“Inside, he found two kids, teenagers, experimenting with cooking up some trendy new garbage that hadn’t really hit the streets yet. They were too out of it to give him any resistance, so he slapped the cuffs on them and hauled them in." She sighed. "It wasn’t until later that he found out one of the kids was the mayor’s son.”
“So he was pushed out, and left with all kinds of resentment, I imagine.”
“Maybe, but he still took their consolation offer.”
“Which was?”
“His captain made a phone call to get him on the security team at Ultramarine Tech.”
Cassdan and I exchanged a look. “I suppose that answers the question of why Angela was talking to him.”
“It’s still not proof that he was involved in her death,” Cassdan added. “Is there any chance Geller was bionically enhanced, Detective? Maybe using synthetic skin coverings?”
“Not to my knowledge,” she answered, “but I didn’t have access to his medical records.”
“Maybe I was wrong about him being bionic,” I said, “but it still looks like he would have had access to factory direct power armor. With that, he could have done the deed.”
“And he just happened to be at her apartment at the exact right moment, fully suited up to do it?” Cassdan asked. “He hasn’t been working there long enough to be that well informed about their secret projects.”
“I’ve worked security,” I countered. “Rumors get around.”
“Yeah, rumors get around, but we’re talking about a ten minute window, here. Whoever did that had to know exactly when the hack was going down.”
The detective interrupted our debate, saying, “Wait. What window?”
I hadn’t intended to share any more information than was necessary, but being too cagey with our new friend wasn’t going to help us. “A very talented hacker was involved in all of this. They were in the apartment’s computer just before the murder, which had the side effect of causing the apartment’s security to be down at the time.” Her lips parted slightly, but her controlled exterior gave no other sign of surprise. “We figure whoever killed her must have known about the hack before it happened.”
“Have you looked into this hacker yet? Maybe they know who the killer is.”
“We have, and there’s nothing there. Just a mercenary doing a paint by numbers job.” She didn’t need to know the details.
“How about you give me their name? I can press them better than you can.”
“Sorry,” Cassdan answered, “confidential informant.” The cop-speak must have been enough, because she only pressed her lips together in response. “Maybe the head of security sent him to clean up his own mess,” Cassdan said, returning to our previous topic.
“Possibly,” I said, “but I’m not seeing this guy being able to do that. He was a gung ho cop, a bit of a drunk, and impulsively violent, but none of that really adds up to premeditated murder.”
“But still, he was already kicked out of the police department. Maybe he couldn’t risk losing another job, or maybe Jimmy Patel really would have killed him if he didn’t follow through.”
“Maybe, but he also really seemed to care about her, as much as a possessive prick can. That wouldn’t lend itself to a quick kill.”
“That depends on how many drinks he had in him.”
He had a point, but not one that gave us definitive answers. With the line of debate exhausted, Cassdan and I had once again run into a dead end. Our prime suspect still couldn’t be eliminated or confirmed, and no new suspects had presented themselves. Without something to go on, this investigation was dead.
We both looked up when we heard Det. Lannemir clear her throat. “This is the part where you ask how I’m involved.”
I played along. “Okay. So, how are you involved in all of this?”
“I’m here because Sam called in a favor, a favor I owed him because he saved my career. As I understand it, I was the first person Angela contacted about her trip to Ultramarine. She told me everything she had seen, and I opened an investigation.”
“I’m guessing it didn’t get far.”
“Within twenty-four hours, the file was shredded and I was up for review. As it turns out, when Marshall signed on to supply the new armor to the police force at a discounted price, a small clause was included in the contract, one that protects Marshall and his companies from criminal investigation.” Cassdan breathed a long curse. “Sam stood up for me, saved my job, but my investigation was over.”
“But not Angela’s?”
“I filled her in on the situation, tried to ask her to stop, but she wasn’t willing to let it go. She figured if she could get proof out in the media, that would be enough to push the city into action, and shut down this illegal work force at Ultramarine, whether City Hall liked it or not.”
“Did you speak with her again after that?”
“Several times. I figured if she was going to keep going, I might be able to give her some pointers on how to avoid getting caught.” She looked away. “I suppose my advice didn’t pay off, though.”
“You met her here?” I continued, having already figured the answer.
“No. We met at her place. I thought she’d be safer that way.”
I resisted sharing another glance with Cassdan. “Is that why the apartment’s computer was always on privacy mode while you were there?”
I noticed a brief swallow before she spoke. “Angela trusted the computer, but I had my concerns.”
I thought that over for a moment before I chose to move on. “During your short lived investigation of Ultramarine, were you able to find any evidence for Angela’s claims?”
“Nothing I could take in front of a court,” she said. “I watched the place, off the clock and off the books. Prisoners get shipped in, but they never come out. The building has over a thousand employees, mostly prisoners, but not one injury or death registered. It’s fishy as hell, but nothing that’s going to prove anything to the public at large.”
I rubbed my hand across the stubble on my face, staring off at an empty wall. “That’s not really anything to go on.”
“I know. Doing everything all under one roof, insulated from criminal investigation, they’ve really covered everything. With Angela gone, I’m not sure there’s anything else that can be done.”
“That may be true, but we can at least take a closer look at this Jeff Geller fellow. Is there any chance you have a home address for him?”
“Yes, but you’re not going to like it.”
“It’s all we’ve got. Let’s hear it.”
“Ultramarine is super paranoid about corporate espionage.” I sighed, already knowing where she was going. “All of their full-time security is required to live inside the building, and with the way they stagger the scheduled hours, they keep everyone on full-time.”
“Of course they do,” Cassdan said, his mouth twisting up in disgust. “The place is like a damn upright plantation, owners living at the top, overseers in the middle, and the slave quarters below.”
“If he’s got brains enough to lay low,” I said, “we’ll have no way to talk to him.”
Cassdan let out a short bark of a laugh. “He hasn’t so far. I can’t imagine him growing a brain now.”
“And he is a fan of his entertainments,” the detective added.
“I don’t think he’s going back to the Shakespeare Playhouse tonight,” I said. “Their show is probably over by now, anyway.”
“Have you tried the fights yet?” she asked. “I think there’s one going late tonight over on Barrett Avenue. That’s his second favorite haunt. He might go there to blow off some steam.”
“And you know this because?”
“I tailed him for a week before Angela started working him. Like I said, I tried to keep her safe.”
“It’s worth a try,” Cassdan said.
“I know it’s not much,” the detective added, “but maybe it’ll help.”
I extended a h
and toward her. “Either way, thank you for your time, detective. I know this was a risk for you.”
She clasped my hand, and said, “I just wish I had more for you.”
We showed ourselves back out, quietly making our way through the church and following the lamp light back across the grounds. Once we reached the painted sidewalk on the far side of Immaculate Alley, Cassdan stopped me to talk.
“You don’t believe her, do you? The detective.”
“Some things didn’t add up,” I said.
“Like what?” he pressed.
“Why would a cop think putting a computer on privacy mode would prevent corporate spying? If anything, the spy programs would start running the second you asked for privacy.”
“Agreed. You think they were lovers?”
I shrugged. “It’s certainly possible, but that doesn’t get us any closer to finding Angela’s killer.”
“It might give us another suspect. Maybe she got jealous over how close Angela and this Geller guy were getting. Or maybe this is how she kept her job, toeing the company line and carrying out a few dirty orders. It certainly wouldn’t have been any big deal for a detective to borrow some power armor.”
“I’m not denying that as a possibility, but for a police detective, there were other ways to do it, cleaner ways.”
“Cleaner than a suicide?” he asked, raising his voice a decibel. “The cops declared it a suicide minutes after she was found. That smells like a conspiracy to me.”
“Maybe, but let’s not jump to conclusions. If we can finally catch Geller, maybe we’ll be a step closer to proving who killed Angela.”
“If he did it, do you really think he’ll just tell us?”
“No, but then again, we’re not exactly dealing with an evil genius here.”
Chapter 15
Silent static jumped between black clouds, illuminating the worn brick faces of the apartment buildings a mile outside the city center. Neon lights advertised small businesses and shops, while digital billboards hanging high on the buildings played an endless loop of commercials. Our taxi driver periodically switched on her wipers to clear away the misting rain collecting on the windshield.
The ground level city never seemed to sleep. At any point of the day or night, it was possible to find food, drink, or entertainment. But still, some industries can’t survive without the help of money flowing in from Uppers coming down to find the things that can’t be bought above the Skyway. The fact that most of those Uppers run on banker’s hours is why I was so surprised to hear about a professional fight happening after midnight.
Arriving on Barrett Ave., I expected to find signs for a small arena, or maybe a gym hosting the event. At the very least, I hoped to see a banner with directions to a makeshift courtyard boxing ring, but there was nothing. It still felt like the right place, though, because there wasn’t a single person in sight. As I pondered the possibilities, the cab came to a stop in front of a ten story parking garage.
“Here you go, gentlemen,” our driver said, turning to flash us a smiling face, framed by light grey hair.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“You guys are going to the fight, ain’tcha? I’ve had three fares going to Barrett tonight, and all of them were heading to the fights.”
I glanced at Cassdan. “Pay the lady,” I said, climbing out.
Outside the confines of the vehicle, the presence of the event became obvious. A cool breeze carried the sounds of cheering voices and metallic impacts down to us from one of the upper floors. I thought I could see flashing lights on the fourth level.
The elevator was out, so we had to make the climb on foot. Slowly, we made our way upward as we walked a lap around each floor of the parking deck. Most of the spaces we passed were full, either with a dented up old car, or with a small shack constructed to protect a homeless person from the cold, and give them a modicum of privacy.
As we came closer to the fourth floor, the sounds of the fight grew louder. I could hear metal scraping metal, deep crunches, and heavy impacts. Every noise was immediately followed by an uproarious cheer. To me, it sounded like a demolition derby, except for the lack of tire screeches.
Arriving on the fourth floor, all I could see was the crowd, a thick throng of well dressed bodies. Fists pumped in the air, cheering on the competitors. Vicious calls of “Smash it!” and “Knock its head off!” rose above the rest. Not seeing our target anywhere, I checked to make sure Cassdan was still close before I started pushing my way into the mass.
It was hard to see anything but the backs of people’s heads, so I pressed toward the center, toward the fight. I moved past two young women in leather jackets, clapping vigorously, and a tall fellow with dreadlocks taking a bet from a middle-aged man in a brown suit. I squeezed by, trying not to bump him as he typed the man’s information into his phone. A wiry punk with spiked out blue hair gave me a snarl as I broke into the front row.
There was no boxing ring set up, only a red circle painted on the concrete floor, roughly twenty feet wide. Just inside the ring, in the same red paint, were written the words “CROSS AND DIE” over and over, creating a second ring. Everyone around seemed to be respecting the written directions, and for good reason.
This was a boxing match, but unlike any I had ever seen before. Two figures inside the ring were slugging it out, moving fluidly and landing heavy, thunderous blows. Each stood about six feet tall and were proportioned like athletes, but they weren’t human.
Steel knuckles slammed into carbon fiber faceplates. Plated forearms deflected the high swings of metal shins. The one on the left, with highlights painted in bright red, slipped in a quick one-two jab to the stomach of its opponent, followed by a heavy right cross. Its opponent, painted with blue and white flames, was nearly knocked off balance, but never hit the floor. Instead, it came back vicious, its sharp jabs and quick knees to the stomach seeming almost like adrenaline fueled anger.
“Place a bet?” came the voice of the bookie.
He had slipped up to my right while I was gawking at the fight. He already had his phone at the ready, greeting me with a broad smile, eager to scan my debit chip.
“Is this new?” I asked. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Oh yeah, man, the latest and greatest. We’ve only got about five competitors right now, but we’re growing all the time. In fact, just last week there was a camera crew in here doing a promotional documentary.”
“They look expensive.”
“Aww, you know how it is. You can’t do nothin’ without corporate sponsorship or some rich Upper to back you.”
“How do they stay upright like that? Only two legs, taking hard hits to the head, they must have some pretty fancy gyros.”
“No, man,” he said with a laugh. “Look.”
He pointed off into the thick of the crowd. Just a few feet outside the edge of the red circle, I saw a VR helmet painted with blue and white flames sticking up above the audience. As the bodies shifted back and forth, I was able to catch glimpses of the man wearing it.
He had a broad, athletic build, clearly visible underneath a skin tight black suit. The material had a strange pattern on it, a grid of hexagonal sections, each with an LED light at the center. When his robot took a shot to the ribs, the matching section of his suit lit up as he twisted in response to the hit.
“That looks like it hurts,” I said to the bookie.
“It does a bit, but that’s not the point. See, that suit’s got those myoelectrics in it. When he moves a muscle, the bot does too, move for move, inch for inch. But the bot gets hit, and the man don’t, so to keep ‘em all synched up, if the bot moves, it sends a… what was it? Oh yeah! An electronic muscle stimulation response. It kinda zaps the guy, forcing his muscles to flex so he moves like the bot. It goes back and forth like that, like they talkin’ through dance, you know?”
I felt an idiot grin spreading on my face. “To be honest with you, that sounds frickin’ cool.”
“What’s the point of all of that?” Cassdan asked.
“The balance, man,” the bookie responded. “If the bot gets knocked off balance, the suit does the same to the man. But the man’s got instincts, and natural balance, inner ear fluid and stuff, so he moves, or shifts, or does whatever to get his feet under him so he don’t fall down, and the bot does the same thing, moving like one with the man.” He took a quick glance around the crowd. “Hey man, it was good talkin’ to you, but I gotta get back to it.”
He gave me a quick nod and moved on through the mass of bodies, careful to stay outside the red ring of death. “It sounds like they worked out one hell of a shortcut,” Cassdan said, his eyes roving over the assembled faces. “The cerebellum is the part of the brain that stores your muscle memory, helps coordinate your movement and balance, and gives us such fine motor control. It’s got more neurons than the rest of the brain put together, as well as forty times more connections than the optic tracts, and forty million nerve fibers connecting it to the cerebral cortex, which is where most of your higher brain functions are. The entirety of April’s system working at overclocked speeds wouldn’t be as powerful and efficient as the cerebellum.”
“All that, just so we can stand on two legs?”
“Pretty much,” he confirmed. “So, instead of spending billions trying to make these fighting robots stand upright and move worth a damn, they just cut out the middleman and hook them straight up to humans.”
“Clever,” was the only response that came to mind. I wasn’t much of a sports fan, but this technology was fascinating.
When the throng shifted a bit more, I got a glimpse of the woman in the red painted helmet on the opposite side of the ring. I could finally see what was keeping the competitors from stumbling over things or punching the spectators. Another red ring encircled her station, this one without the threats of death, but the spectators respected it nonetheless. A foot inside the ring stood a circular platform, about eight inches high, the top of which was a concave disk covered in a short carpeting, red to match her robot and helmet. The bottom of her shoes appeared to be covered in a smooth plastic that reminded me of the carpet slider disks I had at home, for moving my couch when I need to clean out from behind it. With each step she took in any direction, her foot slid back to the low point of the disk, effectively giving her infinite run space. It was a very simple yet effective design.
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