Disparity

by Eric Warren

  But then she remembered to look in her rearview.

  Behind her eight more police cars barreled toward her, sirens blaring and lights flashing.

  SEVEN

  “SUBJECT.”

  Frees jerked his head to the right, his eyes still closed.

  “Subject, respond.”

  His eyes snapped open. Though it didn’t do him much good. The room was dark, too dark to make out any much detail. But a musty smell filled the air, like mold that set Frees on edge. When he tried to move his arms, he realized he’d been restrained to whatever table he was laying on. He moved his head around, checking for any detail he could make out, anything that might help him figure out where he was and why. To his right a row of very squat windows allowed a bit of dim blue light through, but they were so grimy Frees couldn’t see anything beyond them. On the opposite end of the room was an old metal rack with a coil of wire and various other bits and bobs on it. Nothing useful and nothing within reach.

  He performed an internal diagnostic, confirming the bullets had been removed at some point and his power levels were low, but stable. He wasn’t bleeding energy anymore. Which meant someone had to have repaired him. His hand had also been restored to working order, though the casing for the felp was missing. Not like he had any use for it anyway. The weapon had been destroyed by Captain Brody. He’d have to build a new one from scratch.

  “I see you’re awake,” the voice said. He’d almost forgotten it had woken him. It was a deep voice, deeper than it had any right to be, which meant it was being processed through some kind of vocoder. “Tell me your name.”

  “Tell me yours,” Frees responded.

  “Subject is combative.” Frees thought he could hear something else in the background but he wasn’t sure. “Subject, are you an artificial lifeform?”

  “What do you think?” He rolled his eyes. If they were going to make him tell them what they already knew he wasn’t going to play this game. “Weren’t you the one who removed the bullets? If so, you should know already, shouldn’t you?”

  “Subject is very combative.”

  “Why are you holding me? Why did you repair me?” Frees asked.

  “I’m asking the questions,” the voice boomed through the space, shaking the coil of wire on the shelf across from him. “Do you identify as an artificial lifeform?”

  Frees sighed, a habit he’d come to rely on recently. “Yes.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth.”

  “I might.”

  Frees thought about it a moment. Whoever had fixed him obviously wanted him alive. Which meant they needed him for something. No one here would know about the gate, would they? Plus, if he was right and the ACA extended to include fully artificial lifeforms it meant whoever had captured, repaired and who now interrogated him was likely breaking the law. Unless they were some shadow organization inside the government. He could see that as a likely scenario as well.

  “Chicago,” Frees finally said.

  “Your purpose here,” the voice said.

  “Return to Chicago,” he replied, deadpan.

  “I don’t appreciate evasiveness, subject. True purpose here.”

  “That is my purpose! I want to find my friend and go home.” Frees strained against the restraints. What were these things made of?

  “You have a friend? Where?”

  “Yes, her name is Arista. She was arrested.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of your crazy law banning artificial limbs.”

  The voice was silent for a long time. Finally, it said, “I see. That’s very interesting, subject.”

  “Stop calling me subject, I have a name,” Frees said.

  “Subject. Tell me your name.”

  “Frees.”

  “Frees?”

  “Yes. Do I need to write it down?”

  “Like the atmospheric condition? Or like when someone wants you to stop moving?”

  Frees was running out of patience. Who was behind that voice? Were they just messing with him? He pulled against the restraints again.

  “Go ahead and spell it.”

  “Eff. Are. Ee. Ee. Ess,” Frees said through clenched teeth.

  “Ohhh. Frees. That’s an interesting name, subject. Did you give it to yourself?”

  That’s it. He was done. “Let me out of here!”

  “Not until the questions are finished!” the voice boomed again. The coil of wire almost fell off the shelf. Frees wondered if he might be able to grab it. Figure out some way to heat it up. If it was copper or bronze he might be able to transfer some heat through it, enough to burn through the restraints.

  “How old are you, subject?”

  “A million,” Frees said. He needed to get this voice as angry as possible.

  “Try again.”

  “Look, I don’t have time for this. My friend is out there and I have to find her. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re going to miss our…train home,” Frees replied.

  “Request denied, subject.” Frees slammed his head back down on the table. “Subject. New inquiry. Who built you?”

  “I was built by the perversion of The Conglomeration of Advanced Diagnostics Research and Experimentation group fifteen years ago. I went into production on January 12th, 2136 and was ready for release on January 15th, 2136. I was then assigned to the town of Burlington Colorado to work as a rancher with my assigned wife and son. I was liberated from The Cadre’s control on November 13th, 2141 when I met a human who gave me full autonomy. I then relocated to the city of Chicago in an attempt to remove The Cadre from power where I have been ever since. I currently have nine years, four months and fourteen days until I reach terminal body lock unless you or someone else kills me first. Happy?”

  “Subject.” The voice said after a minute. “That was a lot of information.”

  “I have a name.” This wasn’t working. He was supposed to be making the voice angry, not himself.

  “Subject! New inquiry,” the voice said. “Do you eat?”

  “No. Eating is disgusting.”

  “Do you p—?”

  “Don’t! Ask.” Frees interrupted. “I can do everything a human does, but I choose not to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to. Kind of like how I don’t want to have skin.”

  “You don’t want skin? Who wouldn’t want skin?” the voice paused. “What’s under there?”

  “Don’t you know?” Frees asked. “Didn’t you repair me?”

  “Subject…I’ll ask the questions here. You just lie there.”

  Something was definitely wrong. This did not sound like a person that was fully in control of their mental facilities. If only they weren’t using the vocoder Frees might be able to discover something about them based on their speech patterns. At least he’d know if he was talking to real person.

  “Subject. New inquiry. What is the conglomeration of adjusted diagnostics reporting and experimentation group?”

  “Conglomeration of advanced diagnostics research and experimentation group,” Frees said, losing patience he had sworn he’d already lost once.

  “Yes, that.”

  “An agency run by Artificial Intelligence designed to maintain working order across the globe for all living machines.”

  “You’re pulling my leg,” the deep voice said. Had he caught a hint of a smile in those words?

  “No, I’m telling the truth.”

  “How come I’ve never heard of them?”

  He might as well give it a shot. What else did he have to lose? “Because they exist in a parallel universe.”

  “Subject. Are you lying to me?”

  “No.”

  “You’re from a parallel universe.”

  Frees turned his head to the side, looking for anything that might indicate a window or camera or some way this person could se
e him, but he saw nothing. “I am. And so is my friend. And we need to find a third person. Her name is Echo and she came here by mistake as well.”

  “Echo. Echo Dante?” the voice asked.

  “You know her?”

  “Everyone knows Echo Dante. She might as well be president.”

  How was that possible? Unless…there was an Echo already here. “You have to let me go,” Frees said, struggling against the restraints. “There’s no telling what kind of damage she might be able to do.”

  “Subject. You cannot leave.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  “Yes, but…” there was a rustle then a crash and the speaker cut off, leaving him in silence again.

  “Hey,” Frees yelled. “What just happened? Where’d you go?” If this was part of some shadow government organization, he only hoped now they at least knew about Echo and would maybe take him at his word. He’d told them the truth about everything else. He could only hope it would be enough.

  EIGHT

  ARISTA YANKED BACK ON THE JOYSTICK and the nose of the car jerked up. She slammed her foot on the ascending pedal and the car began to climb, but not quickly enough. “Doesn’t this thing have turbo on it?” she said frantically, looking over all the controls.

  Nothing was labeled! The next button she hit could eject her into the atmosphere or it could roll down the windows. She checked behind her again; the pursuing cars were still there, closing on her. Which meant if they could speed up, so could she. She pushed the throttle all the way forward and the car shifted, still climbing. On the dash in front of her was an indicator, showing the pursuing vehicles behind her small dot. Beside the display was a small button that actually was labeled with the word render. That didn’t sound too dangerous. She tapped it and the display projected from the small screen into the cabin itself, drawing a 3-D holographic representation of her car, the city, and all the pursuing cars.

  “Ohhh,” she said, inspecting the map. “That’s actually helpful.” She was above the primary sky-lanes now, preparing to enter the airspace reserved for the large commercial vehicles. The tips of the skyscrapers pulled away from her as she continued to climb. Three indicators blinked and a warning on the altimeter told her she should descend as soon as possible, but she wasn’t about to let them catch her. She needed to get as high as possible, make them work for it.

  Arista leaned forward, looking up through the windshield. Above her, another ten-thousand feet, were the large commercial lanes. Giant aircraft flew along the pre-designated routes, sometimes one plane right behind the other. It was enough traffic to at least tempt fate somewhat. She needed to draw the rest of the cops up there, get them into those planes. Or at least discourage them from following her anymore. She glanced back down. Manhattan fell away from her as she reached eleven-thousand feet. She noticed a very distinctive wall out where the Hudson river met up with the Atlantic. It looked to be holding the ocean at bay; keeping it from coming in and flooding the entire city.

  A separate screen on her dash flickered and a woman’s face appeared. It was the officer who’d shot at her. “Prisoner, return your vehicle to normal airspace otherwise you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “Meaning what?” Arista taunted.

  “Life in prison. Or worse. You come down now and you’ll receive leniency.”

  Arista smiled, shaking her head. “Leniency. I didn’t even do anything. I shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” she replied, keeping an eye on the approaching jet lanes.

  “Good. I was required to offer. It will be better this way,” the officer said, then cut the comm. The screen returned to normal. She was almost there; another thirty seconds and she’d be right among the jets. She tightened her grip on the joystick. This might be her only chance.

  A shadow came up in her peripheral and the car rocked wildly. With Arista’s hand on the stick she accidentally pulled it too far to the right and the car spun into barrel rolls, gaining momentum. Arista stomped her foot on the descend pedal and yanked back on the throttle, stopping the car as if it had just run out of gas. She pulled the joystick back to the left to try and right the car, but as she did, the bottom dropped out she felt the effects of freefall. She lifted out of the seat slightly as the car began to fall erratically, picking up speed.

  “Oh shi—” she began, shoving the throttle forward and taking her foot off the descender. The nose of the car pointed almost straight down now, and she was being pulled back in her seat and up by the weightlessness at the same time. She reached forward as far as she could, grabbing the joystick again and pulling back, hoping to slow the descent. She stomped on the ascender again and the car jerked as if it had just been caught by a net, but continuing in a forward path. If she had the time she’d liked to have thrown up.

  There was only one way to get rid of her pursuers, which, when she looked in the rearview only saw seven. Something had happened to number eight. Or he was out there somewhere else waiting for her.

  As the skyscrapers came into better view, Arista shifted the car to the right, so it was aimed directly at one of the sky-lanes running between the buildings. She glanced behind her to make sure the cops were still on her tail and not giving up. Which was brave on their part, because it was unlikely all of them would survive this maneuver.

  The throttle was still shoved completely forward and the speedometer measured her speed at one-hundred seventy mph. She had a good hold on the joystick now, making small adjustments here and there while still pointing the nose of the car directly at the line of cars flying in their lanes, oblivious to the speeding bullets above them.

  “Sorry, people, but there’s a lot on the line here,” she said. The Device estimated she would run into the lanes of cars in six seconds. She checked the rearview one more time to see the police had backed off; they were going to let her sacrifice herself.

  At the precise moment the Device told her she was fifty feet from the lanes, Arista yanked back on the throttle and the joystick and pushed the ascend petal to the floor. The car jerked back, flipping end over end and as soon as she was inverted she hit the throttle again, sending the car shooting down the canyon of buildings. The only problem was she was upside down and losing grip on the seat. She yanked the joystick to the left, righting the car and double-checked the 3-D map to see her pursuing cars were still a hundred feet above her, trying to turn themselves around.

  “Ha!” She whipped the car around the edge of the closest building and pushing the nose of the car down again. There was no sky-lane between these buildings; it was clear, but now she was approaching the ground at an alarming rate. “Gotta ditch this thing.” Arista watched the map and the space in front of her at the same time. According to the map she was close to Central Park, but she’d need to stash the car somewhere no one would find it. Checking the rearview they still hadn’t caught up with her, so she whipped around a second corner while still descending. The sidewalks below were packed with people, but the lanes were clear. She leveled the car out, foot still on the descend and she pulled back on the throttle gently, bringing the car to thirty mph as it “landed” softly, hovering a foot or so off the ground and continuing down the street. To her right was the entrance to an underground parking facility and she turned in, the gate opening automatically for the police vehicle. She slowed to ten mph and drove the car down three more floors until coming to the spots designated for monthly parking. She pulled into the first spot she saw and cut the engine, scrambling out of the car. She left Foley’s badge behind; there might be a tracker in it and she didn’t need the risk. Hopefully it would take them a few minutes to find the car. She turned and took off for the nearby stairs.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later she was back in Central Park, her hand stuffed in her pocket as she bunched her shoulders and strolled with purpose down the pathways. She took the exact way back into the park the cops had taken her out and hadn’t seen another officer since losing the other
cars in the sky. She had to commend herself on how well she’d handled that car; she’d never really driven before. Only on a few occasions when Dad would let her take the Subaru, but that had been such an old model. And driving a vehicle with a wheel was much different than driving one with a joystick.

  As she turned the bend back to the grass where they’d first landed she could already see no one was there. “Dammit,” she said under her breath. There were a few joggers around, taking advantage of the fact the sun had finally gone down and relieved some of the heat, but they all had on some kind of device Arista assumed allowed multimedia into their eyes and ears while they ran. No one paid her any attention.

  “Frees, you dick. You just had to get up, didn’t you?” she asked, standing in front of the grass. She’d missed it before, but there was a small plaque beside the path that said:

  Generously purchased by the Lamplighter family for the City of New York.

  Private Property.

  No Trespassing.

  That didn’t sound right. Not that it mattered, they were going to be gone from this place soon anyway. But she had to find him first. It wasn’t like she could wait around here until he came back, he’d come looking for her at the station. Or the courthouse. Either way, she couldn’t stay here. The cops might assume she’d return here eventually as well.

  Instead, Arista continued to walk past the patch of grass, continuing north until she could get out of the park altogether. Then she would use the city as cover and circle back around to the station. Right now it was the only possibility of finding him.

  As she reached the intersection of 79th and fifth avenue the aroma of something savory and delicious reached her nostrils, causing her mouth to water in anticipation. She hadn’t had a bite since leaving the colony, but whatever was out here smelled even better than the delights she’d experienced back there.

  She traced the smell to a small cart sitting on the side of the road where a man with a long beard cut vegetables and tossed them in a small bowl with spices. “Yes?” he asked, without looking up.