Inga

After Ivan had eaten the meal provided by Babic, beef stroganoff on a bed of mash potato, he left the empty plate on the counter.

Inga finished her diagnostic scan a few minutes after he sat back down.

“Come, we should go now,” he said to her.

They had only just left the room when Ivan stopped suddenly, reeling as he suffered another bout of déjà vu on the landing. Inga put her hand out and steadied him.

“Are you alright, Myfriend?”

“Yes, yes. Just… a little dizzy,” he said, before continuing down the stairs.

The déjà vu was apparently another side effect of his trauma. Before the ambush, he had only experienced the feeling once or twice in his life, but since he had woken from the induced coma, it was a frequent and increasingly disorienting visitor in his life.

Inga waited outside as he went into the restaurant and said goodbye to Babic, who was acting as the maître d’ in the absence of his head waiter.

Back in the Hyundai, they headed to the lower west side. On the way, he asked Inga for the results of her scan.

“My system scan returned over 100 errors and corrupt files, indicating severe damage to disk 2. Would you like me to detail them?”

“No, it’s okay. When you say ‘critical,’ what do you mean?”

“Critical errors if not rectified may lead to malfunction, inoperability of software and possible involuntary shutdown.”

“I see. We will try and get them fixed once we are safely abroad.”

Ivan easily remembered the way to Dr. Vlad’s; he had been there many times in the past when he worked for Babic, both for injuries he had suffered in the ‘line of duty’ and when accompanying co-workers. While he had never suffered anything more serious than a broken hand during that time, he thought highly of the doctor. He had seen him expertly treat more severe wounds many times.

Dr. Vlad was a grizzled former army medic. He specialized in bullet and stab wounds and was an invaluable provider to numerous nefarious individuals and gangs, but as far as Ivan knew, had little to do with Molenski’s organization, who had their own man.

The doctor worked out of a small apartment at the rear of a laundromat. It was accessible only by a dark alley that it shared with a rundown, less than busy, Chinese restaurant.

Ivan backed the Hyundai all the way down the alley, coming to a stop right in front of the door.

“Come, Inga; we will see the doctor.”

“Doctor – a person who is skilled in the science of medicine: a person who is trained and licensed to treat sick and injured people,” Inga recited, turning to face him. “I am not ‘people,’ Myfriend. Will he treat me?”

“Well,” he said, laughing gently. “Just between you and me, he’s not a licensed doctor either.”

His humor was lost on Inga, who stared at him with a straight face.

“Don’t worry, you will see, he’ll fix you right up.”

“I am not worried, Myfriend.”

“Good, good, let’s go.”

The scuffed and dented door of Dr. Vlad’s ‘surgery’ opened seconds after Ivan rapped three times.

“Ivan, long time no see, come in…” said the doctor, squinting around his shoulder at Inga. “This is her?”

“Da,” said Ivan, stepping past the doctor.

“Wow, what a beauty,” the doctor said, peering over his glasses at the robot as she followed Ivan into the dingy building. “The craftsmanship is amazing, with the naked eye it’s almost impossible to tell she’s synthetic. Come, sit over here.”

He led her to a frayed leather recliner with stirrups and arm rests. She looked at Ivan who nodded reassuringly. The doctor sat on a stool beside the recliner and pulled a large magnifying glass on an articulated arm into place over her face. Ivan stood behind him.

“Amazing detail,” said the doctor, as he peered at Inga’s magnified face. “The pores, the fine hairs, everything!”

Without taking his eyes off her, he slipped on a pair of latex gloves and probed the scrape on her face gently.

“I’ve seen this model on the internet and in promotions of course, but I never imagined how perfect the RealFlesh is. These scratches are healing already. She has bullet wounds, you say?”

“Yes, in her back and head.”

“Sit up, darling,” the doctor requested.

He slowly unwound the scarf and peeled it away from her wound, before moving the magnifying glass over it.

“Hmm…” he said, probing it with a gloved finger, only to snatch it away abruptly when Inga gasped in pain. He glanced up at Ivan, confused.

“It is her programming; she can feel physical pain.”

“Ahh,” the doctor said. “I have heard of this; it is illegal. Must have cost a fortune…”

“Yes,” said Ivan, not offering any more.

The doctor shrugged, then addressed Inga.

“I have to clean and stitch your wound, darling. It will hurt, do you wish to turn off your pain programming first?”

“I am unable to disable PhysSens due to the errors in my system. A full diagnostic check by a trained technician is required to assess the damage. You may go ahead and make the repairs required to close my wounds.”

“You’re sure?” the doctor asked, looking at Ivan.

“Yes,” they said, in unison.

The next fifteen minutes were hard on Ivan. Inga cried and moaned in pain the entire time, tears streaming from her eyes as the amazed doctor closed her wounds with sutures that he applied deftly with a needle and thread. When he was done stitching and began bandaging the wounds, she immediately stopped crying.

“Interesting,” the doctor said. “Her pain is immediate and real, but only lasts as long as the actual infliction. It doesn’t linger. I wonder if this is by design or just something they haven’t quite worked out.”

“Development of PhysSens – patent pending – ceased when the artificial intelligence industry administration board outlawed the software. The software installed in me is a beta version and may differ in functionality from future versions.”

“I see,” said Dr. Vlad. “That’s a very comprehensive answer, thank you.”

“You couldn’t help us with her programming?” Ivan asked hopefully.

“No, Ivan. I’m not a technician. Frankly, I don’t know anyone in our… circle of friends who would be advanced enough to help. If it makes you feel better, though, the bullet in the back bounced off the chassis. The head too, although it left quite a dent. More than likely that is where the damage to her circuitry occurred.”

“Thanks, Doc. How much do I owe you?”

“Five hundred oughtta do it.”

Ivan and Inga left after the money was handed over, heading back in the Hyundai to Mateo Babic’s restaurant.