4. ANSL-5.2

ANSL-5.2 spent the night standing at the front door, its visor cams on the window and its primary mics on the hall. At some point it detected the pull of a download, packets shepherded from his neurosynth core to authorized destinations.

Every few minutes, its alert sensors would activate as it registered the rustle of the assignment turning in her bed. It took nanoseconds to calculate by the weight and volume of the sound that she was indeed not attempting to flee—unlikely, there was no window in the bedroom—nor preparing to burst through the door brandishing a weapon. She was simply a restless sleeper.

Eventually, after familiarizing itself with the assignment’s typical movement patterns, ANSL-5.2’s sentinel array indicated suitable conditions to enter a high-vigilance standby mode, in which its neurosynth core’s peripheral processing would cease until alerted by movement sensors.

ANSL-5.2 resumed full activity when the activity from the bedroom suggested the female was awake. It registered this before she rose, in the sharper intake of breath followed by a flop, likely onto her back.

It waited.

Several minutes later, her feet—socked—hit the ground with a soft pat against the carpet. A light groan followed. ANSL-5.2 calculated a ninety percent probability that she was stretching her arms over her head. Coincidentally, this was almost the same as the ninety-two-point-five percent probability it had calculated of her attempting to flee and, failing that, a seventy-five-point-five percent probability of her attempting to decommission it. That would fail as well.

The door opened, at which point ANSL-5.2 turned its head toward her, and she froze in the entrance for two-point-four seconds, staring.

“Right,” she said, her intonation deprecating. “You’re here.”

Was she surprised? ANSL-5.2 recalibrated its estimated intelligence markers. She either had issues parsing continuity or was not yet in a mental state to fully process her situation.

It captured a snapshot of her state for its records. Tisha Varda had slight shadows under reddened eyes, which she was presently making worse by rubbing them. Her dark skin appeared moderately dry, a consequence of the climate control blowing cold air into the residence. ANSL-5.2 momentarily considered adjusting it, but it was not a threat to her ability to deliver testimony.

Her hair, which yesterday had clinked with a collection of glass beads, convenient for tracking purposes, was now tied into a low bun beneath her nape. She removed her knuckles from her eyes to instead adjust the hem of her white singlet, covering up the exposed skin of her narrow abdomen. ANSL-5.2 had enough time to register the muscle tone there, above average for her gender. Its assessment of her physique was visually verified by the slight show of muscle at her biceps, quadriceps, and calves.

Its assignment was healthy, except for the wound on her head. ANSL-5.2 was not satisfied with the stitchwork performed on the diagonal gash, but neither was it testimony-threatening, so no further action was required.

It tracked the female’s movements across the room toward the small kitchenette on the other side, where she proceeded to prepare a pot of percolated coffee. The machine sputtered as she retreated to the bathroom and turned on the water.

She had sixty-seven minutes before her appointment with the police department’s testimony team.

Forty minutes later, ANSL-5.2 decided Tisha Varda was stalling.

“You are stalling.”

“What?” She took a long sip of coffee. She had been sitting on her couch, white ankle socks propped on the edge of the low table in front of it, flipping through channels with no discernible pattern.

This next one caught ANSL-5.2’s attention.

“The first police robot of its kind has been spotted downtown last night, apparently accompanying a young black woman at the riverside. Advanced Neural Sentry and Logistics Model 5, also known as ANSL-5, gave witnesses a show when a group of teenagers attempted to throw a whizball at it from behind, missing to instead nearly hit the accompanied female.”

The video feed cut to a slow-motion view of ANSL-5.2 pulling Tisha Varda forward and into its chestplate, hovering over her as it absorbed the hit of the incoming projectile.

“Just look at the response time,” the commentary continued, replaying the first few frames of the feed. “The autonomous agent sprang to action just a second after the ball was thrown.”

Inaccurate. It had reacted in point-three seconds.

“There have been rumors that the World City First Precinct was going to be participating in a test of the enforcement models, but no confirmation or details as to their tasks. It appears at first glance that this particular agent may be assigned to a protective detail. We have reached out to WCPD for comment. Up next, the latest in the lunar colony protests…”

ANSL-5.2 tuned its attention to the female when she slumped back in her seat. “Great. Now Drakov can track me on TV too.”

Drakov was the moniker of the city’s primary crime boss, and the subject of Tisha Varda’s upcoming testimony. Judging by the number of attacks on her within the previous month, ANSL-5.2 estimated a seventy-eight percent chance of further attempts. “My presence is more likely to deter attack despite the increased visibility.”

“Not from him,” she glanced at it. “Trust me, I know this man. Been working with him since I was thirteen.”

“Fourteen years?”

She cast it a sidelong look, perhaps displeased at its knowledge of even public details such as her age. “Yeah, genius. So that’s where A-N-S-L comes from, huh… Advanced Neuro… Sentry and… Whatever?”

“Advanced Neural Sentry and Logistics, model five, public identifier two.”

“Yeah, I’m not saying all that each time I have to tell you to stop doing something stupid.”

ANSL-5.2 tilted backward slightly. “I do not do stupid things. I am an Advanced Neural Sentry and Logistics autonomous agent with the latest neurosynth core powering my?—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She flapped her hand and ANSL-5.2 fell silent. “Ansel. I’ll call you Ansel. When I have to call you anything at all.”

ANSL-5.2 filed the colloquial name into its collection of potential identifiers. “You may call me what you wish. I remain an Advanced Neural Sentry and Logistics agent, model five, public identifier two.”

Her eyebrow quirked slightly, and ANSL-5.2 registered a slight twitch of the corner of her mouth. It was the first sign of suppressed amusement that she had shown since the beginning of its assignment.

“All right,” she said in what it detected to be a somewhat teasing tone. “Ansel.”

“I am Advanced Neural…” ANSL-5.2 straightened, realizing it was at risk of falling into a human argument trap. This woman could call it whatever she wanted. ANSL-5.2 had its base instructions. It knew what it was.

It prepared to make her get ready to leave when Tisha Varda rose from the couch and put her hands on her hips, mouth spread in what might be described as a cheerful smile if only it had reached her eyes.

“Okay! We’ve got testimony training to get to,” she chirped. “Gimme ten minutes.”

Her sudden enthusiasm was suspicious, but perhaps she had realized the futility of resistance. ANSL-5.2 recalibrated.

Tisha Varda was prompt. She had put on low-slung distressed denim jeans and a thin black shirt. She shoved her feet into a scuffed pair of red canvas shoes that went up to her ankles. Her brown skin also looked more moisturized and shinier when she left the bathroom. So she had been aware of the deficient humidity.

They were out the front door at the eleven-minute mark, as Tisha waited quietly for ANSL-5.2 to exit into the hallway first and scan the surroundings. It was all clear.

They were just approaching the elevator, which appeared to be functioning that morning, when Tisha Varda smacked the undamaged side of her forehead—ANSL-5.2 determined the motion would still hurt—and hitched to a stop.

“Shit!” she said, looking at it with an apologetic expression. “I forgot my ID. They’ll need that at the station. Hold the doors, will you? I’ll be right back.”

ANSL-5.2 moved to follow her, but she spun around, gesturing it toward the open elevator door. “Look, if you don’t hold it there’s no guarantee that thing is gonna come again, and it’ll take much longer with the stairs, and you’ll need to do your hallway scanning thing again. You don’t wanna be late, do you? Just give me like twenty seconds.”

The elevator had been barely functional the night before. Descending forty-five flights of stairs on foot would slow them down enough to make them late. Tisha Varda required testimony training to complete her task… and therefore, its task as well.

ANSL-5.2 held the doors and trained its sensors firmly on her as she jogged back toward her apartment and disappeared inside.