The cemetery was on Boundary Street, which must at one time in the distant past have been the northernmost road in town. Now if it served as a boundary at all, it was only between the northern and southern parts of town. A long, low brick wall ran along the street, protecting the dead from wayward visitors, or perhaps protecting any children walking by from imagined terrors. It was a national military cemetery, stark and imposing. The uniform white pillars that marked the graves were laid out in orderly rows, which played optical illusions as the truck drove by, almost like a Hoberman sphere, seeming to come together, expand outward, and come together again as the pillars lined up at different angles. The main entrance was flanked by two stone reliefs of the Seal of the United States, the self-divided bald eagle perpetually caught between war and peace. In the center of the road, a flagpole flew a worn, sun-bleached US flag at the customary half-mast.
Laughton took manual control of the truck, guiding it at a crawl up and down the roads that cut through the burial ground. He had never been in a cemetery before. Ever since the first plague, all humans were cremated. Looking at the vast number of monuments spread out around him now, it was hard to associate them with actual people. It was like an antiseptic garden filled with indifferent flora, pretty, but not particularly interesting to him. The noise of at least two lawn mowers driving themselves invisibly among the graves challenged the cemetery’s silent gravity. He tried to make out his quarry, but nobody was visible anywhere.
“Getting anything?” Laughton asked Kir. The robot’s thermal vision would see the hacker, even if he was hiding behind one of the many trees interspersed with the graves. Robots ran hot only in the head or the torso, but humans ran hot all over.
“No,” the robot said.
Laughton checked the forwarded text from Crisper again. “He said the cemetery. And we’re on time. Should I text him?”
“Give him time,” Kir said.
The truck came to a sudden stop as what Laughton first took to be a bird almost hit the windshield. As it flitted around to the driver’s-side window, Laughton saw that it was a quadcopter the size of a sparrow. “Goddamn it,” Laughton said, mostly at the shock of having the truck’s auto-safety measures wrest control of the truck from him. “Fucking idiot.”
The drone hovered outside his window, a quarter-inch, spherical camera mounted to the top of the copter taking his measure before flying around to take a look at Kir.
“Flying robots are illegal here,” Laughton said.
“All robots are illegal here,” a voice said from some hidden speaker.
Kir put down his window and reached for the copter, but it flew out of his reach. “It’s not a robot,” he said.
“But you are,” the voice from the drone said.
“Crisper?” Laughton called, leaning over Kir.
“What’s with the metal?” the voice said. “Talk fast.”
“He’s assisting me in the murder investigation,” Laughton said. “We were partners in Baltimore.”
There was a pause. It could have been simply that Crisper was thinking, but it was more likely he was running them through facial recognition software. “Metal gets out here,” he said at last.
Kir pushed the button to release the door, but Laughton put his hand on the robot’s shoulder, stopping him from getting out. He called across his partner, “You said on the television you weren’t afraid, and I thought, there’s a reasonable man.”
There was a pause. The whir of the quadcopter’s rotors evoked the summer sound of a flitting bee.
“Or we could just have the conversation like this,” Laughton said.
“Okay,” the voice said. “Follow.”
Kir pulled his door shut as Laughton resumed manual controls, crawling along behind the hovering vehicle.
“Smart,” Kir said.
“Something,” Laughton answered.
The drone led them back to the cemetery’s main entrance. Across the street, there was another small plot with much older gravestones of various shapes and sizes. Standing in the shadow of a tree in the midst of the graves was a white-haired woman, bone thin, collarbone showing over her argyle-patterned strapless sundress. She wore lightweight virtual reality goggles, and held a phone in one hand out in front of her, no doubt using it as a remote control for the drone. As it reached her, she took off the goggles, and plucked the copter from the air.
Laughton pulled the truck to the curb, and the partners got out.
“Excellent voice modulator,” Kir said as they approached the woman.
“Thank you,” she said. Her real voice was light and warm, suffused with amusement that showed at the corners of her eyes. She turned her attention to the chief. “Jesse Laughton,” she said, as though taking stock of him. It made Laughton long for his mother, which was not the best place from which to start an interview. He wondered why he hadn’t heard from Betty about her mother.
Crisper looked back at Kir, her eyebrows lower, her jaw set forward. “I don’t like having this one here.”
“You don’t mind,” Kir said.
“Don’t presume to tell me my own mind, robot.” She was stern, but the light in her eyes belied any real anger. Still, Laughton was worried she might take off without stating her business.
“He’s only here to assist,” Laughton said. “He wants the same thing we do, to catch a murderer and get the robots off the preserve.”
Crisper glared at Kir another moment, and then her features softened again as she turned back to Laughton, a hint of her initial amusement settling in. “Okay, you share first,” she said.
“I’m sorry?” Laughton said, taken aback.
“You first,” Crisper said. “Then we’ll see.”
“We can’t discuss an ongoing investigation,” Laughton said, at the same time Kir said, “What do you want to know?” Laughton bristled at being undermined, but swallowed his annoyance.
“Everything. Suspects. Motives. Whatever you’ve got.”
“I’m sorry, Miss…,” Laughton said.
“Crisper will do.”
“Miss Crisper, we’re here because you said you had information for us.”
“Patience,” she said, which left Laughton anything but.
Kir took over again. He had further to go to earn her trust. “Carl Smythe was a sims hacker. Death by Taser. Cybernetic arm and leg cut open. No suspects, no witnesses. Partner Sam McCardy missing. Distributor Carter Jones missing.”
“You know nothing,” Crisper said.
“We know very little,” Laughton said.
“So not only was the press conference a show, but it was a blind.”
“We had nothing to do with that.”
“That’s clear,” she said. “Even if your record didn’t speak for itself, you show sense.” She thought for a moment. “Carter’s my distributor too. I’m sure he’s not far. He lacks the courage to leave the preserve.”
“So you write sims?” Laughton said, confirming it.
“I assume that’s of no concern here,” she said.
“Of course,” Kir said.
“You don’t have any say here,” Crisper said to the robot.
“You said on the television,” Laughton said, “you weren’t worried for your own safety. Why?”
“Because it was the least I could do to reduce people’s panic. You people weren’t doing that.”
“So you do fear for your safety?” Laughton said.
“I’ll say I’m concerned by the whole thing.”
“Well, if you’re looking for reassurance here—”
She shook her head and clicked her tongue to stop him.
Laughton waited. Kir was silent.
“I never met Smythe. Did I say that already? But I know his work. You think Killer App is his,” she said.
“That’s the theory,” Kir said. Somehow, despite the initial combativeness, the robot and the hacker had found an easier rapport than Laughton had managed.
“Mine too,” Crisper said.
“The rest of the theory,” Kir said, “is that that’s what got him killed.”
“It might seem like the only apparent motive.”
“That or the cyborg angle,” Laughton said.
She tutted again, chastising Laughton. “It’s good I went against my better judgment here,” she said.
Laughton, smarting at being swatted like a boy reaching for a fresh cookie from a still-hot baking sheet, said, “Titanium.”
“Okay, big man,” Crisper said. “Okay.” She looked at her phone and held the drone open on her palm. Selecting something on the phone, the drone took off. Laughton and Kir both followed its path with their eyes as it disappeared between two trees. “Auto,” Crisper said by way of explanation.
The police turned their attention back to her.
“I notice a few weeks ago that my sims were leaving the preserve in a new pattern.”
“How,” Laughton said.
“Tracker,” Kir said.
“Ding, ding, ding. I put a tracker in anything I ever write. Lets me know exactly the impact I’m having.”
“Don’t the end-user robots see them?”
“Why should they care?” Crisper said. Then with a sly smile, “They don’t find them anyway. They’re not looking, and they’d be hard pressed to find them if they were.” She paused to allow them to admire her skill, then continued, “Carter works for the Sisters. Did before the preserve—we all know each other going back—”
How far back, Laughton wondered. She was at least twice Carter’s age, and he still didn’t know who the Sisters were.
“My sims go from Carter to the Sisters, and then out by truck north and south.” The drone returned then. Crisper took it, and removed a memory stick from a clip at the bottom. She handed it to Chief Laughton.
“This is… ?” he said, holding it up.
“Distribution map. You’ll see what I’m talking about, and be able to follow to the source.”
Laughton nodded, and pocketed it.
“So north and south,” Kir said.
“Until a few weeks ago,” Crisper said. “Then about half went that way, and half started leaving by boat through the harbor, and from a point out on the western edge of the preserve.”
Jesse studied her face as she spoke, but there were none of the micro-expressions that gave away a lie through a flash of real emotion before the deliberate mask of a false one could be assumed. She was telling the truth.
“Titanium,” Kir said.
She nodded once without saying anything.
“Why couldn’t it be the Sisters changing it up?” Laughton said.
“Because she sees where it goes after it leaves the preserve too,” Kir said.
“Carter’s an idiot,” Crisper said. “The Sisters didn’t get where they are by being pretty. They got there by following in their father’s footsteps, over bodies.”
Was it that simple? Laughton thought. Just drug turf? Kir’s case was unrelated? Laughton didn’t think so.
“So Smythe was a message?” Laughton said.
“All I’m saying,” Crisper said, “is that you might want to take a look at that map.”
Laughton tried to figure out what was in it for this woman, why she was handing them the evidence that could take the whole operation down, kill sims entirely, for a little while, at least.
As though reading his mind, Crisper said, “Map’s just like a sim. Plug and play, onetime use. You have about two minutes to view, and you won’t have any luck with screenshots or photos.”
“That good, huh?” Kir said.
“Smythe dead and Sam missing? The best,” she said without an ounce of bragging in it.
“Thank you,” Laughton said.
“You said it yourself, Jesse Laughton. We all want the same thing: catch a killer, eject some metals. Sims is sims.” She addressed Kir, “Get the hell off our land, robot.” With that, she turned and walked away.
“She likes you,” Laughton said to Kir.
“What can I say? I have that effect on women.”
Laughton snorted. “Metal bastard.” They went back to the truck and got in. It was almost time to get Erica. He dug the memory stick that Crisper had given him out of his pocket and handed it to Kir. “You want to read this?”
“Are you crazy? Memory sticks are burning robots up. We’ll wait until we can use a computer.”
“Right,” Laughton said, nodding. He rubbed his hands on his face. “My mind is fried.”
“Seriously?” Kir said.
Jesse realized what he’d said. “Poor choice of words.”
Kir said nothing. After a few seconds, he smiled and said, “Let’s go get my niece.”
“We’re going to be late.”
Jesse’s phone buzzed. He looked at it. It was a text from Kir: “I told you so.”
“You really just texted me?” he said to his partner.
Kir held his hands up innocently.
Laughton shook his head, and started the car.
The Liberty Primary and Secondary School was housed in a former strip mall on the highway out of town. Doors had been cut between each of the storefronts allowing for four sections, each containing a class spanning three ages. Erica was in the 7-8-9s, a class of sixteen students. Most of the children had never been in school before, human schools outside of the major cities nonexistent, and robot schools unnecessary when knowledge could be uploaded en masse.
Erica’s classroom had been a clothing store at some time, and the walls were still covered in long horizontal slats from which hooks could be hung in endless configurations. A SMART Board hung on a side wall, and maps and wildlife photographs and children’s art did its best to make the space feel like a proper classroom and not a failed business.
“I’m so sorry,” Laughton said to Miss Holly as he and Kir came in the door, the young teacher already putting her bag over her shoulder, ready to go home.
“It’s fine,” Miss Holly said, but her tone made it clear she was annoyed.
Erica sat on the floor, engrossed in some kind of game on her tablet.
“Hey there, little one,” Kir said.
At the sound of his voice, Erica looked up. Her face opened wide. “Kir!” She jumped up, ran to him, and threw her arms around the robot. “Kir, Kir, Kir.” She released Kir’s waist and grabbed his hand, and jumped up and down, up and down, jerking his arm.
Laughton could tell his old partner was pleased simply because he said nothing, allowing Erica to do her celebratory dance without comment. Laughton was happy too, happy and proud that his daughter had that kind of bond with a robot. Despite everything that was said around her, sometimes by her parents even, she was untroubled with prejudice, something too few people were, and the very reason the preserve existed. “Okay, Erica,” Laughton said. “That’s enough.” She kept jumping and squealing. “Enough, Erica.” He put his hand on her head and she stopped. She didn’t let go of Kir’s hand. Instead, she started to drag him into the classroom.
“I want to show you my nature project,” she said, and took him over to a small table that was covered with shoebox dioramas.
Miss Holly came over, and said, “Is this your uncle?” to Erica. Getting a better look at Kir, her smile wavered, but she did what she could to hide it. Only Laughton would probably have noticed. It was amazing: when they lived among them, it could be a real challenge to tell the robots from the humans. Laughton guessed that months without seeing any robots made their appearance as “other” more apparent.
“An old friend,” Kir said.
“Right,” Miss Holly said, and whatever more she had planned to say, she kept to herself. “See you tomorrow, Erica.”
“Can I just show him—”
“No,” Laughton said.
Erica flashed an exaggerated grimace, and then started dragging Kir toward the front door.
“Say goodbye, Erica,” Laughton called after her, but she didn’t even look back. Laughton rolled his eyes at Miss Holly, an
d said, “Goodbye.”
Miss Holly, restrained, said, “Have a good night.”
* * *
At home, Erica gave Kir a tour of the house while Laughton took some Tylenol and ibuprofen. When they joined him in the kitchen, Kir said, “You should go to bed.”
“No,” Laughton said, “I’m not going to leave you.”
“You look terrible,” Kir said. “You’ll be a greater help to me rested.”
“You sure?” Laughton said. The idea of bed seemed so wonderful. It wasn’t even beginning to get dark yet, but his head weighed a hundred pounds.
“Go.”
“Kir will watch me,” Erica said.
Laughton stood, but hesitated another moment. “I feel bad. You sure?”
“Go.”
Laughton was grateful for his old partner. He put his hand on Kir’s shoulder on the way out of the kitchen. “Be good for Uncle Kir,” Laughton said to Erica. “Just make sure she eats,” he said.
“I was going to plug her in,” Kir said with a grin.
Upstairs in the darkened room, Laughton took his phone out of his pocket before taking off his pants. He climbed into bed, the pain in his head spinning around to his face as he lay, his head back, like a bubble in a bottle of water. The overhead fan was pleasantly chilling.
He felt guilty for leaving Erica. Betty would not approve. He reached over for his phone. Still no text from her. He texted, “ETA?”
This time, the phone indicated that she was typing back. Eventually the words popped up: “Soon. Everything’s fine. Tell you about it when I get home.”
He dropped the phone down on his nightstand, rubbed his face with both hands, and let out a long breath.
The Preserve Page 11