MINDFRACK

  “Carrie, Dexy told me she has a brother. Did you play with him too?”

  She stopped moving, looked at him side on, and said, “You’re not supposed to know that …”

  “Dexy told me – so it‘s okay …”

  She continued to walk around the room, repetitively going through the games she played with Dexy, but occasionally eyeing him shiftily.

  An anonymous animated emoji of a woman raising her hand appeared in his iSense head-up. It was an agreed code between him and Diaz. She had urgent information. Another emoji: you’ve been made.

  Dammit.

  Carrie was at a critical point in her guided introspection. He’d only just succeeded in getting her attention and didn’t want to break the flow. He sent Diaz a busy-bee emoji with a flower that had a clock for the petals: 5 minutes?

  Diaz emoji’d back: okay – but only 5.

  To Carrie, he asked, “So you knew him, Dexy’s brother?”

  She slowed. “I didn’t say that. But I do have a memory, an unpleasant one, of something that happened before Susan and I were placed here by the child authorities.”

  He noted that she’d flipped between “Dexy” and “Susan” depending on the time-frame. Her reaction was productive, however, as she was willing to offer him something he hadn’t asked for. She’d broken out of her closed-loop engram; simply put, it was a crack in her mental armour, a way in.

  “When are we talking about? Months before?” He took a swig of water from the bottle he’d brought with him, acting nonchalant. He’d made the assumption that the foster parents had bought or supplied Carrie for Dexy after their placement, as a way of making her feel more secure in her new home. A friend she could confide in.

  “No, three years before. Before I went into storage. Before I changed.”

  Years? “Changed from what?”

  “I’m not sure – but I think an adult model. I’d been put in hibernation for two years, four months, six days, before coming here.”

  “Where were you before?” asked Logan, confused by her answer.

  “I don’t know.” She’d replied in a sing-song voice, as thought she was playing another game. Logan watched her closely, wary of her answer.

  “Carrie, you can tell me. Dexy – or Susan – said you could.”

  Carrie had made another circuit of the room and stopped in front of him. She glanced up to the right. “I can’t.”

  6thgen engineers linked pseudo emotions into facial expressions, based on human ones. Looking up to the right indicated use of imagination, or fabrication. He knew she was telling him a lie; it was rare and symptomatic of an unstable AI. Yet there was something more he didn’t quite understand. “You won’t or can’t?”

  “Can’t. Every time I try to tell someone about before I came here, I … I can’t remember. Like now. I can’t remember. I can’t remember. I can’t –”

  He clapped his hands. “Stop! Carrie, look at me. You don’t have to tell me now.”

  “I can’t remember …” She looked away.

  She walked a few paces and came to an abrupt stop in the centre of the room.

  “Carrie – you okay?”

  She was as silent as a nun on a vow.

  He touched her arm. “Come back – don’t do this to me …”

  Carrie remained unresponsive and continued staring into space.

  He swore under his breath. Had he pushed too hard? It was evident that something had been set up in Carrie’s brain to prevent her from revealing her earlier memories. The logic appeared to be complex as it had exceptions built in for certain people, like Dexy. Any such ringfencing of selected memories was unnatural and highly risky, since it threatened the continuity of thoughts, possibly creating endless logic loops or unresolvable branching paradoxes.

  “Carrie …?”

  To his relief, she turned and smiled. “Can we go now? I feel better. I think some of the inconsistencies have been resolved.”

  “Thank God. Yes, we can go.”

  Not wishing for a relapse, he quickly led Carrie out of the bedroom.

  He immediately brought iSense back on line, ignored their agreed security codes and called Diaz direct. Her face appeared before him floating like an apparition against the dilapidated walls of the stairs that they were trotting down. She looked worried.

  “Mac. You need to know.” He could see she was at home.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I’ve had an Ops alert ping me, it’s a couple of polibots, they’ve gone AWOL from the central depot. Ops said they have no idea where they are, except they were last spotted in Brooklyn Heights. They’re heading your way, Mac. They’re evading tracking and surveillance.”

  “How long before they get here, assuming that’s where they’re heading?”

  “Reckon about forty minutes on foot, maybe less. Too much of a coincidence. I’d take it they know where you are.”

  “Damn. How …?”

  “Don’t know – maybe that Pic guy? You’d better move.”

  “We’re going now.”

  Logan turned to Carrie. “We need to hurry.”

  “Why?”

  He couldn’t dress this up. “There are polibots, heading here. I’ve no idea how they know where we are, but they’re coming and I think they want to hurt us.”

  “Why?” She stopped in the hallway.

  Logan sighed. “You have something they want.”

  “What?”

  “Your, uh, memories.”

  “Why would polibots want my memories?”

  “I wasn’t clear. They will capture you and take you to someone who wants them.”

  “Why? Who?”

  “I think it’s to do with Dexy’s brother. George Grist wants to know where he is – to hurt him. And before you ask, I don’t know any more. Now can we go?”

  The logic was good enough. Carrie nodded and followed him to the front door.

  Outside, the air was damp and clingy with a briny tang. The mist had thickened, muffling the discordant heart beat of the city and making the street lamps appear like ship masts with St Elmo’s fire lighting their tips. He brought up a map in iSense and quickly decided they should head towards St George Terminal – the Staten Island ferry service. The harbour police station was there. There would be people milling around, even at this time of night. It was herd mentality, but it was all he could come up with right now.

  It would take them about fifteen minutes walking at a fast pace, ten if they jogged.

  Logan upped the pace and glanced to Carrie, who glided along beside him effortlessly.

  Neither was aware of the drone, overhead.

  39

  Pic was enjoying the virtual ride: from the 3V perspective of a police drone that he’d taken over.

  For the fun of it he made it fly at road level, which was illegal, even for a police drone unless it was in pursuit. He weaved in and out of buildings, dive-bombed people where he could find them at this early hour, and soared off into the sky again, going by night and radar systems as the drone’s vision was hampered by low cloud and mist. Had it been a clear night his fun would have been so much more …

  That was earlier.

  Now his attention was focused upon the orange-red heat signatures as they left the duller, blue-coloured block of the house. A human outline loped along. And there was the cooler, smaller and much more graceful form of the playmate. He manoeuvered the drone lower and switched to the cam’s standard night-vision as minimal light was being provided by street lamps, and magnified the image. Yes, it was Logan and the playmate. He pulled a face at them and laughed.

  They were moving north towards St George, a transport terminus.

  Which meant they were heading back to Manhattan on a ferry.

  He quickly brought up the crossing schedule. At this time of night, the ferry sailed on the hour, so they’d have to wait. He checked the time. It’d be another forty-five minutes.

  Could he get his polibots to them before they got
there? It was going to be close.

  He groaned as he realised that he needed to take a pee.

  He wished he’d used his gaming catheter.

  40

  Rounding another bend, Logan could see the welcome glow of the ferry terminal.

  Carrie glanced at him. He’d seen it before, a 6thgen with fear; not much different from humans, as engineers had wired-up facials pretty much the same. She was simply reflecting his own doubts about reaching safety.

  So close.

  Further on was Preccinct 120 on Richmond. They still had choices. He upped his pace again.

  A minute earlier he’d tried calling Diaz for an update but had lost his iSense connection to the Cloud; he didn’t need to be told who was responsible for that.

  As if to confirm his fears, the high-pitched muted whine of multiple turbines cleaved through the night mist, followed by the NYPD signature siren double-blip. Must be an air pursuit vehicle or APV, Logan thought. A beam of light came out of nowhere and hit them like a freight train. His smartlenses reacted by opaquing, but the damage had already been done and he was temporarily blinded by retinal afterimages. He pulled up to a walk, squinting at the pavement, trying to make out where to place his feet.

  A voice rang out: “This is the police! Mark Logan – you are under arrest and must stay where you are. Failure to comply will result in appropriate force to stop and apprehend you. Mark Logan – stop. This is the police …”

  Carrie hadn’t suffered so much, having eyes that could shrug off the intense light. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him onto the road. He could hear the cars passing them as Carrie paused and then ushered him again. He knew that what she was doing was abnormal for a 6thgen: they were programmed to immediately cooperate with any recognised law enforcement agency.

  When they got to the other side he stopped. “Hey, wait, they might be the good guys.”

  “Mark!” She pulled more insistently. “What if they aren’t – shouldn’t we run, in case?”

  He knew she was reacting out of fear, and logic. He wasn’t about to give them the benefit of the doubt either, so he started moving again. The whine was closer, the beam less slanting. It would be hopeless to try and outrun or lose them. He didn’t understand why they hadn’t been stunned or netted, since it was obvious they were evading the APV.

  The floating afterimages began to shrink and clear, and he could make out a sprawling warehouse structure looming out of the mist ahead of them.

  It was an open-faced building, unused, with an entrance designed for large machinery. Inside it was empty but for random stacks of wooden pallets and boxes. They ran over to the nearest pile and made to lose themselves amongst the tangle of wood. All he could hear now was his own gasping and the intermittent rumble of traffic. The APV’s distinctive whine had gone, along with its powerful searchlight. He thought he knew why. He checked around the warehouse, his smartlenses struggling with the lack of light. There were small, pencil-thin shafts of light punching through holes in the building’s shell: they were checking for other exits. The APV returned to the front and quickly set itself down before killing the compact turboprops and the lights. That told him all he needed to know. Polibots.

  They crouched low and waited.

  “I thought we were safe,” said Carrie.

  Logan held a finger to his lips.

  The approaching footfall of the polibots resounded across the empty metal enclosure. They hadn’t bothered engaging any stealth capability since he and Carrie were cornered like rabbits in a tool-shed. Logan peered through a gap in the stack of wood they were crouching behind. The polibots were dwarfed by the entrance, their identical forms silhouetted against the murky light outside. He knew they were scanning the contents of the warehouse with night-vision, infra-red and dog-like hearing. They released a batch of tiny flying drones and followed them in as they searched and lit the way.

  In less than a minute the polibots had found them, their Johnny-friendly faces surveying their makeshift refuge. The drones hovered above, lighting the area up.

  One of the polibots rounded the stack of pallets, and its distinctive voice, a composite of New York accents, rang out. “You will comply with the demands of the New York Police and show yourselves. If not, we will be forced to use any necessary force. Please respond with your intentions.”

  Logan knew they had little choice, so he stood up.

  “All right, we’re here. Now what?”

  “Please come out into the open.”

  He took Carrie’s hand and they climbed over the pallets and walked into the space between the scrapped storage materials. He pushed Carrie behind him.

  The polibots moved closer. One of them dragged Carrie back to the side of Logan. He didn’t intervene, it would have been a futile gesture. They each placed a hand on Logan’s and Carrie’s shoulders, and, in unison, said, “Kneel before your masters.”

  “What?”

  The one on the left looked down at them, its mouth opened for a second time. “I said, kneel, else feel the wrath of the Übermensch, leader of the known Transhuman Empire!”

  Logan gaped, and remained standing; then he grasped exactly what was happening. “Wait,” he said, “you’re the hacker …”

  “Ha! You’re not so dumb, are you, Detective Case-Closed.”

  Logan failed to understand.

  “Manga history. You know nothing, do you.”

  Logan ignored the puerile humour. “You’re Pic, aren’t you.”

  “Told you – I’m Übermensch, otherwise known as Brainiac to you, dumbass.” The polibot laughed. But it didn’t come out right and sounded like the repetitive chacking of a jackdaw.

  “How …?”

  “I can tell you’re impressed. All my work. Can’t tell you more, old Turkey wouldn’t want that. Fuck no.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Now shut up or you will die right there, right now.”

  Both the polibots pressed upon their shoulders, forcing them to kneel. They withdrew their punchers.

  Logan didn’t think this was an execution, as they could have killed them easily from the APV any time they were being pursued from above. He made to turn around but felt the blunt, hard end of the puncher pushing his head back down.

  A minute passed, and another, and he wondered what was going on.

  There was a noise outside of the warehouse. Then closer.

  A shout – the voice familiar, but not quite registering.

  One of the polibots moved out in front of the wood pallets. It was scanning the area.

  BOOM!

  The gunshot was deafening and reverberated around the confines of the warehouse.

  Logan tried to gain a better vantage point, but the polibot behind him again pushed the puncher into the side of his head.

  The polibot out front was swaying. Logan understood why. A hole the size of his fist had been punched straight through its chest.

  The large heavy frame of the Johnny-friendly fell forward and slammed into the floor, face first.

  The second polibot moved forward a little until it was at Logan’s side. It crouched lower, flexing its legs, and he knew it was about to launch itself forward.

  Thinking the polibot was distracted, he tried to move away.

  “No you don’t, asshole,” said the polibot, and with a slight flick of its wrist it rapped the blunt end of the puncher against the side of his head. Logan’s world imploded.

  41

  Logan caught himself as he keeled over, a detached part of him registering surprise that he was still conscious.

  From the floor, struggling to make his eyes work as one, he watched the blurred outline of the polibot clear the end of their wood stack in a single bound. It was heading towards the front of the warehouse. The inside of his head swam like a spooked shoal of fish and he couldn’t figure where its team-mate had gone.

  He hauled his attention over to Carrie. She was kneeling and looking back at him, fear and concern
distorting the perfect lines of her face.

  Then someone pulled the stirring stick out of his head and he remembered.

  The fallen polibot was out of commission. The public rarely knew that a polibot’s brain resided in its torso, nor about the reinforced armour that protected it.

  Police officers knew, though. And there was one hardened cop that used a gun that could penetrate the toughened hide.

  As if to congratulate his clever deduction …

  BOOM!

  A single gunshot rang out again, from the front of the building.

  He squinted at the shadows and made out an ungainly shape loping between stacks of pallets. It had to be Dorsey with his beloved Smith & Wesson. It had compact, self-propelled, intelligent armour-piercing bullets amongst its arsenal. He enjoyed telling Logan about stuff like that.

  The working polibot had caught a slug in its shoulder, disabling its arm, but Logan knew that wouldn’t stop it. It cleared another pile of wood before heading straight for Dorsey. Shit, it would be there in a few steps.

  BOOM!

  No hit. The polibot’s agile gait was unhindered.

  BOOM!

  He heard the ZIP … CLACK of the polibot’s puncher discharging above the ringing in his ears, and a shout. There was the thump of a collision.

  “Fucking metal sissy!”

  It was Dorsey. Letting loose with a list of expletives, stuff that turned the air blue.

  Scuffling.

  Another thud, and a grunt.

  BOOM!

  Something collapsed onto the floor, sending wood and other rubbish scattering.

  It went quiet and Logan feared for the older detective.

  He stumbled over towards the entrance.

  When he got there, he couldn’t see Dorsey – just the polibot, spread-eagled and face down on a pile of wood.

  Something moved.

  “Get this pile of shit off me!”

  Jesus, he was alive.

  Logan heaved away the polibot and sure enough there was Dorsey looking up at him. There was blood, too. A piece of wood had pierced Dorsey’s upper thigh. Made Logan wince more than it did the old man. And he noticed that Dorsey’s left arm was limp. It’d taken a glancing bolt from the puncher – he could see the burn marks. And despite Dorsey’s bravado, his pallor was pale, and a pool of blood was growing below his leg.