Voices in the Stream: Phase 02 (The Eighteenth Shadow)

by Grafton, Jon Lee

  “Why no, offeecer. Was I speeding?”

  “No, Mr. Martinez. I see you have no combud installed. You like to float the hovtruck in manual?”

  “Yeessir. Old school.”

  “Well, the problem with old school is that sometimes pilots drift. And about twelve kilometers back, you drifted over the center line. I just wanted to stop you and confirm you’re not impaired. Haven’t been vaping jane while operating a commercial hovercraft today, have you?”

  “Absolutely not, offeecer.”

  The trooper looked at the full sleeve tattoos covering Hugo’s forearms. He studied his face, as if able to see right through Hugo’s sunglasses. He leaned left and looked in at Virgil, who couldn’t even look up. Tara kept a blank expression on her face and stared out the opposite window, hiding behind her long, black hair.

  He turned back to Hugo, “Well, your comdot reports a clean bloodstream. But since you haven’t been using marijuana today, I’m sure you won’t mind if I double check? Run a quick manual chem battery?”

  Hugo smiled amiably, “Not eet all, offeecer.”

  “Blood or hair?”

  “Blood.”

  “Okay, I’ll need a finger, print side up.”

  Hugo extended his upturned index finger through the window. The trooper placed his holotablet directly over it. A razor thin robotic lance pricked the skin and performed a chemical analysis in less than one second.

  The trooper stared at his holotab without speaking. He was waiting for something else, even though the results were already in front of him.

  He frowned, “Says here you haven’t had so much as a vapor in 23 days. Impressive. You in MA or something?” The trooper now smiled as if the joke was funny, though his smile was provocative and fake.

  From across the cabin, Tara was able to smell the rage rising.

  Not humdroid, but a Vision man through and through.

  Hugo kept pace, never looking away, “Naw offeecer, I just trabajo mucho. A ceetizen gotta vaporize a lotta jane to get een d’ Twelve Steep Program.”

  “That they would, that they would.” The trooper again clicked the case of his holotab against the window and made a last scan of the Ford’s cabin, “Well, I appreciate your time, Mr. Martinez. I take it you’re Mr. Virgil Benedict and uh,” he looked over the top of his sunglasses again, “Ms. Virginia Rose?”

  Virgil couldn’t believe they were actually going to get away!

  He grinned ebulliently, “That’s me, your honor. We got nothing to hide!”

  The trooper’s fake smile disappeared.

  Nice, Virgil, thought Tara.

  She leaned forward and removed her sunglasses, pinching Virgil’s thigh as she said in a believable southern accent, “Bingo, officer. I’m Ms. Virginia Rose.” She leaned back and covered her eyes again.

  “You all work for this pumpkin establishment?”

  “Yes,” said Hugo. “’Dees guys are my asseestants.”

  The state trooper nodded curtly, “All right. Everything seems in order. I apologize for the inconvenience. You folks float carefully now. Have a blessed day.”

  Tara rolled her eyes beneath the safety of her blacked out sunglasses.

  Hugo watched the mirror as the trooper walked back towards his patrol hovcar. He knew how this went. He counted, ocho, nueve, diez, once steps… before the trooper turned back.

  “Eeleeven steps. Fast. Now he come around. Dees time for real, keeds.”

  Tara moved her hand up Virgil’s thigh and held it in a new spot.

  Pretending it was by random chance, the trooper reappeared at the window and said, “Sorry to bother you good folks again, but you wouldn’t mind if I run my dogs around your hovtruck and have a look under your canopy would you?”

  Hugo tossed his hands up amicably, “Of course not, offeecer.”

  “Very good,” said the patrolman. “I have to search so many transport trucks each month, you see? Since you guys are so squeaky clean, it’ll go fast and help me fill my quota.”

  “Happy to do our part, offeecer,” said Hugo.

  “I appreciate that. You’re helping the people of Kansas fight the war on drugs.”

  Tara leaned forward, “But we don’t have any drugs, officer.”

  “Of course you don’t. You’ve got pumpkin seeds. Which is why this will only take a second. I’m going to need the three of you to step out of the hovtruck.”

  “Finally. Let’s get this over with,” said Tara under her breath as she popped open the passenger door and stepped down, leaning against the side of the Ford.

  Virgil and Hugo followed.

  “Do we just stand here?” asked Virgil shakily as the patrolman walked around to greet them.

  “Alright folks, for your own safety, stay here and don’t move while I get my helpers.”

  “Your helpers?” asked Virgil.

  “My dogs.”

  “What about our dog? Yours aren’t mean are they?”

  Tara shook her head, “Oh boy…”

  Hugo’s keen eyes watched the patrolman harden, “You have a dog on board your vehicle?”

  Tara whistled quick and low. A moment later, LOFN bounded out of the truck and sniffed the ground timidly before trotting over and sitting beside her. LOFN looked directly at the patrolman. Her bright pink tongue fell lazily out of her mouth as she panted. The wind intermittently blew the tufts of long, white fur on her chest to and fro.

  “You need to put that animal on a leash,” said the patrolman after a few seconds. “I don’t want it getting into it with mine.”

  “She’s a she,” said Tara, not looking over.

  “What?”

  Tara turned and squared at the trooper, “It is a she. Sir.” She raised her eyebrows when he didn’t respond, “The dog.”

  The patrolman put his hand to his hips and unbuttoned the holster on his mace canister. The safety strap on his pistol was still unclasped.

  He took a step closer to Tara, “Whatever it is, you need to put a leash on it, young lady. I’m a K9 trainer. It’s the law.”

  The officer squinted, eyeing LOFN a moment longer, then produced his holotab and scanned her, “She’s big for a female. Looks good for a seven year old too. Alright,” he said, “Get that leash.”

  “No probleem. I get it,” Hugo nodded agreeably.

  Virgil knelt and pet LOFN’s head, “This is a good dog, officer. I don’t think she’d hurt a fly.”

  Hugo returned with the leash and snapped it onto LOFN’s collar.

  “Rottweilers aren’t known for their goodness, young man,” he said. “Kinda pussy dogs really. You need to do a better job of training this animal. She’s trying to stare me down. Dog like that starts thinking it’s the alpha, you got a problem on your hands. Besides, it’s not my dogs I’m worried about.”

  The officer turned and stepped briskly away, tapping his holotab. Tara and Hugo exchanged a quick glance that Virgil missed. LOFN’s eyes scanned every step the patrolman took towards his vehicle.

  The back door of the patrol hovcar opened with a near-silent pneumatic rush. A German Shepherd bounded out, followed by two Doberman Pinschers. The first animal was flesh and blood, an enormous, alert female to which the patrolman attached a thick leather leash. The Dobermans were RIOT class battborgs. Both of the police cyborgs were wrapped in male physiology BIOSKIN©. They ambulated almost perfectly, thought their steps were slightly systematic and rapid.

  LOFN sat perfectly still. She analyzed the animals from a distance, uploading data to Hugo’s comdot, where only he could hear Joan’s quiet computerized voice saying, “Subject A; organic 100%. Subjects B > C; v3.0 RIOT class CATS units, manufacture date 2080.03.18, civilian law enforcement grade CSV5, power supplies 92% – 97%, BIOSKIN© phase 2.0, kevlar3 wrap on an AerMet reinforced polymer chassis.”

  As soon as the female German Shepherd saw LOFN she strained against her leash, growling aggressively.

  The hovway patrolman let himself be dragged a bit for effect, though t
he thick, banded muscles in his forearm could have easily controlled the dog, “Whoa, Hala, easy girl. What do you smell?”

  The cybernetic Dobermans walked behind him obediently, then sat precisely in line with his left knee as the officer stopped two meters from the back of the hovtruck. The animals froze, robot-like, scanning. They did not appear to take notice of LOFN or consider her a threat.

  A few seconds of silence passed. The late summer sun was nearly to the horizon. The deep yellow light threw long shadows, human and canine, across the pavement. The expansive, blue tarpaulin that covered the 5,000 liters of crated still vodka rippled beneath its black bungee cords every time a hovcar or especially a hovsemi floated past on the interstate below.

  With the passing of each hovcar, Tara envisioned the sallow citizen faces plastered against windows, staring stupidly at the scene. The flashing LED’s atop the patrolman’s Dodge Charger drew their eyes like a moth to a flame. Tara’s irritation rose. Their blue cargo tarp stuck out like a sore thumb. She could hear thoughts of the Vision faithful running through her head, Ooh, looks like a booze bust. Honey, slow down. Oohh! The cop has drug Fidos, dad! Those shiners are screwed! Tara gritted her teeth. The wind blew her sundress against her tawny, muscled legs.

  She let her eyes rise from the small patch of asphalt between her Converse HempStar sneakers to find the German Shepherd staring at her. The dog was beautiful. Something in its demeanor reminded her of the Coyotes. Despite its fierce show, she could sense it was really a kind animal. Tara sighed and returned her eyes to the pavement.

  When the patrolman snapped his fingers, the German Shepherd sat obediently, still growling quietly at LOFN, who was focused on the Dobermans. With the dogs now out, the patrolman’s tone changed.

  It was suddenly dictatorial, as though a podium had appeared before him out of thin air, “Alright citizens, here’s how it goes. This German Shepherd is an organic named Hala, here for observation. These animals behind me are police Fidos,” he inclined his head at the nearest Doberman.

  “Awesome,” said Virgil with excitement. “You can’t even tell, can you?”

  Tara snapped from her reverie and leered with brief disgust in Virgil’s direction but did not respond.

  The patrolman continued, “Fido one is gonna run a quick pass of your hovtruck, conducting a non-invasive scan of your cab. I’ll need you all to step away from the side of the vehicle, please. Do I have your permission to proceed?”

  Tara couldn’t help herself, “Like you give a damn if you have our permission or not, Officer Friendly.”

  The patrolman was quick, “It’s Trooper Apollo. And no, I don’t give a damn. But protocol’s protocol, Miss Rose.” He said miss like he was pronouncing hiss.

  It’s fucking on, pig, smiled Tara in return, “Whatever you say, general.”

  Hugo tapped his comdot, listening as he simultaneously replied, “No probleem, offeecer. You search where you need. D’ank you.”

  They all three stepped away from the side of the big flatbed Ford. LOFN remained motionless aside from minor foot adjustments, a twitching ear, a wagging tail. She emitted a high, passive whine loud enough to be audible to the patrolman and his dogs. Her eyes scanned perpetually.

  “Your consent is noted,” said the patrolman. He turned his head towards the RIOT dog closest and said, “Alright, run it.”

  The Doberman trotted quickly past them, cocking its head at LOFN with curiosity, and jumped into the cab of the Ford. All around, the wind rippled with the swoosh of passing hovtraffic. Hordes of late summer grasshoppers chitted throatily in the high grass of the hovway embankment. A few industrious black starlings flitted about in a nearby hemp field, hunting early evening mosquitoes.

  The patrolman swiped his holotab as he waited. LOFN surprised everyone by suddenly standing. She widened her stance and focused on Hala again. The German Shepherd had begun growling.

  Tara whispered a word to the wind, “William…”

  “You better keep that dog of yours under control,” said the patrolman loudly. “Or its gonna get hurt, pretty lady.”

  Tara cocked her hips out and looked at the man over the tops of her sunglasses for the first time, “Maybe it’s your dogs that should watch out, sir…”

  The patrolman shook his head dizzily. He frowned. The flashing emergency LED’s on his hovcar went momentarily dark behind him, then rebooted. He tapped his combud in frustration but never took his focus off the scene before him.

  Fifteen long seconds passed. The RIOT Doberman finally jumped out of the hovtruck’s cabin and trotted back to a seated position beside the other battborg. The patrolman tapped and dragged data around on his holotab. He frowned as he skimmed the results, the whiskers of his wiry black mustache tweaking in the breeze. He was taking longer than necessary. The silence stretched.

  At last he looked up, speaking to Hugo and no longer disguising the disdain in his voice, “Mr. Martinez, all my borg’s sensor reports are squeaky clean. Says you’ve got 5,000 kilograms of pumpkin seeds under this tarp. Yep…”

  No one spoke. The wind blew. Grasshoppers chitted. The patrolman let his fingers drop to the German Shepherd’s head. Everyone’s eyes followed his hand to the dog, whose jowls quivered as it stared hungrily at LOFN.

  “Stand, Hala,” commanded the patrolman. The big German Shepherd sprang to all fours and adopted a braced fighting posture. The dog was easily twelve centimeters taller than the small, stocky Rottweiler.

  “You see, the thing is, Mr. Martinez, in my line of work, sometimes you just can’t believe what the sensors tell you,” continued the trooper. “And…”

  Out of nowhere, Virgil stepped forward and swung his arms open like he was going to hug his favorite aunt, “Your honor, there’s obviously no problem here,” he said with shaky bravado. “You’ve done your sweep. I really feel you’re getting close to violating our rights. So maybe it would be a good idea if you and your dogs just went on your way and left us alone? Or do I need to ping your superior at the Kansas Hovway Patrol and tell her how you’re behaving?”

  Hugo whistled through his teeth, “Oy vey…”

  A wicked smile curled around the edge of Tara’s lips. She gave the officer a wink.

  The leashed German Shepherd growled fiercely as Virgil stepped closer saying, “So, if there’s nothing else…”

  In a flash, the patrolman’s pistol was out and leveled with a muscular arm, barrel 20 cm from Virgil’s nose. The weapon was a twelve chamber Smith & Wesson .357 loaded with six armor piercing botulinum darts and six black powder, hollow point gut-shredders.

  Anyone watching her feet would have seen the titanalum claws protract from LOFN’s back paws and dig into the asphalt. Otherwise, she remained still, aside from the bobbing of her furry, black tail. The RIOT Dobermans stood in mechanical unison and braced. They gnashed their teeth, which made a sound like scissors being sharpened. The animals’ blue, cyborg eyes scanned the humans intently.

  “Here’s the thing,” said the patrolman, his voice as smooth as wet stone, “see how your leg’s shaking, son? Smell how the wind ain’t quite blowin’ the way it should?”

  Virgil’s lower lip vibrated like a tuning fork, “I…”

  “Here’s what’s gonna happen, Virgil Benedict.” The patrolman gestured towards the truck with his sidearm, “You’re gonna go over and lift up that tarp for me. We’ll see what we got. What’s your bet, cracka? Bags of pumpkin seed? Or bottles of booze?”

  A dark stain began spreading from the crotch of Virgil’s jeans. His mouth hung open pitifully. He turned and looked at Hugo and Tara. Tara just rolled her eyes and twisted her hair innocently.

  Hugo tapped his comdot and calmly listened, then said, “Gotcha boss. Should be a fun show. Cut her loose.”

  The dog collar on LOFN’s neck automatically unbuckled, dropping free to the ground. She charged.

  The patrolman instantly adjusted his aim and discharged two hollow point slugs, boom-boom! into LOFN’s chest, catching her in
mid-air and knocking her violently backwards.

  Tara and Hugo instinctively dropped to a crouch. The trooper quick-released the German Shepherd’s leash and backhanded Virgil with the butt of his revolver, knocking the boy to the ground in an unconscious rumple of piss. Tara winced as Virgil’s skull struck the pavement with a muffled doonk.

  LOFN was still on her back when the German Shepherd closed her jaws around the Rottweiler’s foreleg. A flash of confusion filled the animal’s eyes. Its teeth sliced through BIOSKIN© only to meet titanalum bone.

  Tara cringed.

  The dog cried, a horrible, gagging choke as LOFN flicked her foreleg and shattered the animal’s jaw. The patrolman took a step back in surprise but kept his gun steady. He squinted as he watched LOFN’s eyes change to their natural hell-red color. Her hyperflex jaws snapped like a jagged guillotine, severing the German Shepherd’s head from its body in a single motion.

  Blood spurted wildly from the animal’s exposed arteries, drenching LOFN’s muzzle and splattering to the asphalt as she tossed the dog’s head aside and flashed to her paws, bracing for the supernatural impact of the Dobermans. The Dobermans leapt over Hala’s decapitated carcass and slammed into LOFN from opposite directions. All three borgs tumbled into the tall prairie grass lining the hovway, broke and squared off, snapping savage teeth. The BIOSKIN© on LOFN’S chest was shredded and ripped, her metallic chassis beneath now glinting blood orange in the sun. The patrolman kept his pistol trained on the humans as he angrily depressed the activator on his malfunctioning combud. Tara and Hugo remained crouched, waiting patiently.

  The battborgs, while stronger by a factor of five than the organic template on which their design was based, were still slower and weaker than their DOGS unit adversary. However, the Dobermans were programmed for assault, not fear. All scan data indicated they were facing a seven year old, 39 kilo, female Rottweiler. With this data verified and processed, they charged a second time.

  The lead Doberman flashed its black, carbide teeth as it targeted the same foreleg where LOFN’s BIOSKIN© had been ripped clean to the titanalum. The other attacked from the flank. .76 seconds before the first battborg would have made contact, LOFN sprang lightly into the air, attaining a momentary hovering altitude of 1.295 meters. While airborne, her onboard computer processed incoming telemetry from Joan, adjusted for wind velocity and the additional weight of the German Shepherd’s blood soaking into her fur.