by Mel Odom
Except for who hired the assassins that killed Cartman Dawes. And Shelly. I found myself caught in an endless loop regarding those loose ends. The assassins had been bought and paid for through a prepaid credaccount. So far, none of the cybtech specialists had been able to penetrate the shell companies to ferret out the source of the payment.
I wanted to work that angle myself, but I had not been assigned to the case and my programming disallowed independent investigation of cases dispersed to other detectives. Many of the subroutines within bioroids serving corporations or departments dealt with no-competition parameters. Bioroids had been created to assist and augment human effort, not supplant it.
Craig remained focused on me. “I’m talking about you—someone you could talk to in order to get this all sorted out for yourself.”
“I don’t know anything that needs sorting.”
“I know that you two were close.”
“Yes.” I knew he was talking about more than merely physical proximity.
Craig hesitated. “You have to be feeling something about losing her.”
“I don’t have feelings that way. Thank you for your concern.”
Still, he didn’t give up. “Isn’t there someone at Haas-Bioroid that could work with you? To make certain you’re okay?”
“My leg and side have been repaired. I am once again operating at one hundred percent efficiency. Thank you for your concern.”
“I’m not talking about your physical well-being. I’m talking about your emotional state.”
“I have no emotional state.”
Craig peered intently at me. I had seen Shelly do this at times, too, as if somehow doubting what she saw before her. “Part of you used to be human, Drake. Isn’t there anything of that left?”
“I was never human.” On the day of Shelly’s funeral, when I saw how greatly her death affected her family, I saw how disabling an emotion complex could be. I did not wish for it.
“The neural patterning, or whatever it’s called, started from a human.”
“Yes.”
“None of this touches that part of you?”
“That part was a foundation for me. It no longer exists.”
Craig stood, looking weary. He placed his hand on my shoulder, and that small gesture reminded me of Shelly. I did not remove his hand, though I wanted to.
His voice was soft when he spoke. “If you decide you do need something, someone to talk to, let me know. If I can help, I will.”
“Thank you.”
Craig walked away and I knew that somehow I had disappointed him. Around me, the other detectives made disparaging comments about me, bioroids, and Ghandi guns.
I sat at my desk and continued to wait for work.
*
The following morning, I left my flat at my usual time and was confronted by a group of hard-faced men just outside my door. I stood there with my arms at my sides, but I automatically uploaded their images to the facial recognition database.
Four of them were Human First members who had criminal records for illegal demonstrations and property damage. The property damage in all cases related to the attempted destruction of bioroids.
The Human First movement was a growing concern in New Angeles, on the Moon, and on Mars. They stood against all forms of androids integrating with the human world, bioroids as well as clones. The men in this group had a history that focused on bioroids.
I recognized the potential for trouble, but I was polite. I was always polite. “May I help you?”
A large man stepped forward and threw a forefinger in my direction. “You got Detective Norman killed, golem.” He was dressed in construction clothes—a coverall under a thick leather jacket—with dark welder’s goggles perched on his head.
I didn’t correct his mispronunciation of Shelly’s name, although I had to resist. According to his file, Donald Mason was a particularly violent offender regarding Human First.
“Mr. Mason—”
“Don’t use my name, golem. You’re not human. Don’t act human. You don’t have the right.” Mason spat in my face.
“Mr. Mason, I must warn you that your behavior borders on the criminal. If I had been human, spitting on me would have been considered assault. Since you have a sexually transmitted disease that could result in death if not properly managed, those charges could upgrade to assault with a deadly weapon. Please stand aside.”
“No.” Mason stepped in closer to me. “You stand aside. I saw on 3D that you killed your partner.”
I had not seen that. Last night, I had come home and reviewed the open investigations Shelly and I had. Lieutenant Ormond had forbidden me to follow up on any of them, and had even reassigned them, but I thought if I found something I could have at least consulted on the cases.
“That is incorrect.” I accessed the Net news feed and searched for Shelly’s name.
The story was easy to find because it was in the day’s “Top Ten Most Visited.” According to the story, and the vid reenactment of the scene from seccam footage someone had gotten from the L’Engle Hotel, Shelly was dead only because I had fired on the assassin.
Lily Lockwell was a roving reporter for The New Angeles Sol and for NBN—one of the nosies that operated independently of corporate news. She was popular, young, and fierce, with a reputation for never backing off a story as long as there was a credaccount with her name on it.
She stood on the L’Engle Hotel rooftop in the bright morning light wearing a brown business suit. Her auburn hair framed a face that might have been sculpted by a cosmetic surgeon’s laser. A monocam covered her left eye, even though it was useless because she wasn’t interviewing anyone or recording anything. Obviously she was a woman who was always ready to catch the news.
“I’m here with you this morning for an amazing reconstruction of the events that led up to Detective Shelly Nolan’s death at the hands of her bioroid partner, Drake 3GI2RC.”
I watched the presentation on high speed, getting through it in less than a second.
“As people know, several days ago Detective Nolan was trying to apprehend three alleged assassins on the roof of this very hotel.” Behind the reporter, tall holo-images of the three perpetrators appeared on the hotel rooftop. “Detective Nolan bravely confronted all three men after they allegedly murdered Cartman Dawes, CEO of IdentiKit, Inc.”
A holo-image of Dawes took the place of the three men. The corporate-provided image faded to one that showed Dawes sprawled on the floor of his hotel suite. I knew immediately that someone on Latimer’s sec team wasn’t above scooping up a few creds for leaking information. The NAPD had locked the site down tight.
“The NAPD is unsure at this time why Dawes was killed, but they are investigating a potential Martian terrorist link to the destruction of IdentiKit’s newest proposed manufacturing plant on Mars.”
The new image showed vid footage of the plant’s destruction. The orange and black explosions looked bright and intense. Smoke weaved a death’s head above the shattered remains of the building and I knew that effect was computer generated.
“On the night of Dawes’s assassination, Detective Shelly Nolan responded to the homicide with her bioroid partner, Drake 3GI2RC.”
Holo-images of Shelly and me formed on the rooftop. Shelly looked professional in her black jacket and suit, calm and confident. I looked distant, unengaged, and I thought perhaps the image was accurate.
“During the pursuit on the rooftop, tragedy occurred.” Lily Lockwell’s voice lowered and thickened with assumed emotion.
Immediately, the scenery behind the reporter faded away and turned black, until it was that night on the rooftop all over again. Rain pelted the roof and puddles spattered under Shelly’s feet as she raced in pursuit of the last killer. The holo reconstruction was faultless. I could find no discrepancy between what had been and what was depicted. Helpless, I watched as I appeared on the scene and gave chase as well. In the holo, I gave warning to Shelly and fired my Synap. The
perp turned blue and froze.
Lily Lockwell superimposed over the image and looked at the viewing audience. “Experts I have talked to point out that this is when Drake 3GI2RC got his partner killed. The Synap pistol, also called the ‘Ghandi gun’ because it is non-lethal, underperformed due to the existing wet conditions. Not only that, physicians I have consulted regarding this tragic event tell me that the seizure caused by the Synap pistol was what caused the alleged assassin to seize up. In effect, it was the pistol’s discharge that caused him to pull the trigger, not true effort on his part.”
I zoomed in on the reconstruction and played it over. Of course, what was shown in the holo was exactly what Lockwell had stated it was. The electrical shock convulsed the man’s hand and caused him to fire.
Shelly fell again. The holo cut away before showing my efforts to rescue her.
“Unfortunately, Detective Nolan paid for her partner’s inappropriate action with her life. Policemen I have talked to indicated that Drake 3GI2RC could have positioned himself between his partner and her killer. He didn’t.”
I hadn’t because there had been no time. I could not have covered that distance to save Shelly. I had done all I could do. It just hadn’t been enough.
Lieutenant Ormond’s image formed on the rooftop beside Lily Lockwell. He was of medium height with broad shoulders and a pencil thin mustache, in his fifties, solid, and pedantic. “Detective Shelly Nolan was a good cop.” He spoke gravely. “She was an asset to this department. She’s going to be missed.”
Kurt and Shelly’s daughters took Ormond’s place as Lockwell took over the narrative again. “Detective Nolan is survived by her—”
I logged off the newsfeed and returned to real-time.
Chapter Nine
“You’re not human.”
Mason leaned into me and tried to intimidate me with his presence. If I’d been human, perhaps it would have worked. But, as he’d pointed out, I wasn’t human. It didn’t work. “You don’t deserve to do a human’s job.”
The PR subroutine immediately slid into my response. “As a bioroid, I am not here to take the place of a human. I work in my present capacity to preserve human life, to make the human workplace safer, and to do work that would otherwise threaten a human’s welfare.”
“You got your partner killed.”
“That is a fallacy.”
“I saw it with my own two eyes. Are you calling me a liar?”
“No.”
“Then you caused your partner’s death.”
That assessment conflicted me: because of my programming—because I had stayed behind to offer assistance to a dying man—and I hadn’t been on that rooftop with Shelly, I saw the merit of his argument; I had done the right thing, but I hadn’t been there to protect Shelly. I couldn’t assign blame to myself, though, because that was in direct opposition to my programming.
“You know it’s true, golem.” Mason shoved a big hand against my chest.
I stepped back to avoid further confrontation. “Mr. Mason, please be advised that to continue on your present path will result in serious charges.”
“Shut up!” Mason shoved me again. “You’re a murderer! You need to be deactivated! And I’m just the guy who can do it!” He reached under the heavy leather jacket he wore and took out a portable arc laser capable of welding or cutting through carbosteel like a hot knife through butter. He flicked the ignition button and the laser hissed to life, spitting out a pink-white beam designed to cut, not weld.
He swung the arc laser at my head. I dodged back immediately and lifted my left arm to defend myself. The pink-white beam sliced through my first three fingers. Blue-green nutrient fluid that kept my synthskin “alive” sputtered and boiled to acrid yellow vapor. My severed fingers dropped to the floor with audible taps.
There was a pain warning, and the nanobots in my system immediately closed off the nutrient leakage. I took another step back.
“Mr. Mason, you must desist.”
“No.” Mason lifted the laser and came at me again. Behind him, three other men also revealed arc lasers and joined him.
For a moment, my programming was locked as to how to respond. I couldn’t hurt them. Then again, I realized, I couldn’t allow them to hurt themselves either. In their savagery, there was a good chance that they would injure themselves or each other.
Not only that, but destruction of police property was against the law. I was police property.
I scanned the faces of the other three men with arc lasers. “Mr. Mason, Mr. Cuthbert, Mr. Hannigan, and Mr. Nelson, you are all under arrest for the willful attempt to destroy police property. Stand down or I will be forced to take action.” I immediately called Dispatch and alerted them to my situation.
“Understood, Detective Drake. Units have been sent to your twenty.”
I freed the Synap pistol and fired. The first burst struck Mason and dropped him in his tracks. I sidestepped the next man, tripped him, and managed to rip the arc laser from him with my maimed hand. I shot the next two men, then turned back to the one I’d disarmed.
The man pushed himself up and came at me. “No matter what you try to do, golem, you’re never going to be human.”
I shot him as well; he was close enough that I saw electricity dancing inside his open mouth. Then his eyes rolled up and he fell to the floor to join his comrades.
The few remaining members of the Human First group dispersed, fleeing along the hallway like I was some kind of monster that would wreak vengeance upon them.
I had no need for vengeance. I felt nothing about their hatred or their part in the assault on police property. I logged their images and matched up the ones in the database. They would be issued citations and legal recourse would be sought by the NAPD and Haas-Bioroid.
My neighbors, only in name because of their proximity, stood outside their doors and stared at me. I suspected that many of them didn’t know what I did for work.
“Everything is under control.” I observed them and knew they would never look at me in the same way again. From the shock on some of their faces, I believed that a few of them hadn’t even known I was a bioroid. “I am Detective Drake with the New Angeles Police Department.”
They retreated back inside their domiciles and left me standing in the hallway with the unconscious men. I knelt and used zip-strips to bind my prisoners’ hands behind their backs, and I waited for the arrival of the police hoppers.
*
“I want that thing out of my department.” Lieutenant Ormond stood on the other side of his large desk. He was too agitated to sit. Veins pulsed at his temple, and when he wasn’t talking, his jaw muscle bunched in frustration.
“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Lieutenant.” Dmitri Chaney was a legal representative for Haas-Bioroid. Of African-American heritage, he was a large, impressive man with soft brown skin and an easy smile filled with confidence. His suit probably cost more than Ormond’s whole wardrobe, and that fact registered on the lieutenant.
“You can’t make me keep that thing here.”
That thing was me. I sat quietly in the corner of the lieutenant’s office, a place I had seldom been before.
Lieutenant Ormond hadn’t much liked me from the beginning. Shelly’s decision to partner with me hadn’t sat well with him, either. After the Human First encounter at my flat, he cared for me even less. I hadn’t believed that was possible.
“I’m not making you keep Detective Drake here.” Chaney plucked at the crease in his pant leg on his crossed knees. The memory-enhanced material automatically fell perfectly back into place. “I believe that would be the job of the police commissioner. Perhaps you should take Detective Drake’s assignment up with her.”
Ormond tried to keep his cool. He was in a high stress job and sometimes the anger came out. It did now. He leaned down and slapped both hands against the desktop. The booms thundered through the room. “Are you aware of this thing’s limitations?”
Chaney coc
ked an eyebrow. “Yes, and I believe Commissioner Dawn agrees with Haas-Bioroid’s position that Detective Drake’s abilities far outweigh those limitations.”
“It got Detective Nolan killed.”
“Lieutenant Ormond, I would go easy with that blatant statement. Legal counsel at Haas-Bioroid has reviewed the holo-imagery used by Lockwell and her affiliates to launch the attack on Detective Drake. I’m being generous when I say that the imagery is questionable. Writs and suits are being drawn up as I sit here and talk to you.” Chaney paused for a moment. “I would hate, but not hesitate, to add your name to the list of people that are going to be recipients of legal action.”
With a snarled oath, Ormond crossed his arms over his broad chest. “No one in this department wants to work with that thing.”
“As I recall, the same problem existed before, until Detective Nolan bravely stepped forward.”
“Maybe you noticed, counselor, but she ain’t here no more.”
“I have noticed. Last time, you were lucky and someone volunteered. Perhaps this time you should take a more aggressive stance.”
“What? Order someone to partner up with it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
Chaney maintained his cool gaze. “Then perhaps Commissioner Dawn should talk to your boss and have him place someone more progressive in his or her thinking in your position.”
“Are you threatening me?”
For a moment, I thought I might have to get up to protect Chaney.
“Do you feel threatened, Lieutenant?” Chaney showed only a bemused expression.
“Get out of my office before I throw you out.”
Chaney stayed put. “I’m afraid I can’t leave until I’m certain we’ve reached an accord regarding Detective Drake’s prospects within this department. Considering the hostile environment for Detective Drake, my employers will want to know.”
“You talk about that thing like it’s human.”
“Detective Drake acts in a capacity where he needs to be recognized as an individual entity.”