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

by Robin Craig

  “Out of service. I don’t know if the idiot changed phones or what. He was a bit of a conspiracy nut. So what did you guys do together? I hear you had a bit of a crowd going.”

  “Yeah, yeah, we did. We got onto a sweet deal. One of the big companies was paying gamers to hook into their latest virtuals. Fucking amazing stuff. Like reality, some of it.”

  “Wow, really? Who were they? What were they doing?”

  “Big outfit called Allied Cybernetics. Into all kinds of hot stuff. Games. Medical. Augmented suits. Military hardware. Rich as Croesus and hot as hell. The stuff we tested – Jesus. Nearly wet myself thinking about it.”

  “You aren’t still doing it?”

  “Nah. I’d love to but there’s something funny about my nervous system. Didn’t take too well to some of their interfaces. The most god-awful headaches. They said they were working on it but ended up chucking me out, afraid of liability I guess. I reckon I’ll get a call one day, though, bring me back to test the mods. They assured me my data was very interesting and they’d use it. Paid me out nicely too.”

  “So what did you do exactly?”

  “Their big thing is man-machine neural interfaces. They are hitting it from all sides. Prosthetics you can control with your mind, just by the nerves you usually use. Remote sensing. AI using neural tissue. Apparently if you lose your arm they’ll be able to give you one just as good. Better, even: stronger, tougher. I wasn’t going to lose an arm for science, but I did test it with one of their overlay interfaces. Amazing. I could feel with its fingers and move it as if it was my own. A bit like wearing heavy gloves, but they reckon with a full interface you’d never tell the difference.”

  “Wow! And Jimmy was into that too! What else?”

  “Virtuals that are like being there. For games, remote viewing, education, whatever. Some boring stuff: just hooked up to a machine while their scientists studied how your nerves could control circuits and the circuits could control your nerves. Even psychology: they could modify your emotions and stuff. That could get wild. But they had a cutoff triggered if your vitals went too crazy, and you even had a manual kill switch to get out if you wanted to.”

  “Sounds incredible! Pity you had to drop out. Jimmy did the same stuff?”

  “Yeah, yeah, he did. But if you want to know exactly what, talk to his gang. I don’t know if they were just puffing it for the ladies, but you’d ask them and they’d go all secretive, reckoning they had to sign heavy confidentiality contracts. But I reckon they were onto some sweet deal, whatever it was.”

  “So who’s in this gang of his?”

  A strange look came into Georgie’s eyes. “That’s a funny thing, now that you ask. Most of them have moved on, like Jimmy. I didn’t think anything of it, you know. People around here move on all the time. You should know, I never saw you before and might never see you again. But now you mention it, and I think about who they were, yeah… all gone. Odd. Well, except one. Kyro. Big fellow. Great guy once you get to know him, though certainly not your average guy.” He smiled but did not elaborate.

  Like pulling teeth. She smiled winningly. “This Kyro sounds like someone I’d like to meet. Where can I find him?”

  “Can’t say for sure. I think he’s shacked up with some girl who has her own place nearby. But he likes his old friends, or maybe it’s just the parties here. Any party, almost guaranteed he’ll be here. Eventually.”

  “Georgie,” she said, reaching over to touch his soft fingers with hers. “You’re a pal. I’ll be seeing you round. Make sure I buy you a beer at that party.”

  He grinned. “You bet, Miranda. Raise you a dance.”

  She smiled. “You rogue. We’ll see.”

  With that she took her leave. I guess I’ll hang around for the next party. The things we must do.

  Chapter 11 – King’s Court

  Miranda spent the next day drifting around the place, chatting with whomever looked interested in talking. She didn’t push it, though when she could she’d inject a question about Jimmy or one of the other people he might have known. But her main motive was to be seen, to become a familiar face instead of a stranger. Then when the time came she would be much more likely to get answers.

  Nobody knew anything of note. A few had known Jimmy or thought they knew one or two of the people he hung out with. None of them knew where they might be now or who might know. None of them really cared. Though there was a faint undercurrent of awareness that perhaps more people had disappeared from their lives than usual. Nothing solid, nothing alarming: but there, visible between the lines in the occasional comment or frown.

  A number of money-making activities had been related to her, some tedious, some illegal, some remarkably ordinary for such an escapist subculture. But one name recurred more than the others, a company with interesting projects and good pay: Allied Cybernetics.

  Miranda ate lunch, joined some people in a few games and finally had dinner in the communal eating area. Jacinta caught her eye and waved, but did not come over. She was deep in conversation with her next collectible, by the look of it.

  A man who looked like he was cruising for more than conversation cruised to a stop opposite her and asked if he could sit. She looked around and saw there were plenty of vacant seats, then smiled and nodded.

  He was a handsome man, somewhat thin but in an elegant rather than unhealthy way. He spoke with a lazy drawl and something of an aristocratic English accent. Probably from Kansas, she thought cynically. His hair fell in dark ringlets down his forehead and over his ears. “Good evening, Lady,” he said. “May I inquire your name? I am Henry Thayte. People call me King.” He shrugged. “I don’t know why, as I never studied history.”

  She laughed. “Obviously. Well hello then, King. I’m Miranda. I just arrived last night. Are you a regular in this palatial residence?”

  He bowed his head. “A pleasure to meet you, Miranda. I have been here a couple of months, yes. There are interesting people to be met here. Interesting games to be played.” He smiled at her in a way that hinted at one game he was particularly interested in playing tonight.

  “Yes, I played a few today,” she replied, deflecting the hint. “Some of the virtual rigs here are amazing.” She paused and added reflectively, as if it had just occurred to her, “A couple of months, you say? Did you know a fellow name of Jimmy Dent? He’s an old friend of mine and I’d hoped to bump into him, but he seems to have moved on.”

  “Ah yes, Jimmy. We weren’t close, but I knew him, sure. We both did a bit of work for Allied Cybernetics too. I guess he’s gone to greener pastures, though that one was pretty lush.”

  “I keep running into talk of this Allied Cybernetics. Do you still work for them?”

  “Oh yes. It is very interesting work. In fact it might even have been I who introduced Jimmy to them. Yes, I’m pretty sure I did. He turned up here asking what was what, and I pointed him in their direction.”

  “How long had you been doing work for them before that?”

  “A number of weeks. I forget who put me on to them. Their name just came up in general conversation, I believe.”

  “Anything you can tell me about what you did?”

  “Only in general. Mainly direct mental control of machinery. They also gave me a little commission for bringing others in on it. They do an amazing amount of work and they’re always on the look out for new talent. It’s not just the amount of work they have to do. People are the same in general – otherwise medicine wouldn’t work, would it? – but obviously vary a lot in the details. So AC like to test their stuff on as wide a range of people as possible to mesh with that variability. If you want I can introduce you.”

  “Hmmm, maybe. One of the guys said it gave him headaches. Is it dangerous?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing’s ever happened to me, and I’ve only heard of a couple of people showing side effects. Minor stuff too.”

  They chatted for a while longer, then he said, “By the way, Miranda, some friends ar
e throwing a party here in two nights’ time. Everyone is invited. May I hope for your presence?”

  “Oh! What kind of party? Here, you said?”

  “Oh yes. All the best parties are here,” he smiled. “There are no rules, except to be nice to each other and have a good time. If you can bring food, drink, whatever, please do. There’ll be drinks for sale too but, you know, if you’re not buying a lot of people appreciate the sharing. Any game rigs you want to show off are always popular. If not, bring yourself and regale us with tales or song.”

  She smiled again. “Sounds great!” Then she yawned. “But I’m sorry, King, I’m a bit worn out. I have to get some sleep before I start snoring, which would be plain rude. I would not like to be beheaded. Good night.”

  He stood regally, took her hand and planted a respectful kiss on it. “Good night then. You do not require company?” he added, in case she had simply been too thick to see his earlier hints.

  She smiled. “Some other time, perhaps. Good night, King.”

  Chapter 12 – Cybernetic Research

  Miranda woke early, grabbed her handbag and hat and went out onto the street. She avoided the few denizens of the meal hall, all of whom looked happy enough to be avoided. She looked around like a visitor trying to decide the most interesting direction to investigate, shouldered her bag and strolled along the street, breathing in the sights and the crisp morning air.

  Not far up the street she came to a shopping center on the ground floor of a mid-range hotel. A better class of place than where she was staying, but not so grand that there wouldn’t be shops and eating places that someone with her level of funds could at least aspire to on occasion. And aspire she did, as the tempting scents from some of the breakfast places wafted into her nose. She sat eating her pancakes and drinking her coffee, thinking about how best to approach her day.

  She got up and wandered casually through the rest of the shops without paying much attention, entered the hotel’s foyer and got into the elevator, which whisked her efficiently to the fifth floor. She padded down the slightly worn carpet to room 521, waved her wrist in front of the door and it admitted her to the room.

  She threw her handbag on a chair and her clothes followed as she stripped to her underwear and lay down on the bed. Just for a minute it’s good to relax. I’m not really cut out for undercover.

  After rather more than a minute, she got up and went to the mirror. She removed the implants that subtly altered the shape of her face, teeth and the timbre of her voice; returned her hair to its usual style. She smiled at the new woman in the mirror. Hello Miriam, welcome back.

  Her new persona shed, her old personality also took hold and she quickly got dressed in more official attire. Might as well practice my steely gaze while I’m at it. Yep, that will do nicely.

  She collected the rest of her equipment, left the room and this time took the elevator down to the parking garage. She got into her car and drove out, the navigation system guiding her unerringly through the unfamiliar streets toward the highway that led to Allied Cybernetics.

  ~~~

  “May I help you?” said the person at the front desk in a voice as crisp as her uniform.

  “I hope you can,” replied Miriam, flashing her identification. “I am here on official police business.”

  Ms Crisp looked slightly taken aback. “Oh! I hope it’s nothing serious!”

  “Just part of an ongoing investigation,” Miriam assured her. “The name of your company has come up in relation to it. Could you direct me to someone who would be able to give me information on members of the public you’ve paid to test your technology?”

  The woman pursed her lips and looked at her screen. “Certainly. Here’s your visitor’s badge. You are keyed to the tenth floor. Go to the elevators to your right and they will take you there. Then see Mr Denison in the Contractors Office, which you will find by turning left. He will be expecting you.”

  Miriam thanked her and did as requested. Soon she found herself seated before Mr Denison, who looked her over incuriously. “So, Detective Hunter, is it? How can I help you?”

  “I am investigating the disappearance of a man, possibly several others as well. I understand he might have been one of your test subjects. I’d like to know when was the last time you saw him and if you have any clues where he went? His name is Jimmy Dent. Here’s a photo.”

  Denison looked at it, frowned, spoke to his computer. “All records on a Jimmy Dent or James Dent please.”

  “Hmmm… OK, yes. Yes, he was one of our test subjects. One of the gamers. He came here several times. The last time was a month ago, I’m afraid.”

  “You don’t have any record of why he stopped coming?”

  The man laughed, a short sharp bark. “I don’t think you understand these people. They are useful. They don’t want much money; hell, half of them would probably do it for the fun of it, at least when they’re testing game interfaces. And while there is always a slight risk in cutting edge man-machine interface research, these people don’t mind it. Some of them get off on it. But they’re not what you’d call reliable. They come and go. Lose interest, move to other cities, get themselves killed sometimes. We don’t track them. Can’t.”

  “You said the work was risky? You don’t keep track of them in case of problems?”

  He spread his hands. “We can’t. Privacy laws. We keep tabs on them through friends if we can, and they always know where to find us if they have any problems. But we can’t track them. If they decide to go, they go.”

  “Do you know if Mr Dent talked to anyone here, might have told them his plans?”

  “I doubt it. They don’t come here to make friends and they rarely chat about their personal lives or their plans. This is a scientific research center, not a hairdressing salon. But I’ll send a message out. I have your contact details: I’ll let you know if I hear anything. But don’t hold your breath.”

  Miriam sighed. “I think I get the picture. Can you tell me what he worked on?”

  Denison frowned at her. “I don’t think so. Not only privacy implications but company intellectual property issues. You understand.”

  “I could get a warrant.”

  He sighed, rather overly dramatically in Miriam’s opinion. “If you feel you must. If you feel you can. I don’t think a judge will be impressed. But honestly, Detective, if I thought the information could actually help the man I’d be only too happy to oblige. But I can’t see how it could be any use to you. I can show you his last medical records – eyes only without that warrant, mind you. Let me see… yes, we always give them a going over before and after. Here, take a look.”

  Miriam looked.

  “As you can see his final visit here was on the 17th of last month and there was nothing wrong with him then. Whatever happened to him has nothing to do with us. But these gamers have the attention spans of mayflies. Most likely nothing happened to him at all and he just got bored with the city. They do, you know.”

  Oh, no he didn’t. But you have your secrets, I have mine.

  “I see. Well, thank you for your time. I might be back if I think of any further questions worth asking.” She rose to go.

  “No problems. Goodbye, Detective.” Then he went back to what he’d been doing as if she had ceased to exist.

  She caught the lift back down, casually tossed her visitor’s badge onto the desk on her way out, and got back into her car. But she didn’t start it, just sat there thinking. She had started with the gamers but there was one other lead that had possibilities and she had the rest of the day to chase it. She usually liked to drive but there was no great hurry and she had better things to do right now. “St Crispin’s Shelter”, she told the car, then began to call up facts and figures from her phone as the car smoothly pulled away from the curb and accelerated into the traffic.

  Chapter 13 – Synergy

  Miriam thought it was no wonder the gamers liked Allied Cybernetics. It was a sprawling company with a finger in more h
igh tech pies than she had known existed. Their public relations department was certainly busy regaling the world with the wonders coming out of its pipeline and she wondered how one company could do so much. She had the impression that if its depth and quality might not match that of Beldan Robotics, it surely made up for it in breadth.

  Its CEO, Aden Sheldrake, had started his career as a partner in a much smaller company working on neural coding. He had met his business partner when the latter was an intense young man studying towards his doctorate in the field and Sheldrake was a flamboyant undergraduate with a quick mind, a fascination for technology and a way with people.

  Sheldrake had not had an easy life. He had been born into poverty of parents who had little interest in working their way out of it and, despite flashes of genuine love for young Aden, even less interest in him. He had suffered the bad luck of having parents who had fallen into parenthood because that was what people did, and who then found the rest of their lives more engaging than the reality of raising a child. They raised him, again because that is what people did, but neither encouraged ambition nor provided a role model of it. But Aden had eyes, and those eyes were soon fixed on the shining towers and leafy suburbs of the better off. He also had a brain, and he applied it with single-minded devotion to his ambition to become as wealthy as humanly possible, if not wealthier.

  Thus he excelled at school, enough to win a minor scholarship to university; then excelled at university, enough to win the interest of one of the professors. The professor gave his young protégé access to his lab as a part time research assistant. But whatever hopes the professor had for him were to be disappointed. For that is where Aden met Bram Chesterfield.

  Aden was clever, but Bram was out of his league. Part of that was raw IQ. But Bram also had the personality characteristics once labeled as Asperger’s Syndrome. So to the raw material of his IQ he added an intensity of focus that less driven mortals could only dream of, and if they did would probably think it a nightmare. But Bram didn’t care what lesser mortals thought, if he even had a concept that they thought at all. He only cared for his work.