by HD Smith
“Okay, for now, let the crawlers continue. Maybe you’ll uncover something about Wyatt that can give us some leverage. I’m curious how deep Wyatt and Storm’s connection goes.”
“You want me to crawl Storm?”
“No, not directly. I’d prefer to avoid any connection to House Storm if possible,” I said.
“You got it, boss. Over and out.”
Dexter ended the call, and his live-vid disconnected.
I exited the AutoDrive and headed toward the security checkpoint at the north entrance to City Center.
The entrance was reminiscent of OE Rome with massive Corinthian columns made to look like stone. Tau was famous for its exaggerated Old Earth architecture, which was why this was the perfect place to sell the Old Earth data. Some of the implementations were just breathtaking.
Outside the entrance, a street prophet in dingy robes, similar to the one I’d seen on Lux, was projecting his “Lucy is great!” message to the pedestrians entering City Center. I zapped his illegal spam-bot and notified the Peacekeepers running the north entrance security checkpoint that he didn’t have a permit. I had no idea if he had a permit or not, but the Peacekeepers would check. Either way, his bot was down, and I’d distracted half the security at the entrance with a high priority alert.
Two Peacekeepers passed me as I approached the checkpoint. I assumed they were headed for the street prophet, but I didn’t stick around to be sure. I activated a House Vance look away spell. It was an undetectable security measure used by all members of the Vance royal family to ensure we were able to clear security without actually being scanned. An astute mech rider might recognize the blip, but all were trained to ignore such anomalies.
“Welcome to City Center,” the Peacekeeper nearest me said.
I ignored him, as less interaction was best.
My Uncle Dalton hadn’t been able to remove me from the House ledger, because he hadn’t had my heart to balance the scales. After my supposed death, he’d performed the ritual, because everyone expected it, but the footage was a repeat of my father’s ritual from a few weeks earlier.
It put me to rest in the public’s eyes, but the machine that was House Vance’s security protocols wouldn’t be able to remove me without my actual heart, which they didn’t have. I was sure Dalton would have tried generating a synthetic heart, but the security protocols were programed to recognize generated material in order to prevent someone from taking over House control in a coup.
Dalton would have tried to change the protocols after I left, too, but that was when he would have discovered my last surprise. He couldn’t change anything—because according to the system, he wasn’t the Head of House Vance. I was. And before I left, I changed every rule I could to require ritual death as proof the previous leader had stepped down. I set the new requirements to the maximum allowed limit of 500 years before a new rule could be changed by committee. It was overkill for sure, but I never wanted Dalton Vance to forget what he’d done to me and my father. In reality, the next official ruler could change it. My own rule would officially end in the system after I reached 200 years of service. Leaders weren’t allowed to rule longer, no matter how many health enhancers they took. But while Dalton might outlive my 200 years of service, he’d never outlive the 500 years I’d placed on the protocol itself.
I sailed through the checkpoint without a second glance. The guy behind me wasn’t as lucky. He was getting Protocol Ninety-Eight, a spell often deployed as part of the look away order, specifically used to cause a scene so that the House Vance executive, spy, or royal could slip through in the melee. It also disrupted the camera feed for three minutes and erased or obfuscated all Peacekeeper footage of the spell caster, allowing a person to quietly slip down a blind alley or enter a restricted door unnoticed.
My training told me to keep a steady pace. Any sudden changes, like starting or stopping or speeding up or slowing down, could draw attention to someone trying to disappear. I continued as if nothing were happening behind me—that was the protocol, and it had never failed to work.
The courthouse was half a kilometer from the north entrance. Very few AutoDrives were allowed within City Center’s central district. Several skyscrapers bordered the vehicle-free zone, which allowed for AutoDrive drop offs and pick-ups at their back entrances; however, most people coming to the municipal buildings were stuck walking from the four main access points.
I could have folded space and instantly materialized within the building, but I couldn’t risk being seen by anyone as I jumped to restrooms or empty corridors. I also didn’t like Donovan’s sudden interest in me. I wouldn’t put it past her to have me followed. She wanted the CME, and she thought I could get it for her. She might see me as a resource she needed to control, which meant she’d likely have eyes on me even now. That meant behaving as if I didn’t have any special traveling skills.
The courthouse was one of the few buildings that was maintained in the style of OE 1920s New York City. A display of Art Deco meeting modern materials, it looked to be made from all glass and metal, but like all buildings on Tau, the materials were myst-enabled, and nothing was what it appeared to be. The poly-genetic wall panels were styled with the fine geometric shapes of Old Earth in a dark finish with a lighter gold inlay, and the straight corridors and boxy rooms matched the tone. Newer government designs incorporated the curves of Zen-inspired retro spacescapes and bold jewel tones or pale white austere furnishings, but this building wasn’t one of those. The courthouse interior rooms were an ancient, drab, avocado green, popular in sterile government buildings from OE 1960.
I took the elevator to the seventh floor. I quietly activated two cloaked spider bots and dropped them in the lift. They scurried up the wall into the control panel, connecting to each wire until they found a live vid-feed.
Before I reached my destination, I had six vid-feeds displaying in the lower right corner of my VF.
As I left the elevator, I activated Dexter’s remote link so that he could analyze the footage as well.
The Office of Security and Housing contained a waiting room with about thirty chairs and two holographic receptionists. As with most buildings that conducted city business, a Peacekeeper was stationed just inside the door.
These Peacekeepers were watcher-drones, which meant they used motion detection and audio analyzers to determine if there were a threat. No one was actively riding the mech. A supervisor on Gemini would occasionally scan the live vid-feed, but otherwise the unit just waited for activation.
I checked in with the reservation services bot and used a Peacekeeper protocol to add myself to the queue as a priority client. As soon as one of the holographic receptionists cleared, I was summoned to the window.
“State your business, Mr. Anderson,” the male holographic said.
“I’m here to reactivate a lapsed security protocol on my property.”
I transferred my business address via their public stream.
“One moment, please,” the holographic said.
On my VF, I noticed several men rushing into the elevators on the first floor. My decision to monitor the feeds may already be paying off.
I pinged Dexter to make sure he noticed. I got back a cute collection of OE 2021 emojis that basically said No shit, dumbass.
Ignoring Dexter, I studied the men. As a group they were oddly dressed. One had on dark jeans, a white t-shirt, and a studded imitation leather jacket. Another wore a red button-down shirt and pink shorts, with white wingtips and long black knee socks. The final man wore an outfit that belonged in a gym, complete with sweat bands and a sports team duffel bag.
Individually they weren’t unusual, but together they didn’t make sense.
Mr. Track Suit exited onto the 7th floor. The Biker got off on nine, and Mr. Pink Pants stayed in the elevator.
“Mr. Anderson,” a voice said, bringing my attention back to the holographic in front of me.
“I’m sorry, yes,” I said.
“Yo
ur building has several code violations, and the security has lapsed. You’ll need to bring the building up to code before security is reinstated.”
A list of seven code violations appeared on my VF. One was about reflective paint on the landing pad. Three of the others were similarly frivolous. Only one was any true safety concern.
I sighed and rubbed my temples. The male holographic had a smug look on his face. I was sure the programming wasn’t deliberate, but I didn’t need this shit today.
“I’ll have the building brought up to code. As you can see, I’ve only just acquired it. The previous owner let it lapse.”
“The regulations are clear, sir. You must bring it to code.”
I placed my hands on the counter and leaned in, as if that was needed. In an agitated whisper, I said, “There are seventeen other regulations that I could cite to have you turn on building security. In six of those cases, your programing would be brought under a microscope to determine why you were deficient in your duties. Questions will be asked. Are you an illegal AI? Or perhaps your designers didn’t update you with the latest software. It is the law on Tau that I have thirty days to come up to code after a new purchase. You can’t deny me security until then. Check your records and confirm.”
The holographic receptionist blinked several times in rapid succession. “One moment, please.”
I knew there was no one riding this holographic, but the programming was sophisticated enough to recognize a threat. Accusing a holographic of being AI could get the entire department shut down.
The holographic receptionist smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, but this was normal, if not creepy, behavior for most holographics.
“Thank you, Mr. Anderson. Your request has been granted. Building security has been restored. A lien has been placed on the property. You must clear the outstanding code violations within thirty days for the lien to be cleared. Good day.”
The holographic winked off and was replaced by a female holographic.
I turned to leave, which was when I spotted Mr. Track Suit staring at me. I let my eyes continue on around the room, hoping he hadn’t realized I’d spotted him. As expected, he exited the room behind me.
I activated my internal recording functions, Peacekeeper tech that connected to the building’s security, and captured vid-feeds of myself as I walked through the building.
I called the elevator and waited. Mr. Track Suit pretended not to notice me, but it was obvious he was watching. I considered ducking into the public restroom and jumping to the 9th floor, but I wouldn’t do that unless I thought my life was in danger. For now I’d keep my average human persona intact.
When the elevator arrived, Mr. Pink Pants was still waiting inside. I stepped in, bringing up a message to Dexter.
LIAM: I’m definitely being watched … I want facial rec on the two in the elevator with me
DEXTER: Already on it
The security images on my VF froze for a second as a vid-capture was made. Dexter would then crop the image and run it through standard lookup programs.
Mr. Pink Pants was an immediate hit. Dexter dropped his rap sheet on my VF. It went back years. His real name was Milton Colt, but due to his ridiculous fashion choice he’d always be Mr. Pink Pants to me.
Mr. Track Suit wasn’t as easy to find. Dexter dropped his photo with two question marks onto my VF. As the doors to the elevator opened on the 9th floor, I hopped out of the lift, and I used my myst-infused ocular implant to scan his chip. Mr. Track Suit might notice the intrusion, but I was hoping the distraction of me leaving the elevator would cause him to miss it.
I read his name on the chip. It was Ross Blake, but his nickname was also more fun. I sent the details to Dexter.
LIAM: Track Suit’s real name is Ross Blake
DEXTER: Did you give them all fun names?
LIAM: Of course
DEXTER: hahaha
LIAM: Want to know what I call Colt?
Dexter didn’t immediately reply. A second later, building security went on high alert. What the hell was going on?
DEXTER: Explosion at Cortez Towers
DEXTER: It’s all over the newsfeeds
Lucy-damn-hell. Ignoring my shadows, I stepped into the nearest restroom and activated the out-of-order protocol to lock the door. A second later, someone pushed against the door, but when it didn’t open, they backed off.
LIAM: Intentional? Who’s claiming responsibility?
DEXTER: No one’s claiming anything. Wait, House Cortez just released a statement. And there’s a video
Dexter shared a live-vid of a newsfeed. The video was from a security drone. It showed a window at Cortez Towers being blown out from the inside. As the drone approached, the feed went from steady to shaky. A white flash filled the screen as it advanced toward the busted window. When the flash ended, an ice-blue fire, in the shape of a woman, burned inside the room. A moment later, the drone video winked out, but the report continued.
[“As you see, Bob, that’s all we have for video. Our myst expert says the drone lost power when the myst level plummeted to zero,” a female newscaster said.
“Zero? Is that even possible, Janet?” Bob asked.
“According to the initial results—which were leaked on the condition of anonymity—the drone was without sufficient myst for five seconds, forcing an internal shutdown.”
“What about the woman in the video?”
“Some are calling her the Blue Angel. House Cortez is blaming the incident on a chemical spill. However, that statement was released right before the video was leaked. So far we’ve had no new report.”]
LIAM: That was intense. Any clue what’s going on? Experiment gone wrong? Anything?
DEXTER: The Dark Stream is buzzing but no one knows anything … lots of crazy theories, but nothing legit yet … except that House Cortez lied
LIAM: Continue to monitor. I’ll be back as soon as I finish registering the new business name
DEXTER: Unless they shut City Center down
LIAM: This is Tau, nothing shuts down business here
DEXTER: True … BTW Track Suit guy, Ross Blake, may be a contract killer for Donovan … so be careful
Of course Track Suit was a killer.
LIAM: Always
12
M13 Lab A, Tau, Tuesday, 10:00 LTZ
Gen
My head was pounding when I woke. The beep of my alarm wasn’t helping, and I’d had the most horrible dream—a doctor had tried to kill me. I raised my hand to shut off the alarm, but I wasn’t able to move my arm more than a few centimeters from the bed.
Cracking my eyes open and squinting against the harsh light of the room, I looked down at my wrist. It was attached to a metal bar by a pair of copper handcuffs.
“What the hell?” I said, glancing at my other wrist, which was also tethered to the bed rail. Where the hell am I?
I forced my eyelids open all the way, feeling nauseous from the bright lights.
Taking in my surroundings, I immediately realized that I was in a sterile gray hospital room. I was no longer in my normal scrubs, but instead wearing a bright green hospital-issued patient jumpsuit.
There was a live vid-feed on the panel in front of my bed, but the volume was muted. An image of a blown out window was being shown on the screen.
The caption at the bottom of the screen was clear.
[Explosion at Cortez Towers Hospital Ward A, Room 1719. Flames contained. Casualties unknown.]
My memories from the day were coming back to me. I’d woken up in my new apartment at Cortez Towers. I’d gone to the lab, where Dr. Monroe had tried to kill me, first with silver and then with an overdose of X86 Live Ink serum. While I convulsed, he’d ordered me taken to the hospital on the 17th floor.
I studied the image on the screen. It was live footage being taken by drones as they circled outside the building.
Was that near me? Was that why no one had noticed I wasn’t dead yet?
Not that I was com
plaining, but how was I not already dead? Had someone tried to save me? Or were the doctors who’d identified my silver allergy as a child been wrong? I’d had a data core, which no one had ever found during my scans, and those were at least partially silver based. But it didn’t make sense. The needle scratch had hurt, and the injection hurt more. I just couldn’t explain my situation.
Of course, Dr. Beverly could be letting me die slowly. Either way, I had to get out of there before they figured out I was defying all known science and recovering from silver poisoning.
I tried to push myself up on my elbows, but my head was still woozy, throwing off my coordination. I fell back to the bed, unable to stabilize.
I just needed a minute to clear my head.
Scanning the room, I saw a full glass of water sitting untouched by a box of tissues and a lamp. An IV stand was in front of a small table, a half empty bag connected to a plastic tube that led from the bag to my arm. It was slowly dripping a greenish liquid into me.
My body ached as a cold wave rippled through my veins.
The feeling was the same as it had been before in the lab, though not as severe.
Raising my head, I squinted to see what was in the bag.
Fuck. Me.
I could make out one word: Argentum, which was another name for silver. They really were trying to kill me, so why wasn’t I already dead?
I searched the bed for a control panel. I had no intention of alerting the nurse, but adjusting the bed might help me get free. I didn’t find one. The incessant beeping behind me wasn’t my alarm; it was one of the machines. Looking back, I could see the blinking light on the medical panel clearly. My heart rate and blood pressure were fine. The beeping was coming from a blinking pink snowflake icon. Blinking meant the amount of myst in the room was low; the beep meant the levels were dangerously low. Other than the pods at K12, I’d never seen any room register as non-magical.
