by Eric Warren
Ahead of them, a giant building loomed. It was a dark gray steel, with hundreds of evenly-placed windows in sections above and below the area of the building they had aimed for. The driving officer had pulled the vehicle off the main sky-lane and dropped it down so the car lined up with an opening garage in the side of the building. A short ramp extended to allow the car to re-establish its magnetic hover before pulling in.
“Home sweet home,” the driver said. He turned to her. “Don’t move. We’ll come to retrieve you.”
They both opened their doors and disappeared into the dark chamber while Arista watched the garage door behind the vehicle close, shutting off the bright, gleaming city from her view. She had no idea what kind of punishment an unregistered, unlicensed bionic implant might require and she wasn’t very anxious to find out.
The door to her right opened. “Let’s go,” the one called Jennings said, taking a hold of her arm and guiding her off the back seat.
“Where?” she asked.
“Interrogation.”
“How long is that going to take? I need to get back to my fr…husband.”
Jennings’ eyes raised in a mischievous fashion. “Sounds like we came along at just the right time. About to commit a cardinal sin on private property, huh?”
“Wha—no, I just mean he hasn’t been feeling well. I need to help him with his…medicine.” Her voice was higher in pitch than normal and she felt her cheeks flush.
Jennings shot her a knowing look. “You better hope your husband has at least one friend he can call because you’re not leaving here today. Do you know how much paperwork an unregistered bionic requires?” He led her through and open doorway into a brightly-lit hall. “Of course you don’t, you’re an illegal. Well, let’s just say it isn’t fun. The compliance forms alone are enough to make anyone want to shoot themselves. In fact, I should make you pay me overtime because we’re all going to be here late tonight.”
“No, sir. You don’t understand. He needs my help and he doesn’t have anyone else he can call. He doesn’t speak English very well.”
“Sounded okay to me,” Jennings said. “Let’s hope he finds a good Samaritan.”
“Could you…could you bring him here? Keep him in a cell too? After all, he was on the lawn just as much as I was.”
Jennings laughed. “You think we busted you because of the lawn?” He leaned in. “Personally, I don’t give a shit about Lord Machiavelli and his high horse. We’d have given you a warning or a ticket at worst. No, you’re here because of that arm and no other reason.” He tapped on her upper arm as well hitting the metal of the sleeve through her jacket. “Goes higher up than I expected. You must have been in one hell of an accident.”
“Or I could have just been born this way,” she replied.
“Ha. Good one. You’ve got a sense of humor. That will serve you well while you’re here with us.” He continued down the hall with her in tow, a slight smile on his face now, until they reached a door marked Interrogation 22.
“You have twenty-two interrogation rooms?” Arista asked.
“No. We have sixty-five. But twenty-two is my favorite,” Jennings said.
“Why?”
“Because we catch criminals in a lie in here. Therefore…” He gestured to the door with his hand.
“Catch-twenty-two,” she said, pushing her lips into a thin line.
“See? You get it. I don’t know what Foley doesn’t see. I think it’s hilarious.” He opened the door and indicated she sit in the chair on the far end of the table. “By the way, not everyone figures it out. So you get a bonus point.”
“Does that mean you’ll take…whatever this thing is, off?” Arista indicated the bubble around her arm.
“Not until we get the Specialist in here to examine it,” Jennings said. “Never know what kind of weapons or tech you might be hiding inside. For all I know it could be a miniaturized fusion core set to overload. Wipe out the closest three blocks.”
Arista stared at her arm. Miniaturized fusion core? Did they really have those?
“Here,” Jennings said, indicating the table in front of her. It lit up like a computer screen. “Place your palm on this square right here, keep your fingers apart and wait three seconds.”
She reached up with both arms since they were still attached together and placed her palm inside the square he indicated. The square blinked blue three times.
“You can remove it now, thank you.” He made his way around the other side of the table and tapped it, bringing up a report Arista couldn’t see. “Hmm.” He glanced up at Arista. “You’re not going to be a problem, are you?”
Arista withdrew. “Why?”
“My database here tells me you have no record. Anywhere. Which means one of two things.” He tapped the table again and all the information on top disappeared. “You were illegally born, which might explain the arm now that I think about it. Or you don’t actually exist and I’m just asleep at my desk.”
She leaned over the table. “What would it take to convince you it was option number two?”
He sighed. “Let’s do it the old-fashioned way then. Name?”
She only had a split-second to decide. Should she lie to him, try and keep him guessing? Or would it be better to tell the truth? Which one got her out of here faster? “Arista Barnes,” she said.
“Birthdate?”
“April 25th, 2127.”
“ID number?”
“Uhhh…how long is it? Normally?”
Jennings looked up from the table. “You don’t have an ID number?”
“Well…”
“How do you buy food? Get in your home? You do have a home, don’t you? You’re too clean to be homeless.”
She bit her lip. Maybe the truth wasn’t the best idea. How long would it take them to figure out there was no record of an Arista Barnes anywhere on this planet?
The door to the interrogation room opened, revealing the first officer from before. The taller one. “What’s the holdup?” he asked.
“No ID number. Also, she’s not coming up in the database.” Jennings tapped on the table.
“That’s not possible. Everyone’s in the database. Whether they know it or not,” the officer said.
“Excuse me,” Arista said. “Not everyone. I’m not. Because I’m not from here.”
“You’re not…from Earth?” Jennings arched an eyebrow.
“Well…I mean…”
“I’ll start checking the interstellar logs,” the other officer said. “Christ, we’re going to be here all night at this rate.” He threw up his arms as he turned to leave the room.
“It’s a BI!” Jennings called after him. “We were going to be here all night anyway!”
A door slammed somewhere in the hallway beyond. Jennings shook his head and closed the door to the interrogation room, then returned to his seat.
“Which one?” he asked. “Mars or Moon?”
“Umm…” This was just getting worse and worse. Now they thought she was from offworld. Had humans achieved interplanetary travel? Enough to establish colonies on another planet. The moon was still close enough so it made sense. Mars was much further away, perhaps it would be better to go with that one.
“Mars,” she finally said.
“Man. I am jealous. What’s that like? You spent six months in stasis just to get here, right? I’ve always wanted to take a jaunt but they’re just so expensive. By the time I pay off my education, I’ll be ready for my pension if you know what I mean.” Jennings winked at her.
“Yep. It was a long trip,” she said.
“Is that where you got the…?” He tapped his own right arm.
Arista nodded, unsure how long she could keep this ruse up.
“That explains a lot. But they never should have let you off the ship. What did you do, hide it from the dock workers?”
“Something like that,” she replied. Hide it? Even the very thought of hiding her arm was enough to ignite a fire of anger i
n her. The Device registered the change in her system, displaying the information in the corner of her vision. She blinked it away, thankful the Device still worked. But it hadn’t been able to pick up a GLS signal. They must use a different system in this universe. She wondered if she could find a way to modify her system to pick it up. At least the Device worked enough to maintain a map of everywhere she’d been so far. Finding her way back to the park would be easy. She just needed to get out of this place first.
The door opened again to reveal the first officer. He only stood at the door and stared at Arista.
“What?” she asked.
“Specialist is here,” he said, a cruel smile spreading across his lips.
TWO
“IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN SOMETHING TO ME?” Arista asked, defiant.
“All I know is I wouldn’t want one of my arms to be mechanical,” the officer said. She finally got a good glimpse of his name tag: Foley.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Arista replied. “My mother made it for me.”
“Very sweet,” Foley replied, stepping aside. Behind him entered a short, bald man in a long, white coat. He carried a small case under his arm and his face was old…wizened. Arista wondered how long he’d been known as “the Specialist”.
“Officer Jennings,” the man said in a raspy voice. “Prepare to unlock.”
Jennings stood, moving around the table behind Arista. The Specialist stood in the place Jennings had vacated and set the case on the table. Three legs extended in three different directions from the case, forming a tripod. He opened the top as a thin, black rectangle rose out of the case and swiveled around until it found Arista where it stopped. She couldn’t be sure but she thought she could see the end of a barrel embedded on it.
“You ever been through this before?” the Specialist asked.
She shook her head. “Been through what?”
He nodded, staring at the case which had transformed before her eyes. “You move an inch while we’re working, this will kill you where you sit.”
“What?” she yelled.
“It’s a safety measure. Until we get the arm off. We can’t risk you keeping it. It’s unlicensed—”
“Unlicensed, unregistered bionic implant, yes, I know!” Arista said. “But that doesn’t mean you shoot me for having it.”
“It means we shoot you if you try to use it while we’re getting it out of you,” Foley said.
She glanced to Jennings. He only stared back, studying her. “Look,” Arista said. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here. But I’m not willing to risk my life for this thing. If you want it, you can have it. You don’t need to shoot anyone.”
Foley produced a heavy sigh. “What is this, some kind of diversionary tactic?”
“What? No, I’m saying I will give you the arm. Just let me out of this bubble thing and you can have it.”
Foley put his hands on the table and leaned over to her. “I don’t think you understand how this works. You sit still while we cut that thing off you. If you don’t move, you don’t die. Got it?”
“God, you’re thick,” Arista said. “It comes off. You don’t have to cut anything. What is it with you people and your phobia of augmentation? It’s like you’ve never heard of a prosthesis.”
Foley and the Specialist exchanged looks.
“Maybe they do things differently on Mars,” Foley said, a sardonic smile on his face. “But here anything that even resembles an artificial life form, including bionic appendages, is illegal. Got me?”
Arista slumped back in the chair, confused. “Illegal?” She really wished the Device was compatible with the communications network these people used. She could really do with a history lesson right about now.
“You said it comes off?” Jennings asked.
Arista nodded, raising her eyebrows. “Yeah. You don’t have to shoot me, I’ll remove it right now.”
He exchanged looks with his partner. “What do you think?”
“She’s lying. Bionics don’t come off. They’re hard-wired in. Once they’re on they’re on until we cut them off,” Foley said.
“No one is cutting anything,” Arista said. She’d experienced more than enough cutting in her lifetime. “Deactivate whatever this thing is and I’ll show you.”
The Specialist glanced between the two officers, then tapped a button on the case. The black rectangle emitted a small red beam that appeared in the middle of Arista’s chest.
“Do not make any sudden movements,” the Specialist said. “Do not get up from that chair. Understand?”
“I said de-activate.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, you seem to be under the impression you’re the officer and we’re the detainees,” Jennings said. “Now this device won’t hurt you if you follow our orders, okay?” She nodded. “Okay.” He bent over and placed his thumb against the bracelet on her right arm. The blue balloon disappeared, and he removed the cuff, allowing it to dangle, the other cuff still connected to her left wrist. She reached over, pulling her sleeve up above the elbow.
“Slowly,” the Specialist said. Foley had his hand on his gun. This struck her as very strange. To be so afraid of just an arm? It was ludicrous.
She grasped her forearm and twisted counter-clockwise, the arm making an audible click before going limp. She then pulled it away from the sleeve and set it on the table. A quick glance to the Specialist told her she was still okay to proceed. Reaching up, she took hold of the metal sleeve under her shirt and pulled down, the sleeve’s nanites deactivating and integrating back into the smooth surface. When it was off it had become nothing more than a flexible piece of metal. She laid it next to the arm.
“See?” She pulled her regular sleeve back down over her elbow. “Happy?”
The Specialist looked stunned. He leaned over, inspecting the arm and the sleeve without touching them. “Fascinating,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It certainly didn’t come from Mars. They’ve barely got enough resources there to survive. Where did you get it?”
Obviously, the truth was off the table. But she needed a story that could be both plausible and deniable at the same time.
“I told you, my mother made it for me,” she replied. Did she need to tell them her mother was from another universe? One where machines had taken over the planet and been in power for a century? She could leave that part out.
The Specialist sat back with a cross look on his face.
“Do you mind?” Arista asked, indicating the case weapon.
He reached up slowly and tapped the case. The red light disappeared and it folded back into itself until it was a regular case yet again. The Specialist stood, his short frame making it look like he was hunched over the table when in reality he was probably standing as straight as he could. “I want to know where it came from,” he said. “And who the mother is.”
“Technically it isn’t an implant,” Jennings said. “We’ve got no cause to hold her if it isn’t implanted into her.” Arista perked up.
The Specialist pursed his lips. “Then she’s here for questioning. Voluntarily.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wait, I didn’t sign up for any ques—” Arista began but the Specialist’s eyes flashed. She knew it was a warning but she didn’t care. She needed to get back to Frees and make sure the gate wasn’t open right now.
“Get it done,” the Specialist said. He grabbed the case, then picked up her arm and sleeve and left the room, Foley holding the door for him.
Jennings returned to the seat he’d occupied earlier. “You heard him. Let’s get this over with.”
“So, I’m not under arrest?” Arista asked.
“Not technically,” Foley replied, walking over and standing behind Jennings where he leaned up against the wall, staring at her. “But we could probably find a reason if we looked hard enough.”
“Roger,” Jennings said. “She’ll cooperate.” He turned to Arista. “Right?” There was someth
ing in his voice…did he know something?
“First question then,” Foley replied. “Who is your mother? And who does she work for?”
“What?” Arista asked, confused.
“The Interstellar Commerce Authority? Or maybe one of the more nefarious organizations like the Primacy. You tell us.”
“I…she doesn’t work for anyone. She’s dead. Has been for a while now.”
“What was her name?” Foley asked, not an ounce of sympathy in his voice. This was going to be harder than Arista thought. She needed to say whatever was necessary to get out of here and find Frees. She really wished she had access to a network. She’d be able to search the death records and pluck a name out of thin air. Instead, she’d have to improvise.
“Emily. Barnes. She was a homemaker. But her hobby was robotics. When I was…injured she helped me.” Arista felt a pang of guilt at combining the efforts of her biological mother with the name of the one that raised her, but it was better if she kept things as nebulous as possible. But now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen evidence of a single machine anywhere. Did they not exist in this world? And if that was the case, then choosing her mother’s name had been the smart move.
Foley opened his palm. “Emily Barnes,” he repeated. Then he turned this palm around and a holographic display grew large enough for Arista to make out. There were four hundred and seventy entries. “Narrow that one down for me.”
“I don’t—”
“Date of birth,” Foley said, condescending this time.
“March 3rd, 2106,” Arista said, doing a quick mental calculation of how old her mother should be. Despite the fact she was only built twenty-four years ago. She hoped if she gave them enough conflicting information they’d give up and let her go. After all, she wasn’t under arrest anymore. She might just have to leave here without the arm.