by Jaxon Reed
Collier said, “It’s a little different from combat . . .”
Someone pushed their way past the uniforms and stomped up to their little cluster.
Wilcox turned and found herself facing a very red and angry Jake Applegate glaring at her.
“What is the meaning of this, Wilcox? I am in charge of investigating the Humphries case.”
Wilcox shrugged at him.
“It’s all hands on deck. I didn’t know there were limits on what we could pursue. Otherwise I would have said something to you about it.”
“You can’t just wander off investigating leads. We have protocols in place!”
Someone at a distance said, “And they’re not working.”
Everyone turned and watched Director Fonteneaux walking down the alley, picking her way through the garbage and debris left over from the explosion.
When she reached the knot of agents she addressed Applegate directly.
“Our protocols have been hindering the investigations. Assistant Director Wilcox was acting under my authority. Are we understood?”
Applegate’s face grew redder by several shades.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He stomped off inside the building, only to be yelled at by Fenzinni’s forensics team for contaminating the crime scene.
He turned and rushed back down the alley, abandoning the area altogether.
“That’s a good point, Boss,” Gina said. “I picked up info from Forensics that pinpointed the general area for both the Humphries assassin and the nightclub shooter. I was wondering why no one else had bothered to track down those leads. Protocols.”
Fonteneaux said, “Checking out leads generated by Forensics should be standard operating procedure.”
She turned and glanced at the other two agents.
Boggs put his hands up and said, “Don’t look at us. We’re brand new to the job.”
“You’re right, it is SOP, ma’am,” Collier said. “But more than one thing has been out of whack since Director Farthingale’s appointment. I’ve studied the AOJ since I was a little girl, and their reputation has suffered tremendously in recent years under your predecessor.”
“You two are from the new class the Academy rushed through graduation, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Wilcox said, “That’s another thing, Boss. They’re both former Marines, but were left unassigned for some reason. They don’t even have a cubicle. That’s how I was able to scoop them up for this assignment.”
“Hm. I have some ideas about that, we’ll talk about it later,” Fonteneaux said.
At that moment, they heard a small commotion back at the entrance to the alley.
“I’m here on official business! Let me through! Her, too.”
Fonteneaux raised her voice and said, “It’s okay! Let them in.”
A man and a large woman came through the line of officers and headed for them.
Gina said, “Mr. Smithers?”
Wilcox recognized one of the leading Republican spies from the war. Smithers had been her handler following the accident that gave her certain powers.
He had a plain and forgettable face. She often wondered if the face had been deliberately engineered to fade into a crowd and remain difficult to recall.
Beside him walked a tall woman wearing a cap and sunglasses.
Smithers stuck his hand out to shake Fonteneaux’s.
“Smithers, RNI.”
“Jodi Fonteneaux.”
“I know. I have somebody here to meet you.”
He nodded toward the woman with him.
Fonteneaux said, “Thanks. We can discuss her later.”
Smithers looked around at the explosion, then peeked into the doorway to watch the Forensics team scouring the interior.
He said, “Did you do this, Wilcox?”
“With a little help,” she responded, smiling at Boggs and Collier.
“Well, good job. Okay, I’m outta here. Call me if you need me.”
He walked back down the alley without saying another word, leaving the woman behind.
Everyone turned and looked at her. She smiled back at them from behind her sunglasses but said nothing.
“You two go on back to the car,” Wilcox said. “I’ll catch up.”
When Boggs and Collier were out of earshot, she said to the newcomer, “Who are you?”
The woman took off her cap and sunglasses, revealing blue eyes and short blonde hair.
She said, “I’m Gina Wilcox, Assistant Director of AOJ.”
23
“I turned in some chits at RNI and asked for a double for you,” Fonteneaux said back at her office at AOJ HQ.
Wilcox stared at her doppelgänger, who smiled back politely.
They were free from eavesdroppers. Wilcox now made it a habit to scan for devices before speaking. She explored the complicated circuits of the droid, too.
“She does look like me.”
“I’m hoping if someone tries to take you out, they’ll go for the dummy here and not you.”
The droid raised an eyebrow at this statement and said, “I’m not sure I like your term, Director.”
Both women stared at it.
“She’s very well programmed,” Wilcox said. “I presume Naval Intelligence had no troubles massaging the Droid Mandates to make one look and act like a real human.”
The Droid Mandates were a list of rules passed by Parliament governing the use of lifelike machines as well as service bots. One of the regulations prohibited passing off a droid as a real human.
Fonteneaux said, “There’s a law enforcement exception, it’s just that most department budgets don’t allow it. For us, the money is not as big an issue. And if the guys at RNI haven’t done it before, they’ll be doing it a lot more in the future. Imagine the possibilities.”
“I can imagine a drone posing as a politician,” Wilcox said, “instead of a traditional body double. But what if they get elected? Can they be controlled by outside interests? The whole idea of drone clones is very unsettling.”
“That’s the whole point of the Mandates. For one thing, a bot always has to identify itself when asked. They also are programmed to act stiff and completely still when not interacting with anybody or otherwise engaged. That’s usually the first clue a later model waiter or receptionist is not a real person. But this one hasn’t gone still yet, and as we’ve seen it neatly bypasses the identification mandate. Basically, it says it’s you.”
As if to demonstrate, she said to the droid, “Who are you?”
“You know who I am, Director. I’m Gina Wilcox, ADA, AOJ.”
“See? Even her responses are different each time.”
Wilcox said, “Not to mention, a droid is supposed to identify itself as a droid when asked. It’s supposed to recite its model number and ownership. Well, she definitely passes the Turing Test.”
“You think? We’ll try her out at the press conference. You stay up here. I’m taking her down to the lobby in a minute, where I will laud you and your efforts to the entire Republic.”
“You really think I need a body double? Seems like you should be the one with extra protection.”
“It’s much harder to get a bot that could replicate everything I do. But for you, we need somebody to be in the limelight, with a big fat target on their back. Worse case, we lose a very expensive droid. Best case, we catch the bad guys in the act.”
“Hm. Well, I hope you have a good budget. That thing can’t be cheap if somebody breaks it.”
The droid smiled back at the real Gina Wilcox, but said nothing.
-+-
Minutes later, Director Fonteneaux brought the droid downstairs with her to meet the press.
Wilcox stayed in her own office, which remained rather Spartan. She did not have any decorations up, having had little time to organize the place since moving in.
There was an external holo in the corner and she switched it on, intent on watching her droid double
during the news conference.
Absently, she scanned her surroundings. This time she noticed a transmission on the neural net. She homed in on it and listened, picking up Montoya’s voice.
“This is Marley.”
“Marley! I’m just calling to check up on you. What’s going on over at AOJ?”
With the practiced ease of a spy who had done this many times before, Wilcox flipped through Montoya’s contact list and picked out the person on the other end.
Her eyebrows shot up. The person speaking was none other than MP Dermot Kruger, the man the Progressives were going to run against Cole in the upcoming election.
Montoya said, “How are you, sweetheart? We just found the lead suspect of the Humphries murders. Our new AD the Director brought with her broke all the protocols and stormed his hideout in a lone wolf maneuver. Shot him dead, too, so we can’t interrogate him and find out any more information. Everyone’s pretty upset right now.”
Wilcox raised an eyebrow at this assessment. It seemed rather unfair.
Kruger said, “Is that so? I would think you’d be happy. The Humphries assassinations are worse than the fake Chancellor shootings, if you ask me.”
“Well, this AD is something of a glory hound, evidently. If you turn on the holo, you’ll get an idea of what I mean.”
Gina’s eyes flicked to her office holo. The droid who looked like her moved to the podium as Fonteneaux stepped out of the way.
Wilcox turned up the volume a little.
Her droid said, “I will bring the discipline of Republican Marines to my role at AOJ. We will not stop until all the perpetrators of these violent crimes have been brought to justice!”
“She gives quite the speech, doesn’t she?” Kruger said, evidently watching the same broadcast.
“She can’t last,” Montoya said. “This isn’t the Marines, or the Navy. The war’s over. It might be okay to take out targets on your own in combat, but she’s got to learn to play by our rules or risk getting run over.”
“Well, keep me apprised of the situation over there, Marley.”
“Can you believe that new director named our receptionist bot? Who does that? She’s calling it Molly. That sounds an awful lot like Marley. I don’t know if she was trying to send me a signal or if she’s just unconsciously thinking of me as a servant or an android or something.”
“Don’t worry about it, darling. If she even makes it to the election, when I’m Chancellor I’ll put someone else in that spot. Maybe even you.”
Montoya’s tone turned sweet. She said, “Oh. Why, thank you, Dermot.”
“Why not? You’ve shown loyalty, you’re competent. Not to mention you’re a bobcat in bed—”
In the background, a woman’s voice called out.
“Dermot? Dinner’s ready!”
In a quieter voice, Kruger said, “Hey, I’ve got to go. Let’s talk again soon.”
Montoya said, “Okay. And I want to see you . . . again.”
But the connection was already dead.
Back in her office, with nothing to listen to now, Wilcox muttered to herself.
“That’s interesting. An internal leaker to the opposition party. Who happens to be the leading candidate’s mistress.”
She thought about it for a minute, remembering bits and pieces she had read about Dermot Kruger over the years. No one had outright accused him of being a serial philanderer in the news media, but anyone could read between the lines in their coverage. Those interested in the inside scoop could find more open discussions in online political forums.
Wilcox nodded and said, “One of his many mistresses, I bet.”
24
After the news conference, Fonteneaux walked into Gina’s office with the droid following.
She said, “I’ve got a special dispensation for you to be able to teleport. Your double will stay here and travel back and forth to your apartment for a while. Do you have someplace else you can stay until things settle?”
“Not really. I could find someplace, I guess.”
“Think about it. Feel free to borrow any properties we’ve confiscated lately. They take time to sell off, you know. I’ll stall whichever one you pick.”
“That sounds good. Hey, I picked up a conversation Montoya had. She’s keeping Dermot Kruger apprised of events here. Neither one of them thinks you’ll make it very long. Kruger says after the election he’ll can you if you’re still around.”
Fonteneaux laughed. “That’s certainly good to know. Okay, Montoya’s on my naughty list.”
“Oh, she’s naughty alright. She’s having an affair with him, too. I feel bad gossiping about it.”
“I don’t need to tell you to keep it between us. Unfortunately, this is valuable information. I need to know who’s for me and who’s against me. This job is bad enough as it is, without having to wonder who’s trying to stab me in the back. That’s why you’re here.”
“That, and to use as bait?” Wilcox’s eyes darted to the droid.
“We’re using dummy here as the bait.”
The droid said, “Hey! Honestly, ma’am, I must insist . . .”
She trailed off when it became obvious neither woman was listening to her.
“What do you think is going to happen?” Wilcox said. “Somebody’s going to try and jump me, or rather her, in a dark alley?”
Fonteneaux touched the implant under her right ear, and her personal holo popped into existence nearby.
It showed the faces of seven different people, four men and three women.
She said, “These are ADs who have been killed in the line of duty the last three years. All of them, if you ask my opinion, died under suspicious circumstances.”
Each portrait magnified when she called out their names.
“Dennehy. Run over by a terrestrial truck after leaving headquarters one night. Rodriguez. Killed by a stray bolt in a shootout, but it was never clear which gun shot him. Pilsner. Mugged while on vacation, or so they say. He still had 100 credits in tokens on his body when they found him. The list goes on.”
“Great,” Wilcox says. “Now you tell me. After I take the job.”
“It’s my hunch that these were all good cops who discovered something rotten here at the agency. All of them were eliminated after cracking open important cases, or at least making serious progress.”
“So you think by having my robotic surrogate out and about, an ‘accident’ will occur with her, too?”
“That’s right. Can you tap into her optics and other sensory data? Can you control her at a distance?”
Wilcox locked eyes with her double and concentrated. Her perspective shifted, and for a moment she stared at herself through the droid’s eyes.
“Okay, that was a freaky out of body experience.”
“So you can do it?”
“Yes. I don’t know how far away I can do it from . . .”
“Didn’t you take control of a giant Starfold cube in orbit around Sporades and drop it on top of the local SSI headquarters? Then didn’t you activate it over the neural net, sending everybody inside to the sun?”
“Yes, and I never should have told you that story. I’m sure it’s still classified.”
“All I’m saying is, I’m confident you can pop into Dummy here when the time comes.”
“Ma’am, I really have to protest—”
“Shut up.”
Fonteneaux smiled at the expression on the droid’s face.
“Look at that, would you, Detective? Upset at name-calling. Now that is some good programming.”
-+-
Fonteneaux’s authorization for terrestrial teleportation came through.
After researching recent properties temporarily under AOJ control, Wilcox decided to head back to the assassin’s hideout in Eastside.
It had been well apportioned before she raided it. She thought she could clean it up from the explosions and shootings.
She asked PLAIR to port her there and left the droid alone
in the office, to begin pretending to be her.
The place was deserted when Gina popped in, as expected. She checked the door and found it locked from the inside. The explosions outside had not damaged the interior walls. Perhaps they were lined with a blast proof layer, she thought.
But inside was a mess. The body was gone and the blood cleaned up, but everything else not taken for evidence was scattered about.
Some residual damage still existed from the grenade, but nothing too bad, she decided.
Gina spent the next few hours cleaning and removing the dead man’s personal effects.
She hired a restoration company, paying a premium for immediate service. A van landed on the roof and a dozen droids swarmed into the building. They cleaned, stacked and sorted everything, removing trash and other stuff Gina did not want.
They scrubbed, painted and repaired things. By suppertime, the interior had no hint of its former occupant and no indications of explosions or gun battles.
Wilcox transferred a hefty sum out of her personal account to the restoration service, and the bots left carrying trash and discarded items with them.
She opened a neural net connection to Boggs.
“You two ever get a space of your own at HQ yet?”
“No, Sarge. It’s the darnedest thing. If I didn’t know better, I’d say somebody doesn’t really want us around.”
“You don’t have a CO or anything? No standing orders or assignments?”
“No, ma’am. It’s like we’re stuck in limbo or something.”
“Alright. I’m taking up residence in Eastside for the time being, at the assassin’s old hideout. Let’s use it as a base of operations going forward. I want to explore the whole area. This building is not the only one hiding under that reflection field.”
Wilcox asked PLAIR to port her back to the office. There, she said goodnight to the droid and took an elevator pod to her vehicle, which she drove back to Eastside.
The droid decided to spend the night in the office. Tomorrow she would use an autocab and start going home to Wilcox’s apartment after work hours.
