by Mel Odom
The cargo ship took up most of the hangar space, but there was a rack of crew cubicles against the wall on the right. Each of those cubicles slept two men in full atmospheres and provided power for personal entertainment devices.
Only a few of the crew remained on hand at the moment; I guessed that the others were down in the local bars and diners.
A space-suited woman walked over to us, not looking happy to see us. She was Asian, petite, and had been pretty at one time. Now the years and the hard life were robbing her of her beauty.
“I’m Narita, second officer of The Rolling Stone. How may I assist you?” She broadcasted from her suit’s comm to ours.
Royo showed her his e-badge with his PAD. “I’m Detective Royo.” He nodded toward the ship. “I need to inspect your ship.”
Narita stiffened at once. “Why?”
“Part of the certification.” Royo managed to look and sound bored. “You’re not going to make this difficult, are you?”
“No. Of course not. Come with me.” Narita led the way to the cargo ship. Just before we arrived, the vessel’s belly opened and boarding steps telescoped from within.
Narita started up, followed closely by Royo. He spotted the three men at the top of the hatch at the same time I did, but I reacted faster when they raised their weapons. I pushed Royo over the side of the railing, yelled a warning to Rachel and Chyou over their comms, and reached for Narita just as a laser burned through her helmet and head. Cooked blood flaked the vac as the suit’s air rushed out.
Chapter Thirty-Three
By the time Narita sagged backward on the boarding steps, I had my Synap in my hand and was firing. I was also capturing images of the three men and chasing them through databases, trying to establish their identities while at the same time broadcasting a distress call to NAPD dispatch.
With my 360-degree vision, I saw Rachel and Chyou running up behind me, taking advantage of cover offered by the dead woman draped over me as well as my stainless steel chassis wrapped by body armor and the spacesuit. They had slug-throwers in hand and were firing with deadly accuracy.
One of the men in the boarding gate was down, and another was going slack when Rachel slammed into my back, wheeled, dropped the magazine from her pistol, and rammed another home. She shoved my shoulder and yelled.
“Go!”
I sprinted up the boarding steps, shrugging the dead woman from me because I knew there was nothing I could do for her. I targeted the remaining man and squeezed the Synap’s trigger. The blue bolt struck him and he died in its embrace when a round from Chyou’s pistol splattered his left eye and fragmented in his brain.
I felt the uncomfortable shift in me as I changed from potentially saving the man to realizing that he was just dead meat. Part of my mind was seeking a reason as to why the men had opened fire. The quickest answer I came up with was that they were protecting something aboard the ship.
The ship’s cargo hold was a vacuum as well. Atmosphere was only pumped in if a cargo required it. Few did. The same went for heat.
Rachel called to me over the helmet-to-helmet comm. “Drake. Can you get us a schematic of the ship?”
I’d already sent a request for the current blueprint on file for The Rolling Stone. When it downloaded, I turned to Rachel and Chyou, briefly touching their faceplates and uploading the schematic to them through that physical link. The blue tracery of the schematic overlaid the inside of their helmets, shifting and moving as they turned their heads to survey the empty cargo hold. They stepped forward into wing positions automatically.
By that time, Royo had rejoined us. He looked at me as I uploaded the schematic to his helmet. “Thanks for the save, partner.”
“Of course.”
I moved forward then, conversing with the dispatch officer at NAPD as I took steps. I gave our names and stated the nature of the situation, added images of the dead men, two of whom I had confirmed as bearers of the chimera tattoo. I still hadn’t matched them to any ID in the databases.
We stayed in a two by two group as we went forward, providing each other adequate fields of fire. I kept the lead position because I was the most durable one of us.
After we finished with the cargo compartments, we went up the steps to the middle deck and to the upper deck and the flight control center. No one else confronted us.
But we also didn’t find any sign of illegal weapons that had been manufactured by Gordon Holder’s hidden munitions plant.
* * *
Karanjai stood in front of the dead men laid out at the foot of The Rolling Stone. He rubbed his face with a hand and worked at gathering his thoughts.
“You don’t know these men?”
Royo sat on one of the nearby crates that had been taken out of the cargo ship by the forensic team working the crime scene. The hangar had been pumped full of atmosphere so they could work in comfort without bulky spacesuits.
“No, sir.”
Karanjai looked at me. “What about their IDs?”
“All false. I’ve been looking for their real names through several databases, but I’ve yet to identify them.”
With growing irritation, Karanjai glanced at Rachel, who shook her head. Then he looked at Chyou, who shook her head as well. The captain sighed heavily.
“Let me get this straight. The four of you came here—”
“Following up on a lead.” Royo interjected that hopefully.
“—and these three started blasting away at you as soon as you showed your faces.”
“Yeah.” Royo nodded.
Karanjai pointed to the dead second-in-command. “And she led you into an ambush.”
“I don’t think she knew it was an ambush.” Rachel sounded calm and collected. “I think she was one of the most surprised people here.” She frowned. “Briefly.”
Narita lay on her back and stared sightlessly up at the hangar’s ceiling. The burn hole just left of center in her forehead showed charring around the edges.
Karanjai returned his attention to the dead men. “We’ve got nothing on these guys?”
Royo leaned forward and pointed out the chimera tattoos on the men’s necks. “We got these. Same tattoo as the one on the man who killed Quentin Bradbury.”
“And that’s also a cipher.” Karanjai sighed.
“Not completely.” Chyou crossed her arms. “The tattoo belongs to a known mercenary unit that operated on Mars.” She corrected herself. “A unit that is probably still operating on Mars. Maybe elsewhere, too.”
“What is this unit doing?”
“We don’t know all the answers, Captain. We’re still learning the questions we need to be asking.”
Karanjai took a deep breath. “The problem is, we’re not the only ones asking questions.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the hangar door. “Outside there, I’ve got a dozen nosies—at last glance—who are waiting to learn what happened in here. I’d hoped you people would be able to work behind the scenes on this, not raise the profile even further.”
I knelt beside the dead men and examined their tattoos. “Jorge?”
“Yeah.”
“You know tats.”
Intrigued, Royo knelt down on the other side of the body and scrutinized the ink. “Yeah. These are new, too.”
“New?” That momentarily deflected Karanjai’s attention from his other problems.
Royo traced a finger along the dead man’s neck. “The guy that got popped when Drake and Chyou apprehended him? He had new ink, too.” He looked up at the captain and shook his head. “I think we’re getting stuck with ringers, and that these guys weren’t part of the merc team we’re looking for.”
“So these men were put here, told to whack you guys?”
Chyou stood nearby with her arms crossed. “Or they were put here to die and provide a false trail.”
Rachel shook her head. “I think it’s more than that.” She nodded at the closed hangar doors. “I think this ambush was staged to draw out the nosies, keep th
is story floating at the top of the media view. Whether we were iced or those men went down didn’t matter. What mattered was generating attention.”
Karanjai studied her. “Why?”
“It’s something I would do to keep the pot stirred if I wanted to be busy somewhere else.”
I knew that was true. Several NAPD units were now outside managing crowd control and crime scene integrity. The department was being stretched thin.
Chyou nodded as well. “That could be true, but something like that—like this—would require serious planning. This operation is layered.”
“It has been from the start.” Rachel looked at the dead men. “This whole event, beginning with Gordon Holder’s death—maybe even the munitions plant—has been an orchestration from the beginning. The target hasn’t been Gordon Holder or even Skorpios Defense Systems or even Argus, Inc.”
“Then what has the target been?” Karanjai punched at his PAD, ending another call for his attention.
Rachel nodded at the hangar doors. “The media. Like I said. Whoever this chimera team belongs to, they’ve been trying to capture attention, escalate the strain between Earth and the colonies. And they’ve succeeded. I don’t think this is a crime. It’s a circus building toward the final act.”
Beside me, Shelly chimed in. “She’s right. You’ve got to look beyond the smoke and mirrors, Drake. Find the bottom line and figure out who’s pulling the strings.”
I didn’t say anything, but I knew Shelly was right.
Sounding tired, Karanjai took in a deep breath and let it out. “They’ve attracted more than the attention of the public. They’ve also got the corps gunning for them.” He glanced at me. “And Haas-Bioroid is concerned as well. You’ve been at the eye of the storm on this thing, Drake. They don’t want any adverse publicity hitting them now.”
I thought about the warroid development that Haas-Bioroid still hadn’t unveiled. With a new product poised to enter the market, would having this kind of attention on a bioroid be a good event or a bad one? I didn’t know.
I also considered the ratcheting up of hostilities between Earth and the colonies. Since the news had first broken concerning Gordon Holder and the illegal munitions plant and his possible connection to selling to anti-Earth groups on Mars, the relationship between the two cultures had become more strained.
Karanjai stepped away for a moment to take a personal call on his PAD. When he stepped back, he addressed me. “Drake, the commissioner has just taken you off this investigation.” He didn’t look happy about the decision. “You’re supposed to report immediately to Haas-Bioroid for an assessment.”
I didn’t want to do that, but I had no choice because of my programming. There was no wiggle room. “Of course. I’ll turn over all my files to Royo on the way over.”
The captain clapped me on the shoulder. “You’ve done well here, Drake. I’m going to tell them that. Hopefully you’ll be back in the field in a few hours.”
“I wish that as well, Captain.” I headed for the hangar door and accessed the Haas-Bioroid scheduling department to let them know I was coming.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I don’t like this, partner.”
Shelly stood beside me in the tube car as I rode downtown to Haas-Bioroid. I didn’t know what to say because we’d had this conversation several times when she was still alive.
The direct responsibility I owed to Haas-Bioroid as part of the leasing arrangement the corp had with the NAPD bothered Shelly. She’d stated on more than one occasion that I was either inside the department, part of the department, or I was with Haas-Bioroid, and that I couldn’t be torn between the two. That had been a point of contention during the early months of our partnership.
Of course, she also understood the necessity of my weekly visits to Haas-Bioroid. Floyd and I were forerunners of the new models the corp was turning out, and as such, we needed to be monitored closely so that adjustments could be made on next-gen technology and programming. I had told Shelly that what Haas-Bioroid learned from me could save lives and improve police work by bioroids in the future. I got better at my job and at working with her as a result of the visits.
She still hadn’t been happy with that. To her way of thinking, I was a good, dependable partner. Better than a few that she had been partnered with before me.
As I thought about this, I was attentive to everything around me, but I was also cleaning up my programming. I’d learned to compartmentalize things and store some files on the Net to keep the Haas-Bioroid people from digging too deeply into my neural programs that allowed growth and education. I wasn’t hiding anything from them—in fact, I couldn’t—but I didn’t want to run the risk of having my files damaged while they were rooting around in my mind.
I was also tracking the media coverage of the shootout at the public docks. That was what the nosies were calling it—a shootout. They were applauding the quick work done by the NAPD in shutting down a cargo captain that was bringing Martian dissidents into Heinlein to potentially do disastrous things. Masamune had a warrant out for his arrest and his ship had been locked down.
Several neighborhoods throughout Heinlein were now on the defensive. Extra security was being implemented, which also meant there would be an increased number of “sightings of terrorist activity.” Humans had a way of seeing those things they most feared.
Martian media coverage alluded to the same suspicions. There had already been several outbreaks of violence in the colonies, and it was all being attributed to the situation on Heinlein and the general feelings of distrust. Media champions on both sides of the issue had risen up in the stories, each calling out the other side and condemning them for the state of fear that currently gripped Earth and the colonies. The Moon residents were trapped in the middle of that tension, and they weren’t happy with either side.
“Things are coming to a head.” Shelly looked grim beside me. “If some of the tension doesn’t go away soon, it’s going to break loose and cost lives on Earth, the Moon, and in the colonies.”
I knew that was true, and I was uncomfortable about the fact that I was reporting in to Haas-Bioroid instead of staying with the investigation and finding out what was really going on and who was behind it. If we could’ve nail down the location of the missing weapons, that would have helped. I would be saving lives.
But I went to Haas-Bioroid because I’d been ordered to do so.
* * *
“Are you still seeing your partner?” Miranda leaned down over me as I lay on the examination table. She was smiling, but she seemed more fatigued than usual.
I didn’t hesitate about answering. “Yes.” I had already been through hours of physical and software examination. Nearly a day had passed since I had been admitted into Haas-Bioroid. The amount of time was unsettling. I had never before been so long on the premises unless there was extensive reconstruction being done.
Miranda smiled. “Is she here now?”
With the 360 vision I had, the entire lab was visible. Shelly wasn’t there.
“No.”
“Why is that, do you suppose?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where does she go when she’s not with you?”
Memory of the idealized afterlife Shelly had told me many humans believed in ran through my mind. Shelly’s children believed in the existence of such a place, and I thought that they believed in it more than their mother did. Shelly had seen too many dark places in her line of work.
Instead, I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
Miranda attached leads to my cerebral cortex through the opening in my chest. My “brain” was in my chest, not my head as so many people tended to believe. “I have a theory. Want to hear it?”
“Of course.”
Satisfied with the connections, she booted up some nearby computer hardware and began running tests. “You’re a bioroid capable of self-educating and growing personally, Drake. That’s how you were designed. That’s how you were
supposed to be. Always growing, always evolving. R & D weren’t certain how well they had mapped out that capability, but they hadn’t reckoned on Mara Blake making your programming so personal and self-serving.”
I didn’t say anything, but the fact that she was talking so openly about my situation made me uncomfortable.
Smiling, Miranda patted my cheek. “Don’t worry, Drake. We’re alone in here, and I’m not going to tell anyone your secret.”
“Thank you.”
“So, about your partner.” Her look became more somber and I knew from her much tighter body language that she wasn’t at ease with what she was going to tell me. “Have you accepted the fact that Shelly Nolan is dead?”
I didn’t want to answer that question.
“Drake?”
“Yes, I know she is dead. I saw her buried.” But she was still with me. Although, at the moment, she was nowhere to be found.
“So why is Shelly still with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you ready to lose her?”
“No.”
“Had you prepared for the possibility of losing her?”
I started to say yes, to point out that dying was a risk every human police officer ran every day, but that ran against my programming. I was supposed to save humans. I was supposed to protect my partner. To do my best, I could not be prepared for such an eventuality. “No.”
“You wanted to save her.”
“Yes.”
“In fact, on several occasions, you did save her.”
“Yes.” I had two commendations in my NAPD file for that very act. And I had memories of Shelly thanking me for doing so as well.
“You could not save her in this instance.”
During the weeks after Shelly’s death, I had played that scenario over in my mind thousands of time. Those moments of the investigation looped through my thoughts. I had discovered dozens of different choices I could have made that would have put me on that rooftop with Shelly that night so that I could have prevented her death. All of them ran at odds with what had happened up there, with how we had proceeded with that chase.