Retiree 2.0

by John Douglas Powers

  In the distance, Alana could hear a siren approaching. She said as she stood and walked toward the shop front, “Your choice. After we get to a station, I’ll ask you one more time. Think carefully.”

  Monday, 10 July, 20:30

  Rhys paused the recording and exited the door to the bare concrete interrogation room. Alana was standing outside, having been glued to the wall monitor during Rhys’ questioning of the man who had been driving the getaway car. The burly African man slouched in his chair. He was looking beneath the table. Alana could not judge whether he was pondering an escape or whether he was simply focused on some other subject, but something was clearly on his mind. It was most likely his predicament. Two police officers stood behind him, their stun batons at the ready.

  Rhys said, “He’s still one big, unhappy clam.”

  Alana said, “His partner has just been discharged from the hospital. They had to amputate his leg. He should be back here any minute. I ordered that he be taken directly to Interrogation Room Two.”

  Rhys asked, “No rest for the wicked. Do you want a crack at this guy before the other suspect gets here?”

  “Definitely. I want to know more about him. None of the people we caught are in the database. Two of them have that Madagascar Army tattoo, but that one doesn’t. SD hasn’t told us anything about the two we captured alive at the port. That’s a total of seven perps.”

  Rhys said, “They’re all ex-military types, with a good bit of training. Do you think they might be some kind of mercenary unit?”

  Alana nodded, “Yes. I do. And if my intuition’s right, I think I might have an inkling about how this guy thinks. This should only take a minute. Call my Vira and talk to me while I piss him off.” She strode to the interrogation room door, opened it, and quick-stepped to the opposite side of the table. She pushed the chair up against the wall and leaned over the table, planting both her palms on the gray surface. She said, “Officers, on my authority, please remove the suspect’s restraints.”

  The uniformed officers looked at each other, clearly wary. Alana nodded toward the suspect as if to confirm her command. One of the policemen held his stun baton near the nape of the suspect’s neck while the other unlocked and removed his handcuffs.

  Alana spoke to the camera, “Resume session. Detective Chief Inspector Graves has entered the room.” Then she focused her eyes on the suspect’s. They engaged in a staring contest, which the cyborg won handily. “How does it feel to have been defeated in battle by a woman?”

  The man’s expression hardened. He glared at Alana, but otherwise kept his composure. “You don’t seem to be concerned that we’re going to hand you over to Security Division once this interrogation is over. You have scar tissue all over your back. You’ve been tortured before, haven’t you? You were whipped at some point. Was it for some petty crime? Did you steal some child’s lunch money—?”

  The man suddenly slammed his fist on the table, “Kwenda kuzimu! Mimi kuwa na heshima!”

  The two officers drew back their stun batons, but Alana glanced at them and shook her head subtly, enough for them to take her message and back off. Rhys’ voice whispered in Alana’s ear, “I’m translating it. Hold on.”

  Alana stared at the man for a few seconds before Rhys continued, “It’s Swahili. He told you to go to hell, and that he’s honorable.”

  Alana guffawed, “Honor? Your partner walked into a church and shot a priest in front of a bunch of kids! That’s the act of a coward!”

  The man tensed up all over. He sat up in his chair, as if ready to spring.

  Alana kept poking the bear, “Yes, you’re a craven coward!”

  Half a second later, the man shoved the chair out from under him and leapt atop the table, using it as a springboard to overbear Alana. She had anticipated the attack, and the man had underestimated both her cybernetic strength and her ex-military training. She ducked, grabbing him and propelling him into the back wall. The impact shook the entire room. He slid down onto the floor and rolled onto his back. The two officers quickly jabbed him with their batons, sending massive electrical jolts through his body, stunning him senseless before they locked his handcuffs back into place.

  Rhys threw open the door in time to hear Alana yell, “End interview! Throw him in his cell and add assaulting a police officer to the list of charges!”

  The two officers grabbed the man and carried him out. Rhys said, crossing his arms disapprovingly, “What did that accomplish? If this was the old United States, that would probably have cost us in court.”

  Alana strode out of the room as purposefully as she entered, “A, this isn’t the USA anymore. B, we know he speaks Swahili, which means he’s probably from Southeast Africa and not from Madagascar, like his friends. C, it also made me feel good. Gabriel Stone was a sweet kid.”

  As Rhys joined Alana in the corridor, four more officers entered from a security door at the far end, pushing a wheelchair that was holding the other suspect. He appeared groggy, as if still under a level of sedation, and his left leg was cut off at the knee, the stump covered by white bandages. He was barely, but nonetheless, cognizant of Alana’s presence as he was wheeled by and placed in the next interrogation room. Two of the officers remained inside the room, and the other two returned down the corridor from whence they came.

  Rhys said, “I don’t think his testimony will be admissible if he’s still under the influence.”

  Alana said, “No, but he might be more pliable. Even if it’s off-the-record, get in there and soften him up. I planted the possibility of getting him a lighter sentence in his mind earlier, so play bad cop. I’m going to drop in on the hospital where they took Stone, in case he’s able to talk. I’ll let you know when I get back. Probably a couple hours.”

  Rhys said, “Roger that. I’ll play worse cop.”

  Alana left the cellblock and headed for the parking deck. The Precinct 3 station was smaller than her Precinct 4 building. Despite the differences in layout, it was easier for her to navigate without assistance. On her way toward the exit, she heard a shrill voice call out, “Graves!”

  Alana stopped and spun around with parade ground precision. She saw another woman quick-stepping toward her in a well-fitting, red business suit with accompanying black power-tie, her heels stabbing at the tile like Brutus at Caesar. Even though it was half-covered by the woman’s long, blonde hair, Alana read her ID badge, ‘Station Chief Tabitha Rhoem.’ She had never met the recently appointed head of Precinct 3’s Crime Investigation Department, but the rumors of her having slept her way to her position with Regional Superintendent Ruiz had made the rounds in the weeks before. Rhoem scowled, “Graves, I heard what you just did to your suspect. I’d like to remind you that this is my station, and that I expect you to conduct yourself as both a professional and as a guest while you’re borrowing our facilities. Is that clear?”

  Alana nodded, unfazed, “Yes, ma’am. Once our interrogation is complete, I’ll arrange to have the suspects transferred to Precinct 4, and we’ll be out of your voluminous hair. Is there anything else?”

  A scruffy civilian in the process of collecting his personal effects from a clerk at a nearby counter watched the static arcing between Alana and Tabitha, and he quipped, “Wrrowww!” while clawing at the air with his free hand. Rhoem’s scowl increased in intensity to category 5. Alana could feel the wind begin to pick up speed around her, but she noticed that it was merely the air rushing in as the sliding exterior doors opened and closed behind her. The local Chief said, “I’ll be lodging a complaint with your boss, so be expecting it.” She then whipped around and stormed back toward the interior of her station.

  Alana continued on her way, summoning and boarding her car and instructing it to drive to the Camarillo Medical Center, an otherwise modest medical facility, but with a fully staffed trauma center, capable of handling emergencies like all hospitals in southern California. For all of the other changes Los Angeles had undergone in its history, its propensity for hosting e
arthquakes had not declined.

  Gabriel Stone was still in surgery when Alana arrived. She was allowed to wait near the operating rooms, but denied closer access. She decided to wait. She could overhear the prayers and conversations of the gathered extended family of another patient, apparently a teenage woman who had been struck by a cargo transporter. The mother was beside herself, unable to hold her tears. The father held her hand, looking very concerned but also displaying great fortitude. One of the family members, an uncle, said, “She was only seventeen, wasn’t she? Doesn’t she have to be eighteen to retire?” The mother stood, yanking her hand free from her husbands, and started to run. She steered first toward the exit, and then she stopped, looked around, and dashed into a nearby ladies restroom. Alana could hear the lock engage as her husband reached the door. The man leaned against the wall beside the restroom door and gently placed his palm against it.

  Alana immediately recalled the Ninth Cyber Commandment, which stated unambiguously that ‘Persons’ were eligible for resurrection at the age of eighteen. Alana’s Vira pinged, and she said, “Answer.”

  An automated voice said, “This message is for Alana Graves. Gabriel Stone’s doctor has asked to meet with you in family room two. Do you wish to join him?”

  Alana stood and began walking toward the meeting rooms nearby, “Yes. I’ll be right there.” The entire trip was less than thirty steps and required that she pass through only a single door, which slid open for her as she approached. Two rooms with open doors lined the short hallway, and number plates clearly delineated which room was one and which was two. Alana took a seat on a cloth-upholstered couch at the back of the room, behind a square coffee table.

  Scant moments later, Alana heard the door at the opposite end of the corridor open. Footfalls slowly approached, and a man in a white lab coat appeared in the doorway. His hair was thinning at the top, and his middle-aged, ever-so-slightly overweight features were so average as to be forgettable in the blink of an eye. He was sporting a shadow beard, and had likely been at work for a long shift. He held a large notepad, and tapped it a few times, as he glanced back and forth between Alana and the screen. He eventually said, “Ms Alana Graves?”

  “Chief Inspector Graves. How is Stone?”

  The doctor, whose nametag read, ‘Clark Ellis, MD,’ said as he stepped inside the room and slid the door closed behind him, “Can I get you something to drink, Ms Graves?”

  Alana said, “I’m a cyborg. Unless you have something special, like—”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “—a Bloody Mary or something—”

  “—to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid that while Mr. Stone is alive, he is currently in a coma.”

  Alana said, “Shit.”

  “It’s impossible for any of us to say how long he will be in that state, or when he might recover. It is possible that he might never do so. We had to remove one of his kidneys, and although—”

  Alana stood, “He’s in no condition to answer any questions then, so there’s not much reason for me to remain here.”

  The doctor seemed perplexed. He started poking at his notepad furiously, touching links and flipping pages. Alana took one step toward the door, and then stopped, sensing that something else was happening. She asked, “What is it?”

  Doctor Ellis said, “I see that the father is also deceased. Were you and...” he glanced again at his notepad, “Gabriel... close?”

  “Not at all. I barely knew him. Nice kid, but,” Alana placed her hand on her hip, “I’m just here to interview him about his attempted murder and some related police matters. Why do you think I’m here?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms Graves. I’m wondering if our records are correct. His file lists you as his mother. Is that not correct? It’s possible that your record has been crossed with a different Alana Graves—”

  Alana sat back down. She asked, “May I see the records?”

  The doctor said, “Under the circumstances, I’ll need to confirm that you are who I think you are. Medical records are mostly private.”

  Alana said, “Vira, compare my identification to the record for Alana Graves that Doctor Ellis has open on the device he is holding.”

  The doctor looked up and nodded, “The ID numbers match. According to our records, you are Gabriel Stone’s mother.”

  Alana said, “Can I have a copy of my record?”

  Ellis shrugged, “Well you are the same person. Normally—”

  Alana leaned forward, “Come on, Doc. Save the paperwork.”

  Ellis’ fingers danced on his screen and a copy of Alana’s medical file appeared in her inbox.

  “Thank you. This is catching me completely off-guard. I’ve been dead for thirty-five years, and I never had any kids, so I could not possibly be Stone’s mother.”

  Ellis scrutinized his records again, “According to the file, this information was added less than a month ago.”

  Alana asked, “Can you tell by whom?”

  Ellis tapped his tablet, “I should be able to click on the operator ID, and...,” He suddenly frowned. “That’s odd. It’s telling me that the ID number of whoever added this information into your file is restricted. Let me check the same entry on Gabriel’s record.” Alana pondered what could possibly be going on when Ellis said, “Same issue.”

  “Why does it say I’m his mother?”

  Ellis probed further, “Your DNA matches.”

  “In my understanding, Gabriel Stone was the adopted son of a man named Aaron Stone. Does it say who the biological father was?”

  The doctor cocked his head to one side, “Aaron Stone?”

  Alana burst into nearly realistic laughter, leaving Doctor Ellis even more baffled. He said, “Normally, I’d offer the grieving parent a tissue, but I must admit that I’m at a loss.”

  Alana asked, “When was Gabriel’s file updated with the information on Aaron?”

  Ellis checked his notes again, “Interesting. It was the same time as your information was updated, about a month ago. Do you have some insight to share with me?”

  Alana stood up again. Her brain was beginning to connect the dots. “It’s possible that someone at Security Division updated the files after they found... No. Never mind. It’s far too complicated. There’s probably a whole book that could be written about that. But I’ll wager that the files are correct. My living self had the opportunity to have it off with Aaron Stone. As for motive...”

  Ellis asked, “What should I do about this? If this information is correct, that means that you are Gabriel Stone’s next of kin.”

  The full weight of the matter suddenly hit Alana like a railgun spike, “Shit. That means I’m responsible?”

  Ellis stood, “Gabriel is at a critical point. We’ll be able to keep him on life support for another seventy-two hours. If he has not regained consciousness by then, a family member will need to make some important decisions about his life. There are a number of issues to be considered for Gabriel, including the possibility of early retirement.”

  Alana said, “Shit. You have my contact information, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do. Someone will call you immediately if Gabriel’s status changes. You can always contact the hospital if you need anything. I would also suggest that you engage the services of an attorney who’s skilled in such matters.”

  Alana nodded and took her leave. As she was traversing the corridors of the hospital on the way back to the parking deck, she noticed that beyond the windows it was finally getting dark outside. She checked, and saw that it was already after nine o’clock. She said, “Vira, look up the number in my contacts list and call Robert Smith.”

  Some time passed, and Alana was expecting to be rolled over into Smith’s messaging system, when there was finally an answer, “Hello? This is Bob.”

  The outer doors swung open for Alana, admitting her directly to the parking deck. Most of the parking spaces were empty, with normal visiting hours being over, “Bob! This is Chief Inspe
ctor Alana Graves. Is this a good time?”

  Smith chuckled. His cybernetic laughter was much more realistic than Alana’s, perhaps from having more practice at it than she had, “I was just watching some Spanish soap operas. I don’t think their quality has improved any in the last century. What can I do for you?”

  Alana espied her car at the far end of the deck. It was too close to bother summoning it, so she just began walking toward it as she asked, “Do you have any windows in your schedule within the next two days or so? I’ve run into something I need help with.”

  Bob said, “I do have some minor jobs stacked up, but it’s all legal documents and paperwork. Nothing I can’t juggle around. What’s up?”

  “This might be tricky to explain. I just found out that I’m a mother—”

  “That’s quite a trick for a cyborg. I’ll let you finish before I try to guess how that happened.”

  “It’s related to my previous case, where you defended me against the illegal cloning charges. Do you remember Aaron Stone and his adopted son, Gabriel?”

  “They were the ones at the church, right? The people who harbored your previous iteration after she faked her death, shot you in the back, put your brain into a rusty android body, and then kidnapped you and took you up to Portland where the police found you in the basement, right?”

  “Same people, but only Aaron was held accountable. Somehow, it got into my medical records that my real-life DNA and Gabriel’s match. All I can guess is that my original self might have had an affair with Aaron over twenty years ago and kept their ‘love child’ secret. Maybe even from Gabriel.”

  “Uh, congratulations?”

  Alana reached her car and opened the door, stopping short of climbing in to finish her thought, “The tribunal’s still deliberating that one. However, Gabriel’s lying in the hospital in a coma from being shot earlier this evening, and the doctor said I’m his next of kin.”