text: Connor was old school. His colleagues said he was born in the wrong century, never mind the wrong decade. He preferred old things, “retro-tech”. He owned a mobile, but it was second-hand, an obsolete model. It couldn’t download the latest software or buy the newest apps; it was simply for texting and calling. He didn’t even use it for an alarm. For that, he relied on a ticking clock he’d bought from an antique shop. But unlike his phone, the clock didn’t adjust for daylight savings. If he’d remembered the seasons were changing the night before he would have wound the clock back manually and it would have trilled to wake him up in time for work. Instead, he got in late the night before and passed out the second he hit the mattress. He’d been in the lab till god-knows-when recreating fingerprints. That was the only type of technology he kept up with because it was his job. And it was the only technology he trusted because it was designed for good. So, too tired to make sure his future self was punctual, Connor slept like a baby until his phone started ringing. He grasped for it on the bedside table and answered without looking. ‘He lives!’ It was Jake. Connor could recognise his chirpy voice before he even opened a bleary eye to check caller ID. ‘We’ve got a body.’ Connor stifled a yawn. ‘I don’t start ‘til 8’. ‘It’s nearly 9, buddy.’ Connor bolted upright and checked his clock. It wasn’t just behind; it had stopped completely. Hands stuck at 5.42. ‘Shit, my clock’s stopped,’ he said. ‘That’s what happens when you live in the past, nerd!’ Connor got out of bed; ear pressed to his phone. ‘I’m on my way.’ ‘Meet me at the scene, I’ll text you the details.’ Jake hung up and Connor tossed his phone on the bed as it pinged with said text. Then he said, ‘Shutters,’ and an electronic *beep* preceded a cool female Voice emanating from the walls. ‘Good morning, Connor,’ the Voice said. Connor didn’t reply. He didn’t feel he needed to; the Voice didn’t belong to anyone. It wasn’t human. So instead, he watched his shutters rise and took in the Seattle skyline dominating his window. Like every other morning, it was dotted with dashing objects - hover cars. If Connor had a choice, he wouldn’t fly. But there were fewer and fewer roads on the ground these days. Eventually, the Romans’ invention would be lost under apartments and skyscrapers. Just like his phone, Connor’s car was an older model. He picked it specifically because it had gull-wing doors like the DeLorean in that old time-travel movie*.* Like every other hover car, it was activated by a handprint on the door. When Connor slid onto the leather driver’s seat, he was automatically enclosed in a seatbelt and his door locked on its own. Even driving was out of his control, moderated to meet the speed limit. Sure, there were still traffic accidents, mid-air collisions when a vehicle malfunctioned or a boy racer overrode the controls, but otherwise, driving in the sky was risk-free courtesy of a legal agreement between the government and the country’s car manufacturers. The only thing Connor did have control of in his own car was where he was going and what he listened to on the way. Above where there used to be steering wheels, a dashboard took up the windscreen. Connor tapped the interface and ‘INPUT DESTINATION’ flashed up. ‘Wells Crescent,’ he said. ‘Destination confirmed.’ It was the same Voice from Connor’s room coming through the speakers. ‘Navigating flight path.’ Soundlessly, Connor's car rose off the ground. It was a weird sensation, watching the car do that, feel it soar into the sky. It was unnatural and even after all these years, it still made Connor’s stomach clench with vertigo. He squeezed his eyes shut before he was sick. Needing a distraction, as the car glided over the bustling metropolis, he said, ‘Shuffle Classical playlist,’ and “The Seeker” by The Who filled his eardrums with its twangy bass. As the car accelerated higher, Connor sat back and watched the clouds pass by, beginning to relax, as he blended with the swarm of morning commuters, none of them with tyres or exhausts, all regulated by drones. Half an hour later, Connor’s car descended on Wells Crescent, a middle-class suburban street packed with emergency services vehicles: police, ambulance and one marked 'F.B.I. Cyber Crime Division’. Covering all of this was a yellow forcefield, spreading from the house being investigated, across the street. There, was a parked hover car, its windows smashed, glass everywhere. On the sidewalk, Connor could see someone taking photographs of the side of the car facing away from the road with a silver tablet. They were hidden head to toe in white coveralls, goggles, gloves and a surgical mask. But as the car landed, they looked up and lowered their mask. Jake grinned at him. After Connor landed, he changed into his own uniform in the back of a forensics van and Jake filled him in. ‘So, what happened?’ ‘E.D.B. gone rogue.’ ‘Remind me again.’ Jake sighed - how many times did he have to explain stuff like this? ‘Emergency Defence Bot,’ he explained matter-of-factly. ‘Right. And what did it do?’ ‘Disintegrated an intruder.’ Connor zipped up his uniform slowly in stunned silence. *A robot killed somebody?* ‘Come on,’ Jake said, walking off. ‘I’ll show you.’ Jake led him to the damaged car. What he’d been photographing was a dent, coated in an ash imprint of a person, like a chalk outline. ‘What the fuck.’ Jake indicated to the house behind the car. ‘Neighbour rang 911 this morning. Said she saw someone trying to steal her car - probably the intruder. Couple minutes later, she rings again. Says he's gone and the bot's blown up her car. Looks like it took the intruder with it.’ Connor stared at the ash, bewildered. ‘You can't order a bot to do that. Right? It breaks the Three Laws.’ ‘That’s the best part,’ Jake smirked. ‘No-one ordered it.’ Then he moved on and Connor had to jog to keep up. ‘What do you mean no-one ordered it?’ ‘The owner wasn't in.’ They crossed the street, tracing a trail of spattered blood. Connor ogled it. ‘Have you ID'd the body?’ Jake shook his head. ‘Nothing left to ID.’ ‘What about prints?’ ‘Guy must've been wearing gloves.’ The door to the crime scene was made from heavy metal but had a charred, man-shaped hole at waist-height. When Connor and Jake approached it, two colleagues were scanning its dimensions with hand-held devices. ‘Is that how the intruder got in?’ Connor asked. ‘No, it was shot from the inside.’ ‘By the bot? Then, how did they get in?’ Jake shrugged. ‘We don't know. No other signs of forced entry. Only record of the door opening is after the 911 call. Peephole only has footage of the bot going back in. Mind if we...?’ The investigators shook their heads and stood aside, allowing Jake to step up to the porch. ‘Jake Green and Connor Jones, forensic investigators,’ he said in a flat tone. ‘Access granted. Welcome,’ replied the same female Voice Connor used for his devices. The metal door flashed green and opened jerkily. As Jake and Connor entered, Connor eyed the door’s Peephole. Most houses that could afford them had them - a security camera that only let in people it recognised. It sent a shiver down Connor’s spine. Inside, more investigators were scattered around the scarcely furnished hallway taking photographs and samples. Near Connor’s feet, another blood spatter, congealing on the polished floor. ‘Nice place.’ ‘Look at this.’ Jake tapped a large circular dial on the wall. ‘Anti-Grav. Stand there.’ Frowning slightly, Connor stepped to the spot Jake pointed to. Then, his colleague twisted the dial slightly anti-clockwise and Connor began to levitate. ‘Woah!’ Connor looked down at his legs dangling in the air. It was like being in the car again but without the safety. Yet strangely, he didn’t feel dizzy or nauseous but...exhilarated? ‘One in every room,’ Jake explained. ‘Rich folk use them for parties.’ *Of course,* Connor thought, but he was having too much fun to be disdainful about the wasteful and pointless extravagance of the upper class. Even though it was against the law of physics, Connor couldn’t deny the joy he felt at fulfilling every child, every human’s dream to fly at that moment. And after all, it was the science he loved, that he devoted his life to, that was making it happen. A smile crept on his face but evaporated the second the lounge door sprang open. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Jake almost jumped out of his skin; it was their boss, Sheriff Kathy Roundhouse. A seasoned take-no-shit Texan with a stern expression to match. Jake quickly reset the Dial, grounding Connor. ‘I was just showing Connor-’ he began to babble, but Kathy wagged a finger at him. ‘You've shown him enough.’ Then, she turned to Connor who wobbled upon finding his feet again. ‘You're late.’ ‘Sorry, Chief.’ Over Kathy’s shoulder, Connor glimpsed the backs of men in black suits. ‘Who's in there?’ he whispered. Kathy closed the lounge door. ‘The Feds,’ she replied in a hushed tone. ‘They're interviewing Ed.’ Jake scoffed incredulously. ‘It's called Ed?’ ‘Owner's not the brightest spark,’ Kathy explained. ‘You’re telling me.’ ‘Are they here?’ Connor asked. Kathy shook her head. ‘We've called him, he's on his way. He didn't sound too shocked about the whole thing though.’ ‘Why are the Feds here?’ Jake asked. ‘They're doing the Turing Test.’ ‘What?!’ Kathy put a finger on her lip. ‘Shush! Come in here.’ She ushered them into the kitchen at the end of the hallway. On the counter sat a row of evidence in transparent bags. ‘They think it's A.I.?’ Connor blurted as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘I don't know,’ Kathy snapped. ‘It's not our job to find out.’ ‘But it's our job to find out what happened. A bot's never killed someone before.’ ‘That we know of,’ Jake added. Kathy glared at the pair of them. ‘Ain't nobody saying this was a goddamn murder! It's a robot for Christ Sake.’ ‘Come on-’ Jake began, but Kathy raised her finger to quieten him again. ‘Let’s just do our jobs. Okay?’ Connor and Jake looked at each other. They knew they had no chance of winning this one. ‘Fine,’ Jake conceded. ‘Good.’ Kathy nodded thoroughly. ‘Now, Jake, go outside and get me a match on those remains.’ Jake sighed. ‘Fine.’ Then he trudged out of the room. When he was gone, Kathy turned to Connor. ‘I need your expertise on something.’ Before Connor could ask what, Kathy picked up an evidence bag labelled 'EXHIBIT C' and unsealed it. From it, she withdrew a small brass key and passed it to Connor. He turned it carefully in his gloved hands, mesmerised. ‘I've not seen one of these in years.’ ‘I want you to see where it fits.’ Connor looked up at her. ‘Where did you find it?’ ‘Hallway. Owner denies it's his.’ ‘Could be the intruder's?’ Kathy shrugged. ‘Could be.’ Connor held the key tightly, pressing the jagged edge against his palm. Kathy was right, this was his right up his alley - a good old-fashioned mystery. ‘I’m on it.’ The first place Connor thought to look for the lock to the key was upstairs. As he went up, he took note of his surroundings. There was an indentation on the sloped ceiling. At the top step, a scorched hole in the wall. Near that, another Gravity Dial - this guy really did have too much money. Had the house’s robot really chased the intruder all the way down the stairs and out through the front door? How was that possible? Weren’t they programmed to stay in the house? Weren’t their weapons reserved as a last resort? Artificial Intelligence was the only plausible explanation. Why else would the FBI be doing the Turing Test on an EDB? Connor blamed the owner; it had given it a name. Given *him* a name, he guessed. Given Ed a license to act human. And like the humans that had created him, he had acted out of order. On the landing, Connor found a young, nervous scientist called Declan scouring a track mark on the carpet. ‘Hey, Declan.’ ‘Hey.’ He nodded to the mark. ‘Is that where the bot came out?’ ‘Yeah.’ There was an attic, but it was concealed by a metal panel that looked older than the technology in the rest of the house with a blinking red sensor. ‘What's up there?’ Declan looked up to where Connor was pointing. ‘Attic. We can't get in, body scanner's broken.’ Just to double-check, Connor stepped underneath and suddenly, there was a loud beep and the panel slid across to reveal a secondary hatch. A step ladder uncoiled and planted itself at Connor's feet. The two investigators exchanged looks. ‘Well, that was weird,’ Declan said. Connor didn’t reply and squinted at the hatch. He couldn’t believe it; half the mystery was solved already. There was a keyhole in the door to the attic. He compared it to the key in his hand and sure enough, they shared matching shades of bronze. Now, all he had to do was see what was inside. ‘I'm gonna take a better look.’ Connor climbed the ladder. At the top step, he examined the lock in wonderment. It was rusty, which meant it was old. Meaning, whatever lay within must be old too. Unable to wait any longer to find out, Connor inserted the key. It fitted easily. He turned it and there was a dull click. ‘Connor, wait.’ Declan’s protest was tinged with fear, but Connor didn’t hear it. He proceeded to ease the hatch lid open. Dust spilled out from a black hole. ‘Connor, don’t.’ But he had to get closer. He had to see what was inside, so he pulled himself up. ‘Connor! Too late. Connor's legs disappeared. He’d gone through. But rather than find himself in the attic, Connor came down the ladder the same way he went up. Except, everything had changed. There were no lights on anymore and it was dim as if it were night not day. And the house was silent. ***THUMP.*** Connor jumped; the hatch lid had snapped shut. Catching his breath, Connor pocketed the key and rested on the last step, confused by his surroundings. He was alone. Declan and the track mark were both gone. He peered over the stair bannister. The hallway was empty too. Not only that, but the door was intact. No charred hole, no-one taking pictures of the damage. Connor checked the ceiling - the dent was smoothed over. The scorch on the wall by the Gravity Dial was missing as well. Every sign that the bot had lost control had been erased. As if it hadn’t happened. Connor glanced at his watch: 5:37. ‘Hello?’ In reply, a minor echo and a hum swelled in the walls. Intrigued and intending to investigate, Connor tentatively placed a foot on the carpet, instantly triggering a deafening caterwaul. Connor covered his ears and jumped off the ladder, flinching as it recoiled into the hatch. Then, the attic door slid back into place. No way out. The alarm persisted. Disorientated, Connor wandered to the stairs. Behind him, the sensor on the attic flashed and a section of the carpet - the spot Declan had been inspecting - began to open up. Unheard by Connor, a platform rose out of the gap with a puff of steam. On top was a small robot on wheels with two ports in his chest. The house’s Emergency Defence Bot. Ed. ‘*You are a threat,’* he said. Connor whipped around to face him. What was he doing up here? Why was it dark? What the hell was going on? ‘Turn off the alarm!’ ‘*You are a threat,*’ Ed repeated. ‘No, scan me!’ Connor yelled over the alarm’s wailing. ‘My name's Connor Jones. I'm a forensic investigator. I’m allowed to be here.’ ‘*Initialising threat protocol.*’ ‘No, no, no, you don’t need to that!’ But Ed had already unloaded a miniature laser cannon from one of his ports. ‘Trespasser must be disintegrated.’ ‘Oh shit.’ Instinctively, Connor darted to the Gravity Dial and whirled it anti-clockwise as a red ray flew over his head and punctured a hole in the wall. With the gravity off, Ed and Connor rocketed upwards - Ed bumping the ceiling and leaving a mark. *‘Targeting system offline.’* As Ed rotated and sparked, Connor took the opportunity to pull himself towards the stairs. ‘*Adapting to atmosphere.’* Connor glanced behind him as he swam through the air and down the stairs; Ed had uprighted himself. *‘Adjusting gravity.’* Despite his frantic efforts, Connor moved little before Ed beeped and the Gravity Dial span clockwise. When Newton’s discovery kicked back in, Connor dropped two-thirds of the way down the stairs. And as he tumbled down the remaining steps, the key slipped out of his pocket. Behind him, Ed used jets to steady himself onto the carpet. Then warmed up his next shot. Hearing this, Connor scrambled to his feet and slammed his hand against the door's scanner. But it flashed red. ‘*Access denied’*, said the Voice. Connor couldn’t understand. This was the same door that had just let him in. Was it because his hands were sweaty? Was the security system that temperamental? Well, if the bot hot on his tail was anything to go by... Connor tried the door again. *‘Access denied.’* Connor punched the door in frustration, then stared into the Peephole and yelled, ‘Let me out! I'm Connor Jones!’ *‘No record found,’* the Voice replied. Connor could hear Ed hovering down the stairs. He decided to try the door one more time. *‘Access denied. You are an intruder.’* Before Connor could react, he noticed Ed in his peripheral vision, directly behind him, and ducked, avoiding a blast that struck the metal door. Hair singed, Connor peered over his shoulder as another beam whizzed by his ear and ruptured a hole in the door. *‘Recharging laser,’* said Ed. This was his chance. Dazed, Connor lunged through the sizzling hole in the door. But at the same time, the EDB rolled forwards and extended a claw from his second port. Halfway to freedom, Ed seized one of Connor’s dangling legs. He’d been caught. Screaming and kicking his free leg to no avail, Ed tightened his grip before detaching a buzzsaw from his claw. Hearing it, Connor freaked out and wiggled further out of the hole, but then Ed lowered the buzzsaw onto his leg, shredding through his coveralls with ease and slitting his calf. Connor gritted his teeth and yanked his torso loose but as he wrangled free, he dragged his leg against the saw. Pumped on adrenaline, Connor sprang to his feet and scanned the street wildly. No forcefield. All the vehicles were missing. All except the neighbour's hover car across the street, in perfect condition. He began to limp towards it, blood oozing from his leg when he heard the front door slide open. *‘Access granted,’* the Voice managed weakly. Connor froze and turned around slowly. The front door had let Ed out. Connor scoffed in disbelief. ‘Oh, come on.’ Ed trundled forward. *‘Laser recharging.’* Connor didn’t have long before the bot tried another shot, so he limped the rest of the way to the door. But when he slapped his palm on the door, it flashed red. ‘Worth a shot,’ Connor grumbled. As he turned to limp down the street, another ray whipped by and shattered the car’s windows, flinging Connor into the rear, showered in glass. He snapped his wrist on impact and his watch skidded under the car. *‘Trespassers must be disintegrated,’* Ed was advancing towards the car now. Unable to get up, Connor writhed backwards, using his good hand. ‘I’m not a trespasser!’ he yelled back. *‘Trespassers must be disintegrated*’, Ed repeated. ‘Listen to me! Don’t shoot!’ *‘Trespassers must be disintegrated.’* ‘I order you to stop!’ And as if by a miracle, that’s exactly what Ed did. Connor exhaled, sweat pouring down his face. Save Maybe technology was still under our control- But then- *‘You are not permitted to give orders.’* ‘What?’ Ed directed the laser at Connor's face. *‘I do not take orders.’* The bot’s laser warmed up. Connor raised his bad hand in front of his face. ‘Wait! Don’t shoot!’ But Ed wasn’t listening. He’d made up his mind. He could think for himself and this is what he wanted. Connor closed his eyes in defeat. ‘Please,’ he whispered but it was drowned out by another ***ZAP!*** And he was instantaneously disintegrated into a pile of ash. Ed retracted his laser. *‘Threat neutralised,’* he said, then swivelled 180 degrees anti-clockwise and started to retreat to the house. Four hours later, a gloved hand plucked Connor’s watch from underneath the car and zipped into an evidence bag. He hadn’t found a match on any prints, but at least he had this to present to Kathy. She snatched it from him. ‘Where did you find this?’ He told her and she marched upstairs. Jake followed her. On the landing, they found Declan gawping up. ‘Where’s Connor?’ Kathy asked. Declan pointed to the attic as the door slid back into place with an echoing thud. Kathy looked down at the watch in the evidence bag. The face was cracked, and the hands were stuck at 5:42.