by Hugh Howey
For a second, shock held her immobile.
He pressed the bell again.
Tightening the robe around her, Vicky heaved a huge sigh and pressed her palm to the panel. The door slid open and her boss stood before her.
“May I come in, Detective Harper?”
She wanted to say “no”—really she did. Instead, she stepped aside to allow him to pass, but didn’t speak. Wasn’t sure she could yet. “Shock” didn’t cover what she was feeling. As her boss walked into her tiny apartment, she breathed in his scent—sharp, citrusy. Maybe just a hint of metal?
Dressed in the uniform of the Stewards, Gabriel Bishop wore a black jumpsuit with the scarlet insignia of the Bureau on his shoulder. He’d been Vicky’s chief for twenty years, since not long after she’d joined the force. And unsurprisingly, he hadn’t changed in all that time.
He was tall, about six inches over her five foot nine, long and lean, with short black hair cut close to his skull and a thin, handsome face. She’d always had something of a crush on her boss—in fact, in the early years, she’d spent a lot of time fantasizing about hot robot sex with him. Obviously, it had gone no further than fantasies. Christ, she wasn’t even sure he had a penis. Her gaze drifted down to his groin. She was guessing he did, but it might have been wishful thinking.
She’d read an article once on how the Stewards were designed. Each Steward’s characteristics were created to suit the needs of the department they were going to work in. And apparently, the Bureau needed shit-hot people to run it. It also needed Stewards who came across as powerful, dominant, self-confident … decisive. Chief Inspector Gabriel Bishop was all of those things.
She should be used to him by now. And she was … as long as he stayed in his proper place. Which was not her apartment. In fact, in twenty years, she had never heard of him making a home visit to any of his detectives. It made her feel sort of special, and intrigued, and worried as fuck. Especially after the comm. How likely was it that the two things were unrelated?
“Detective Inspector Harper, I’m sorry to disturb you at such an hour.”
“Are you?” She shook her head. “Don’t worry, I was already awake.”
Did his eyes flicker at that? Had he known? Hard to tell.
She needed something to kick-start her brain. It was obviously malfunctioning. “Coffee?” She glanced at his face, then shook her head again. “Sorry, of course you don’t drink. But I need coffee.” Desperately. She crossed to the machine, pressed the button, and waited while the coffee poured. Cupping the mug in her hands, she took a sip while she tried to pull herself together. “So you’re here because …?”
“There’s been a death.”
Now, why didn’t that surprise her? “And?”
“And you and I will be working the case together.”
Well, that would be another first. The Chief never worked cases. “We will? Isn’t that a little unusual?”
“It’s an unusual case.”
Vicky was beginning to suspect that “unusual” might be an understatement. “And are you going to tell me the details?”
“I’d rather you see the scene yourself first. Then I’ll tell you what I know.”
“Okay. Give me five minutes.” Putting her cup down, she left her boss standing in her tiny living room/kitchen and headed into the bedroom. There was a man asleep on the bed. She’d forgotten all about him. Including his name. His eyes blinked open as she looked through the wardrobe and pulled out clean clothes.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Work,” she said. “Stay there, uh …?”
He grinned. “Dave.”
“Stay there, Dave. Sleep. Let yourself out in the morning.”
“You’re not worried I’ll pinch your stuff?”
“No. I’m a police officer. I’ll find you and I’ll shoot you.”
“I thought they didn’t give you guns anymore.”
Sadly, this was true. She’d liked her gun. “Then I’ll have you taken in for reprogramming.”
When she returned to the living room four minutes later, Chief Bishop was standing exactly where she’d left him. Were robots nosy? Had he checked out her small apartment, drawn any conclusions?
“Your file states you live alone,” he said. “There’s someone here.”
“Just a pick-up.”
“A pick-up?”
“You know, where you go to a bar, pick someone up, have a little recreational sex, and that’s it. Well, obviously you don’t.”
He appeared about to say something else, casting a glance toward the bedroom door, then shook his head. “Let’s go.”
“Good idea.”
The night was warm. Outside Vicky’s door, a black speeder hovered a foot above the ground. As Bishop stepped closer, the back lifted. He gestured for her to enter and she scrambled in.
Something about Bishop’s perfection made her clumsy. She knew some of the models had been made with flaws, so humans would feel more comfortable. But not the models at the Bureau. She was guessing Gabriel Bishop’s main operating parameters did not include making people comfortable.
The speeder was top-of-the-line, and the ride was smooth, much smoother than she ever experienced in the speeder usually allocated to her from the department pool. It seemed a waste: all this comfort on someone, or rather something, that would hardly appreciate it.
She shifted on her seat so she could watch him. “So, why have you ventured out? I’ve never known you to work a case before. What’s special about this one?”
He’d been staring out of the window; now he turned to her. Even after all these years, she found it hard to believe that he wasn’t as human as she was. There was, after all, nothing about him to give it away. Even to the faint shadow on his cheek, as though he would soon need to shave. But of course he wouldn’t. That was just to make him appear more human, so they wouldn’t all freak out at being told what to do by a goddamned robot.
Not that Vicky really minded. The chief before Bishop had been human, but he’d also been a total asshole, and completely corrupt. The criminals had loved him. After him, anything was an improvement. And in fact, Gabriel Bishop was a brilliant police officer; the Bureau had been transformed under his guidance.
He was incorruptible. He never had favorites. He was totally fair and dispassionate. Everything always ran smoothly.
God, sometimes she missed the good old days. A smile twitched at her lips.
“Something funny, detective?”
Did he notice everything? Probably. “I was just thinking what a wonderful job you’ve done with the department.”
“Really?” He sounded skeptical. She was obviously totally transparent. But luckily he decided not to pursue the subject. “What do you know about the Stewards’ role in society, detective?”
“I’m not really interested in politics.”
“You must have an opinion.”
Vicky shrugged. “I’ve read the … publicity material. The Council’s aim is to improve ethical standards by taking decision-making out of the hands of those who might be … less than ethical.”
“You don’t sound impressed.”
She shrugged again. “While I’m a little pissed off to be grouped among the possibly-less-than-ethical crowd, actually, I am impressed. You saved us all from the mess we’d gotten ourselves into, made the world a better place.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “And yet you don’t like us very much. Do you, detective?”
She frowned. Didn’t she? She’d never really thought about them in terms of “liking.” The Stewards seemed sort of … above that. But she didn’t think she disliked them. Maybe there was a little resentment there. She was senior homicide detective for the Bureau. She could rise no further; only Bishop and his kind could hold anything above that level. Her only option if she wanted a change was to move to a different city—and that would be merely a sideways shift, not a promotion.
Still, on the balance of things, they’d done way m
ore good than harm. Corruption, which had previously been rife in every aspect of society, had been eradicated. Her mind flashed back to the bribe she’d been offered earlier—well, almost eradicated.
The world was a different place: cleaner, healthier. Food and water shortages had been all but wiped out, the use of fossil fuels cut to almost nothing—which meant the air was fresher—and illegal drugs were a thing of the past.
And if she sometimes had a hankering for some good old-fashioned, interesting murder cases, well … she was only human.
“You’re smiling again.”
“Am I? Bad habit. And I don’t like you or dislike you—you’re puppets. Whatever you do, it’s not by choice.”
“We make choices all the time.”
“But only depending on what’s been programmed into you.”
“And are humans any different?”
He was right, she supposed. They were programmed from birth to behave in a certain way. But they still had a choice, didn’t they? Thinking about it did her head in. “So who’s been murdered?”
“You mean you haven’t guessed?”
She glanced out of the side window. They were flying above the city, heading vaguely west toward the city’s center and the silver tower that rose high above the other buildings, glittering in the moonlight. She’d presumed the “victim” was someone who worked at the Tower. Now she reassessed that.
“Shit, it’s one of the Council members.”
“It is.”
“Double shit.” A shiver ran through her, and she took a few deep breaths to steady herself. She was deep in some serious crap here. “So one of the Council has been murdered?”
“Perhaps. Councilor Reinhold is certainly dead. Whether he was murdered is for you to ascertain.”
Vicky had told Bishop the truth when she’d said she was uninterested in politics, but of course she needed a basic understanding in order to do her job. Now she cast her mind over what she knew of the Council.
It wasn’t much. The Council were shadowy figures who had mainly stayed out of the limelight since they had been handed power twenty-six years ago. They controlled via the Stewards—the Stewards were autonomous, but the Council decided which positions the Stewards should hold and the programming needed for the individual models. So in effect, they controlled everything.
Originally named the Corporation for the Advancement of Robotics, they had later changed their name to the Council for Ethical Advancement. Twelve men and women. Well, presumably eleven now.
Vicky tried to picture Councilor Reinhold in her head. He wasn’t one of the more prominent Council members. Some of them did media interviews, told the world when a new improved model was being rolled out. But not Reinhold, and she couldn’t visualize him.
“Did you know Councilor Reinhold?” she asked.
“We’d met a few times.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Later. We’re arriving. They’re keeping the … crime scene open for you, but there’s a lot of pressure to remove the body. We can talk afterward.”
The speeder settled. Vicky climbed out and stared at the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. They were high above the rest of the city on the rooftop of the most secure building in the world.
And someone had been murdered here. Maybe.
She was in danger of presuming a murder had taken place just because someone had told her not to. She needed to keep an open mind.
She felt that flicker of real excitement again. It was very rarely she had a case that caught her attention these days. Most were crimes of passion and the suspect blatantly obvious. Now she had the murder—maybe—of one of the most important men in the word, and it had taken place in one of the most secure places in the world. She only just stopped herself from rubbing her hands together.
A speeder circled high overhead, keeping out of the security zone. It looked like the press were already on site. Vicky strolled across the rooftop and peered over the parapet. Far below, she could make out a crowd milling around the base of the building.
“Has news of the death gotten out already?”
Bishop came up beside her and followed her gaze. “Obviously.”
She thought back to the comm earlier. Someone didn’t want this case solved. Would she even be here if the press hadn’t gotten word? Would the death have been covered up? Christ, these were the most powerful people in the world. And just because they were called the Council for Ethical Advancement, that didn’t mean that they were ethical themselves.
But hadn’t that been the whole point in replacing all those positions of power and authority with the Stewards? Androids who could be programmed to make ethical decisions. They would be unconcerned with greed, family, religion, differing politics. No lust for money or power. They would make decisions based purely on the good of mankind—and what actions would result in the greater good.
And in many ways it had worked. But to Vicky’s mind, the plan was ultimately flawed, and the reason why was housed in this very tower: the Council.
Because there had to be someone in charge of the Stewards.
As far as she was aware, there had been no democratic process. The Council had been presented to the world fully formed. Although it did include the last elected President of the Federation of Nations. He’d been offered the position as part of the agreement for disbanding the Federation. She’d never liked him. But then, she’d never trusted politicians. Until now.
Because now, they’d all been replaced by the Stewards. Eminently trustworthy.
“Why me?” she asked.
“Because you’re the senior homicide detective and it was an automatic allocation. But also because you’re the best. You have a reputation for complete honesty and integrity. The world is going to want to know what happened here. And you will tell them.”
Would she be allowed to?
For a moment, she considered mentioning the attempted bribery to Bishop, but decided to leave the decision until after she’d studied the crime scene. Hey, maybe she’d get lucky and her finding would be … suicide. And she’d be on her way into deep space.
But she didn’t believe that. The truth was, she was a good detective. And she knew that if Reinhold had really committed suicide, there would have been no reason for anyone to offer her a bribe—because she would have come to that conclusion all on her own.
And if it was murder? Would she compromise her own ethics to get something she wanted with a passion?
She turned around and found Bishop behind her. “You have a crime scene kit?” If he didn’t, they’d have to wait until her unit arrived.
“Of course.”
“Of course,” she muttered. Mr. Perfect.
Something occurred to her. She presumed her unit had been notified at the same time that she had. “Are my crew on the way?”
“No. We’ll be dealing with this alone.”
Vicky frowned. “That’s not protocol.” Of course, none of this was protocol.
“How can there be protocol for something that’s never happened before?”
“Good point.”
Bishop retrieved the crime scene kit from the back of the speeder, and they headed inside. The door leading from the rooftop slid open before they even approached. Were they being monitored? Or could Bishop control the electronics through some sort of wireless feed? Probably both. The two of them didn’t speak again as they made their way to an elevator and headed down.
Vicky did her normal mind-clearing routine. Breathing deep and slow, emptying her brain of everything that might interfere with her clear analysis of the scene. By the time the elevator came to a halt, she was in the zone.
At the end of another corridor, Bishop halted in front of a set of double doors. He placed the crime scene kit on the floor between them, and Vicky crouched down, flicked open the locks, and lifted the lid.
First she sprayed herself with decontaminant, which would prevent her from tainting the crime scene with her own DNA. Then s
he collected the pre-set recording device, which would document all her notes, everything she saw, everything she thought. She switched it on, calibrated it for her brain waves, and she was ready to go.
Vicky had seen too many murder scenes to be squeamish—and she hadn’t thrown up at a crime scene since she was a rookie called to a particularly gruesome domestic—but she hesitated before opening the door. This was the biggest case she’d ever worked on. Hell, it was the biggest case anyone had ever worked on.
At last she took a deep breath and pushed open the doors. The lights flickered on.
“Nasty,” she murmured as her eyes homed in on the body.
Dragging her gaze away, she took in the scene. The doors opened onto what looked like a large private office. Glass made up three walls, and she realized the office must be at one of the corners of the Tower. Outside, the sky was just beginning to pale.
The body itself lay in the middle of the room, and the cause of death was instantly obvious. A thick strand of wire rope was looped around the dead man’s throat, biting into the flesh of his neck. His eyes were open and bulging, his dark red tongue protruding from his open mouth. It hadn’t been an easy death.
A knocked-over chair lay beside him. Vicky raised her head. A conduit pipe ran along the ceiling just above where the body lay.
The obvious explanation was that Reinhold had tried to commit suicide, the rope had somehow untied from the conduit, and he had crashed to the floor—but not before he’d strangled to death, unfortunately. Or fortunately, depending on how much he’d wanted to die.
Or perhaps his neck had broken—that was often the cause of death from hangings. But from the angle of the body, Vicky guessed not.
She moved into the room for a closer look. Bishop came up behind her, and she glanced sideways at him. His face was impassive. She continued her inspection.
Reinhold was dressed similar to Bishop, in a black one-piece suit, but with a violet insignia on his shoulder indicating he was a member of the Council. He was tall, slightly plump, with pink skin, and auburn hair brushed back from a wide forehead. It was impossible to tell his age, but from the little she knew about him, he had to be over a hundred.