Cybershot_An Empathic Detective Novel

by Jaxon Reed

  “Well, I’m kind of a big deal in the Central Texas Underworld. So, I hang out here. In our city, in virtual reality.”

  “The Underworld? You play a bad guy?”

  “Sure, lots of people do. Central Texas Underworld is powerful right now in Metro-X. We’ve got lots of cops on the payroll. In the game, I mean,” Finney said, glancing at Witherspoon.

  “Well there’s some irony for you,” Witherspoon said, scowling back. “Cops playing bad guys in fantasyland. What do the real bad guys do online? Play cops?”

  Before Finney could answer, Bryce said, “What did you mean when you said the hit sounded like something out of Metro-X?”

  “Well, here’s the deal,” Finney’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm and he used his hands to punctuate his words. “Metro-X has its own social hierarchy, and people are always trying to rise to the top in whatever city they play in. But it’s not like some other games where when you die you can just resurrect your character and keep leveling up. When your character dies in Metro-X, that’s it. You have to start another one from scratch if you want to keep playing.”

  He stopped, smiling at the others. Everyone looked back at him with a blank face.

  “Do you know what that means?” Finney said.

  The older people kept staring at him. Finally, Parker shook her head.

  Finney said, “Okay, look. My character’s name is Thaddeus Grunge. When he dies I won’t be able to resurrect him. And believe me, he probably will get rubbed out at some point. I’m so high up in the Underworld’s hierarchy right now, it’s not even funny. And yes, I murdered my way to the top. I have a ton of enemies, and they’re all out to get me. But when Thaddeus dies, I’ll have to start someone new and begin working my way up again. I won’t be able to immediately resume my current level with the new character.”

  Bryce said, “So, my vic sounded like one of your killings in the game?”

  “Well, that’s just it. There’s always lots of killing going on in Metro-X. Some of the hits are very complex. Some people spend all their time in-game hiring out as assassins. And a rooftop sniper shot at just the right moment sounds like something that would happen there. Assassinations have to be sudden. If things start looking too hairy, people just log out.”

  “Wait a minute, I remember reading about this,” Witherspoon said, with uncharacteristic interest. “It’s one of the big criticisms against the game and the company, isn’t it? Everything is so realistic. The guns, the ammo, the physics of everything. They’ve created a virtual training ground for killers. There are no rules. Players can attack people and do what they want without any real consequences. No wonder people get addicted to it.”

  Finney shrugged it off. He said, “Man, people have been playing video games for decades. That’s always been a criticism of first-person shooters and such. But they’ve never really proven a link between games and violence. Causation versus correlation. Heck, I think there’s less violence in the real world because everyone’s online trying to kill each other there instead of here!”

  Witherspoon raised an eyebrow and said, “This is quite different from a traditional videogame, from what I understand. This is complete, realistic neurological immersion. You feel like you’re totally in the virtual world.”

  Bryce could sense the stirrings of an argument, but Parker jumped in before it could escalate. She said, “And you do this? Sniper shots from the rooftop to take others out and things like that?”

  “Oh, no,” Finney said, with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Not anymore. I’m an Underboss. I usually hire people to do that for me these days. Sure, I knocked off a few people when I started working my way up. Okay, several people. But once the money flows in, it’s easier to hire out contract killers for the dirty work.”

  Intrigued, Bryce said, “Does it hurt when people die in the game?”

  “Dying in Metro-X is painful, but not so bad. They don’t want to scare people away from playing. So, you’re allow to feel just about everything that your character does, except extreme pain. In the game you can get beat up, shot, whatever. But you won’t feel it after you ‘wake up.’ It’s more painful in the sense that all the time and money you spent on a character is lost when he or she dies.”

  “And you spend a lot of time there?”

  Finney grinned and said, “I’m online every night. It’s more fun than bar hopping or watching old movies. There are some people who literally spend every waking hour in Metro-X. I don’t know how they can afford it.”

  “I don’t know how you can afford to stand around talking all day,” Witherspoon said.

  Finney smiled at his boss, flashing straight white teeth. He glanced at the others and said, “I should probably get back to work.”

  “Good idea,” Witherspoon said, waving him away.

  On the way out Finney turned back and said, “If y’all ever want to visit Metro-X, let me know. I’ll give you a tour of our city in virtual reality. It’s a lot more exciting than the real thing!”

  -+-

  Bryce sat in the large open office shared by other detectives, staring at the highly realistic woman who appeared to be growing out of his desk’s surface from the ribs up. This was the first time for him to try out the new phone’s AI system.

  Life-sized, and featuring striking lifelike detail, the ethnic-neutral female maintained eye contact. Her lips parted, and she seemed completely focused on him, and whatever he wanted.

  The technology is getting so good, he thought, I could almost kiss her.

  He shook himself, dismissing the thought.

  She smiled brightly and tilted her head. She said, in a perfectly feminine voice, “How may I help you, Detective Bryce?”

  Bryce reached into his pocket and pulled out the round object Caron had tried to hand him before getting shot. He placed it on the desk. The AI tilted her head down and looked at it.

  He said, “I’d like to know what this is.”

  “This is a small flat stone, hand-worked, with a carved image of a Teutonic Knight.”

  Bryce leaned back in his chair, disappointed. He said, “Yeah. I know that.”

  He looked at the AI again. She looked back at him and smiled. She blinked, long lashes waving at him.

  He said, “Your new interface is good. Really good. But good looks won’t help me figure out what this is.”

  “This is an image of a Teutonic Knight, hand-carved on a small flat stone.”

  “Yeah.”

  Bryce rubbed his chin, thinking. He looked up at the AI and said, “Can you cross-match the image of the knight with other ones? Is there a match on the internet?”

  The AI smiled in response, and hundreds of images popped up around her, quickly cycling through, showing knight after knight. Tens of thousands of pictures flitted by. A handful looked close, and the AI shunted these off to the side.

  Bryce reached into the air and expanded each one she had picked out, making them larger. None quite matched his, exactly.

  “What dates are these?”

  “Thirteenth century.”

  He rubbed his chin again, looking at the half dozen images floating in the air. He said, “What’s the, uh, context of these images? Who put them online?”

  Data scrolled by each picture, showing names and dates. Bryce saw one he recognized. He reached over and pulled it away from the others. The name displayed next to it read, “Dr. Theodore M. Drossel, University of Iowa.”

  “I know that guy,” Bryce said.

  The AI smiled in response, seeming to hang on his every word.

  Bryce clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in the chair, thinking. He said, “Drossel knew quite a bit about the ‘cunning folk,’ alchemy, and homunculi.”

  “Would you like me to perform a search on each one of those topics?”

  “No. What I’d really like to do is talk to Dr. Drossel. Is he still alive?”

  Drossel’s Wikipedia entry popped up in a new window. The AI said, “I’m not finding a d
ate of death.”

  Bryce skimmed the entry and said, “I figured he was old when I watched his lecture while we were pursuing the Hangman. I can’t believe he’s still alive. Find me an address and contact info.”

  A police override banner floated above the AI briefly as privacy controls were bypassed. A moment later an address in Coralville, Iowa popped up, along with a phone number.

  The AI said, “Would you like me to attempt a connection?”

  “Yes.”

  The attractive woman dissolved, to be replaced by a virtual screen along with the sound of a ringtone. A moment later the screen came alive and an older woman appeared. She looked to be in her 70s, Bryce thought. Maybe 80s. She wore her light brown hair in a no-nonsense bun.

  Absently, Bryce reflected on the fact her phone must be an older model, since it showed a virtual screen instead of a hologram.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, my name is Detective Gerald Bryce . . . I guess you saw that on the caller ID.”

  “Yes. I couldn’t figure out why the police would be calling from Texas.”

  “Right. Well, I’m working on a case, and, uh, Dr. Drossel’s lectures helped me in the past.”

  The lady chuckled. She said, “Well, that’s surprising. Daddy’s field is medieval European social history.”

  “I know. It’s a long story, but when his lectures became available on the GRAIL system some years back, they proved to be very useful in a case dealing with alchemy and some other arcane matters. In fact, he’s one of the few people who knows certain details that were invaluable at the time.”

  Bryce paused, and took a breath, choosing his next words with care. He said, “Is he, uh, available?”

  “He’s still with us. I’m Katherine, his youngest daughter. Daddy is in a wheelchair, and he sleeps most of the day. He’s asleep right now, in fact. But when he’s awake, his mind is still sharp as ever.”

  “Do you think it’d be okay if I came up there for a visit? I’ll try not to wear him out or anything. I have an artifact that is similar to one he used in a lecture once, and I’m having a hard time finding anything about it on the internet. If he could look at it, and maybe give me an idea of some leads I could pursue, I’d be forever grateful.”

  “Sure, he doesn’t get many visitors these days. I’m afraid he’s outlived all his colleagues. And a lot of our family members, too. But don’t you think it’s a lot of trouble to come all the way up here? Isn’t this something we could handle over the phone?”

  “We probably could. Honestly, I have a lot of respect for your father. I’d like the opportunity to meet him in person.”

  “Okay, suit yourself. You know where we are.”

  Bryce made arrangements on the date and time with Katherine, then hung up. When the screen dissolved, the beautiful new AI reappeared on his desk. She took a deep breath, her virtual breasts rising and falling gently.

  “Will there be anything else I can do for you, Detective Bryce?”

  “No, I’m good. My compliments to your programmers, though. You are very well made.”

  “Would you like to rate me on social media?”

  “No. You can go away now.”

  -+-

  Phoebe Renard took a deep breath and pressed the neural link up against the bulge under her ear.

  I’m too old for this, she thought to herself. But then, he’s older than all of us, isn’t he? He’ll never let you forget that.

  Lights rushed past her field of vision as the neural connections synced with her brain. She experienced a sensation of freefalling, air rushing around her. Soon, she slowed and floated down to the VIR-1 lobby.

  Avatars for hundreds of other people milled about, some talking, others gawking. In this area people wore basic bodies, all the same size. They were gender neutral, and colored gray. Featureless. A preborn state. Once a customer entered a particular world they could assume customized avatars.

  Renard liked the anonymity of the lobby. Everybody looked the same, regardless of race or gender. No one would recognize her here. Of course, no one would recognize her custom avatar, either. But she felt safe here. Privacy laws were such that no one could tell who was in the VIR-1 universe at any given time.

  The police, she knew, could deduce if and when a suspect entered virtual reality, but not what activities the person engaged in while online. Nor, and this was critical for her current mission, what was said online. Conversations here were among the most private of all electronic communications in the world.

  The Americans viewed virtual reality differently. Private electronic discussions were seen as an avenue for terrorists to use in planning attacks. The Chinese felt much the same way, and had forbidden access to VIR-1 worlds altogether. The Europeans, on the other hand, felt that privacy was paramount and had passed laws accordingly.

  Consequently, VIR-1 placed its headquarters in Berlin.

  Renard smiled as she joined the queue leading to Metro-X. The Americans, at least for the moment, were hamstrung by the EU’s laws. VIR-1’s worlds were indeed excellent places to hold private conversations. Conversations nobody would be listening to . . .

  The line moved steadily forward, and soon she entered Metro-X itself. The system recognized her and instantly her avatar changed into the one she used previously: a tall, unnaturally thin blonde bombshell with large, perfectly proportioned breasts.

  She knew the image was ridiculous, this caricature of a sexy woman. It looked like something a teenage boy would imagine as the ultimate female figure. And yet, it had proven to be quite useful in this world of make believe.

  A virtual globe floated before her, showing the cities she could visit in the game. She reached out and touched one in Texas.

  Her field of vision dissolved into white. A moment later, colors coalesced and she found herself in a virtual representation of an airport. She suspected it was a realistic portrayal of the actual airport. She had travelled through it in real life, but that was years ago. The basic layout matched her memory, though.

  Before her a sign in the shape of an armadillo said, “Welcome to Texas!” in bold letters, with a list of local rules and regulations. She walked past the sign and made her way to the public transport area. The clock on the wall indicated the local time: 10:03 pm.

  Several minutes later her autocab landed in a seedier part of town, near 6th Street. Here the music flowed out from various clubs, along with a mix of partiers and thrill-seekers.

  Mentally, she brought up her wardrobe window and scrolled through pictures of several outfits by waving them to the side. She selected one appropriate for clubbing: a tight black miniskirt and an almost sheer halter-top exposing her belly and accentuating the ridiculously perfect breasts.

  She tapped on a pair of black high heels with maroon leather soles to complete the outfit, and headed for the nearest club. The bouncer smiled at her, a tall man with rippling biceps and sunglasses. He unhooked the velvet rope at the door and let her in, allowing her to cut in front of the line.

  Black lights dimly illuminated the club’s interior, bathing everything in a weird glow. A strobe light pulsed in time with the music, casting intermittent shafts of brighter illumination. Cages hung from the ceiling with scantily clad dancers wearing thigh-high boots. Throngs of male avatars stared up at them, waiting patiently for the strobe to light up again.

  Renard ignored the glances and suggestive comments she received from men as she walked by. A quick glance at their public stats was all she needed. They were relatively young in the online world. At least, their characters were young.

  A woman rarely had to buy a drink in a place like this, she reasoned to herself. With that in mind, she found an open spot at the bar and waited patiently.

  “A body like that costs a lot of money.”

  She turned and found a very handsome young man smiling at her. He stood tall, perhaps a head taller than most of the other men in the club, with perfectly coifed black hair and a sweet face. His muscles bulged ou
t of a tight polo, and he wore even tighter slacks.

  “I could say the same thing about yours.”

  She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes.

  He said, “Buy you a drink?”

  “Scotch. Neat.”

  He signaled the bartender and ordered two drinks, then turned back to her.

  “I’m Dirk.”

  “Tawny.”

  Ridiculous names to match ridiculous bodies, she thought.

  Dirk was probably some middle-aged accountant in New York or Los Angeles. Or maybe a kid in Ohio who figured out his father’s password. Who knew? Phoebe did not care. The only thing that mattered was the character was well-established. Whoever it was had spent a couple years building up “Dirk.”

  And, she thought, a lot of money. Creating attractive avatars takes big bucks.

  The drinks came, and they both tossed them back.

  Dirk said, “Wanna get out of here?”

  “I like having sex in public.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He said, “Here?”

  “No, not this public.” Her laughter tinkled out like ice cubes on crystal. That particular sound, seductive and alluring, had cost her a hundred credits.

  “But, you know. Public. Is there a back door to this place? An alley or something?”

  He grabbed her hand and led her outside, going through the front door. As soon as they left, the bouncer unhooked the rope and let two more people in the club.

  They walked hand in hand down the street, weaving in and out between other avatars who milled outside the clubs. Finally, they came to an alley between two buildings. Dirk led the way, leaving sounds from the street behind. Soon, they were alone.

  He pulled her in tight and kissed her hard on the lips. She put her hands on his chest and said, “Turn around, I’ll take this off.”

  Dutifully, he turned his back to her.

  She reached into her purse and pulled out a pistol with a suppressor attached.

  Thwick!

  His head exploded in blood, and he collapsed to the pavement.

  She put the gun back in her purse, bent down and pulled out his wallet. A floating screen appeared, showing the amount of credits it contained. Her eyebrows raised.