The Robots of Gotham

by Todd McAulty

  Suddenly I was glad I wasn’t closer. Hayduk hadn’t noticed me yet, and I liked it that way. I took two steps back into the shadows near the cabinet.

  I needn’t have bothered. Hayduk was solely focused on Sergei. Sergei blinked up at him, then regarded the screen.

  As if I didn’t have enough to worry about, what I saw there suddenly made me very nervous. The American had left the fifth floor, but the technicians had isolated a fresh set of camera feeds, showing his dash downstairs from multiple angles.

  If they managed to track him into the laundry, to the room where I’d stripped out of the suit, I’d be under arrest in seconds.

  One way or another, this was all going to be over in the next few minutes. The urge to flee suddenly became very strong.

  Instead, I watched Sergei. He was staring at the screen impassively, observing as the man on the screen made his way down one flight of stairs to the laundry. “I do not know this man,” he said at last, looking Hayduk straight in the eye.

  “You do not know him?” said Hayduk. “And yet, he used your GPU card to access the medical offices at the Field Museum.”

  Hayduk nodded to the technician he’d spoken with. The tech brought up an older video feed.

  This one showed me in the Field Museum. My appearance on screen this time was a little distorted—doubtless courtesy of Jacaranda—but no one was paying attention to what I looked like. Instead, the technician zoomed in on what was in my hand as I waved it in front of the door.

  In the video feed, my hand covered too much of the card to provide any kind of positive ID. But the technician deftly brought up the digital record of the cards used to grant access that night. He matched the timestamp on the video to the sole late-night entry.

  He highlighted the result on the screen. It was a photo of Sergei Vulka and a digital copy of his GPU card.

  “Is that you, Specialist Vulka?” Hayduk asked. “I would warn you to think carefully before answering.”

  Sergei didn’t need to think carefully. “Yes, that is me,” he said.

  “Then you admit the American had access to your GPU.”

  “This is not possible,” Sergei said. His voice was surprisingly mild.

  “The evidence,” said Hayduk, “says otherwise.”

  “I cannot explain this. But I do not know this man.”

  “Would you like to know what I believe?” Hayduk asked. Sergei looked at him, his face open and curious.

  Hayduk changed his tone. “I believe you simply trusted the wrong person,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. He gestured at the screen again. “What you did here is not a court-martial offense, Specialist. You gave your GPU card to an untrustworthy individual. I do not believe you thought him a traitor then.”

  Hayduk started pacing. “But later, when his crimes became more numerous . . . you felt trapped. You could not expose him without exposing yourself. Your small betrayal became a much larger one. You were a loyal soldier of the AGRT, frightened by what exposure might mean to you.”

  Hayduk stopped pacing. He leaned against the table, regarding Sergei sympathetically. “I too have trusted the wrong person, and I too have suffered the consequences. It is a hard fact of life, Specialist. Sooner or later we must admit our mistakes, no matter how well-intentioned they were.”

  Hayduk took a step closer, squatting down in front of Sergei. He nodded toward Colonel Perez. “I have promised the colonel that if you are not involved, I will turn you over to him. Here is my offer to you, Specialist. I do not believe you are a traitor. Simply name the American, and I will consider your case closed. I will hand you over to the colonel.”

  Sergei did not respond immediately. Hayduk’s voice took on a less patient tone.

  “If you do not, I am afraid that I will have no choice but to accompany you to interrogation. Believe me when I tell you, Specialist Vulka, neither you nor I wish that to happen. You may believe you are prepared for what will happen there, but you are not. Nothing can prevent it—nothing—except the name of the person hiding behind that mask. You will surrender the name, eventually. That is inevitable. Tell us now, and all of this unpleasantness will be over.”

  Sergei watched the screen quietly. As he did, everyone in the room watched him. I expected him to glance my way, even if just for a moment. Perhaps to beg forgiveness for what he was about to do.

  If he had given up my name at that moment, I would not have blamed him.

  Instead, he looked Hayduk in the eye and said, “I do not know this man.”

  I felt an overwhelming wave of gratitude toward Sergei. And a heightened sense of my immediate purpose. Thank you, my friend. Now sit tight and let me return the favor.

  The truth was, that was easier said than done. Sergei was playing it a lot cooler than I was. At the moment, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the monitors—although I was trying not to be too obvious about it.

  On screen, the American had fled the stairwell. It was with considerable relief that I noted that the technicians tracking him had not picked him up once he had. I hadn’t seen any cameras during my race through the laundry . . . Was it possible there weren’t any? The technicians began muttering to each other, glancing nervously at Hayduk as they scanned the available feeds, trying to regain an image.

  And then I spotted something out of the corner of my eye that finally pulled my gaze away from the cameras. Less than thirty feet away, draped casually over a steel folding chair: Hayduk’s jacket.

  There were only a few comms technicians nearby, and none was even close to it. If I could move quickly, and without being noticed, Sergei and I might both make it through this.

  One of the weather technicians said something, drawing Hayduk’s attention. It looked like he had managed to find something interesting. He pointed at one of the smaller screen images. It showed the American, in a looping series of frames, vanishing down a poorly lit corridor into the bowels of the laundry.

  Despite the urgent task at hand, I was keenly interested in what this man had to say. His short conversation with Hayduk was in Spanish, and he didn’t speak very clearly, but I followed some of it. This was the last image they had of the American on camera. And there were an unknown number of exits from the laundry into other parts of the hotel, most of them out of sight of the cameras.

  I caught Sergei’s eye briefly. He betrayed no sign of recognition, in fact had no visible response at all, except to casually glance at a tiny image at the bottom left of the largest screen.

  It was another shot of me—this time without the combat suit. Coming back out of the laundry, in full view of the cameras. My shirt was badly rumpled and I was glancing furtively left and right, clearly on the lookout for soldiers.

  I looked, in short, like a guilty man. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

  Hayduk, wrapped up in shouting at the technicians, paid no attention to the small figure on the screen as it made its way back down the corridor. Neither did either of the technicians, who were frantically scanning through dozens of camera feeds and silently accepting Hayduk’s bellowed assertions that they were, in fact, the retarded descendants of monkey farts.

  But Sergei had, of course. Sergei missed nothing, ever. Not even while confined to his chair and sentenced to death. His final glance at me conveyed amusement, resignation, and something sadder, before he returned his gaze to the floor again, playing the part of the wrongly accused soldier.

  The technicians were flailing. I watched them bring up camera angles almost at random. They were panicked and disorganized, and Hayduk’s fury wasn’t helping. I risked a glance over at the one individual in the room who could shed some clarity on where the American had been every moment he was in the building: Zircon Border. The big robot still stood at the entrance to the command center, simultaneously monitoring the room and the entire hotel with over a hundred and thirty eyes. He could make my life very difficult if he shared what he knew in the next few minutes.

  But no one thought to ask him, and he didn’t volunteer. He
remained on guard quietly while Hayduk screamed at his soldiers.

  The technician on the right spoke up suddenly, his voice excited.

  “What is it?” asked Perez.

  “The American—he used a GPU card to bypass the security on the fifth floor,” he said.

  Hayduk looked triumphant. “Yes—of course he did.”

  He wheeled toward Sergei. “You still deny knowing this man? And yet, he uses your access card? How is that, Specialist Vulka?”

  “Vulka’s GPU would not give him access to the fifth floor,” Perez said, puzzled.

  “What?” said Hayduk.

  “It was not Vulka’s,” said the technician. He was scanning a fast-moving data stream on a tablet before him.

  “Whose card was it?” Hayduk demanded.

  The technician didn’t like this question. Not at all. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment as he stared at Hayduk. I pitied the kid at that moment. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one. He looked terrified.

  “Well?” said Hayduk.

  “It is y-yours, sir,” the technician stammered.

  Hayduk stopped moving. He stared at the technician with obvious contempt. Then he swept him from his chair with a single brusque motion. The technician stumbled away from the desk, and Hayduk leaned over his tablet. With a few short keystrokes he transferred the display to the wider screen.

  We could all see it now. Perez took a few steps forward, studying the images on the screen. I saw Sergei look up from his chair, his mouth slightly open in surprise.

  The technician had frozen an assortment of images from the camera feeds. All were of the American in the combat suit, as he opened doors with the GPU card. The door to the fifth floor. The glass wall near Hayduk’s office. In each case he had highlighted the encrypted ID code from the security logs and projected it up as an overlapping image.

  Each of the overlaps showed the same name and image: Hayduk’s ugly face.

  Hayduk slammed his fist onto the desk. He reached instinctively for his pocket, realized he was not wearing his jacket, and then strode quickly to the chair where it was draped. He fished through the breast pocket.

  Everyone watched him silently. Perez, Sergei. The technicians, and all of Sergei’s coworkers.

  Hayduk stopped groping. For a moment he stood completely still, his back to his audience. Then he turned.

  In his fist he held the thin metal of his GPU card.

  “Is that . . . ?” Perez began.

  “It’s mine,” Hayduk said. “I have no doubt of it.”

  Perez bent over the console, studying the data closely. “Then the American can produce counterfeit GPU cards. Flawless ones, if this data is correct.”

  I’d never seen Hayduk this angry. In fact, I couldn’t recall ever seeing a human being that angry. He looked like he was going to shit a live skunk. He stood over the technicians. “Find him,” he said. “I don’t care how long it takes. I want that man, and I want that card he’s using.”

  It was time for me to leave. As quietly as I could, I began to make my way toward the exit. A few communications techs glanced up at me curiously, and the temptation to stop moving and look busy in front of the closest public terminal until they lost interest was strong. But I’d pushed my luck as it was. The sooner I got out of the command center and back to the ball, the better.

  It had been risky to return the GPU card to Hayduk’s jacket pocket right there in front of God and everybody. But all eyes had been steadfastly glued to the screen when the technician had announced the GPU was Hayduk’s—even the guards. Far better than any distraction I would have come up with. I could have been dressed in a clown suit and no one would have noticed me.

  All I’d had to do was walk by the chair with Hayduk’s jacket, and in one quick motion the GPU card was back in his pocket.

  Still, it had been damn close. Another ten seconds, and it would have been too late. My palms were sweating.

  I could see the exit, barely twenty yards away. There were still no guards. I was scot-free.

  Hayduk’s voice carried across the room as he shouted at the video technician. “No, you idiot—no. Show me all the outside cameras. I want to see how he left the building.”

  “S-sir. These are all the outside cameras. Not all the exits are covered. External security is handled by drones.”

  Hayduk’s cry of rage and frustration was barely articulate. I heard Perez’s voice cutting through the chatter.

  “Colonel Hayduk,” he said. His voice was calm, but rich with the timbre of authority.

  Hayduk stopped shouting. I stopped walking, and turned around to watch. Hayduk was standing next to the technicians, running one hand through his hair.

  “Yes, Colonel,” Hayduk said, his voice tightly controlled.

  “If the American can copy GPU cards, then the fact that Specialist Vulka’s card was also copied no longer seems particularly relevant. I assume you have no additional evidence against him?”

  Hayduk said nothing. He seemed to be thinking.

  “Colonel,” Perez pressed, “I will require an answer.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Hayduk, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “That fool can go. I will release him to your custody.”

  An assistant with a data slate appeared at Perez’s side. The colonel wordlessly handed the slate to Hayduk. “If you would be so kind,” he said.

  Hayduk took the slate. He stared at it for a long moment. Then he signed it.

  “This affair is not over,” he said, handing the slate back to Perez. “The American is still at large. Perhaps still in the hotel. Every one of the guests here tonight should be questioned, and their whereabouts over the last hour confirmed.”

  “Perhaps,” said Perez smoothly. “But not by you. Master Sergeant Robles, place Colonel Hayduk under arrest for felony murder and dereliction of duty.”

  “With pleasure, Colonel,” said the sergeant.

  Hayduk stood very stiffly as Sergeant Robles handcuffed him, then led him away. He said not a word. But he left the room unbowed, his head held high, fiercely meeting the gaze of any who cared to look at him.

  I did not care to do so. As he passed me, I must admit I was temporarily distracted by the fascinating operating system of a nearby standard-issue AGRT medical slate.

  Perez was in discussion with several officers. Once Hayduk was gone, Perez turned to the room at large. “Who is the officer of the watch for lobby security?”

  One of his staff spoke in his ear. Perez nodded, then turned to the entrance.

  “Combat Specialist Zircon Border,” he said.

  Zircon Border stepped forward dutifully. He lumbered around monitors and maneuvered deftly through the narrow spaces between tables. The floor shook slightly as he passed me.

  I should have been gone by now. Long gone. But I needed to learn what Perez wanted with Zircon Border. I retreated into the corner by the weather stations, listening intently.

  “Do you have eyes-on for much of this building?” Perez asked.

  “The lower floors only, sir,” said Zircon Border. “One hundred and thirty cameras.”

  “Good.” Perez turned back to the screens. He found a still image of the American terrorist. “This man. Do you know where he is?”

  Shit. A thrill of terror ran down my spine. It had been naïve to think Perez would overlook the resources at his disposal. Zircon Border was hardly regular army, and he and I were friends, but it was too much to expect to hope he’d lie to a superior officer on my behalf.

  I glanced to my left. The entrance to the command center was ten yards away. I could be in the hallway in seconds, out of the hotel in two minutes. I could get to the Manhattan Consulate, perhaps request asylum. Black Winter could help get me to Canada, surely.

  But I’d been through this already. And I’d made my decision. I couldn’t leave Sergei. One way or another, we were in this together. I turned my attention to the center of the room, steeling myself to hear my fate. Both our fates.r />
  “I’m afraid I lost track of him in the hotel laundry,” Zircon Border said. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Perez nodded, as if he’d expected that. He walked to the table and picked up a thin piece of metal. Hayduk’s GPU card. I wasn’t sure if Hayduk had left it there, or Perez had confiscated it. Either way, Perez had it now. He turned back to the big robot thoughtfully.

  “Do you have cameras in this room?” he asked.

  “I do not, sir. That would be a security violation.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. But . . .”

  “Sir?”

  Perez was fingering the card. “Colonel Hayduk’s GPU card,” he said.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Did it leave his possession at any time?”

  Zircon Border didn’t answer immediately. I doubt anyone noticed except me, but there was a subtle delay in his response.

  “I cannot vouch for the integrity of the colonel’s GPU card,” Zircon Border said. “He has come and gone from the hotel multiple times in the past few days—”

  “Yes, yes,” said Perez impatiently. “Here, in the hotel. Has anyone touched the colonel’s card?”

  “You have touched the colonel’s card, sir.”

  Perez took two steps closer, until he was right next to Zircon Border. “I’m beginning to think you’re being evasive, Combat Specialist,” he said. “You understand my meaning. I want to know if anyone suspicious has touched this card. Or if its whereabouts were unaccounted for at any period while Colonel Hayduk was in this hotel.”

  Zircon Border didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched on so long that it seemed excruciating. Perez opened his mouth, about to speak again, when finally the big robot replied.

  “I understand your meaning perfectly, Colonel. I have been aware of the whereabouts of Colonel Hayduk’s GPU card since it entered the hotel. No one unknown to me has touched the card, nor has anyone whose integrity is not above reproach.”

  “No Americans?” Perez asked, turning the card over in his hands.

  “Certainly not, Colonel,” said Zircon Border.

  I was never so happy to be Canadian as I was in that moment.