The synthetic man watches. If he concentrates, he is aware of the exact number of countless computations that it takes to bring his world into focus.
His ears track the sound of a ball as it bounces the distance. Somewhere inside he knows it’s rate repeat and has an estimate of the average height of bounce. A flash of data logs it under child at play.
This analysis continues and is recorded. It will be stored and reviewed. If deemed unnecessary it will be deleted as warranted.
For now the synthetic man pays it no heed. His concern is with the dead body on the floor and with his partner who is arguing over who the case will belong to.
His synthetic eyes examine the victim, measuring height, estimating weight. Bulky clothes means the range is wide. The body being face down means an ID is not yet possible. Once the coroner gives the okay to turn the body the stations records should provide such information.
His partner’s voice grows quieter as it always does when her anger rises. The jurisdiction argument must be getting quite bitter.
His synthetic brain offers 3 ordinances which seals jurisdiction in their favor. He keeps them quite. No one likes being quoted at from the rule book. His partner taught him that. Also, this will likely be decided by captains, or higher based on politics.
He hopes the case becomes theirs. He wants to solve it. That is his desire and he is just as much a cop as his partner in that desire. He wants to believe he would have that desire even if he were not programmed with the desire to solve crimes. But he was programmed that way.
After all, he is synthetic.
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Deadly Troubadour 