The Sensation

by Amanda Bridgeman

  “Yeah,” Noble said. “The gang fight the other night was caught on security cameras and one side of that battle were wearing the tech. They were trying to hide it under hoodies, caps and bandanas, but naturally in the fight some were exposed. And Grenville was right about his case where he believed that his vic was killed and neural tech stolen from him,” he said. “Autopsy confirmed indentations and markings around the ears and temples that align with the markings of a neural device.”

  “The question is,” Salvi nodded, “was the guy killed because someone wanted the tech, or because someone was getting rid of the evidence of the tech?”

  “Interesting questions,” Ford said. “More interesting is that the markings on Myki Natashi’s temples that you photographed and uploaded to the case file matched those on the other vic.”

  “They did?” Salvi asked.

  Ford nodded.

  “We’re working to match the indentations to known neural devices and hope to have an answer soon,” Noble said.

  “Was Myki’s torn off?” Salvi asked. “Did someone steal hers or want to remove evidence of their existence?”

  “More good questions, Brentt,” Ford said, “that we don’t yet have answers to.”

  “But your theory about the drugs and the tech being connected is right,” Noble told her. “The focus of Trident is no longer just about stopping the supply of drugs, but also the tech. Whether Fyte or Flyte, our aim is shut down whoever is supplying this drug-tech experience.”

  Salvi nodded. “So how do we get people to talk?”

  “If you come up with an answer on that, let me know,” Ford said, then looked around the group. “Alright, keep working. I’ll update the Chief.”

  The group disbanded and began to stagger their exits from the building. As they did, Salvi approached Ford.

  “You look like you pulled an all-nighter,” she said.

  Ford nodded. “Yeah. I sent Beggs home. He’s been like a dog with a bone.”

  Salvi nodded. “He feels guilty.”

  “There’s nothing he could’ve done.”

  “I know. What about Grenville? How’s he doing?”

  Ford shot her a glance. “He’s fine. He’s doing his job. Did you speak to the new psych from the Solme Complex?”

  “Yeah. Asshole wants me to record a video for Subjugate-52.”

  “He what?”

  “He thinks it’ll close his fixation with me.”

  “Fixation? What the fuck?”

  “I… may have promised that he’d become a Serene if he helped me, and now Subjugate-52 wants the Complex to deliver that.”

  Ford paused and looked at her. “Deliver his freedom?”

  “The Serenes are only free to walk around Bountiful during the day. They’re not allowed into the city yet.”

  “Yet,” Ford said, staring at her. “You know Solme wants to go there eventually, right? He wants to have them walking around here in the city.”

  Salvi nodded. “Yeah, we spoke about that during the Bountiful case. Regardless, Subjugate-52 apparently wants to know when his Serenity will come and when I will visit and make that happen.”

  “Shut that shit down, Brentt,” Ford said. “Now. That case is over. Close it out and move on.”

  “I know. You think I want to see him again?”

  Ford turned and walked on. Salvi sighed and followed.

  Salvi stared at the beautiful barman. He was far too perfect to be real.

  “Oh, he’s not coming in tonight?” she asked, disappointed.

  “No. He’s at one of his other clubs tonight,” he said, shaking a cocktail, and flexing those biceps of his.

  “That’s a shame,” she slumped her shoulders. “Is there a way I could contact him? I just wanted to say thank you for the drinks last night.”

  “Er… I’m not sure I can give out the boss’ information, you know?”

  “Oh, that’s fine! Here,” she motioned to the wristwatch he wore. “Can I give you my details to pass on to him?”

  “Sure. No problems,” he said, holding his wrist out. She took her burner phone, the one set up for her cover, and held it alongside, then flicked her details across to the screen of his watch. It beeped and he tapped the screen, accepting the details.

  “Sarah Parson,” he said reading it.

  “Now don’t forget, will you?” She smiled sexily at him.

  “Forget you?” he smiled back. “How could I?”

  Salvi lay in her makeshift apartment’s bed, staring at the ceiling with silver-glazed eyes. She listened to the sound of the call ringing through her earpiece, waiting for Mitch to pick up.

  “Hello?” he finally said.

  “It’s me,” she said. “Calling from a burner.”

  “Hey,” he said, then quickly added. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yeah. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

  He sighed heavily. Tiredly.

  “I think that just answered my question,” she said.

  “I’m fine. Just exhausted. You?”

  “I’m good. I heard it’s been pretty brutal on the street.”

  “Yeah, we’re on the verge of calling in back-up to help process the case load.”

  “You taking care of yourself? You sleeping?”

  “Are you?”

  “Yeah. The body is adjusting to the hours and alcohol. You taking your vitamin shots?”

  “You know I love my V shots. Let me know if you want some.”

  “Now, now, Detective Grenville. I can’t use your prescription. That’s illegal.”

  He gave a tired laugh. “So come and arrest me.”

  The silence sat between them both for a moment, as she pictured herself doing something similar. She smiled to herself, but it quickly faded.

  “How’s everything else?” she asked. “Are you processing Caine’s death alright?”

  He sighed again. “Ford’s forcing us all to speak with the psych.”

  “I hear Beggs is on edge,” she said.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen much of him.”

  “Maybe check in on him, huh?”

  “I don’t think Beggs wants to see me right now. I was supposed to be following Caine’s every move, remember?”

  “It’s not your fault, Mitch. Beggs knows that. This started while Caine was still his partner. He’s just angry he didn’t pick up on it himself.”

  “Nor should we have. That meant Caine was doing his job well. None of us suspected.”

  “Yeah, he did it so well, he got himself killed without leaving us a breadcrumb trail.”

  “Maybe he did. Maybe we just haven’t found it yet.”

  Salvi’s mind turned over. “We need to hit the Ceiling and we need the keys to the basement.”

  “We do, but you can’t rush this, Salvi. You need to be careful,” he said quietly.

  “I am.”

  “Don’t try to be a solo hero this time.”

  “I won’t. I learned the hard way last time.”

  “I’m keeping my ear to the ground, checking the Trident portal… I’ll be ready to come back you up whenever you need. Just say the word.”

  She smiled softly. “Ditto. Call me if you need to.”

  “I can’t. Not while you’re undercover. They can’t see you with me.”

  She sighed. “Hopefully we can end this soon.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  She heard him yawn and she smiled again.

  “Get some sleep, Grenville.”

  “You too, Brentt.”

  She ended the call and removed her comms lenses and earpiece, then rolled over with enough peace of mind to finally go to sleep.

  Salvi was eating lunch when Bronte came stumbling in. She looked at the data pane before her and saw it was 2pm. She’d received a message during the night: partying on babe! So she hadn’t been worried. Besides, she knew Ford, Sorensen and Noble would be keeping an eye on him, and that Kara would’ve been close by.

  “Lo
oks like you had a good time?” she said.

  He gave her an exhausted look as he approached. “Listening to rich people either complain about their lives or brag about all the cool shit they do is not my idea of a good time.”

  Salvi smiled. “But was it fruitful?”

  “Maybe. I heard one of the guys asking a woman if she wanted to take flight. I’m assuming he was talking about our Flyte. She asked him what it was and he whispered something in her ear, then they left together.”

  “You follow them?”

  “No, but I got word to Noble and he sent one of his officers. Even if they were about to take or buy Flyte, they were headed elsewhere. They left the club. How’d you go?”

  “I had an early one. Chaney wasn’t at the club, so I left my details. I’m going to leave it a day or so, then follow him up.”

  Bronte nodded and yawned.

  “Go get some rest, party boy. I’ll catch you up later.”

  He nodded again and disappeared into his room. Salvi looked back to the data pane before her. It could be days before he received the message from the barman. That is, if the airhead even remembered to pass it on. Or, worse, assumed it was a ploy to get him into bed and not Chaney. Regardless, she needed to work other angles while she waited.

  She used her iPort and comms gear to contact Riverton.

  “Detective Brentt,” its golden androgynous form greeted her.

  “Hi, Riverton. How’s your status?”

  “Busy, detective. I am assisting with multiple homicide cases.”

  “Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, detective. I have capacity for more queries. How may I be of assistance.”

  “I want an update on the latest homicides within Taskforce Trident. Is there anything new your algorithms have noted about these cases?”

  “Yes, detective. Regarding the gang fight in the Mission, several members of the victorious side were wearing metal devices at their temples. Security footage confirms this.”

  “Yes, Noble mentioned that,” she said. “Can you show me the video?”

  In her vision, Riverton’s image was replaced by the footage. The fight was brutal. Salvi glanced away in parts.

  “Do we have close-ups of the devices?” she asked the AI.

  “Yes, detective,” it said, and she watched as screenshots appeared. Sure enough, several of the gang members had the silver devices at their temples, curling back behind their ears. Another image showed a device up close, but it was blurry and partially concealed by the hood the man wore. From a distance it could look like a piece of jewelry, or an intricate earpiece for a cell phone, but Salvi knew better. Where the Subjugates at the Solme Complex wore one piece curved around the back of their skull, these devices were two individual pieces. She was certain they were not ornamental, but that they were indeed neural devices.

  “My analysis of these images,” Riverton said, “indicates the devices are placed in a prime position to stimulate electrical activity in the amygdala of the brain.” Riverton’s form appeared on screen again. “You will note the devices are located in such a position that if of a temporary nature and removed, they may leave marks similar to what was found on Myki Natashi and also Jayden Kinnear.”

  “Who’s Jayden Kinnear? Detective Grenville’s vic, the one who had his tech stolen when he was killed?”

  “Yes, detective.”

  Salvi nodded to herself. “And have you had any luck tracing these devices to anyone?”

  “Not as yet. They appear to be a new design, not equal to any of the models that were on the market prior to The Crash. Ideally we need a physical specimen for further analysis.”

  “We’re working on it,” Salvi sighed. “So, it sounds like these devices were something someone was working on behind the scenes, that someone continued to develop after the ban took place after The Crash?”

  “This is a highly likely theory, detective. Despite the events of The Crash, many were unhappy the implants and devices were taken off the market.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t narrow down our suspect list.” She sighed again, rubbing the back of her neck. “Has anyone been back to have another chat with Myki Natashi since you found the footage of her leaving Floor To Ceiling with Barker the night he was killed?”

  “Not as yet, no, detective,” Riverton said. “They’ve had new cases every day that have required processing.”

  “I need to have another chat with Myki, then.”

  “It is not wise for you to visit her, detective.”

  “I know. I’m gonna call Beggs now, make him do it.”

  When Beggs took her call he was standing on a street corner in the ‘Sation. She’d locked the call on visual, knowing he would opt for audio-only if given the chance, but she couldn’t take the risk of him doing that. Beggs was her partner and she wanted to see him with her own eyes, wanted to see how he was coping. As he reluctantly answered, she had her answer.

  He stared down at the lens on his iPort, looking like he was running on caffeine alone; his face pale and gaunt and wracked with tiredness.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, hello, to you too.”

  “Brentt, I’m busy. What is it?”

  “You got another one?” Salvi asked, studying the ‘Sation behind him.

  “No,” he said. “Last night was quiet.”

  “Quiet?”

  “You seen the news?”

  “No. What’s happened?”

  “The crime wave is all over it. Word’s out there might be neural tech involved. It’s unearthing a whole lot of uneasiness. There’s still a lot of PTSD out there from The Crash. Naturally, the politicians and the anti-tech movement are having a field day and milking it for all it’s worth.”

  “I bet.”

  “I think all this heat is keeping people indoors and behaving, but who knows how long for.”

  “Well, maybe that means you can get some shut-eye.”

  “That why you called, mom?”

  “I’m your partner, aren’t I?”

  “Not right now you’re not. What do you want?”

  Salvi stared at him a moment but decided not to push it. Beggs was very old school, and if he didn’t want to talk, he wasn’t going to talk. “The marks on Myki Natashi were clearly from the neural tech. Now we know she was at Floor to Ceiling the night Barker was killed, we need to have another talk with her.”

  “So talk to her.”

  “I can’t, Beggs. I can’t go anywhere near the case.”

  “Yeah, well I’m up to my elbows in bodies right now.”

  “I know that, but–”

  Beggs hung up on her. Salvi sighed, but figured it was probably a good thing if Beggs didn’t want to do it. The mood he was in, Myki would run a mile. She looked back at her iPort, then put a call through to Ford.

  “Yeah?” Ford answered. Salvi could hear her walking, saw a parking garage behind her.

  “You feel like working another case in my absence?” Salvi asked.

  “Jesus, who died this time?”

  “No one, but I think we need to question Myki Natashi again. We weren’t sure what the marks on the side of her face were, but Riverton has matched them to one of Mitch’s vics. They have to be from these neural devices. She and Barker were at Floor To Ceiling the night he was killed. We need to talk to her again. She knew more than she was letting on and I think we can get her to open up.”

  Ford sighed. “Alright. I’ll handle it.”

  “Ford?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Go easy on her. I think she’s a little fragile. She needs a woman’s touch.”

  Ford smiled. “Women are my specialty, Brentt.”

  Salvi smiled back.

  “Don’t tell my wife I said that,” Ford signed off.

  Salvi spent the next few hours poring over all the cases that Mitch, Hernandez, Beggs and Ford had been working the past few days, dipping in and out of the Taskforce Trident casefiles, seeing whic
h ones Riverton had connected and which ones it hadn’t. Though she had familiarized herself with all the detail, she had not, so far, managed to come up with anything the team had not already theorized on. It was looking very much like the Flyte drug had leaked from the exclusive rich clubs, perhaps just Floor to Ceiling, then someone associated with the Bounce club, or possibly Hasties, had reengineered it into Fyte, and now it had leaked from there and was spreading. From what Sorenson had reported about the Fyte that Farrugia and Burke had bought, it was still in the pricey range. Which meant there didn’t seem to be any evidence that a cheap version of the drug was on the streets. Yet. Regardless, so far it was still a mystery just how the Chief’s daughter fit into this, or why Caine was killed.

  She was so ensconced in the files she jumped when her burner phone sounded with a message. It was from Lance Chaney.

  “Bingo!” she smiled.

  His reply was simple:

  ‘I got your message, Sarah. No problem. I hope he realizes it was his loss.’

  She thought long and hard about what to reply, then sent her response:

  He did me a favor. I had a great night, thanks to you. Next time I see you, the drinks are on me…

  Salvi continued to pore over the files, hoping to be of some assistance to the worn out team. She rewatched the footage from Kelto’s Diner of Williams killing Delroy, then pacing agitatedly, while the blood poured from him. Knowing what she knew now, she could clearly see the guy was souped up on Fyte. Despite his bullet holes, given half the chance, he probably would’ve killed everyone in that place. He wore no neural device, though. He was running on the drug alone.

  It made her think of the gang fight footage again. The brutality of the fighting. It scared her. The threat of a cheap knock off version of Fyte spreading across the streets of America was terrifying. Especially if the neural tech was added into the mix, like these gang-fighters had done. Reading through the files, the motive for the fight was still unclear. A group of guys just decided to beat the living shit out of another bunch of guys. This scared her the most; violence of this magnitude without reason.

  She studied the screen shots of their neural devices again and thought of the indentations on Myki Natashi. When The Crash occurred, permanent connected neural implants were still fairly new, and only a small amount of the world’s population had had them. The victims of The Crash were the first adopters. After The Crash, most of those who’d survived couldn’t wait to be rid of them. They were terrified by the threat that their brains might be hacked by more terrorists, that a virus could be sent online that would cause the implants to malfunction and leave them brain damaged or brain-dead – like so many victims of The Crash had been. After the tragedy, when the government provided funding for those with the implants to have them removed, most people took up the offer. What else could they do once the laws passed to make neural implants illegal?