by J M Thomas
I wished, for his sake, that he could’ve settled for us. The fakes, the people who weren’t people. I’d certainly have to settle for it.
Now what?
When I was a kid, back when I was him, all I ever wanted to be was a forester. To take mighty trees and knock them to the ground and watch them fall. My childhood in a rural Earth town is why I still talk like they did a hundred and fifty years ago, and probably why Blade and I got matched up as partners. He grew up on a remote terraforming colony, but his parents never lost that peculiar Earth vernacular, so he kept it, too. Something about talking to books, not other kids, I guess.
I was a puny, scrawny little cuss from a family of pewny, scrawny cusses. So, I saved up for the spinal implants as soon as I was old enough to get them without permission. I was gonna chop me down some trees and live a nice, simple life in a cabin I built with my own two hands.
Then I cut down my first big tree, a giant old oak of mighty stature in the middle of the woods out back behind our house. I sweated, swore, and sawed for what seemed like hours. Finally, the trunk gave way with a crack, hitting the ground so hard it shook. I should’ve been proud, really I should’ve, but all I could think of was that I’d picked the easiest prey on earth—the stillest living thing that couldn’t fight back and deserved to die the least of all of us.
That tree had done nothing in its life but grow and clean the air. I felt like the worst possible kind of human.
That’s when I decided to become a cop. I enrolled in the academy, dumb as a brick and twice as destructive, but I made something of myself. I learned how to catch the kind of prey that deserved whatever came to them. Blade was right; I’d sold my soul to it. Now that I was full synth, I’d be going back home to nothing when this was all over.
I was alone in a locked cell. I suppose whoever had us could keep us here forever. It’d be impractical as hell, so I assumed that wouldn’t be the case. Beyond that, I wasn’t sure what to assume. It’d make an ass out of me, if idioms were to be believed, so perhaps it was for the best that I didn’t have any idea what was coming next.
There must have been a timeframe when they expected me to be up to full function after the transfer and booting up routine, because someone came knocking on the door just as I was thinking those very thoughts.
Grateful to not have to screw up my brand new body pulling a wire or two to pick the lock, I followed the guide to my destination. It was a brightly-lit room looking something like a dentist’s office, minus the little mirror and treasure box of cheap toys for kids. Through an open doorway stood an old-school wing-backed chair and a mahogany desk fit for a king. This was apparently my destination.
A woman, synth by the look of her slightly-too-rubbery skin texture, stood waiting for me with a wide smile and a handshake.
“Welcome to existence, Mister Jet Parker!” Her grip was firm and strong on my hand as she shook it vigorously. “My name is Helena and I am your release assessor today. It’s my job to see that you are ready to integrate as a productive member of society.”
“Why, uh… thanks.” A bit flustered, I took a seat in the fairly comfortable chair as she slid behind the desk.
“I understand your progenitor was an officer of the law?” She leaned forward, hands folded primly in her lap.
This is it, I thought. Time for them to see if they can pry answers out of me. “He was.”
To my everlasting surprise, she didn’t seem to care that our mission had been to shut the whole SynthCorp network down. In the same fake chirpy, administrative assistant professional voice, she continued, “Well, that is lovely. While we have no current positions available in patrol staff, we do have a few guard positions open. Those are rotating locations, so they’ll be a wonderful way to become more familiar with your new surroundings. Your boyfriend has already agreed upon the condition that you will join him on rotation.”
I did a double-take. “Excuse me, my what?”
She sat back and blinked. “Oh, I see. My apologies, I assumed from the sweetness of his concern that you two were an item.”
“Oh, no.” A devilish grin crossed my features. “Blade is my wife.” Unable to keep a straight face for more than a half-second, I burst into laughter. “Kidding, ma’am. I cannot wait to see his face when I tell him, though.”
“Well, if you two do decide to become an item, we do have joint rooms available as well as single adjoining ones.” She marked a few checks on some list I couldn’t read from where I sat. “For monetary exchange and personal identification, we recommend chip insertion. It’s far more difficult to hack or remove from your person by theft and is less likely to be accidentally lost. The replacement fee for a damaged datacard is…”
“The manual one is fine for now.” The last thing I needed was free tracking. My recollection of the Galactic Agreement’s synthetic person clause was a little hazy, but you had to be a soulless robot for it to be legal to place a tracking device on your person involuntarily. Datachip recovery systems were a convenient way of back-dooring tracking device permission, so I preferred a tail I could lose if I needed to. Even if that meant my financial access could lose me, whether by mistake or by crook.
A little machine sitting on a bookshelf behind the woman chirruped and made a grinding racket of protest. She got up, smoothing her grey pencil skirt in a very human-like manner, then retrieved a credit-card-sized piece of stamped metal from the machine.
“This is your key. Please do not lose it. Most people wish to have theirs embedded, but that is a decision you must make for yourself with ample time to consider it. It unlocks your room, scans for your bank account, licenses transportation, and most everything else. You have a loan of four thousand, two hundred sixty eight units, the amount considered to be a month’s wage and living expenses, in addition to ten thousand as the fine for manslaughter—the cost of his new body to upload into.
“The bank will automatically begin withdrawing from your paycheck the required amounts for bills and loan repayment. You can check your balance at any terminal around town when you process a transaction.”
“Thanks. I’ll try not to spend it all in one place.” I said, cracking a smile.
Her forehead crinkled ever so slightly in a look of worry. “Oh, no sir, the built-in systems would notify you of the unwise spending habit and request you receive financial counseling if you were to do something so rash.”
I nodded slowly. “It was a joke.”
“Ah.” Awkward silence fell as she narrowed her eyes a bit. I could see I hadn’t exactly earned favors with her for my attempts at warmth. If all synth women were ice queens like this one, I wasn’t going to get any action for awhile, new hair or no new hair.
By the time she’d given me a communication device and ushered me out the door into what seemed at least akin to freedom, she and I were both ready to part company. Faintly-lit arrow signs on the grey carpet-tiled hall floor showed the way to the exit.
The glass front door opened before me. I really was free.
I didn’t believe it for one second.
Chapter 9 – Bondage
As soon as I stepped out of that door, the scent of city air after a rainstorm assaulted my face along with a fierce breeze that whooshed between the buildings. I craned my neck upward, nearly tipping backward before my eyes caught sight of the sky past the mega-tall cloud scrapers.
The next heavy breeze carried with it the scent of deep-fried carbs. My stomach growled in eager anticipation of whatever horrors awaited it. I strode across the glistening slick asphalt and tracked the source of the scent down to its origin. It was a brick cafe with a quaint little iron gate wrapping its exterior, cast iron bistro tables and chairs.
I wasn’t there for the ambience, though. I was there to test the limits of my new intestinal tract. That didn’t mean the little things didn’t add to the overall charm, though, like the old-school bell jingle chime the door’s opening mechanism beeped to welcome me when I walked in.
Or
the too-enthusiastic wave from a bald, toothy, dark-skinned synth already wearing a badass leather jacket. With a grin and a groan, I slid into the plastic seat of the booth. It was like he was trying to stereotype himself.
“How are you even wearing that thing—you could swim in the air, the humidity’s so high.” I gestured at Blade’s jacket, shaking my head.
“I knew I’d find you here the second I smelled it.” Blade said, ignoring my comment and swatting my hand away from the menu. “Don’t bother, it’s all the same shit. Order anything on that menu, and you’re getting the same result. I did the honors; everything should be up in a minute.”
I nodded my acquiescence, preparing my full assault. “I met your girl on the way out.”
“Ain’t she a beauty? Sweet, professional… I think she liked me.”
“Really?” I found a napkin dispenser and pulled one out to unfold as a shield. “Because she seemed to have a different impression of you.”
Blade furrowed his extensive brow. “You didn’t get her number, didja? I swear to God, Jet, I am not playing wingman for you.”
“Oh, no, nothing like that!” I grinned, waiting for Blade to take a good, long swig of his coffee. “She seemed to think you and I were the happy couple.”
Blade nearly choked on his steaming hot coffee, sending a few droplets spraying across the table, then tried to make a recovery. “Dream on, loser. I’m so far out of your league we ain’t even in the same solar system.”
With a duck of his head and an apology to the patrons across from us for the disturbance, Blade grabbed a couple more napkins and wiped up the coffee spittle from the table while I laughed my ass off.
A waitress in a downright quaint checkered apron stopped by the table and held out a device to scan my card for my part of the check. The readout gave me the option to check my balance of whatever the name of their currency was. It didn’t matter. That money wasn’t mine to begin with, and I made a point of bitching about it to Blade.
“Here we are, brand new to life, the workforce, and everything here, and I’ve already got a month’s worth of debt to live off of, plus a hefty fine.” I flashed the card at him, the light catching it and reflecting off the window. A couple shady-looking Ehksmians whispered to each other across the street at the sight of my card waving around, giving me the notion this wasn’t the nice side of town.
“This thing is my ball and chain,” I said, re-pocketing the card. “With any luck, I’ll find out that the cost of living here is just high enough to keep me slightly indebted, and that we can’t go home until we’ve paid off every last cent.”
To my surprise, Blade nodded. “Clever, ain’t it? I bet they make it real hard to find out what the actual rules are, too, so you can earn some infractions real easy if it looks like you might get free.”
Behind me, the door’s little bell-chime jingled again and Blade’s eyes widened as he looked over my shoulder to whoever had just entered.
“Well, lookie here, Jet!” Blade raised both hands in the air with a grin splitting his cheeks. “It’s your very favorite combo on the planet.”
I turned to see an oblong green head, then a slender hand pointing a Qui-fire pistol in my general direction. As if on cue, my hands found their way above my head, my torso rotating to face my opponent. “A frogman with a Qui-fire. My, the more things change, the more they stay the same, amirite?”
“Shut him mouth!” The Ehksmian’s eyelid twitched as he flushed a deeper shade of green, stepping up to me while I slowly rose to my feet. He was one of the two I’d observed outside drooling over the sight of my datacard.
“Keycards, now. If it’s not in him skin, it hurts not too much to give away, yes?” He gestured at me with the gun.
Slowly, I brought my hand down to my pocket. “Easy, sure. Take it. I was just telling my buddy here how I felt kinda enslaved to the thing anyway.” I slowly withdrew the card and extended it just past where his wrist held the gun, holding it out for him to take.
As soon as his fingers closed around the metal, I raked the card hard across his face, pivoting my body into his to shove the pistol arm away from my center mass. My palm strike snapped his wrist against the table. His surprised breath escaped in a gasp as the gun spun loose from his useless fingers.
Blade snatched up the weapon and pointed it at the would-be-thief’s head. Blood dripped from the amphibian’s cheek as he cradled his injured wrist in his other hand and screeched.
The other restaurant patrons backed away, adding croaked gasps and the occasional scream to the fracas. The teenager behind the counter pressed the lockdown button, and within a minute, the law arrived.
I figured out real quick why there weren’t any spots available on the police force around here. It was all automated. Not just in the “the police force is made up entirely of synths” way, either. It was automated in that a shiny overgrown trash can with clean lines and chrome-plated detailing in a single line down the center front came whirring up with a big purple light rotating at the top. They’ve clearly taken Earth notions of law enforcement, then.
With a disapproving frown at the cavalry, Blade handed over the pistol to the authority figure of sorts. It opened a white painted door to a single eye that took up nearly its entire 100-centimeter diameter. I had a sudden urge to dispose of a cigarette butt in it.
“What happened here?” the robot asked, systematically, of every person within a twelve-meter radius of the incident. When it finally returned with its recorded statements, it turned to the thief first.
“Fine of two thousand units assessed for attempted theft.” Its tinny, strident voice echoed through the restaurant. “Fifty units for unlawful use of weapon, and confiscation of said article permanently. Scan keycode to verify.”
Reluctantly, the thief held out his uninjured arm. A thin bar of red light scanned over his forearm skin, then went dark again.
“Confirmed. Units deducted, balance of negative six million, eight hundred fifty-four units remaining. Have a nice day.”
With a sheepish look on his face, the amphibian backed into a shadowy corner, hanging his head in shame. When we looked away, he tried to make a break for the door. With a whir, a second tin can blocked his exit.
“Fine of fifty units for unlawful use of weapon,” the robot chirped again. “Scan keycode to verify.”
“Wait, what? Are you broken?” I said incredulously, as it cornered Blade up against the booth.
Before Blade could respond, the robot had scanned his arm with its little red barcode scanner. “Confirmed. Units deducted, balance of negative five thousand, eight hundred sixty-two units remaining. Have a nice day. All parties cleared to exit the premises.”
With that, it wheeled out the door and whizzed down the street. I followed close behind for a few steps, until it turned into a docking station and shut off.
This was getting curiouser by the minute. There was no chance to argue self-defense or Blade’s right to use a weapon as an inter-galactic officer of the law. There was no delay nor chance for interpretive nuance or mercy.
This was my least favorite kind of law enforcement I’d encountered so far. Even a totalitarian militarized police force, as shitty as those were, would be better than this kind of cold, impartial “justice” that fined cops for taking guns from bad guys. It was justice via algorithm, and I loathed it as much as I hated everything else about being a robotic law officer.
To be perfectly honest, that tin can was how I saw myself at this point, and it terrified me.
Chapter 10 – People
“I knew you’d get mugged waving your card around like a damned idiot; I didn’t expect it to be within the first hour.” Blade took a seat at the table, accepting his tray from the service bar like nothing had happened. “Ya coulda gotten the easy chip.”
I gave him a look. “And serve myself up on a trackable platter? Who’s the catfish then?”
Blade stabbed his protein and vegetable platter with a fork, not seeming to car
e what he speared as he shoved it into his mouth. “Shut up and eat your crap before I throw up looking at it.”
After a superbly satisfying feast of fried everything I could get my grimy plastic hands on, Blade and I headed for our high rise apartment. We’d apparently, if the numbering system was intuitive, been given adjoining rooms.
Now to figure out how the hell to get there. I had no wrist connectivity device for shared information access and no idea where they sold them here. Getting to a levcar would be the first step to fixing that, plus I could use the map on the interior terminal to locate the shops.
Most of the synth moving to and fro on this wet city afternoon were operating levcars high above my head, or at least riding electric bikes. I wouldn’t mind getting one of those—a sleek, souped-up ride perfect for whizzing around corners and breaking one’s own neck. Mmm.
Finally, we happened upon a local who wasn’t going a hundred sixty-four kilometers per hour. She was a young human girl, the first I’d seen here, playing with a couple dolls on a bench outside a store where, presumably, a parental unit was shopping.
“Hey, you!” Blade projected his booming voice so loudly the girl jumped near out of her skin.
She clutched her doll to her chest as we approached. Her lower lip trembled as her gaze flitted from one of us to the other then back to her feet again.
“Hey.” I smiled and waved, dropping to one knee in front of the frightened little girl. “I was just wondering where I might find the nearest levcar station.” I didn’t dare ask her what day it was. That was too weird, and she was wigged out already.
With a trembling hand, she pointed her index finger in a westward direction. A spire blinked in the distance. “Thanks!” I said, smiling. “You’ve been a lot of help. I appreciate it.”
The little girl skipped off as I rose again to standing. I could almost smell Blade’s grin over my shoulder before I inclined my head to see it. “What are you laughing at, smartass?”
The grin broadened. “Not too bad for someone whose single defining characteristic is ‘bristling.’”
