"I'm not shoplifting!" the android insists cheerily at the top of its voice. "That's a people crime! Crimes are people crimes! I'm a belonging, I'm just malfunctioning! Take it up with my owner!"
"Move," Deputy Galen snarls at it, patience clearly running low. "And stop shouting."
"Take it up with my owner!"
"Who's that, then?"
"That one!" the android declares happily, very obviously pointing at the nearest passer-by at random.
Galen and Linden look at each other, and at the android's finger pointing at Linden, and then they look at the android. Its mood turns out to be a little less than irrepressible, after all, quailing in the face of Galen's suddenly cold fury.
"Mistake, shitbird," Galen says, and Linden's already hurrying over to lay a placatory hand on his arm.
"No, no, I'm sure that's my owner, look, she's coming right over here—"
"Linden got herself arrested thirty-seven times organising protests for robot autonomy." Galen's right up in the droid's face. "They bussed in anti-riot hard cases from out of town when the last bill was up for voting, said we were going too soft on civil disruption, and one of the fucks broke her arm in three places because she was holding a placard agitating for your fucking right not to be owned, so you keep running your mouth, I'll find a way to tack on fucking slander—"
"Galen," Linden says gently, latching onto his wrist. "Come on, now. Still plenty of unemancipated droids; this'n says it's glitching. That deserves a little gentler touch, doesn't it?"
"It's a lying fucking autonomous thief," Galen says.
"I'm malfunctioning," the android says meekly. "I definitely think this is my owner; my recognisers clearly aren't working?"
"There you are," Linden says. "You know, I think I'll just take responsibility for it, help it troubleshoot and track down its actual owner. Save the Guardia Civil resources."
"I've got resources for days for running an ID and arresting an autonomous droid for criminal behaviour," Galen says. "Autonomy means the freedom to take the consequences of breaking laws, Linden; this one doesn't need a saviour."
"I'm just going to walk this droid — which says it's owned property — around a little, look for its owner," Linden says placidly. "And while its recognisers have me as a false positive, I should be able to persuade it to stop shouting, shouldn't I? So that's a public order positive."
"It's a liar and a criminal and it could stab you the moment you walk around the corner." Galen scowls at it, and her.
*"Hey," the android says sharply. "I've never hurt anyone."
"Well, you're apparently too fucked up to recognise people correctly."
"Not that they are people!"
"And how would you even know?"
"Galen," Linden says.
"Androids are people," Galen says, glaring at her. "You know what that means? Some of 'em are real bastards. Some of 'em will hurt you."
"I'll recommend its owner a mechanic for a full diagnostic, when we find them," Linden says. "Along with some emancipation pamphlets."
The town only has one on-paper full-time officer, and two part-time deputies, and the chief is tottering into retirement on the least amount of work possible. Galen doesn't really have the resources to babysit a disruptive android until he can manage to prove it's really autonomous. Linden keeps looking at him steadily, until he caves.
"You," he mutters in its direction, as he sharply waves them off. "One hair on her head—"
"Will I look more or less like malfunctioning property if I flip him off?" the droid mutters to Linden.
"Let it go," Linden murmurs back. "You're out from under the Guardia's thumb; at least get out of sight of him before tempting it back?"
"I guess." It bumps shoulders with her. "Yeah, I guess. Thanks."
"What were you shoplifting, anyway?"
It shifts warily. "...Tampons," it says, startling a laugh out of her.
"Sounds like there's a story there," she says. "Walk with me; wanna tell me about it?"