Transilience

by Kevin Bragg

  About 25 minutes after I had spoken to Ashdown, he delivered on his promise. A squad car and an unmarked cruiser came through the gate of the Verne Bottling Company.

  No sirens.

  No lights.

  Nothing.

  I shut the music off and pulled myself out of the car. I still felt like I had gone whitewater rafting without a boat but the pain had subsided somewhat. Or maybe I was just getting used to it.

  Ashdown, and another detective I didn’t recognise, climbed out of the unmarked cruiser. Out of the other car came two uniformed policemen. No coroner. No ME. No forensic unit. Like I said, no one really cared about how and when a robot bit it.

  Ash strolled up to me and regarded me with suspicion. ‘You mentioned two dead on the phone, but left out the part where one was hanging out of your back seat. Care to enlighten me?’

  I shifted my gaze over to his minions as they inspected the lifeless robot dangling out of my car. ‘I happened to be in the area. I heard a scream and I stopped to investigate. I entered through the hole you boys just came through and grabbed my concussion rifle.’ I jerked my thumb in its direction. Ashdown’s eyes drifted from me to it. I kept talking.

  ‘I went up to the building to get a closer look and then a guy comes flying through that broken window.’

  I stopped, turned and pointed to the jagged pane of glass. Ashdown walked over to it. I followed.

  ‘Where were you?’ he asked without looking at me.

  ‘Over by that door. I told him to halt but he came at me. I let off one round into his chest and sent him into that scrap heap over there.’

  ‘Did you know he was a synthetic at the time?’

  ‘No, not until he extracted himself from the pile.’

  The detective wrote a few things down on a Mini MIX5, or mMIX5, with a stylus. ‘At that point, what made you realise he was an android?’

  ‘The way he didn’t bleed, he should’ve been in a bad way. Instead, he took off running like he had missed the bus.’

  ‘Did he say anything to you?’

  ‘No,’ I lied.

  ‘He attacked you and when that didn’t work out too well for him, he tried to make a break for it? Is that what you’re telling me?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you, John.’

  ‘How did you subdue him?’ he replied as he turned his attention from the notepad to the mound of junk in question.

  ‘I shot him again in the back. That sent him flying. I closed the gap and hit him again with a disabling blast. That allowed me to cuff him.’

  ‘Good thing you had that rifle on ya, Helm.’

  That was more than a kindly statement of fact.

  ‘I have a permit for it.’

  ‘Great. Would you like to show it to me?’

  I pulled out a billfold with a PI’s badge on one flap and a small smart-glass screen with all my licensing details on the other. He scrolled through my information like he was looking through a Burberry catalogue and then handed them back to me.

  ‘You said that you heard a scream. Where did it come from?’

  ‘Inside the factory.’

  ‘Did you check it out?’

  ‘Yeah, after I had the male robot secured in the back seat.’

  ‘What did you find?’

  ‘Let me show you.’

  I took him in and up to where I had stashed Charlotte Rennick’s body. He looked the scene over – careful not to touch anything – and then inspected her more closely.

  ‘So you don’t know the victim?’ he asked me, still looking at the place where Charlotte’s chest had been ripped open, pulling a flap of skin back with his stylus.

  ‘Never seen her before in my life.’

  More lies. Layer after layer of lies stacked like a house of cards waiting for the right breeze to come along and send it tumbling to the ground. It wouldn’t be too difficult to prove I knew Charlotte. I had to gamble, however, on the fact that this incident wouldn’t go very far. An inspection of the componentry within Rennick’s body, or into her life, would undoubtedly lead to her connection to MARA Corporation. What James had confessed to me. What happened to James after he told me his secret. The dude who had knocked me out bearing a strong resemblance to Nolan Kitterman. They would undoubtedly lead an investigation straight to Kitterman. She couldn’t let that happen. Rich people like her almost always had politicians in their pocket. She would use them to make this go away. If I played this right, I’d escape any trouble as well. Trouble from the police, at any rate.

  He motioned to the door and we left the building.

  ‘And you just happened to be driving by and heard a scream?’ he asked me again once we were outside.

  ‘That’s right. Some timing, eh?’ I replied, trying to gauge his reaction.

  ‘Almost hard to believe, Helm. What were you doing in the area?’

  ‘I was thinking about getting some lunch at the 3rd Street.’

  ‘Curt has a menu now?’

  ‘I didn’t know you frequented the Lounge.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Then how do you know who owns it?’

  ‘It’s my business to know things.’

  ‘Of course, you’re a damn good detective,’ I responded with false deference. ‘Anyway, no, they don’t serve food. I had a liquid lunch in mind.’

  ‘So let me get this straight, you’re in the area on an afternoon drive through the picturesque IM, happen upon a crime in progress, take matters into your own hands, and apprehend this guy,’ he said as he returned to the subject at hand.

  ‘To a tee. If you type that up on your mini MIX, I’ll sign it and we can all be on our merry way.’

  ‘I’d love to Helm ’cept there’s just one problem. The guy you bagged is pulled to pieces all over your back seat. Wanna tell me about that?’

  ‘As soon as I had the perp secured, another assailant ambushed me. We struggled but he laid me out pretty good.’

  ‘This second guy got the jump on you?’

  ‘Mmhhmm. He came at me from behind. I had just enough time to defend myself.’

  ‘By defend yourself, do you mean get beaten until you were unconscious?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘You look like shit.’

  I ran a hand over my cheeks and jaw. ‘Pretty obvious, huh?’

  He nodded this time.

  ‘When I came to, I found the scene like this and called you guys.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call when you first arrived? I can never understand why types like you always have to play the hero. First Berkshire. And now this?’ His tone thick with accusation.

  ‘Hey! I was working a case the other day and it turned violent. I did what I did today because I thought a woman was in trouble. Anyway, you, of all people, should know better than to call me a hero.’

  ‘So you knew that it was a woman? You said you’d never seen her before.’

  Clever, Ash. Trying to trip me up like that.

  ‘Maybe I misspoke in the beginning. I distinctly heard a woman’s voice when I stopped to investigate.’

  That gave him a moment’s pause.

  ‘You still should have called the police. This is what we do. This is our job. Not some gumshoe’s with a strong sense of civic duty.’

  ‘He would have gotten away.’

  Ashdown walked over to the mechanical corpse and bent down to look at it closer. ‘Yeah, well, he’s a lot of use to us now. Thanks.’

  ‘Screw you, John. I followed my instincts. If you don’t like it, then too bad. What’s done is done. How was I supposed to know another guy was lurking in the shadows?’

  ‘Fine,’ the detective said with a sigh. ‘I know you mean well, but, look, this whole thing is fishy. We have two androids with their guts ripped out and a third person on the loose. Did you get a look at this other guy?’

  I shook my head. ‘Sorry, he had a mask on.’

  ‘Naturally,’ Ashdown replied unkindly. Silence descended upon t
he scene as the detective looked around for a few more minutes. Everyone else fidgeted, waiting for the next move.

  ‘I’m going to need you to come into the station, Helm,’ he said at last. ‘We’ll need you to sign another statement.’

  ‘I figured as much. What about the robots?’

  ‘Fernie and Ross’ll take care of them.’ He motioned to the two beat cops and they joined us.

  ‘There is another synthetic in an office on the mezzanine of the bottling factory,’ the detective said to them. ‘Bring her down and load her, along with the one in Helm’s car, into a forensic bus once it arrives. On my way back to RD1, I’ll put a call in for a CSI unit to process this place.’

  Normally moving bodies around before forensics showed up would never fly. You don’t mess with a crime scene like that but it’s always a tad different when androids are involved. They don’t get the same treatment as an actual person.

  ‘Can I take my car?’ I asked with misplaced optimism.

  ‘Sorry, but we need to dust it for prints and what not. My boys’ll guard it until a tow truck arrives. When lab’s done with it, we’ll get back to you.’

  ‘I’d like to stay here until your guys are finished with it. If that’s alright.’

  ‘Why do you want to keep an eye on it, Helm? Afraid of what we might find?’

  ‘Quite the opposite,’ I replied casually. ‘This is my baby and a pretty rare one at that. I’d hate to see it mishandled.’

  Ashdown turned his options over in his mind.

  ‘Alright, stay here if you want but once they’re done with your car, go straight to HQ. Got it? No stopping anywhere. If you do, we’ll know. We know everything.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I extended my hand as a friendly gesture. He looked at it, stuffed his hands in his pockets, turned and strolled back to his car.

  ‘No stops,’ he called out over the unmarked cruiser’s doorframe as he slid into the passenger seat. His partner started the engine, and they left me in a cloud of dust with the two beat cops.

  Ross and Fernie cast a wary glance at me, not knowing whether they should leave me alone long enough to grab Rennick’s body.

  ‘Don’t worry, fellas,’ I said as I leaned on the hood of the Griffon. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  19

  It didn’t take crime scene investigators very long to arrive at the abandoned factory. Once there, they dusted for prints and swept for any organic matter from which they could salvage a DNA sample. They went through the passenger cabin, and checked under the hood. I presented the best picture of calm I could by focusing on the tumbler of gin I’d destroy at the first opportunity.

  When they moved to the trunk, my heart picked up its pace to a quick beat. I didn’t figure they’d find my secret hidey-hole but you never know with these lab techs. One in a million actually cares about doing a good job. If they noticed me hovering around when they popped the trunk, they didn’t let on. And they didn’t find anything out of the ordinary either. Eventually, they let me leave – with my car. The lead agent reminded me to proceed directly to Metro HQ.

  *

  The damaged rear door wouldn’t shut properly, and my insistence on driving it away from the scene should’ve been a warning sign to them. Nonetheless, I forged ahead and told the agent I’d have to drop my car off at a garage called Theo’s Hi-Tech Automotive. Afterwards, I’d take a cab straight to the police station. I gave the guy the address and phone number of Theo’s garage. He advised me against it and I promptly ignored him.

  I put the passenger side windows down and lashed my belt around the frames of the front and rear doors. It wasn’t exactly street legal, but desperate times and all that. The head police nerd watched for a moment, shook his head and went back to work. As I left the lot, I could see him placing a call. I had no doubts who’d be picking up on the other end.

  *

  Driving with the windows down on one side of the car was a strange experience because I can’t think of a time when I had ever driven with any of the windows down. The sounds of the world around me filled the cabin. I felt connected to the city and a little less weary from the beating I had taken back in the IM.

  The trip to Theo’s shop in the Commercial District also gave me time to mull a few things over. I had an idea about how to proceed in the case, assuming I survived another encounter with Ashdown on his home turf. But my current little stunt wasn’t going to help matters. The detective had extended me a huge courtesy by letting me keep my car and I was doing a pretty poor job of showing my appreciation.

  Ah well, I couldn’t let them take the car in for processing. Sooner or later, they would have found all my dirty little secrets. It was worth a shot to see if the detective would let me drive the car to the police station. And it worked.

  By the time I had turned all this over in my mind, I had entered the CD and was minutes away from one of the best mechanics in all of New London. I parked in the first available spot and went through a door marked ‘Customers’. There behind the counter typing something into a computer stood Theo.

  *

  Theo had me beat in height, weight, kindness and human decency. He wore a crazy afro, a wild beard to match, and a perpetual smile. In his one-piece, green mechanics suit he could only be described as ‘jolly’. He reminded me of one of the Cheeryble brothers come to life.

  Theo once told me that his family had immigrated to here from Senegal after a short stint in Manchester, England. His parents had sold everything they owned in a bold attempt to move to New London and open a North African restaurant. They had been reasonably successful restaurant/night club owners back on Earth and thought that Mars might give them the opportunity for the sort of financial success that they never had in Senegal or one of the largest cities in Britain.

  Yep, New London had supplanted America as the ‘land of opportunity’ and those who could afford it came here. Unfortunately, the restaurant failed and Theo’s father, Theo Sr, fell back on the only other thing that he was skilled at – fixing cars. Theo Jr inherited the business a little over a decade ago and has been here ever since.

  I met Theo by pure happenstance. A lifetime ago, he supplied testimony in a murder case that had fallen into my lap. He struck me as an earnest man and helped make a conviction for the prosecution.

  It wasn’t until a couple of years after the trial, when I had taken up the PI racket, that I learned just how devious he could be. And I am the better man for it.

  The first time I took the Griffon to his shop for a service check-up he suggested that he could make a few modifications to it that might come in handy. It was his idea for the compartment in the trunk ‘because you never know what a private eye might need to hide’. He designed it, installed it and I helped him programme the security features. Today was the first real test and it passed with flying colours. I owed Theo big time.

  *

  When I walked in, his usually bright smile faltered.

  ‘You don’t look so good.’

  ‘Thanks. I don’t feel too great, either, if it helps. A dust up over in IM, but, hey, I don’t have a whole lot of time. Metro is expecting me in RD1.’

  He nodded and put on his business face. But those eyes of his – I don’t think he could ever look too serious. ‘Why’d you come here then?’

  ‘The Griffon has a few minor dings that need repairing.’

  ‘Minor dings?’

  ‘Yeah, the rear passenger door is a bit screwy. Can you fix it?’

  We stepped out to the parking lot. While Theo busied himself with surveying the damage, I called for a cab. He gave me an estimate and an idea of how long it’d take to fix the car. I told him to take his time and to maybe leave the special compartment alone.

  ‘I told you it would come in handy,’ he laughed and I knew my secret would be safe with him.

  20

  Only the MARA Corporation executive building eclipsed Metro HQ as the tallest in the RD1. By Earth standards, a premise with only six floors
wasn’t much to write home about. Then again, the sky is the limit on Earth. But not here. Not in a world encased in domes. Anyway, something doesn’t need to be 150 storeys high to be impressive. Just ask the Pope.

  The design of the edifice is loosely based on the head office of Scotland Yard completed in 2015. In that way, New London’s Metro HQ building follows many of the Neo-Classical forms of the original, but with one major modification. The walls of the ground floor are made from crystal-clear glass panes. It gives the appearance that the rest of the structure is floating above the ground. The elevators and staircases connect the ground floor to the rest of the building, making it look like something out of an Escher lithograph.

  I walked in the front door, approached the on-duty desk, gave my name and why I was there. The policewoman manning the station made a phone call and then waved me off to a row of chairs. It didn’t take very long. A uniformed officer appeared within five minutes and escorted me up to the detectives’ bullpen of the third floor. I tried to see if I could spot Ashdown but he was nowhere to be found. My taciturn chaperone deposited me into an interrogation room.

  From the manner in which I shifted around in my seat, anyone watching from the video feed or on the other side of the mirror may have thought the pressure had gotten to me. That I had something to hide. Truth of it, though, was I hurt. I’d been worked over pretty good and they didn’t have comfort in mind when they furnished these rooms. All I wanted to do was go home. Eventually, the detective graced me with his presence.