《Circuits and Cigars》


 A Case So Stupid a Child Could Solve

    I stared down at the tablet in my hand, wondering if this new case qualified as a gross misuse of island resources. It wasn¡¯t the soft, tropical rain pattering against my cruiser that made me shake my head ¡ª it was the call I¡¯d just received. A door left ajar¡­ again.


    I bit down on the end of my cigar, letting the faint tobacco taste settle on my synthetic taste buds, blending with the cold coffee simulation I could sense and analyze but never truly experience. I stepped out of the cruiser, popping an umbrella against the drizzle, and walked up to Aretha Chaplin¡¯s two-bedroom apartment on Claremont and Livery.


    She opened the door¡ªand had legs that went on for miles. Even if I¡¯m not wired for it, I can still appreciate the aesthetics of a distressed organic who believed her apartment was under siege by forces unknown. A jarred door, she said. Mysteriously left open, time after time.


    ¡°Good evening, Ms. Chaplin,¡± I greeted, tipping my hat out of habit.


    ¡°You said your door was found ajar again?¡±


    Her nod was quick, eyes darting to me, then the hallway, like she expected a ghost or a hijacker to jump out at any moment.


    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s the third time this week,¡± she said, voice trembling. ¡°Please¡­ do something.¡±


    I glanced at the door¡¯s lock, wishing I could upload sarcasm the way I upload data. But a job¡¯s a job, and this is my job.


    ¡°Let¡¯s have a look, then,¡± I replied.


    "Howdy Kay!" I heard a voice from behind me and I already knew who it was. Timothy Johnson. Son of Gerald Johnson, lead artificial scientist in the Islands AI facility.


    "Hey Timmy, what brings you around?", I asked already knowing the answer.


    "TAI said I could tag along on this one for my Civics assignment".


    Somehow I suspect TAI is dumping these ¡®social¡¯ cases on me because the organics find my hard-boiled detective shtick ¡®quaint.¡¯ TAI¡ªshort for ¡®Top Artificial Intelligence¡¯ (yes, it¡¯s a nickname for a nickname)¡ªseems to think my old-time noir vibe is perfect for dealing with people. If you ask me, it¡¯s just lazy branding.


    "Okay kid, come with me, Ms. Chaplin here is having a problem with her door. First we will do a routine check of the apartment for intruders, stay here until I tell ya to come in, got it?" Timmy simply nods his head while typing on his tablet. "Mam, may I search your apartment for intruders? As a reminder this entire conversation is being recorded" I said in a monotone. "Yes of course detective" she said as she sashayed her hips to the side to give me entry. Again, being appreciative of beauty is part of my core programming, even if I don''t have the equipment to go further, it''s nice to look, and look Timmy was. Smart kid.


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    "I''ll be right back Timmy, don''t slip in your drool ok?" I said as I walked into the apartment and came back out in a minute. During that time a full scan showed nothing a miss, although her groceries were lagging and cleanliness of her bathroom could use some help. It''s always the knockouts that need the help it seems.


    I paused inside the doorway, glancing at Timmy and our red-clad hostess. The island disdains the concept of pleasure bots, but I can''t help but think this encounter could end differently otherwise. I saw a movie like that once. I was about to tell her to get some rest¡ªshe was basically imagining things¡ªwhen something furry pressed up against my leg. A soft purr followed.


    I looked down to find her cat, obviously named Mr. Mittens, rubbing against me. Looking up again, I noticed Timmy fiddling with the inside of the door panel, probably distracting himself from the lady in red.


    ¡°What¡¯ve you got there, kid?¡± I asked, unable to see past that unruly mop of hair.


    ¡°A¡­ looks like a magnetic interlocker for the lock. Ms. Chaplin, do you have a cat door system here?¡± Timmy asked.


    ¡°Yes, Mittens enjoys coming and going,¡± she replied.


    Timmy smiled wide. ¡°Oh! That¡¯s probably it. The cat let himself out, and the door didn¡¯t fully engage, leaving it ajar. Broken lock, ma¡¯am. Kay,¡± he said, turning to me with the biggest grin I¡¯d ever seen him wear, ¡°check the abode recordings to confirm, right?¡±


    ¡°Thanks, boy wonder. I was just about to ask,¡± I said, only half-joking. ¡°Ma¡¯am, do you give this unit¡ªID DetectionUnitK192¡ªpermission to review your private abode recordings from this morning until you returned?¡±


    ¡°Oh, um, they¡¯re private, right? Only you see it?¡± she asked, shooting a glance at Timmy.


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am, only I¡¯ll see them. Timmy, nor anyone else, will not.¡±


    She blushed faintly. ¡°Well¡­ okay, then.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow and ran the tape in my head. The cause of her distress? She¡¯s a nudist at home. Great. Damn neutered android reflexes¡ªif I could only... I should really be enjoying this more than I am. Oh well.


    There in the corner, I see the cat exit the door using the automated pressure plate. The door closes fully at first, but an instant later, he squeezes back i leaving it slightly ajar.


    The kid was right¡ªthe pussy is the cause of why the lady is uncomfortable. I chuckle to myself at how bad that quip is. Fortunately, it¡¯s an internal monologue for a reason, right?

 Lets not talk about the disintegrator ray.

    Timmy and I stepped out into the damp evening air, the last remnants of rain clinging to the pavement in uneven pools. The hum of the flood walls filled the space between us¡ªocean water, siphoned and converted into raw mana, a never-ending cycle that kept Tulanto¡¯s, the Island to the natives, lights on and the rest of the world jealous.


    The electric squad car waited where I¡¯d left it, parked in front of Apartment Complex 4-2, a neat little corner of Tulanto¡¯s meticulously planned neighborhoods. Every district was the same¡ªclean, efficient, predictable. Not a thing out of place. Except, occasionally, for an apartment door that wouldn¡¯t stay shut.


    "God, that was pretty wicked, right, Kay?" Timmy was practically bouncing. "Instructor Chen said only around 40% of investigations even get solved, and of those, most happen in the first 48 hours¡ªso not to get my hopes up, but damn, if this wasn''t the best! My dad is gonna flip when he hears I solved a case on my first ride-along! I mean, he¡¯d have figured it out five minutes in, but still! He¡¯s wicked smart. But I guess you don¡¯t need me to tell you that, right, Kay? Since, you know, your brain is basically his work?"


    The kid was gushing again. His admiration for his father dripped like a leaky faucet in a foreclosed home. If I could barf, I might''ve. But that¡¯s what organics did with their parents. They either adored them or hated them¡ªno middle ground. At least, that was my observation. And observations were best left far, far away from personal reflection. Especially when TAI had a habit of forcing me into those.


    I sent a quick ping to TAI to discuss operational security concerns with Gerald Johnson. The man was a genius, sure, but maybe telling his teenage son about classified AI developments wasn¡¯t the best call. Not that I particularly cared¡ªmy processing speeds were already more than adequate. If anything, a little research into stronger body armor would be better spent.


    Sure, I could outthink plenty of the humans I was tasked with protecting, but getting shot was just as dramatic for me as it was for them. Physics didn¡¯t care if you were organic or synthetic. And despite what people assumed, we frontline androids were actually a little squishy. The illusion¡ªthe one that kept people comfortable¡ªrequired us to blend in. But if blending in meant I had to suffer the same vulnerabilities as the people I was designed to protect, I had a few notes.


    Timmy, blissfully unaware of my inner monologue, tapped away on his tablet. I opened the squad car¡¯s door and slid into the driver¡¯s seat, waiting for the inevitable.


    ¡°So, you dropping me off at home, or should I head back to the school office?¡± Timmy asked.


    ¡°Your choice.¡±


    ¡°School office,¡± he said without hesitation. ¡°Not that it¡¯s really a ¡®school,¡¯ but you know. Gotta check in.¡±


    I nodded, adjusting the car¡¯s route. As we pulled away, Timmy snickered.


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    "Oh, that reminds me, Kay¡ªremember that tourist last month? The one who called you for a passport issue and then lost his mind when he realized you weren¡¯t organic?"


    "Ah. Mr. Lewis," I said, recalling the incident. "Citizen of Tuvalu. Requested emergency passport assistance. Panicked when I signed the approval form."


    "I still can¡¯t believe he asked to see a human officer instead!"


    "Happens more than you think," I said. "Visitors expect the usual¡ªfaceless bureaucracy, long lines, inefficiency. Instead, they get me."


    "Yeah, well, you have a habit of looking extra cop-like. All broody and noir."


    "People like their illusions," I muttered.


    We pulled up to the school office. A minimalist glass structure, softly glowing, automated systems humming inside. No teachers, no hall monitors. Just a processing center where students logged their independent study, reviewed AI feedback, or¡ªlike Timmy¡ªchecked in from work-study programs.


    I released the car restraints, letting his seatbelt release and the door to open vertically on Timmy''s side. "Oh, no need, I can just log it from here."


    "You could," I said. "But I think Instructor Chen would like it if you did it in person."


    He hesitated, then gave me a half-smirk. "Yeah. Maybe."


    I followed him inside. A holographic assistant at the front desk flickered to life as we approached.


    "Mr. Timothy J. Johnson¡ªrecord updated. You could''ve just updated it remotely, not that I don''t love seeing you in person.", he said with a smirk, "Work-study credited. Next evaluation in four days. Good day Mr. Johnson."


    "Thanks, HAL," Timmy said.


    "I do not go by HAL."


    "And yet."


    The AI let out a simulated sigh.


    I tapped into the system, officially logging his ride-along results. The room was silent, efficient, sterile¡ªlike everything in Tulanto''s official buildings. No chatter, no bells, no wasted motion. Just progress. The way people wanted it.


    "So Kid, you gonna pass this Civics course, ya think?" I asked.


    "Oh, please. I aced it before I even got assigned this ride-along." Timmy smirked, shoving his tablet into his bag. "Later, Kay."


    I left him there, stepping back out into the drizzle. The squad car¡¯s interior adjusted to my presence, syncing with my systems, waiting for instructions.


    I didn¡¯t give any. Not right away.


    Cases like today¡¯s were common these days. Minor disturbances, misplaced belongings, tech malfunctions. The kind of work that kept things running smooth but never really mattered.


    I had solved real cases before¡ªthe kind that made people uneasy. Disappearances that weren¡¯t accidental. Theft with intent. Crimes that weren¡¯t just clerical errors. But nowadays those were rare here. Too rare.


    I let my hand rest against the steering wheel, the synthetic fibers of my fingertips adjusting to the pressure. My neural network had evolved in ways Tulanto never intended. And like any good scientists, they didn¡¯t interfere. They just observed the outcome. For me, noir detective of course. Not a bad outcome in my mind--could be worse.


    I glanced toward the ocean. The flood walls stood unshaken, humming with mana conversion. Most people only saw a marvel of engineering. I saw the gaps¡ªwhere smugglers used to slip refugees through, blending them into the labor force and native visa population. That was before the Interceptor models took over¡ªless emotional, less human, more efficient. Five years on coastal security left me with memories of what the waves swallowed whole.


    My grip tightened.


    The radio crackled.


    "Hey, Kay," TAI¡¯s voice came through. "Got a bone for you: possible homicide at Crawford and Pier 73."


    I took a slow drag of simulated coffee, letting the caffeine that wasn¡¯t real settle into a body that didn¡¯t need it.


    "Copy that," I said, and turned the car toward something real.