“Hey don’t break it. We have to question it,” the female said to her partner.
“They may just junk it for all we know.”
It? His self-defense protocols hummed to full alert. If he inferred junk correctly, it meant discarded. He would not be discarded. Ionia needed him. He searched for her, and the Cortex gave her location. Just over five kilometers away. She said she would be safe, but her sense of reality was often obscured by her hormones and human filter that often blinded her to facts.
The female driver joined her partner. Together they hoisted Den to his feet and dragged him between them by his arms, his face tilted down, his toes scraping against the turf.
“Got a fleshie involved in an injury accident.” The annoying male said to someone out of Den’s eye line. Almost everything was out of his eye line, except for shoes, white closed-in shoes, Oxford, self-adjusting, water repellent, standard issue for law enforcement.
His other sensors reached out to find a building of composted materials and forged metal, reinforced walls and cages for lawbreakers.
Maybe one of the cages was meant for him.
“Take him into holding,” the authority figure said. He was male and, from Den’s sensor, a large officer standing two meters directly in front of him. His stance was wide as if prepared for something to attack.
“You should unhand him,” another voice said.
Den experienced feedback. The sound came from above and to the left, yet he hadn’t sensed another presence.
The individual must be shielded. Male from the timbre of his voice, but the rest was hard to gauge without a visual. His voice was hard to define, a mix of perfect and imperfect, of calm and chaos. Den tried moving again, but his body hung still unresponsive. He would have to wait to see the owner of the voice.
“Chirag. You don’t have any say.”
Den heard a whir of joints as if another droid was nearby. Was this new addition a droid?
A snort and a warm laugh made Den believe the owner of the voice was human, no electronic modulation, all flesh and vocal cord.
“My lawyer might think differently. Would you like me to contact him?” The wheeze of an older version metal chassis moved near his ear. Not so it would have been audible to any individual without enhanced senses.
“Why do you always have to get involved?” The female voice had dropped and contained some unspoken threat. “It’s not even human.” A deep breath, then she added, “Not like you.”
“Like me? Faheema, we are one. Sentient beings, regardless of origin, are the same. Do you think your innards make you different than him? Better? Because you came from a womb and not a factory?”
Den heard a disturbance in the air and could take a guess she gestured. “Enough. We have to question it. Even you know that,” Faheema said.
“Why doesn’t he deserve representation?” Chirag replied.
Faheema hissed low between her teeth. “We have twenty-four hours to question him in any manner we desire unless his owner intervenes.”
“And if he doesn't have one?” asked Chirag defending Den yet again with a parry and thrust of words.
Den wanted to interject and say that he didn’t have an owner, but the effects of the jolt still dulled his nervous system.
“Then—” She paused for a full thirty seconds longer than normal conversational limits dictated. “Then it’s none of your business.”
Den sensed her heart rate and blood pressure increase. The other law enforcement officers were not involved in the interchange, wisely removing themselves from the clash of personalities.
“I take issue with that,” Chirag said.
She snorted. “You take issue with everything to do with the droids. You’d think you were one of them. I don’t even know why you’re allowed to be here.”
“Lay back, Faheema,” the desk officer said. “He is still a constable, even with—” He took an abnormally long pause again. “Everything.”
“Less than fifty percent. I don’t know why the Captain allows him access,” the male officer still holding Den’s arm muttered so that none of the others could hear. A door opened, and another human entered.
The two officers holding Den dropped him fully onto the polyplastic flooring.
“Did someone invoke my name?” Another booming voice. Den estimated it came from a larger individual, and his sonar agreed. This male was a hulk of a man. The owner of the big voice chuckled and then sensed the unrest in the room. “Chirag. My friend. Good to see you here. Always welcome in my precinct. What do we have here? Faheema? Helios?”
“Fleshie, Captian,” Faheema said. “Came in on a flight, showing aggressive tendencies. It was involved in an altercation and injury accident.”
“Where is the responsible party?” the Captain asked.
“They gave us a hard time,” Faheema said. “And anyway, he says he’s a free droid. We were going to question him further.”
“If he is to be questioned, then I would like to take responsibility for him. Be his advocate,” Chirag said.
Faheema gasped in a small sip of air. This information must be shocking from her negative physical reaction. Den didn’t know who this unscannable man called Chirag was, but he appreciated the gesture. He needed to remove himself from the area and return to Ionia. He did not like leaving her alone for so long in a foreign environment. Even in a so-called civilized country, there were so many dangers.
Small impulses of sensation throbbed back into his extremities. Den moved his fingers and toes. He silently tested his back muscles so that none of his human observers could tell. He might have to use force to exit this location, and he didn’t want to give a hint at his intention.
Stay down, Yaar. Chirag sent Den a message via Cortex. To be able to perform access his internal code would have taken a high level of function for any droid and should have been impossible for a human without a powerful understanding of his cyber brain. It should have been impossible.
He reviewed his understanding of the Hindi language and looked up yaar. It meant a close companion, a friend, especially in war times. Den didn’t know what was at work. His logic circuits may not have been fully back online, but his emotional center told him to allow this man to be his counselor.
He sent a message back through the fragile connection: Understood. And he allowed his muscles to go slack. He did keep a small surge of power streaming to his legs in case he needed to act quickly.
“But why are you interfering in this? You don’t know this droid,” Faheema said.
“I may not know him, but someday I could be him. Release him from his restraints, and I will guarantee his compliance.”
“I have your word?” the captain asked.
“Yes,” Chirag’s tone was final and strong.
Den determined from his voice scan that it was 80 percent likely that he was telling the truth.
“But by law, we have the right to both interrogation and restraint. It’s your ass if anything goes wrong.”
Den’s savior paused at that. The heart rate of the captain increased, as did his blood pressure. At last, Chirag spoke again. “Fine. But I want full access to the questioning.”
“That is not required by law,” the Captain said.
“In most civilized territories it is. Your archaic rules don’t apply to the entire world.”
The Captain snorted harshly, his blood pressure still slightly elevated. He didn’t care for the conversation, and the level of testosterone in the station rose. Den’s emotional chip washed tension through his semi-numb sensors. Testosterone could indicate a physical altercation. He braced his hands against the floor and prepared to pop into a fighting stance.
The tension was broken by the captain’s deep laugh that emanated from his lower stomach. “Maybe you shouldn’t stop by so much if it bothers you, Chi. But I am always happy to see you. Truly.” He turned to the officer’s holding Den. “Release him.”
He felt the manacles release, and his hands we
re free. His access to the public Cortex thrummed back like a feedback bolt through his processor. Feeling returned, as did his long-range scanner.
Ionia was close and in distress. Her vitals were redlining.
Den could pretend to be immobile no more. He did not like his fate being bandied about by these strange humans. He had allowed them to take him because Ionia wished it. But now she needed his help.
He sprang to his feet. The entire station seemed to draw weapons at once.
“I need to return to my mistress, Ionia. I am a free droid and would like to be released.”
The constables exchanged glances. Den’s savior stood .75 meters to his left. The door that led outside was four meters from the counter.
The tension in the station grew. He estimated he could decommission five before they overwhelmed him.
His newfound ally sidled up to him with hands raised in surrender. “I will secure your extraction. No need for force.” He locked eyes with Den.
They appeared upgraded if Den’s visual estimate was correct. Den felt as sensory deficient as a human. The strange damper that surrounded the man made it impossible to sense a heartbeat or blood pressure. No indicators of lying were present, but none for honesty surfaced either.
He wasn’t blinking rapidly, nor speaking in terms that indicated a falsehood. Den lowered the gun, and the officer tried to grab it out of his hand. Den moved faster and pulled it away. He was willing to accept assistance but not to give up his only defense.
The outside door slid open, allowing a pocket of hot air to flow into the foyer. All the guns rose and redirected to the entry.
“Den!” Ionia’s familiar voice filled his auditory sensors and spread to his emotional center like oil coating an overused joint.
Ionia didn’t pause or ask what was happening. True to her spontaneous nature, she thrust herself forward and into Den’s arms. He held her. Her pulse raced, and stress hormone still swam in her system, but her tone and facial expression told him she was happy and relieved to find him.
He split his focus between his potential ally, the constables, and Ionia. Now that he had her back, his processor felt balanced and certain again. He faced the waiting officers. “This is my mistress, Ionia.” Even though he still considered Ionia his master, having to explain or prove his connection to her rankled. But now that she was here, he needed to diffuse the situation as soon as possible to avoid putting her in danger. “I will submit to your questioning.”
“You said you were free.” The female, Faheema, spoke up from the crowd, and her voice released the others. Two constables crowded in and pulled his arms behind his back. He could have disabled them. But Ionia was here and not in danger. And they had ascertained that he would be released post his questioning. He allowed them to him.
“We are charging you with resisting arrest and—”
“You may want to reconsider,” Chirag said. “The treatment of this sentient electronic being until this point has been deplorable. He surrendered immediately upon the arrival of his mistress. And they are not local from the look of them. Do we want to hash this out in an international trial?”
Grumbles emitted from the majority of the observers.
You should have stayed down, Yaar. I do not know how much I can help now. The Cortex message slid into his processor as if it had originated in his own head.
My mistress was in distress. I had to act. Den responded.
“You know,” Faheema crossed her arms under her breasts. “This is why this model is banned.”
Chirag sighed heavily. “He felt like his mistress was in danger. Let’s just finish the questioning and let them go on their way.”
“If it passes, then fine,” the officer said.
“Okay, friend. You should go with them,” Chirag said to Den.
Den took in the visual of his advocate. His torso looked human, but his limbs were synthetic replacements. Den still could not do a proper scan on him, but from external appearance, more of his body was also machine under his clothing. He was as tall the massive captain, but leaner.
All muscle and metal.
Yet not awkward and piecemeal as the strange being that they had met at the greenhouse back in Mac Town. This man was the perfect fusion of human and machine.
The female, Faheema, spoke up again. “Take him.”
Two officers hustled him away. What kinds of questions would these human have for him? He shouldn’t allow them to touch him. He could leave now faster than they could follow or attack them or protest about his potential incarceration. But Ionia was present, and that would put her in danger. And it wasn’t what she had requested. He shut down his potential-alternative function and followed them back into a small dark room.
Behind him, the door boomed shut, with a finality that sent a chill into his emotional chip.
Chapter Three
Ionia tried to take calm and even breaths. She left her mother and aunt to pay for the speedy transport and ran into the station. The station lobby was crowded, cold, and sterile. But even in the chill, perspiration sprang up on her forehead.
It had taken a millennium to get there. She had said five hundred prayers to every god she could remember. At last, they had pulled up in front of the short and stocky building.
They had arrived none too soon. It looked like Den was about to implode. Cat claws of worry ripped at her insides as they shoved Den behind the counter.
“What are they going to do to him?” Ionia asked.
“They will put him through a process that no sentient being with rights should have to endure. Again announcing to the world that any non-organic is different, separate, less.” The man’s voice was deep, authoritative, and strangely compelling, like a holy man or a politician.
He looked like a tall, square-jawed male in his early thirties. He wore a long, oversized coat, similar to hers, which hid most of his body. And she could tell by the way he stood, that he was a wall of strength and power. His whole demeanor unnerved her, but his voice was persuasive and not un-friendly.
“I’m sorry. Who are you?”
“Chirag Asan.”
“What exactly is going on? They made it sound like this was just routine questions, but they’re acting like—”
“Like he is a criminal.” The man inserted exactly what she was about to say. “I am here to ensure that my friend comes out of the situation unscathed. Are you also Den’s friend?”
“I’m Ionia Sonberg. I’m here for Den. He’s mine. I mean my friend. He’s my friend.” It was hard to define what Den was. Most didn’t understand that he was free. It was just easier to take responsibility for him. And that would probably prove to be the case here as well.
Aunt Sera and her mom erupted through the door in a wall of female energy. “Ionia.” Her aunt’s voice was high and strong and allowed for no interruption. The two constables that had seized Den sighed and dropped their shoulders.
“Not another crazy.” The female constable spoke under her breath, but Ionia could hear her.
Sera scanned the scene, and her eyes rested on the large man who claimed to be Den’s friend. “Mr. Asan. Nice to see you. You know what’s happening here?” She sounded both interested and suspicious.
“Dr. Hebbar. Yes. I was trying to assist a fellow non-organic life form. I just met—if I venture a guess—your niece or cousin perhaps? The resemblance is striking.”
“Yes. Niece.” Short, clipped answers. Her aunt knew this cyborg man but didn’t appear comfortable talking to him or making eye contact. The stance Aunt Sera took reminded Ionia of when her mom was talking to research funders, all fake nice and uptight.
Her mom sidled up and broke the stalemate. Aunt Sera took on her powerful stance again fists on hips. “Thank you for your assistance, but we have this under control.”
He nodded but didn’t move.
Ionia watched the cyborg eye her aunt slowly, then turn and step toward the doors. From what she could gather, he had been helpful to Den.
Ionia didn’t feel right with the way her aunt had just dismissed him. “Thank you for helping my friend.”
“No thanks needed. I didn’t do it for you. I did it for him.” Chirag’s answer was short, brisk, a blatant brush-off.
The small smile she’d forced onto her face dropped.
The officer behind the desk’s forehead looked lumpy, and a light sheen of sweat covered his skin. “Sera Hebbar. How can I help you?”
“How long exactly do we have to wait to collect the droid?”
“You’re here about that droid as well?” The desk officer looked sharply at the two who had taken Den, and the lines in his face etched deeper. “He has caused some issues, but after questioning, we can release him shortly. Have a seat.”
The officer must have been the top guy because the two officers he approached cringed. Ionia caught some snippets of reprimand and apology. First back at the airport, now the police station, everyone scattered at the sound of her name. Her family must have some kind of real connections in the territory.
She swiveled on her heel to find her mom and aunt while she waited for Den.
They were sitting on a bench under a 4-D screen that flashed faces of the territory’s most desired criminals. Many of them had mechanical enhancements that the screen pulled out and displayed as if they were directly on a table before Ionia. One had a rocket launcher in the place of his left arm and had killed twenty-five men. Another had retractable blades that ran up and down his spine, possibly to impale his opponent. His death count was in the hundreds. The last had both eyes replaced with lasers that burned a deep angry red when they ran the vidclip of him melting his victim into goo.
Gross. She looked away. Why would anyone do that to themselves—make their body into a weapon? She understood those who had lost limbs and couldn’t find a donor in time or grow one from stem cell gen, but these enhancements were not only unnecessary and cosmetic but deadly dangerous.
Vagabond Souls: The Ionia Chronicles: Book 2 Page 4
