Fin

by Larry Enright

  Fin

  Larry Enright

  Fin

  © 2018 Larry Enright

  All rights reserved. This material may not be reproduced, displayed, modified or distributed without the express prior written permission of the copyright holder. For permission, contact larryenright@rocketmail.com.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  FIRST EDITION

  Published by Lawrence P. Enright

  Visit the author’s website:

  http://www.larryenright.com

  They change the sky, not their soul, who rush across the sea.

  Homer

  Prologue

  The year is 402 A.B., anno bellum, the year of the war. The day the Great War began was the day the old world passed into history. They called it the war to end all wars, but it was the beginning of the end. There were so many versions of how it began, who was to blame, who was righteous and who was not; so many conflicting accounts and so much finger pointing that no one knew the truth of it anymore. No one cared. After the first strike and inevitable retaliations, what difference did it make who launched the first missile or which country dropped the first bomb or who was right and who was wrong? Mankind had set the world ablaze. Billions died in seconds. Governments fell in hours. Countries disappeared overnight. Civilization crumbled. After causing the extinction of so many other species, Homo sapiens, the wise man, nearly caused his own. Some said it was a miracle any survived. Others said survival was man’s Purgatory; that he hadn’t suffered enough for his sins, that he deserved the fate of fighting to his bitter end. This is the story of that end. This is the story of Fin.

  Chapter 1

  This world was chosen for a reason. When I looked upon it, I saw it was good. So in it I planted a garden and filled it with creatures of every kind: birds of the air, fish of the sea, and those that walk the land.

  A horn blared. Fin paused his Commlink, pulled the polyplastic receiver from his ear, and looked up. He had been so engrossed in what he’d been listening to that he’d stepped into the street against the light. The driver of the Levcar that was hovering inches away laid on his horn again as the car bobbed up and down impatiently, its electromagnetic propulsion drive straining against the brake. Fin bowed in apology and stepped back onto the lower sidewalk, joining the others waiting there for the light to change. He reinserted his earpiece and resumed the playback.

  The greatest of these is man for he alone was made in the image and likeness of the Creator. He alone was appointed steward of this creation. He alone is responsible for this world and everything in it.

  Fin paused the playback again, this time to consider the words the greatest of these is man. Fin was young, clean-cut, and hairless. He was slender but muscular, in excellent physical condition. His eyes were blue, his tailored suit, shirt, and shoes a gray that matched his handheld Commlink. Everything about him was spotless and perfect, proper in every way for a man walking the streets of Periculum at that hour except for one thing. Fin was not a man. He was not the greatest of these. He was a Cybernite, a synthetic being created by man; and though he looked to be in his twenties, it had been exactly one year, three months, and fifteen days since his manufacture.

  Fin was not the only Cybernite on the sidewalk. It was packed with them. Some were dressed in work clothes, others in simple frocks, still others in uniforms specific to their jobs. Like Fin, all were dressed in gray. They were human in appearance in every way but one—the unnatural color of their skin and eyes. Some were gray-eyed and gray-skinned, some a chalky white with eyes that appeared to have only the single black dot of a pupil in them. Others were a bright yellow and still others a vibrant green. To be exact, there were four different Council-approved Cybernite colors, four distinctly non-human colors, but Fin was none of these. He was unique. He was the only Cybernite whose skin was blue.

  On the spacious elevated walkways above this dense sea of gray, away from the smells, the noisy impatient traffic, and the press of Cybernite on Cybernite, humans came and went dressed in the colorful nanofashions of the day. Their nanofabrics could be set to whatever color or style the wearer had purchased—the more expensive the garment, the more varied the options. They could be changed with the tap of a Commlink to any color except gray. Gray was reserved for the Cybernites. So Council had decreed.

  Beyond the barrier that separated the lower sidewalks from the upper walkways, Periculum’s pristine megascrapers towered into the bright blue sky. It was another peaceful day in the city. All days in Periculum were peaceful. The air was always fresh and pure and the sky always as blue as Fin’s bio-engineered polyclonic skin. That particular day, like every day before it and every day to follow, was a gift from Council, the rulers of Periculum, for it was Council who had decreed that a shield be constructed to protect the city from the harsh world that lay beyond. The shield was what gave them their blue skies and beautiful days. It was a dome sixty kilometers in diameter, extending nearly a full kilometer underground. It had a nearly invisible superstructure that arched into the sky like a thousand shimmering upstretched fingers raised in supplication to an unseen God. Atomically bound to these metallic supplicants were myriad charged nanoparticles that created an impenetrable field of blue around the city. Despite the Great War that raged on without end, the citizens of Periculum had lived in peace beneath that shield for hundreds of years.

  The traffic signal began its countdown. The amber light on an overhead Lawspeaker flashed, signaling the activation of Periculum’s omnipresent public decree system. Obey all traffic signals. Fines will be assessed, repeat offenders and those with a negative credit balance will be recycled. So Council has decreed.

  Fin’s Commlink blinked. He had been assessed a three-credit fine for jaywalking.

  The crowd pressed closer to the street. Shoved from behind by a large Gray, a slender green-skinned Cybernite stumbled. Fin caught him before he fell. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  The Green just stared back at him with verdant eyes. The light changed. The crowd began to cross. The amber light on the Lawspeaker flashed again. There will be no bad-chatter on the lower walks. Fines will be assessed, repeat offenders and those with a negative credit balance will be recycled. So Council has decreed.

  Fin’s Commlink blinked once more—another three-credit fine.

  A Yellow in the crowd just ahead was trying to tuck a red handkerchief into the sleeve of her gray housekeeper’s uniform without anyone noticing, but in Periculum nothing goes unnoticed. The light on the Lawspeaker on the other side of the intersection flashed. For ease of identification, Cybernites will only wear the color gray. Fines will be assessed, repeat offenders and those with a negative credit balance will be recycled. So Council has decreed. The air sizzled as a beam of light from above reduced the Yellow to the basic elements from which she had been created.

  Fin stepped around the disk-like cleaning bot that came to collect the Yellow’s ashes for recycling. On the other side of the street, he took the steps up to a locked gate where he swiped his ID badge and was allowed to pass. For just a moment, he looked back at his fellow Cybernites on the street below. As the gate closed behind him, their shuffling, their trudging, their grunting and their sighing gave way to human laughter, animated conversation, and classical music. The scent of roses filled the air. He had read in his daily update that morning that rose was the scent of the month in the Commerce Sector. Each of the city’s sectors had its own program of scents and sounds that rotated monthly as determined by Council decree.

  Waiting until there was a break in the flow of human traffic on the walkway
, he crossed and entered a restaurant. Inside, he stopped in the doorway scanner and raised his arms above his head. After all, he was not human and he was carrying a loaded weapon.

  The man assigned to door security had been casually flipping through the news on his Commlink, not paying attention to his duties. There was no need. There had never been a security issue at the restaurant—not ever—so he was surprised when the alarm sounded. He looked up and when he saw the gray-suited, blue-skinned creature standing in the scanner, holding his hands above his head, a gun in one and a wallet in the other, he drew his weapon.

  “God be with you, sir,” Fin said, bowing slightly.

  “Don’t move a muscle, Cy,” the man huffed, laboring to get up. This man was quite a bit taller than Fin, heavier, too. And if the thickness of his neck and the scars on his face meant anything at all he was not one to shy away from physical confrontation, though his obesity and shortness of breath made it clear to Fin he hadn’t been in one for quite a long time.

  “That would require reducing the temperature of every molecule in my body to absolute zero, which I assure you is quite impossible,” Fin replied, “but I shall endeavor to comply with the spirit of your request.”

  “What the hell are you and how the hell did you get up here?” the man said.

  “I direct your attention to the identification badge which I am holding in my hand, sir. If you would please examine it, I am sure this situation will resolve itself peacefully.”

  The man peered at the ID wallet Fin was holding open above his head.

  Fin said, “As you can see, this badge clearly identifies me as a member of the Security Intelligence Agency. As such, I have permission to use the elevated walkways so long as I do not interfere with the flow of human traffic.”

  “This is a cop bar, shit-for-brains. Don’t you Cys know anything? Now set the piece on the floor. Nice and slow. Kick it over to me. Then get the hell out of here and don’t ever come back.”

  “I am duly authorized by Council to carry an SIA-issued Pulser at all times.”

  “You’re a Cy.”

  “That fact should be apparent from my appearance. As such, I do not understand your objection.”

  “Since when are Cys Blue?”

  “I am an experimental prototype assigned to the SIA."

  “You’re lying. SIA doesn’t use Cys.”

  “Actually, they do. I have been with the bureau for over a year.”

  “Then where’s your uniform?”

  “I am off duty. These are my SIA-approved street clothes.”

  “Nice try. Now drop the Pulser.”

  “Shouldn’t you recycle me if I am carrying an illegal firearm?”

  “Too much trouble. The nearest dumpster is three blocks over and I just ate. Drop the piece and hit the road.”

  “With all due respect, I cannot do that. Now, if you will excuse me . . .” Fin returned his badge to his jacket, his gun to its holster, and tried to step past the guard.

  The man was adamant. “Last chance. Beat it.”

  “Unless I am mistaken,” Fin said, “this restaurant is a public establishment. Per City Statute 21.61.53, you must admit any citizen who is authorized to be on this level. Under the Artificial Intelligence Act, Cybernites are citizens of Periculum and, as I have demonstrated, I am authorized to be on this level.”

  “What do you want, Cy?”

  “My name is Fin.”

  “I said what do you want?”

  A man stood up from a table in the back and started toward them. He was Agent Ben Clayborn, a large man who wore a rumpled brown suit that was a size too small, making him look even larger and more intimidating than he already was. He had explained once to Fin that this was a trick he’d learned from the agent who trained him. He said it made the perps nervous, and that was always a good thing.

  Fin looked his way. “Him,” he pointed. “I wish to speak with him.”

  “What do you want with Clayborn?”

  “I have properly identified myself, sir. Why are you continuing to ask me so many questions and blocking my way in such a belligerent manner in violation of at least two city ordinances?”

  Clayborn came up to Fin, put a hand on his shoulder, and spun him around so they were nose to nose. “It’s because he doesn’t like you, Blue. I don’t like you either, you beady-eyed, skinny little shit. You’re a Cy. Get it?”

  “No, sir. I do not,” Fin replied, glancing up at the Lawspeaker mounted over the door. “I also do not understand why neither of you has been fined for bad-chatter. Are the Lawspeakers in this establishment not functioning?”

  “They work all right, but like the man said, this is a cop bar. We are the law." Clayborn nodded to the door guard. “It’s OK, Tommy. He’s with me.”

  The guard replied, “You know the rules, Ben. No pets allowed.”

  “He’s my partner.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  The man put his gun away and stepped aside. “Just keep it on the down low, OK? The boss would be pissed if she knew I let a Cy in here.”

  “Don’t worry,” Clayborn said. “This won’t take long.” He directed Fin to a seat at the bar. “Didn’t I tell you never to come in here? If you’ve got a problem, you call me. That’s what your Commlink is for.”

  “I do not recall you using the word ‘never’ with respect to this establishment, but perhaps I am not remembering correctly, sir.”

  “This bar’s for cops, Blue. We like to keep it that way. Know what I mean?”

  “But I am a cop.”

  “You’re a Cy.”

  “And a cop.”

  Clayborn glanced down the bar at two uniformed policemen who were eyeing them over their drinks. He returned their scowls before turning back to Fin. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have completed the paperwork on the counterfeiting arrest.”

  “That’s nice. Now go home. You’ve earned the night off.”

  “There is something of a sensitive nature I was hoping to discuss with you in person about the case.”

  “The case is closed.”

  “Evidence is missing, sir.”

  Clayborn showed no surprise. “So?”

  “One million in untraceable counterfeit credits.”

  “Look, we caught the bad guys. That’s our job, Blue. Whatever happens after that is not our problem. Got it?”

  “I believe the credits disappeared after their transfer from the crime scene to the SIA evidence locker.”

  “A dirty cop's not our problem."

  “This may not be a dirty cop, sir.”

  “You don’t really think this has anything to do with that mole you've been chasing, do you?”

  “I am not certain but I believe it bears further investigation. If there were a mole within the SIA, would it not be prudent to pursue every lead?”

  “This is the work of a dirty cop, plain and simple. Did he take it all?”

  “There is another five million still in the evidence locker.”

  “Then it’s no problem. The counterfeiting case is still rock solid.”

  “One million credits are missing.”

  “Consider it the cost of doing business, Blue.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I do not consider the actions of corrupt law enforcement officials to be the cost of doing business. In addition, the remaining evidence is clearly in jeopardy. If that evidence also disappears, a conviction will be impossible, we will have wasted our efforts, and justice will not be served. Do you consider that the cost of doing business?”

  Clayborn blanched. “I hate it when you do that.”

  “Do what, sir?”

  “That logic thing. It pisses me off how you think you’re so much smarter than us." He glanced over at the table where the two men he had been sitting with were talking over drinks. “But you’re right as usual, you annoying little puke. See those two guys over there? I want you to tell the
m what you just told me.”

  “Shouldn’t we be telling Internal Affairs?”

  “They are Internal Affairs. They’re also my buddies, so keep your comments to a minimum. I know it’s hard, but just try. All right?”

  “I shall endeavor to refrain from embarrassing you, sir.”

  “That would be a first. Oh, and just so we’re clear, don’t mention that other thing, OK?”

  “Other thing, sir?”

  “You know, the real reason you’re working at the SIA? That Council sent you to uncover a mole in the organization? That’s supposed to be IA’s job, and I don’t think they’d take too kindly to knowing you’re doing it for them.”

  “Of course, sir. I have been instructed to consider everyone at the agency a suspect until the mole is identified. Council has issued very specific instructions on that matter, and as rulers of Periculum their decrees are not to be questioned.”

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what, sir?”

  “Like I’m a suspect, too. If I’m the one you’re looking for, you’d be dead already. Got it? Come on, let’s go.”

  They went over to the table where Clayborn introduced Fin as his partner.

  “This is Murphy and that’s Stein,” said Clayborn. “Like I said, they’re IA.”

  Fin bowed. “God be with you, gentlemen.”

  “I heard about this one,” said Murphy to Clayborn, ignoring Fin’s greeting and extended hand. “Thirty years on the force . . . I never thought I’d see the day . . .” He shook his head in disgust. “Freaking robots . . .”

  Fin withdrew his hand. “I am not a robot, Agent Murphy. I am a Cybernite. Unlike robots, we have no metal parts and are intelligent, living creatures constructed of polycloned human tissue and biological nanocircuitry.”

  Stein raised his glass. “All brought to you by the geniuses at Polyclonic Technologies.”

  He and Murphy clinked glasses. Murphy downed his drink and held his glass up, tapping on it to get the waiter’s attention. “I say we take ‘em all out back and shoot 'em. There’s more of them than us now and that just doesn’t sit right with me.”