trom Girl had hardly aged visibly since she had joined the KDF as a teen. She was still slim and nimble at five feet four, still studying the world with dark inquisitive eyes under a tousled mop of black hair. She had not removed her bright blue parka on her way in. "Timothy. Gabby," she greeted her friends before focusing all her attention on the Infiltrator.
"I don't get it," Timothy put in. "How can you tell which one's which?"
"The chair legs are sinking deeper into the carpet," Megan replied, still staring at the cyborg. "Protocol 23. Authorization One. Respond."
"Orders received," The robot Gabby said, still in the distinctive chipper tones Timothy had known in Gabby's speech since childhood. "All systems nominal. Scan reveals no anomaly."
The Trom Girl did not take a seat herself, but stood with fists on hips and feet braced well apart. "Explain unplanned statements to Gabrielle."
"I don't understand the question."
Megan's normally impassive face had a definite frown. "Gabby, say something innocuous."
The real girl blinked. "Sorry, what? My mind wandered."
"Don't worry," said the robot. "It's too weak to go far."
"There! You see what I mean? What the HELL is a robot doing being sarcastic? Whoever heard of such a thing?" Gabby made an accusing gesture at her mechanical companion.
"Watch where you point that finger, it's got a nail in it," said the Infiltrator.
"Har! Sorry, sorry, I thought that was a good one," Timothy put in before catching himself. "You have to admit, she's quick."
Megan gave her teammate a withering glare but softened after a second. "This may not be a dangerous symptom, Tim. Gabby, try not to worry. I think I see the problem." Turning back to the Infiltrator, the Trom Girl said, "Name something that is impossible."
"A square circle."
Batting out the questions rapidly, Megan continued, "What weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of gravel?"
"They both weigh a pound."
"How much dirt is in a hole one meter wide, one meter long and one meter deep?"
"There is no dirt in a hole."
"If a rooster lays an egg on a ridge, which way will it roll?"
"Roosters do not lay eggs."
Seeing the stupefied expressions on her friends' faces, Megan explained, "Those were tests of her logic processing. I detected no hesitation before answering." Turning back to the robot, she asked, "Would you snap the fingers on both hands simultaneously?'
After the Infiltrator did so, Megan Salenger visibly relaxed. She swung around and dropped down next to Tim on the couch. "I admit I am relieved. Those diagnoastic tests showed nothing grossly malfunctioning. I should perform a full internal scan, of course, but that would take three to four hours."
The real Gabby had shifted her chair around so she could watch both her friends and her unliving counterpart. "Megan, can I ask you a question?"
"That already IS a question," offered the Infiltrator.
"You see! She's been doing this since yesterday. Isn't there an off switch for wise-ass remarks?"
Megan glanced back and forth between the two Gabbys. "I knew there was a remote chance something like this might develop. Gabby, this construct was designed for assassination.
I put in safeguards and blocks so that it will freeze up and shut down before physically harming a human being."
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Timothy interrupted. "I think I see what happened. The metal Gabby here still has a basic drive to kill but it can't overtly act on it. So it's blowing off steam through sarcasm and insults? Is that possible?"
"It's how normal humans release aggressive impulses," Megan agreed.
III.
Parking to the side of the lot, Timothy peered out the windshield at APETITOS Restaurant, a subdued dark stone building with hedges lining its front and a lovely pale blue radiance from recessed lighting on the roof. "I've never been here," he admitted. "But some solid lasagna would suit me just fine."
Next to him in the passenger seat, Gabby chuckled. "You're dealing with a bambina who's Italian on both sides, Tim. My mother would never ever be satisfied with any restaurant attempts but I'm more forgiving. I crave veal scallopini and lots of it."
"Hah, the problem will be whether we'll be able to walk to the car after eating too much." Tim adjusted the lapels on his suit jacket. "Migosh, I haven't worn this since the last time you spent a weekend with us. I had an epic struggle with the tie."
"You look fine, what's more important is what about me?"
Timothy smiled over at her. Gabby had styled her hair into a more manageable fall, she was wearing a new maroon pants suit with a white silk blouse and a single gold chain for jewelry. For once, she had taken time to apply subtle make-up, not much more than eyeliner, blush and lipstick slightly darker than her natural color. It worked perfectly, accenting her gamin appeal.
"You're gorgeous, Gabby. I know I don't say that often enough."
"Ah, but I see it in your eyes." She leaned over and gave him a demure kiss on the cheek. "Sometimes I wish I had some sort of super-power like you and your friends, so I could join your crazy KDF."
"You have me," came an identical voice from the back seat.
"Now YOU stay put," scolded Gabby. "I couldn't afford two of these outfits today, so you stay wrapped up in that coat and out of sight. Hopefully your presence will not be required for a nice restful dinner."
"You'd make a good stranger," the form in the back mumbled.
"You know where your face would look good? On a milk carton, going 'Have you seen me?' Come on, Tim."
Even this late in December, it was not that chilly and they left their winter coats in the car. Gabby linked her arm with his and sighed. "All we need is a full moon. Been doing any dating, Tim?"
"Nah, not really. My schedule is too erratic. By the second date, I always have to cancel because our team is chasing Skinwalkers or something, and there's no third date. How about you?"
"Nothing serious. I don't think I'm missing much, I see what my roommates go through. I don't want to be just another number on some dude's body count. Here we are. Is that our table?"
A waiter in a red jacket and dress pants welcomed them, saw them seated and made sure they had ice water and a basket of garlic bread. The dining room was warm and dry, filled with tempting aromas. And it was not even crowded, they enjoyed the rare luxury of having an empty table to either side of them.
"I'd weigh three hundred pounds if I came here too often," Timothy said. "Look at these offerings! Where do we even start?"
"We need to come here every Friday and work our way through the menu," Gabby offered.
"Hmm. Hah. I've never tried Caprese Chicken at all. Listen, 'Chicken and sun dried tomatoes with melty cheese, balsamic drizzle, and fresh basil served with a mile-high stack of golden crispy little potato smashers.' How can you go wrong with those ingredients?"
Gabby gave her characteristic short trilling laugh before replying. "Go for it, Tim. Live life, I say. Here's something I only had once, at my sweet sixteen party. Mushroom-Spinach Stuffed Shells. Man, three cheeses and fennel-seed tomato sauce. I was wiping the plate with a crust of bread to get the last taste. That's for me!"
They ordered when the waiter returned, adding a bottle of white wine although neither normally drank at all. Timothy didn't mention it, but he had been on the Tagra tea diet long enough that his enhanced healing meant alcohol would not affect him in the slightest.
"I've gotten so used to my little helper," Gabby admitted as they waited and sipped the wine. "It's not just that she does laundry and dishes and stuff, she's a big help with the assignments. I had a paper due on pre-Columbian earthworks and she talked me through it. And she's good company, or she was until she turned into a heckler."
Tim fiddled with a piece of garlic bread, keeping his voice uncritical. "Most people would end up letting a roommate like yours do all the work and never learn anything themselves, though."
"Oh, I'm careful with that, Tim. I know what I'm supposed to know from each class. And my pal only works every other day for me at my part-time job. Maybe I'm too honest for my own good." She sighed. "But this whole wise guy remarks thing worries me."
"Oh, I think you can put up with it. Gabs, when you start your career, you're going to have to deal with co-workers who are a lot worse."
"I know, I know. What worries me is that Megan will decide to take my pal away. Maybe she'll think there's danger of a malfunction. I couldn't handle that right now. I mean, I know she's just an AI and not a real person but... My best friend is a sarcastic robot and I don't want to lose her."
Tim raised both hands palm up. "I have to say, I'd trust Megan's judgement on this, hon. She doesn't want to hurt you, she wants you to be safe. We'll wait and see what she says. But I've been wondering something about your friend. Do you think the Infiltrator is only mimicking what people would do and say in any situation? Or do you think she's really conscious and aware?"
Gabby's face fell into seriousness, making her look a few years older. "I doubt if she knows herself, Tim. How can anyone tell? How can human beings know if they have free will or they only think they do?"
Their plates arrived, both Tim and Gabby rubbed their hands together and then gave each other a high five just as the three goons emerged from an unmarked door in the far wall.
IV.
To give them credit, the three men did not look brutal or menacing. Their suits were reasonably well tailored, they were well groomed and had intelligent faces. Only a trained eye would have noticed the small compact pistols they were slightly behind the right hip where a suit jacket would conceal the bulge.
"Sorry to interrupt you," began the tallest one, an older man with a hairline so receding it resembled a monk's tonsure. "But it's Baron Shogren. He will only keep you a few minutes, if you'll come with us."
"Have a heart, you guys," Timothy protested. "Look at this meal! It just arrived."
"We do apologize. This way, please."
With a heartfelt sigh, Tim glanced over at his companion. "This won't take long, you might as well dig in."
One of the gunmen stepped around to place a hand firmly on the back of Gabby's chair. "The young lady is requested, as well. Let's not keep the Baron waiting."
Slowly, keeping his hands visible, Timothy Limbo stood up. "Might as well go along with it, Gabs. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."
"That drat Midnight War is keeping me from the best meal I've had in weeks. All I get at the dorm are Hot Pockets and soggy PBJs." But she rose and went them. Everyone's voices had remained so civil and their manners subdued enough that other patrons at the restaurant barely noticed them walking toward the rear wall.
An unmarked wooden door slid open into a recess as they approached with apparently no one there. The three thugs within arm's reach, Tim and Gabby passed through the opening into a large room almost completely empty of furnishings. With his back to a window, seated at a plain metal desk that held three Ipads working, Baron Shogren half rose and nodded to them.
IV.
There were no other chairs, so everyone else remained standing. The office had been stripped of all furniture except the desk and chair. The wood-panelled walls were bare of framed pictures or shelves or even a clock. Mellow subdued light came from recessed tracks up by the ceiling. Behind where the Baron sat, a rectangular window five feet across was curtained so no light showed from the parking lot beyond.
"You need a few hanging plants," Gabby offered, getting a blank look from the three goons at her blithe attitude.
"Timothy Lambert, known in the Midnight War as Timothy Limbo." Despite the Baron's thorough East Asian appearance, he had a noticeable Scandanavian accent. The contradiction was oddly unsettling. Egil Shogren was a rather handsome young man about thirty, with a full head of glossy black hair and strong features. The epicanthic eyelid fold was particularly noticeable. He was wearing a spotless white lab smock over a light blue dress shirt with a black knitted silk tie. "I know all about you and your team."
"Baron Shogren, is it? You have to be the grandson of the original, or maybe the great-grandson, let me do the match. The Baron Shogren who was active in WW II was in his forties back then."
"Heh. Not so. I AM indeed the one and only Egil Shogren. I am one hundred and nineteen years old. Some of my borderline research experiments have produced more satisfactory results than others." He grinned, revealing impeccable tended teeth.
"Oh, that's right. You're a Mad Scientist like Cogitus or Karl Eldritch. I remember your file. You shouldn't be in the United States, though. The FBI has been hoping to nail you on a hundred federal offenses."
The Baron turned to his men. "Ole, please go back to your post by my van. Bjorn and Lindmer, I want you to wait out in the dining room. We may be discussing matters you will need to deny any knowledge of."
As the three men left the room without a word or even a menacing parting glance, Baron Shogren leaned back and jammed his hands into the deep pockets of his smock. "Mad Scientists, you say. I don't find the phrase insulting, but we prefer borderline researchers. Since Dr Sinclair, that is Cogitus, disappeared last year, I have managed to confiscate most of his notes and prototypes. That was how I learned about the projects that the John Grim Institute were still carrying on. And how I learned about you, child."
Gabby flinched at the final sentence. "Me? I'm no scientist. I can barely get my e-mails to work."
"Please. Give me some credit. There have been whispers for some time I use this restaurant as one of my mobile offices when I am in the metropolitan area. I calculated a seventy per cent chance that the Kenneth Dred Foundation would send a few of their agents to snoop around and I hoped it would be Lambert here.. because there was also a strong likelihood he would bring you as well."
"You're gonna have start making sense pretty soon, mister," Gabby said. "My stuffed shells are getting cold."
Baron Shogren pulled a bulky device from his pocket, resembling an old-fashioned Mauser but with a barrel ending in a three-pronged tuning fork. "Of course, Lambert would not bring his girl friend into a potentially hazardous situation. You are the Infiltrator 788, the only surviving prototype. Remain motionless. This little gadget fires a directional EMP that will freeze your circuits but leave you still suitable for study."
Still undismayed, Gabby folded her arms across her chest and began tapping one foot. "Joke's on you, Baron Whatever your name is, I'm not any sort of mechanical girl, I'm all flesh and blood the way Mother Nature wanted me to be. Except for a couple fillings."
Shogren did not smile. "Too bad for you, then. The electromagnetic pulse will fry your nervous system beyond repair."
"Looks like we could use some help," Timothy said, a little louder than before.
"Please, this room is of course sound-proofed..." That was all that Baron Shogren managed to say before the window behind him crashed inward. One slender olive-skinned hand clenched tight around his wrist and yanked it upward, the EMP gun falling from numb fingers. The other hand closed around his throat exactly as tight as a steel clamp might. Shogren wriggled without budging their hands a fraction of an inch.
"If a girl ever needed a friend!" yelped Gabby in glee.
"You need all the friends you can get," snapped the Infiltrator, leaning in through the window and still keeping the Baron from making any noise above a wheeze. "Please hold still, sir. I am not doing you any damage. That's better."
"That worked out great. Let me grab these tablets. We'll get Baron Shogren out to our car and call the FBI's Department 21 Black to take custody of him. I didn't expect him to be here tonight, Sable said he hasn't been seen in a while, but it worked out for the best."
"I guess."
"What, Gabby?"
The real girl gave the office door a wistful gaze. "I wish there was a way to go back and eat those shells. I was really looking forward to them."
Pulling the unresistant Shogren out through the smashed window, being exceedingly careful not to cut him in the process, the Infiltrator scoffed, "You need to cut down on carbs anyway."
3/22/2022
