A train station’s cargo platform filled with labor mechs the size of horses was no place for a little girl to be alone, especially at midnight. Hundreds of passengers, many of them family groups, lined up to board cars further down the platform and paid no attention to her, as they did everything they could to hide their guilty faces with sunglasses, hooded jackets, and downward stares. No one would hear her scream if one of the spider-like robots happened to step on her. The energy and chatter of the nervous passengers frantic to flee their state echoed through the old facility.
Murphy spotted the girl and rushed away from his two cohorts who continued to inspect passengers. His brown duster flowed behind him as his steps hastened into a dash around misplaced luggage and overfilled trashcans with their ever-present stench. He dodged the mechanized carts which brought piles of luggage and cargo to the two baggage cars and their dutiful mechs. He pulled a pumpkin seed from his duster pocket and chewed on it as he dodged four colossal robots of black metal shaped like lobsters which trotted across the concrete platform and used powerful claws to maneuver crates into the baggage cars. The soft taps of his old shoes accompanied the scrapes of metal mech feet on concrete as he danced past the danger.
Only half of the passengers looked away from their too-clean designer tennis shoes to watch the bald man rush toward lumbering mechs. They were more intrigued by his sudden burst, and paid little attention to what was ahead of him, the little girl who in the same time had almost been kicked and stomped by the mechs on multiple occasions.
Murphy tapped a wearable chip on his temple, which controlled his computerized visor headset, to enhance his view, as the dreary old tungsten lights of the station made it hard to get a good look at who the girl might have been. It was hard enough to read the fine text on government posters scattered around the station in the bad lighting, let alone spot details about a distant child while evading mindless cargo mechs.
“I’m breaking away to help a child in danger,” Murphy reported out loud to the microphone in his visor. “She’s wandering around the cargo platform.”
A mech popped out from behind a corner and almost kicked Murphy out of its way as it stomped toward the cargo cars with at least several hundred pounds of cargo in its claws. He spotted the girl in similar danger in the distance and considered the ease with which people ignored suffering as he passed a row of screens showing a news cast of the wildfires near Sacramento.
Murphy caught his breath and nodded to acknowledge his luck. He nibbled another pumpkin seed and rubbed his shaved, bronze scalp, careful not to disturb the chip which controlled his radio headset. The girl popped back into view past a drone carriage and Murphy dashed in her new direction.
“Murphy, stay alert for a suspect about to harm her,” said Cooper, the group lead, in his baritone voice through the headset’s radio. “Emma, can you identify the girl in Murphy’s visual?”
“I’ve already been running checks on everyone you three look at,” said the Emma’s energetic voice over the radio. “But Murphy’s view is so shaky, and the girl hasn’t turned to give a view of her face.”
“Run checks on the people closest to the cargo platform,” ordered Cooper.
“I ran checks on the last twelve individuals Murphy passed,” reported Emma. “All have typical citation records. Parking, speeding, insults. Nothing major. No child endangerment and none have kids her age.”
“Victoria, check who’s out of place in the lobby,” Cooper said. “Any parents looking for a lost child. Or someone who looks like they’re searching for something.”
“Roger,” Victoria said in her firm, efficient manner. Her tone took on a slight rasp as she continued, “With a gig as simple as security watch, it is good to know we will do more than stand around this time.”
“Boss, something’s suspicious about the loading area,” Murphy said as he dashed through mechs and carts. “It’s all mechs and drones. Not a single human employee. What if it means someone is planning something dangerous?”
“Do not spout another one of your alien cover-up theories,” Victoria said, her formal tone mixed with a hint of irritation.
“Everyone boarding is diplomats and their families,” Emma said. “And I’ve got confirmed checks on fifteen totally human attendants working this line tonight. Just political outcasts. No criminals. And definitely no shadow level operatives.”
“Your suspicions are sound if they are grounded in reality,” Victoria said, her voice serious. “Diplomats usually request all mech loading teams. It reduces the risk of items going missing when using human employees. It is unlikely someone tried to set up a situation for a child to get injured.”
“Whatever her circumstances, I’m escorting her back to the passenger lines immediately,” Murphy said. He spun past a cart filled with paper-wrapped framed paintings and was within ten feet of the girl.
“Aw, she’s so cute.” Emma hummed and her keyboard clicks chimed in through her microphone. “Got her! Jordan Kurosawa. Age six. Her mother is Alicia Kurosawa, Mayor Pro Tem in Capitola. Her father is Rudy Kurosawa, a surgeon in Santa Cruz. She should be inside the VIP car already.”
Murphy sped past a stomping lobster mech with a pair of heavy crates in its claws. His own boot was almost smashed under one of the mechanical feet, but he twirled around to dodge just in time.
“Jordan?” Murphy knelt next to the little girl. “It’s not safe here.”
Jordan, dressed in baggy gray sweatpants and a hoodie, curled into a ball on the floor, pressed against the four-foot-tall wheel of a stationary loading cart. A wheel that could crush her if the mechanized cart moved without accounting for a random child trying to hide under it. Her head movements and the way her hands pressed up against her face became clear when she sobbed loud enough to hear over the machines.
“Crouching next to her will not protect either of you,” Victoria chimed in through the radio.
“Jordan, my name is Murphy. I’m with the security team here to protect you.” He waited for the girl to look up from her hands before he leaned closer. “Has someone scared you?”
“Just drag the little brat back to line,” Victoria said. “This is ridiculous.”
“Maybe not drag,” Emma said. “You could carry her back to her parents.”
Jordan gazed up at Murphy with her tear-streaked face and gave a slow nod.
“Can you tell me who scared you?” Murphy crouched lower to almost match the girl’s eye level.
The little girl scooted herself closer to the cart, as if to go underneath. She shook her head.
“Murphy, get that kid back to the line,” Cooper said.
“Jordan, can you tell me what happened that scared you?” Murphy opened his arms.
The girl shot forth into Murphy’s arms. Her body shook and she sobbed louder than before.
“I’ll get you to safety.”
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