here was no sky in Carron City, just a ceiling of asteroid—metal and rock smothering the light overhead. There was no day in Carron City, only an endless night looming over a squirming metropolis. How like worms they were, digging, digging down to make their fortune, a culture grime-covered and soil-stained, hundreds of people rushing in crowded streets, stampeding with a hundred different wants, a hundred different needs. No one ever looked up in Carron City—the ground below was where their future lay. In a mining city, the deeper a company went the more of a profit it made. This was a place of two classes—miners, and the businesses who provided for them.

No one paid the little girl any notice. Why would they? Tiny, slender, and pale her eyes were the only thing with any life left, hazel green and full of resolve. She came to a shop with a garish flashing sign.

RENT A BOT: A Robo For All Reasons.

There was a service screen by the closed entrance. She pressed a button and the screen lit up with the image of the clerk on staff. An old man sat at a desk, a man whose face was made up of dirt and wrinkles. He looked down at the girl with uncaring eyes.

“State your business," he said coldly.

She took a step forward.

“Sir, do you have any robots I can rent?”

“What kind of a dumb ass question is that? Kid, look where you're standing,” he answered. “If you got payment it'll work for you, don't matter the job. That's what a Bot’s for.”

“How long can I rent one?”

“As long as you keep the meter running.”

She reached into her pockets, pulling out a handful of Mine-Co coins. They spilled out and clattered all over the street. The child fell to her knees, frantically picking up her money from the uncaring people that walked over her hands. She came back panting, trying not to cry, holding up the coins covered in dirt and blood.

The screen had turned off. The child pressed the button once more. The clerk returned on the screen, uninterested.

“Sir, I'd like to rent a bot.”

With the promise of payment he now looked at her. “Well come on in, Miss.” 

There was a buzz, the screen went off, and she was let in.

Lights flickered as they entered. It was a small room crowded and cluttered with inactive Robots. Bots of all makes and models. They hung from clusters of power wires. There was a tang of rust in the air.

“Pick one or beat it, kid.”

She held her tokens tightly to her chest. She was a child with a child’s hope. She had devised a plan and only the right robot would do. She wandered past a few, searching for the right one.

Amidst the industrial designs, she locked eyes on a face. It was an older model, made in a time when folks thought a bot should look more human, though that notion had changed with the times. This one had the face of a man. Although she couldn’t explain it, this bot seemed alone and unwanted—she felt a connection.

“I'll take that one.”

The clerk flipped a switch and the room went dark as all the power surged into the wires. The robot's limbs twitched and the sound of its fuel cells charging crackled from its chest. A series of numbers flashed on its chest.

The head was featureless: a nose, a mouth with a speaker. Nothing defined its face until digital-celled eyes fired blue and alive.

She placed the tokens into its slot, and its torso began to light up. Each coin she shoved in added to a timer on the bot's chest.

The old man was pleased with the amount she put in.

“Well, kid, you got at least 24 hours. After that, it’ll return to the shop.” He fiddled with the bot’s control module on its back. “If any damages occur you’ll owe extra.”

“What if I don't have any more money?”

“Working off credit in the mines is a perfectly normal thing for a kid to do.”

He turned and walked out of the room.

“Meter’s running, come on!” he shouted.

he little girl and robot stood in the dark of the city. The robot was six feet tall and broad. It flexed the hydraulics of its fingers and the gears of its joints. It had been a long time since it had been online. It looked down at her with its glowing blue eyes.

“Hello. I am a Meter Moving Bot, model D-R000.”

“Do you mind if I call you Drew?” she asked.

It took a moment to register the question.

“I don't see how that is relevant, but very well Miss.”

“Come on, Drew, I need your help.”

“To assist others is why I was created,” the bot answered politely.

She smiled and gave it a hug of excitement.

“Good. We’ll start at my home. We haven’t a moment to lose.”

She was off into the endless night and the Robot followed.

The child brought the robot to her home of metal storage boxes refurbished into living bunkers. She opened the hatch and climbed down the ladder, the bot following. Her home was one room lit by a single, flickering bulb. Most residential homes in the slums went without light.

Drew took up most of the space within. They were both quiet for a moment. Finally the bot spoke.

“What shall I move for you, Miss?” asked the Robot.

“Call me Daisy,” said the little girl.

“Daisy.”

The words came with hesitation.

“Daisy. How may I help you?”

“I want you to solve a case.”

“Beg pardon, Daisy?”

“My sister Sidney-- she went missing. She hasn’t come home. She works at the bar by the pits. I haven't seen her in almost a week.” Daisy nervously shifted her weight from foot to foot as she spoke.

“I do not think I qualify for a missing persons case. Shouldn’t you notify the authorities?”

“Already did, they don't care. But then I thought, who needs cops when I can hire a private detective?”

“Detective?”

“Yeah!” Her tired eyes flashed with life.

“A gumshoe, a sleuth, hard boiled like in the historic cinemas my mom used to watch.”

She rushed over to a chest by her cot (a small bit of blanket on the floor) and rummaged around, pulling out an old coat, leather gloves, and a fedora.

“Mom used to wear these when she'd perform for the miners. She was an actress, too. When she was home, we'd watch the old movies together. Look, you can wear this when you go looking for Sid.”

She held them up to the bot with pride.

“Also," she said, fishing into her pockets to reveal a single coin. She placed it in the coat pocket. “This is for when you’re done solving the case. Have a little time for yourself."

The Bot took a moment to link itself to the network and access what she was talking about.

“You are referring to the Crime Noir, a genre of entertainment created four hundred and sixty eight years ago.”

“Yes. I love them. I need you to be a detective for me.”

“I am not understanding your request.”

“Your ad said you’re a robot for all reasons. Well, finding my sister is the job I need you to do.”

“The advertisement in question pertains to the specifics of moving. I apologize, Miss, but crime-solving is not my function.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she began to sob. She ran up to the Bot and wrapped her arms around its torso.

“Please!” She sobbed. “You're all I have! I'm all alone, I spent the last of my money, I don't have anyone else. You're the only one who's listened to me, and it's because I paid for you, but now I'm out of money.”

She hit the count down on Drew's chest. She’d lost an hour and a half.

“I haven't eaten in a few days!” she cried.

“That is not ideal, Miss.”

“I know that, silly… I skipped my meals so I could rent you!”

The light in Daisy’s eyes faded. She looked into the bot’s never-blinking blues.

“Drew... can you feel?”

“In some ways, yes, in others, no. But I understand the range of your human emotion.”

“Good. I need you to understand how I feel.”

“What are you feeling, Daisy?”

“Afraid. Scared and alone. I don't know if my sister is hurt, or worse.”

She coughed harder this time and turned paler than before. She swooned and fell back. The bot caught her before she hit the ground. It checked her vitals and found they were weak. It took her in its arms and rushed her to the medical bay across town. The bot processed her last words over and over on a loop, millions of times in sequence.

♦

aisy lay in a medical hover-bed. In the bright lights of the hospital ward her malnutrition was apparent. An officer came into her booth. He looked at the strange sight of a Rent-a-Bot standing over an unconscious child as if it were her guardian.

“Hey you, Bot, can you tell me what's going on?”

“Certainly, sir. She says her sister is missing. I thought it appropriate to notify the authorities.”

The officer, whose name was  Alden, looked with a pang of regret on his face. 

“I wish there was something I could do, but an abandoned child is the responsibility of the administrative office, not law enforcement. My hands are tied.”

“Will you do nothing?”

“Sorry, Mr. Bot, nothing I can do but paperwork...she's alone.”

“She has me.”

He eyed the machine with a look of interest.

“Only until her rented time runs out. Then what?”

With that said, he went back into the dark.

Drew looked back at the little girl. It began searching throughout its memory core—not once had anyone treated it the way that the child had. It had been screamed at, hit, abused, but never treated with... it took a moment to have her actions registered as actions of kindness.

The bot attached to the network and opened up a new file in its operative mode. It let the old films Daisy had mentioned rush in. Drew used more than just the films. It used the pulps, the dime store comics and page-turning novels. All forms of the genre, downloaded and assessed, compiled and processed into a new personality. Millions of films, thousands of stories, with smart-mouthed tough guys like in The Big Sleep, I The Jury, or The Thin Man, thousands of plots rushing together, creating an algorithm. A detective unlike any other.

“Daisy,” it said aloud.

“What?” she asked, eyes still closed.

“I have now seen your films. I know all about detectives.”

“Which ones did you watch, Drew?”

“All of them.”

Daisy smiled.

“Aren’t they great?” Drew's eyes closed. The robot powered down. There was a noise deep inside, and the eyes opened once more. It looked to her. The same, yet different, its body no longer rigid—it now had a swagger and leaned with bravado.

“Hey, sweetheart?” Drew said.

Daisy stirred. Her eyes fluttered and opened. She looked at the bot. The meter read twenty hours and thirteen minutes.

The robot in its new persona leaned over and took her hand in its own.

“Don't worry, kid. I'm on the case.”

“Really?”

A digital eye winked on its expressionless face.

The bot returned to Daisy’s house, donned the trench coat, and placed the fedora on its head.

♦

here were many shadows beyond the lights of Carron City. There was a cold darkness, a dangerous darkness in which the detective's eyes glowed. Sirens announced mining lifts returning, filled with workers. They mined the celestial minerals embedded deep in the rocks of the void, then moved to the next rock. Mining an Asteroid of this magnitude would last at least a hundred years. Nicknamed “century cities,” countless Mine-Co settlements floated out in the vacuum of space.

Drew wandered the streets in his new costume. Humphrey Bogart and William Powell personified all the best of the genre, the best embodied in the Bot. The works of Bradbury and Highsmith, all the noir and detective writers, surged through the bot’s processing matrix. The robot mirrored multiple detectives in its actions. There was a formula to this. 

Drew accessed the local missing persons files in the city's database. It found an image of a woman in her early twenties who looked like Daisy. According to the Carron police reports she'd been missing for two weeks.

Drew would start looking for Sid at her last job.

♦

he detective entered the bar. It was a broken place with broken glass and broken souls. The floor was dust made mud by the vomit and piss of its unruly patrons. Every step was a squelching crunch. 

The room was small, filled with ten men in miner garb and a single bartender. A solitary screen on the counter displayed some sort of sport. The screen was badly fractured, and it seemed as if many faces were talking.

The detective walked up to the counter and leaned in.

“Hey pal, a woman by the name of Sid used to work here. She’s been missing. Anyone seen her, or have any clue where she might’ve gone?”

Drew opened its coat and displayed an image of Sid on its chest. The bartender said nothing.

“Hey, pal, you hearing me?”

“I heard you the first time, you damn Bot,” the bartender snarled.

“Well, you didn't answer, so I assumed you didn't hear. Otherwise you'd either be deaf, or rude, and, well, I don't want to make assumptions.”

He spat in the bot’s face.

“You don't leave much to the imagination. Anyway, do you know where she is?”

The ten men gathered round, cutting Drew off from the exit.

The bartender was quiet, his eyes looking over the bot’s shoulders. The detective made no response, eyes staring at the bartender, and its speaker let out a whistle of amusement.

“Gonna be one of them joints, is it?”

Drew turned around to face his gathered audience.

“Any of you fellas know where Sid is? She used to work here.”

A bald man got in the bot’s face.

“Think you can come in here, asking questions? Piece of shit bot,” said the bald man,  shoving his finger in the Bot’s face. “Unless you're a vending machine with ice for our drinks, we don't want your kind in here.” 

“What's with you guys? Loose on insults, tight on answers.”

“You looking for trouble?”

“It seems you’ve saved me the chore.” 

The detective raised his fists, as all the others had done before, in hundreds of bars in hundreds of scenes.

One of the men made the first move, a bottle exploded on Drew's chest. Another swung his fist and broke it on its solid metal face. Ten men rushed in at once, and the machine responded with ten blows—one for each attacker.

The fight was over.

The detective lifted the bald man who had thrown the first punch. The man sprawled on the bar. Drew surmised this man might have information.

“Hey, punk. Rise and shine." Drew gave him a slap.

The bald man stood and with his good hand pulled a gun from his belt.  A bullet grazed the bot’s cheek before it could react. Sparks flew. The robot's hand caught the man's wrist and applied pressure until a bone popped. The gun fell from his limp hand. The man cried out in pain as Drew caught the firearm in mid air. The bot loosened its grip on the man’s wrist.

“With two bad hands, doesn't look like you'll be playing at the recital."

“What the hell kinda robot are you!?"

“One that’s asking a simple question. Where’s Sid?”

“Screw you,” he moaned.

The bot’s grip tightened.

“Don't insult me,” said Drew leaning in. “I'm sensitive.” 

Its hand squeezed harder.

“Aaaaaaaa—” the bald man screamed. He jerked away, but the bot had him pinned.

“We are going to play a game. The rules are simple. You lie, I hurt you. You tell the truth, I don't. Understand? Let’s play. Where is Sid?”

“Shit…" the bald man said, genuinely surprised. “The bar slut that Damon's banging? Why do you care?”

“Her kid sister, and by association so do I. Now talk.”

The man let out a groan. “She's in the mines. Sector 37—oww, I think you broke my hand!”

“Nah," said Drew, “just dislocated is all.” 

The bot made a sudden jerk. There was another loud snap, and the man fell to his knees, screaming.

“I'd ice that if I were you. Too bad I'm not a vending machine?”

“Go to hell,” said the man.

With all his might he headbutted the bot and collapsed unconscious.

Drew looked up and saw the flashing lights of police outside. Officer Alden walked in, weapon raised. He stopped, taken aback by the scene before him.

“You?” he directed at the Bot. Drew walked up to meet him.

“Yea, officer, I missed you, too,” Drew said, handing over the gun. Alden took it.

“Is there a reason you're at this bar?”

“Same as you, I suppose.”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

Drew flipped the collar of the trench coat up and pulled down the fedora.

“Just playing the part I was hired for, just playing the part.”

“Do you have any idea how many laws you've broken?"

The bot motioned to the men sprawled about on the floor. 

“Less than them, I imagine."

“Look, the only reason I'm not arresting is because I don't want to prove that  you just crippled a bunch of known drug dealers.”

“Drug dealers? So that's why they were giving me the lock jaw.”

Alden lowered his voice. “Mr. Bot. If I were your friend, I’d warn you by saying that Mine-Co and the cops enjoy things the way they are.” 

As he said this Alden placed the gun back in Drew’s hand.

“A friend also might say you better hurry up and get to the bottom of this. Meter’s running, Mr. Bot."

Drew placed the gun in its coat and tipped the fedora.

“Night, ace.”

Alden stared at the strange robot as it walked out the door and turned down an alley.

Drew accessed all available information on the drug trade in Carron City. It was a typical black market business, but there was one trade in particular that was really booming—a drug even the cops weren’t touching, for the simple reason that it was helping things in the mining biz get done. The drug was called “hot sauce.” It raised the body's temperature, giving heightened stamina. No doubt it was popular with miners because it allowed them to wear fewer clothes, meaning less finances spent on gear, and the amount of work it allowed a person to get done. You could tell a user by the steam that wafted off their skin.

So Sid was working at a bar run by the dealers, which meant she most likely knew something the gang didn't want to get out. Poor dame. Officer Alden was right—the meter was running low. Six hours, seven minutes.

♦

ines were all over Carron City, but Sector 37 belonged to a place the locals nicknamed “The Pits,” a special kind of dangerous. Operations had abandoned the place years ago, leaving holes in the rock that resembled deep, hungry mouths that had swallowed and spat out hundreds of workers.

The fastest way down was by lift. The detective took one, venturing into the empty mines below. Even after years of neglect they still worked. Drew figured this was on account of them being the gang's hideout. The lift shook violently and groaned as it descended below the city.

Lights flickered, failing momentarily,and the cart stopped. It swayed, suspended in mid-air. The lift door opened. Another lift came up, a foot away, full of dangerous-looking characters. They funneled in and surrounded Drew.

The bot let out a whistle. “You fellas know how to make someone feel like the prettiest girl at the dance.”

The brawl was a blur of metal, breaking bone, and hard steel splitting flesh. Forty-eight seconds later the group of men were either dead or severely injured. They were scattered on the floor of the lift.

The cart reached the bottom of the mine. Drew walked out of the cart and looked around. A well-worn path led the bot through the labyrinth of tunnels. After a good trek Drew came to an open cavern with a low roof, a makeshift den. His sensors indicated the air was sweltering with humidity and permeated with the stink of humans. Tables were piled with Mine-Co coins and the drug itself at many stages of refinement. It was clear everyone in the room was on Hot Sauce.

A bed was stuffed in the far corner of the room. A woman was laying on it. Drew recognized Sidney.

“I've come for the lady," the detective said, addressing the room. “Let her leave with me, and things won't get messy."

Everyone scrambled from their relaxed state. They stood up to face the intruder. One man stood out above the rest.

“You're Damon, I presume?” said Drew.

“What's it to you, bot?"

“I'm here to save the kidnapped girl."

Damon had his shirt off, steam rising from his torso. He let out a laugh and Sidney joined him.

“She's where she wants to be. I take care of my girls," Damon said, kissing Sid.

The detective took a step back in surprise. This was the twist that happened during the climax of many stories. But this wasn't fiction-- it was real. 

Drew took a step forward, pointing a finger in disgust. “This whole time I've been trying to save you! You abandoned your sister! Why?"

Sid stood up, blankets wrapped around her.

“I'm not going to listen to a bot. I won’t let a machine tell me how to run my life!” she screamed.

Damon walked over and put an arm around her. He pulled out a gun from his pants and pointed it at Drew. He smiled. “You didn't think this was going to end well, did you?"

“No,” said Drew. “That's why I brought the gun."

The bot fired his weapon. Down went Damon. Before the other gang members could react, the detective dived and rolled out of their line of fire. Bullets of retaliation tore and sparked around the bot. One gangster, a big man, picked up an old laser drill. He fired it up with a burst of smoke. The drill shot a blinding white energy beam, carving and splitting all it touched. Drew let off a shot, hitting the big man in the knee. The drill spun hard, cutting members of his gang in half. The detective seized the moment of confusion and unloaded its handgun into the remaining gang members. Drew stood  unblinking. The muzzle of the bot’s gun flashed and all caught in the crosshairs collapsed dead.

Drew stood in the midst of the aftermath.

Sid was screaming. The only one left alive. She tripped over her dead boyfriend, half dressed on a mattress, slick with sweat. Steam rose off her body, hair matted and stuck to her forehead.

Drew looked at the gun and let it clatter to the floor.

“What does she matter to you?" she cried at the detective. “Why are you doing this?”

The bot was still and his words were slow.

“Because Daisy needs me.”

“You're a robot, what do you know?”

“Daisy deserves better than you.”

“I didn't ask to be her mom!”

The bot climbed over the dead and yanked her up, holding her by the throat with one arm. Her legs kicked in protest.

“Listen to me!” said the bot, its eyes burning. “You are going to go back to your sister. You will take her off this rock and give her a better life.”

Drew dropped her hard on her back. She gasped for air.

“I don't have any money,” she sputtered.

“Take your boyfriend's dough. I don't think any mook here’s going to be needing it. Consider yourself paid."

The robot knelt and took her face gently in its hand.

“If I find out you’ve hurt Daisy in any way, or abandon her again, I will hunt you and tear you limb from limb. Understand, toots?”

She nodded.

Drew stood, adjusted the fedora on its head, and tipped it at her.

“I suggest you make yourself look presentable. Your sister's waiting at the hospital.”

♦

The detective came out of the main shaft. A harsh light cast on him, and a voice blared over a speaker.

“On your knees. Now.”

It was a police squad with Alden in their midst. Drew looked down at its chest. One hour, twenty minutes left.

“Well, will you look at that,” the bot said to itself. “Time to spare.”

♦

he bot was now in custody. Mine-Co was pissed. The cops were pissed. The drug lords were pissed. Drew had violated countless robot-worker laws. The police craft drove through the city. Alden looked in his rearview mirror at the robot—motionless, expressionless in the back of his car—the thing had singlehandedly busted a major drug ring, one even the cops weren’t willing to touch.

“Hey, ‘Drew’ was it? The girl that hired you?” Alden said.

“Daisy.”

“Yea, Daisy. They said on the scanner that her older sister Sidney came by and picked her up.”

The robot let out a sigh of content. It looked out the window and saluted the night.  “Bon voyage, sweetheart. God willing you'll have a better life now.”

“You helped a kid when no one else gave a shit. Why?”

“I'm a Robo for all reasons. To assist others was why I was created. And anyways, I wanted to be kind, like the kid.”

“I didn't think a Robot could do that.”

“I’ve recently surprised myself with all sorts of new traits, but ain’t that just like life.”

“What are you?” Alden asked. Drew looked at him with his cold blue eyes glowing in the dark.

“Not what, but who. I'm Sam Spade, Nick Charles, Philip Marlowe. Chandler, Hammett...I'm all of'em. And more.”

Alden slowed to a stop in a rougher part of Carron City. He looked at the seat next to him where the bot’s fedora was resting. He loaded his gun and stepped out of the driver's seat. He opened Drew's door.

“Get out and hand me your coat. Turn around,” the cop instructed.

Drew complied. “For the record, I am fine with this, now that the case is over. Do what you gotta do.”

The officer took aim. There was a sound of shattering glass as three shots fired. Nothing new in the city, deep in the drifting rock. Drew felt an explosion on its back, and fell to its knees. A pressure had been lifted off the bot. Its systems were still operational. 

“Alright, here's the story,” said Alden. “You malfunctioned, I shot you in self-defense. Before I could do anything, your remains were taken by street scrapers.”

The bot stood up and turned around, facing the officer.

“What's the angle here?" the bot asked, tilting its head confused.

“It's simple—you and I are going to be partners.”

“Partners?”

“I just disabled your control module. You're off the grid now. Free. So anytime someone needs a case solved, a case the cops won't handle, they get you, a genuine detective. Listen."

Alden took a step closer, his voice strained with conviction.

“There are people buried in this hell that need help, people with problems that a man like me, stuck in the bureaucracy of the law, can't get to as fast as you. They need you and, quite frankly, so do I. Can you do that for me, for others, like Daisy?”

Alden handed the robot the fedora and coat, and shook its hand.

“I brought you here because there’ve been some killings. Murders that no one in my department will talk about. Think you can look into it?”

The robot reached into its coat, producing the coin Daisy had gifted, and flipped it to the cop.

“Consider me on the case, ace.”