RoboCop 2

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RoboCop 2 Page 8

by Ed Naha

“We’ve collected money,” Lewis offered. “If it’s not enough, we’ll collect more.”

  “How much money?” Faxx asked.

  “A couple thousand bucks,” Lewis admitted. “But that’s only from two precincts.”

  Faxx smiled thinly. “I’m afraid a ‘couple thousand bucks’ won’t do it. His helmet alone costs . . . oh, never mind.”

  Lewis’s face reddened. She rose from her chair. “Look, I’ll get more. Tell me how much and I’ll get it.”

  Faxx leaned back in her chair. “Please Officer, relax.”

  She smiled warmly at Lewis as the cop slid back down into her chair.

  “I was able to convince my superiors that we could not abandon our company’s finest achievement,” Faxx cooed. “You’ll get the parts, along with a crack technical team . . . and a program update I’m preparing myself.”

  Lewis gaped at the executive. “You’re gonna fix him?”

  Faxx grinned. “We’re gonna fix him.”

  Tears welled up in Lewis’s eyes. “Thank you, Doctor. Thank you.”

  Faxx nodded, still radiating a warm smile. “We all love him around here, you know. I can tell you feel something special about him yourself.”

  “He’s my partner,” Lewis said. “With cops, that means a lot.”

  “You’re a very caring person,” Faxx commented. “That’s much more important than grace or intelligence to many people.”

  Lewis shook her head clear. She’d just been verbally sucker-punched and she knew it. She wanted to get angry but was too confused to light the spark. She slowly arose from her chair. Faxx followed the move, leaning over her desk and grasping Lewis by the hand.

  “We’ll begin immediately.” The doctor smiled. “Why don’t you start spreading the good word?”

  Lewis nodded and, slightly light-headed, walked out of the room. She didn’t know what the hell had just gone down in Faxx’s office.

  When the policewoman was gone, Faxx pushed an intercom button. “It’s done. I’ll be right up.”

  She walked to the door and waited until she saw Lewis enter a descending elevator before she left her office.

  Minutes later, in an OCP conference room, the cool Dr. Faxx chatted with a group of company executives, including a frowning Johnson.

  “RoboCop’s command program,” she began, “his set of directives, determines his behavior. It’s time to update that program, and I’d like to hear from each and every one of you.”

  The flattered executives glanced at each other. At Faxx’s side, Jenny prepared to take notes.

  A female executive leaned forward. “I’ve always thought that RoboCop should relate more sympathetically to women.”

  Faxx nodded. “Interesting. Thank you.”

  “He’s always making such value judgments,” a bald-headed sleazeball declared. “I think what we need is a value-neutral RoboCop.”

  “Very good,” Faxx commented.

  “Couldn’t he take a little time to address environmental issues?” one newcomer asked.

  “I don’t see any reason why not,” Faxx agreed.

  “And all that shooting he does,” a second woman exec moaned. “I’ve never once seen him take the time to do something nice. Like visit an orphanage!”

  Johnson sighed. “Or help a cat out of a tree,” he added sarcastically. “Or go door to door, collecting for the Red Cross.”

  Faxx shot Johnson an icy grin. “Very good, Mr. Johnson. The media would love that. Thank you so much.”

  Johnson sunk lower in his seat as the round-robin suggestion period droned on.

  Why don’t you just cut him up completely? Johnson thought to himself. That’s all you want to do anyhow.

  [ 17 ]

  Sergeant Reed clutched his head in his hands as he sat behind his desk. Before him, two dozen perps were waiting to be booked. Half a dozen cops had been shot in the past two days. The crisis on the streets of Detroit was worsening every hour.

  He pushed his blotter aside and stalked into the corridors behind his desk, a frazzled Officer Estevez at his side.

  “This isn’t police work,” he fumed. “This is shit, Estevez. The entire city is becoming unglued. Parkhouse just called from Grosse Pointe, begging for help.”

  “Grosse Pointe?” Estevez blinked. “But that’s a money neighborhood! Since when do they need help from us?”

  “They’ve lost two cops there in the last forty-eight hours,” he grumbled. “A bunch of kids used a goddamned grenade launcher on them. It’s a jungle now, like everywhere else.”

  Reed turned to Estevez. “Man the front desk for me, will ya?”

  Estevez nodded and returned to the main room of the stationhouse. Reed clomped into the RoboChamber.

  A freshly reconstituted RoboCop sat serenely in his throne. Helmet securely in place, the repaired Robo looked good as new. Tak Akita and Linda Garcia manned the computer console, running tests.

  Robo’s hands flexed.

  His head turned.

  His legs pumped up and down casually.

  Reed stared at the two robotics experts. “He was supposed to be ready an hour ago. All hell is breaking loose outside. Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Tak replied, punching his keypads. “It’s the new command program from OCP. It’s a big one. It’s taking forever to download.”

  “Done,” Garcia declared.

  Reed turned to RoboCop. The mighty metal cop slowly arose from his throne and turned to Reed.

  The sergeant grinned. “How are you feeling, Murphy?”

  Robo flashed Reed a sincere grin. “I am just fine, Bill. Golly. Thanks for asking.”

  Robo left the room, a new bounce to his step. Reed shot a bewildered glance at the two robotics experts. They blinked, totally baffled.

  Robo exited the police station, waving cheerfully at the picketing cops. “Good morning,” he chirped.

  “Whuttha?” the cop named Whittaker exclaimed.

  A half-hour later, a burglary alarm cut through the silence of a slow day. Shouts echoed through the streets, joined by the sound of breaking glass.

  The elderly owner of an electronics store staggered across his showroom, his head bleeding. He ducked as equipment sailed through the air, barely missing his already fractured skull. A young punk wearing a Motor City Muskrats baseball uniform cackled as he leaped onto a counter and began emptying the cash register.

  “Please,” the old man begged.

  “Fuck you,” the kid giggled, stuffing the money into his pockets.

  Half a dozen other small fry, also clad in baseball uniforms, bashed opulent electronics displays with little-league baseball bats. They gathered high-tech electronics merchandise and hauled it toward the front door.

  Their stoned-out adult coach followed, carrying a large video monitor.

  “Let’s go,” called the coach. “The NUKE’s on me.”

  The coach and the team stumbled out onto the streets, carrying their merchandise to the back of a small gray van. They began loading the booty into the van when the coach froze in his tracks. He whipped out a pistol as a police TurboCruiser glided down the street.

  “Cheeze it!” he yelped. “Cops!”

  He fired a round at the approaching cruiser.

  Anne Lewis ducked as the bullet shattered the windshield. She tumbled from the cruiser and rolled on the ground as the demented coach fired round after round in her direction.

  Lewis crawled to the back of the cruiser, taking cover and drawing her own weapon.

  Still seated behind the wheel was a cool, calm, and collected RoboCop.

  He slowly emerged from the vehicle, the coach still firing.

  “Shit, guys!” one little slugger declared. “It’s RoboCop!”

  The kids stopped loading the stolen goods and, as one, raised their hands high into the air.

  Robo stood next to the cruiser, inert.

  Lewis crouched behind him, taking cover behind his metallic form.

  The coach continued firing.


  Lewis heard the bullets zing off Robo’s torso.

  “Come on, Murph!” she hissed. “Wake up already! Do something!”

  Robo remained in place.

  The coach continued firing.

  Lewis raised her gun.

  The coach stopped firing.

  The coach stopped breathing.

  The coach stopped living. He tumbled down onto the ground with a thud. Half of his team ran back into the store.

  “Let’s hit the rear!” one kid advised.

  Lewis darted out from behind Robo. “Thanks for the help, partner. I really appreciate it.”

  The six sluggers raced to the rear of the building and began grappling with the back door. It was locked. They turned to run toward the entrance and found their path blocked by a very disgruntled Lewis, her gun pointed in their direction.

  “Out front, munchkins. Now!”

  Lewis led the kids out of the store and tossed them up against the storefront.

  Robo lifted the lifeless coach’s body high into the air and gazed at it. “You are under arrest,” he announced.

  “He’s dead, Murphy,” Lewis called from over her shoulder.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” Robo advised the corpse.

  “Safe bet he’s gonna take that advice,” Lewis called.

  “You have the right to an attorney,” Robo shouted at the body. Flies were already gathering at the cadaver’s bleeding nose.

  “You’re reading the Miranda warning to a corpse, Murphy!” Lewis shouted.

  Robo glanced at Lewis, then he stared at the body. He dropped it. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I am having . . . trouble.”

  Robo glanced at the young baseball team of felons. Through his RoboVision he saw a new directive. CHILDREN PRESENT. ROLE MODEL MODE. DIRECTIVE SEVEN: PROMOTE CIVIC PRIDE. DIRECTIVE NINE: RESTRAIN HOSTILE FEELINGS. DIRECTIVE FOURTEEN: SEEK NONVIOLENT SOLUTIONS.

  Robo grinned and, pushing Lewis to the side, gathered the children together, just at the point when the bloodied owner staggered out of the shop. Robo pointed toward the battered storefront.

  “Now, kids,” Robo began, “that was not nice.”

  Lewis and the store owner exchanged startled glances.

  The kids lapsed into a state of shock.

  Robo continued to lecture the children, his face betraying several nervous tics as he spoke, his body convulsing slightly as well.

  “You see, destructive behavior breeds . . .”

  Robo’s head jerked.

  “Have a nice . . .”

  His lips twitched.

  “You cannot make an omelet without breaking a few . . . eggs . . . eggs . . .”

  One kid turned to another. “Shit. This guy is really fucked up.”

  “Bad language,” Robo began, “makes for bad . . . bad . . . feelings.”

  “Let’s blow this popstand,” one slugger advised the pack.

  The kids sprinted away from Robo, past Lewis and down the street.

  “They’re getting away!” the store owner moaned.

  He turned to Robo, shaking violently. “You let them get away! What the hell is wrong with you!”

  “Gosh,” Robo replied. “You seem hostile.”

  “Hostile?” the owner snarled. “They wrecked my shop and you give them a Captain Kangaroo lecture! You stupid metal bastard, I oughtta—”

  Robo lifted the store owner high into the air by his throat. The man began to choke.

  “And you have a nice day too, sir.” Robo smiled, dropping the merchant onto the ground like a ton of bricks.

  Robo sauntered back to the cruiser and climbed behind the wheel. “Coming, Annie?” he called.

  Officer Lewis, more than confused, nodded and climbed in beside him. “Where to, Murphy-urphy?”

  “Where destiny leads us,” Robo said, sending the cruiser back onto the streets—at a good twenty miles an hour.

  After a few minutes of cruising in molasses time, Lewis grew impatient. “Hit the gas, Murphy! People raise families in less time than it’s taking us to move across the sector.”

  “The posted limit is thirty-five,” Robo cautioned. “I must set a good example for the populace, Annie.”

  “Annie my fanny!” Lewis groused. “Nobody has called me that since I was nine, and besides, you never . . . you never!”

  She faced Robo. “Murphy! You would never call me that! It’s OCP again, isn’t it? They did something to you, didn’t they? They messed with your mind.”

  Robo continued to drive. “I am fine. And have I told you that your hair looks lovely that way?”

  Lewis slinked down into her seat. “Oh, gee, thanks.”

  “And the moon is pretty tonight, is it not?” Robo continued.

  “It’s broad daylight,” Lewis pointed out.

  “Does not matter,” Robo replied. “It is the thought that counts.”

  “Jesus!” Lewis sighed. “We’re heading back to the station. That’s all there is to—”

  Robo slammed on the cruiser’s brakes. Lewis lurched forward, her face slamming into the dashboard. “Awww, Jesusfugginchristmas, Murphy!” she howled. “You almost broke my goddamn face in!”

  Robo exited the car silently.

  He walked toward a group of slum children cavorting around an open fire hydrant. Robo walked into the geyser of water and reached down toward the hydrant. Using his hand, he twisted the hydrant closed.

  The little kids stood there startled.

  “What’s that for?” one kid demanded. “We wuz only havin’ a little fun. We can’t afford to go to no OCP pool or nuthin’.”

  Robo faced the children. “Conserving our natural resources is everybody’s . . .”

  His body jerked.

  “A rolling stone . . .”

  He jerked again.

  “. . . is worth two in the bush.”

  He jerked a third time.

  “. . . except after c.”

  The kids giggled at the spastic RoboCop. One older kid crept up behind him and, whipping out a can of spray paint, wrote “kick me” on Robo’s back.

  “Awww, go fuck a refrigerator, pecker neck,” one little girl declared.

  “Bad language makes for bad feelings,” Robo instructed her.

  The little girl turned to face Robo, who bent nearer. The child let go with a massive belch.

  “And one must always pay attention to one’s diet,” Robo continued as the older kid with the spray can painted over Robo’s visor.

  Robo stood perplexed as a small gaggle of adult citizens gathered and began to howl with laughter as the kids continued to badger the metallic minion of the law.

  Lewis exited the car and trotted over, brandishing her gun. “All right, jerk-offs. The show’s over. Break it up before I break some butt.”

  “Bitch!” a little girl hissed, stalking off.

  Lewis extended a foot.

  The little hellion tripped over the extended boot and fell facedown into a puddle.

  “Clumsy you.” Lewis grinned at the little devil. She took Robo by the hand and led him toward the car.

  Suddenly Robo stiffened. He wheeled around, whipping out his gun.

  Lewis cringed as three shots belched out of Robo’s massive handgun.

  On the far side of the street, a man smoking a cigarette fell back against a wall, Robo’s bullets neatly encircling his head.

  The man, wide-eyed with terror, opened his mouth in a silent scream. The cigarette dangled for a moment from his lower lip, before tumbling onto the ground before his feet.

  Robo holstered his gun and waved at the man. “Thank you for not smoking,” he called.

  Lewis took Robo by the hand and led him back to the cruiser. “You sit in the passenger’s seat,” she advised. “I’ll drive.”

  “But why?” Robo asked.

  “You brake for animals?” Lewis asked.

  “But of course,” Robo answered.

  “You stay in the right lane of the road except for when it
’s necessary to pass?” Lewis countered.

  “Of course,” Robo replied.

  “From now on,” said Lewis firmly, “until we get you to a good robotic shrink, I’m driving, I’m making the calls, and I’m pulling the collars.”

  “Whatever you say, Officer Lewis. I am not a sexist, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “And by the way, have I told you your hair looks lovely that way?”

  “Yes.” Lewis sighed, easing the cruiser forward. “You have.”

  Robo nodded contentedly. “I thought I had.”

  [ 18 ]

  RoboCop sat placidly on his throne, his helmet in place, his face relaxed. A thick computer cable ran from the base of his skull into the base of his throne. Linda Garcia, muttering curses under her breath, slowly wiped the spray paint from his visor. Tak Akita motioned a concerned Lewis toward a computer monitor.

  More and more directives scrolled out onto the screen.

  DIRECTIVE 233: RESTRAIN HOSTILE FEELINGS.

  DIRECTIVE 234: PROMOTE POSITIVE ATTITUDES.

  DIRECTIVE 235: SUPPRESS AGGRESSIVE EMOTIONS.

  DIRECTIVE 236: PROMOTE SOCIAL VALUES.

  DIRECTIVE 237: ENCOURAGE ENVIRONMENTAL CONSCIOUSNESS.

  DIRECTIVE 238: AVOID DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR.

  DIRECTIVE 239: BE ACCESSIBLE TO THE PUBLIC.

  DIRECTIVE 240: PARTICIPATE IN GROUP ACTIVITIES.

  DIRECTIVE 241: AVOID INTERPERSONAL CONFLICTS.

  The scroll of robotic dos and don’ts continued. Lewis frowned. “What the hell is all that stuff?”

  “New directives,” Tak answered. “Directed toward the Robo command system. There are hundreds of them. The poor bastard must be going out of his mind.”

  Garcia nodded, still wiping off the paint. “It’s not like he can just say no. They’ve put all this nonsense into his brain. He has to obey. That’s the way he’s made.”

  “Take them out,” Lewis ordered. “All of them!”

  “We can’t.” Tak sighed. “Not here. Not with the equipment we’re allowed. I’m afraid he’ll have to stay this way until OCP sees fit to fix him.”

  “They’re the ones who did this to him!” Lewis was fuming. “We won’t get any help from them. You know that, Tak.”

  “Anne,” said Tak sadly, “there’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry.”

 

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