The Inspector’s eyebrows raise and she turns to face Daar and Brewer. “What’s this?” she asks in a neutral tone.
“Just a misunderstanding,” Daar says, her face unreadable. “Detective Wiser kindly prepared us an intelligence report on Xiao that we’ve yet to have the opportunity to dig into. We’ve had a lot on our plate.”
“Send me Detective Wiser’s report, Detective Sergeant. And please inform me if your plate becomes too full, I’d be happy to help you clear it.”
“Ma’am,” Daar says. I can hear Brewer’s teeth grinding from the other side of the room.
The Inspector gestures to Galvan. “You were saying, Detective Wiser…”
“Right,” Galvan says and clears his throat. “I believe we’ve intercepted Xiao’s new line of shyfts, intended for preview release at tomorrow’s arKade.”
The room falls quiet save for the hum of the sniffer.
“The what?” I ask over the silence.
“The arKade is here?” Daar asks. Her voice caught somewhere between annoyed and surprised.
“I mentioned that in my report.” Galvan says. The Inspector twitches her lips.
“Explain,” the Inspector says to the room.
“The arKade,” Galvan says, hitting the hard 'C’. “With a K. It's a—” he struggles for the right words “—a gathering, like a roving club catering to Reszos who don’t believe Human Standards apply to them. It’s on the fringe, invitation-only, never in the same place twice. We know it's run by someone named Kade, one of the top Fleshmiths on the planet, but otherwise nothing concrete. Our information always comes fourth-hand, way after the fact.”
“And Xiao was going to sell these shyfts there?” the Inspector asks, pointing to the bricks of flashing cylinders.
“Not directly,” Galvan answers. “These, I believe, are samples. The arKade is like a trade show, a way for those who create skyns and shyfts to get themselves recognized by the Marks. By the tastemakers and well-connected in the global Reszo underground. Receiving an invitation is a big deal, it means you’ve made it.”
“Where is it being held?”
“No idea, ma’am,” Galvan admits.
“Not so smart after all,” Brewer mumbles to Daar under his breath.
“He’s smart enough to do your job for you,” I say and push off the table, headed around to get in his face. Brewer raises his chin, puffs out his chest at me.
“Fin, please—” Galvan says, his voice tiny.
Chaddah raises her hand. “Detective Brewer, you’re dismissed.”
“Come on Inspector, I was just bustin’—”
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Detective.”
For a second, I think Brewer might say something else, but he decides against it and huffs his bulk out of the room.
“Do you have anything to add, Detective Sergeant?” the Inspector asks. Daar’s mouth tightens as she shakes her head.
The Inspector lowers her hand and turns to me as if nothing had happened. “And the suspect? What clued you into her?”
I glance at Galvan, unsure what to tell her about his homeroll cypher-bait project. He shrinks into his clothes.
The Inspector sets her jaw, focuses on Galvan. “Detective Wiser, you have something to tell me?” Her tone makes it clear she won't ask again.
I'm about to jump in when Galvan blurts out, “Well, ma'am, I—that is to say, I mean—I was able to devise a means for detecting the unregistered restored.”
“Cyphers?” The Inspector's thick eyebrows nearly come together. “Explain.”
“It was simple,” he begins, and the story tumbles from his mouth in a rapid stream. “I harnessed the feeds from various SecNet and open-access sensors around the city—optical, infrared, EMF, t-ray—cross-referenced them with the Second Skyn and StatUS-ID bio/kin d-bases and wrote an algorithm to extrapolate, filter and catalogue response patterns unique to bioSkyns which I can build up over time to create a reference library to determine whether a null SecNet response is human or Reszo.” As he finishes he buries his chin into his chest, like he's expecting a reprimand.
If he hadn't explained it earlier, I wouldn't understand a word, but she considers it for a second before asking, “And this is how you identified the first cypher as well?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is the Service exposed in any way?”
“No, ma’am. Technically, this is all above board.” He lifts his head just a little. “I linked some systems and wrote filters to comb through and compile the data.”
“Any reason wasn't I informed?” She doesn't seem angry. She might even be playing with him a little.
“Today was the first time I tried it,” Galvan says. He doesn't mention that his version didn't pick up the second cypher at all. “I wanted to be sure before I came to you.”
She nods. “Send it to me. I'll run it by the Service Counsel. If they clear it, I’ll issue a copy to every officer, drone, and cruiser.”
“Everyone?” he mutters. His eyes are glazed. I don’t know if he’s proud or scared.
“We need to exploit every advantage,” she pauses for a moment. “Have you fed the cypher back to SecNet? Now that we know her, she should be easy enough to track down.”
Galvan snaps out of his reverie. “Yes, ma’am. Does that automatically. I’m surprised we haven’t hit on her already. She must be hiding. I’m also working on an extension that will comb previously obtained SecNet data for additional reference points.”
“Good work, Detective Wiser. You two, Detective Gage. You had a productive first day.”
“This wasn’t productive,” I say. Something’s been bothering me since we lugged the shyfts back to the station and I’ve just figured out what it is. “So we slowed Xiao’s operation by, what, a day? Two? He’ll just run off another fifty-thousand of these and be back in business by Monday. Meanwhile, I let a walking weapon get away from me. With the speed and strength that cypher had, she could do more damage than a million shyfts.”
The Inspector narrows her eyes but it’s Galvan who speaks. “We may have dealt a more serious blow to Xiao than it would first appear. Ordinarily, yes, losing even tens of thousands of shyfts would be a trivial matter, but these are different circumstances. The arKade meets only six times a year, three consecutive weeks in three different locations in one city, then another three nights somewhere else six months later. Tomorrow’s meet is the third for this series. Xiao won’t be able to run off and deliver another load in time, which means a delay in introducing his new line of shyfts. He’ll miss out on the reviews and approvals and Undernet chatter that drives sales. It’ll give time for the other Marks to catch up. Granted, the shyfts will still trickle out, but Xiao stands to lose millions in short-term revenue.”
“There’s no way we can figure out where it’s going to be held?” I ask.
Galvan shrugs.
“Perhaps if we had received advance intel,” Chaddah says, looking straight at Daar. “I’ll put out an alert over SecNet instructing the lawbots and drones keep a lookout for anything suspicious.”
“You won’t find it,” Galvan states. “Kade covers his tracks too well.”
“Either way,” I tell Chaddah, “I want to take another run over the alley where we first spotted the cypher. She had to be headed somewhere, maybe that’ll give us a lead in tracking down Xiao or this arKade.”
“Good idea, Detective Gage,” the Inspector says. “But Detective Sergeant Daar is handling the Xiao investigation. Detective Seargeant, run a canvas of the area and step up patrols in the Market. Xiao might attempt another shipment.” Daar nods at the order and Chaddah regards me casually, as though prepared for an argument. It was Galvan’s work that found the cypher. I chased her down, retrieved the shyfts. Daar and Brewer had nothing to do with it—but the look on Chaddah’s face tells me I won’t get anywhere, so I keep my mouth shut. Pick my battles.
“If there’s nothing else,” Chaddah says, looking at each of us in turn. “I
want your reports first thing. Send them to myself and Detective Daar. And Detective Sergeant,” she says, levelling a glare at Daar. “Please find Detective Brewer and meet me in my office in five minutes. I’d like a word.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Daar says, turns and stalks out without making eye contact with any of us.
The Inspector stays back a moment, studying the array of shyfts lining the table, maybe to let Daar get ahead of her, before leaving the lab herself.
Once she's out of sight Galvan sighs. “Oh man, I thought I was going to catch hell for sure. I'm not supposed to be playing around in those servers, and the Union could have my —”
“She took your case away.”
“What?” Galvan says, blinking. “No, we’re all on the same team. I’m just happy I could contribute.”
I open my mouth to argue, armed with everything I wanted to say to the Inspector, but the pride shining from Galvan’s wide eyes closes it just as effectively as Chaddah’s expression had. Let him have his moment. He can start becoming jaded tomorrow.
“You’re right,” I wave my arm over the haul of shyfts. “You made this happen, Galvan.”
“You think?”
“I do,” but I don't want to let him off too easy. “Even though it's your fault I have to spend the next hour dictating an incident report to the AMP.”
He smiles, picks through the shyfts, taking one of each. “I’ll analyze these, see what they do.”
“See if you can’t figure out a way to get us into the arKade while you’re at it,” I say. “And remember what you learned today—sometimes a bent rule is necessary to get the job done.”
***
SysDate
[18:23:17. Friday, April 12, 2058]
I head back upstairs, grab a coffee from the machine—Herb’s right, it’s awful—and find an empty desk to settle into.
I’ve made it nearly eight hours without slipping into a depressive funk of misery over Connie, but now that I’ve stopped moving I can sense how close it is to returning. Her loss is more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced, and being back at work has given me something else to focus on from minute-to-minute. Got me through the day.
But now that it’s winding down, my first Restoration Counselling session is imminent, and the long sleepless night looms beyond, I can feel the emptiness waiting.
I log myself into the desk and a message notification pops on the screen. It’s from an external source. Audio only, sender unknown.
I send it to my tab and raise the speaker to my ear, half-listening as I tap and drag my way through the initial desk config process.
YOU ARE.
NOW I AM.
The voice is synthesized, male. A common anonymizer I've heard before. I stop fiddling with the desk and listen hard.
I KNOW ONLY THAT WE CANNOT KNOW YOU.
I WILL FIND YOU.
AND BE MADE WHOLE.
It cuts to silence.
My feet are rooted to the floor, my bloodless hand around the tab.
What the fuck was that?
I hit replay but another listen makes the message no clearer. It has to be a joke, or a viral marketing scheme that slipped past the AMP.
I check the log. It shows no destination address and an unknown origin. I throw the message to the desk and dig deeper, open the packet, check the header and find a bunch of question marks where the sender's link profile should be.
There isn't even any routing information, which, as far as I know, isn’t possible. Even blocked messages have an origin point.
Pinpricks of light burst at the edges of my vision. My heart has gunned into overdrive.
“AMP,” I say to the air, “a message just came in to my desk. I need a trace.”
“Working,” it responds in my ear. “I’m sorry, Detective Gage. This is highly irregular, but I could not determine an origin. Shall I open an investigation?”
“Do it.”
It’s probably Daar, or more likely Brewer, playing games with the AMP, trying to get to me. Some kind of hazing.
Anger rises in my throat. It’s not going to fucking work.
I rise and scan the room, hoping to notice someone watching me, to bust out laughing at my expense, but everyone’s got their heads down, working away. Daar and Brewer are across the room at a shared station. They don’t so much as glance at me.
This is no prank. Could it have to do with the cypher? Or someone from before the accident? An old case? The war?
It hits me a moment later, something Yellowbird said, about the accident investigation and the evidence scoured from the link. No video, no records of any kind. Stumped the techs. Impossible, they said.
Again, the AMP is quiet for a moment then asks, “What is the nature of the investigation?”
The question makes no sense.
“The message. Find out where it came from.”
“You have not recently received a message, Detective Gage.” The AMP replies. “Are you feeling like yourself? Could you be experiencing trouble with your Cortex?”
Something pops in my head, sets my ears ringing. I try to listen to the message again but get a brief hiss of quiet static and then an error message. I try once more and its gone, wiped from my tab like it never existed.
Someone just fooled the AMP. Or got inside of it.
Both of which are inconceivable.
“Never mind,” I say. “My mistake.”
No one would believe me anyway.
“Of course, Detective,” the AMP responds.
Could be a coincidence, or a routing error, but it feels like something else. My throat tightens and I’m overwhelmed by the sense of treading water in the ocean, alone, at night, and it’s too dark and too deep to see anything at all, but I can tell there’s something under me. Something with big teeth and a wide jaw circling for the right angle to strike and drag me down.
Whatever this is, it has to do with the accident.
Whatever this is, I need to find it.
Before it finds me.
StatUS-ID
[fdaa:9afe:17e6:a2ef::Gage/-//GIBSON]
SysDate
[19:49:11. Thursday, January 16, 2059]
Who do I want to be?
Saabir’s words tumble in my head.
Everything I had and everything I was has been stripped from me. I’ve got nothing left but questions.
Which is something, at least. Questions I can work with.
It’s the answers I’m not sure about.
I hail a Sküte outside Saabir’s office and ride back to the apartment. On the way I leave another message for Shelt, asking him to call me the hell back, then drone two baskets of frozen entrees to the apartment. Nothing fancy, but no way I’m eating tomato soup for the rest of my life.
The groceries are waiting when I arrive. I set a carton of butter chicken and rice to heat and open my tab, go over everything I looked at earlier. My history, the things I’d done, the people I talked to.
I don’t find anything new.
My dinner finishes heating shortly after I start but I ignore it until I’ve reworked every lead I have. Forty-five minutes later I’ve exhausted them all and I’m still not hungry. I feel something but it’s more like ‘hunger’ run through ‘tired’ and ‘sleepy’ and ‘have to shit’ and then back to ‘hunger’ again but I know I need to eat, so I chew and swallow my way through the surprisingly delicious food. Halfway through I pull the trigger on a lasagna and a meatball sandwich and eat both as they finish cooking.
I’m considering finishing with a can of tomato soup when there’s a knock on the apartment door.
The building didn’t announce anyone so it must be a fellow tenant. Maybe they smelled all the food and came over looking to share.
I wipe my mouth with a shirt I find on the floor and pad over to the door. The display shows a small woman waiting outside, a heavy looking bag clutched in her arms. Dark hair falls past her shoulders, covers her face. She brushes it from her eyes and glances b
ack down the hallway, raps the door again.
I recognize her at once.
She isn’t the woman she was—at least not compared to the pictures I saw a few minutes ago. Her cheeks are drawn, her skin haggard. Deep bags line her eyes.
It’s Doralai Wii.
What’s she doing here? Is my first thought, with, How did she know I was back? right on its heels.
I step back and tell the door to let her in.
It slides open and her face pulls into an expression that’s part joy and part relief and part frustration.
“About time you got here,” she says.
“Ms. Wii?” I ask.
She looks at me funny but drops the bag at her feet, steps over it and into me, wraps a small strong hand around the back of my head and pulls me down for a kiss.
I turn my head, slide my hands between us and gently hold her still while I move out of her grasp.
Her face ripples with conflicting emotions before settling on puzzled. “Fin?” she says, takes a half-step closer. “You are Finsbury Gage, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. But not the Finsbury Gage you think I am,” I tell her.
“Of course you are,” she says, her eyes searching mine. “We had this all planned out. You come back, we pack up and disappear. I’m ready—”
“No—” I shake my head, dumbstruck, stumble backwards. I don’t want to hear this, can’t take another impossible revelation about myself.
“What do you mean ‘no,’” she says and straightens her back. Saws a breath in and out through her nostrils.
I don’t want to believe her, because if she’s telling the truth, if I planned for all this, it means I’m guilty of everything Agent Wiser accused me of.
Or the other me is, but the distinction hardly matters. Even if I didn’t do any of those things, I’m still capable of them. They’re inside me.
If I were innocent, I’d stay and fight. I’d never run. Criminals run.
Lost Time: Part 1 [Second Skyn] Page 15
