Episode Two of the Laura Kraft, Android Hunter Series
Disabled PI Laura Kraft is back on the case, tracking little lost robots. She’s on the trail of a missing shipment of illegal androids and the slightly-mad AI programmer who’s building them. Laura would breathe a little easier if the androids weren’t heavily armed and ready to follow orders – no matter who gets in the way.
The Android Who Learned to Print is available at Amazon Kindle.
My android, Spaulding, and I were interrupted by a loud rapping at the outer office door. I buzzed my visitor in.
He introduced himself as Ashton Van Dusen. Tall and sandy-haired, he possessed the broad shoulders and narrow hips of a swimmer. He came on the advice of his lawyer (and mine), Allan Slackmore. Like most of Slackmore’s clients, Van Dusen swam against the tide and needed someone to throw him a life preserver.
“I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a jam,” he began. He eyed Spaulding suspiciously. “Does the android have to be here?
“No,” I said. “Why does it bother you?”
“They record everything and we don’t know who has access, do we?” he said. “You and I don’t have attorney-client privilege, so our conversation could be used against me somehow, someday.”
I nodded. “Spaulding, go into the outer office and power down until I call you.”
“As you wish, Ms. Kraft.” Spaulding rolled out of the room and closed the door behind him.
Van Dusen took a seat in front of my desk.
“Did Allan tell you about my problem?” he asked.
“He said I should hear the story from you.” I didn’t want to admit I hadn’t read my messages yet.
“A couple of months ago I hosted a small party for a friend’s birthday, a half-dozen men and their dates. We all met in college and know each other well, so I thought doubling up would be amusing.”
“Doubling up?” I stopped myself from envisioning an orgy.
“That’s where you hire someone to make robots that look and sound like your guests. They usually find the gag entertaining.”
“The robots or the guests?”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind,” I said. “What exactly do the robots do?”
“They walk among the guests and barge into conversations with random non sequiturs. It’s often hilarious.”
“One of the robots said the wrong thing to the wrong person?” I guessed.
“I wish it were that simple,” Van Dusen said. “I enjoyed the robots’ performance so much, I decided to have some custom built for myself. I thought robots would be an interesting sideline.”
“And what’s your main line?”
“I’m an account executive with a VC firm,” he said. “Venture capital.”
And who in California doesn’t know what VC stands for?
“You invest in bot builders?”
“No, mostly comm apps,” he said. “We don’t like concepts that take years to bring to market.”
“You hired someone to build fake androids for you?”
“I know it sounds sketchy,” he said, “but it’s perfectly legal.”
And perfectly idiotic. “You planned on renting out party bots?”
“I know it’s a little out there but I thought it was a franchise opportunity.”
At this point I’m starting to want to take a meeting with my old pal, Johnny Red.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Van Dusen?” I asked.
“Allan said you were an expert at locating missing robots,” he replied. “I’m missing eight of them.”
“Someone stole them?”
“I can’t say for certain,” he said. “They haven’t been delivered.”
“How many people are involved in this transaction?”
“I ordered them from an old classmate of mine, Chet Brodie. He sells refurbished bots out of a shop in Burbank. He knows all of indie bot builders.”
“He found someone to build them?”
“Yes, another old classmate of ours, Scott Robbinson. I was happy not having to deal with Scott directly. He was the resident robotics geek. A little odd and a bit paranoid. He built robots to aid the physically challenged.”
“You placed your order with the broker, Brodie, and he sent the order to the builder, Robbinson. What next?”
“Nothing,” Van Dusen said. “Chet told me it took two weeks at the longest. Six weeks later, I’m still waiting.”
“I assume you talked to Brodie?”
“Numerous times,” he answered. “Chet made every excuse imaginable. Finally, I tried to look up Scott myself. He’s nowhere to be found.”
“Did Brodie try to locate Robbinson for you?”
Van Dusen nodded. “He’s upset. I think he had a financial relationship with Scott.”
“They’re partners?”
“That would be my guess.”
I pondered a moment. “And there’s no chance Brodie pocketed the money?”
“He turned the money over to Scott. He showed me the wire transfer.”
“Do you have Robbinson’s address?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I did every kind of search possible in the Cloud. I even hired a locator service. His identity’s been scrubbed.”
“How long ago?”
“Three or four days as near as anyone can tell.” Van Dusen looked at me hopefully. “Do you think you can find him?”
“My business isn’t looking for missing persons, Mr. Van Dusen,” I said. “I locate missing property. If Scott Robbinson built you eight robots, I’ll find them for you.”
