Android: Mimic (The Identity Trilogy)

by Mel Odom

  The bioroid standing next to me was an Adam, an older unit capable of limited high-end functions. It was a massive configuration, broad and powerful, fully half a meter taller than me. It had to tilt its head forward to keep from banging the ceiling. Those models didn’t use synthskin and its face was a blank ovoid that held only the silver eyes. A belt of detachable hands hung at its narrow hips. A shoulder pack containing tools rested over its shoulder.

  “Hello.” The voice was monotone and flat, too loud for the elevator cage. “I’m Adam 2HK9NRX.”

  “Hello, Adam 2HK9NRX. I am Drake 3GI2RC.”

  Adam hesitated a moment. “It is pleasant to meet you.”

  “It is pleasant to meet you.”

  “What kind of work are you going to do here?”

  I considered what he’d be able to understand about the nature my work. The intelligence in an Adam was limited by design. People wanted machines that could think along simple logical progression, not entities capable of extended thought. Many of the worker bioroids and gynoids were designed with limited logic. They were constructed to be of use in a limited capacity, or—as advertising put it—with focused attention and completely dedicated to their function. They were deliberately stunted so they couldn’t get distracted.

  That was changing more and more these days. Industry had learned that technology kept changing, and so did the job field. It cost too much to replace a cheaper bioroid with a limited capacity with one that could be upgraded and trained. The models that came out of Haas-Bioroid these days had higher functioning intelligence bases across the board.

  “I work in security.”

  “You watch things.”

  “That’s correct.”

  Adam thought about that for a moment and I could almost hear the gears turning. Of course, not even an Adam’s head was full of gears. “How can you tell when your job is done?”

  I didn’t have to explain that, though. The elevator arrived at the next floor and Adam trudged away, instantly losing interest in the conversation because his job called.

  I rode down two more floors and stepped through the open door. The elevator let me out into a recessed area off the main tunnel. I walked forward, noting the absence of seccams, and turned left at the intersection, following instructions I had downloaded from the warehouse database.

  The Jade Kite sat across from Vulcan Technologies. Blank and dull, Vulcan Technologies was a direct contrast to the festive graffiti that covered The Jade Kite in koi and dragons.

  Several people and bioroids walked through the tunnel. None of them paid any particular attention to me. I walked past Vulcan Technologies to the next intersection and made sure I had a clear view of the warehouse’s entrance.

  And I settled in to wait, making certain I wasn’t easily seen.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Waiting was one of the things I did best. Shelly had always envied me my ability to stand perfectly still and do nothing for hours while on a stakeout. Boredom and impatience were two of an investigator’s worst enemies while waiting. Paranoia and frustration could settle in quickly.

  Shelly had also mentioned that not having to go to the bathroom was a luxury I would never completely appreciate because I would never have a bladder that could feel close to bursting.

  While I waited, I occupied myself with researching information on the Net. The ownership of Zona Sul and the subsequent transfer to Vulcan Technologies was an interesting exercise in legal deeds pursuit. Several shell companies were involved in the various transfers. In the end, though, several of them—including Vulcan Technologies—tracked back to Skorpios Defense Systems.

  That was interesting. According to information I had turned up, Skorpios had owned the warehouse—under various names—for the last twenty-seven years.

  “Makes you wonder what they’re hiding, doesn’t it?” Shelly lounged against the side of the building with me. “And who they’re hiding it from.”

  It did. None of my research gave any indication of why Skorpios would go to such lengths and expense to hide the warehouse. The prospect of that purpose being black market contraband grew stronger. I focused on that, no longer worried about breaking the orders I’d been given. They were in conflict to a degree anyway. If I found the Martian terrorists, doubtless I might find more information about the crate listing.

  * * *

  Several hours later, deep into the small hours of the morning, a transport crew arrived and headed for Vulcan Technologies. Their arrival triggered immediate suspicion on my part.

  There were too many people involved for a simple transport. Eight men set up a perimeter around the warehouse. I knew they were armed with pistols, perhaps more. I detected the bulges of the shoulder holsters beneath their uniform jackets.

  I remained in the shadows out of sight.

  Four of the men stood outside the warehouse and remained watchful while the other four went inside. Surreptitiously, I fired a sonic pulse toward the open warehouse door and immediately learned through my sonar that the warehouse was much larger inside than it looked on the outside. Whoever had constructed the building had taken advantage of the fact that it was built against a wall. The engineers had tunneled into the wall to make the interior space bigger.

  I also ran the men’s faces through the NAPD databases. I got an immediate hit on two of them. Traian Boc was wanted for destruction of private property, in this case an Eve bioroid back on Earth. Emil Karasz was wanted for questioning regarding a shooting in a drug deal gone wrong in New Angeles.

  Both warrants were outstanding and actionable. They gave me probable cause to talk to the men and to potentially investigate the warehouse, solid foundations that had nothing to do with identifying the crate.

  However, approaching the men alone would be dangerous and possibly non-productive. There were more of them, and they had a proclivity for violence.

  On the other hand, if I contacted the NAPD straightaway, I might be ordered to stand down. And there was also the possibility that someone at the police station might tip off these people. Whoever was hiding whatever was in the warehouse had spent considerable effort doing so.

  I freed my Synap pistol and tucked it into the pocket of my duster. The charge would easily pass through the fabric. I stepped out of the shadows and walked toward the men.

  Boc noticed me first. He was broad and beefy, and the scars on his face showed a history of violence. That he had left them instead of having them lasered off meant that he took pride in them. A crouching dragon tattoo gleaned in neon green on his shaved scalp. His right hand slipped under his jacket, but he held it there, waiting.

  The other three men spread out slightly from him, giving them each a clear field of fire.

  Boc waited until there was no possibility of me changing course. Then he held up a hand to stop me and slid the pistol from under his jacket. “This is private property. Stand clear.”

  I halted, then slowly raised my left hand, palm up. I pulsed my e-badge and it stood out against my synthskin. “I am Detective Drake with the NAPD. Traian Boc, you are under arrest for the destruction of private property.”

  Boc grinned and shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He made a show of looking around. “Especially not if you came here alone.”

  “I must warn you, I can and will take punitive action if you resist arrest.”

  In a blur of motion, Boc lifted his weapon and fired. As I twisted to my right to evade his shot, my sensors alerted me to the white-hot beam that burned through the air where I had been standing. My speed surprised Boc and I surmised he had not often faced bioroids equipped with my response systems. It wasn’t that I was faster than his weapon, but I could anticipate his movements.

  I fired the Synap through my duster pocket as my targeting systems locked onto my adversaries. My weapon screamed like a banshee, a sound created in the hopes that it would be a tactical advantage. With each passing second, my response subroutines calculated and recalculated the projected actions
of all four men.

  The Synap blast caught Boc dead center. The electromagnetic burst rippled blue across his body, shutting down his natural electrical actions and rendering him unconscious as he slumped to the smooth stone floor.

  I ran forward, cutting the distance between the remaining three men and myself. One of them fired a 12.7mm pistol an instant before I blasted him with the Synap. The heavy rounds slammed into my left side and threw me off balance but didn’t offer any debilitating damage.

  Already off balance from shooting the big gun because he was only one-sixth his normal weight in the Moon’s microgravity, the man flew backward when he lost control of his body from the Synap blast. He tumbled against the wall behind him in a loose sprawl.

  With enough speed up now, I dropped to my knees and slid across the floor toward the remaining two men. Karasz, ferret-faced and lean, tried to get a bead on me. When he pulled the trigger, though, he missed me and shot his partner in the abdomen. The large caliber slugs knocked the man backward and blood sprayed into the air.

  For a nanosecond, my programming was torn between trying to rescue the injured man and subduing Karasz. In the end, controlling the gunman won out. Logic dictated that Karasz could squeeze the trigger again and potentially hit the wounded man once more. Therefore, he had to be put down.

  I swept Karasz’s feet from beneath him with my free hand, and got it up in front of me to stop my momentum when I reached the wall. I stood and lifted the Synap, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. Karasz turned blue and subsided.

  The sound of the pistol cracks echoed along the warehouse corridors between the buildings, as did the banshee wails of my weapon. Security klaxons shrilled, filling the immediate vicinity with loud noise.

  I knew I no longer had a choice about calling in the NAPD. I knelt beside the wounded man and ripped his shirt open to assess the damage while I called police headquarters over my PAD.

  “This is Detective Drake. I’m requesting immediate backup at my twenty. Officer-involved shooting. I will also need medical units.”

  “Understood, Detective Drake. Be advised that support and medical units are en route. What is the nature of your incident?”

  “Warranted apprehension of two individuals.” I examined the bullet holes in the man’s abdomen. The damage was extensive. The holes were big enough to stick a finger in where they entered, and I knew the exit wounds would be much larger.

  I reached into the medkit I carried and took out narcoslaps filled with narcotics and blood coagulants. The narcoslaps measured five centimeters by five centimeters, and were designed to release measured doses of pharmaceuticals into an injured person’s bloodstream through the skin.

  The first one I applied to the back of the man’s neck. The neural chemical cocktail contained within it immediately took away the man’s pain and left him on the threshold of consciousness. He could respond, but he couldn’t move. The other narcoslap caused the blood to increase platelet production and seal the wounds. As I watched, the blood loss started tapering off.

  With my subroutines satisfied that I had done all I could do to save the man, I picked up my weapon and turned back to the warehouse. A man skidded to a stop just inside the doorway. He took in the situation at a glance, then lifted his weapon.

  By that time, I had him in my sights. I squeezed the trigger and the blue energy blanketed him while the banshee scream filled the warehouse. I started moving forward as he fell.

  Plasboard crates filled the warehouse’s interior and turned it into a maze. I searched for seccams within the area, hoping that the premises were covered by security. It was, but the system was private. I hacked the system and passed through the firewall.

  There were twelve security cameras on the premises, and I had access to all of them. I scanned through the video feeds and oriented myself within the warehouse.

  Five men remained within the building, three of them that had arrived with the eight man group. Two others were on the premises as cargo handlers. One of them was in an exosuit and was stacking crates on a robot-operated sled.

  Evidently the men were watching the seccam array because they immediately headed for my position. Beyond them, at the back of the warehouse, a false wall was just sliding into place.

  I took up cover behind a stack of crates, then played back the image of the false wall. I froze the image and examined what I could see of the room. What I saw led me to believe that someone had set up a manufacturing plant inside the hollow dug into the wall. Plascrete lined the surfaces of the room. Most of the manufacturing equipment looked automated, like a conveyor assembly.

  The warehouse district was not zoned for manufacturing. Several laws were already being broken with that, but I suspected that was only the tip of the iceberg.

  Shelly was beside me. “You have to take it to them. They can’t afford to get caught. Whatever that manufacturing plant is, they can’t chance getting caught with it.”

  I looked out. The warehouse was twenty-seven meters high. The top of the stack of crates I stood near was only twenty-four meters high. I dropped into a crouch, and sprang up, able to reach the top crate in the microgravity. I curled my fingertips around the edge and pulled myself up.

  Once on top of the crate, I laid on my stomach and slid forward, only hanging my head and my gun arm over the edge long enough to target one of the men closing in on my position. The shot was near the end of the effective range of the Synap pistol, but the burst caught the man and dropped him in his tracks.

  I pulled back as the other men took aim. Bullets chewed through the plasboard crate, throwing splinters like a confetti storm. Getting my feet under me, I raced to the other end of the crates and leaped off. I landed in an aisle and listened to the rolling echoes of the shots fading behind me. The ground vibrated and I knew the man in the exosuit was headed toward me.

  I pulled in the vid feed from the seccams and pinpointed the four men still functional. All of them were closing in on my position. I turned to my left and sprinted along the canyon of crates. Before I reached the end of the row, I heard the exosuit’s arrival behind me.

  The exosuit was a MechaMorph unit, one of the top-of-the-line models. Boxy and broad, it stood four meters tall and was built so a man could step into it like a suit of clothes, proportioned so it could mimic a human’s movements, enhancing and strengthening them. An armor shell covered the operator and protected him from falling debris.

  The man operating the exosuit freed an arm, pulled free a gun, and started blasting away. Bullets whined through the air before coring into crates.

  I ducked to the right and headed down another aisle. I could tell from the movements of my pursuers that they weren’t keyed into the seccams. They were spread out, searching for me down different aisles, trying desperately to trap me. They were good at what they did. They’d automatically marked the warehouse into a grid and were closing off my options. If I’d been human, they would have probably had me easily.

  I spoke into the comm to the dispatch officer. “How far out are the NAPD units?”

  “Two point seven minutes. Just hold on, Drake. Help will be there.”

  “Of course.” I stopped again and looked up at the stack of crates beside me. I leaped again and caught hold, hauling myself up at once. I got to my feet and stayed low as I closed in on one of the men. I took aim and fired when I had the chance, and he turned blue before falling over unconscious.

  “Over here! He’s over here!”

  I turned toward the noise as the man in the exosuit heeled around and ran. I thought I had plenty of time to take out the two men before dealing with the exosuit. Instead, the man in the exosuit caught me by surprise by running full tilt into the line of crates I stood on. The line of crates came apart when he slammed into them and set a ripple effect into motion.

  Off balance, no longer on stable ground, I fell. I struck the ground hard and several of the crates fell on top of me. All of them contained tractor engines that were destined for the
farming communities on Mars. Even though they were only one-sixth of their normal weight on the Moon, they were still heavy and massive.

  I shoved two of them off of me and searched for my Synap pistol. I’d dropped it during the fall. My hand had just closed around the weapon’s butt and I was bringing it up when the man in the exosuit wrapped a large mechanical hand around my head.

  Almost effortlessly, the man yanked me from the debris. With his free hand, he brushed the tractor engines aside like they were nothing. They clattered away, crunching across the floor and banging into another line of crates, toppling them as well.

  Knowing my head and shoulders wouldn’t withstand the pressure they were being submitted to for long, I swung my forearm into the exosuit’s vulnerable elbow joint. Metal clanged again and again as I struck. Sparks flew as my synthskin ripped and exposed the metal underneath.

  The pressure on my head and shoulders increased.

  “I’m gonna wad you up like cheap aluminum.”

  The pressure increased to a level that threatened the integrity of my chassis. A few more pounds per square centimeter and my body would crumple. I hammered the elbow joint again and again.

  The reinforced steel snapped and thick, dark hydraulic fluid sprayed over the exosuit and me as the hoses gave way. The grip on my body decreased instantly as the suit’s servos ran dry. I dropped to my feet and tried to lift the Synap pistol again. Before I could get the weapon up, the man swung his good arm into my chassis.

  The blow hit me like a battering ram and I flew backward into a stack of crates, reducing them to shards as tractor parts spilled onto the ground around me. I scrambled to get up amid the debris, but the man in the exosuit had already started running toward me. Those massive feet clanked across the stone floor as he charged with his broken limb dangling beside him.

  I had nowhere to run from the hollow created in the crates, so I ran at the exosuit. Calculations—speed, weight, microgravity differentials—all whirled through my thoughts. Two steps later, I leaped over the exosuit.