Delarosa shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You were kidnapped, it's understandable—”
“I wasn't.” Metta glared at him. “It's important you understand that. I—the one you are talking to—was not kidnapped; I have no trauma or even memory of the event. What upsets me is the memory loss, and that's the only thing I have experienced.” She turned to Huang. “That's why I asked them to bring you in.”
He blinked, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “I don't understand.”
“Someone, probably Metta Prime, sent me a Trojan horse that contained this.”
Amado said, “We still don't know that. The crash might be related to the new chassis. I don't see any signs of tampering with your code.”
She gestured to her face. “I crashed and I can't manifest any other interface. What do you call that?”
Huang went still. “And you think it happened at my house last night?”
Metta looked away. “It's a possibility.”
“Was I the only officer you went home with last night?”
“No—”
“Stop it.” Delarosa leaned forward and jabbed his pencil at Huang. “You're here to answer questions, not ask them.”
Huang ran his hand through his hair. “So ask.”
Delarosa frowned. “According to Metta's bandwidth reports, she maintained an active connection to your house all night. What did you have her working on?”
“Why aren't you asking her this? I was asleep.”
“Answer me.”
“I don't know. My mother sometimes wakes up during the night, maybe she was talking with Metta.”
Delarosa wrote something down on his note pad.
“No.” Huang raised his hands and looked at the chief. “You can't bring my mother in. Please.”
Banks stared at Huang impassively.
Huang looked to Metta for help. “C'mon, you know my mother had nothing to do with this. What about at Chase's apartment? You logged in there.”
Amado cleared his throat. “I thought about that, but it seems like it's related to backing up, so the last backup is a more reasonable entry point. Besides . . .” His voice trailed away and he looked at Delarosa nervously.
Delarosa's mouth turned down at the corners. “Go ahead and spill everything.”
Huang knew what Amado had been about to say. “Besides, Mae West is an interface Metta created for me.”
She nodded. “Did Metta Prime colorize the West interface during the dark period?”
Huang shook his head. “The mono-v face you had on yesterday is the one I last saw you—her wearing.”
Banks leaned back in the chair. “So the question is . . . if Metta Prime is trying to send a message, what does Mae West have to do with anything?”
Huang inhaled and held the breath while he thought. “Is it possible her kidnapping is related to the case I was working on when she was taken?”
“Tell us more about that.” Delarosa lifted his pad of paper and poised his pencil over it.
Amado shook his head. “That doesn't make any sense. I mean, the Mae West thing, maybe, but not today's crash.”
Metta shook her head. “Not necessarily. My Prime might be dealing with an invasive virus.” She stopped and sighed. “For that matter, we don't know how deeply I might be infected.”
“Don't you have firewalls and stuff?” Huang asked.
“I have subroutines, which handle basic things, but a signature from Metta Prime would look the same as a signature from me.” Metta paused. “I think we should consider replacing me.”
“Metta!” Amado nearly jumped out of his seat. “I can run any tests you want. You don't need to do that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Amado, you're a dear, but you're out of your depth.”
He sputtered, “I've been taking care of you for years.”
“No. You've been taking care of Metta Prime for years. As soon as you booted me from the backup, I diverged from her. I mean, let's be realistic here. . . . Do you know any AI who's a backup?”
Banks looked sharply at Amado. “I thought you said this was a procedure that had been done before.”
Amado ran his hands through his hair and looked at the floor. “AIs have been revived from backup before.”
“But not while the Prime was living.” Metta glared at him. “I should not be here. But for the moment I am, so let's make use of that, shall we?” She turned to Delarosa. “I think it's likely the Patterson case is in some way connected, or Metta Prime would have fixed on a different interface.”
“Can we even trust your judgments? You said you were infected with a virus.”
Amado said, “I ran a scan on her right after her crash, I don't see anything wrong besides her interface.”
“And here I thought I looked pretty.” She turned the corners of her mouth down. “Chief. Please, we only have five hours until my next backup. I'm as certain as I can be; Huang saw something during my dark period related to this case. It will be something not in his reports, because it didn't seem important. I want him and Delarosa to compare notes and work these cases together.”
Banks glared at Metta. His jaw worked subtly as he subvocalized to her. Finally, the chief nodded and turned to Delarosa. “Huang's working with you on this. Metta is right. There must be something that happened, between her Prime's last backup and when she was taken, that Huang knows. So I want you two to work together on her disappearance and the Patterson murder.”
Delarosa opened his mouth, scowling.
Banks held up his hand. “I mean it.”
“Fine.” Delarosa drew a hard line through something on his pad.
“Now get out of here.” Banks pointed at the door.
Huang followed Delarosa to his desk, head reeling from the last half hour. Metta waited for them, floating in perfect imitation of Mae West over Delarosa's desktop interface.
“Here.” Delarosa sat down and tossed him a file folder of hard copies. “Yours are electronic, aren't they?”
Huang nodded. “I'll key them over to your desktop.”
Metta said, “Delarosa prefers hard copies so I'm printing transcripts of everything we've talked about today.”
“That'll kill a lot of trees.”
Delarosa glowered. “Here's the deal. I don't make comments on your preferences. You don't make them on mine. Fair?”
“Fair. Thanks.” He sat down and started leafing through the papers Delarosa had handed him.
* * * *
Huang got frustrated reading Delarosa's reports, because he seemed to be ignoring a whole line of questioning about how Metta worked, and what that might have to do with the case. His notes were terse almost to the point of incomprehensibility.
During Metta's abduction, three armed men had entered the building without being seen. Amado saw two in a corridor, but was unable to identify them. In fact, the clearest description of the men was the one Huang had provided.
Although an inside job was possible, the men had also disabled cameras all along the route out of the building. This suggested a highly organized plan carried out by several people who knew the system very well. Better, in fact, than any of the officers currently working at the station. The only one with sufficient knowledge was Amado, but he was among those injured in the attack. “Metta? I don't see it in Delarosa's report; did you do a size analysis of the men I reported seeing?”
“It was inconclusive.”
“Would you humor me? Make blank composites and compare that against people in the department who could have been in the station at the time of your Prime's abduction.”
“I've run profiles on everyone in the station, no one has the know-how to trick my cameras.”
“Except Amado.”
She sighed. “Except Amado. Huang, even if I didn't know him well, he has no motive. It's most likely to be an outside job.”
“Will you show me the groups anyway?”
“Yes.” On his VR glasses, three men's silhouettes appeare
d in blue. “These are the weights and heights you reported. Of the people who could have been at the station, these are the ones who fit that body type.” A short list of names scrolled past his eyes.
“Why are you so resistant to this?”
She pulled her mouth into a straight line. “Look at the names. Fitzgerald and Amado are on that list. I have one eyewitness, you, who didn't see anything long enough to make a positive ID. It's extremely unreliable testimony.”
“Fine.” He let the air out of his lungs, staring at Delarosa's report.
“It's a good idea, but I've already gone down that path.”
Huang closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Why me? If it's related to the Patterson case, why not Griggs?”
“I don't know.”
“Okay . . . let's go at this from the other end. Why Diamond Lil? Why not—” Huang broke off, his mouth open. He suddenly remembered the plot of the movie.
Metta stared at him. “Why is your pulse spiking?”
“This is crazy, I know, but on Tuesday when you showed me Diamond Lil you said you watched the movie. Do you remember the plot?”
Her eyes shifted to the left. “Lady Lou (Mae West) works in the 1890s saloon of Gus Jordan (Noah Beery, Sr.). Gus traffics in white slavery and runs a counterfeiting ring. Next door to the bar is a city mission. . . .” Her gaze widened and snapped back to Huang. “The old Salvation Army building—you think they have my Prime there.”
“Who owns it?”
She nodded slowly. “Magdalena Chase.”
“And Patterson wanted to buy it. And the witness to the murder was working there. There's got to be a connection. Get me a warrant to search that building.”
“I've sent the request in, but it's a line of conjecture. I don't know that I can get you one.”
“I need to talk to Delarosa.” He hurried across the room and stopped by the older detective's desk.
Delarosa looked up, glaring. “What?”
Huang quickly related his conversation with Metta about the film. When he finished Delarosa snorted heavily. “That's pretty thin.”
“I know, but there has to be some reason she settled on Diamond Lil. I don't understand the link, but there has to be a connection.”
“I think you're reading too much into this.” Delarosa slid a page across the table. “The fact that both crimes used a .38 is the more likely link. We need to focus on finding the murder weapon.”
“Fine. When the warrant comes in, I'll check it out without you.” Huang stalked back to his desk and grabbed his coat. He couldn't search the place, but he could damn well keep an eye on it.
* * * *
Huang leaned against the wall and nursed the cup of coffee he'd picked up at the Daily Grind. According to the counter girl, Joe Yates had not been in for his usual lowfat double-shot latte that morning. It was nearly three o'clock, so it was unlikely that Yates would show at all. Huang stared at the old Salvation Army building across the street. “So . . . I'm thinking that maybe whoever killed Patterson took your Prime to cover up the crime. And they're looking for or have already found Yates.”
Metta frowned. “Wouldn't it be easier to just make it look like an accident in the first place? Or make sure we never found the body?”
“Maybe Yates surprised them and they weren't expecting to be caught.”
“Possible. We won't know until we find him.”
Huang took another sip of his coffee. “Any word on the warrant?”
“How many times are you going to ask me?” Metta shook her head. “I'll let you know when I have it. Look, there's a traffic camera at the end of this street so I can keep an eye on the area while we do something useful.”
“I don't mind waiting.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I know. But I want to see the Patterson scene since I—”
“Since you blacked out while you were there.” Huang turned and walked back to the Daily Grind building.
“Exactly. I'm hoping that something will tell me what's in that missing memory.”
The lobby of the Daily Grind looked the way he remembered it, with potted plants hiding in the corners. Huang headed for the stairs.
“Oh, hang on.” Metta stopped him. “The elevator is working today.”
“Thank god. I was not looking forward to climbing those stairs again.” Huang wheeled around and pushed the elevator button.
“Wimp.”
“I'm going to go to the gym.” He watched the numbers descend to meet him. “Really.”
“A man can be short and dumpy and getting bald, but if he has fire, women will like him.”
“Hey!” He ran a hand through his hair, checking.
Metta laughed, “It's a Mae West quote. Honestly, Scott.”
Sheepish, he jerked his hand out of his hair. “I knew that.” Huang got into the elevator and reached for the roof button.
“Scott, will you start in the hallway upstairs?”
“Sure.” He pressed the button for the tenth floor and they rode the elevator in silence. When the door opened, he stepped out into the soft glow of the wood wainscoting. “Remember this?”
Metta shivered. “I don't like this place.”
“Are you okay?”
“My memory ends here.”
He had not thought this all the way through. What if he caused her to crash? “We can go back.”
“No.” Mae West's eyes glittered dangerously. “I need to know what things I'm missing.”
The hall seemed longer than it had before. When he climbed the stairs to the landing, the lemon scent was completely gone. “There was a strong lemon odor here, as though someone had cleaned recently.”
“Will you give me a new three-sixty?”
Huang spun on his heels obediently. Then he stood and turned slowly, letting Metta see the whole room.
“All right. Let's go to the roof.”
Outside Huang walked across the grass roof to the wireframe table. He showed her where the wheelchair had been and the spot where he'd found the screw and the stained grass.
“Scott?” Metta looked at him with wide, serious eyes out of keeping with Mae West's face. “May I ask you to do something morbid?”
He stopped in the middle of the roof. “What is it?”
“Will you replay what you did when I—when they took the original me, my Prime? So I can, so I can pretend I remember it.”
His breath seemed locked in his throat. He glanced at the time. 2:55. “Are you sure? Your backup . . .”
“That's why. Please?”
He swallowed heavily and whispered. “I can do that.”
He walked back toward the center and gestured at it with his hand so she could see. “Griggs was here, fingerprinting the wheelchair.”
He tried to remember, not wanting to. “I had just asked you why the elevator was down.”
She broke in. “Just act it out. I know it's weird, but I have never felt lost like this. I just want to fill in the blanks.”
He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Metta?” he subvocalized, “How long has the elevator in this building been down?”
He waited for a moment, not looking at her. “Then you said you'd been trying to check on that since we got here, but couldn't reach the building manager. Then you froze, and you said—”
Metta whispered, “Shots fired.” Her voice was an imagined memory. “Officer down.”
Huang froze, as if he were listening for gunfire in their vicinity again. He pointed to where Griggs had been. “Griggs stood up and yelled your name.”
Metta nodded, the color fading from her rouged cheeks until it looked as though she would return to black and white. She whispered, “Three armed subjects in chassis room. The assailants are armed, I repeat—Amado! Two officers down.”
As he remembered, Huang turned on his heel and sprinted back across the roof. “Metta, can you give a visual?” The memory of fear grabbed him again. “Metta, answer me. Who's there? Can you give a visual?”
>
Still running he said, “You showed me an image, but it was fast. You screamed and froze, then you vanished.” He put his hand on the door. “There was only silence after that.”
“Thank you.” The husky voice she affected as Mae West seemed thick with emotion. “I'd like to go down now.”
He walked across the grass roof, shooting glances at her as he went. Cars hummed by on the interstate and a breeze kicked a dried leaf across his path. Huang pulled open the door of the roof access and stepped onto the small landing containing the elevator. His heels clicked on the linoleum.
Metta looked up and heaved a sigh of relief and beamed. “In a happy turn of events . . . I just found a judge to give you a warrant.”
“Great. Can you get me some backup. I mean—You know.”
“It's not a dirty word, Scott. And yes. I have people on the way.”
“Did you tell Delarosa we've got it?”
“He's headed to Patterson's office.”
It figured he wouldn't be interested. “There's not a chance Patterson's office is in the old Salvation Army building, is there?”
Metta shook her head. “I'd have mentioned it—”
Her image froze, flickered and vanished.
Huang gasped. He didn't need the clock to tell him it was 3:00. What if she didn't come back this time?
“—if it were.” Her face paled. “It happened again, didn't it?”
She still looked like Mae West. The grand dame of silver screen stared back at Huang, in full color, but with a layer of fear he had never seen.
“It was a minute, like last time.”
She closed her eyes. “Damn.”
“What's different this time?”
Her eyes flashed open. “Nothing I can tell. I still look like the finest gal that ever walked the streets.”
“That you do, sweetheart.” He crumpled his coffee cup and threw it into the garbage can by the elevator. “What's the ETA?”
Asimov's SF, June 2011 Page 16
