She-Borg Goes on a Blind Date

By Andrew Swearingen

By all standards, Tony was cute. So few guys ever looked like their profile pictures, but he fulfilled his wonderfully. Nice smile. Stunning eyes. And praise the Lord, he knew not to wear cargo shorts on a date. Or ever.

We ordered appetizers, taking in the view from the restaurant’s second story patio. He talked a little about his job but asked a lot of questions about me. Was this actually going to go well?

He is an excellent specimen, Lucy.

I switched on my internal comms. Not now, IRIS. Please?

Green text filled the right side of my vision. Tony continued to talk, but I’d mastered the art of carrying on a conversation while receiving information from my A.I. best friend.

I performed a 4D scan, IRIS said. He is in exceedingly great health. Although he did break his arm four years ago while kayaking. Also, there is a history of male-pattern baldness in his family.

I chomped on my mozzarella stick. No displays right now. And stop violating my date’s civil liberties.

I was merely attempting to be of assistance.

IRIS, your job is to regulate my implants and watch out for potential threats. I can handle a first date on my own.

Very well. Good luck! IRIS flashed a winky face across my vision, then closed the displays.

The waiter returned. It was time for the ultimate test. I ordered a medium rare bacon cheeseburger and chili cheese fries. This dish had weeded out so many losers. Their eyes would go wide. Or they’d mumble “whoa.” In one instance, a guy had asked, “Do you eat like this all the time?”

And if a guy couldn’t handle a woman eating a cheeseburger, how would he deal with a woman being a cybernetic crime fighter?

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Brave choice for a first date.”

I leaned forward. “Something wrong with that?”

“Not a thing.” He grinned. “You know what you like.”

I grinned. Things were going well.

Except for…

The white van parked across the street. And the dude in gray coveralls, who’d been chain-smoking in front of the city’s central bank for the last twenty-three minutes.

Lucy, I hate to bother you, but—

I see him, IRIS. I kept eye contact with Tony. Give me a radar reading. Does he have any friends?

None that I can see, IRIS said. But my scanning range is limited.

I slipped my arms under the table. I’ll get a closer look.

My butterfly-sized drone deployed from the housing in my wrist and dodged traffic as it crossed the street and scanned the area.

“You okay?” Tony asked.

“Hmm?”

“You were staring into space. And holding that mozzarella stick next to your mouth for, like, a minute.”

My cheeks burned. “I’m sorry. A work thing just popped into my head.”

I bit down, letting the cheese stretch between my mouth and my hand, listening to Tony while parsing the data from the drone. I prayed that the sketchy guy was just a lazy plumber.

The drone performed a thermal scan, revealing the cold outline of a pistol tucked into his waist band under his overalls. The gun itself didn’t confirm anything… but the two guys crouched in the back of the van with semi-automatic rifles definitely did.

IRIS, call dispatch. We’ll need officers down here ASAP.

Dialing, IRIS said. They may not arrive until—

An explosion punched the air, knocking us to the ground.

I dusted myself off and rushed to the edge of the balcony. The three gunmen charged onto the sidewalk as three more sprinted out of the bank, hauling massive duffle bags, presumably full of cash.

Tony grabbed my hand. “Lucy, get down! I’ll call the—”

“It’s okay.” I squeezed his hand. “I got this.”

I jumped up on the railing and dropped my holographic camouflage, revealing the mechanized armor on my arm, leg, and face. I turned back for a moment, giving Tony a wink with my cybernetic eye. Then I jumped.

I soared, somersaulting through the air in a graceful arc, and landed on the roof of the van, nearly breaking the vehicle in half.

All six gunmen stared, slack-jawed.

I had no time to waste with these fools. I ripped the remnant of the door off the van, hurling it like a discus. Two gunmen went down. The guy closest to me raised his gun. He caught my heel right under his chin, knocking him silly. My second kick launched him into the air and slammed him into two of his compatriots. All three thugs and their stolen payload crashed to the sidewalk.

One last gunman. The smoker. He dropped his gun and ran. I launched after him, seizing him by one of his boots, cartwheeling him and pinning him to the pavement. Fear danced in his bloodshot eyes.

“Well,” I said. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

I fashioned restraints out of the straps on the duffle bags and had all six crooks tied to the wreckage of their van by the time the cops arrived. I slipped away, reactivating my camouflage and watching from the restaurant’s patio across the street. The cops always appreciated my help, but I didn’t feel like giving a statement today.

“Well, that was exciting.” Tony settled into the chair across the table from me.

“Yeah.” I sized him up. “I figured you would have run off.”

Tony shrugged. “It is a lot for a guy to take in. The explosion. The gunmen. My date turning into a cyborg. However—” He set a “to-go” bag on the table. “—I enjoyed our chat before your epic display of heroics. So I think our date is worthy of a reboot.”

“‘Reboot’? Is that a bionic woman joke?”

He handed me a Styrofoam container. “Something wrong with that?”

Steam rose from the container. I opened the lid and beheld a glorious bacon cheeseburger. “Not a thing.”

This date was going very well.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Andrew Swearingen is an aspiring Sci-fi writer, living in the hidden kingdom that is Southern Illinois. He spends his spare time playing board games with his wife, wrestling with his dog, and has on numerous occasions saved the city from invasion by mutant koalas. (One of those isn’t completely true, but we’ll let you guess which one.)

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