Deanna's Surprise
Part 3: Rayven
by Gorgo
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With C&C from D.B. Story
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WRITER'S NOTES
:
This part of the story takes place three weeks after Part Two. It is written in first person with Deanna's POV. Rayven's POV will be displayed in italics or framed with six asterixes at the start and end of the section.
Enjoy!
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"Bring her in here, please!"
I jolted as Lenn's voice echoed from the foyer. After hearing the loud
bang!
of the front door being slammed into a wall, I rose to see what was going on. As soon as I walked through the door connecting Lenn's living quarters with her office, I stopped on seeing Gael Layne and Lenn wheel in someone on a stretcher, she guiding it from the front to her lab. Watching them disappear around the corner, I looked back to see a Niagara Regional Police sergeant standing by the main door. "What's going on here, Sergeant..." I checked his nametag, "...Miles?"
He gazed on me, then smiled. "You're Deanna Hordye? Marlenn Ioanis' owner of record, right?"
"That's me," I replied, sensing the recognition in his eyes. From Welland natives, that normally meant one thing. "Where and what grade?"
"Grade Six. I worked with your mom in the library when she was at Plymouth," he replied, holding out his hand. "Izak Miles. Call me Zak."
I gave him a firm handshake. "Deanna. Pleasure to meet you, Zak. I'm sorry for not recalling your name."
"Doesn't bother me, Deanna," he chuckled. He was a handsome fellow, trim in the mode of most serious track-and-field athletes. Noting that, I wondered what sort of street work Zak did for the police. "Lord knows, with the way your mom got around the elementary schools in Welland, it wouldn't surprise me that she got to know at least
half
of the people in the city who were in Grades Six, Seven and Eight from the day she started work at Crowland Central until the day she retired after her time at Empire. How many could that've been in the long run?"
"Yeah, Mama was like that," I admitted, then canted my head in the direction of Lenn's laboratory. "What's the story here?"
"Auto accident on the 406 north of East Main," he reported as we walked to the entrance to the shop. "Car smashed into a tree on the side of the road. No other vehicles involved, thank God. Only people hurt were one 'bot and three normals, all female."
"What about the normals?"
"Welland County General," he said. That was the local hospital, located on King Street three blocks south of Lincoln. "Chances are, they might have to get airlifted to the Hotel Dieu in Saint Kitts or one of the hospitals in Hamilton, though."
I gazed concernedly at him. "Bad?"
He returned my look. "And then some."
"Busy night," I noted, glancing at my watch. It was close to nine-thirty on Saturday night, a week after I had taken official custody of Lenn -- to tell her apart from her creator, I used a "pet" form of Marlenn's name -- from Dayle Ioanis, Marlenn's older brother.
"Actually, it's been pretty quiet," Zak sighed, then shrugged. "Which makes incidents like this all the more worse at times."
I patted his shoulder in sympathy. "Sorry to hear that."
"Thanks."
We stopped by the closed doors leading into the lab, then I pushed one of them open, beckoning Zak to follow me in. Lenn, having slipped on her work smock, was busy inserting leads in the unmoving fembot's body. Gael, a man who would be Mama's age who worked as Welland's only licensed 'bot part recycler, manned the controls on the primary diagnostic machine. Hearing Lenn and Gael exchange information in the sharp, staccato-like language doctors and nurses in a hospital's emergency ward used, I found myself grateful for the intensive education Lenn had given me over the last two weeks concerning her work as a 'bot maintenance technician. By the sounds of it, their patient -- at least her core personality matrix and memory files -- stood an excellent chance of survival. That would make Zak's work a lot easier.
"Okay, here's her RID," Gael called out.
"Call it," Lenn ordered.
A fifty-digit code of letters and numbers flowed out of the recycler's mouth. Hearing the first string of ten digits, I nodded. An American-built robot from Virginia, four years old, most likely a product of the Noram Cybersystems Group. A fembot in body structure and basic personality programming. Learning the many interesting nuances of a 'bot's RID -- Robot Identification Directory -- number would probably drive even an experienced robot tech to distraction. Remembering what Lenn told me about the information one's RID can relay right up front, I asked her why is it that all human 'bot technicians didn't have a robot assistant when it came to the clerical work.
Lenn's response: "Mother wondered the same thing before she built me."
"Excuse me, Mister Layne, what's her RID again?" Zak called out, PDA and hand-held mouse at the ready.
Gael repeated the number slowly to give Zak a chance to tap it into his PDA. "Her name's Rayven," Gael then added. "Spelt R-A-Y-V-E-N. I'm tapping into the public files to get the identity of her owner right now. Just give us a minute, Sergeant, okay?"
"No problem."
"How is she, Lenn?" I asked.
"Bad," Lenn grimaced. "Her main power cell's leaking fluid right into her lower abdomen. Left arm sheared off at the biceps, the upper parts of both legs crushed. She was probably driving the car. The damage pattern tells me she had the whole engine block rammed into her."
"That's how we found her," Zak confirmed.
"Shit!" I whistled, shaking my head.
"You'll have to disengage her brain from her power cell, Marlenn," Gayle warned.
Lenn nodded. "On it."
As we stood there, Lenn effortlessly severed the energy leads from Rayven's main power cell -- on all robots, that's normally located where a human's stomach and liver would be -- and her central mind. Like a human's, a 'bot's brain and primary memory banks are located in the head. Backup memory banks and an auxiliary central processor unit are placed where a human's heart would be. Given what Zak had told me about the accident and what happened to Rayven's human companions, doing everything to preserve her memories was now all the more paramount.
Once the links to the leaking power cell were severed, Lenn hooked Rayven's mind into the laboratory's power grid. This would allow whatever intact systems that remained to operate, including speech. It was possible for Lenn to cyberlink with Rayven mind-to-mind, of course. No doubt, preferring to verbally speak with her patients was one of the many quirks Lenn's IP-type programming forced on her.
"Okay, she's linked in," Lenn reported. "Wake her up."
"Right."
Gael tapped controls. Silence fell as we waited for Rayven's mind to come on-line. Zak shifted himself to stand beside Lenn. I stayed where I was, barely able to see much of my lover's current patient. "Okay, she should be coming on-line..." Gael hissed through his teeth.
"Where am I?"
That voice spoke in a husky, deep baritone, almost mannish in its quality though still recognizably female. "You're in a robot repair facility in Welland, Rayven," Lenn replied. "I'm Marlenn Ioanis. This is my shop."
A pause as Rayven processed that. "I'm a mess, I take it."
The surprise on Lenn's face on hearing that statement was more than obvious to me. Was Rayven an IP 'bot, her matrix formed from a copy of an organic human's memory? I knew information about that sort of programming would be included in Rayven's RID, but I couldn't recall where it would exactly be. Oh, well. Answer that later. "Yes, you are, I'm afraid," Lenn chuckled. "But it's repairable. I hope your maintenance insurance is paid up. You need to get a new arm, plus your whole abdomen and both your thighs have to be rebuilt."
Another pause as Rayven took in that news. "I see."
"Miss Rayven, who's your owner?" Zak then asked.
The answer was automatic. "Brenda Beemon."
I perked on hearing that name. "Brenda Beemon?! From the Vee Beemers?!!"
"Who's that?!" Rayven demanded.
Lenn waved me over to join her. "My owner of record," she reported as I walked around the foot of the diagnostic table to stand beside Zak.
"Deanna, who're the Vee Beemers?!" Gayle asked.
"Thrash band from New York City," I reported. "They're not one of the really popular, headline-grabbing bands -- they've only been touring for the last two years -- but they're slowly getting there. Or so Irene tells me. She just can't get enough of their music."
"Nice to know I got fans," Rayven chuckled.
I got a full look at her -- or at least as much as the thick blanket now covering her from just below her breasts to her feet allowed. Already, oily blue-green stains were appearing on the blanket around the area of her upper left arm, stomach, hips and both legs. Her lack of a left arm from just above the elbow was impossible to ignore. From what I could see of her, she was tall -- almost my height in fact -- and shapely, what one might expect from your average fembot. Staring at her mostly-intact face -- there was a deep vertical slash from her hairline through her still-intact left eye to just above the corner of her mouth -- I was reminded of Chie, one of the dancers at Russell's Retreat who was now the property of my friend Pauline Kim. Rayven's face had the same type of hawkish slant, though her eyes were a light golden-brown instead of Chie's stormy grey. Rayven's hair was a dark brown, shaggily cut, flowing to the bottom of her shoulder blades.
As the wounded 'bot's eyes turned to gaze on me, I added, "Irene's a showclub performer. In her stage shows, she uses your band's music."
"Really?" Rayven blinked -- well, only her right eye could do that now. She then glanced towards Zak. "Where're Brenda, Kip and Monica?"
"Welland County General Hospital, in intensive care. All of them are in very critical condition," the policeman replied. "With your consent, Miss Rayven, I'd like to obtain a copy of your memory files to better ascertain what happened tonight..."
"It's not their fault!"
We all started on hearing Rayven's sudden assertion. Seeing a trace of panic cross her face, a sense of dread gripped my heart. Walking around Zak and Lenn, I bent down to gaze into Rayven's eyes. Reaching under the blanket to draw out her still-intact right arm, I held her hand close to my cheek as I projected what I hoped would be an understanding gaze on Lenn's patient. I knew Rayven wouldn't be able to feel anything below her neck -- a glance to her large breasts and the flat nipples at their peaks confirmed that -- but I hoped that my sympathy play would calm her down. "Raye, no one's saying anything about whose fault it was right now. But Zak here can't do anything to figure out what
did
happen without your help. Brenda and her friends can't help; they're just as banged up as you are. Please?"
