by Matt Doyle
I smirk and shake my head. “Yeah, he did. Not in detail, but he did mention it.”
“I trust you won’t be causing any trouble for FE Ltd in relation to this matter?”
I shrug. “No need, is there? You’re testing things for safety, and it’s not like I have enough information to kick up a stink, even if I thought there was something major going on here.”
Faraday nods and intentionally lets me hear the clicking of gears somewhere inside her head. She smiles and adds, “If the issues increase significantly in frequency, please do come back to us. Otherwise, you can trust that not only is Bert acting in your best interests, but that you are legally covered should there be a mishap.”
“Good to know,” I reply, and get to my feet. “I’ll show myself out.”
Faraday simply watches me leave. I make sure to thank Brenda on the desk too. The question is, how many people in there know? Could Brenda be a bit ditzy, or does she simply refuse to use Faraday’s title due to what she is? On top of that, is Faraday one of the in-house test subjects or one of the other two like Bert, out there in the real world? I suspect I’ll never know. “I still would have preferred to know I was assisting with a test, though,” I grumble to myself.
WITH BERT STILL on charge, I decide to spend some time skim reading different parts of the police files Devereaux sent over. The focus for me is to familiarise myself with anything that will (a) make it easier to entice the attacker into trying their luck with me again, and (b) ensure my safety if the PD screw up. Step one is to have the locations of the attacks marked on a map for myself. Yes, there’s already a nice big one of those at the station, but I’ve forgotten what it all looked like already.
By the time I’ve finished putting the thing together, I’m a little disappointed. I’d hoped that, given the vampire façade, there’d be some sort of easily identifiable cult-like patterning to the layout. Cliché, I know, but it’s amazing how many criminals fall into the trap of doing exactly what fiction says. “I guess they all fit inside a pentagram. If I draw it big enough to cover half of Utah State.”
Two of the named victims, Jack Stan and Pauline Mensche, I recognise. Both are well-known professional thieves working for the Four Kings of Utah, the group that controls the criminal underworld. Jack works solely for Saul Solomon, and Pauline for Brett Stantz. The other kings, Gory Gutierrez and Kerry White, have their own thieves on call. The problem is, all four kings are in actuality the same person: Allen Fuerza. While I know my comrade-in-arms for this case, Donal O’Brien, is well aware of this fact, I have no idea whether these two are. The police at large definitely aren’t, and I can’t imagine they had an easy ride getting statements from them. All that means is, just like the file says, they were recovered from the scene, completely unconscious.
None of the other victims have criminal records, or at least nothing worth mentioning in the file, so that removes the likelihood of this being aimed at either the Kings or Fuerza. It shouldn’t, but that makes me smile, somehow. “Can’t say I’m disappointed about not having to jump down that rabbit hole again.”
My own file is a little scant, having not yet been updated with my statement. The important thing to note is the PD did try to trace the anonymous caller, but they’d had no luck. That could mean the person happened to be using a burner, or they had a high-end security system on their cell to mask their identity. Or it could have been a public phone conveniently angled so as to avoid being caught on security cameras. Regardless of the reason, it does mean that one’s a dead end. “No reward for my Good Samaritan, then.”
The other fifteen victims who aren’t me vary as much as humanly possible. We’re covering a wide spectrum of ages, a mix of genders and race, and—according to Devereaux’s notes—the full run of social classes too. I frown. “Computer, open server six, primary folder case files, subfolder Orlok, subfolder personal notes. Open file notes and activate dictation at end of current text.”
“Dictation activated, please confirm text.”
“That the attacker hasn’t focused on one clear group fits with Hoove’s assertion that these attacks are opportunistic. At the same time, the variety of people who have been attacked is large enough that I’m not sure it can be classed as purely random. Yes, the victims were probably picked at random for the most part, but it’s possible the attacker had at least some criteria each time. This could be an intentional attempt at sampling a mixed group. Without knowing what has already been tested by the PD, though, I can’t be certain if I’m covering old ground here. End dictation and save.”
“File saved.”
I drum my fingers on the desk. I should probably bring it up with the team as soon as possible. “Computer, set reminder for tomorrow. Reminder text to read as follows. Check opportunistic with criteria theory with team and find out what commonality tests have been carried out.”
“Text saved. Please confirm time of reminder and mode of delivery.”
“Mode of delivery, audio readout. Time…set tracking mode target, Cassandra Tam, and issue reminder if target tries to leave apartment without confirming the reminder can be cancelled.”
“Settings saved.”
Next, I run through the cases again, checking them in order of attack. The locations jump about a lot, but there’s no discernible pattern to them in that regard. There is also very little variance in the nature of these attacks. Some victims seem to take longer to subdue than others, but that may not count for much. Not only does it tie up with what Devereaux and Hanson already confirmed about the inconsistencies of the presumed tech being used, but it also runs into the territory of some victims trying to talk up their levels of toughness. That probably seems a little cynical. Truthfully, though, I’ve encountered far too many people with a craving for overselling themselves to not at least consider it in most cases. Especially when the victims in this case come out with quotes like, ‘I knew they was tough, ’cause I clonked ’em but good, and it didn’t do nothing.’”
Bad English aside, all that statement really confirms is the victim views himself as tough. I’m not naive enough to believe how overwhelmed I was means no one would be able to throw a punch at this person, but I’m also not naive enough to take every statement at face value.
I sigh, manually shut the tablet down, and move it to the shelving unit nearest to my bedroom door. My phone often ends up there too, as it puts it within range of the wireless charger I picked up last week. It’s not near powerful enough to charge Bert, as I don’t really want to give him an excuse to spend too long investigating the thing, but it can handle a couple of smaller devices at once, as long as they’re within a few metres of it. There are much better models out there, of course, but they all come with rather ludicrous price tags at the moment.
Now, to figure out what I can and can’t tell Lori about the case…
LORI ARRIVES AT ten past eight which I take to be a minor miracle. Work for both of us has been in a state of flux recently. Gone are the days of one week of solid work, one week of little to do, and here to stay—for now at least—are the days of rapid-fire peaks and troughs. Although we’re getting more time together again, it’s rare for us to manage to meet up on time. Ten minutes late is actually a new record for us this past fortnight.
“So, come on,” Lori says, and gives me a quick, but tender kiss. “Spill. What happened last night?”
I laugh nervously and make a beeline for the kitchen. “Funny story. Tea or coffee?” I glance over my shoulder and see Lori smiling, her free hand held up with the thumb and forefinger making a “C” shape. That means coffee, ’cause we’re cute like that. “So, remember how you told me not to get mugged?”
Lori laughs out loud and moves over to the couch, placing a pleasantly large box of doughnuts on the small table in front of her. “Very good.”
I remain silent and continue working on the drinks.
After a moment, Lori says, “Wait… You’re being serious?”
“Afraid so,” I re
ply, scooping up the mugs and making the short walk over to sit next to her. “Typical me, eh?”
Lori’s eyes twinkle with a sincere concern then, and she gives me a thorough look up and down. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.” I shrug and place the mugs down on the table next to the unopened box. “It was…a surprise more than anything.”
“It must have been pretty nasty to rattle you like this, though?”
“Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”
Lori takes my hand and I instinctively grip it. “So, tell me what happened.”
I smile and let out a sigh. “You know, I’ve spent the last hour trying to figure what I can tell you? I ended up having to call Captain Hoover over at the station to clarify my position in that regard.”
“Okay, now I’m worried.”
“Honestly? So am I. Okay, here’s what I’m allowed to talk about. I was walking home, heading down Main Street. I guessed you’d mentioned the mugging thing because there’s been a few on the news sites lately.” Lori nods to confirm I was right, and I continue, “I figured a well-lit area would be safer than my normal route. Anyway, I’d stopped to look at one of the EU25s, and I heard someone calling for help in an alley a few feet away. It was a woman. She’d been attacked. Or that’s what she said, anyway. I was already halfway down the alley by the time I’d realised there wasn’t a woman there at all.”
I pause to take a drink, and Lori asks, “Did they take much?”
I shake my head and swallow the molten caffeine. “One mugger, and they didn’t end up taking anything. Which is how I’ve ended up in the mess I have.”
“How do you mean?”
“Not all of the recent muggings are by the same people, but a few of them are clearly linked, my own included. I’m not allowed to say how exactly, not yet, but the ones like mine aren’t regular muggings. The problem is because this person didn’t get what they wanted, there’s a possibility they’ll try again. That’s what the police are banking on.”
Lori blinks in disbelief and turns to her coffee, a thoughtful expression drifting over her face. She gently shakes the drink back and forth, creating a mini whirlpool in her mug. Finally, she states, “They want to use you to trap this person.”
“I’m even less happy about it than you are,” I grumble, and mean every word of it.
“Do you at least get some backup on this?”
“There’s a small team involved, three I know well enough to trust, and one who I don’t know, but who I’m pretty certain is more than competent at his job. He heads the PD’s TS Unit.”
Lori tilts her head towards the ceiling, trying to remember something, then asks, “Donal O’Brien?”
“That’s him,” I reply, slowly.
“I was there when he was interviewed about a case a month or so back. It was a raid on an arms trader. He’s efficient, definitely. I mean, he had a few others with him, but my understanding is he took down a couple of really dangerous guys on his own. He said it was a team thing, of course, but you don’t get to lead a unit without knowing what you’re doing, right?”
“That sounds encouraging.”
Lori nods. “You said person. That means there was only one attacker. If you’ve got Donal O’Brien playing bodyguard, then unless they’re really scary, you should be fine. Who else is involved?”
“Captain Hoover, Lieutenant Hanson, and Corporal Devereaux.”
Lori lets out a sigh of relief. I’ve mentioned all three before, and always in a positive manner, so that will have helped. In a way, it makes it easier to keep the other details in. If she was scared when I was up against a regular thief, she’d be terrified if she knew I was up against a vampire. “If I tell you to stay safe, will you actually do it this time?”
“No promises,” I say, throwing in a cheeky grin and an unnecessary wink.
Lori giggles and makes a grab for the doughnut box. “Well, I can’t fault your honesty. Still, that means I get first pick.”
The box, as it turns out, is packed tight with six jelly-filled doughnuts I can only describe as larger-than-your-average-doughy-treat. My eyes flick over the blueberry filled mass in the far corner, and I watch as Lori lets her own hand hover over it for a few seconds, before heading straight for the apple doughnut next to it. She teases, but she knows my favourites. Without asking, Lori turns the box so that my target is closer to me, and says, “I think someone deserves a treat after such a traumatic experience.”
“No arguments from me,” I reply and snatch up my prize.
“I love how much of a pig you are with doughnuts, you know that?”
“First lesson in police academy,” I mumble through an overestimated mouthful and end up having to wipe my chin with my finger. “So, what about you? Was the open house more interesting than my play date with New Hopeland’s finest?”
“Depends on your views, I guess. You aren’t the only one taking an interest in the EU25s, though.”
“No?”
“A couple of people are claiming they contain non-advertised tech designed to keep track of citizens. They tied it all into the recent concerns about data monitoring and the alleged hidden security cameras.”
“I thought they were proven to be disused, older systems?”
“They were, but you know how the conspiracy theory crowd can be. For every plausible idea, there’s ten cases of denying clear evidence that goes against their views. Took up a fair bit of time too.”
“And how did the city reps deal with it?”
“Well enough that I’m guessing they expected it. Most of the day was what you expect from these things; individual people with individual problems who already have a proper channel to report through, and no hope of any answer in a public forum. The talk about tax reforms and reallocation of monetary resources sounded interesting enough, but it was littered with enough jargon and governmental-speak to go over my head a lot of the time. The basic message was that local taxes will remain broadly similar for most, but there will be a shift in what projects get the lion’s share of the takings.”
“Some things never change,” I say, and grab a raspberry-filled goody. Lori takes the apricot.
THE MORNING COMES peacefully.
I blink my eyes open and push myself closer to Lori. I’m gentle enough not to wake her but allow myself to feel the warmth of her body against mine as I wrap an arm over her bare stomach. It was a warm night, so we forewent sleepwear. It’s not like we planned anything, so Lori would have been stuck with my stuff anyway, which in some cases would have hung so loosely they would have been far from flattering. Lying next to me, Lori lets out a quiet snore, and I can’t help but smile. I doubt she’d see it the same way if I mentioned it, but I think it’s cute. There’s a contentedness to it that I really like.
With my morning vision now finally clearing, I gently press my forehead to the back of Lori’s, resting it against one of her plugs. I take in a deep breath and the smell of rubber and metal fills my nose. It’s a strange thing to like given my confused feelings about the Tech Shifting community in general, but it’s something so intertwined with Lori herself that it’s easy to take it for what it is. It’s part of her natural scent, and something I recognise with ease now. There’s more to it, of course. The smell of her usual shampoo, the ageing leather on her jacket, the slight sweat she builds up during certain activities; all the normal stuff people don’t always realise they recognise in someone.
But I notice it. I don’t know whether it’s my habit of analysing every little thing, or that I’m just happy. I can’t even remember now if I had the same experience with Charlie. If I did, I don’t think I ever fully acknowledged it. Lori’s different, though, in more ways than one. She doesn’t mind that I sometimes don’t need a nudge so much as a fully-fledged shove to get over myself. And she understands that we both get it wrong sometimes. This all feels new to me, and as stupid as it sounds, part of me hopes it feels the same to her.
Lori let
s out a low murmur and rolls onto her back, blinking her eyes open to meet mine. She returns my smile and lifts her head to give me a quick kiss before stretching her legs and saying, “Morning.”
“Morning. Coffee?”
“You read my mind.” She yawns. “Sorry. Someone kept me up all night.”
“Cheeky,” I reply, playfully flicking her nose. “Need I remind you that you’re the one who convinced me to stop being so nervous?”
“I’ve created a monster,” she teases, piling on the melodrama as she rises to a sitting position and starts stretching her arms behind her head.
Do I take a moment to watch the morning light creep over her? Yes. Yes, I do. But hey, she’s doing the same to me while I fumble for a dressing gown, so it’s only fair. “Do you fancy some breakfast?”
“Coffee’s fine. I’ll need to get home and change before work anyway, so I probably shouldn’t stay too long.”
“Fair enough. We never did get to the last two doughnuts, though, so you could always take one of those for a sugar boost. You know, providing you can put it in your mouth the right way this time.”
“Sure. I’ll save it for the car, just in case. Sadly, I don’t have the time to spill jelly over myself and set you off again.”
I head to the kitchen, my cheeks already reddening behind a smile full of memories. The rest of the morning is just as jovial. We joke about introducing Ink to Bert and talk a little about it in seriousness too. It’s gotta happen eventually, but with him acting up, I’m not sure we should risk it yet. Then, when all is said and done, Lori heads home and I hit the shower.
I needed last night. And this morning. It’d be easy to dwell on the fact that, had I accepted Lori’s lift home, I wouldn’t have woken in a police cell yesterday. But I won’t do that. The past cannot be changed, and I choose to stand by my decisions, even when they’ve led me into less than favourable situations. The coming days will be difficult, but really, I’m just doing what I’ve always done. What I’ve always wanted to do. I’m trying to make sure the bad guys don’t win.