“I’m still not following,” I confessed.
“Maybe it’s not possible to really explain,” April offered, “but basically what it means is that for humanity to create a computer capable of rivaling their own capacities, someone would first have to design and build a fully organic processor.”
“To do that,” Cassdan added, “we’d have to use a template we already know can hold recognizably sentient intelligence.” He tapped himself on the temple. “We’d have to model the computer after our own brains.”
April continued. “And then model the programming after human logic and thought processes.”
“Because if you bother making a smart robot,” Cassdan interjected, “you need to be able to recognize that intelligence.”
“Of course,” April went on, “like any intelligence, it would take time to learn and adapt, to figure out what’s expected of it.”
“Might even take a couple of decades to fully mature.”
“In short,” April finished, “by the time an A.I. is anywhere near true human processing capacity, it will not only think and act like a human…” Her holographic eyes met mine. “It may very well self-identify as human.”
The realization made my stomach weak. The concept of a computer so advanced that it was fully indistinguishable from a human was something most science fiction stories never touched on. The ones that did always did it poorly, playing up the fear of humans being replaced by violent sociopaths that wear humanity like a mask.
“Machina humanum est,” April offered.
“The machine is human,” Cassdan translated, “the theory that the end result of all our experiments in the A.I. field will inevitably be humanity itself, rendering the entire exercise next to pointless.”
“I’m not pointless, Cass.” April’s voice suddenly had a sharp edge.
“Oh, I didn’t-”
“I accept that I will never be human, but I am helpful, and I enjoy the work I do here.”
“Sorry,” he said, his shoulders hanging. “I didn’t mean it like that. I really do appreciate you.” His eyes briefly darted my direction before returning to April. “We couldn’t have gotten this far without you.”
“Apology accepted.” She visibly straightened, her eyes brightening and her smile returning. “Now, I believe you two have a lead to follow.”
Chapter 12
Concerned about further unwanted attention from the police, Cassdan and I took the nearest Skyway exit and called a cab. This late at night the traffic was mercifully light, allowing us to make our way southward to our destination in relatively good time. Where we stopped was only a few blocks from my apartment, yet I had never been there before. While Cassdan paid the driver, I stepped out to get a feel for the place.
The building was set back from the road about ten feet. That and the crumbling exterior told me this structure was built back before every inch of city space was at a premium. The apartment buildings to either side pressed in on it, not leaving enough space for a rat to squeeze through. It seemed as if the ancient architecture leaned on its neighbors for support.
The space between curb and building had been used as wisely as it could be. Metal benches sat against the wall, protected from the drizzling rain by a tattered awning, while two circular tables sat out next to the sidewalk, oversized pole umbrellas stretched out above them. Heavy bolts through the bases of the umbrellas kept them from blowing away when the wind came roaring down the street.
Despite the late hour, rough looking men and women sat outside the shop, bathed in the glow of a neon dragon breathing electric fire down upon the awning. Leather was the clothing of choice -- leather jackets, pants, gloves, and half of the men had more hair on their faces than I had on my entire body. Beers stopped inches from lips as their eyes fell upon us.
“I’ll take the lead,” I said to Cassdan as we walked. “Just stick close.”
I did my best to move with purpose, but without hurry. We were looking for answers, not trouble, but if trouble happened, there were enough bionics among the crowd that we would definitely be at a severe disadvantage. From the looks of the tailored fits and pinstripe paint jobs on exposed artificial muscles, we were at least in the right place.
There was no front door left on the building, only a half soaked welcome mat for us to wipe our feet on before we stepped onto the dingy black and white tiles of what used to be a front lobby. To the right of the front door, a slim man sat reading a newspad in one hand, patiently awaiting his other to be returned. The letters “F.I.R.N.” were displayed at the top of the page engrossing him.
In front of us, a long counter stretched parallel to the front wall, its glass front and top kept clean to display examples of the tailor’s work. Only a single gap in the counter allowed passage from the waiting area in front to the work area behind it. A young woman with a small frame sat hunched over a work table on the other side, busy fitting new fingers onto a bionic hand.
Beyond the workstation, long strips of LED lights hung over a bare doorway, casting rainbow colored light onto the tailor. Strands of bright blue hair that had escaped her bun obscured her face, but I could still make out soft, brown skin and narrow, cat-like eyes. I rapped my knuckles on the edge of the counter, calling her attention.
“One second,” she responded, “almost done here.”
“We’re looking for someone named MacMillan. We just have a few questions to ask.”
She turned her head gently toward us, deep brown eyes rising from her work. Her lips parted as if to speak, but the only sounds were the pings of her tools hitting the table, and her stool clattering to the floor. She went from sitting to a full sprint in a heartbeat. My brain barely registered what was happening before she was out the back door, the LED strips clacking against the doorframe as they fell back into place.
Cassdan shouldered his way past me and took off after her, shoving aside the curtain strips and sprinting down the hallway beyond. I followed after, jogging past the warped wooden doors of ground floor apartments, trying not to trip over the tattered edges of what was left of the carpeting. I had no way of knowing if anyone lived in the building, but the fear that I might be chasing a woman through the home turf of the toughs outside kept me alert for any surprises.
At the far end of the hallway was a barred window, good protection from break-ins, but not so good for emergency escapes. She obviously knew the building well, not missing a beat as she reached the end and darted through a doorway to her right.
Cassdan had already begun to slow. His breathing was heavy. I passed him in the hall, making it to the door several steps ahead of him.
I shoved the door open a bit too hard, the adrenaline in my system causing me to misjudge how much of my bionic strength I used. The doorknob imbedded itself in the wall with a crunch, fixing the door open.
Thankfully, I found myself in a dimly lit stairwell, rather than someone’s personal home. Above me, I heard the light steps of the young woman. From the sound of it, she was taking two stairs at a time, widening the gap between us.
I charged up the steps. With my bionic arm on the handrail, I pulled myself up with each stride, quickening my pace just a bit. Cassdan lagged behind, but not far. His slightly shorter legs pumped hard, his heavy footfalls making it difficult to listen for the woman above us.
At the fifth floor, she swung open the door back out into the building. I lunged for her, but the toe of my boot caught on the torn edge of the carpet. I managed to avoid hitting the ground, but she had regained her lead. By the time I got the door open, she was already out the window at the end of the hallway. The lack of bars on this one gave her easy access to the fire escape outside, and she was skipping down it like she had done it a dozen times before.
I swung a leg out of the window and ducked to pull the rest of me through the narrow opening. I shouldn’t have been surprised when I bashed my head on the frame, and yet it nearly stopped me in my tracks. Head injuries somehow always feel personal, like the un
iverse just wants to hurt your feelings and screw up your whole day.
I stifled the urge to unleash my rage on the window and surrounding wall, and focused my mind on the task at hand. Pain passes, and as soon as I could catch this woman, we just might be a step closer to finding Angela’s killer.
I clambered down narrow steel stairs and gritted my teeth against the horrid moan of a rusted ladder lowering with my weight. The grip of my right hand kept me from falling to my knees when my rough ride slammed into the concrete.
With feet firmly on the ground, I looked around to reorient myself. The crowd on the sidewalk wasn’t thick, but the young woman was short enough to slide in front of someone to stay out of sight. No one was running, though, so I at least had a chance to catch up. Keeping my head on a swivel, I moved in the last direction I had seen her going.
The light rain had let up, but streams still poured from the rain gutters and heavy drops fell from the Skyway far above. A police drone passed overhead, red and blue lights spinning. Far off down the road its handler waited to collect it. I tried to look less suspicious as I scanned the crowd.
It wasn’t long before I found her. Down on her knees, the rain water had soaked into her jeans. A single hand was braced on the brick wall beside her. The other seemed to be clutching her chest.
“Are you alright?” I asked as I came upon her. Concern that she might have a weapon kept me from immediately bending to help her.
Cassdan came splashing up behind me. “Damn, Jackson, what’d you do?”
“It’s my heart,” she said, shifting to sit with her back against the wall. “Be a gentleman and give me a minute before you break my nose, okay?”
I squatted beside her, needing to catch my breath but not wanting to get the seat of my pants wet. “So, you’re MacMillan?”
“Rachana MacMillan. Pleased to meet you.” Her voice contained only exhaustion, but I caught the sarcasm nonetheless.
“Rachana, I don’t know who you were expecting, but we just came to talk.”
“Yeah, I heard about how your conversation went with the guy that pulled a gun on Amanda Tsai last week. Forgive me for running when I see one of the Combine’s hired bone breakers walk in my door.”
I breathed a long sigh and rubbed a hand down my face. “Firstly, I’ve never worked for the Combine. I was working for Rossi that night, as a bodyguard not an enforcer.” I cleared my throat. “The actual injury that man received was an accident. And frankly, it was his own damn fault.”
“If you don’t do work for the Combine,” Cassdan asked her, “what are you doing making these knockoff bionics?”
The young woman looked up at me, offering me her hand. “Help me up?”
I obliged, taking her hand and standing with her. She was light enough that it was no effort for me, and I was mostly recovered from the unexpected run. My mind shifted back to the questions I had intended to ask her, and a couple more that had come up in the last few minutes. That’s why I didn’t notice immediately when she made a move toward Cassdan.
Darting with the fluid speed of a viper’s strike, she slipped a hand under his open jacket and grasped his chest. An inch of fleshed raised up between her thumb and forefinger, pressed flat by her firm, twisting grip. I estimated it must be just about where his left nipple was.
His face warped into a mask of pain and horror. A banshee’s shriek escaped his gaping mouth. His spine twisted and turned to a cocked angle as he raised his weight up onto pointed toes, trying to pull backward and upward, anywhere away from her grip.
“I don’t make knockoffs,” she said through gritted teeth. “I do custom. You understand?”
His open hands raised in a defensive posture. “Yes, okay, I’m sorry.”
“Prick,” she cursed, releasing him.
Though his body relaxed, Cassdan’s eyes grew wide as they came back to stare at me. His mouth dropped open as his hands gestured toward his tiny assailant.
“What?” I asked with a chuckle. “You did insult the woman’s work.”
“What am I paying you for?” he finally asked out loud.
I sighed heavily and intentionally as I turned to the young woman. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to refrain from giving my client any more titty twisters, purple nurples, or nipple cripples, please.”
“I need clean pants,” was all she said in response.
She pushed past us, striding off down the street in the direction of the long way back to her shop. Cassdan continued staring daggers at me, rubbing his chest with the heel of his hand. I tried my best not to roll my eyes at him.
I can’t say I was successful.
“So what’s wrong with your heart?” I asked, as she rejoined us in her custom bionics shop.
“Who’s the information for?” she asked, slipping her leather biker boots back on.
“Us, primarily. We’re conducting an investigation.”
“And that has something to do with my heart?”
“Peripherally. You never know what’s connected, and it’s my job to be curious.”
“And you’re working independently? No help from the cops?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are they ever any help?”
She gave me a single, short laugh, shaking her head. “It’s artificial,” she said, pulling down the V collar of her tee-shirt to show me the scar. “Runs like a machine, but it only runs at one speed. If I exert myself too much, I start feeling like I’m at high altitude, like I’m right on the verge of a heart attack but there’s nothing wrong with me.”
“How’d you end up with it?”
“Oh, I have the Combine to thank for that. One of their independent agents came around two years ago. Apparently he felt I was cutting into his profit margins. One of his goons put a blade three inches into my chest. I was lucky he left it there. Otherwise, I would have bled out before the ambulance arrived.”
“You’re concerned they’ll come back to finish the job?”
“Hell yeah I’m concerned. Why do you think I keep all that muscle out front? I give most of those people heavy discounts to hang around here and look tough. It tends to keep the Combine’s goons away.”
“They didn’t do anything to stop us,” Cassdan said.
Rachana’s eyes went fierce. “You don’t exactly look like you work for the Chinese mafia, do you?” When Cassdan didn’t respond, she turned back to me. “So, you want me to keep talking about myself, or do you want to tell me what this is all about?”
I took a moment, trying and failing to find a softer way of broaching the subject. “I understand that Angela Vidales was a customer of yours.”
Her back straightened. “Is that what this is about? You’re investigating Angela’s death?”
I nodded toward my client. “Cassdan was a friend of hers. We’re not convinced it was a suicide.”
“Of course it wasn’t a suicide,” she said. “I’m not saying she didn’t have bad days, but I’ve never met someone so full of life. She was always helping people, always eager and curious.” Her eyes moved toward the floor as her shoulders relaxed. “I’ve seen plenty of depression. I know how it hides behind all the masks of normal life. That girl wasn’t depressed.”
“How well did you know her?”
“She was a regular. Came in once a month, always under a hood or scarf. Didn’t want anyone to know she had a custom set. It was a violation of her contract or something.”
“You were friends?”
She shrugged. “We chatted quite a bit, but I don’t know if we were friends. She trusted me with her secret, though. That’s not nothing.”
“Have you ever been to her home?”
“No. But I offered. You know, house call service for high profile clients. She was paranoid that the tabloids might recognize me. Can’t risk her income, you know?”
“I doubt she would have posed much of a threat with that heart,” Cassdan commented.
“Threat?” she asked.
“Our list of suspec
ts hasn’t turned up much, yet,” I said. “Whoever killed her was either someone very close to her that took her by surprise, or someone capable of completely overpowering her. Either way, they still had to have enough strength to force her out a high-rise window.”
She breathed a curse of disbelief. “She had a full set, arms and legs. Are you sure it wasn’t a whole team of people that took her out?”
I thought that over for a moment, my mind wandering to the team of overly enthusiastic police officers in power armor that attacked us in Angela’s apartment. I asked myself why they were still there so long after the event, so long after it had been declared a suicide. An old cliche came to mind, about how murderers always return to the scene of the crime.
Saving those thoughts for later, I continued. “Is it at all possible that any of your other customers recognized her? Maybe she had a fan or two here?”
“I can’t say it’s one hundred percent impossible, but I don’t see how it could have happened. I always cleared out the shop when she came by, and I use one of the empty apartments as a fitting room. Nobody ever saw her face.”
“Did anyone ever come with her?”
“No. She came alone, every time.”
“Did you ever see anyone acting suspicious around her? Maybe someone that could have been following her?”
“Never,” she said, firmly. “You see a woman travelling alone in the city, you watch her back for her. That’s just common decency.”
I couldn’t have agreed more. “I think that might be all the questions I have for now.” I turned to Cassdan. “Anything to add?”
“Yeah, how secure are your computer systems?”
Rachana seemed as surprised by the question as I was. “Oh, uh, I just have the basic F.C.S. Defense software. I update it regularly, though.”
“That’s not much, not against the kind of people we’re dealing with. Do you do your taxes on it? Keep a client list there?”
“Yes, but I only use pseudonyms, just in case the Combine got ahold of it somehow.”
Skyway Angel Page 8
