A Total Absence of Blood - by T.A. Fynes

 

It was a round tower type of design. Popular for that area. A large metal garage was attached to it. There was a whining piercing sound coming from within the house. 

Jarvik scoped the roof platform with his eyes. Absorbing the data flow coming back.

“What do you see.”

He didn’t answer. But turned to look at the blond girl beside him.

Petra was wearing the uniform of a State Trooper.

“There is something odd about this whole callout.”

“Jarvik, we got a callout for a rogue domestico. Owner said it attacked his dog. And then attempted to attack him and his family.”

“And we believe the owner, Mort Islef?” said Jarvik.

“What difference does it make?”

“He’s a Mech-Tinker.”

“Look, they called you in, they said you’re the best at what you do.”

Petra studied Marshall Jarvik. Black Stetson on his metal head. A long brown duster coat flowing down to his metal ankles. His Marshall badge welded to his chest. He had a converted Blaster Colt in a hipster holster. In his hands, if you could call them hands, he held a short-barrelled AI Heckler and Koch 37XX.

She should have felt scared of him. But somehow didn’t. He was a Fifth generation Metal Marine turned Cop. 

The rifle spoke up, which did scare her.

“Line me up and I’ll hit the bastard.”

Jarvik just ignored him.

“How did you…” she started to ask.

“I was demobbed after the Titan uprising was put down. Rifle came with me.”

“Isn’t that illegal, I mean, to own an AI Military Assault Rifle.”

“Listen!” said Rifle, flashing red, “the poet John Doone wrote, ‘No Rifle is an Island.’ I go where Jarhead goes, Capiche!”

“Calm the fuck down,” said Jarvik to Rifle

“I won’t say nothing,” said Petra. Now really scared.

“Mort Islef has been known to alter the programs of domesticos. Which means the rogue in that house is dangerous. And that goes for the dog too.”

Jarvik sent up some drones, and both he and Rifle monitored their progress.

The rogue kitchen domestico was on the roof, wandering back and forward, looking confused. There was no sign of the dog.

Then it came out of the house in a blur. A gleaming angry silver metal Doberman. Its speed was unnatural.

It headed straight for Petra, as it howled an unearthly metallic gear grinding sound.

Petra started screaming.

Jarvik stepped in front of her. The thump from the rifle echoed around the valley, as the depleted uranium shell knocked the Doberman on its back. The second one took him apart.

The domestico came out with his hands up. Jarvik pointed Rifle at the ground.

“It’s OK, I know you were just protecting the family.”

Petra started to lead the domestico away.

“Mort Islef is the one that should be locked up,” snarled Rifle.

“You come across as nearly human,” said Petra.

“Were too cute to be human,” snapped Jarvik.

“There’s that, said Rifle, “and a total absence of blood,”