The Palmer House Hilton Hotel sounded exotic and stuffy. Instead it is slightly posh and really pleasent off season. Ramon had been here four times on business, but never really found a reason to stay. Last time had been an ugly murder, jilted lovers. The hotel had decided to seal that room up afterward; no one wanted that kind of luck.
Chris ripped open a package of black t-shirts; removing stickers as he heaped them with the other clothes they picked up on the way. He might actually have a suitcase full after this. “So, what lovely plans do you have for me?”
“Quiet dinners that don’t come from processed slurry. I don’t know how the hell you eat in the free cafeteria.” Costa relaxed in a chair, the suite had two bedrooms and likely would’ve cost a fair orice if they weren’t getting it during an off week in the off season. “And I’ve some people lined up for you to talk with. But mostly it’s about getting you into the normal world.”
“It’s free. And I eat with a spoon, sitting at a table.” Chris joked, heaping the clothes into the provided bag for the laundry service. Moments later he joined the man, sitting down in the opposite chair. Then he pulled out his phone and began to fiddle.
“I don’t do normal.”
“God, you sound just like him.”
“Heh, yeah.”
“What’s your story Chris? I mean, really.”
“Bad. Now I’m a cop. What’s yours? Do you need to charge up?”
“Technically no. But I have to eat like a bodybuilder if I don’t. You should see me at a buffet. Short story is an IED during the winter war here in Chicago.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. It’s not all bad though, I’ve got a good long retirement to look forward too.”
“Does he get to retire?”
Costa paused to think about that. “I’m not sure. Most AI tend to want to do their jobs forever. Eventually metal fatigue means the chassis is gonna go out, then it’ll be retired. Might get a new one? Who knows at that point.”
“Sooo.. can I text him?”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t. He’s being punished after all. Some of that means keeping you two apart.” He held up his hands, one flesh and one metal; and separated the two.
Celn thought about that. Technically, this WAS all Hawker’s fault.
“Eeeeh. Fine. When’s my first appointment with a shrink?”
“Never, didn’t call any.”
Chris looked surprised and put his phone down. “Really? You aren’t pulling my leg?”
“Nope. Cross my cardiovascular pump and hope to die. No shrinks. You’ve spoken with them enough you’d probably pass the exams to qualify.”
“Heh-heeeeh.” Chris sighed. “Yeah. Lunch?”
“Let’s.”
————–
That afternoon, they’d visited a human & AI couples retreat. Chris spent two hours talking with one of the mediators (shrink); getting a better understand of what he might expect. Costa had ensured doctor-patient confidentiality; and because the conversation wasn’t directed at him, Chris had no problem outlining his desire for a 15 foot tall ‘construction’ robot. ‘Well Chris, may I call you Chris? Well Chris, this is perfectly natural. You should have no shame, AI are just as smart and emotional as people. That size difference though, can be dangerous to your physical health. A construction machine can hurt you badly. You should strongly consider a surrogate body for your partner. One more compatible with yours, we have many models available for rent here..” Chirs paid CLOSE attention to that sales pitch.
Costa had taken several walks and at one point needed to excused himself. He’d read the report on Celn. He ended up outside, picking up rocks at the end of a pond and breaking them into smaller rocks before turning those into fine powder granules.
“Figures.” Chris spoke, making the detective jump. He hadn’t been paying attention, the rookie managed to sneak up on him. “Someone would get a way to finance lust in this town. Apparently it’s legal as long as there’s a maximum of one human.”
“What..? ah. yeah. Can’t exactly get privacy here either.”
“Hmmm. Still, we talked about things. Said it was pretty common to uh, get romantic with a lined partner. She also said it tended to burn out fast. Who knows. Maybe we’ll just be professional after a few months?”
True to his word, Costa didn’t have any Shrinks go after Celn. He did have the kid quadruple examined, from his brainpan down to his peptides. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for the skin trauma.
The last person though, came from some of Roman’s more.. interesting cases. “Got a guest coming by. I’ll be over in my room with my ears off.”
Chris wasn’t sure what to expect, except that Costa had him wear the pilot suit…
Oh. OH. Well..! “Hi there.” Chris grinned big.
The man who walked in filled the doorway, closing it behind him. Not handsome, but a strong jaw and a build that had to come from the marines. Those big boots stomped the carpet flat, and he clomped right up to Celn and loomed.
“You a cop, boy?” deep authoritative voice with a slight southern drawl.
“Actually… yeah. I am.”
The big man cracked a grin and laughed, slapping a hand down hard on that rubber shoulder. “Damn! Thought I might have gotten lucky. Call me Hoss kid. Is that bourbon?”
“Yeah uh..” Hoss obviously was a stud-for-hire. “So um, what are you here? Not that I mind the way you brighten up the room..”
“Well, aren’t you a little flatterer. With a suit like that, you’ve got a man who makes you whimper. Right?”
“Uuuh.. yeeees?”
“You ever been with a real man before, kiddo?”
Clink blinked as the intimidating male returned, a glass full of neat bourbon.
“Aside from him, no.”
“Mmm. See, I’m here to educate you the boring way. Your friend..” he sloshed the cup toward Roman’s suite, the alcohol dripped onto his thumb. “..is a friend of mine. I kinda own him, so this is a nice way to pay off one of many favors.” Without pausing, he switched hands and used Chris’s mouth to wipe his digit clean. “Heh. Damn, cute and pliable. You’re a natural at this. Your guy ever decides you aren’t worth it? I’ll be happy to pick up your leash.”
Chris started at the muscled male, eyes open wide.
“I.. okay uh.. then maybe you should tell me what I should know. I’m.. going into this blind. He’s got experience but.. uh.. ”
“Nice bruise. Guessing there’s more?” Hoss inquired, his breath warm from the drink.
“Oh yeah!” came the happy response.
“Fffffffuck! Why are all the good ones taken?” A massive index finger pushed into Chris’s nose. “You are sittin’ on my lap.”
Throat quenched, boy on bulge, hand firmly exploring the exquisite rubber suit, Hoss laid down the knowledge that’d save this cop from getting ruined in bed.
Two hours later..
As far as favors went, he wasn’t sure if he could even call this evening payin’! The sweet little twink had a nice build under that rubber and Hoss just wanted to see those lips wrapped around his infamous boy-breaker. HRRRRF! He’s left his number, just in case. Ah well. He closed the door behind himself and pulled out his phone and fired up Grinder. He’d wreck someone in honor of that boy.
—————–
Coming back to 42 wasn’t so bad. Chris felt relaxed, refreshed. Bruise free. Costa had cooled down as well, and gotten to know Celn about as good as he could have hoped. THe rookie really was bright and kind and sweet. He also had a deep need to be controlled, abused and left limping. That was how the scabber felt loved.
So it didn’t surprise Roman an iota when Chris told Sergeant Kole: “Yes Sir. I want to get right back in the saddle. And yes, I do intend to continue our romance sir.”
Log #2109 for October 20th, 2056. REVISED: October 28th, 5056.
Celn arrived at lower motor pool on time. We began the fitness routine, which he excelled at given his physical parameters. A heated disagreement, left unresolved from an earlier neurospace session in the crash room, grew too heated to leave our training uninterrupted. After an exchange of words concerning the incident – which Colburn has thoroughly documented – Celn and I managed to move on to friendlier interactions. At 1309 hours he was dismissed for the rest of the day. At 1500 Celn was received by medical for further monitoring of the state of his implant, which was showing signs of tissue stress. I requested night wireless access to see if I could gain a clearer understanding of how Celn’s emotions and reason worked when he was not in my presence. My request was granted by Chief Engineer Sarah Colburn.
I observed his interactions with other pilots and officers throughout the evening, and when Celn forgot to remove the device for sleep, I was subjected to the imagery of his REM cycles, some of which were sexual in nature, and prominently featured myself. I grew… curious. At some point in the night, maybe around 0200, Celn removed the wireless link.
Notes: None.
—
Log #2115b for October 23rd, 2056. REVISED: October 28th, 5046.
Continued crash room evac training as originally specified. Original reports for testing remain valid: Celn far exceeded expectations. At 0415, my pilot was too exhausted to continue exercises, so as per Colburn’s recommendation, we headed for the wash. We exchanged friendly banter, some… flirting. Afterwards, during off-hours, the both of us together sought privacy for relations of a sexual nature.
Further information about the encounter are withheld from this report.
Notes: None.
—
Kole read through the revised reports with his eyes – all 16 of them – taking a few minutes longer than Costa with his uplink abilities. The pieces were beginning to come together; the timeline, making more sense.
“It… checks out, boss,” the cyborg said with a sigh, chewing on a pen cap again and fisting a cup of coffee. He was jonesing for his smoke break. “At least, they’ve got their story tighter than a hangman’s noose.”
Kole chuckled wearily, then sighed, then folded his arms and sat staring in the general direction of his collection of framed awards and certificates. “Then tell me why the hell I still don’t trust that damn machine, Roman.”
The detective drew his lips into a tight, skewed line. When his skin was stressed to this extent, it had a habit of wrinkling a little where organic met synthetic. His prostheses were some 15 years old, before they perfected the BioDerm technology that allowed the near-perfect replacement of Chris’ fingers. “You know, maybe the damn Vanguard was right. Maybe all that stands between… whatever they got going on and condemning your DF2 for rape and aggravated assault is trust.”
The sergeant grumbled, tightening the fold of his arms. If one Costa didn’t know better, then it might’ve looked like the man was pouting. “As a cop, as a husband, as a damn human being I can’t accept that answer. I need proof. I need to know for certain that I’m not just throwing that kid to the wovles again by letting him near that AI.”
“You’ve got that place covered in cameras now, Kole. All you can do now is watch, listen, and wait for him to come to you if he needs to.” Costa took the whole pen cap into his mouth and sucked on it like thermoplastic candy, worrying at it with his metal molars. Kole huffed and sat silent as he brooded and thought. “One of the hardest parts of my job has always been walking away from an abuse case where I don’t have enough evidence. Walking away from a victim that you aren’t even sure is a victim if it weren’t for your gut screamin’ at you.”
Kole just scowled at the wall.
“But the worst thing you can do to someone in Chris’ situation is decide what their feelings are for them.”
“So that’s that, then?”
Costa rose from his chair, the metal creaking. “That’s that, Sarge. Unless Chris decides otherwise. Now when he comes through that door to talk to you in the next half hour, you remember what I said.”
Kole just nodded and scratched his nose.
—
“Everything seems to be normal,” said Dr. Bea Morris, professor of Machine Psychology and director of MI Studies at Illinois Tech, as she looked over the series of large screens in Colburn’s workshop. They’d spent all day going through a static download of Hawker’s DF2 intelligence network to see if they, in Colburn’s words, “couldn’t find any glaring miswrites”.
“There’s some remnants of old stuff here for sure,” the 60-year old cyborg woman said, her synthetic fingers lightly dancing across the readouts to zoom in here, or scroll around there, or plot these data with different parameters. One one screen was a visual representation of most of Hawker’s neural patterns (plotting them all would have been almost impossible without more heavy-duty computing power). It looked like a spider web of fractals; a dizzying mass of filaments rendered in a dozen different colors, each of their vertices an image or emotion or idea. Colburn could look at that and get a general idea about what parts of the mech’s “brain” were being utilized the most, where most of his information was being stored and how. To her, it was like looking at an MRI. But to Dr. Morris, it was like reading a book. “Very old stuff, in fact,” she continued, pondering this. “Which shouldn’t be surprising, seeing as how it’s a military hand-me-down. It looks like the connections being made to those older points of information, broken as they are, have gotten more robust over the past few weeks.”
This is exactly what Colburn wasn’t wanting to hear. She suppressed a groan of frustration, though, because Morris wasn’t done yet.
“But look, here.” She gestured with a graceful sweep of a silicone finger. “This cluster over here. The size of this region should be indicative of the depth of your AI’s emotional intelligence.” She toggled a slider on another screen to change between two different dates. She gasped, smiling. “Look, look! It’s grown in the same period of time! I’ve never seen this rate of development before. Something about these wiped data is triggering a tremendous emotional response from this AI. It’s adapting very quickly to whatever stimuli this all has provided.”
“Really?” Colburn’s jaw dropped.
Morris could hardly contain her excitement, as a matter of fact. “Really! You know, Sarah, I’d love to sit down with that mech some time and do a proper case study. There might be something really interesting going on, here.”
Colburn stuffed her hands in her lab coat pockets, looking over the screens again. “You don’t say,” she muttered. Again, the images of Chris covered in blue and purple invaded her thoughts and she had to fight a shudder.
“Anyways, without spending a month here, I don’t see anything wrong, exactly. What was the problem you were having, again?”
The Chief let out a very long sigh. “A, uh… nothing, I guess.”
—
Later, Colburn collapsed into a lumpy sofa in one of the break rooms to check her messages and nurse a Mars bar. There was a message from Costa to Kole, and Colburn was CC’d. The subject read: ‘BDSM resources’.
The robotic side of the detective turned to meet his Sergeant. “Yeah, plenty.” THe poor pen wasn’t long for the world as it bounced and bobbled.
“How many end up on a slab? From going too far, or something else I can’t even think of right now?”
“Almost none. Less then 1%. These are people who get to live out their most lurid fantasies. Most of them are damn normal in their daily lives.” Costa turned back and approached the door, knowing the question would come.
“What about that one percent? We both know Chris’s luck will have him land square on it.”
“The one in control not realising what they are doing to the submissive. We both know how far the HLX can go to keep a pilot alive. You really think Hawker’s going to let Celn die?”
Kole couldn’t see it, but he could hear that smirk. One thing is for certain; the Deep Field 2 wasn’t going to lose another pilot. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
—
The Chief let out a very long sigh. “A, uh… nothing, I guess.”
“Sarah, you wouldn’t have asked me here if there wasn’t a problem.” Morris let a grin lift up the skin that remained on her face. “I’ve heard rumors. And it’s not difficult to surmise what’s causing new mental growth.” Her artificial eyes literally twinkled. “You have a new pilot.”
“Prospective pilot, Bea.” The Chief Engineer admitted. “They’ve been at it for about two weeks.”
“This?” her touchpad digits worked a touchpad screen “This is 14 days? I want to meet the pilot as well. The AI is developing in response to their joint brainpower.” Her body is mostly cybernetic, one of the humans who willingly undergo organ and limb replacement as time takes it’s toll. D.r Morris might live to see 160.
Chris laying on the massive desk, the HLX casually breaking the rookie’s arm.
Colburn shrugged her shoulders. “Again, prospective pilot. Young, not from a military background. If he can get up to physical and training standards, we might have the Deep Field 2 back in action six months from now.”
“Interesting. If I may offer my hypothesis on based on this evidence?”
“Go ahead.”
“The DF2 has completely invested all of it’s developmental growth in the organic mind it’s chosen. What we can see here is a whole new set of structures for interfacing with a mind. THe other halves of your pilot’s gears. It’s just..” crossing her arms, index fingers tapping. “..new growth like this is unusual. Non-military pilot. Hmmm.”
“This all can’t be because our pilot is a civilian. That’s inefficient growth.” Countered Colburn.
“You’re right of course. The DF2 loves efficency. I need to observe more to give you an answer. Could I at least have a day?” Bae had the look of a first-year grad student with an idea.
Sarah groaned. She wanted to have Morris’s opinion but they had a reporter to deal with as well. And the good doctor of science had plenty of places to be. “Fine. You can have a day. Think you can help me do an attitude adjustment on one of my autodocs?”
—
Chris is wearing the pilot suit. Kole didn’t even need to hear what’d been said, the pilot is wearing chis choice. Right now a reporter was discussing the situation with the PR director.
“Officer Celn, do you understand my concerns?”
“I probably don’t sir.” Chris cautiously answered.
At least the kid wasn’t a complete fool. “I’m concerned your dick is going to get you killed.” Kole bluntly stated.
“I.. uh. Wow.” Chris paused. “I do want to live a good long time Sir. We’ll set down ground rules and abide by them.”
“Will he?”
“He wants me more then he’s willing to admit.”
Costa chuckled. “He admitted it at the top of his lungs kid.”
Chris nodded up and down. “Yes sir. More then he’s admitted.”
Kole laced his fingers together. He had glanced over the primar. “He wants you? You’re an Officer in My precinct.”
He began to hold up fingers, laying down HIS rules. “You are always to be fit for your duties as a pilot, we could need the HLX at any moment. And the press WILL see you, there’s one here today already. That means Nothing Visibly Suspicious. A hug or handshake is fantastic on clickbait. Anything isn’t.”
The senior man stared hard into the kid’s face. “THere will be more rules, but these you BOTH will exist by. If you choose not to; you’ll be out with a discharge before yours finishes. If he chooses not to, then I’ll put him in a box and use it as target practice.”
Chris stood upright, arms at his sides. “Yes Sir! I won’t let you down.”
As he signed the paperwork taking Chris off leave, Kole already had a new stipulation. “And stop scaring Colburn. You two will make efforts to be -nice- around her.”
Brendan Thule wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, and he ran his mouth a little too much at times, but Hawker was grateful that not everybody had decided to treat him like a pariah since the ‘Intervention’, as rumors were calling it. The past week had seen him develop a filter though at least, and Hawker was surprised that anybody would even think of telling him that his ‘victim’ was back from leave.
“Thanks, specialist. Kole told me already, though.”
“Did Kole tell you that that dude from the Tribune was up on the pilots’ floor and breathing down their necks for four hours yesterday?”
Hawker just cocked his head at his personal tech in lieu of a brow plate.
Thule snorted. “Yeah. Kept asking if any of them have piloted you, can pilot you, and if he’d get to see somebody pilot you.”
The mech knew he wanted to kill this man already. “And?”
“The answer was no, no, and probably not.” A little jolt of current in the wire, and his fingers spasmed accordingly. All done. Thule disconnected his diagnostic pad from a small port in Hawker’s back, and put the whole ensemble away on a service cart amid cans of WD40, a set of jeweler’s tools, and half-used rolls of electrical tape in a rainbow of colors. “Bad news though, boss. He somehow managed to get wind that Chris wanted to see you after coming back, so he plans on documenting the occasion.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” He shook his head and groaned. The speakers on this body were better. The subwoofers almost captured the depth of his timbre. “I’m not allowed to say a goddamn word to him.”
Thule shrugged. “Kole wasn’t about to tell the guy no. We need the good press right now.”
“I need the good press right now,” he groaned.
“Cheer up, boss.” A slap to his shoulder and the mech stiffened with distaste. A reminder that this is why he wasn’t ever keen on being human-sized. “Stay in this body, and you couldn’t scare a mouse if it were strapped to a cat’s back.”
He just made that up, didn’t he?
—
The reporter was annoying.
“So, uh, when do I get to see Big Nine? You know, Chicago’s ‘Long, Metal Arm of the Law’?” He was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, which was his first mistake. He also wore khakis and a mint green polo shirt under his jacket, which was his second.
“I am Big Nine,” Hawker said, folding the arms of his small black-and-white body. Kole hadn’t given him clearance to resume his old self again, which was frustrating at best.
James McConnell twisted up his face in disappointment. “This some kind of joke? Where’s the HLX-9?”
“The #9081 body is… in for repairs. I’m the AI that lives there, though.”
He secretly hoped that Chris would decide to go get lunch or something instead of come down here right now. Maybe Mr. McConnell would get bored and go snooping around somewhere else.
“You are?” He perked up again. “Great, could I ask you a few questions in the meantime, then?”
“You can, but I won’t answer them.”
“I… what? You sure?”
The smaller mech stepped up to Mr. McConnell, invading his personal space. Arms crossed. He could at least still play the Big Guy. “Do I look like the indecisive sort to you?”
“N…no, sir.” He fumbled for his phone and quickly jotted down a few notes. HLX-9: Big man on campus. Rude af.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I haven’t seen my pilot in a week and I’d like it if you weren’t in my goddamn face when he arrives.”
Chris finished writing a text file on his computer. The text file is titled ‘The_Rules.txt’ he shared it with Hawker, before slapping a password on the damn thing.
—
The_Rules.txt
0) New rules may be added at any time.
1) Pilot is always to be fit for duty, 24/7.
2) Pilot is visibly uninjured or minimally visibly injured at all times.
3) Pilot is to act normally in public spaces. Handshakes and hugs are appropriate. All other PDAs are not.
4) Pilot and AI are to engage in behavior that eases concern of upper staff.
4a) Especially Chief Engineer.
– Failure to adhere to rules is immediate dismissal and/or erasure.
—
Chris hoped Hawker would understand.
Last week had been a blast. Who knew Costa was actually fun? It’d opened up a new world to him, but he also felt the weight on his shoulders. All of this interaction with 42’s elite is because of him and Hawker. He needed to measure up AND not fuck up. Goody. He needed lunch. He needed Hawker. He wanted to feet that three foot dick on his fresh rubber.
THe pilot suit sat perfectly on his frame now. They needed to work up a proper training schedule. With regular hours so he could get something approach a -routine-.
Walking out of his room, he saw Becker giving him the stinkeye.
“What?”
“You know what! Hawker’s been bugging me about being a backup. It’s a joke. He just wants to dick me around in neurospace.”
<How perceptive of you Becker.> “Look, you need to either step up or shut up. I’ve been here eight days and I’m tired of hearing about how you’re ready for the big league.”
“Oh! The greenhorn DOES have a backbone! Maybe you’d like a little sim time with me as well.” sneered the veteran pilot.
“Why? We both know I’m better then you.” Chris snarked.
Becker stood upright, trying to impress the rookie. “Celn, do you know a reporter is walking around; asking about Big Nine?”
Chris leaned against a wall, wondering why he was winding up a senior pilot and a higher ranking officer. He shook his head no as he crossed his arms.
“Spend about an hour up here, escorted. Now he’s probably talking to the HLX. WHo’s currently stuffed into a standard civilian frame.”
Chris shrugged. “Allright.”
“Gave us all his number, in case we had some ‘information’ or hot tips.” Even made the air-quotes with his fingers.
“Okay.”
Becker paused, Chris looked bored. “Watch yourself greenhorn. You fuck up and suddenly everyone will know that you’re not worth your blues.” Then he stalked off, taking the elevator off to a different part of the precinct.
Chris wanted his Hawker. And he had to wait a long time for the elevator to return.
—————
“Just a few more questions, Captian.” McConnell started firing them off fast and furious
“Who is your new pilot? What is your pilot’s background? How long has your pilot trained? Does he like the Cub’s chances for the pennant this year? How long until you’re on regular patrols? Do you think that it’s a poor idea to integrate so much military into the police force. What’s it like being human sized? Are you aware that there’s a betting pool if you make it with your current pilot? Are you dressing up for Halloween? Are the rumours true that you have a second pilot picked out when your first choice fails?”
Cory didn’t know where he was going, but when he ended up at 42’s private Starbucks, he didn’t complain. “Uh, venti PSL,” he mumbled at the single barista. Starbucks had maintained a “Human-Made” policy when it came to their coffees. Cashiers were long gone, but in the interest of avoiding being turned into a glorified vending machine, they made it so that customers could still have the satisfaction of a truly “hand-crafted coffee experience”. Becker didn’t care either way, but was grateful when the barista turned out to be cute, like this one. Under other circumstances he would have leaned suggestively at the counter, pretending to be really interested in what she was doing and showing off his guns. But this shit with Chris was bugging the hell out of him.
And he wasn’t quite sure why, even.
Was it jealousy? Yeah, probably. Cory Becker had worked his ass off at the academy, did everything he could to raise his classification. Ate right, choked down a lot of gingko caps and a lot of vials of ginseng, and got a square 8 hours a night as often as he could manage it. He did puzzles, too – sudoku, crossword, anything else he could get his hands on – while everyone else was partying and gaming. In the end, he’d gone from a B-class candidate to a firm A by the time he got his implant, opening up a lot more doors and upping his prospective earnings by at least 8 G’s a year. Of course, you only made so much piloting an MRAV. The big bucks lay in doing work with mechs like Hawker.
And Chris? That short, skinny scab who could barely do a few pull-ups just waltzed in here, kissed Big Nine’s ass, and just like that, he was suddenly Lee’s replacement. So was it jealousy? Yeah, definitely.
At least Lee had earned his place as the Midwest’s favorite pilot.
But it was concern, too. Everyone saw the big guy change after the funeral. Nobody called it mourning, but that’s exactly what it was. He grew colder and harder, withdrawing from his friendlier interactions with the rest of the precinct to… what? Who knows what that AI did during those long hours alone. He spent a lot of time in the sim room, though. Inquiring minds eventually discovered that he’d been using a half-dozen different simulations from the Siberian War. That’s where he’d come from before being decommissioned and sent to Chicago, but it was almost like the mech was looking for something there, in that reconstructed past.
And now his treatment of that damn flimsy specialist-class scab. Did he deserve to be piloting an HLX-9? If Cory Becker was honest with himself, he didn’t think so. But he damn well didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of the mech’s proverbial mid-life crisis, either.
“Here you go, sir.”
The drink was perfect. Warm, sugary, tasted like Christmas was on the horizon. Almost made him feel a bit better, even.
But he knew that this situation was only going to get weirder if it wasn’t going to get worse. And at the end of the day, all Becker wanted was for things to be back to the way they were. 42 was a little less complicated a year ago, but you can’t turn back the clock or raise the dead. No, you lace up your boots and march forward, right? Or is that something Lee would have said?
At this point, though, Becker was thinking that he might look forward to an opportunity to link up with Hawker. Maybe see if he couldn’t prove a thing or two.
—
“Just a few more questions, Captian.”
“I told you -”
“Who is your new pilot? What is your pilot’s background? How long has your pilot trained? Does he like the Cub’s chances for the pennant this year? How long until you’re on regular patrols? Do you think that it’s a poor idea to integrate so much military into the police force. What’s it like being human sized? Are you aware that there’s a betting pool if you make it with your current pilot? Are you dressing up for Halloween? Are the rumours true that you have a second pilot picked out when your first choice fails?”
Hawker glanced around, thumb on that mouthless chin. Nobody of real consequence was here, and it’s not like these questions were about him. Or even particularly sensitive. Maybe if he answered them the man would move on to a new victim.
He fired off his answers as quickly as he’d been asked: “Chris Celn. I’m not at liberty to say. Three weeks. Patrol dates TBD. No comment. I’ve experienced worse. I am. I am not. And that backup pilot in question needs to prove himself first before I do any picking.” Then, with a snort: “As for baseball, you know, I think he might be a Yankees fan.” Mr. McConnell balked, jotting down the appalling news, and Hawker laughed in his foreprocessors.
Chris got dumped out on floor one, just a single story above where the precinct open to the ground. Costa had told him about the reporter. ‘Best get used to it kid. Lee had to do public speaking as well.’
He was about to ask where Hawker was, when he heard the low rumbling of a familiar voice. Following the sounds, he found a hallway that had a number of rooms with dark open doors; and one with the light on.
McConnell hurriedly jotted down the notes of the interview. He held up the phone and snapped a discreet photograph of the mech. ‘Captain Hawker, the intelligence of Big Nine when he’s not a colossus.’
“Now when can I speak with your new pilot?”
Chris is just three steps from walking in when he -heard- that comment about the damnable Yankees. Oh. Oh somebot is going to get it!
“If you want to talk sports, I think Captain Hawker prefers the Maple Leafs.” came the sly retort. Chris strolled into the room with a smile on his face. He wore that piloting suit, it did a fantastic job of showing off his athletic figure while ensuring his package simply is expressed as a pleasant bulge. He offered a hand to the reporter, who shoot it excitedly.
“Nice to met you Officer Celn. COuld I get a photo of you next to the Captain?”
Chris purposely parked his perky rubber cheeks on the robot’s thighs, and positioned his hand so it wouldn’t advertise what sat tightly packed between his legs.
“Excellent. You’re on the smaller side for an Officer, Mr. Celn.”
“Pilots have to be. Between 5-5 and 5-10 is the usual range to fit.”
“How long have you been with this Precinct?”
“Just transferred actually.”
“Oh excellent, where were you before?”
“Specialised Augmented Piloting School. I’m recently implanted.”
“Before that?” McConnell raised an eyebrow as he took notes.
“The Police Academy.”
“That’s quite the jump! How do you feel about piloting the Big Nine?”
“It’s a tremendous opportunity, one I am thankful for.”
“Does he outrank you?”
“Yes. Police Dogs outrank their handlers as well.”
“Interesting outfit you’re wearing, can you tell me about it?”
“Piloting suit, freshly cast. I need to wear it for a good two weeks before it retains my shape.”
“All day? And, are you aware that there’s a healthy betting pool on your ability to integrate with Big Nine?”
“No, thankfully. And I’d like to let anyone who didn’t be on us becoming a unit, that they bet wrong.”
James chuckled, Chris might be a fantastic source of information. He’d have to get him alone at some point, the robot behind him still had it’s hand on the young pilot’s shoulder. “One last question: How do you think you’ll avoid befalling the same fate as Officer Lee Davidson?”
Despite Hawker’s reaction, Chris frowned. “Mr. Davidson was a fantastic pilot and one of Chicago’s finest. No comment. Excuse us, we’re needed elsewhere.”
Motioning for the shrunken Captain to follow Celn stalked out. The two of them got into the elevator, and Chris it the button for the motor pool. “Colburn needs us in one of the labs. Something about a Doctor Morris. And it’s damn good to see you again.”
“If you want to talk sports, I think Captain Hawker prefers the Maple Leafs.”
If this body could stare daggers, he would’ve made it. However, it would have just been a cover up. Hawker was… happy to hear that familiar charming voice of his pilot again. And he was still in that damnable suit! He’s never looked better, the mech decided smugly, feeling a sense of pride in who the kid was shaping up to be. That fine piece of capable ass was his.
Or… well, was he? He’d gone over Kole’s Rules probably twenty times since Chris shared it with him. This was going to be aggravating at best. Fucking cockblocked is more like it. Still, it was… giving the two of them much more than they were owed. Officers were rarely permitted to serve alongside partners and spouses, and it was usually strongly encouraged that one of them consider a career in pencil pushing instead.
“Bruins,” Hawker corrected, wagging his finger and trying to sound stern as Chris took his place at his side. Chris, he wanted to touch him…
“Nice to met you Officer Celn. Could I get a photo of you next to the Captain?”
The swell of Chris’ snugly encased derriere pressed enticingly up against the mech’s hard thigh and this time he was able to feel it. Pleasure centers tingled with want, but without anywhere to direct it, his CPUs just dumped the files as he looked on in wordless irritation. He was glad this body didn’t have a face either. No smiles to fake.
Chris stayed parked there while Mr. McConnell finally unleashed his salvo of questions. Hawker’s hand found its way to the kid’s shoulder and he held on with not a little possessive body language. You corner him and I will end you.
And it almost came to that.
“One last question: How do you think you’ll avoid befalling the same fate as Lee Davidson?”
The mech’s internals suddenly kicked into a higher gear, his ambient hum growing louder as he leaned forward in a subtle threat display. But Chris didn’t take the bait.
“Mr. Davidson was a fantastic pilot and one of Chicago’s finest. No comment. Excuse us, we’re needed elsewhere.”
Hawker’s hand was still on the kid’s shoulder as they exited the conference room. “I’m sure you can show yourself out,” he said curtly.
Then, like that, the two of them were in the elevator together. Alone for the first time in 8 days? 9?
“Colburn needs us in one of the labs. Something about a Doctor Morris. And it’s damn good to see you again.”
The doors closed, and the mech hit the bright red button labelled ‘STOP’. As the car ground to a halt, Hawker was on him.
Hips pinning hips, one hand on the small of the human’s back, the other cradling his neck, thumb roughly following the swell of his lip. This body was just as tall as the previous one, but a little more built – heavier. He bent his head and touched their foreheads, as his touch grew a little harsher. A little bulge firmed up against the metal of Hawker’s sexless codpiece, and his air cycling let out a sharp gust.
“It sure is, isn’t it?” he said, voice deep and husky.
Chris shuddered from his neck to navel, legs spreading so Hawker could be between them. His hands moved with their own will, touching along the chest, over the curves of the powerful torso. THe found their way to the broad back of the automaton and Chris pulled himself tight.
“Gods I missed you!” Those red lips part for the inquisitive thumb. His teeth gently bite, tongue slips over the rubber haptic pad.
“Wish you had a body like this you could use. Just be with me when I’m not in your Vanguard Chassis.” He quivered again, moving nose enough to kiss that metallic neck, his teeth clacking and tongue slipping along wires,tubes and aluminum.
“The rules are what they are. Think it’s pretty fair, considering how they feel about us.” His voice went quiet. “As long as I get to be with you, Captain.”
He brought up one hand to hold the back of the mech’s neck, the other resting on an alloy hip as he pressed up close and tight. He could feel the intelligence, the power of his Boss in that little body.
If the mech had a dick, he’d be on his knees right now. Or on the wall, legs around the waist of the robot.
“Can’t stay in here forever… mmmpf. Someone might have to walk for a doughnut.”
Suddenly the possibilities opened up by having a smaller frame made Hawker reconsider the merits of not being 15 feet tall. He was still comparatively large, comparatively heavy, comparatively strong.
Chris’ mouth felt like dim heaven as he worried at the thick digit. The layer of transparent silicone over the handsome joints glistened with warm saliva. Hawker fought the urge to grope his tonsils.
“Gods I missed you!”
“You too, kiddo.”
“Wish you had a body like this you could use. Just be with me when I’m not in your Vanguard Chassis.”
“So long as I can still give every human in this place a run for their money, it’s not off the table,” he chuckled against the kid’s smooth neck. “I have needs, too, you know. And one of those is the need to be a killing machine at every size.”
“As long as I get to be with you, Captain.”
He nodded faintly, drawing his head back to look Chris in his handsome little face. “We’ll do what we need to do. Because like hell am I losing another pilot.” If he was using the p-word here as some kind of code, then not even he really knew it. But it was the best word he could come up with to sum up what the kid meant to him. Pilots, suffice to say, meant a lot to their sapient machines.
“Can’t stay in here forever… mmmpf. Someone might have to walk for a doughnut.”
“I know.” A machine sigh, then a quick stroke against that swell in the rubber between the young man’s thighs, and Hawker stepped away. “Though I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to get my – er, these – hands on you.” Then, with a lilt on his voice: “Hopefully that’ll tide you over until I can have you proper-like.”
He hit the button again, and the elevator car resumed its upward trajectory.
“Now what’s this about Dr. Morris, again? Haven’t seen her in years…”