by James Wake
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you eat pussy like a straight girl,” Tess said, grinning as though she’d won already.
“Ugh!” Nadia shoved Tess’s hand away. “I don’t know why on earth you have to be so crude.”
“I don’t know why you have to be so uptight,” Tess said, still smiling. “What would you prefer? Tipping the delicate ladies’ velvet?”
“As if you’re such a perfect lover. You could stand to learn a thing or two about giving it rough, you know.”
“Ha! That’s not what you were saying earlier.”
Nadia balked, making a few soft grunts of rage. This was what she got for having a genuine moment or two, it seemed. A bit of damage-control bluffing was in order. “And I suppose you think a woman has never faked it for you?”
“Listen, little Miss Prissy Power Bottom…”
Nadia surprised herself by grabbing one of the pillows and flinging it at Tess’s face. Tess surprised them both by catching it in her prosthetic hand, faster than a blur.
“Not fair,” Nadia said.
“What do you want me to do? Take it off?” Tess shot back, tossing the pillow behind her. “You’re the one who wears a full suit of this stuff.”
“Perhaps I shall have to wear it to bed?”
“Promises, promises,” Tess said, lying back with her hands behind her head. Nadia’s eyes bugged out at the effect it had on Tess’s chest, but she wasn’t quite in the mood to do anything about it. For now.
Instead she yanked the pillow out from under Tess’s head and clutched it tightly to her own chest.
“Whatever. I was getting up anyway,” Tess said, smiling and sitting up and searching for her clothes. She threw on a black tank top but nothing else, pausing with flickers in her eyes.
Nadia thought but didn’t say a number of things—how proud she was of Tess for wearing something that exposed her upper arm, for one. Very becoming of her. Finally comfortable showing off her full prosthetic. In the privacy of their office anyway.
Perhaps Nadia had subtly hinted at her to do it, fine. Prodded a bit. Nothing too pushy, though. She’d only had one drone show up with a delivery of new clothing in Tess’s size.
“Actually, uh…” Tess waved away her HUD. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
Nadia tensed up, clenching the pillow in her hands. “You don’t mean…some sort of, er, relationship talk?”
“Eww, God, no,” Tess said, shaking her head frantically.
Nadia relaxed, breathing again.
“I have to show you something. Kind of a side project I’ve been working on.” Tess got out of bed and disappeared into the main office. Left by herself for a few minutes, Nadia closed her eyes and listened to the rain slap the glass walls surrounding her.
This couldn’t go on forever. She wanted it, though, dearly. But it simply wasn’t possible.
“So this,” Tess said, walking back in and diving onto the bed with something hidden behind her back, “represents pretty much all my free time over the last six months. A history-changing breakthrough. Something that will redefine society as we know it.”
“If you’re holding a marital aid, I swear I’ll kick you right out of this bed.”
“Next time,” Tess said. “This is more important. And I don’t say that lightly.”
Nadia sat up, although she still hid behind the pillow. Tess was visibly excited, which usually meant she’d come up with another tool for their trade. Nadia racked her brain, going over the last few ideas they had discussed—magnetic shielding? Miniaturized rail guns for darts? Or perhaps—oh, could it be true?—actual invisibility?
“Don’t be mad?” Tess said.
“I am quivering with anticipation. Show me.”
Tess revealed her prize.
It did not look history-changing.
“Is that…” Nadia said, with barely concealed disgust, “…a child’s toy?”
“Heavily modified!” Tess gently placed the robotic cat on the bed. Nadia had seen many like it, had even owned one when she was a girl. This was not like those. Slightly smaller than a real cat, it had panels missing from its body, exposed wiring, and a homemade backpack with empty slots.
“I could’ve just stolen one of these for you last night, you know,” Nadia said.
“I need you to turn off your attitude for, like, two seconds. This is important.” She held up a rectangular device. “You remember this?”
Nadia could never forget it. The small memory drive, sparkling with internal light that seemed to cascade ever deeper.
“I finally figured out what’s on it.” She snapped it into one of the slots on the back of the robot.
Nothing happened at first.
“Tess, are you sure—”
“Shh! It’s booting.”
The robot moved. That wasn’t anything to be shushed over. Those things were supposed to move.
“I thought it was an artificial neural construct. You know, like a neural net.”
“Of course,” Nadia said, not sure at all what the difference between the two terms was. The cat robot shuddered and twitched, jerking its head side to side.
“Then I realized it wasn’t artificial—it was a map. Of a feline brain. I couldn’t figure it out at first, because it was only the cortex…you know, all the stuff above the limbic system.”
Again, Nadia did not know. The toy shuffled to the side and slumped over, flailing its legs.
“I guess they figured it would save space since the stem and the cerebellum and all that aren’t too different across individual specimens. Anyway, I was wrong again. It’s not a map. It’s a direct scan.”
Nadia stared at the robot cat, the drive still sparkling on its back. It was supposed to make cute little mewling noises. Instead a garbled, strangled bit of static crept out of its unmoving mouth.
“That’s…a…cat?” Nadia said, her eyes growing wider with each passing moment.
“They copy-pasted a brain! Crazy, right?”
The robot cat looked right at her, choking out something that might have been a pained hiss.
“That’s a dead cat,” Nadia said, staring at it, unable to look away.
“Well it’s not like…dead. Right?”
The pathetic thing was still flailing around on its side.
“Tess, that is a dead cat. Why is there a dead cat on my bed?” Nadia unconsciously scrambled away from the monstrosity.
“It’s not dead!” Tess said. “It’s just a copy.”
That was even worse somehow. “Turn it off! Look at it. It’s in pain!”
“It can’t feel pain. Calm down.”
“How do you know that?” Nadia said, pointing. If the noises coming out of that thing were any indication, it was intimately familiar with agony at this moment.
“Look, I haven’t finished mapping out all the motor functions correctly,” Tess said, picking up the thing and setting it back on its feet, “but it’s accessing some basic functions! I mean, it’s clumsy, sure, but still! It’s even accessing and using its speaker! That’s incredible!”
“Horrifying, you mean?”
“What? No! Come on, he’s cute,” Tess said, nudging the not-cat closer to Nadia. “I brought him in here so you could name him.”
Arthur.
Nadia felt nauseous, shoving the not-cat back at Tess. “That thing is an abomination. You should destroy it.”
“Okay, when I said ‘Don’t be mad,’ I was definitely kidding, but wow.” Tess picked up her abomination and cradled it in her arms. She even crooned down at it, making an absurd baby voice. “Don’t let her bother you, my sweet nameless kitten. She’ll come around.”
Nadia made every noise of disgust she could think of before getting out of bed and getting dressed with no ceremony whatsoever. She didn’t even want to be in the sam
e room as that...thing.
She had thought she was ready to deal with this. Had seen it coming, known it was out there somehow, but it had never seemed like something that would be happening anywhere close to now.
She had thought she was ready. She had been wrong.
“Where are you going?”
“Away from that,” Nadia said, leaving the Pass out from Exhaustion Suite without a glance back. She needed something to distract her, anything. Without thought, she marched over to a long table that used to hold swatches of fabric for her work, moving on autopilot.
These days the table held a neatly laid-out row of firearms. Nadia walked down the line, her hands moving through long-practiced routine. First was an APS submachine gun. She unloaded it, smoothly and quickly, snapping a dummy round out of the chamber after popping the magazine out.
A city police pistol was next. She emptied that as well, then went further, struggling to detach the slide and break down the weapon into component parts. Still working on that one.
A few variations on a common home-printed pistol followed. She had never fired any of them, of course, only gone through the motions of loading and unloading so many times now that it bordered on instinct. Just as she’d never actually restrained anyone with the various models of handcuffs laid out above the guns, only felt Tess snap them in place over her wrists...so she could practice picking them open, of course.
Last in line was something different. Unique. Jackson’s revolver, dark and strong and as stern as its rightful owner. Nadia always lingered on it, tracing her finger over the flower engraved above the grip, the only decoration on the whole piece. A Cherokee Rose. She had gone to the trouble of looking it up. Knowing that had only made her more curious.
She picked it up, slowly and carefully; the rest of her stolen goods were loaded with fake ammunition, inert lumps of metal. Simulations of the silly little caseless needle rounds those weapons used.
Tess had offered to print out equivalents for the revolver, but Nadia had declined. She loaded the gun one cartridge at a time. Shining brass casings, each nearly the size of one of her fingers. High velocity, armor piercing—“HVAP,” as Tess called them, emphasis on the ”VAP.” In her hands the gun felt alive, hungry to hunt.
She always hurried to unload it, loath to admit holding the live weapon frightened her. The gun’s previous owner clearly had taken great pains to maintain it. Nadia continued that tradition, wiping it down with a cloth waiting and ready and set aside for this singular purpose.
Tess was walking up behind her. Nadia ignored the sound, sliding back down to the other end of the table to start her routine again.
“Hey, so, uh…” Tess said from behind her. “Are you, like…okay?”
Nadia ignored this as well, slapping a magazine home and working the slide on a cheap pistol.
“I didn’t even get to the part about how that sweet little cat brain on a chip could change human society forever,” Tess said, still unseen behind Nadia. “I left him in the other room, by the way. Look, empty hands!”
Nadia didn’t look. Her hands faltered, trying and failing to pull back the slide on the police pistol again. “I would…” she started to say, meaning to follow with “prefer not to discuss this.” Instead her voice trembled, then growled as she fumbled with the gun. She slammed it onto the table, taking a deep breath and hiding her face in her shaking hands.
Hands rested on her shoulders, one of them a lovely prosthetic. “Look, uh, I don’t…you know, uh…” Tess tried, nervous tension obvious even in her skeletal right hand. “I mean, I’m sorry? I think?”
Nadia nodded, furious at the stinging in her eyes.
“But listen, if you don’t name my kitten, I’m gonna start calling him Lil Cheshire,’” Tess said.
“Don’t you dare,” Nadia said, laughing despite everything. It gave her an excuse to wipe away the moisture in her eyes. She took her partner’s hands, pulled her closer, and wrapped herself up in Tess’s arms. That felt better. Warm and safe, here inside, while the rain pounded the glass walls all around them.
* * *
Still not fired. Even after all that. Jackson wondered what it would take to get canned, but she knew the whole thing was a moot point. No one wanted to bother; they’d contented themselves with revoking her severance package, and that was that. It really didn’t matter. Jackson was so buried in debt at this point that the loss had no bite to it. Academic. Theoretical, almost. Like the money was never hers in the first place.
Her superiors knew no more direct action was necessary. A few more days, and there no longer would be an Officer Jackson to fire, only another private consumer individual named Alice Jackson.
She tossed her gear into what was soon to be not her locker and slammed it shut, tucking her badge and her snub-nose pistol into the pockets of her jeans. Her right hand lingered on the weapon—she’d have to go through civilian licensing once they revoked her police privileges. That cost money. Money she didn’t have.
She snorted, once, and shook her head at the thought. They could tear it from her dead fingers if they wanted.
Officers Ortega and Wedge, still in uniform, were waiting for her near the door.
“Hey, uh, Jackson?” Ortega said, waving her over.
“Captain,” Wedge said, throwing her a quick salute.
Jackson returned the salute but kept walking.
“What? You have something else lined up?” Ortega said. “It’s a cushy gig. Consulting. You’ll like it!”
“Ortega here convinced me,” Wedge said, “Sounds like we could really use Captain Jackson on our team, though.”
“Officer Jackson,” she said, walking past them.
“Not for long!” Ortega reminded her, cut off as the locker room door closed.
The station was almost empty. Grumbling under her breath, Jackson trudged through the station. Consulting. Another word for a desk jockey, a parasite, taking money to tell people shit that should be obvious.
She stepped into the chilly, wet streets. Deep breath. Two deep breaths, closing her eyes and lifting her chin, letting the light rain land on her face. It only took her a few seconds to come around, ease back, cool down. She did not, in fact, have anything else lined up, and she’d been stubbornly refusing to deal with that, and that was wrong. And stupid.
Security consulting. It sounded right up her alley honestly. A small team, almost all former police coworkers.
Part of her wanted to turn around, go back inside, and apologize. The rest of her couldn’t do it—for the same reason she had, very quietly, requested a new partner many months ago. You needed to trust someone if you were going to work with them.
She hovered outside the doors to the police station, staring down at her boots. One more goddamn humiliation to add to the pile. Time to just turn around and apologize and beg for a job.
“Hey.”
She looked up. A Dome stood near her, waving. She knew him before he took off the helmet, still cute and baby faced, grunting as he squeezed the Plexiglas shell off his head.
“Well, if it isn’t former Officer Vicks.”
“Hey, I’m still Officer Vicks. Technically,” he said, coming over and holding his hand out for a shake.
Jackson looked down at his hand in disgust. “Don’t insult me, you sellout,” she said, pulling him into a hug instead.
He froze at first but gave it back, patting her on the shoulder. It didn’t last long. Probably violated some regulation or another. Fraternization with the enemy.
“Good to see you,” Jackson said, surprised at the relief in her voice. “Still miss you sometimes.”
“Uh…hmm,” he said, shifting in his boots. She knew he might as well have been scowling at her. “Don’t know how I’m supposed to take that.”
“Yeah, uh…sorry. Forget it.”
“As forgotten as our whole sordid affair, Captain, ma’am,” he s
aid, throwing her a mocking little salute.
“It wasn’t you,” she said.
“Right. ‘It’s not you; it’s me.’ I know. I’ve heard that a thousand times,” he said, smiling.
“Hey, you came to find me. How can I help an upstanding security professional such as yourself today?”
“Lemme buy you a drink?” He gestured across the street toward a bar.
That sounded fine by Jackson. Couldn’t hurt to fortify herself a bit before humiliating herself for a job. She nodded, and they crossed the street, dodging cars that didn’t even swerve or slow down—rain played hell with their sensors. Jackson had seen the numbers; pedestrian deaths spiked every wet season.
One of those few brave pedestrians crossed Jackson’s path before walking into the bar. A young woman, fashionably dressed, clicking along on high heels under an elaborate pink umbrella.
Jackson froze. The woman’s masked face was sleek and black, with two glowing blue eyes leering out from beneath the umbrella.
Vicks shook her by the shoulder. “Hey, uh…Alice?”
No mask. Just a fashionable young woman in glasses, blond, talking to herself. Same style coat; that was all. Same coat as the one Jackson had shot to death the night before.
“You okay?” Vicks said. “I heard about last night. I thought…”
“I’m fine,” she said, pushing on into the bar.
The place wasn’t nearly as empty as the morning hour would have suggested. Other cops fresh off their shift filled a few tables, all cheap plastic printed to look like wood, offset by tawdry bright green shamrocks on the walls. A row of dispensers with touchscreens lined one side.
Vicks punched in an order, cheap whiskey for both of them.
“Whoa!” Jackson said, her eyebrows darting up. Two cups of poison cost him almost forty dollars in AGF scrip.
“Don’t get too excited,” Vicks said, handing her a disposable plastic tumbler from the machine. “I actually make less now. It’s one of those fantastic incentives.”
“You don’t look any different to me,” she said. If anything, Vicks had lost weight.