Steel, Titanium and Guilt: Just Hunter Books I to III

by Robin Craig

  “Jesus. No wonder he doesn’t like us. I’m surprised he’s seeing us at all.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But... why does GenInt still have enforcers? I don’t remember hearing any cases of geneh violations since those early days.”

  Jack gave her a cynical look. “Have you ever seen a bureaucracy give up power? My dad was a history teacher – I guess that’s the kind of thing that can make you an atheist. I still remember him laughing about the old Soviet Union, who the more they said their ideal state would wither away the more power they took. Maybe in 50 years we’ll be rid of GenInt enforcers. In the meantime I’m sure they find enough misdemeanors and other excuses to flex their muscles. Not to mention the old argument that the only reason we don’t have genehs flying around laying eggs in our children is the existence of GenInt.”

  “And we might just have found a real one for them,” added Miriam grimly.

  Then they both sat silently, he lost in his memories, she in this new picture of history. As she’d said, she had been taught the ethics of the Geneh Laws at school, and like most people simply accepted it. After all it was reasonable, wasn’t it? Was it? Surely the baby they had destroyed was some kind of monster? What else could it be? But now she wondered.

  Then the door opened and the butler said, “Dr Tagarin will see you now,” and ushered them in to the adjoining office.

  Chapter 8 – Tagarin

  The room was large, with a dark burgundy carpet so delightfully thick and soft that Miriam wished she could take her shoes off. Shelves holding books, instruments and memorabilia alternated with walls covered in murals or paintings. She liked the art. There were no meaningless abstract splotches: it was all recognizable and beautiful, and the human figures projected contentment, sensuality or heroism. They made a stark contrast with the room’s occupant, who radiated something darker. It was like the contrast between the gardens and the house, she thought. It was hard to believe this man could have chosen that art.

  He sat at a large desk of polished dark glass in the center of the room. One hand was loosely resting on the desk; his chin rested on the other as he watched them enter. He had dark brown eyes that looked like they should be lively and intelligent, but which stared at them like the glass of his desk. Or like a cobra watching a mongoose, waiting for its chance, Miriam thought. His face was hard, topped by a shock of longish chestnut hair that wasn’t sure whether it wanted to be wavy or simply anarchic, swept back from his forehead like a mane. It looked like there were lines of humor about his eyes and mouth, but unused for so long that they had hardened into cynicism. He was middle aged but evidently took advantage of youth-extending medications; he had not let his body go to flab and retained a trim athleticism that sat well on his tall frame; his movements were fast, precise and yet fluid, as if he practiced martial arts. He watched silently as they seated themselves. The butler remained, standing silently in the shadows, out of sight but never quite out of mind.

  Floating in the air before Tagarin was the image Miriam had flashed to his AI: the photo of the thief in full flight.

  “So,” he began without any greeting. “Looking at this photo I can guess why you wanted to talk to me. But why don’t you tell me? No doubt it will be amusing.” But there was no trace of amusement in his voice, which was as hard as his face.

  Miriam looked at Stone, who answered, “Whatever that thing is, it looks like a geneh. You were once a world leader in genetic engineering of humans. We hoped you could give us some information that might help us discover what it is and where it came from.”

  He had a deep, throaty laugh, well suited to the scorn he now put into it.

  “Well, I presume you have computers at least as good as mine. You will have run the same analyses as I. What brainless idiot persuaded you that this is a genetically engineered human worth annoying me about? Surely it is obvious that it isn’t. Or are you telling me the quality of the police forces has actually gone down since I last had the pleasure of dealing with you?”

  Miriam looked down, glad her dark skin mostly hid the furious blush that had rushed to her cheeks. She did not usually react like that, but Tagarin spoke with a contemptuous authority that made her feel like a schoolgirl in front of the Principal, chewing her out for wetting her pants on his favorite chair.

  To Miriam’s further chagrin, his glassy eyes did not miss the clue. “Ha!” he said mockingly. “That’s why the rookie is here?” he said, stabbing his finger at her but addressing his comment to Stone. “She’s the genius? So what,” he continued sarcastically to Miriam, “let me guess, you’re new and trying to impress your boss? Don’t they teach thinking at the Police Academy these days? Or is your boss actually dumber than you are?”

  Despite her embarrassment, Miriam lifted her head to look him in the eye: not as a challenge but in honest directness. “I understand why you are bitter and I am sorry if we offend you. But I don’t believe it was that stupid an idea. Seeing that photo is what persuaded you to let us in to see you, after all.”

  Tagarin glared at her and she felt his laser gaze dissecting her, discarding the irrelevant and finding nothing left. She feared that he would throw them out then and there for her presumption. But then he laughed again, and if there was still no friendliness in it at least there was more amusement and less derision. “Touché, Ms Hunter. Perhaps you have more courage and brains than I first gave you credit for. I would ask you to forgive the rudeness of a, as you might put it, bitter old man – except I don’t care. But you have earned a reply: so yes, your photo was intriguing enough for me to find out more, even though it cannot be a geneh. However even the police would not think it worth bothering me if this is all you have. Show me the rest.” His manner changed from that of a circling boxer to a dispassionate scientist handed a curious creature washed up on the shore.

  Miriam flashed the video to his desk. He lifted a cowl that had been hanging down his back and placed it on his head, and she saw it was made of a fine mesh of silvery threads. He concentrated briefly and the mesh moved in response to what it detected, positioning its threads in their accustomed places. Despite his jibe about their equal computer systems, Miriam thought, holographic displays with neural input meshes were rarely seen and certainly not by her. For a few minutes he watched the video, using his thoughts and hand gestures to replay sections, turn or magnify parts, sweep in external data and run calculations. Spider webs of vector lines glowed over the images; tables of figures and calculations appeared and disappeared; graphs and animations played in space. Finally he looked up, again resting his chin on his hand. “Fascinating. Yes, quite fascinating. I can almost forgive you for interrupting my fun in the Jacuzzi with the blondes” he said, glancing pointedly at Stone.

  “Now, obviously your techs will have checked the images for fraud. But if you care to know, my analyses of the photo and now the video show no signs of doctoring and all signs of being genuine. It is still possible that someone very skilled is pulling your leg, perhaps to throw you off the real trail of this burglar of yours. But they would have to be very skilled. If this is a fake, it is not the work of a casual prankster with access to mere standard tools. In fact if trickery is involved it is more likely in the person of your burglar herself rather than the video of her.”

  “Speaking of the burglary, I cannot help but notice you haven’t asked us anything about it,” noted Stone.

  “What, am I a suspect now? Do I look like I need to raid apartment buildings for a living? I didn’t ask because I don’t give a damn. The only reason you’re in here at all is because your alleged burglar presents an interesting scientific puzzle, and I don’t get enough of them these days.”

  “Sorry, cop instincts... anyway, please go on.” He didn’t look as apologetic as his words, but after giving him a hard stare Tagarin let it pass.

  “My analysis of your video indicates that while this woman is certainly remarkably fast and agile, her abilities lie within what is possible for a normal human, albe
it at the extreme end of the range. It is in the nature of the extremes of ranges that examples exist. An accomplished athlete in her prime could do it. The probability shifts even more into the human range if we add the boost she might get from certain amphetamine or cocaine style drugs. And that is without considering the possibility of performance-enhancing mechanical prostheses.”

  “But what about those amazing eyes – and the tail?” asked Miriam.

  “I imagine that is window-dressing to distract you. I suppose the eyes are some kind of mask or implant, and the tail is a mechanical prosthesis – probably for show rather than function.”

  “I have to agree that those are possibilities,” Miriam said, “But they are just possibilities, not proof. The simplest explanation is it is just what it looks like: a geneh. Yet you aren’t merely saying she might not be a geneh: you’ve insisted she can’t be. Why are you so sure?”

  “Oh child, it is a simple matter of arithmetic! Measurements of her facial structure and bodily proportions show that this is a woman around 25 years old; even allowing for variations in growth patterns, she is no younger than 22. My research was terminated 20 years ago, and we couldn’t have done this” – he stabbed at the image – “then. Your only evidence for her being a geneh is the obvious physical appearance and performance. Now don’t get me wrong. We were well on the way to achieving something like this: the changes required are not as great as their dramatic appearance might suggest. But we weren’t there yet. I estimate that if things went reasonably well, we could have achieved something like this – but no earlier than 15 years ago.”

  He looked at them and again stabbed his finger at the image. “This is not a 15 year old child. Therefore she cannot be a geneh. She was born before there was any technology that could have created her.”

  Miriam and Jack looked at each other. Miriam asked, “Could there have been other labs, working in secret, which could have done it before or after the bans? Even foreign governments?”

  “No. Science doesn’t work that way. Ours was the most advanced country on Earth in that area and we all knew what the others were up to, and where we weren’t competing we were cooperating. We had to. The more brains on a project the faster it goes. And you can’t do this kind of work in your basement: you need too much fancy equipment. Did you know that back last century when the first sheep was cloned, some whacky cult claimed they’d already cloned people? Their alleged lab had some basic equipment and a few flasks: so anyone actually in the field knew they were lying. So no, if there had been other labs I’d have known about them. I did know about them, and they were all shut down. And even if they hadn’t been, none of them could have done this even 20 years ago, let alone before then.”

  He waited, but they could think of nothing else to say. “James will show you out now. It has been interesting, but don’t expect to see me again without a warrant. A life is a terrible thing to waste and I have no intention of letting you waste mine.” He paused. “It is a pity, though, that she isn’t a geneh. If she was real, she would be a beautiful creature, don’t you think?”

  Chapter 9 – Victims

  Miriam and Stone drove back to the station silently, as their private thoughts shifted, collided and slowly settled into some kind of order. After a while, Stone spoke. “You did all right, kid. You got us in and you stood up to him. Don’t let it go to your head – you’re still a rookie who thinks she’s better than she is. But you show promise.”

  He glanced at her and granted her a slight curve of his lips that may have been a smile, or perhaps the promise of a future smile if she ever came to deserve it. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if I was forced to work with you again.”

  Miriam smiled back. “I know I have a lot to learn. If you think it will help, I’ll buy myself a nice tight helmet. Stop my head from expanding.”

  Stone grunted. “If that’s what it takes. Sometimes it is.”

  Then both of them were quiet as they went over the events of the last hour in their minds. Neither of them came to any conclusions.

  They reported the results to Ramos. He sat at his desk, considering. “Hmmm. It all sounds plausible, so plausible it stinks. But that’s an occupational hazard. Every innocent person looks like a suspect after a while. The very fact they have an alibi makes you wonder why they found it necessary to have one.”

  He paused again, thinking. “Not really much to go on. Here’s a tip for you, Hunter: if you think you have something, turn around and imagine you are counsel for the defense. If I was a defense lawyer making my closing address, I’d point out that all we have is a pattern spat out by a flakey AI, a photo in the vicinity of a minor crime that may be a coincidence and could be just a college student prank, and a plausible explanation even if that cat woman is our thief. If it wasn’t for the link to the President’s friends I’d say forget it and move on.”

  He tapped his fingers on the desk. “Not only do I hate to waste resources, I hate even more for the rarefied gods above me to believe I am wasting resources. Stone, get back to what you were doing. Hunter, you have more leeway because you can do all kinds of nutty things with the excuse that they’re research into improving our beloved AI. Quiz a few of our victims, concentrating especially on the ones who had later mysterious losses of funds. But be careful. These are all important people and, whatever we say about equality under the law, important people have a way of pulling strings if they get annoyed. Strings generally connected to hammers over our heads. For now, just phone them. They are less likely to talk but also less likely to be pissed off enough to complain to their friends in high places.”

  ~~~

  A few hours later, Miriam sat back and rubbed her eyes. What the hell? She went to see Ramos and asked Stone to come along.

  “OK Miriam, what have you got?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Then why the hell am I here?” growled Stone.

  “Because it’s a very peculiar nothing,” replied Miriam.

  “Hunter, “ said Ramos patiently, “I’m giving you rope because there’s something fishy going on. Don’t hang yourself with it. I hope you’re not wasting our time.”

  “So do I... so do I. The thing is, it’s weird. I tried all the people who had the large losses of funds. One was overseas. Three refused to talk to me. One was interested because he thought maybe we had a line on his money, but when I had to admit I didn’t and was just investigating a related lead he said not to waste his time. So I rang some of the others, concentrating on the ones at the lowest levels of the social stratosphere. A couple were pleased I had called but were mystified about the whole thing: they couldn’t imagine why someone would break into their penthouse to steal a few gems while leaving their more precious treasures untouched. Some said, rather rudely, that it was a long time ago, the police were incompetent, and anyway they had their insurance payments and what the hell was I trying to achieve? Others, and not just one, were even more hostile, as if I was somehow accusing them of a crime.”

  Stone just looked at her. “So? Welcome to police work. Did you expect to solve the case over the phone?”

  Miriam shrugged. “No. But it was weird. Half of them acted like they were innocent victims of a minor crime, the other half acted as if they were guilty of something themselves. I can understand annoyance at being the victim of a crime; I can understand them being annoyed at our failure to solve the crime. But defensiveness? Telling me, basically, to shut up, leave them alone and stop poking my nose into their business? That’s why I wanted you here, Detective Stone. Their reactions just strike me as strange – disconnected from the facts of the case. As if there are facts we are unaware of that they don’t want us to know about. You have a lot of experience – is this normal, or queer?”

  Stone and Ramos looked at each other. Stone said, “Well... when you put it that way, it does seem odd. Victims of crime respond in all kinds of ways, and you do get some hostility – blame the messenger, blame the incompetents. But this seem
s more than normal. More like interviewing members of the mob, except these people aren’t the mob. I dunno. What do you think, Chief?”

  Ramos frowned. “It is odd. But not odd enough to do anything with it. And I don’t think we should push any more at this stage: if you’re hitting this amount of resistance already, questioning more people might bring us grief. And if the Mayor asks me why I’m hassling the President’s friends – I need a better answer than what I could give him now.”

  He appeared to come to a decision. “No. We just don’t have enough. Miriam, I know you’re keen and you might even be right. But it’s still all probably just a fantasy of your AI, and your victims are just hostile because they’re busy and you’re not offering them anything except questions they’ve already answered. Get back to work. If you can tweak the AI to keep an eye on this case, do it. But don’t bring it to me unless it suggests something positive besides bothering our more eminent citizens. Other than that, just keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

  Chapter 10 – Witness

  “What the hell!?”

  Jim Perenty’s friends would not have described him as excitable. Steady, even plodding, would have been more likely descriptors. He was as happy strolling home alone through the lowering dusk as he was having a quiet drink with his friends; much happier doing either than attending a raucous party. His even temperament was not prone to jumping at shadows. He was the kind of man who, rather than seeing a weather balloon and believing it was a UFO, would see a UFO and think it was a weather balloon.

  But on this night his eye had been drawn by an odd movement on the edge of his vision, and his subconscious mind made him give a startled jump before his conscious one had time to catch up. By then the vision had already gone and the even higher levels of his mind scolded the lower ones to stop seeing things. He shook his head and walked on.