The Zero Code (Max Mars Book 3)

by Tripp Ellis

  “All the same, I'd like to speak with him as well."

  “And you are?”

  “Max Mars.”

  "Let me see if I can locate Mr. Frazier." The android scanned the personnel database. “I'm sorry, but Mr. Frazier is not on the premises today.”

  Max's face tensed. She wasn't buying it for one minute. She was about to get pushy. “Do you know where I can find Mr. Frazier?"

  “I am not able to divulge personal information about employees. I can, however, connect you with our public relations liaison, Eric Reed. I see that he is on the premises today. If you don't mind waiting a few minutes, I'll let him know that you're here, and he'll be down to greet you shortly."

  Max figured she was going to get the runaround, but maybe she would get some information out of Eric Reed. It was better than being turned away empty-handed.

  9

  "Wonderful to meet you," Eric said with a beaming smile, extending his hand. He had brilliant teeth, reddish hair, and was expertly manicured. He was tall and slender. He had a little extra pep in his step and seemed to love everything about his job, and Robo-Dynamics. He was a perfect public relations liaison.

  Max introduced herself.

  “As you can imagine, we are anxious to get out ahead of this.”

  “It doesn't look very good when one of your robots allegedly kills someone, does it?"

  "No, it doesn't." Eric forced a thin smile. “Have you ever been to Robo-Dynamics before?”

  Max shook her head.

  “Let me show you around the building.” He escorted her to the elevator banks, where a lift was ready and waiting for them. “The building is fully automated. Sensors detect employee traffic patterns, and predictive modeling algorithms are used to optimize building functions such as lighting, environmental controls, elevators, etc."

  The glass elevator offered a stunning view of the structure as it whisked them skyward. There were a surprising number of people scurrying about the building. Max assumed the company would be staffed entirely by robots.

  “We like to boast that this is the tallest office building in the free galaxy.”

  “It's stunning,” Max replied.

  Within moments, the elevator doors opened and Max and Eric stepped onto the 271st floor. “This is where the magic happens. Every major advancement in robotics has happened in our design department. Engineers work side-by-side with designers and programmers to seamlessly integrate form and function.”

  Engineers worked on 3D holographic displays that simulated robotic parts. Programmers combed over lines of code, looking for bugs. Prototypes were put through rigorous tests.

  “If you're lucky, you might catch a glimpse of Elon Orlov.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The CEO of the company," Eric whispered in a somewhat condescending tone. As far as he was concerned, everyone should know about Elon Orlov. He was one of the richest men in the galaxy, and his face had been plastered over all of the tech magazines recently.

  “Oh, right,” Max said, playing it off.

  “We all weren’t really sure what to expect after the death of Anton Orlov. But his son has done a wonderful job taking over the reins and has reinvigorated the company. We are on track for our highest growth quarter ever. And Mr. Orlov has some exciting new products in development.” The PR liaison seemed almost giddy. But, then again, his job did depend on enthusiasm.

  The dog and pony show was fine for a few minutes, but Max was ready to cut to the chase. “This is all impressive, but what can you tell me about Philip Harmon?"

  “Yes, that is why you're here, isn't it?" Eric said. “Mr. Harmon was, at least initially, a valued employee. Now I hate to speak ill of the dead, but to be perfectly honest, his productivity as of late had been on the decline.” Then he added in a whispered tone, “In fact, he was scheduled for termination.” Eric cringed the moment after he said it. “Perhaps that was a poor choice of words. Mr. Harmon was going to be let go.” Then he added, “Please, keep that between us. I don't think that is something his widow would appreciate seeing in the press.”

  “I have no intention of sharing anything you tell me with the press. Why was he going to be fired?”

  “We have a zero tolerance policy for drug abuse. Mr. Harmon tested positive on multiple occasions for hervoxin. He declined all of our attempts to get him into a treatment program. Mr. Orlov is very generous, and despite our stated policy, he wanted to give Mr. Harmon every possible chance.”

  “When you say Mr. Orlov is generous, are you referring to Anton, or Elon.”

  Eric forced another smile. “Both.”

  Max took in the information. “How was Philip regarded by the other employees?”

  “I think he was generally well-liked by everyone. Of course there are always conflicts in every office setting, but nothing significant comes to mind.”

  “Do you know if he had a good home life? I'm sure his drug addiction was difficult on his wife?"

  "I'm sorry, but that really is out my purview. The only time I ever saw his wife was at the company Christmas parties.”

  “I’d really like to speak with his direct manager, if at all possible."

  “Mr. Frazier has already given a statement to the police.”

  “That's exactly what your receptionist said."

  “I will let him know that you would like to speak to him. I'll pass along your information, and if he chooses to contact you, that will be up to him.” He paused a moment. "To be honest, I don't think you’ll hear from him. This could have a considerable impact on Robo-Dynamics. Stock prices have already tumbled today, eviscerating 7 billion of Mr. Orlov’s personal holdings. As you can imagine, Mr. Orlov is very concerned about how this incident will affect the valuation and future direction of this company.”

  “He doesn't want employees talking to anyone.”

  "Can you blame him? Now, we've got nothing to hide. And I'm more than happy to answer any questions you may have in the future. I have been personally authorized by Mr. Orlov to be the point of contact regarding this incident. But this is a delicate matter. All parties have a vested interest in getting to the bottom of this. And we would like nothing more than to be able to prove that one of our robots had nothing to do with the murder of a human being. So, trust me when I say that you will get our full cooperation.”

  Words like trust me and honestly usually triggered Max's bullshit detector. But Robo-Dynamics didn't stand to benefit if Winston was convicted. 7 billion credits would be a drop in the bucket compared to the hit Orlov’s portfolio would take in the event robots were deemed unsafe.

  An aerial vehicle swooped around the building and landed on the roof.

  Eric’s eyes brightened. “Oh, Mr. Orlov is here. With any luck, we might catch a glimpse of him.”

  “I’d love to meet him.”

  Eric cringed. “I doubt that’s possible. He’s a very busy man with a strict schedule. Every second of his day is accounted for.”

  “I’m a big fan. It would be a great honor.”

  Eric gave her a skeptical look. She didn't even know who Orlov was a few minutes earlier. “Perhaps I can setup a meeting at a future date. I’ll check with his secretary and see if we can get you on the schedule.” He was just saying that to appease Max. He knew there was no chance in hell of her getting a meeting.

  Almost as soon as Eric finished speaking, Orlov stepped off his private elevator and strolled through the design area. He was followed by an entourage of assistants, including an android that looked like a similar model to Winston, only bigger. It had thick body panels that were more like armor. The robot was an imposing figure. Presumably some type of body guard.

  Orlov’s eyes flicked to Max, then he pretended to ignore her. He weaved his way toward her. It was a deliberate action, though he tried to mask it as casual coincidence. Orlov knew everything that happened in his building. He knew Max was there, and why. He pretended to observe the design and engineering team, giving the odd note
here and there as he strolled past workstations. But it was no coincidence that he ambled up to Max and introduced himself.

  “I see we have a visitor,” Orlov said.

  “Yes,” Eric stammered. Even he was nervous to speak to the CEO. “This is Max Mars. She's investigating the death of Philip Harmon. A programmer in our neural department.”

  Orlov shook Max's hand. "Such a tragedy. We are here to do anything we can to see that this heinous crime is brought to justice, and to support Mr. Harmon’s family in this time of need.” Orlov took a solemn breath. “This is a delicate matter. All parties have a vested interest in getting to the bottom of this. And we would like nothing more than to be able to prove that one of our robots had nothing to do with the murder of a human being. So, trust me when I say that you will get our full cooperation.”

  Orlov repeated Eric’s words verbatim. It was like he and Eric were reading from a prepared script, no doubt written by the company's attorneys.

  “Thank you,” Max said, even though she new it was bullshit. She eyed the bulky robot. “Is this a new model?”

  “Yes,” Orlov said, gleaming with enthusiasm. “This is one of our new personal protection models. Primarily designed for dignitaries and high profile individuals. We’re hoping these units can be deployed in the Secret Service.”

  “How effective can a body guard be that can’t harm a human?”

  “Passive protection,” Orlov said. “This unit is designed to shield and protect. It has a new composite armor plating that we developed, and advanced tactical awareness to anticipate potential threats. But don’t worry, like all other robots Dexter is designed to safeguard human life.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  “We stand behind the belief that our robots are incapable of harming humans,” Orlov said. “I hope the facts from this case will bear that out."

  10

  Max was somewhere between the Robo-Dynamics Tower and Delilah Harmon's high-rise when she noticed the black sedan tailing her again. For this specific reason, she had decided to rent a hover bike instead of taking an automated car. She was slicing through traffic on a sleek black racing bike with lime-green accents. It was capable of maneuvering in ways far beyond the limits of an automobile.

  The black sedan hung back several car lengths and followed her through the city. Max’s eyes surveyed the car in the rearview mirror. A slight smirk curled on her lips. She was going to have fun losing the Celectra. She twisted the throttle, and the engine wound up. Heat distorted the air behind the rear thruster. Max held on for dear life as the crotch rocket launched down the avenue. She weaved in and out of traffic with expert precision, sometimes avoiding collisions by fractions of an inch.

  The black sedan tried to keep up, but it was a futile effort. In the blink of an eye, Max had left it several blocks behind. She took a few quick turns and lost the sedan. But she was sure she hadn't seen the last of the black car.

  Max zig-zagged through the maze of crowded streets to the Valesco Towers. She glanced up at the lofty high-rise, then scanned the streets for a parking spot. Since nobody drove their own car anymore, or at least rarely drove their own car, parking in the city was a little more manageable than it had been in previous centuries. Max wedged the bike into a tiny spot in front of a coffee shop across the street from Delilah’s high-rise. Max figured she wasn't going to get any information from Delilah directly. She planned to stake out the apartment and keep tabs on Mrs. Harmon.

  Max climbed off the bike and took a seat at a sidewalk table. From where she was sitting, Max had a good view of the main entrance to the Valesco Towers. She counted up 27 floors and found Delilah's apartment. There was a light on in the living room.

  Now the waiting game began.

  “Can I get you anything?" an android asked.

  “Do you have any whiskey?”

  “I'm sorry. We do not."

  Max frowned. “A cup of coffee. Cream. A little sugar.”

  “Yes, ma’am." The android strolled away.

  Five cups of coffee later, Max saw the living room light go out in Delilah's apartment. A few minutes later, Delilah strolled out the main entrance and got into an automated car. Max left a handful of credits on the table and straddled the sport bike. She cranked the engine up and launched away from the curb, darting in front of traffic. Noses of cars ate the pavement as anti-collision systems went into effect, trying to avoid catastrophe. Max left them in the wake of her ion wash.

  Max followed Delilah as she snaked through the city, finally getting dropped off at Everlasting Memorial, Inc. They were one of the largest providers of aftercare in the Federation. They had branches in almost every major city, and had been edging out smaller mom-and-pop shops for years. They could handle any type of arrangement. Burials in space, burials at sea, cremation, traditional in-ground internment, mausoleums, you name it. They also offered the popular StarBorn™ burial, where the deceased was launched toward the nearest star and consumed by the fiery giant. The selling point was the idea that your remains would be emitted as trace elements by the star and, perhaps, form the building blocks of new life.

  Max parked the bike and waited outside as Delilah presumably made final arrangements for her deceased husband. 45 minutes later, Delilah emerged with red and puffy eyes, blotting her nose with a tissue. Max watched as she strolled down the sidewalk to a nearby café. But Delilah never made it to her destination.

  A vehicle pulled up to the curb, and two meaty guys jumped out and forced the grieving woman into the alleyway.

  Max hopped off the bike and sprinted toward the alley. She dashed across the street, narrowly avoiding collision. She rounded the corner into the passageway and drew her pistol.

  The two goons had Delilah against the wall, strong-arming her. She looked terrified. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

  One of the goons noticed Max and quickly brought it to the attention of his partner. They didn't seem too concerned that Max had a weapon pointed at them. But, then again, they didn't know Max very well.

  “Is there something I can help you with?" the bald thug with glasses said.

  “You can start by letting her go,” Max demanded.

  The thug grinned. “I think you should mind your own business."

  “I'm going to count to three,” Max said.

  "You can count that high?"

  Max's face tensed. This guy was asking for trouble. She had his ugly mug lined up in her sights. All she had to do was pull the trigger.

  BAM!

  Muzzle flash.

  Smoke.

  A hollow-point round rocketed down the alleyway. Max had readjusted her aim at the last second, deciding not to kill the goon. The bullet tore into his thigh, gouging out a chunk of his quadricep. The impact splattered a stream of crimson blood in the air, peppering the ground behind him with chunks of flesh and goo. His leg gave out, and he crashed to the concrete, screaming in pain. His tortured face twisted in agony.

  His buddy reached for a pistol inside his coat, but Max quickly adjusted her aim.

  “Don't even think about it," Max barked.

  He was a big, round guy with a dumb face—but he was smart enough to know he couldn't outdraw Max. He eased his hand away from the pistol and put his arms in the air.

  “What the fuck, lady?” the wounded man squealed. "You said you were going to count to 3?” He clutched the wound, putting pressure on it. Blood seeped between his fingers as he attempted to stop the bleeding.

  “I changed my mind. Now both of you, beat it. And I don't ever want to see you hassling my friend again.”

  The big guy picked the wounded man up, cradling him in his arms. He looked like a groom carrying his bride across the threshold on their honeymoon.

  “You’re gonna pay for this," the gimp said as the big guy carried him away.

  Max kept her weapon aimed at them until they were gone. Then she rushed to Delilah. “Are you okay?"

  Delilah nodded.

  “Do
you want to tell me what that was all about?”

  11

  Max and Delilah sat on the couch in her living room. The widow looked pretty shaken up. Her hands were still trembling from the incident in the alley.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she muttered. She almost looked like she was in a daze. Her eyes were fixed on some distant point miles away. “I don't have that kind of money."

  “How much was Philip into them for?" Max asked.

  “100,000. But now they want 150,000. And if I don't get it to them by the end of the week, it goes up to 200,000. Then, by the end of next week, I’m dead if I haven’t payed them back. Which, at this point, doesn't sound that bad to tell you the truth.”

  “It's not going to come to that. I won’t let it.”

  Delilah flashed Max a thankful look. But she still wasn't sure what to make of her.

  “How long did it take your husband to rack up that kind of debt?"

  “At first he was just a casual user.” Delilah choked out the words between jerking sobs. “Then things got out of control. He went through all of our savings first. When he ran out of money, they started fronting him product on credit. I had no idea how bad it had gotten. I tried to get him into a treatment program several times, but he was like a different person. He wouldn’t listen to me, or anyone.”

  “I’m sorry you’re going through this.”

  Delilah took another tissue from her coffee table and wiped her eyes and nose. “When I first heard the news, I thought for sure they had killed him. They had threatened many times."

  “Who were the two guys in the alley?”

  Delilah shrugged. “I don't know. But they work for Raz Zelco.”

  “I'll see what I can find out about the guy.”

  ”Why are you helping me?”

  “Because I want to get to the truth." Max unholstered her pistol and handed it to Delilah. It wasn’t a decision she made lightly. In the back of her mind she worried she might regret it. Loaning someone a weapon was tricky business. “Do you know how to use one of these?"