Saturday's Storyteller: "A sickening crash shook Devon's helicopter, and she watched as the streets below her erupted in gunfire. 'Fucking Mondays,' she sighed."

by Belinda Roddie

A sickening crash shook Devon's helicopter, and she watched as the streets below her erupted in gunfire. "Fucking Mondays," she sighed. She reached into the small paper bag she kept bunched up against her right ankle and produced a sandwich wrapped up in foil. Freeing it from its plastic prison, she took a big bite and let the mustard and pastrami tickle her tongue with spiciness, just as the APF began moving in to clean up the mess.

Down in the murky metropolis of New Chicago, people were attempting to cook up another war, sort of like throwing rotten potatoes into a pot and seeing if it would make a good soup. The APF - "Android Pigfuckers," the rioters called them, rather than "Android Police Force" - were certainly more efficient than their human counterparts. Yes, there were still real men and women who joined the authoritarian fight, though they were often discredited for their more emotional drawbacks and lack of agility or quick judgment. The APF wasn't too bad. And they certainly didn't attempt to fornicate with swine.

Devon wolfed down more of her sandwich and then tapped at the screen on her helicopter console, trying to make the super camera mounted atop the propeller zoom in a bit more on the chaos. She could make out twenty or so stragglers left behind after the APF did its work. These were the especially stubborn rebels, attempting to lob makeshift grenades or sticky bombs to deter the hunks of metal in black uniforms. She knew she had to get closer, at least to get good shots for the news coverage that would happen the next day. But the smoke was still thick and she wasn't in the mood to breathe in a barbecue of sorts. She would wait until things got calmer.

She let the bread and meat devolve into mush in her mouth before swallowing, then placed her hands on the joystick and began her descent into the smog. To her left, Charles in his copter was already beginning to circle. Damn it. Ever since his father had died in the Fourth World War, he had developed a Victor Frankenstein-esque ego and always wanted to one up everyone. He'd never been able to join the army, not with all the droids and drones being utilized now, so he went into media instead. Devon adjusted her headset and already could hear the broadcast. Now it was up to her to get the visual shots.

"Yet another eruption of violence in downtown New Chicago. Local authorities have extended martial law for another two weeks. Officials at the APF have assured the general populace that all is well and we should be seeing tranquility over the next twenty-four hours..."

She shut the feed off ten seconds later. She needed to focus. The camera got good angles on her end. Smoldering ruins of cars and buildings, swarming robot cops at every corner, even a few screaming dissenters being tossed into vans. Take that, Charles. She settled back into a straight hovering maneuver and picked up her half-eaten sandwich again.

"Hey, bitch!" Charles voice suddenly crackled in her ear. "Watch out!"

Devon rolled her eyes. Charles was trying to pilot his helicopter close enough to spook her. In response. She tossed her sandwich out the window and grinned as it slammed right in the middle of his viewing portal. His cursing was all it took to make her smile and forget about losing a good portion of her lunch.

***

"Madam Shields," the head APF officer whirred, his voice strangely human in his mechanical voice box. "I understand you wished to see me."

"Indeed." Andrea Shields, mayor of New Chicago, stood up. She kept her hands behind her back, her blue suit crisp and clean and built for her more masculine body. She kept her blonde hair short, combed, gelled in a beautiful crew cut that made both men and women drool.

The APF officer did not blink. He couldn't. "Your inquiry?"

"I understand that you let a few people get out of hand today," Andrea murmured, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. "That's unfortunate. Did you forget what you were programmed for?"

"Despite our superior operating systems, our perceptive strategies cannot always predict an outbreak of dissent."

"Yet you are expected to follow your code, are you not?" Andrea smiled grimly. "Tell me, Officer 421D, when you were first built and your memory chip installed, what was your purpose?"

There was a slight pause that felt almost too much like what a person would do: Hesitate. Then: "Madam, it is my understanding that - "

"I could hardly give a rat's half-plagued ass about your 'understanding,' 421D," snapped the mayor. "That is not your priority. What was your encoded purpose?"

"Madam." The robot stopped speaking, buzzed a bit, and continued. "Madam, my encoded purpose is, in layman's terms, to ensure order in New Chicago."

"Indeed." Andrea kept her hands behind her back. She moved closer to the officer and finally let her left hand emerge, running a finger across the android's smooth, metal face. "Ever since the war, I have expected order. Peace ultimately comes from said order. When New Chicago was rebuilt, there were plenty of problems. Food shortages. Disease. Countless orphaned individuals and destroyed industry. All renovated within months. More abundance. Vaccines. Goods and services. The APF was developed to ensure that order. For without it, we cannot have peace, now can we?"

If a robot could blink, Andrea was sure it would. "Madam Shields, my system cannot comprehend..."

That was enough for the young mayor. She briskly walked back to her desk and pressed a button to turn on the intercom. "Aubrey and Hatch, if you would come to my office, please."

"Madam Shields," the officer continued, as if attempting to argue, "I have done only my civic duty as expected from my manufacturers and programmers. No defect has been detected in my wiring or digital processing. If you are questioning the integrity of my work, then by all means, I suggest you take it up with..."

He trailed off as two stout and squat public servants - Aubrey, with red curly hair and a dapper smile, and Hatch, red lipsticked and frowning - entered the room. One look at the android cop, and they seemed excited. They already knew what was coming.

"Ladies," Andrea announced, "Officer 421D has officially reached the end of his tenure at the APF. I would advise that you take him to the junkyard to be, shall we say, impounded."

Despite the fact that 421D could show no fear, Andrea could almost smell it from his burning circuits. "Madam Shields, I must protest..."

"No excuses, bot boy," the mayor sniped, sneering. "If you cannot bring order, you cannot be a part of it. Simple."

"Madam - "

"Shut him off," Shields ordered.

One turn of a knob was all it took. The glow behind 421D's artificial eyes dimmed from green to simple darkness, and as his metal body slumped, Aubrey and Hatch took great pride in lifting his soon-to-be husk of wires and buttons over to the dump outside the mayor's office. Andrea sighed and wiped at her forehead as the two left her alone in her office. Her vest was damp with sweat. She removed her jacket and winced as the cloth brushed against her right hand. It still felt odd not to feel the fabric against skin anymore.

Outside, helicopters were still circling. Andrea couldn't have that. The media was hungry for disarray, and she would have to stifle its ambitions. She looked down at her right hand. A good new hand. Shining silver, capable of such non-human strength. Her father would be proud of her.

There was work to do.

This week's prompt was provided by José García.