The Preserve

by Ariel S. Winter

“So you’re pretty much against everything your wife works for.”

  Laughton grinned. “Don’t tell her that.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t have just sent that text message?” Kir said.

  “Metal face,” Laughton said.

  “Meatbag,” Kir said.

  “My dad always said the robots were meant to serve us, and then they failed. Yet the most important person in the world to him after my mother is a robot.”

  “And you and your sister.”

  “Maybe.”

  They let that hang for a moment.

  Kir said, “Mine said that robots were meant to serve people too, which is why he deactivated when he no longer had a human to serve.”

  “So everyone’s trying to perpetuate this thing,” Laughton said. “Our race, our way of living, our history, our legacy…”

  “Still all about you,” Kir said.

  “Why?” Laughton said.

  Kir shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Why should any of us go on?”

  “Meaning of life?”

  “If we can’t live forever, why bother, but if we can live forever, why bother?”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe we just can’t think of doing anything else.”

  “What does Erica think?”

  “I don’t know. She’s eight.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Laughton wasn’t sure. Erica understood things he couldn’t comprehend. She was wise and kind, like her mother. “I guess Erica is why. It’s for her. To keep it all for her, so that she can make the decision herself, but my job, life, whatever, is to keep it all for her.”

  Kir said, “Mine too.”

  Laughton digested that, feeling how true it was. It made him think of his own parents. If Erica was his reason not only for living, but for even just trying to maintain the world as best he could, was that true for his parents too? “My father lost everyone in the plagues,” he said, “but then his politics are so important to him that he won’t come live with what’s left of his family on the preserve.”

  “Maybe that’s his way of trying to save the world for you.”

  “It’s pretty stupid.”

  “How about ending up in a shoot-out?” Kir said.

  “Fuck you,” Laughton said, but it made him consider what he was about to go do. If he ended up dead, how would that make the world better for Erica? “None of it will matter if I let this case shut down the preserve.” He looked at Kir, really looked at him with all of his acumen for reading faces, and the robot’s false features were suffused with concern. Tears stung Laughton’s eyes as he said, “I would absolutely want you to be there for Erica for her whole life. It… Yeah.”

  “Yeah,” Kir said.

  They had decided to walk so the truck didn’t give them away at the yacht club. They might have silent local approval from the club, but if someone other than James came by, saw the truck, and called the police, they’d be hard-pressed to present a legal explanation for commandeering a boat.

  There were no lights on at the yacht club. It wasn’t the kind of place that had a restaurant, especially if its main clientele had been robots pre-preserve. Unlike at the police dock, the gate here was closed, and for a moment Laughton was afraid they’d have to break in, but when he checked, he found that it had been left unlocked. Whether that had been for them or was standard procedure, he didn’t know, but he thought the former. Either way, it made their lives easier.

  “What are we looking for?” Laughton said. He realized he’d whispered even though there wasn’t anyone around.

  “Something small with an engine,” Kir said.

  “I don’t know anything about boating.”

  “When we find the one we want, I’ll download instructions.”

  “They’re not like cars. You need to actually steer them,” Laughton said.

  Kir didn’t respond. That didn’t matter to a robot. The internet explained all, which meant that robots knew all, were all knowing.

  There was a deck along the front of the clubhouse that wrapped around the side of the building, and most likely, to the boats. They clattered up the uneven wooden boards. Laughton’s toe got caught on one, and he almost fell, skipping with the momentum to remain on his feet.

  “Careful,” Kir said. “You’re delicate.”

  “Fuck you,” Laughton said.

  It was too dark to see much more than outlines, but when they reached the back of the building, the paler sky made a clear divide across the water, separating the landscape from the heavens. There were six piers extending into the river, each with a pair of boats attached, mostly in the thirty-to-fifty-foot range, small yachts for a day’s pleasure cruise, but they too were nothing but outlines for the chief.

  “What are they?” Laughton said, knowing his partner was seeing everything with the help of his night vision.

  “Too big,” Kir said.

  They were almost at the end of the dock. The slight sound of splashing water as the boats shifted the few inches their tethers allowed made him think of the time that Betty got him to go night kayaking. Erica ended up in his boat. She had leaned over constantly to look down at the water, which had thrown off the weight of the kayak. By the end, his back hurt so much, he could barely get out of the boat.

  “There,” Kir said.

  At the very end of the dock, three flat-bottomed canoes with outboard motors were tied rather haphazardly to one cleat.

  “Do we have to worry about the noise?” Laughton said.

  “No. This is perfect. You stay back near the motor, and the heat of the engine should help mask you on IR. Anyone looking will see a boat operated by a robot, and probably leave us alone.” Robots showed hot in one or two places depending on the cpu placement, while humans were hot all over.

  Laughton didn’t think that sounded too likely. He imagined the Coast Guard would be stopping every boat they came across, but he didn’t see any way around it.

  Kir was unwinding one of the ropes on the cleat. “Jump down and figure out which boat this goes to,” he said.

  Laughton found a ladder of boards nailed directly to one of the dock’s supporting posts. He stepped into one of the boats. It immediately wanted to get away from him, and he had to pull it back toward the dock with his leg while still hanging on to the ladder. Once it was below him again, he stepped down fully into the boat. He squatted, trying to keep his weight low. The boat didn’t feel very steady to him, but what did he know? He pulled on the thick rope tied to the front of the boat. “Is this it?” he shouted.

  “Pull more,” Kir said.

  He pulled harder, but the rope felt stuck—it must be the wrong one—then it came loose so fast, he almost fell backward. There was the splash as the other end of rope hit the water, and as he pulled it into the boat, it was wet and heavy.

  Kir climbed down the ladder and hopped in.

  Laughton piled the rope at his feet. “Ready?”

  Kir answered by simply going to the engine and turning it on. The boat vibrated and shook, but it steadied as he backed them slowly away from the dock, bumping into the neighboring boats slightly. They cleared the other boats, and Kir started to turn them around so they were facing away from the dock. The pitch of the motor rose, and they started moving, a light breeze causing the chief to shiver.

  As they picked up speed, and the wind grew stronger, the chief had to actively push down the anxiety tightening in his chest from moving fast while blind. Kir can see, he reminded himself over and over. Kir can see. We’re not going to hit anything. The bow of the boat lifted out of the water, and a fine mist hit them every time the boat bounced on the river. The chief’s eyes watered against the wind. Instead of looking directly into it, and the blackness before them, he tried to watch the banks. On the mainland, outlines of palm trees were negative black space against the barely illuminated black sky. The squat dark boxes of buildings at times broke up the tree line. Across the way, the trees were denser, willo
ws and oaks and other native species forming a wall.

  Laughton put his hand in his pocket to double-check that the two magazines of electric-tipped bullets he had pulled from the truck’s lockbox were still there. The cartridges currently in his gun were standard bullets, but he wanted to be prepared if the people at the other end of this trip were metals. Kir had his built-in Tasers if needed.

  They went under the Ravenel Bridge, and then there weren’t any recognizable landmarks that the chief could see in the dark. “Do you know where we’re going?” Laughton called.

  “Yes,” Kir shouted back.

  They pressed on, the boat hopping and jumping across the water. Laughton’s anxiety seeped away, and he was left bored. How much longer? he thought, and smiled. This was no doubt how Erica felt on every long road trip. Betty had such little patience for the age-old “Are we there yet?”

  Eventually Kir slowed the boat, the bow lowering and the ride growing less bumpy. “Are we close?” Laughton said.

  “No. But we’re entering narrower channels. Can’t go out on the ocean side. Coast Guard out there, and this boat isn’t really meant for oceangoing. We’ll run through these channels up to Dewees.”

  Banks had closed in on either side of them, increasing the darkness. Alternate waterways opened to the left and to the right. Small grass-covered islands drifted by, some no larger than the building that housed the police in Liberty, good only for birds and whatever snails, crabs, oysters, and fish made their lives at the water’s edge. Some larger islands, covered with heavier vegetation, were expansive enough to not seem like islands at all. They went under several bridges. Road signs could be seen to either side, the sharp straight lines of their silhouettes feeling improbable in the surroundings.

  “This is a smuggler’s paradise out here,” Laughton shouted over the sound of the motor. “They could be anywhere.”

  “Most of these islands have nothing on them, and the solidity of their land is deceptive in the dark. They’re more like marshes.”

  Laughton knew all too well the convenience and advantages of using preexisting buildings. It made sense that if nothing had ever been built on an island, it was unlikely to be in use now.

  “Dewees is also at the edge of the preserve,” Kir said.

  “Safety in the borderlands.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  Laughton yawned. This better be it. He didn’t want to spend the last night of the preserve’s existence in a boat more than one hundred miles from Betty and Erica.

  Eventually Kir said, “Almost there.”

  Chief Laughton looked up. There were a few dark masses in front of them, but one appeared much larger than the others. “Where are we going to land?” he said.

  “There’s an old ferry dock here on the south side of the island,” Kir said.

  “What if the sims people are using it?”

  “We can pull into an inlet that snakes a good way into the center of the island. Might be able to push through the grasses on one of the banks, but not without getting wet.”

  Laughton thought about going into a situation with wet shoes and socks. The idea was uncomfortable, but was that enough to take the risk on the dock. “I guess scan the dock when we’re in sight,” he said.

  “Wimp,” Kir said.

  There was moonlight now, so Laughton could see the dock as they approached it, a long letter “L” breaking from the island. A portion of the dock was covered, a pitched roof on posts. A small yacht was docked.

  “Anything?” Laughton said.

  “Let’s try it,” Kir said. “I’ve been shot already today. What are a few more holes?”

  “But I haven’t been, and those bullets do a lot more damage to me.”

  Kir adjusted the engine to the lowest setting. It still made noise, but it was more like a lion’s purr than a growl. Laughton took a deep breath. He could smell the ocean here, its salty brine. Talk about being out of his jurisdiction.

  Kir pulled the boat around the yacht to the side of the dock that was facing the island. Three other small motorboats were tied up there. “Get up there with that rope,” Kir said.

  “Watch your tone,” Laughton said. The familiar joking helped cut some of the tension. Once he was up on the dock on solid ground, he felt everything grow sharp. His headache receded into a heavy throb. He tied off the boat in what he hoped approximated some kind of boatman’s knot.

  Kir joined him on the dock.

  “How big is this island?” Laughton said. “We doing this on foot?”

  “Only so much of the island was ever built on.”

  “If you say so,” Laughton said. “But if it comes to it, you’re carrying me.”

  “Not on your life,” Kir said. They clopped along the dock. Then Kir stopped suddenly, grabbing Laughton’s sleeve, pulling him round.

  “What?”

  “Got your flash?” Kir said.

  Laughton took it from his belt. “Yeah.”

  “Shine it over there. And start your camera.”

  Laughton pushed the button on his body camera and then turned the flashlight on, painting the boats with its beam until he saw what had stopped Kir. There was somebody lying in one of the boats.

  Kir jumped down into the boat while Laughton remained up top, his free hand on his holstered weapon. But if Kir’s jump hadn’t woken the man, he didn’t think he’d need it.

  Kir adjusted the man’s head so it could be seen. It was Sam McCardy. A black hole sat at the bridge of his nose between his eyes.

  “Guess he chose Titanium after all,” Laughton said. “Wrong choice.”

  “Guess we’re in the right place,” Kir said.

  “How recent?”

  Kir let the body lay back and then lifted one of its arms, measuring the resistance. “Twelve hours maybe.” He started going through McCardy’s pockets, tossing the contents onto the body as he found them—a phone, a key fob, a second phone. He patted down the rest of the body, then pulled off the shoes and checked the heels, and pulled out the innersole. No memory stick.

  He picked up the phones, and climbed out of the boat. He handed one to the chief while hitting the home button on the one in his hand. The screen lit up, throwing light on his expressionless face, the simul-skin appearing unnaturally flat.

  Laughton turned off his flashlight. He tried the phone, but it wouldn’t turn on. “Mine’s dead,” he said.

  Kir scanned the screen of the phone in his hand. “Last four phone calls were numbers, no contact info. Eleven last night, two just after 2:00 a.m. and one at 6:04.”

  “Must have been his last call. Try them?”

  Kir swiped through the screens. “No email on this. Internet memory empty…”

  “So it was really just a phone.”

  “Let me hold the other one,” Kir said, handing the first phone to Laughton. He opened a port on the inside of his wrist, pulled out a short wire, and plugged it into the bottom of the dead phone. It took half a minute for the display to come on.

  “Should I try these numbers?” Laughton said. “We might get a hit.”

  “Or alert the killer that we’re on the island.”

  “We should at least call it in,” Laughton said, reaching for his own phone. “Get some backup on the way.”

  “Wait,” Kir said, scrolling through McCardy’s second phone. “Looks like he was good at keeping his email clean. Or he had a web-based account. There’s not much more than junk mail. It’s the opposite of what most people’s email looks like. Good way to keep it messy.”

  “I’m going to call this in,” Laughton said.

  Kir shook his head. “Let’s see what we’ve got first. All those departments in that meeting today, ready to sweep in…”

  “You think this is the government?”

  “Let’s just wait to call it in.”

  “Smythe was into radical human terrorism. We might be on our way to a psycho splinter group.”

  “I’m not sure that would be better.”

/>   “Well, I’m not going in with nobody knowing,” Laughton said. He tapped his phone.

  “Betty?” Kir said.

  “Mathews. My deputy.” His attention shifted to the phone. “Mathews.”

  “Chief,” Mathews said.

  “Mathews, listen. Kir and I are on Dewees Island.”

  “Is that part of the preserve?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Laughton said. “If you don’t hear from me in…” How big was this island? How long would it take to get a read on the place? “If you don’t hear from me by midnight, call the commissioner and tell him where we are. Only the commissioner. Talk directly to him.”

  “Got it. You okay?”

  “I’ve got Kir with me,” Laughton said, which wasn’t really the answer to the question.

  “Be safe,” Mathews said.

  Laughton hung up. “Where to?”

  Kir took both phones and tucked them into a pocket.

  “Just need to follow the road,” Kir said.

  The dock met the island at what must have once been a gravel parking lot, now covered in a scattering of shrubs and grasses. Once on the road, the surrounding trees cut Laughton’s visibility down to almost zero. “I can’t see a fucking thing,” he said.

  “Just keep walking straight, and I’ll direct you.”

  “Well, is there any chance anyone’s around?”

  Kir remained silent for a moment, and then said, “We’re good for now.”

  Laughton turned his flashlight back on, and swung it around to get a sense of their surroundings. The trees were spaced out, the ground around them littered with branches and downed trees. What was almost a barricade built from this detritus lined the roadway. Someone was keeping the path clear. “Must get a lot of hurricanes,” Laughton said. There was a flash as the beam of his flashlight caught something reflective. Following it back, he saw an owl on a branch, a large flat face outlined in black, making its eyes seem even larger than they were. It was indifferent to their presence.

  He flicked the flash off, and for a moment, he was even blinder than before. He reached in front of him instinctively, even though he had seen only a moment before that there was nothing in his path. When his eyes adjusted, he realized he could see better than he had thought originally, enough to at least see the direction of the road.