O SEE ANY LIGHT in this darkness was an effort. Laura was tired. Bruises painted a mural across her face, but the pain was deeper. It stung and burned her blood. She looked out the diner window, distracted. Ash fell down in Carron City.

Once every three months mining companies had their monstrous machines cleaned. The result was a constant falling ash, filthy and all consuming, but filth was a part of Carron City. The dark was nothing new to the people who lived and died within the heart of an asteroid. Digging deeper and deeper, taking as much from it as possible till at last it was a hollowed out shell, and their children's children would move on to the next.

The ash was falling hard. It would be like this for another week—nothing but soot and filth. It collected on the diner's windows as if it were some kind of dark snow.

The diner Laura worked at was mostly empty. It was in the wee hours of the morning when time seemed to slow to an eerie pace. A group of miners came in looking to sober up, covered in the grime and dirt that was this city's life source. She took their half-mumbled and slurred orders for coffee and breakfast—a language she had come to speak fluently. 

That's when she noticed the one they called “the detective” sitting in the far corner, waiting. 

Rumors had spread throughout Carron City of a meter bot-turned sleuth—a detective willing to take the cases the cops wouldn't. One thing she knew for a fact was that this Bot was one of a kind. It wore a tan trench coat, collar popped up, and a fedora drawn over most of its face. 

It scanned the diner. Her eyes met the Bot’s cold blue ones.

Maybe, just maybe, this could be the answer to her problems. The device on her wrist beeped, telling her it was time for her break—more than enough time to convince the Bot to help.

She sat down across from it.

“So what do I call you… Mr. Bot?” she asked.

“‘Drew’ is fine, ma’am, what do I call you?”

“Laura,” she said.

“Well, Laura...” It spoke her name as if it were something special. “What's a dame like you doing in a diner like this?”

“Serving. Same as everyone else in this damned city.” She was quiet for a moment and looked out the window again, collecting her words.

“Do you dream, detective?” 

The bot analyzed her question for a moment, then answered.

“That's the irony, angel, I'm made up of them. The entire algorithm in my circuitry is everything you humans dreamed and created—Bogart, The Naked City, Death is a Lonely Business, Doyle—all of ‘em dreamed, by someone.”

She smiled.

“So you're a dream walking in a nightmare? For me it's the reverse: I'm a nightmare who wants to escape into a dream.”

“I guess the real question should be, what do you dream of, angel?”

“I close my eyes and I dream of an ocean. Of a world where water isn’t shipped, supplied, and rationed like here. On some planets, it's endless. I think of all the worlds known and unknown with water and I dream I was there away from the dirt, away from the blood, puke, and piss that we suffocate in. In my dream, I’m bathing in water and light.”

The bot just kept looking at her with its almost-human face. It said nothing, listening intently. Both looked at one another in silence.

One of the miners called from the counter, holding up an empty coffee mug.

“Hey! Get your sweet ass over here! I want a refill!”

“I'm on my break,” she said, irritated, without so much as looking in their direction.

Another let out a sharp cry.

“I don't give a shit!"

She rolled her eyes, beginning to get up. Drew put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“You finish your break. I'll take out the trash.”

The Bot stood up and walked over to the group. The detective stood a good foot taller then the man.

“Do you think that's the right way to speak to a lady?”

“Here's what I think, Bot!”

The miner took a swing at Drew. There was a crack as his fist hit metal, and he let out a cry of pain. The Bot grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off his feet with one arm, the gears in its arm making a whirring sound.

“I think you should have a seat,” Drew said. It tossed the man into a booth. The others took the hint, gathered their friend, and left. Now there was only Laura and the detective.

She raised an eyebrow.

“That was some show you just put on.” Laura made a gesture to the detective's person. “Why a detective? You could be anything.”

It straightened out its trench coat and made its way back to their little booth. 

“To assist others was why I was created, and I think you need the assistance of a private eye.”

She became very serious, her lips pursed tight. “Drew, are you the kind of detective that kills?” she asked.

The bot let out a low whistle as it took a seat. “Now, angel, you aren’t asking me to ice anyone, are you?”

“I just want to know if you're capable of taking things all the way, if they need to be.”

“Well now I'm not above killing, ma’am, but I ain't no assassin. Still, let's just see how this plays out. Why don't you tell me why you asked me here?”

She took a deep breath.

“It's my father. He was the foreman for Mine-Co and found out they were using faulty machinery and cutting corners. When he went to management, they tried to pay him off. He said no, and he would report them to the off-site headquarters. So they paid me, his daughter, a visit. Gave me a good beating, and threatened to kill me. So he decided to send a message of his own to the company by killing the men involved instead. There were four total, three of them dead already. He’s lost control.”

“So you want me to find your father?”

“No. You need to find Royce Miles— he's the last man standing— find him and save him from my father.”

“You have any idea where he might be?”

“Mine-Co is hiding him somewhere, but that doesn’t matter. My dad will find a way.”

“You know, for such a gruesome case, you sure are handling this pretty well.”

She flashed a look of indignation.

“We waitresses are a tough breed in a place like this. It's all complaints and orders.”

The Bot tilted its head looking at her from a different angle.

“They sure have done a number on you.” 

She became aware of her face.

“What's the matter, you feeling sorry for me?”

“What if I am, ma’am? We all need a little sympathy from time to time.”

She flashed a look of anger, “You're not even real, just a mess of dime store gumshoes and black and white films. Or that's what they say about you anyway.”

The bot leaned in and lifted the fedora with a single finger revealing its almost human face.

“I'm real enough, doll.”

“But not really, right?” 

The Bot nodded. “Good thing, too, otherwise that last comment would have hurt my feelings, and I may not have agreed to take your case.”

“When I was little, my father gave me one very sound piece of advice. For you it's redundant but worth hearing none the less.”

“I'm all metaphorical ears,” said Drew.

Her eyes flashed her stored-up pain for a moment, but she managed to gain control.

“He said, ‘Darling… careful who you waste your tears on.’”

She pointed out the window to the world of ash and pain.

“No one on this asteroid is gonna cry for me. I'm the daughter of a crazy foreman. That's the way it goes.”

“No tears wasted, is that it?”

“Yeah, that's right! Diner dames don't cry.”

The detective stood up and walked over to the entrance. It opened the door and looked back at her.

“Tears or no tears, I'll take the case.”

“Thank you.” She seemed relieved.

“Thank me when I find Royce.”

***

REW LINKED UP with the city's database. It was true that Bob had gone missing and that three of the four men had been murdered. The police still had no suspects. Drew found this odd but it seemed Bob had stayed under their radar and been a busy boy.

Yet it was his daughter who was left to pick up the tab. 

A cycle of digging and dying in the cold. But maybe, just maybe, Drew could stop it. 

Find Royce Miles and Bob would follow.

Drew mused. The files themselves were vague; both sides were hiding something. The detective would need more information from Mine-Co or the police database, but those were restricted. Luckily for Drew, he had a man on the inside. Officer Alden: the bot’s partner, co-conspirator, and perhaps only friend.

***

HE STREETS WERE usually crowded but thanks to the constant ash, most of the usual bustling metropolis was empty and anyone out was in a hurry, just like the gumshoe. The detective walked at a moderate pace. It had taken less than an hour to get the information. Thanks to the codes that Alden had given. The Bot now knew that Royce Miles was being hid at an upscale club known as Fool's Gold. Drew had a hunch that it would have one hell of a time getting in, especially if Mine-Co was protecting this guy. There were a few security guards on the roof. Even with their tactical vision helmets, in the downpour of the ash they didn't see Drew coming. The bot made its way through them without any trouble. The Bot’s vice-like grip and speed dislocated their joints and knocked the guards out cold. The door from the roof was locked but all it took was a few rounds from the newly acquired guns off the Mine-Co personnel.

The club pulsed with harsh noise and flashing lights—holographic projections of people, animals, and colors engulfed the dancing crowd. The floors were slick and reflective. Here was where the high ranking staff of Mine-Co came to cut loose, away from common man. These were the type who gave the orders instead of digging.

The Bot’s blue eyes pierced through it all. The detective saw a door guarded by two robots, heavy military class, unarmed—no point in shooting up the elite of Carron City. They picked the former meter Bot out instantly. Both made their way towards the detective.

“Halt, intruder!” one exclaimed.

“Sorry, pal, don't know that dance, how about the old automatic?” said Drew.

The sleuth removed the rifle from its trench coat and let the bots have it. Even then they progressed towards him with only minor damage.

The three robots exchanged blows with a kind of speed and analyzed accuracy that no human could handle or maintain. But with the influences of Hammett and Chandler, Drew knew how to fight dirty.

People screamed as the three bots destroyed their surroundings. The gumshoe with its free hand pulled out a pistol and shot into the joints of one of its combatants' feet. Down it went, and another two shots to the head finished it off. 

The other responded fast, surprising the detective.

Drew was tossed over into the bar. An explosion of glass and liquor rained down on the Bot. As it was pulling itself up onto the counter, the second guard charged into Drew and smashed into the wall. The detective shoved its gun up through the opening in the security model’s neck and emptied the clip. With a hard crash and clang of metal the robot guard fell on Drew, deceased.

The detective lay on its back for a moment. It seemed as if this case, like everything else in Carron City, wanted to keep the detective down. But Drew was made of stronger stuff, of Rockford, Dead Reckoning, and Wendell Bud White. The hard-boiled heroes of screen and page pulsed within its matrix and wouldn't let the Bot down that easily.

With great difficulty Drew stood and staggered over to the door. The detective gave three knocks. Glass shattered as someone fired a gun in response.

“You could have just said ‘Occupied’,” said Drew.

The Bot ripped the door off its hinges, using it as a shield, and charged into the office.

One man stood behind a desk, looking as if he'd been drinking for the better half of a week. By the looks of the office he’d been living there as well.

Drew hurtled the door at the man’s hand, knocking the gun out of his hand and off his feet.

“Royce Miles, I presume?” The detective stood over him, looking down.

“What the hell, man?” yelped Miles.

“I'm here to have a chat, that's all, a quiet chat.”

“Okay, I give up. Just don't hurt me!”

“Whoa! Whoa! You dumb mook, I'm here to help you!”

The man seemed confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The old man, Bob, he's looking for you. That's why the company holed you up here—Bob is going to kill you to prove a point.”

Drew gave a sudden jerk, and sparks streamed from its left eye. The detective's voice faltered and grew low and slow, then high, and tailed off like a broken tape.

“Is this a joke?” asked Miles.

“No joke, pal. He told you he was going to headquarters to report you and your cutting corners. But you beat his daughter and threatened to kill her, and now he's been killing you deadbeats off one at a time.”

Miles' eyes were wild with confusion. 

“It can't be Bob who’s doing this, it can't!”

“Why not?” Drew asked.

“Because we killed him, you dumb bastard!”

Royce looked behind the detective.

“Oh God, it's you. You’ve been doing this!.”

A heavy force was brought down on the bot’s head. Drew fell to the floor, its systems crashing—it needed to recharge, it needed to reboot. The detective fought to stay awake, but the last thing it heard before going offline was the click-click of high heels. 

Then darkness.

The Bot reactivated and found that it had been moved into the back of some alleyway. It was still beat up pretty badly, but someone had hooked it up to the club's powergrid. It disconnected itself and Drew knew where to go, where this was going to end.

***

SH FELL, BUT LAURA gave it no thought. Nothing could remove the grime that smothered her existence. She was taking out the trash behind the diner. Drew stood behind her, slowly raising a gun. 

“I sure played along well, didn't I? Played the good detective. You needed me to Find Royce, get past Mine-Co's security. And you waited, played the dame in distress, while I did the heavy lifting and you could take your revenge. A femme fatale in disguise. I oughta have known, but I was rootin’ for ya.”

Her mouth moved but her eyes were in another world.

“Mine-Co said it was an accident, but they wouldn't put out an official report. They knew what really happened. They paid off the cops, who said dad fell down a mine shaft and broke his neck, but I saw his body before they vaporized it and scattered it with all of this ash. A man doesn’t get stab wounds from a fall.” 

She said this as if in a dream.

In the dumpster was the body of Royce Miles. His face frozen in realization.

The detective's scanners picked up another heat signature as a second waitress came out of the diner to sneak a smoke. Laura sprang into action, aiming a gun at her coworker.

“Don't you move, Amy, or I'll blow your brains out.”

The waitress stood frozen in the back doorway.

“They had to pay, all of them! Not with the settlement check, not the false accolades. I could see behind their smiles. I saw the blood on their hands and when I pushed, they pushed back, beating me, threatening me to keep quiet.”

Drew took a step forward.

“Those bastards deserved what was coming to ‘em, but it shouldn’t have been you. A dame like you deserves better.”

“You don't get to tell me what I deserve! I deserve revenge! I was dragged to a fucking rock in the middle of a godforsaken speck in the universe, for what? For my dad to strike it rich? No, for us to suffocate in the depths of this pit!”

Drew stepped closer. She didn't move, just kept staring off.

“Let her go. Let all of this go. Laura, it's over.”

“Let go?” The words were bitter in her mouth. “You still want to save me, don't you?”

“If I can. If you'll let me.” Drew took two more steps.

“I'm all hate. I can't let go.” She was shaking.

The bot was directly behind her.

“Close your eyes, sweetheart, close your eyes and dream of that ocean you were telling me about.”

“Looks like I'll get an answer to my question after all, Mr. Bot. Do you kill?” she whispered.

“Only when I have to, angel. Please don't make me.”

She closed her eyes. Laura could see the waves, the crystal waters, the light. She could finally see the light.

Laura's finger squeezed the trigger of her weapon. She smiled.

The Bot's gun fired.

Laura fell without a sound, fell as soft and silent as the ash.

Her gun had already been emptied out on Royce—her final trick on Drew. Unharmed, Amy stood looking at the scene that had just played out before her.

Drew held Laura in the dark as the filth of Carron City rained down on them both.