[ IP ] The Clockwork City

`` Inspector Kerensky? A Man is here to see you.'' 
 
 He lowers the newspaper he was reading. He can tell that the secretary stressed the word man, with a capital M. Folding the paper, he places it at the corner of his desk. `` Send him in, Mrs. Larsen.'' The precinct's secretary disappears from his office. A minute later a Man walks into the small room. He is wearing a clean suit, charcoal grey with a deep blue tie. The black leather shoes on his feet are impeccably shining. None of this is out of the ordinary. What is, is his features. Blond hair, with his hazel eyes the most striking thing about him. His teeth are a bright white as he smiles. He looks nothing like Viktor Kerensky. He is of flesh and blood. 
 
 Inspector Kerensky reaches out over his desk, the young man takes it and shakes. The tactile sensors in Kerensky's hand registers it as a firm handshake. *Good, * Thinks the inspector. *He is n't a weakling. * His vocal box squawks. `` What can I do for you...?'' The voice is a rich one, the voice of a thirty some year old with just a hint of an accent. The Man stands straighter in front of the desk. `` Deputy Inspector Daniel McCarron, sir. I've just been transferred from Cobalt City.'' Kerensky opens a drawer and withdraws a bottle of whiskey and a single tumbler. Pouring a couple of fingers of the honey colored liquid into the glass, he offers it to the Man. His skin covered hand wraps around the cut glass. Kerensky speaks, his artificial voice a rather pleasant sound. `` It's a'23 Lamont. It's good. I've had it. Course, that was nine years ago. Back when I was still made of meat. I became transhuman when I was thirty-six. Now I know normally transference is supposed to happen when one is forty, but in my case I was diagnosed with testicular cancer. It would have been easy enough to get it removed, but the docs said screw it.'' His metal head tilts forward slightly and a chuckle emerges from his voice box. `` Forgive me, I'm straying. I'm glad you're here. We've been on a tight shift for the past month.'' 
 
 The black paint of his angular head pairs well with the green glow of his optics. The young Man speaks again. `` Thank you sir.'' He takes a sip of his drink and nods appreciatively. `` Thank you indeed. This is the real deal. Anyways, I hope I can do well here.'' Kerensky waves as if to clear a miasma. `` Please Mr. McCarron, spare me the humbleness. I saw your file. Good things in it. I think you do fine here. In fact I should ha-'' A knock on the door. 
 
 The secretary reappears. `` Inspector Kerensky,'' Her voice box gives off a voice of pure Minnesotan. `` I'm afraid you're wanted. There was a murder at 43rd and Gadsden. Lieutenant Cooper asks for you there.'' The man rises from his seat and shrugs on his coat. `` Tell him I'll be there in twenty.'' His optics turn towards the new arrival. `` Well Mr. McCarron, ready for your first day on the job in the capital?'' The Man nods. `` Yes sir.'' If the other man's face had lips, he would be grinning right now. His body language makes it plain enough. `` That's what I want to hear. Come on, we'll take my car.'' 
 
 The two men, one of metal, and other of flesh and bones, head out of the office and onto the street. The last rainclouds dry up and the sun pokes through, casting rainbows in the air. It is 3:23 P.M. Just another Thursday in Clarkesburg.
