The Unsung Frame: A Futuristic Crime Thriller
Author: Greg Dragon
Date: 2017-07-24 04:00:00+00:00
Description: A war between humans and synthetics... In a futuristic Tampa Bay, skiptracer Dhata Mays and his sidekick, Lur Diaz, are on a job investigating a cheating lowlife. But after a deadly explosion and the woman who hired them disappears, nobody is safe. Suddenly, everyone is under suspicion, and the police are no longer there "to serve and to protect." Now, it's up to Dhata to take matters into his own hands and uncover a deep-rooted plot to escalate the tension between the humans and synths. He must stop the battle before it's too late. But is the truth too big for a small-time skiptracer to handl

THE UNSUNG FRAME

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations,
places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2017

Thirsty Bird Productions

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in retrieval systems, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recorded or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

For more books by the author

GREGDRAGON.COM

‡Contents‡

Chapter 1 – Tracing Jordan

Chapter 2 – Sleepless in Synth City

Chapter 3 – The A is for Fantasy

Chapter 4 – Not Quite Agent Carter

Chapter 5 – Sub City Ramen

Chapter 6 – Grounding Drones

Chapter 7 – A Night in Tunisia

Chapter 8 – Sleuthing in The Swamp

Chapter 9 – Ghosts in The Alley

Chapter 10 – Coffee and Boredom

Chapter 11 – My Partner’s Ex-Lover

Chapter 12 – Running Marathons

Chapter 13 – Hottest of the Hot

Chapter 14 – Six-Figure Arms Dealer

Chapter 15 – Watered Down Whiskey

Chapter 16 – Wolf of Tarpon Springs

Chapter 17 – Toast to The Good Guys

Chapter 18 – A Kidnapping in Party City

Chapter 19 – Deus Ex Machina

Chapter 20 – The Maid in a Black Hat

Chapter 21 – Muddy Interrogation

Chapter 22 – Breaking and Entering

Chapter 23 – Who’s Watching Whom?

Chapter 24 – Have Gun, Will Travel

Chapter 25 – One Shot, One Kill

Chapter 26 – The Perfect Replacement

Epilogue

Glossary

‡Chapter 1‡

Tracing Jordan

Who could have imagined the amount of destruction that a loud minority could cause once empowered by their hate?

All throughout the United States there was terror, much of it caused by humans that no longer wanted to live amongst a race of sentient machines. These machines … these synths, did not allow themselves to fall victim to the mob. They fought back, mostly taking defensive measures, striking back at those who terrorized them.

The country looked to their leaders for a solution, but what they got was gasoline to douse the growing fire. At first, President Joseph Frank of the United States of America, did not address the violence. Then, in a series of messages to the press, he denounced the synths as criminals. In just a few words he managed to escalate the violence, and the country burned for it. 2132 was a terrible year for humanity, and a living hell for the synths.

In the corner of a bar in downtown Tampa, a large man sat staring into an empty glass as if the secret of life would appear within its recesses. Dhata Mays looked up and watched as a tall, muscular man grabbed his coat to leave. The man had been drinking for over an hour, and Dhata assumed that he was waiting for someone who hadn’t bothered to show up. Girlfriend, perhaps? He didn’t know, but he could sense the man’s frustration; it was right there in the way he grabbed his coat.

Dhata followed him out, got into his car, and then waited for him to drive off. He brought up a map on the Buick’s augmented dashboard, selected the man’s Ford and told CINI—the car’s computer—to follow it. Letting CINI handle the tail was far superior to doing it manually, since she would take alternate routes based on the estimated path.

In his time as a detective, he’d always let CINI handle the tails, and this was the main reason why he’d never been caught. He grabbed his pistol—an energy tube—then cocked it back and primed it for maximum electricity. He touched the area near his ear which would power on his internal computer, then blinked rapidly to move the interface to his Implanted Contact Lens (ICL).

The virtual desktop loaded and hovered in augmented reality. There was a message flashing and he saw that his partner, Lur Diaz, had sent him a message. It was an invitation for dinner to celebrate their one-year anniversary. He smiled. She’s so sentimental, he thought. We should make a day out of it; one dinner is nothing.

A beeping sound snapped him back into focus, and CINI announced, “Destination reached.” They pulled up to Tampa’s International shuttle port and parked near the entrance. Dhata groaned. Of all the places to go this time of night, he thought.

He would have to follow the man to wherever he was intending to go, and if it was overseas, then he would have to fly. A shuttle this late could mean that he would not be back in time to celebrate with Lur. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t understand, but he really wanted to be there.

He had been tracking the man for several days to see if he was cheating on his spouse. But he was elusive, and his wife was growing impatient, so he had to see it through. Dhata shook his head with annoyance, looked around, and then thrust his hands into the pockets of his duster.

He fell in with the crowd of shuttle port travelers as his ICL outlined the man in green so that Dhata could find him easily. He was moving fast, and Dhata wondered if he had been made; so fast, in fact, that he had to jog in order to keep up with him. He skillfully slid between people standing around, though he ran into a few who didn’t see him coming. As he ran near the landing zone, a loud rumbling occurred, and the glass windows shook as a shuttle flew in.

Dhata glanced up at a monitor to see the details of the flight, and saw that it was the personal shuttle of a Japanese Zaibatsu. The man he was chasing stopped in his tracks, forcing Dhata to do the same. When he turned to face him, he threw open his coat—a move so instantaneous that the ex-detective reacted on instinct. He pulled his pistol to beat him on the draw, but hesitated on pulling the trigger when he saw that the man was rigged with explosives.

An explosion occurred, lifting him off his feet, the force of the blast throwing him through the exterior glass wall. He cut open his arm and fell down a floor, where he found himself entwined with the brush. Dhata wondered how he’d lived, and counted his blessings, but then another blast shook the building and showered him with glass.

Was it the man he had tailed that set off the explosion, or was he simply in the wrong place at the wrong time? He didn’t know what to think in his confusion as he lay there with sore arms and distorted vision. For what seemed like an hour he struggled to move, but he was being held down by the bushes. He eventually gave up and closed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened before the explosion.

The man had run past the outgoing flight deck. That didn’t make sense if he intended to fly out. Then he remembered the incoming flight of that Japanese shuttle. Was it possible that he had stumbled upon a wicked plot of terrorism? The shuttle port at that time of night was always crowded … the perfect location for a devastating attack.

The bomb would have killed and injured many, including the incoming Japanese. If Japan took the explosion to be an American attack, the synth and human infighting would be the least of their problems. Article 9 of the Japanese constitution forbade them from going to war, but that would not stop their cyphers from tearing apart the American grid.

Suddenly, Dhata felt himself being lifted and he opened his eyes to see flashing lights everywhere. His ICLs were focused now, but his arms were strapped to his side. The medical staff was moving fast, and he was already bandaged by the time he was in the hover copter.

I need to call Lur, she’ll be worried, he thought, and then his ICLs failed him again. “Hello,” he said. “Hey, hey, I can’t see.” Then his consciousness too was gone.

When Dhata awoke, he was in his own bed with Lur seated next to him. Her hand was in his, with their fingers interlocked, and she was watching what appeared to be riots happening on television. He focused on this, and as his mind cleared, he saw that it was a news report showing scenes across the country.

“Hey!” Lur said, when she saw he was awake. “How are you feeling, baby?”

“Groggy, but, wait … how am I here?” Dhata said, noticing that his speech slurred when he spoke. “What about the explosion?”

“He was a suicide bomber. Jordan Crane. The guy that you were following … I think that we were set up.”

“Set up? No. That doesn’t make sense. If he wanted to get me, he could have blown up the bar. This seems bigger, wrong place, wrong time. I think he meant to blow up the shuttle port all along. That woman, Natalya, the so-called wife, I wonder if she has anything to say about this?”

“I wouldn’t know. Nobody would. Nobody’s seen her in over a week.”

“Over a week? Did they make an arrest? She’d be a prime suspect, since they’re married and all. No, you haven’t seen her because the feds picked her up. Guess we won’t be getting paid. What a goddamned waste of time.” He sighed. “You’re looking good, princesa,” he said with a smile.

“He’s already flirting. Sheesh, business as usual, eh, skiptracer?” Lur said, laughing.

“I have a beautiful woman holding my hand; what am I supposed to do?” he said. “A week though, baby? That’s a long time. You mean to tell me I was out for a week?”

Lur nodded, and Dhata scanned the room. He wondered how long they’d kept him in the hospital. “What day is it, today?” he said.

“It’s the 22nd, mi vida,” Lur said softly, as if her words would hurt him somehow.

“I’ve been out for eight days?” he said, then pulled himself up. When the sheets fell away, he saw the bandages wrapped around his chest.

Lur said, “You’ve been in and out, a lot, and then you don’t remember. I don’t even know if tomorrow you will remember any of this. The doctor said that you have to take it easy. Something about too many concussions in a short amount of time.”

“Take it easy? That’s funny,” Dhata said. “How do you take it easy when the world’s gone to hell? I do feel better, though the side of my face is twitchy. But there’s no pain, and I can finally think clearly.”

“Are you hungry?” she said, and he nodded slowly, but when she hopped off the bed, he quickly grabbed her hand.

“I missed our anniversary,” he said, reading her big brown eyes, but Lur merely smiled and touched him gently on his cheek.

“We spent it together. That is all that matters, even if you were asleep for most of it.” She winked. “Rest, Dhata, let me take care of you. The police are investigating the bombing, and the president called it an act of terrorism.”

Dhata scoffed. “The president? Frank? What a joke. He’s probably glad for this jacked-up distraction to take our minds off the civil war happening in these streets.”

“There’s something else,” she said, “I was waiting to tell you, but I know you, and now that you’re up, you will start working.”

“What is it, Lurita? You can tell me. Whatever it is,” he said.

“It’s the suicide bomber. Jordan Crane. They found out that he was a synth.”

Dhata closed his eyes to hide his disappointment, and sat in silence thinking about what this meant. “That’s it, Lurita, it’s a wrap. A synth murderer is one thing, but a synth mass-murderer … the government will have to step in. The FBI’s investigation won’t be about the shuttle port. What they will be doing is looking into the synth community.”

He stood up and his legs ached, and he almost collapsed. Lur rushed forward as if to catch him, but he held up a hand to stop her. When she complied, he took a step, then another, and another. Eventually he was next to her, and he placed a hand on the small of her back. She hugged him tight around his waist, and he wrapped his massive arms around her shoulders.

“It will be okay, Lurita,” he said, her curly hair tickling his nostrils. “I have to make sense of this, somehow. I have to find out if this is something major, or just a case of one synth with some sort of anti-human grudge. You say that Natalya hasn’t been seen?”

Lur nodded, and they started walking towards the kitchen area of the house. “They took her away, and she isn’t answering phone calls. I was hoping that when you were feeling better, you could call in a favor or something.”

“Every honest John I know is either dead or retired,” Dhata said. “The police department is not the same as it was when Jason was alive. Now they’re controlled by anyone with money, and if a crime boss was behind the shuttle port bombing, you better believe that she’s already dead.”

He sat at the small table inside of the kitchen, and Lur went inside the cupboard and grabbed a can of corned beef. He watched her cut up some onions and season the meat, then power on the heat beneath the skillet. It was in this moment that he realized that he loved her. It was instant, just like that: he went from admiring her to needing her.

It frightened him when he thought about the dangerous situations they had been in, and the numerous times in the past that he could have lost her. Lur Diaz, daughter of a Cuban crime boss, and now his partner in every way.

She placed a steaming bowl of corned beef and rice in front of him and another in the place that she set for herself. “Thank you,” he said, and she blew him a kiss. They ate in silence for the next ten minutes. Dhata didn’t know just how hungry he was until he had finished his third helping. “Is CINI still parked out there?” he said, but she merely looked up at him, as if she expected the question.

“They tried to tow her, but we weren’t having any of that,” she said. “Can you imagine my surprise when that stuck up bitch responded to my commands?”

Dhata smiled at the way she cursed; her accent took the edge off of it somehow. “About a month ago, I added you as her co-owner. It was back when you were having me drive you to West Tampa like every day. I thought that it would make more sense for you to drive yourself. Plus, you live here now, and you need to have a way to get around. How did she treat you?”

“I think she is jealous of me,” Lur said. “I can hear the bitterness in her voice.”

They looked at one another and began to laugh, and for those few moments, Dhata Mays was happy. It was a tiny island in his sea of hurt that had come from the suicide bombing. Tampa Bay was a warzone, and it would only get worse, but now, in this moment, he was happy.

‡Chapter 2‡

Sleepless in Synth City

At 2:15 a.m., a day after Dhata Mays regained consciousness, an explosion occurred on the tenth floor of the Akiyama Koch Robotics building in downtown Atlanta. The destruction was substantial, but only ten percent of the synths being developed were damaged in the blast. Media sources were quick to say that it was a chemical reaction gone wrong, but Dhata Mays knew better. The civil war was at a fever pitch.

He was parked outside of the police station wondering what he was going to say. Information on the explosion was police business, and though he felt in his heart that they needed his help, he knew that the feeling wasn’t mutual. So many questions, but who to ask? There weren’t many Johns who owed him a favor. It hurt to move, and for a few moments he wondered if he should have taken Lur’s advice and rested for a few more days.

“Screw it,” he grunted, and opened the door, biting down against the pain in his legs. He saw a number of police officers, but none he recognized, so he kept his head low and walked inside.

“Big man,” someone said off to his side and he turned to see Jackson Cole. He was a detective now, which took Dhata by surprise since he was one of the most corrupt officers that he’d known. Soliciting prostitutes, stealing money, Jackson had done it all.

“What’s up, Jackson?” he said. “Detective now? Congratulations on the bump.”

The tall, blonde, stim-junkie grinned through his neatly trimmed beard, though his eyes were blue pieces of sharpened ice. “It’s been a year, but thanks,” he said. “Who you here to see?”

“No one in particular, but maybe you can help me out,” Dhata said.

“Sure, what you need?” he said, walking up to Dhata. He was a foot taller than the skiptracer and liked to remind him whenever he could.

“Natalya Crane, the wife to the guy who blew up the shuttle port—”

“That synth-loving trap? She ain’t here, big man. What you want to talk to her for?”

Dhata thought about his answer. Should I lie? Is Jackson feeling me out for a reason? “She hired me to look into the guy before he blew the place up. I just want to know if she set me up, or if she’s really innocent,” he said.

“Oh,” Jackson said, seeming concerned. “I forgot that you was tracing for civs now. How’s that going?”

Jackass. “Cool, actually. It pays the bills. Well, it did, until I went into that shuttle port,” Dhata said.

Jackson chuckled. “I see you limping, but you came out of it alright though. I bet you miss working here after that went down. Look, just between me and you, all joking aside, I think that it was real shitty how they cancelled your license.”

“I appreciate you saying that,” Dhata said. He was already bored with talking to him. “So, is she here? Natalya, the wife.”

“No, the boys uptown have her in custody. They won’t even let me get a crack at her—know what I mean? So you can forget them talking to a private investigator.”

“Skiptracer,” Dhata said, annoyed with his games. Jackson knew what he was, yet chose to insult him.

“Skiptracer, my bad. Though I don’t see much difference now. Skips work for Johns, and you … you ain’t got no license, my friend. May as well forget her, plus, by the time they’re done, she’ll be on a one-way train to a maximum-security birdcage. You catch my drift?”

“Yeah, I got it. Looks like I wasted a trip. What can you give me on her, Jackson?”

Jackson hadn’t stopped smiling since he first saw Dhata, but it faded a bit as he looked around as if he was about to tell him a secret. “Do you want to know what she said? Get lost, that’s what she said. I don’t give out classified police information to private investigators.”

Dhata had to laugh. He was always a dick. “I’ll talk to you later,” Dhata said, and reached out to shake his hand. When their palms touched, he slipped the magnetic tracker up against the bottom of his watch. The tracker was discreet, and would go unnoticed. The perfect weapon for blackmailing dirty police officers. Cole was a jerk and he wasn’t a friend, so it would be good to know what he was doing to afford a watch that expensive.

He climbed back into the Buick and pulled up his CPU, triggering the tracker to see how well it worked. On the holographic map, he saw the police station, with a green triangular icon moving towards the back. Jackson Cole was his, though he didn’t know why. He just wanted deep down to hurt the guy. He typically used the sticky trackers for the people he was tracing, but a dirty detective was a million times better.

Dhata turned on some classical music, Faster by Janelle Monae, then grabbed his shades from the passenger seat and placed them on his face. Pain would not get in the way of some serious detective work, and he had to find out where this suicidal synth had come from.

He drove back to the bar from the night he followed Jordan, and walked inside, casing the place for any known hools or criminals. A few synths who ran with Peyton Ace—the synth boss of Ybor City—recognized him and quickly averted their gaze. He saw who they were, but they were too small time for diabolical plots. He thought about how none of the patrons spoke to Jordan the night he was there. He had been waiting on someone, but no one came, and that was when he left in a hurry.

He walked up to the bar and grabbed a stool, then threw back his duster and sat down. It was a synth bar, but they knew who he was, and most of them saw him as an ally.

“Crown, skip?” Alex Logan asked. She was an ex-soldier turned sarcastic bartender who had seen action in The War for Peace. Her crew-cut hairdo and prominent dog tags were overt reminders of her past. Alex’s bar, ‘Synth City’ had become his favorite drinking spot since the burning of Carmine’s.

Dhata found it odd that Jordan had chosen this bar out of the hundreds in Tampa to meet his supposed lover. He was annoyed that he’d missed this obvious clue, that Jordan was a synth who patronized synth bars. At the time he had assumed that his lover was a synth, and he didn’t mind meeting her here. Synth City was always jumping, it didn’t matter the time of day, and it was quite a popular spot for humans to hook up with synths.

“Yeah, why not,” Dhata said, and Alex shot him a curious look.

“Out with it, Dhata Mays, I know when I’m being worked,” she said, then slid a glass in front of him and crossed her arms expectantly.

Dhata looked around, and then beckoned her close. “There was a guy in here the other night—”

“The one you couldn’t take your eyes off of?” she said.

He laughed, embarrassed. “Nothing gets past you.”

“I’m trained to observe but I have to admit, it had me a little confused. At first I thought that you were interested in him, then I remembered what you were. You came here on business to follow that man. Why?”

“His wife thought that he was cheating. Did you see a woman come in?”

“It’s a bar, Dhata, of course I did,” Alex said.

“No, I mean after we left. Someone new. Not one of your regulars, just … I don’t know … someone odd?”

Alex held her forefinger up as if to say, ‘hold that thought,’ and she walked over to a group of men who approached the bar. She was in a fishnet shirt which would have exposed her breasts, if her vest wasn’t strategically set to keep her outfit modest. Tight black leather pants stopped just below her knees, and then more fishnet led down to a pair of old canvas shoes.

Strapped to her left leg was an illegal sawed off shotgun, which made Dhata smile when he saw it. The group of men were chatting her up, so he nursed his drink and looked around. “What am I doing?” he mumbled into his glass, then placed his finger on the payment panel and paid for the drink. He watched Alex set up a round of drinks for the men, and then she was in front of him again.

“They think we’re bumping uglies, can you believe that?” she said, smiling one of her rare smiles as she wiped off the counter.

“Why would they think that?” he said.

“You’re the only human in here. You come here often and what do you do? You chat the old girl up.”

“Hmm, makes sense. They can think whatever they want. As long as they stay out of my face,” Dhata said. “Now as for me and you, it would be a good round of sex, but I’m thinking that you’d probably hurt me.”

Alex laughed and grabbed his glass. She topped it off and looked at him. “Okay, Dhata, I have other patrons, though I do love breaking your balls,” she said.

“You coming on to me? First the bumping uglies, now you’re concerning yourself with my balls,” he said.

Alex made to say something but he fanned her off, knowing that she had already tired of his stalling. “Tick tick, Dhata,” she said. “What do you want?” He hated that she was so good at reading him.

“I need a favor, and I know that you don’t owe me anything, but I’m willing to pay for it, Alex,” he said.

“You still playing with me? This some sort of sex thing?” she said. “I heard about you freaks who like strong girls to wrestle with you.”

“Nice, but I’m not one of them, and that isn’t what I’m requesting. This is something to do with the man I was following. Can I see the feed that you recorded from that night? I just want to see who came in after us.”

“Five hundred UCCs, and you get an hour with the feed,” she said, and Dhata wasn’t surprised that she already had a price. Alex was all business, a synth with dreams, so everything that crossed her path was forced to leave a tip.

He paid her the money and she called one of her bargirls over, told her to take over for a while, and then led him to a door across the room. As they walked together he could feel eyes on him, probably assuming that they were retreating for a ‘romp.’

Inside the room was a giant screen, tilted against the back wall. In front of it was a stack of wine boxes with a silver rack resting on top. It was an old storage room that Alex used as her personal computer room. She unfolded a chair and placed it in front of the rack, then motioned him over to sit.

“I’m putting in my password. Don’t be a creep and look inside of my files. Get what you need to get, then lock the rack. I’m trusting you, Dhata. Do not fuck this up,” she said.

“Do you think that I would want to be on your bad side?” he said. “I’m doing this for everybody. I want to get us back to working together. Humans and synths.”

“A warrior poet. Corny yet beautiful. I believe you, skiptracer, but hurry it up. If any of them out there knew that you were watching a tape of their actions, they would rush in here and pull you apart. I’m going to sit by the door, rest my legs a bit, and you hurry up and find whatever you’re looking for.”

“Thank you,” Dhata said, impressed by her trust, and he placed his hands on the rack and connected to the grid. He was able to see the various feeds from the days that the bar was open, and he cycled through them till he found the night of the thirteenth.

It was an augmented feed and he blinked twice rapidly to sync his ICLs to it. Suddenly he was there, sliding through the patrons like an ethereal ghost. He saw Alex working, joking and making drinks, and he saw her varied clientele, sharing tables and getting drunk.

Nothing seemed out of place until Jordan Crane walked in. He went straight to the bar and got a glass of wine, then sat watching the door.

Dhata saw himself walk in afterwards, sit on the other side of the bar, and begin to joke with Alex. Jordan walked away and scoffed at Dhata, a gesture that he’d missed before. He stood by a table, looking even more impatient, and Dhata kept on playing the role.

What was that about? Dhata wondered. Did he know that I was there to follow him?

“Looks like your friend didn’t care for humans much,” Alex said from somewhere outside of his augmented reality. “That was some serious hate he threw you. Did you see the way he looked? By the way, you have about two minutes left. Hurry it up, or someone will get curious out there.”

A synth, married to a human, yet he hates humans? That paradox would explain him bombing a crowded shuttle port. There has to be a bigger motive than just basic prejudice, he thought, and then the feed moved on to him following Jordan out the door. Dhata sped up the feed to thirty minutes later, and that was when Natalya Crane walked in.

“That woman there,” he said out loud. “Do you recognize her, Alex?”

“Never seen her before,” Alex said, “but she was quite the curiosity, I remember that.”

“How come?” he said.

“Well, it was quite obvious that she was not like the rest of us,” Alex said.

“Say what?” Dhata said. He started blinking rapidly to come out of the augment and bring his vision back to the present. “Natalya is a synth? I don’t normally get that wrong.”

“That’s because she’s a synth wearing your skin, skiptracer. An elaborate cyborg, trying to blend in. A wannabe, a rich faker. Do you get the gist?”

They walked out of the backroom and Dhata was in a daze. Not since the evil cypher, Gemini, had he seen a cyborg this convincing. He wondered how many of them were out in the world, and whether or not all of them were as psychotic as Gemini.

Alex went behind the bar and dismissed the girl, then placed a glass in front of him and poured in some brown liquor.

“So what did that woman do, after she came into the bar?” he asked.

“Nothing. She looked around, and then turned around and left,” Alex said.

‡Chapter 3‡

The A is for Fantasy

After seeing the news about the explosion at Akiyama Koch Robotics (AKR), Lur took it upon herself to visit the plant to see if there was a connection to Jordan Crane. She booked a transport to take her to the train station, then two hours later she was in Atlanta. She marveled at how different it was from Tampa Bay, where there were still asphalt roads. Atlanta was a metropolis, with hovering vehicles that didn’t need roads to drive. When she exited the station, she looked over her head and saw automated hover cars zipping along.

When Dhata visited Tokyo, he told her what he saw, how the place looked alien in every way. What she was seeing in Atlanta wasn’t much different from what she imagined, and it made her realize how little she knew of the country.

Lur logged into the global network and summoned another transport, this one to take her to the AKR building. The vehicle arrived in less than five minutes, and when the doors slid open she saw that it was empty. Smiling and clapping her hands, she stepped onto the carpet, then plopped down on the plush cushions as if she owned it all.

The vehicle lifted with a jolt, and she saw the buildings drop. They were rising so rapidly that she gripped the cushions for dear life. It was the most frightening experience that she’d had in a while, and she fumbled for a seatbelt and strapped herself in. When the transported had floated up through four of the five floating highways, the magnetic energy took hold of the car, and they were on their way to Akiyama Koch Robotics.

Something about the excitement of it all got the better of Lur. Suddenly she needed to tell Dhata, and she couldn’t hold it in. Flying in a shuttle from Cuba to Tampa was the only time she’d experienced flight, but now she was cruising in a flying car—there was no way that she could get used to this.

She closed her eyes and touched her ear node to sync her ICLs to her CPU. She located the phone icon with trained eye muscles, then touched it to bring up a virtual rolodex. Dhata’s name was the first to appear, and she triggered the contact quickly and activated the enhanced view.

The ICL phone interface was extremely sophisticated, allowing users to project their faces to the person they were calling. Enhanced view allowed you to see the person’s surroundings by utilizing the synced racks installed around the city. It was a dangerous feature, considering a cypher could hack into it, but Dhata allowed it when he spoke to Lur. Little else was more comforting than seeing her smiling face.

“I was just about to call you,” Dhata said when he answered, and behind him she could see the Buick’s interior. “Where are you heading? Is that a transport?”

“Going to Akiyama Koch. I’m in Atlanta. I am going to see if I can get some information about the explosion,” Lur said, and there was a pause on the other end as she anticipated Dhata’s righteous scolding.

The expression on his face didn’t seem to change, though she knew him well enough to know that he was struggling inside. “You’re getting good at this, Lurita. This skiptracer thing, you did good. We need to see if that explosion is connected. I don’t have to tell you to stay safe, right? Speaking of which, are you traveling heavy?”

“I am, don’t worry. I brought my guardian angel with me,” Lur said.

“That was a bad idea; you keep forgetting that your guardian angel is illegal. If a John was to stop you and find it in your possession, you’re looking at jail time, or deportation,” he said.

“I know the risks, Dhata, they won’t find it on me. Plus I hate those stun tubes; they’re so big and ugly, and you were the one who warned me that they don’t always work. If my life is in danger I want to stop the hool, not stun him.”

“Fair enough, killer, but you’re in Atlanta. I have no connections in that place. Just keep your wits about you, and play it smart.”

“Ayayay mi vida, I got this,” she said.

It was odd seeing Dhata so calm about her venturing out, and Lur began to wonder if he was joking. He seemed preoccupied, and he was driving manually, so she reasoned that he had gotten some information that he was actively pursuing. As if he read her mind, he explained what happened with Alex at the bar. “I’m going to look into this Natalya woman,” he was saying. “She set us up and I want to know why.”

“She wouldn’t have paid us if she wanted us dead, Dhata. I think that she was up to something but didn’t know about the bomb. Her coming to the bar to meet him, maybe it was to talk him out of it? I am just guessing, but keep me updated on whatever it is you find out.”

“Lurita, be careful when you go to the plant. They won’t like you poking about. You may have to play a role, a synth enthusiast or something. Whatever you do, don’t let them know that you’re a skiptracer.”

“I got it, Dhata, but this isn’t why I called you. Can you guess where I am right now?” she said, giggling.

“In a transport in Atlanta? You told me already. Crazy girl.”

“Yes, but it is a ‘flying’ transport.” She squealed with excitement. “I’ve never been inside one before!”

A smile crossed his face, and he seemed amused. “I forget that you come from a flat, tropical island,” he said. “There’s a few of those floating roads here in Tampa, y’know? We just haven’t been out to any of those areas. Sometimes I forget that you haven’t gotten a tour. I’ll take you around when you get back, baby … blow your sexy mind.”

“I’d like that,” Lur said. “I’m going to hold you to it.”

“I was actually hoping that you’d do that,” he said. “Plus I owe you, for our anniversary.”

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

Natalya Crane lived on the water in Tampa, in a very modern 22nd century flat. It took crossing a bridge to get to her neighborhood, and Dhata realized that she was wealthy. His average vehicle stuck out like a violation to the sleek toys he saw in everyone’s driveway. People stared, but he paid them no mind as he pulled up inside her parking lot.

He walked up to the front door and rang the buzzer, looking around for cameras. An attractive android came to the door, and he could see that she was an older model. Unlike synths, androids were autonomous manmade machines that lacked whatever it was that gave synths life. It was odd that Natalya and Jordan would have an android maid, but here she was in front of him.

“Hello, may I help you?” the android said.

“Yes, I am a friend of Natalya’s. Do you mind if I come in?”

“I’m sorry, but my mistress wasn’t expecting any visitors. Could you wait while I ask her permission?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Dhata said, “but your mistress is in danger. I’m here to collect something that could save her life.”

The woman stood frozen, trying to calculate an answer, and Dhata watched her, patiently waiting. “I am calling my mistress,” she said. “Do you want to come in? You can sit in the waiting area while I await her answer.”

Dhata stepped through the doorway and it slid shut behind him. As soon as the slender android turned, he caught her by the throat. Holding her still, he examined her neck, then pushed his thumb into the base of her throat. The android powered down and he sat her on the floor, propping her up against the wall. Though she was little more than a robot that had no feelings, he still felt bad for manhandling her the way he did.

The waiting area was a circular room with a low-hanging chandelier. There was a small table with a tray resting on it, and a single arched door leading into the house. He touched the door panel, and it slid open readily, revealing the living area. It was quite cozy, with couches and a bar, plus tall glass windows looking out on the bay.

He crossed over to one of the windows and stared at the blue expanse of water. He thought about how Lur would appreciate living here, and wondered if one day they’d be able to afford it. He looked over to his side and saw a moving photograph. It was of Natalya and Jordan, together on a yacht. They lived in a prominent area where synths aren’t supposed to be, he thought, yet there they were, living it up, without these privileged jackasses being wise to it.

Dhata thought that Jordan looked very much like a synth as he stared at his eyes in the picture. Natalya on the other hand was the perfect mimic, and he would never have guessed that she wasn’t human.

He stepped away from the window to look at more photos, most affirming that the couple were happily in love. He went to the kitchen and grabbed an apple from their fridge, then found an office next to the bedroom and began to look through their physical files.

He went to the desk and pulled out the drawers, but nothing jumped out as particularly useful. He looked around until his eyes found a rack, a sleek, black unit sitting in the corner of the room.

Dhata powered it on but it was secured, with a complex identification protocol meant for synths. He lifted the rack and took it outside, placing it on the front seat of his car. He went back inside, this time to their bedroom, carefully searching for clues. He began to notice a theme with everything he found: the Cranes had a thing for the US Military.

Jordan was a mysterious man with very little belongings, and outside of the photos that had them together, there wasn’t much evidence of him. Dhata went out into the garage and tore it apart. There he found a small room that looked to belong to Jordan. It had a collection of things that he must have been into. There were a number of pistols, modified to be legal, and a series of knives that were all sharpened and polished.

Ammunition, a few board games, and an old knapsack with a camouflage design. Dhata knelt down and pulled out a chest, but found that the lid was padlocked shut.

Two swift swings of a hammer got the old lock open, and inside he found an American flag, folded neatly in the corner. Across from it were a set of fatigues, all lying on a well-pressed navy blue suit. There were more bullets, and a number of dog tags, mundane items that must have been sentimental to him. But the grandest discovery was when Dhata found a photo of Jordan with his comrades.

“A patriotic soldier, who fought for us and lived to make it back home,” Dhata said. He picked up an augmented picture frame that showed Jordan’s troop in Nigeria. “He seems different in this picture, smaller, and with a beard. Definitely synth, and so are his buddies. I wonder, what would drive a war hero to want to suicide bomb civilians?”

He lifted up the flag and a photo fell out. It was Natalya, half-naked, and posing provocatively. There were words scrolling across her legs, digitally signed at the time of its creation. “Come home soon, Marine,” it read in san-serif font with little hearts popping out from the text.

“So, Jordan, you were a synth marine, with a hot synth wife with enough money to pass for human. You fought for us, then came back home, saw the state of the world, then snapped? Your wife saw you leaving in the evenings and staying out late and you didn’t have an excuse worth believing. What were you doing, Jordan, huh? Securing that illegal payload? Wife thinks you’re messing with another beauty, hires me and Lur to figure it out?”

He had made up that story but it seemed too real, so he found himself believing that was what really happened. He now had a history on Jordan, and knew that he was military. Now he had to figure out what had made him go insane.

Dhata closed the chest and pushed it back below the shelves, then stood up straight and cracked his back. “A military synth that blew up civilians,” he mumbled. “No wonder everything is covered up and secret. The government is probably all over this thing, and they will do anything to keep us out.”

‡Chapter 4‡

Not Quite Agent Carter

Growing up as the wealthy daughter of a Cuban mob boss had taught Lur a lot of things. She learned how to shoot, how to tell when someone was following her, and how to spot a potential threat. But there was another set of ‘skills’ that she developed from being her father’s daughter. These skills dealt with power and confidence, and though they were not formally taught, being in close proximity to her father had made it very easy to mimic.

These skills were what made her act believable as she stood in front of the receptionist at Akiyama Koch Robotics, explaining why she didn’t have an appointment. She told the synth woman that she was a French investor by the name of Sophie Beauchamp and when she heard about the explosion, she was quite disturbed.

Since she was in the country for another commitment, she decided to visit Atlanta in order to see for herself just how well they were coming along with the repairs.

“I cannot be the only investor to inquire on the state of the company,” she said to the tall, dark-haired receptionist.

“Oh no, ma’am,” the woman replied, “but you are our first visitor since the incident. If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I can get one of our staff members to give you a tour and show you about the facilities. We value your patronage and want to assure you that the explosion did not affect business, or our manufacturing of model synth citizens.”

“Good,” Lur said. “I have a little time,” and she waited for the woman to give her a bow before turning to find an empty seat to sit in. The Akiyama Koch Robotics building was impressive in every way, and it was obvious that they took great pride in their work. Even the lobby in which she sat waiting was a modern marvel of ingenuity. There were augmented statues in every corner, some spinning, others twisting, but all seemed to be suspended in air without any sort of support.

The walls were glass and gave the illusion that the building had no metallic support to hold it together. The floor was polished to perfection, and the lobby itself was a wide open space. On the glass walls, suspended by nothing, were framed concept art of androids from the past. Besides the concepts were some real photographs of military personnel in the field. Synthetic young men and women, who were not only fighting, but leading troops and setting up strategy.

Akiyama Koch Robotics was responsible for the US branch of the synth military, and from what she was seeing, they had been extremely successful at it.

“Miss Beauchamp?” said a nasally male voice, and Lur looked up to see a pencil-thin man in a navy blue suit walking over with his hand outstretched. She rose to shake it and assumed that he was human. “I’m Chad Savage, assistant to the CTO here at AKR,” he said. “It truly is a pleasure to meet you. I cannot recall the last time one of our investors visited us.”

“Thank you, Mr. Savage,” Lur said with a very convincing French accent.

“Please, call me Chad; we don’t do formalities here at AKR. We find that it makes for a friendlier work environment that fuels innovation. Now, Margie didn’t tell me which company or firm you’re with, so please forgive me if this is a redundant question.”

“Private investor actually, Chad. My partner and I aren’t on your radar, but we have enough invested to care what happens to this company. We invested our life’s savings, which is a significant number … to us.”

“Oh,” Chad said, looking physically pained. “I do understand, and that is no problem. Trust me, I understand your concerns, and that is why my goal for today is to make sure that you leave with your trust in us renewed. Please follow me this way as I show you around the facilities.”

“Will it be possible for me to see the area that got damaged as well?” Lur said.

“Of course, Miss Beauchamp—”

“Sophie,” Lur said quickly.

“Of course, Sophie, I will gladly show you the lab where the chemicals went off,” he said.

Lur smiled at Chad when he said this, and his eyes revealed that he was skeptical of her. Something told her that there had been no chemical explosion, and this Chad wasn’t who he said he was. But it was too late now. She couldn’t just leave, and when would she get another chance to tour a synth manufacturing plant? Probably never, so she’d stay alert and play the game as long as she needed.

Chad took her out to the actual plant, where the material for the synthetic parts were being constructed. It wasn’t very interesting, just a large warehouse of unopened crates and a bunch of synths that weren’t very friendly going about their day. She noted that the crates had been imported from Japan and that there were quite a few Japanese employees.

As they walked around, Chad seemed to relax, and he seemed more than eager to explain their process. At one point he said, “Sophie, look at this!” and he took over the mixing of fluids from a synth. “This is the foundation that makes up their skin. Isn’t it amazing how real it looks?”

The tour was educational but slow and lengthy, and Lur wondered if they’d ever make it to site of the explosion. They finally got there a few hours later, after she’d learned everything she needed to know about a synth’s anatomy. They went through the software center, where she saw numerous racks, and a large sketch of the Arch Brain – based on an artist’s interpretation.

When they walked into the lab where the explosion occurred, Lur was quite convinced that it was from a weapon, not chemicals. There was evidence of the explosion everywhere, and though several synths were trying to clean up, the damage was quite extensive.

“Synths aren’t stored here?” she asked Chad as he started to show her around.

“No, we store the unanimated in the floor above us, though I’m afraid that area is restricted. Being that we build synths in a competitive market, we cannot trust ICLs to view our pre-launch models.”

“I understand, especially with soldiers,” Lur said. “You want to keep an edge on the enemy, so that we keep on winning.”

“Exactly, Ms. Beauchamp. Do you have any more questions for me?”

“Yes. What happens to the synth soldiers once they’ve finished their military duty?”

“Why, they get their chips reconfigured and live out normal civilian lives,” he said, but Lur noticed that there was an air of sarcasm in his voice.

“Seems like it would be hard, especially for a synth. To leave a life of instruction and order where everything makes sense, to enter the randomness of our world. At least with humans, we have life before we enlist, so going back to civilian life can be a return to normalcy. Your synths, they are Spartans, born and bred for the battlefield. I understand that they can adapt to new motivations and desires, but a part of them will always want to return to the war.”

“That’s very deep, Sophie, and something that I haven’t considered. Though, we have had an outstanding track record of synths that have assimilated into society. Some do get to use some of their old training, however. There’s never a shortage of people needing bodyguards and security.”

“Have you had any episodes of violence with them? Where a former synth soldier experiences PTSD? They’re just like us, as you know, except their memories are much better. A synth made to see and do things that a soldier does; I have to imagine that they have it hard.”

“We have no record of soldiers acting out because of PTSD, Sophie, nor do we have any veterans being violent towards civilians. Our team of researchers are paid to stay in front of that, so that our coders can build restraints into our soldier’s minds. Our synths are built to perform their duties until the time we tell them not to. And when it comes to individual thought, the two worlds will not overlap.”

“Well, that’s good to hear; I’ve always wondered. Sorry to dump my foolish theories on you, Chad.”

“Oh, its fine, no problem. Happy to help. Though I must say that I find it odd that someone with these doubts would invest in us, Sophie,” he said.

“I have an interest in synths that has nothing to do with investing,” Lur countered. “I’m merely asking you what many humans worry about when it comes to these machines.”

Chad gave a forced smile that was so tight it seemed painful. “Not to worry, your money’s in good hands,” he said, “and our synths are built to only harm humans on the battlefield.”

“This is why we chose to invest with Akiyama Koch Robotics,” Lur said. “You stay ahead of the game, and you care so much about the synths. Look at how many you have working here when so many companies won’t hire them. Plus, what you just said about life after war. That gives us so much hope. Part of me thought that you were disabling them, melting them down for parts.”

“If only that were possible, Sophie. It would be quite profitable, but we treat our soldiers like living people. We care about them, just like you.”

He led her out and back to the lobby, where she noticed that the receptionist was missing. “So, are there any mergers or major changes I should be aware of?” she said with a devilish grin.

“Come on now, Sophie, do I look that easy? If we had those plans, you know I couldn’t tell,” he said.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said while shaking his hand. “Oh, and one more question before I leave, if you don’t mind. Approximately how many soldiers does AKR develop within a year?”

“We develop hundreds, but it’s all public record. Do you want to take one of our info chips home?”

“Yes, that would be a great help. My partner is more of the numbers type. If I don’t have data to back up this wonderful tour, he’s going to want to come here and see for himself.” She leaned into him playfully, and whispered in his ear, “You don’t want him here, Chad. Trust me. He’s very into American robotics, and will question you to death.”

Chad nodded in agreement, then went behind one of the desks and came back with a stack of cards. He handed one to Lur, then they exchanged goodbyes and he was gone back upstairs.

Lur was excited that she’d learned so much in the short time that she was there – particularly the lab where the explosion occurred, since she’d filmed the entire thing through her ICLs.

She stepped outside and the sun was high, which surprised her since it felt late. There was a line of soldiers jogging around the perimeter of the building, physical specimens the lot of them. A few men in suits regarded her with bows as they walked past her to enter the building.

As she descended the stairs to get to the street, a car pulled up and two men in black stepped out. They both wore shades, with jet black hair, twins in every way but height. Lur was instantly wary of them. They were dressed like the other employees, but something about them was too wrong for her not to take notice.

“Excuse me, can you come with me?” one said, and she looked around frantically to see if they were really talking to her.

“Why?” she said, her hand sliding to her right leg where the Beretta was strapped.

“We just have a few questions for you since you’ve toured our facility under false pretenses,” the shorter one said, and they stopped in front of her, motioning for her to turn around. Lur felt herself shaking. It was so unexpected, and everything was moving too fast. She had to think of a way out of this, but for now she decided to comply.

The men marched her back to the lobby, where the receptionist was back speaking to a group of men, and they took her to a concealed door which was a small office for security. She was seated on a bench, next to the bigger of the twins, while the smaller one glared at her from across the room.

“Who are you with?” he said. “Why did you lie to our receptionist?”

“I’m a private investigator sent to find out about the explosion,” she said.

The two men exchanged worried glances. “Who sent you?” the small one asked, and Lur’s hand slid down to the outline of the Beretta.

“Okay, tough guy, I’m bored of this,” she said. “Either you let me go, or you’ll be committing a crime. Do you think you’re scaring me? Well, you’re not, and you don’t want to see me angry.”

“What crime?” the big one asked, looking at the other, confused.

“Let’s start with kidnapping and holding a law enforcer against her will. Either you let me go, or I will call for backup, and then in court you will be forced to divulge the truth about what really went on with that explosion. You have ten seconds,” she said. “Starting now. Ten, nine, eight.”

“Let her go,” said a deep voice on an intercom, and just like that she was free.

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

By the time Lur booked into a hotel, it was 2:00 p.m. She was still reeling from the events of the morning, especially since her cover had been blown. She wondered what it was that she could have done differently, but the detainment and scare tactics were what upset her the most. She didn’t like that they had tried to intimidate her, especially amateurs who hadn’t bothered to check her for weapons.

They didn’t really know what they were doing, which meant that this was their first time. Who was the voice on the intercom? Was that the CIO? Did he tell those security guards to play at professionals and scare the investigator into revealing her plot? It was so embarrassing that she decided that she wouldn’t tell Dhata. She just wanted a bath, and a shot of something to make her forget the day.

She crossed the hotel lobby with long, sure steps, and then spun gracefully to glance behind her. There were people all around enjoying the hotel’s amenities, but directly behind her was a familiar man. He was trying his best to blend in with the crowd, but he was out of place and following her. Lur picked up on this when she got to the desk, and turned so that she could see him in her peripheral vision. What does he want? Is he about to ask me out, she wondered, or maybe he’s just … weird?

She got her retina scanned and synced with her room, then made her way to one of the elevators. The man stood where he was and averted his gaze whenever Lur would look at him. There was something familiar about him that she just couldn’t grasp; it was in the way he looked, and the way he moved. He reminded her of someone. Dhata, perhaps? But she couldn’t seem to put her finger on it.

When she got inside her room, she peeled off her clothes, then fixed herself a hot bath and submerged herself from head to toe. The adventure at AKR had left her feeling stupid, so she slipped further down into the water, hoping to drown away her self-pity.

A buzz inside of her head brought her back to life, and she resurfaced from the bubbly depths. It was Dhata, calling, so she quickly answered and approved the augment so that she could see him. “Mi vida,” she said, batting her eyes, and his face took on a look of discomfort that brought a smile to her face. He would only make that face when she was being overly affectionate, as if anything romantic did damage to him.

“Winding down?” he asked, sipping from a glass.

“Yes, and I can see that you are doing the same,” she said.

“Long morning, baby, very nerve-wracking, but I managed to get into our synth-lover’s house,” he said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I found out a number of things, especially about our man, Jordan. He’s a war hero, you know that? Fought in the War for Peace, and a number of smaller skirmishes after that. Found his chest with his uniform and guns. I think I got lucky tailing that dude. He was some sort of badass, got all sorts of medals for bravery. Had we come to guns … I wouldn’t be talking to you.”

“A soldier, you say? Do you know where he was built?”

“I dunno, Lurita, how would I know? Not like I can go check his tag.” He began to laugh as if it was the funniest thing ever, which annoyed her to the brink of disconnecting the call. “I’m sorry, sexy, I can see that you’re not laughing. Let me do some looking around, okay? Maybe there’s something in his rack to tell me—”

“You have his rack?” she said.

“Yep, got it, but using it is another thing altogether. I will need our old friend to crack it.”

“Hiro!” she said, happy at the thought of working with the cypher again. “Speaking of soldiers, Dhata, did you know that most synth soldiers are built here, at AKR?”

“What’s AKR?”

“Akiyama Koch. It’s what they call themselves,” she said.

“Interesting. So more than likely the explosion was either from a protestor or from one of their enemies. If it’s a national thing, I don’t want you anywhere near there, Lur. The government will be recording anything that happens, and you will get implicated just for being on site.”

Lur got up out of the bath, grabbed a towel, and strolled out of the bathroom towards the window. She shut off the augment to make their call strictly audio and ignored his objections after he’d seen her in the nude. “I messed up, Dhata. They knew that I was false. Right now all I want to do is get away from here. It was a scary place. Like something you see in a movie, and the security guards there tried to question me to see who I really was.”

She was about to say more when something made her pause. It was the soldier from the lobby sitting on a bench outside. There was something about the way he moved that reminded her of a synth, but the frightening part was that he was looking directly up at her room.

Dhata was saying something to reassure her, but she was too preoccupied to hear. “Dhata,” she said, “I am going to send you the view from my ICL. Could you tell me what you think this man outside is doing?”

She reached up and touched the node next to her ear, and closed her eyes to quickly launch her internal CPU. She selected the video sync and shared her view. When she opened her eyes to share her sight, the man was no longer seated. He was still looking up, but with his hand near his ear, and he too seemed to be doing something with his ICL.

“Get out of there, fast,” Dhata said. “Those shades, he’s using them to track you and he’s being ordered to do something. Go, baby, go, he could be listening to our call.”

Dhata hung up, and Lur pulled on her clothes, and was out the door as fast as she could move. Why did I come out here alone like an idiot? she wondered. Now instead, I am running for my life, after a long day of walking around a giant building. She promised herself that she would think things through from now on, since she never wanted to feel as stupid as she felt now.

Since the man would be coming up from the bottom floor, she needed not go down there. She found the stairs and began climbing them as fast as she could. Where was she going? She had no clue, but she trusted her instincts and kept on climbing.

When she gained the rooftop, she was exhausted, but she limped towards the edge to see if there were any lines left hanging. After the war, some buildings had leftover power lines that stretched out to poles that at one time linked the city’s grid. They were no longer active, since the synths—who rebuilt the country—connected everything wirelessly.

Lur thought that if there was a line, she could use it to descend the building and make her escape. The sun was going down, and she felt like a superhero with her trench flapping aggressively in the wind. There were three lines that stretched off towards an electronic monolith, but what she couldn’t see was how to get down once she climbed across the line.

They were eleven floors up, and below was all concrete, so she accepted the reality that this really was a dead end. She pulled out her pistol and slipped behind one of the air-conditioning units, watching the door to see if the man would emerge.

She waited a long time but nothing happened, and she began to wonder if he was coming at her from the side of the building or in one of those flying cars. Her heart was racing, and it became increasingly hard to breathe. To add to her panic, there were now sirens and flashing lights coming from the street below.

Lur slipped to the edge and cautiously peered over the railing. Below she saw no less than seven squad cars, and her pursuer was on his knees with his hands up. It was then that she realized that her phone was buzzing, and she touched her ear quickly to connect the call. It was Dhata, and she exhaled, an action that caused the strength in her legs to give out.

“You okay, Lurita? Did the Johns grab him?”

“Yes,” she said, “they’re taking him away. How did you know that they would be here?”

“I called the police hotline and made up enough crap for them to get out there and take him into custody. It’s not safe in Atlanta, you need to get out. I bought you a train ticket and there’s a transport on the way. Make your way downstairs as soon as you can and come home, Lurita,” he said.

“Wait, it’s not safe? What do you mean? Who was that man, Dhata?”

“He’s a military-trained synth; I got that from your ICL. What I couldn’t tell though was whether he was an assassin or just a do-boy. Either way, he was after you, and I doubt that it was for a chat.”

‡Chapter 5‡

Sub City Ramen

They sat together on the tail of the disabled zeppelin that they were now calling home. It was a precarious position, but there was something alluring about intimacy beneath the stars with danger just inches away.

Dhata leaned back on his elbows and stared off into the city. Lur, who had been gazing up at the stars, sat up next to him and hugged her knees the way she always did. They looked like children, innocent in their contemplation, hanging out in a place where they weren’t meant to be.

“I’m trying to think of the last time I was this scared, Dhata, and I cannot remember,” she said.

“You should have been scared. The threat is real, and that soldier was going to kill you. We took care of him though and he’s in jail, but if the government is backing Akiyama Koch, then the Johns will have to set him free in the morning. We got lucky. When I called Pete—my contact in the Atlanta precinct—he escalated the call’s importance and they got there just in time. Dude was packing a good amount of firepower. All to take you out.”

“Do you think they know … who I am?” she said, and Dhata shook his head.

“They probably figured you for press. An opportunistic reporter looking to expose them, so they detained you to see if they could get you to talk. When you called their bluff, they assumed you to be dangerous, and worse than that, they assumed that you had something on them.”

“Maybe we should stop,” she said, staring out into the night as if she was afraid to look at him. “I am no coward, Dhata, but what I felt today … it made me feel like a tiny, insignificant insect biting the arm of a giant. Why are we doing this? There is no longer a client, and the FBI is now involved looking into Jordan.”

Dhata thought of the best way to tell her that he intended to continue, but she had been shaken and he wanted to make her feel better.

“You know, Lurita, there’s plenty of different reasons why men and women choose to do what we do. My personal choice? I want to make things better. I want to see Tampa Bay reverted to the way it was before my time. It’s why I do what I do out here, and I can’t just sit back and watch it go to hell.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she said. “Just needed to hear your reason.”

“You just need to lay low for a while, Lurita, snooping around on the grid. You know that’s where you’ve been the greatest help to me, not out there risking your skinny neck.”

She glanced at him and cut her eyes, but he saw that she was fighting back a smile. “I got your skinny,” she said.

“You’ll be alright,” Dhata said before leaning over and stealing a kiss.

“I had no idea how bad the synths were treated in this country,” she said. “But now that I’ve seen it, I cannot just sit by, either, y’know?”

Dhata smiled. “People tend to be the cruelest to the things that look most like them,” he said. “Jason used to say that and he was right. Plus, our laws make it easy to be cruel to the synths. You kill a human and you will get sent away to prison, for life. You harm one, and you could see fifteen years.” He shook his head. “Now, take out your angst on a synth, and you could get away free if you’re in the right neighborhood. Get arrested for it and a murder will get you one to five years. Assault a synth citizen without killing, you get a night in jail and you’re released. Considering those odds, it’s open season on the synths, and most Johns won’t bother to pursue a murder case if it’s not a human.”

“How do we change that, Dhata? How do we make things fair for them?” she said.

“We can’t,” he said. “Which is precisely why the Johns have always laughed at me. I’m a fool who’s fighting a losing war; you can even say that I’m obsessed. But I’m going to find out why Jordan did what he did, and I am going to expose it to the press. They don’t have to know that it was the two of us who solved it, but we can be the harbingers of a new period of peace.”

“Like superheroes,” Lur said quietly.

“Like superheroes,” he said. Dhata reached for her waist and pulled her in, hugging her closely to him. “Did your dad ever write back?” he said, and she shook her head slowly, no. Dhata found this to be odd. Jose Diaz loved his daughter more than life itself, so he wondered if the old don was either dead or missing. “I’m going to have to pay Hiroshi a visit. Do you want to come with me?” he asked.

Lur looked conflicted. “When would you be leaving?” she said.

“Tomorrow sometime. We don’t have much time, and you know he won’t talk business over phones. The rack I took from the Cranes, it’s encrypted, which leads me to believe that it has something important. If there’s a tracker, they’ll come for it here, and we would be forced to fight. Everything we’ve worked for will go up in smoke.”

“I’ll stay on this side then. I can see Hiroshi later,” she said.

He stood up and walked to the edge of the tail wing, then jumped off to land on the porch. Lur followed behind, and he helped her down, then watched her walk inside to sit down on the couch. “Do you think that rat who was supposed to marry you would be stupid enough to hurt your father?” he said, sitting down next to her and powering on the television.

“You think that he did something to Papa?” she said, with a flat, expressionless tone. Dhata regretted bringing up her father; it was a gamble to get her mind off of Atlanta, but the choice in subject matter was poor. Now she seemed even more depressed and he had to find a way to fix it.

“No,” he said, “if Don Jose was missing or hurt, I would’ve heard about it. Your father is a legend in the underworld, and that sort of news would go viral, immediately. Don’t stress over your dad, Lurita, he’s okay. It could be that he’s just backed up on his mail. Think about it. He’s a powerful man. Do you see him sitting around reading mail?”

Lur burst out laughing and it was music to his ears. She had been so gloomy that he wasn’t expecting it. “Papa doesn’t read the mail. I used to remind him all the time. I miss his face,” she said.

Lur paused as images of synths being terrorized were reflected across the television screen, and this transitioned into an address from the president. Dhata and Lur watched quietly as President Joseph Frank mounted the podium and began to speak.

He begged for peace between the humans and synths, reminding them of everything the synths had done to rebuild civilization. He denounced the violence, calling them a series of cowardly acts. To Dhata’s surprise, he even went as far as saying that these “domestic murderers”—as he called them—were borne from the infighting and the climate of hate.

He called for unity, and for people to report suspicious activity wherever they saw it. He looked tired and worn through, which made Dhata realize that there was more going on. He then went on to beg the synths to “stop the bombings,” which meant that the FBI had briefed him on Jordan and Natalya.

Does this mean that Jordan was part of a terrorist organization? Dhata wondered. Maybe he was compromised by one of their cyphers?

“I’ll figure something out. I mean, about your dad, okay?” Dhata said, and Lur leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

Security at the shuttle port looked as if the city was preparing for war. Armed Johns, human and jacked up on muscle enhancers, paced the halls with electro-tubes, looking for anyone suspicious. Dhata was glad that he’d left his pistol at home, or he would’ve been in for a world of hurt.

He noticed that most of the people seemed scared. It was much quieter than he had ever seen a shuttle port, and everyone was watching for suspicious activity. He felt relieved when he boarded his shuttle, but even better when he was in Tokyo, Japan. There he was able to relax, since nothing had changed since the last time he was there.

The place was still a neon paradise, and the translucent blue highway that led out from the shuttle port still impressed him with its beauty. Cars were everywhere, sleek and fast, most painted in bright, primary colors. Even the darker models had neon highlights, yellow auras around their tires, or windows glowing green or red. Tokyo was built for partying and innovation— this was immediately obvious. The way he felt as he stood there taking in the sights reminded him of how excited Lur had been when she’d called him from Atlanta.

After a few minutes of awestruck observation, he noticed Hiroshi waiting by his cobalt Mazda. He was sporting a new silver streak in his hair, and his wardrobe was spectacular. The synth cypher was looking a lot richer just by the way he dressed, and he noticed that the Mazda had an anti-gravity booster, an expensive enhancement for the older vehicle.

He waved Dhata over, and he got inside the car where they exchanged greetings and spoke about Lur. This wasn’t odd since Hiroshi adored his Cuban girlfriend, and looked at her as a mentee to the exotic cypher arts.

“I take you to a place where they make the best ramen, Dhata,” he said with a glint in his metallic, insectoid eyes.

The Mazda zipped through downtown past a variety of buildings, and then somehow they were passing through the road down towards a junkyard. Dhata noticed that the bright lights and neon brilliance of Tokyo was merely the outer shell of a complex onion of civilization. Hiroshi drove them through a tunnel that took them below the streets into what appeared to be a wet, smelly underworld. They parked by a lake that reeked of sewage and walked for a few minutes until they got to a gate. Hiroshi stepped forward and pulled up an augmented keyboard where he typed in a code to gain entry. The doors slid open and what appeared beyond was another world in Dhata’s eyes.

Here people dressed differently, and they used old technology and makeshift inventions to get by. He pulled his duster close and thrust his hands in his pockets as if this would keep the shadows at bay. Rats scurried past them, and the lights in the buildings were failing, but the people down here were actually friendly, and it seemed to be a melting pot of humans and synths.

He looked up to see the underside of the bright blue, glass highway where they had been driving earlier. From where he stood it looked like the blue sky peering down through a mass of dark clouds and wires. He was in awe. How was it that they had managed to stack so many layers on one city?

“This place is out of this world,” Dhata said.

“Down here, we call it the ‘sub city’,” Hiroshi said. “The sophisticated do not come here, but older synths … we remember this place. This was where we lived originally.”

He motioned to a stool in front of a food vendor, and Dhata took it gratefully. They had been walking for some time and he was eager to rest his legs since he still felt some pain from his earlier injuries. Hiroshi ordered something for them in Japanese and then settled in beside him, slapping him on the back in a friendly gesture.

“So, Dhata, why the visit? Lurita would not give me details, so I know that it means you’re here for work.”

“Talked to her, eh? Well, she knows the rules about business and calls, so you assumed right, my friend. We have a rack that I lifted, but it’s encrypted. It has a synth-specific interface that we can’t crack. Hiro, this is a dangerous job. The government may be involved. If you don’t feel safe—”

“A rack you say? However did you come by it?” Hiroshi said, ignoring Dhata’s warning.

“This synth who blew up our shuttle port, he had it in his office at home. It’s encrypted in a way that we can’t crack it.”

“Was he a cypher?” Hiroshi said, and Dhata shook his head at him slowly.

“Then it must be a basic encryption, written for synths. Complex to a human, but easy for us. Why did he choose to blow himself up?”

“That’s the million UCC question, my friend, and what I’m trying to find out. This man was a soldier, he fought in wars, then all of a sudden, boom,” Dhata said.

“Do you have it here?”

“It’s what I have in that suitcase. Think you can crack it and tell me what’s in it?”

“Yes, but I cannot come with you to Tampa just now. Many things pending here in Tokyo.”

Their food came out, and Hiroshi then waited to see how he would like it. Dhata did him the honor. It tasted like thick, liquid dynamite, and he slurped it down with much delight. Hiroshi began to laugh, and the other patrons joined in, all of them curious about Dhata’s experience with the food.

“Christ, Hiro, if this isn’t nirvana, I don’t know what is,” he said.

“I’m a synth, and I’m hooked on it. Think about that, my friend. This place is the best-kept secret of Tokyo. I always come here to talk business.”

“No need to come to Tampa, though Lurita will be disappointed. Do what you can and relay back your findings. I’m especially curious about his fellowship, the people who he answered to. The man was a soldier, so he was used to taking orders, which leads me to believe that someone ordered him to destroy the shuttle port. Add on top of that his wife being clueless—shit, Hiro, I didn’t even tell you that part.”

“What part?” he said, slurping up some noodles as if his life depended on it.

“This man’s wife is a synth transitioning into a cyborg. Sort of like the cypher, Gemini.”

“Really? That is fascinating, but not so good for you, Dhata.”

“Why?” Dhata said, and motioned to the man behind the counter to make him another bowl of the heavenly ramen.

“That sort of development is expensive, many millions of dollars, and it is likely that this woman is not as clueless as you think. Governments make creatures like that to serve as spies, and wealthy men and women use them to replace their loved ones. Are you able to contact her?”

“No, the FBI took her away.”

“That is too bad. I would have loved to sync with her, learn a thing or two. You know when I brought Gemini back, he died as soon as I tried to sync,” Hiroshi said. “I couldn’t retrieve his memories, or find out anything, so I called up a friend to dispose of the body. Meeting a true cyborg is once in a lifetime, Dhata, but here you are telling me that you’ve found a second one.”

They ate some more and then walked it off, slipping through the dark alleyways of the sub city until they emerged by the sewer where Hiroshi had parked.

“Hiro, what if this is something big? Like another country trying to strike back at America?” Dhata said.

“Then we will be heroes once we bring them to justice,” Hiroshi said, his face a sincere mask.

“Which means we’ll be martyrs,” Dhata said.

This made Hiroshi stop and look up into the sky at the bright blue underside of Tokyo’s lower highway. “It will be an honorable way to die,” he said after a time, and the two men got into the car.

‡Chapter 6‡

Grounding Drones

There were two ways that you could surf the grid when you had a rack powerful enough to provide an augmented experience. The first and most common way was to sync your ICL to the unit, which would produce a virtual desktop directly inside of your field of vision. It allowed for you to scroll through various screens and images, resulting from the search you initiated.

The second way—which Lur now employed—was to enter the grid itself, which took your mind from out of your present physical state and merged it with the global network’s matrix. This tricked your senses into thinking that you were actually there, in the stream of data that was the grid.

For Lur, what this looked like was her body submerged inside an ocean of perpetual darkness. It was an abstract, confusing place, but one that she was getting used to. She had begun her study of the grid with Hiroshi, back when they were on the Gemini case. She had since explored on her own to master her senses to try and become at least half the cypher that he was.

She allowed the waves of data to pull her down until all she saw was blackness. Thinking up the name and searching for Jordan Chase, she synced her brain implant with the data stream and pulled up all of the information she could. What she found was the latest news on the explosion at the shuttle port. But as she dug back further, she saw commendations for his military service and an article about his squad.

Lur collected the names and did individual searches on each of the soldiers. Most were ghosts, but one, a man named, Tyler Fort, had murdered a human in the Florida Everglades. He had been arrested and shut down, permanently, after a long and highly publicized court case. It was a scandalous affair, but the victim’s family sued Akiyama Koch Robotics and was rewarded with over twenty million UCCs.

She logged out of the grid and dialed Dhata, eager to tell him what she had found. He was on the way back from the shuttle port when he answered, and she was quite surprised to see him alone. “Did Hiroshi turn us down?” she said.

“No, he’s going to help but he will be doing it remotely,” Dhata said. “Lurita, babe, what is that you’re wearing?”

Lur looked down to see that she was still wearing the shiny silver leotard. “Oh, this? It’s my EKO suit … I bought it to get a better connection when I’m inside,” she said.

“Ahh, cypher business. I love that you’re into that. Can’t always tap Hiro when I need info from there, and I damn sure don’t want to do it myself. But, an EKO suit, you say? Isn’t that thing a gimmick? I see the commercials everywhere and you know what that means.”

“No, Dhata, I don’t. Care to enlighten me?” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, waiting impatiently to prove him wrong.

“It means that it’s a bunch of crap. If something is that easy to come by, and so blatant as to advertise that it’s meant for cyphers … Lur, baby, think about it.”

Lur was immediately annoyed at what she was hearing. It was the thought of being tricked so easily by a sales gimmick. She unzipped the suit and peeled it down to her waist, revealing the sweat-soaked t-shirt below.

“Oh well, you know what? Hearing that it’s a gimmick makes me happy,” she said. “The freaking thing is hot and uncomfortable, so I don’t feel so bad. Now, if you are done with the jokes we can talk about the case. I didn’t call you to talk about my suit. I called you to tell you that I went inside and came out with some new information.”

“Oh?” Dhata said, and she studied his face for signs of sarcasm.

“Yes, you will be happy,” she said. “Jordan has a friend from the war who got in a lot of trouble. Do you know a man named Tyler Fort? He killed a human and was on trial here in Florida. Seemed to be a huge deal. The coverage was extensive.”

“I remember the case, yeah. It got everyone worked up. If you think things are bad now, Lurita, you had to see the synth-haters back then. They were in rare form, and some were Johns that were in the same uniform as me.”

“He’s in that photograph with Jordan, Dhata. He was in the same squad—”

“So from what you just told me, this is another soldier who flipped? But wait … this guy killed one man, not the large number that his suicidal friend did. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Makes me wonder what?” Lur said.

“Is the whole batch spoiled? The soldiers, I mean. Something like this is not coincidence, and it would explain why they hunted you down out at that plant.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that we’re screwed. If a place that creates our android friends is wiring them to destroy humans, the government will have very little choice but to agree to a permanent solution. The thing that gets me is the motivation. What would a company that builds synths earn by forcing a situation where synths aren’t wanted? They can’t be involved; this is something personal. Someone has gotten to those soldiers and did something to them to make them crazy.”

She saw him stop by a store to look at his reflection and she wondered if he was checking for someone following him. Did Akiyama Koch know about Dhata as well? The thought made her shudder, since he had traveled to Tokyo to meet with Hiroshi. They could implicate the cypher if they found out about him, and she just knew that the result would be death.

“Are you being followed?” she said.

“No, just thought I recognized someone. When you’ve worked as a John, you never know which criminal you busted will be back on the street.”

“That sounds absolutely awful,” Lur said.

“I’m used to it. Plus, I’m still alive ain’t I? This second soldier, the one who they dismantled. I think that I should go and see the family of the man he killed. Get the full story, see if there’s anything similar. That way we can compare notes and see if it’s mere coincidence.”

When she got off the call, Lur felt energized. She had found a major clue by playing the part of a cypher. The fact that she had jumped into the grid, braved it on her own, and was able to pull out good information made her want to dance. What she had done was more than she had been able to do in the past. She really wished that Hiroshi was there to congratulate her on making such a huge step.

I can be a cypher, she thought, smiling. She walked out to the porch and stretched her arms above her head. It was evening time now, and she wondered if it would take long for Dhata to get home from the shuttle port. She would gladly wait to greet him personally. The sight of that long, white, old-styled vehicle always made her heart beat with joy.

The lights of Tampa Bay were already coming on, yellow and white dots below the jagged outline of the city. It was an odd representation of life that humanity had become, now that the world was all wires and electricity.

A flash caught her eye in the darkness of the trees that bordered the zeppelin’s hiding place. When she looked at the area where she thought she saw the light, all that she could make out was the silhouette of the bushes.

“I’m going crazy,” she said to herself. “Maybe it’s some sort of residual glitches from being inside of the grid.”

She resumed her smiling and pushed it out of her mind, but then she saw it again out of the corner of her eye, a tiny red light there inside the bushes. But when she looked in its direction, it was gone again, but now she was frightened and her heart began to race.

She slipped back inside and checked the security system. Nothing was reported being close to the zeppelin. If anything was out there, the system would have alerted me, she thought. Maybe what I need is a little rest. She went inside the bedroom and removed the rest of the EKO suit, then laid down on the bed and closed her eyes.

Her heart pounded and she breathed heavily. Sleep wouldn’t come to her. She got up and went into the closet and pulled down Dhata’s sawed off shotgun. She checked to make sure that it was loaded, then laid back with it resting on her stomach.

She considered calling Dhata to tell him what she’d seen. But with the security system showing nothing outside there, she worried that he would think she was losing it—especially after she’d been so shaken up from the soldier chasing her in Atlanta.

But what if I am right, and the security system has been hacked? she thought. Shouldn’t I warn him so he doesn’t drive home into a trap?

Lur triggered her phone interface and redialed Dhata, catching him while he was humming along to a song inside of the Buick. “What’s up, Lurita?” he said when he answered.

“I think I saw something in the woods outside the zeppelin,” she said. He studied her face intently, and she lay still to let him see that she was being serious.

“You kidding?” he asked.

“No, no joking. I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me, but I saw a red light.”

“A red light?” he said.

“A red light,” she repeated.

“In the bushes?”

“In the bushes,” she sang.

“And the security system didn’t go off or anything?”

“Nope,” she said, and his face grew grim. He was taking it seriously, which she appreciated, but that appreciation turned into pure horror when she realized that his reaction hinted at a very real threat.

“What should I do?” she asked, sitting up and gripping the shotgun.

“You’re in the bedroom so that’s good. Lock yourself in and place the zeppelin on high alert.”

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

Darkness took to the sky and the bordering trees as the Buick sped down a side road towards the zeppelin home. Dhata felt numb, worried, but ready. There were so many feelings, but the chief amongst them was the need to fix things once and for all.

The misty white vehicle veered off the road and up a dirt path which looked to be cut off by trees. The Buick stopped about an inch away from a tree as the automatic brakes kicked in. Dhata got out, then pulled the revolver from his duster. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to use it, and that what Lur had seen was something ordinary.

It was pitch black all around—no streetlight this far into the sticks—and Dhata’s eyes were going to need some time to adjust. The air felt thick and strangely lonely, and the only sound came from a car rolling by.

He was near his zeppelin, though he couldn’t see it, but he knew that it was just beyond the trees. He slipped between the bushes as his ICL night vision came alive, and the world brightened into a mono-colored reality.

The bushes rocked back and forth from a sudden breeze and the artificial trees shed some leaves, showering him as he walked. Out of habit, his fingers caressed the grooves of the revolver, opening and closing rhythmically on the smooth walnut grip.

He scanned the area, glancing behind him randomly so that he could see everything within a 360-degree radius. After several minutes of this, he could see the lights of the zeppelin, but the bushes were too thick to continue forward.

That was when he saw it, a thick mass of blackness. It stood out amidst everything else within his night vision. It looked like a giant floating football with a light below it that was flashing on and off.

Drone, Dhata thought. It followed her here, and he cursed silently at the violation that this new discovery meant. For so many years he had managed to stay hidden, like a super villain whose shadowy lair was a sanctuary from the good guys. Lur, in her inexperience, provoked a powerful manufacturer of synths. A manufacturer with access to several different forms of AI.

He lifted the revolver and pulled the trigger, causing thunder to violate the silence of night. The drone flew upwards, trying to escape, but the bullet had hit its mark and its circuits were fried. Despite the effort it fell to the ground, completely out of commission.

Dhata picked it up and scanned for more as he pushed past the thick brush to gain the zeppelin’s lawn. From what he could tell, the drone was alone, but whomever controlled it knew where Lur was staying. They needed to relocate, but his zeppelin home was out of commission, an old, rusted relic of the War for Peace.

They were being hunted now, and he wondered why. Surely a woman looking into an explosion wouldn’t be enough for them to track her down. Was it? He wondered what questions she had asked. Though he was in the dark on the entire thing, he knew that it had all started with her trip to Atlanta.

When he got inside, he slipped to the side of the bedroom door and knocked lightly to let Lur know that it was him. “Pack a small bag. We have to leave the zeppelin tonight,” he said.

“What happened, Dhata? I heard a gunshot. I assume you killed whatever it was,” Lur said. She hopped out of the bed, discarding the shotgun, and grabbed a small suitcase from the closet.

“There was a military-class drone outside watching you. I brought it with me so that we can try and identify whose it is,” he said.

“Come on, Dhata, you know who it belongs to. They have been trying to get me ever since I left,” she said.

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. That’s skiptracer rule number one. Just because it seems obvious may not be the reality of it. Right now we have several things going on. There’s the FBI, and there’s Akiyama Koch, but which is the one behind this drone? You also have rat boy, who you were supposed to marry, tearing up Tampa looking for you.”

Lur got quiet as she rushed to pack her things, but she realized soon afterwards that Dhata wasn’t moving. “How come you aren’t packing?” she said.

“Because, they don’t know me. Not yet, at least. You got compromised, and they are trying to find out more. They want to know who you are, where you’re from, and how they can shut you up, permanently. You see the implications, right? We need to get you into hiding until whomever this is either gives up the chase or we find out who they are.”

“You are sending me away,” she said quietly.

“You won’t be far, and when I figure this out then I can bring you back,” Dhata said.

Lur finished packing her clothes in the tiny suitcase, and then Dhata took her to where he had parked the Buick. “I messed things up,” Lur said suddenly, and he could see that she was upset.

“Not your fault. We’ll figure this out and then get back to looking for Jordan’s wife,” Dhata said.

“Where are we going?” Lur said. “Where could you possibly hide me from them?”

“To the one place where they’d dare not enter,” Dhata said with a smile.

‡Chapter 7‡

A Night in Tunisia

Since the fighting between the humans and synths had escalated, most of the non-humans had moved into Ybor city where the gangsters and hools could protect them. Dhata saw snipers, drones, and electric field generators, everything that you would expect to see in a war. He hadn’t come back to this place since their adventure with Gemini, but in his short absence it looked as if the place had been transformed.

He parked the Buick on the perimeter and bribed one of the men to let him pass into the city. Synth refugees were walking around aimlessly, and he could tell that Lur was actually frightened. “They know me,” he whispered, hoping that it would reassure her, but she continued to walk briskly with an iron grip on the suitcase.

Some hools came close, looking for an easy score, but Dhata had the revolver holstered on his waist. The night was warm so he left the duster in the car, but kept the revolver just in case. It was an illegal weapon, a loud, projectile-throwing relic from the past. Guns like it had been banned on the streets way before he was born. Weapons that were permitted merely stunned or froze, and those were what were given to the police as standard issue.

Knowing enough policemen and judges for it not to matter made Dhata comfortable with keeping his illegal guns. Now he wore one off the hip, and when the hools saw it, they quickly dispersed. Dhata walked forward to take the lead from Lur. “It’s down here,” he said, as they got to a dark alleyway. He led her to a side door, which opened up inside of a bar. It was closed and dark, but the door was left unlocked, and Dhata motioned for Lur to take a seat.

“What if the owner comes and catches us in here?” she said, hopping up on a barstool.

“Then I’ll talk to him,” Dhata said, slipping behind the bar. He produced two shot glasses, and found a bottle of honey tequila. He poured out shots, and then pushed a glass over to her. She threw it back and exhaled audibly before tapping the edge with her nail. He poured another, and she tapped it again after throwing it back with a, “Woo!”

They drank half the bottle, and then made out, kissing like teenagers with limited time. She sat on the bar with her legs around him, and his entire reality was sweet lips and perfume. This went on for a while before he caught his senses and lifted her down and stepped away. He touched the UCC deposit panel and paid for the tequila, then took Lur’s hand and led her towards the restroom.

“Wait a minute, hold on,” Lur said suddenly. “You are not going to get me in there.”

This made Dhata laugh when he understood. “Oh, no, it’s not what you think, Lurita. I’m taking you to the hideout. This place used to be a barbershop back in the days of alcohol prohibition. The gangsters would get a haircut, then go towards the bathroom and pull up this latch right here.” He reached down and pulled up a hidden door, revealing some stairs leading down. They descended into an uncomfortably narrow passage which led to more stairs leading up into another building.

When Dhata emerged it was to the barrel of a gun, held by a well-dressed gangster in a vest and bowtie. “Dhata Mays,” the man said hesitantly, “you have a lot of balls coming down here.”

“Aaron, this is Lurita. She’s going to be living here. I need you to post guards, and don’t let anybody in,” Dhata said.

“Why would I do that? I don’t owe you jack. Plus you killed the boss in cold blood. If you was anybody else, I would do you right here—”

“Shut up and quit with the melodrama. You’ll do it because I have something for you that will make you want to kiss me. Let me see your hand,” Dhata said, holding out his own.

Aaron, who was once a two-bit lieutenant for the synth boss Peyton Ace, was now trying to do his best to emulate his former boss. His outfit would be nice if it was worn by someone who knew what they were doing, but on him it looked like an ill-fitting costume. Peyton was smart, so Aaron wanted to be smart, and being smart meant that you had to have friends like Dhata.

When they clasped hands, Dhata placed a receiver in his palm. It was one of several that he used to keep up with the tracker on Jackson Cole. “I planted a tracker on a nasty John. You know, the one who likes to come down here and take advantage of your hospitality,” he said.

“You talking ‘bout Jax,” Aaron said with a smile. “You’re right, it make me happy, but you ain’t getting no kiss. You’re still a piece of shit for what you did to Peyton, but this gift that you give me, it can buy your girl this place. There’s food in the fridge … Lita, is it? Yeah, Lita, there’s food and drink in the fridge. The beds upstairs was used by Marys turning tricks, so you may want to sleep on the couch.”

Lur didn’t find Aaron or his antics amusing and she stood staring at him for a very long time. “It’s Lurita,” she said. “Lu – Rita. There, now you say it.”

“Looreetah!” Aaron said, with a mocking bow.

“Thank you,” Lur said. She glanced at Dhata who winked at her to gauge where she was mentally. She gave no response but turned and looked up the stairs. “I am going to look at the bedroom,” she said. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

“Never figured you to have a human girlfriend,” Aaron said when she was gone. “Dhata Mays, he like rust on his—”

“Come on, man,” Dhata said, motioning upstairs where he was sure Lur was listening.

“I’m just breaking balls, chill your hume head,” Aaron said, trying to be as smooth as Peyton Ace used to be. It almost made Dhata miss the former boss, but Aaron was agreeable, despite looking pathetic, so he decided to play along with him.

“She gon’ be able to breathe in this pit?” Dhata said. The windows of the building were boarded up and replaced by video screens. The feed on the televisions cycled through cameras installed on the exterior of the bar.

“She’ll breathe fine. Trust me, they have vents up there.”

“Any hools gonna miss this place, stir up trouble for my girl?”

“If they do, they answer to me,” was all that Aaron said. They shook hands, and he exited the building.

Dhata joined Lur upstairs in one of the bedrooms, where he found her sitting on the bed. The room was cozy, albeit claustrophobic, but she was unpacking her luggage and settling in.

“They won’t find you here, and it’s temporary,” he said, but she merely shrugged in response.

“When I came here, away from Don Ruiz, I expected that I would end up in a place just like this. What I got instead was your beautiful home, but then I messed it up by revealing the location to AKR. This place is good, Dhata, I will be fine. Just go back to work and come back. Okay?”

He nodded slowly, his heart full, and she stood up and gave him a hug. “I’ll do my best, my Lurita, especially knowing that you’re down here. I’ll keep in touch, let you know where I’m at, and you keep plugging away at that rack—”

“Dhata, you don’t have to do this,” she said. “I will be okay.” She gasped as he sprang forward and consumed her in a hug, kissing her until understanding played across her eyes. She pulled him down and held him, her legs interlocked behind his. “Finish what you started,” she said.

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

The trip back through the tunnel and out of the empty bar was all a blur to Dhata. Why is it so hard to leave her alone? he thought. I never had a problem before.

He walked slowly through the slick, wet street, and it took some time for him to convince himself that she would be okay. Hools regarded him left and right, but none made a move since he had his revolver.

There was a small gathering at the foot of a fountain that had been built to commemorate synths joining society. It was a beautiful sculpture depicting a female robot and a human male, shaking hands above the bubbling water of the fountain. The synths of Ybor took great pride in this symbol, and it remained spotless amidst the graffiti and garbage.

As Dhata grew near it he saw wreaths of flowers, people on their knees praying, and people in robes talking amongst themselves. One of these robed synths caught him looking and walked out to greet him with an extended hand.

“Please come pray with us,” the robed man said. “Today is the anniversary of the Birman incident, when twenty-six of our brothers and sisters were murdered in cold blood.”

“Ah,” Dhata said, recalling the situation. “That was a sad time for humanity. A real low point for us. Praying though, that strikes me as odd. To whom are you praying?”

“Whatever deity or belief that you have, my friend. The point is for us never to forget,” he said.

“This is a beautiful thing, what you all are doing here. Positivity in the face of oppression. That takes some real strength. But I have to ask, and I mean no disrespect, aren’t you a little careless to ask a human to pray over a bunch of dead synths? How do you know that I’m not one of the crazies? You all are unarmed and I have a clear path out of here.”

The man was built to look young, like a twenty-something college student, and his fuzzy brown beard made his smile seem clownish. “We know that you’re a friend,” he said, the smile plastered across his face.

“How do you know that? Is it Arch Brain that tells you?”

“No, but we can sense your cybernetic parts, my friend. You have taken a part of us into your body. No crazy, murdering human would ‘defile’ his body this way. I have met some hypocrites, well-meaning humans that led us to harm, but none of them were part machine like the man in front of me.”

Dhata couldn’t help but smirk; he had finally cracked the code. For years the synths had regarded him warmly and he assumed that his reputation had preceded him. This didn’t explain the same warm treatment when he traveled overseas, but even then he thought that it had something to do with their master mainframe, Arch Brain.

“It’s only my leg and eyes that are enhanced by cyber,” he said.

“Which is enough. Now, will you come pray?”

“I’m not big on prayer, but I honor your fallen,” Dhata said. “Thanks for the enlightenment, but I have to move on.”

“Okay, brother, but please take this with you,” he said, pressing a card into Dhata’s hand.

The flat surface of the card displayed a video that would activate whenever you held it up to your ICLs. What was playing was a recreation of the Birman incident. Richard Birman walking into a square, pulling open his jacket, and setting off an explosion. The irony of that event being the exact mirror to Jordan’s suicide was not lost on Dhata. Nothing happened by chance in the world, and he wondered if the card was some sort of key.

Birman had been part of a larger group of synth haters known as The Uplifting. He had pulled the short straw in one of their meetings and was made to be the vessel to wipe out the synths.

Dhata compared the similarities in the tragic attacks. A man who seemed to have everything in life, blowing himself up to hurt a great number of innocents. He wondered if Jordan was a member of a hate group—possibly his old squad, and they’d sent him to the shuttle port to martyr himself.

Damn, he thought. If this is the case then there will be a bunch of hate-filled, ex-military synths looking to blow up more shuttle ports. He wondered on the motive since it could come from anywhere. Was it a synths getting back at humans thing, a military rebellion thing, or was it a war between the manufacturers? Surely a cypher, hired by a rival of Akiyama Koch, could have infiltrated the network, uploaded a program into their batch of military synths, and waited until now to trigger their psychosis.

Dhata was no stranger to cyphers and the damage they could deal to society. It had only been a year since he and Lur had stopped Gemini. The cypher had managed to put a city on lockdown using only a rack and a handful of clueless Marys. Dhata was also friends with Hiroshi, a powerful synth cypher, who told him jokingly that if he wanted to bring down Japan, all he had to do was upload a program.

Cyphers were dangerous in general, but a synth cypher was practically a god. If this situation with the soldiers went that deep, then he was in way over his head and drowning. Still, it was not as if he could walk away; they had threatened Lur and now knew where he lived. It was time to take the offensive and get them off her tail. He hated the fact that she had to go into hiding, and he hated the thought of not being able to return to the zeppelin.

It was precisely times like these where he missed Jason. Having a friend inside of the police force had made things so much easier for him, plus he missed their banter. Jason was a true friend in every way, but now he was gone and the world was a tangled ball of confusion.

As he got to the Buick, he considered his next move. Should he come clean to the FBI, or approach Akiyama Koch himself? Maybe drawing their attention would take the heat off of Lur, but the synth manufacturer made billions. If they thought it necessary to erase him from the Earth, they could have it done without any concern.

The FBI on the other hand was a deep unknown. Johns—the local police—were more corrupt now than ever. Who was to say that the FBI wasn’t the same? If he went in and told them everything that he and Lur had done, they could lock him up forever, then find her hiding spot and deport her immediately with a no re-entry clause.

No, he’d have to figure it out himself and forget about help. What he was facing now was an attempt to topple a hundred-foot giant, with nothing but a pistol and old-fashioned detective work.

The last clue from Lur was about the Everglades, how one of the synth soldiers had murdered a human man down there. “Go ahead and take over the driving, CINI,” he said. “Take me to the Everglades but make sure to take your time.” The synthetic voice of the car confirmed receipt of his instructions, and he was on his way south, to the Florida Everglades.

He felt tired all of a sudden, worn through to the point where he felt the foreign invasion of his cybernetic parts. It was all in his head, an annoying symptom of the mental trauma that came with injuries of the past. He reached inside of the center console and touched a button. A hidden compartment flipped open to reveal a long, dark cigar.

Dhata cut the butt of the cigar and applied some flame, taking in the smoke and letting it out. CINI, the Buick, opened a panel in the ceiling, and a slight draft could be felt from where it worked to push the smoke out. “Alright, alright, you whiny girl, I’ll make it fast,” Dhata said. He loved tobacco; it settled his nerves, and it was one of many unhealthy rituals picked up from his father.

There was absolutely no greater chill than the one that came from a cigar and brown liquor. This he experienced as they cruised through the night, and all of his stress and worry was blown out in smoke. “Don’t worry, Lurita, I’ll figure it out,” he muttered as he slumped into the seat. He was fast asleep before he knew it, still holding the burning cigar.

‡Chapter 8‡

Sleuthing in the Swamp

When Dhata woke up it looked as if CINI had veered off and parked in the middle of the swamp. The Buick’s windows had gone transparent and the dashboard showed that it was charging the battery.

“CINI, wake up,” he announced, and the cobalt light of the Buick’s dash came on. “Where are we?” he said, and in response a map was displayed with an icon over the Florida Everglades.

He closed his eyes and connected to his personal computer, pulling up the information on the location of the victim’s family. He synced it to the Buick’s CPU, then set it to drive him to an area outside of their neighborhood. CINI responded instantly, and he was back on the road rolling south.

“You know, I really should upgrade you to say more than a few words of denial or confirmation, CINI,” he said, “but then I’d probably fall for you, since you’re such a great listener and all.”

They drove up to a house that was a gem stuck in the center of a swampy soup. It was a modern smart home, elevated off the ground by several feet of thick, reinforced steel. The grass was trimmed around the house but it was bordered on all sides by an electric fence. Power lines from the roof stretched off into the trees, and in the yard was a hovercraft.

Above the fence was a neon sign with the words “KEEP OUT, PRIVATE PROPERTY”, and on the ground in front of it were spent shells for emphasis. Dhata wondered why a synth would come out to such a remote area of old-styled human prejudice. The rationale was beyond his understanding since even he felt threatened and he was human.

It was dawn and the fog was lifting, but it still gave the place a look that hinted at danger. Dhata had a flashback to the last time he had dropped in unannounced to ask someone questions. It had led to a shootout that he barely survived, and several human lives lost to his seasoned trigger finger. Since then he had vowed that things would never go that way again, but here he was, dropping in cold, again, to ask questions.

He reached for his revolver and checked the cylinder, holding it against his chest as he went through the motions. Why are you here, dumbass? he thought, going over it in his head to see if there was an answer. He wondered if it was his subconscious, begging for another shoot out. No, he thought, I’m not like that. I can’t be, it’s my training, what dad taught me: catch ‘em off guard and force the truth out of them.

The radar on the dashboard showed several figures coming up from the rear. A few more stood waiting inside the house, paused by what he assumed were the windows. The longer I sit out here, the more suspicious they’ll get, he thought, so he holstered the big gun and put a smile on his face. He stepped out of the Buick and walked up to the gate, touching his side to make sure that he had his revolver in place.

As he got near the gate, he heard a gruff voice coming from the speaker box next to it. “That’s far enough. Who are you?” it said, and Dhata strained his neck, looking at the house to see if anyone had come outside.

“I’m Dhata Mays, a skiptracer. I have some questions concerning Tyler Fort.”

“We don’t have anything to say about that thing. He’s frying in robot hell somewhere. What’s this about, fella? You’re trespassing on private property. Tell me why you’re invading my land, or you’ll regret coming out here to fuck with us.”

“That synth was one of a bunch of killers hurting innocent people,” Dhata said. There was a pause and then several expletives came over the speaker, followed by the front door of the house opening and someone peering out.

“It’s Saturday. Do you people ever take breaks?” the man at the door shouted. “Plus, the robot is dead, what in the hell more do you need to know about him?”

“We’ve had some more synth killings in the city, possibly connected to Fort, sir,” Dhata said. “I will be quick, sir. I don’t want to ruin your morning, or overstay my welcome on your property.”

“Alright, I’m coming out, but don’t make any sudden moves. If you came out here to rob us, you picked the wrong time and place, Bubba.”

Those last words made Dhata realize how compromised he was. It was a rookie mistake. He had parked in the clearing, with open areas all around him. The people here could make him disappear and he’d never be found. Lur would be at the mercy of Aaron, and the case of Jordan Crane would never be solved.

Bad move, boss, he thought, then fixed his eyes on the house to see if anything was amiss. There was an old man in overalls coming down the steps, and Dhata’s enhanced ICLs picked up on several figures peering from the sides of the house. One had a rifle fixed on him, and he could hear footsteps coming up from behind.

He turned around slowly to see a group of four men. They were younger, dressed in camouflage, all armed with illegal firearms.

“You really a John?” one of them asked. He was tall with bad skin and matted blonde hair.

“Skiptracer,” Dhata replied, backing away a step. “I’m helping the Johns find out about these murderous synths.”

The men exchanged glances, and one stepped up to Dhata. “I’m the one that shot him,” he said, looking rather pained. “Boy flipped out one day and killed my brother. Shot him in the chest, right here.” He touched his heart. “But since he was a machine or whatever, the bullet didn’t kill him, just knocked him down, unconscious.”

There was something about this man that made him seem different from the rest. He looked younger, but stood tall and confident; everything about him was out of place. Even the way he held his rifle was different from the rest. It was something like seeing a lion cub trying to fit in with a litter of kittens.

Dhata said, “Sorry for your loss, brother. I cannot imagine your pain. If you don’t mind me asking, what branch of the military did you serve?”

“I’m a Marine, that’s how I knew Fort. Felt sorry for him after the war, so I brought him here to help out my dad,” he said.

“I’m Dhata Mays and I’m investigating some murders—”

“What does that have to do with us, sir?” the young man said.

“Two synths that were military-built are responsible for taking human lives. Tyler was the first, then up in Tampa, Jordan Crane became the second. People are in danger; I hope that you can understand. I’m trying to see if there’s a connection, particularly with the batch of synths deployed to fight that war.”

“You see, Pops, I told you that this was going to happen,” one of the other men said, glancing over Dhata’s shoulder at the old man who was now at the fence.

“He acted well enough, up until that day. Then he just went crazy and started shooting,” the old man said. Dhata turned around to regard him as he opened the gate and stepped out with a shotgun. “You wanna come inside?” he asked Dhata, but the skiptracer thought better of it.

“Thank you, but I don’t want to take up much of your time. I think that—excuse me, brother, what is your name?” he said to the Marine.

“William, but you can call me Will,” he said, and Dhata reached out and shook his hand.

“I think Will is the person I need to speak with, since he knew this Tyler Fort personally. What he can tell me will help me to decide if I’m on to something.”

“You all should just gather them up and shut them down, how about that?” the old man said. “Damn things been nothing but trouble since we integrated them into society. Men cheating on their wives with Marys, jobs hard to come by for the average human. How is this progress? Can you tell me that, John? How are we any better off than we were before the war?”

Dhata didn’t really know how to respond, especially since he disagreed with everything the man said. Synths were needed to rebuild society; without them the world would have been a wasteland. Was it a synth Mary’s fault if the human who paid her was married? No, humans being deviant and cruel brought them to this juncture, but he understood that the old man had lost a son.

“It wouldn’t be easy to do that, sir,” he said. “The synths are literally everywhere. Better we figure out how these soldiers broke past their programming than go after them and their manufacturer.”

The old man hissed through his teeth and beckoned the men inside. Will walked with them, then stopped at the gate. “I’ll come in in a few, Pops. I’m gonna have a talk with this gentleman.” The old man nodded and locked the gate.

The yellow sun peeked above the tree line, and the property lost its intimidating flair. “You fought the war with Tyler?” Dhata said, sitting on the hood of the Buick.

“Fought with him, yeah, even called him my friend. Back then, human and synth soldiers were still brothers, y’know? He was a funny dude, always had jokes. I thought that was strange for a robot. You expect them to be all stiff and always about their orders, but Tyler loved cracking jokes and trying to get us to sneak out of the camp for action.”

“Action? What sort of action?” Dhata said. He had his tablet out, recording their conversation and making notes on top of the transcript.

“Mary action, what else, bro? Why would they build a fighting synth, then make it horny like the rest of us?” he said.

“Fitting in is the point, at least that’s what I think. When I think about it, it makes sense. Even the way you talk about him now, you tend to humanize him. You all call them robots, and your dad wants them disassembled, but when you were out there, fighting for our freedoms, that ‘robot’ was a brother to you.”

“Yeah, you’re right, damn right about that. Then we all came home and he went nuts.”

“Will, when you shot him, did he say anything?”

“No, but I can remember the look in his eyes. Boy looked confused, like it wasn’t him in there. Made me realize just how dangerous these machines really are. Letting our guard down made me lose my brother. There ain’t a day that goes by that I don’t blame myself for that.”

“That’s tough, man,” Dhata said. “I can’t even imagine how that feels. But if it’s the manufacturer that’s behind all this, I want to bring them down hard. I want them arrested. This could be some justice for your brother.”

“My brother’s gone, detective. He’s in heaven now. He wasn’t a killer like me and you. He was a God-fearing man and he wouldn’t want revenge. Justice came when the trial was over, and Fort got disassembled. They pulled him apart, limb by limb, and shut off his brain when it was over. Justice for my brother happened, but I’d rather him be here, now, alive.”

“So he was here working for your father, then one day starts to shoot at you all randomly?” Dhata said. “Did someone say something? Can you remember what set him off, or did he just snap out of nowhere?”

“It came out of nowhere, sir, like a switch went off. We was joking around, working on the fence, and then I saw him grab a rifle and check to see if it was loaded. I was like, ‘come on dumbass, we can’t go hunting now. The fence need finishing or Pops will flip his wig.’ That’s when he shot at me, and I reached for my pistol. By that time, Cliff came out with his gun, but Tyler was shooting at the house. He didn’t have a chance, it happened so fast. By the time I shot Tyler, my brother was gone.”

“I appreciate you telling me, Will. Sorry to have you relive it again,” Dhata said.

The man nodded and inhaled the morning air. He shouldered his rifle and cocked his head. “You know, all of this is on record from the trial. What made you come out all this way just to drop in on my family?” he said.

“Because I needed to ask you questions that those lawyers wouldn’t know to ask. I’m hoping that you can help me find out who the rest of Tyler’s troop were. I know that they didn’t all get deployed to the same place, but I’m hoping that he told you about them, or you have some knowledge of their whereabouts.”

Will walked over to Dhata and pointed to his tablet. “You may want to write this down,” he said. “Tyler was part of a group of vets made up mostly of old robots like himself. They would meet once a month, but he wouldn’t tell me where. I have a box of his old stuff, if you think it will help.”

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

Lur was bored out of her mind, logged into her rack, poking around the Virtual Village. She caught up with old friends, played some games, and did a bit of research on the case. After a few hours she was pacing the small apartment, wondering how long before Dhata would return.

She struggled against her feelings. It was silly on the surface, since she had only been there for several hours. But it didn’t seem to matter as panic took over, along with the thought of being stuck there for days. Eventually she marched upstairs and slipped into an all-black suit. She took out her pistol and examined it closely, then tucked it into one of the jacket’s pockets.

She didn’t know where she was headed, but her only thought was of escaping her cushy prison. When she opened the hatch leading to the tunnel, she could already hear noise coming from the bar. It was evening time and the joint was jumping. There was no way that she would be able to step out without some of the patrons noticing.

The sound of hard music was shaking the walls, and the tunnel seemed ready to collapse. She ran up the stairs and hesitated at the door, closing her eyes to think. What she was doing was foolish, a violation of trust, but she hoped that Dhata would understand.

She pushed the trapdoor open and climbed out into the room, then pulled back the mat to cover it up. When she stepped out towards the bar, a bouncer closed on her fast, grabbing her by the arm and asking her what she was doing back there. “Thought it was the restroom,” she lied to him, and he scanned her face as if he could read something.

“The restroom is right here, how the hell could you miss it? There’s a big glowing sign with the word ‘restroom.’”

“Let me go. You’re hurting me, you big ignorant ox. I can’t be the only one to make this mistake,” she said.

“You are, you dumb hume,” he said, then released her with a shove. Lur had never seen a synth with this much hate in her entire life. He frightened her, and she felt like a fool for leaving the sanctuary that Dhata had set up. All around her were synths partying hard. There were a few humans too, but they looked like outcasts, hardened criminals that sided with synths.

She didn’t belong here and it was quite obvious by the way everyone looked at her. The women stared at her in the same way that she imagined birds stared at worms or fish. The men were worse, and the bartender—who was one of Aaron’s hools—pretended not to see her.

Lur slipped through the crowd, found the exit, and was out on the streets as fast as she could. It bothered her that escaping her hideout did not come with the feeling of relief that she expected. What she felt instead was a strong feeling of fear.

The sky, a color like cobalt steel, held several zeppelins seemingly frozen. They were suspended in a semi-permanent state of hover, the only sign of life being the blinking lights on each one of their hulls.

She felt as if they were spying on her, the lost human girl with the big bad protector. She felt embarrassed. She was now a liability, a stumbling elephant in a room full of wineglasses. She had walked into a bar filled with synth hools, the easiest target for a cypher to hack. They had seen her emerge, watched her leave, and now she was outside in the open.

Why did I surrender to my stupid fears? she thought, and hurried to the opposite curb. Ybor City was safe, that’s what Dhata had said, and he would know, being that he had connections all over the city.

She placed her finger near her ear and touched the implanted node, closing her eyes in sync with the motion to bring up her computer’s interface. Finding the phone icon, she triggered the application, scrolling through the various headshots until she found the one she wanted.

The evening was warm, a humid hell, and she was tempted to remove the jacket. There was a bench by what used to be a restaurant, but something had caved the entrance in. She sat in front of it and crossed her legs, slipping her boot down to rub at her shins. The phone connected and a gruff voice answered, “Hey, Lurita,” and she sighed with relief.

‡Chapter 9‡

Ghosts in the Alley

When Lur told Dhata that she’d left the safe house he immediately knew that it was time to act. If he didn’t strike first, it was only a matter of time before they would catch up with her. Akiyama Koch wanted her because of something she saw and he had a feeling that it tied right in with Jordan and his suicide.

He was annoyed when she told him but he kept his patience and told her to wait till after hours and return to the safe house. It was late and he was tired, having driven for several hours, and the zeppelin was no longer safe enough for him to return to.

Typically when Dhata felt out of options he would dig in deep and think about a person or resource that he could tap to get information. Right now those options seemed minimal at best, so he called Hiroshi to see if the cypher had any good ideas.

“Dhata Mays, I was wondering when you would call me,” Hiro said when he answered.

“Really?” Dhata said. “Why? Is there something we need to talk about?”

“Lurita and I have been talking about the case and where you are in the investigation,” he said. “You are at a dead end, guessing at a deeper plot as the cause for the explosion in the shuttle port.”

“Did Lur tell you that a certain company is trying to kill her?” Dhata said.

“Yes, she did, actually, and I found the chatter on the grid—”

“Wait, you found them?” Dhata said, sitting up with excitement.

“It was a chance thing when I started to monitor the communication lines coming into the company that we shall not name. I was probing around their firewall, taking note of all the cracks that I could exploit later. My main hope was for a big enough backdoor that I could slip my program into, remove the call for Lur’s capture, and then cripple their infrastructure so badly that they would forget about her in the fallout.”

“No luck?”

“There was luck, but of a different kind. I can cripple them, hurt them badly in the financial area, but in terms of stopping their pursuit of Lur—I didn’t see anything in their grid.”

“That would be too easy,” Dhata said. “Fate demands that I blow up their building instead of leaning on your covert ops. This isn’t your problem, Hiro, and I know that you don’t hack for free. What would I owe you to keep doing your thing?”

“This is a synth manufacturer that produced a mass-murdering synth, Dhata. It also threatened the life of a beloved friend. I don’t think that you can get more personal than what they have, so this isn’t just another job, if you know what I mean. This is a chance for some righteous cypher justice.”

“Love it,” Dhata remarked, smiling despite himself. “Do you know anything about this hunt for Lur, or the troops they produce there? The man I was looking into was also a synth, manufactured at that place and served in the same unit as Jordan—the shuttle port bomber. His buddy said that he was part of a group, some sort of post-war synth soldier club.”

“On the global network synths are calling them The Unsung. They’re an organization of synth ex-military, helping one another to assimilate into society.”

“The Unsung? Never heard of them, but the name is appropriate for synth military. Tell me, do many people know about them? Have they done anything like this before? Why is this the first time I’m hearing about them?”

“Well,” Hiroshi said, sounding like a professor priming a student for a lecture. “They are deep-synth, need-to-know level. Basically they are known to us through the Arch Brain, but are so secretive that most of my kind wouldn’t commit them to thought. Synth soldiers know them, they have a great reputation, but outsiders are not allowed at their meetings and their members have a strict code of silence programmed into their brains. Simply put, my friend, they couldn’t discuss Unsung meetings even if they wanted to. I’m afraid you won’t be able to get any answers from a member of their organization.

“So, aside from giving veterans aid, what else do they do?” Dhata said.

“Recruit, provide bodies to conflicts that involve humans terrorizing synths. The other reason why you won’t get answers is because they are viewed as synth protectors. Even if they were behind that bombing at the shuttle port, you won’t find any synthetic willing to divulge information.”

“This blows my mind, Hiro. If only we knew how little we don’t know, we’d all be better for it. The Johns I used to work with thought that synths were merely machines emulating humanity. It is the main reason synth on synth crime is ignored for the most part. But, here you have a secret organization that is thriving—yet again—due to human negligence.”

“You have always been wise, Dhata,” Hiro said.

“Wise, and a bit frightened, Hiro. If this group has gone violent now, there will be little that any of us can do about it. They have soldiers that have fought wars, secrecy, a company with more money than God covering things up, and a government that is so blinded by its policies that it doesn’t see them coming.”

“You speak as if all is lost, Dhata, but there is a chance,” Hiro said.

“Chance? Really? You see a way out of this? Please share, Hiro, because I’m fresh out of ideas.”

“Give me some time to research The Unsung. In the meantime, I have something for the people threatening Lurita. A virus, similar to the one we used to shut down that murdering Gemini; all you have to do is slip it in behind their firewall.”

Dhata thought about how difficult it would be to slip a virus into Akiyama Koch Robotics. Hiro may as well have asked him to sprout wings and fly. The AKR building was locked down, and after Lur’s stunt they would be on high alert, checking for any would-be spies trying to probe for information. Still, he was short on time and desperate. He would have to find a way to upload the virus, even if it meant walking in through the front door with his pistols blazing.

“Send me the virus and the instructions, Hiro. I’m on my way to Atlanta. If you find out anything on The Unsung, please let me know as soon as possible.”

“Okay, my friend, stay positive,” Hiro said. “You stopped Gemini, and he was a ghost. You will find the answer to this thing.”

“Take care, Hiro. Couldn’t do any of this without you, my friend,” Dhata said and hung up. His mind drifted to the happenings of the last few days following the suicide bombing of the shuttle port.

Aside from getting his bell rung, it had forced thoughts into his head that he hadn’t considered before. One of those thoughts was getting out and pursuing something else that wasn’t as hopeless as being a skiptracer. As attractive as that prospect seemed for the moment, he still felt responsible for everything that was happening.

It was due to his negligence that the turmoil between human and synth had gotten to the point where it was. Had he been able to catch Gemini earlier, he would have been able to shut him down without the public finding out. The relative peace between humans and synths would have been maintained.

Gemini’s murders had led to racial tensions, and the extremists on both sides were taking full advantage of it. Jordan’s suicide bombing escalated the violence, and now every hour—at least it seemed like every hour—there was a report on the police radio about a synth being killed and disassembled.

Humans too were being murdered and brutalized. How were they supposed to get things back to normal? Even if he was to choose to quit, the drones of AKR would be after Lur, and if they caught her, she’d disappear.

“Can’t let that happen. Not her, not now,” he whispered.

He had to stop them. He had to get them off of her trail and on to something else. If he got them off her, they would be able to go back to the zeppelin and then he would be able to properly investigate Jordan.

When he crossed the Georgia state lines it was mid-afternoon, and he was waking up from a much-needed nap. There was a missed call from Lur and a message from Aaron which he assumed was about Lur leaving her hiding place. He left it unread and listened to her message. It was the same old song, how she regretted her actions, and an inquiry on his whereabouts, which he didn’t intend on telling her.

Dhata sat up and observed his surroundings. CINI had parked near taxis by the shuttle port and was taking the opportunity to recharge her battery. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been in Atlanta, but just like now, he hadn’t come for a friendly visit. Trouble seemed to circulate the city, and due to this, he had turned down the opportunity to transfer there in the past.

On the surface, Atlanta was a beautiful metropolis, and one of the only cities to see no destruction during the war. Dhata stepped outside to stretch his limbs, then caught himself when someone eyed his revolver. He had left it carelessly strapped to his waist, and it was out in the open for all the world to see. Nothing would be more annoying than a John confronting him about the illegal pistol. He had lost the GLOCK that his father had given him and he was not intending to lose the revolver as well.

Getting back into the vehicle, he set a course for Akiyama Koch Robotics, then moved the pistol to the upper regions of the duster. There was a small compartment in the coat built specifically for concealing it, and the lining was made of a material that most scanners would miss.

CINI found a clear path to the building and they were on their way while Dhata closed his eyes and thought about his next move. Should he go in and force them to give up? Every muscle in his body wanted to go in there shooting just to watch the aftermath when the police came asking questions.

They would be chum for the media, and too busy to bother Lur, especially after the explosion that they had already lied about. But he had an illegal pistol of an illegal caliber, and he would already be in hot water for shooting up the place. His charges would be astronomical, and the prosecutors would pull up his files. It wouldn’t take long for them to find out that he had a history of violence.

I would be a sexier media target than Akiyama Koch, he thought. Ex-detective turned mass murderer … news at 10. No, the cowboy answer is the worst idea, so what else can I do? Use your brain, Dhata, what do you think Jason would do?

“I need a patsy to plant the bug. That’s what I will do,” he said.

The Buick turned off the road towards a hotel, and he was happy to be off the road. He would need the evening and a good night’s sleep to hatch a plan for Akiyama Koch Robotics.

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

Lur thought that her mind was playing tricks on her. It wouldn’t be the first time that it had done so. Being on the run in the past and changing her identity had come with spooks on every corner. She wondered if this was how people in the witness protection program felt as they moved around in their new identities. It was nerve-wracking, always watching your back, and never feeling comfortable enough to relax.

When she first spoke to Dhata, he was angry, practically commanding her to return to the hideout. Her stunt was disruptive, and now he was on his way to confront Akiyama Koch Robotics. She kept trying his phone but he wasn’t answering, which made her nerves even worse. She was in the middle of Ybor surrounded by synths, and feeling so low that she wanted to scream.

The synths here were different. They were hostile, angry, and extremely volatile. She learned this quickly when she stared in a woman’s direction for too long. The synth woman slapped her, and when she tried to retaliate, a large man lifted her up like a child and placed her down behind him. She had felt so powerless that she reached for her pistol, but thought better of it when she saw how many there were.

She stuck out from them, a human and an outsider, all these synths looking at her with disdain. She was seated on the curb waiting for nightfall. It would be the longest night of her life. Clubs in Ybor closed at 3:00 a.m., and she would have to wait till then to break into the bar and sneak back to her hideout. She blinked her left eye slowly to glance at her clock, and saw that it was barely 7:00 p.m.

There was some commotion in front of a comedy club, where a number of hools were selling stims. She saw a well-dressed woman—she wasn’t sure if she was human or synth—but she was the source of the commotion.

“Get the fuck outta here, freak, unless you got the UCCs you owe me,” a muscular hool said, then the woman snatched a bag from him and took off running down the street. Several men followed, but the muscle-man called them back. “See you tomorrow, baby,” he teased, and the woman glanced back and hissed.

She straightened her skirt—a shear, pink, expensive-looking thing, then looked in the bag and smiled. Lur realized that there was something familiar about her, and when their eyes met, she was sure of it. They looked at one another for a really long time, and then the woman was gone, moving as if she had seen a ghost and needed to escape.

Was this woman Cuban, and recognized Jose Diaz’s daughter? Lur wondered, then thought about the repercussions of that being the reality. Without thinking better of it she hopped up to pursue her, starting with a stride that soon became a light jog. The woman sped up and Lur matched her pace, everything inside of her telling her to keep going.

She entered a crowd and lost her immediately, stuck amidst sweaty bodies wrapped in leather and latex fashion. She thought about the reality of what she was doing, a vulnerable human chasing a synth through hostile streets.

This isn’t smart. Why am I doing this? she thought, but then she saw the pink skirt of the woman as she turned down a side road. She was after her again, pushing her way past several people. Thunder struck and it was suddenly raining hard as the pursuit took her down a dark alley.

The woman stopped all of a sudden, forcing Lur to do the same. Then she turned around and stared at her with a blank expression. Lur froze, feeling exposed. She didn’t know what to do or say. Why did I chase her? I don’t know what I’m doing, she thought, then her fingers fumbled nervously until she balled them up into fists.

She was soaked from the downpour and hair was in her face, making it hard to see. Unconsciously she reached up and brushed her curls back. She hadn’t realized that the woman was aware of her following, but now she prepared herself for what would come next. They stood for a time, staring at one another, rain beating down on them from the eaves of the rooftops.

“You saw me,” the woman said, “and now they will kill you.” She then glanced behind her as if she expected someone to appear. A car pulled up and stopped at the end of the alley. Lur stepped forward, not wanting her to go, but the woman threw a hand up in warning. “Stop, skiptracer, forget that you saw me. The road you travel will only end in tragedy,” she said.

Lur made to reply but the woman was gone. The vehicle took off, kicking up water as it sped away from the alley’s entrance. Lur ran out to record the vehicle’s details. It was a Toyota with the plate number, 45X-FWP0. She realized then who the woman was, and the thought made her stomach turn upside down.

“Natalya Crane, here in Ybor?” she whispered. “But she’s supposed to be with the FBI!”

If Natalya is free, why would the Johns lie, and why would the FBI be going along with the farce? she wondered. Has Natalya managed to escape somehow? So many thoughts ran through her mind that she barely noticed that she was soaked through and through.

“Need a ride somewhere?” said a voice that brought her out of her daze. It was a dark man in a pickup truck, who had pulled up beside her.

“I’m not a Mary, asshole,” she said, and the man, seemingly offended, sped off, splashing her with muddy water and nearly running her over.

“Perfect,” she whispered, and forced herself to walk. She needed to get back to her safe house and into some dry clothes.

‡Chapter 10‡

Coffee and Boredom

It was Monday, mid-afternoon, and Dhata left his hotel, rested and ready. He had CINI drive him slowly to Akiyama Koch, but when they got near the building he took over the controls and pulled in to a nearby plaza. It had a variety of eateries so he assumed that the employees of Akiyama Koch would be eating there.

He pulled up a program on the Buick’s dash to access the cameras on the exterior. Time after time people would exit a restaurant, but never alone, and never close to his vehicle. He was out of options and the window was closing. He couldn’t wait another day to plant the virus.

He sat for an hour but opportunity was out of reach. The hungry patrons traveled in groups, and he felt himself becoming desperate. It was after 2:00 p.m. and he was still people-watching when he recognized the AKR logo on a young man’s coveralls. It was past the lunch hour, so he assumed that he was not in the plaza to eat. He marked him mentally as he entered a coffee shop, then watched the door until he emerged.

The man stepped out with a tray full of coffees, and Dhata crossed the parking lot to meet him. He forced a smile, trying to look as friendly as possible. This was quite the feat being that he looked like a seasoned boxer, and the duster only added to his naturally intimidating presence. When the man glanced over at him, he flashed his old badge. It was a relic from a decade past when he was required to carry one.

“Am I in trouble?” the man said, pulling up short, and Dhata quickly tucked the badge away.

“Not at all. I just don’t want you thinking that I’m hostile is all. You work at Akiyama Koch, am I right?”

“AKR? Yeah, I work in the manufacturing plant.”

“Did you walk over here?”

“Yes,” he said, his face taking on a look of worry.

“You’re crazy walking all the way over here. Did you lose a bet or something? Let me give you a ride back to AKR,” Dhata said.

“What is this about, detective?” the man said, seeming concerned.

“I have a proposition, and it comes with a reward. AKR is under investigation for some illegal business practices, and I am the man that has been put on the job. The problem is, I can’t get anywhere past their trained team of synths. They lie and mislead, and I can’t get any answers. You work there, so you know what I’m saying. My initial thought was to get a warrant but you guys and your red tape.” He forced a laugh and the man nodded in agreement. “You see how things are, humans and synths at each other’s throats? We’re just trying to bring back peace, and your bosses aren’t playing along.”

The man looked troubled, as if he was grappling with the idea of betraying his company for the greater good. He looked down at the coffees and then up at Dhata, like a schoolyard victim standing up to a bully. “It’s about that explosion, isn’t it? Those synth-hating fools that shot a rocket at our building. You know, it’s not just synths that are working in there, but the bigots don’t care enough to consider that.”

“I just want answers, and I’m pretty desperate. I want to prove that it was an attack,” Dhata said.

“It was,” the man said, animated and angry. “They told us that we were safe, and that they were talking to the police, but you’re saying that they pretty much lied.”

Dhata motioned to his vehicle and the man checked his watch, then followed him reluctantly to the Buick. Once they got inside Dhata pulled off slowly, then kept his eyes forward as he spoke. “This is against the rules but I’m at my wits end…” He paused and glanced at the man, looking for a name.

“Javier,” he said, seeming much more relaxed, which served to strengthen Dhata’s resolve.

“Javier, I need to get this case going so that we can catch the hools who did it. On the center console there next to your arm is a card that I want you to take. Lay it on a rack inside of the building, and for your trouble, I’ll wire you a hundred UCCs.”

“A hundred UCCs just to drop off a card? It looks like a probe that cyphers use—”

“It is a probe. Not bad. Didn’t take you for an IT person, but you’re 100% correct,” Dhata said.

“So, let me get this straight, and correct me if I’m wrong. I leave that card on a rack, and the person with the twin will be able to attempt a hack into our systems.”

When he looked over at Dhata the skiptracer nodded in agreement, pulling into the parking lot and slowing to a stop. “Javier, you love our synth brothers and sisters; I am pretty sure most people here do. What would be the point of giving life to people who you mistrust and hate? I grew up with synths, so I do care. I joined the force to help everybody, not just to collect the tiny check that they pay us. I need your help; you’re my last hope. We need to make sure that this doesn’t happen again.”

Javier looked at the cypher card and then up at Dhata, his internal conflict reflected on his face. Finally he nodded and Dhata reached into the dash, grabbed a blank transfer chip, and deposited a hundred UCCs from his personal account. “There’s a lock on this chip, but you can see plainly that I have the credits ready to transfer. Take it, keep it, and drop off my card. When I get confirmation I’ll remove that lock.”

Javier nodded his head and exited the Buick, walking like a man with a purpose, not once glancing back. Dhata hoped that he would do what he was asked. He seemed desperate enough; not for the greater good but for the UCCs he promised. When Dhata mentioned the money, the man’s face had lit up, and it was then that Dhata knew that he would accept the bribe.

Poor guy, he thought, he probably knew that I was full of it, but AKR probably pays him a pittance. He’s merely dropping off a card, and if he’s slick enough, they will never catch him doing it.

He exhaled and sat back, feeling exhausted. He hadn’t eaten and the smell of coffee had made his hunger worse. On top of that he was gambling on an outsider, flying by the seat of his pants to access AKR. What if Javier had been playing him the entire time? What if he was a manager, trained in the art of dealing with spies attempting to infiltrate?

He had made the mistake of revealing himself. The drones and cameras around Akiyama Koch would spot employee Javier exiting a white Buick. It was a change in pattern, an anomaly that they would pick up, this cog in the machine suddenly showing up in an enhanced detective’s vehicle. CINI’s signature would be picked up, and they could identify him as a skiptracer. When the breech was investigated, Javier would be questioned, and he would have no reason to protect Dhata’s identity.

It was up to fate now, or lady luck, the same lady luck that was probably exhausted with him. He had gotten through so much, and now here he was again, hoping for luck to step in and help. Maybe Hiro can wipe the footage, if his virus grants him access, he thought.

When the virus was in, cameras would go dark, drones blind, and synths would be frozen. The information it destroyed would be copied back to the master cypher, Hiro, who would then scrape it, looking for clues on their obsession with Lur.

By the time the system’s defenses learned a way to stop it, all evidence of Lur would no longer exist. They would roll back their databases, then restart the system, and all traces of the virus would be gone.

“I don’t know what I was doing without you in my life, Hiro,” Dhata said, after calling the cypher to tell him about Javier.

“Don’t thank me yet, big guy,” Hiroshi said. “We still have to wait for your plant to drop the chip.”

“How will we know when it happens?” Dhata said, and Hiroshi laughed, a thing he didn’t do often.

“When it happens it will be the equivalent of someone dropping a bomb on that building. Everything will start to fail, and their security will become null and void. Akiyama Koch will be forced to shut down until they find a way to fix the problem. It will be devastating, Dhata, and they will lose millions of UCCs. If they trace any of this back to you, I fear that they will have you assassinated,” he said.

“I don’t care about that, Hiro. They can send who they want. What I care about is that they stop tracking us so that I can get back to my house.”

“I understand, and when it happens, I will let you know immediately. Though I doubt that I will have to, since it will be all over the news. This is actually frightening, my friend. Companies like Akiyama Koch do not take cyber-attacks lightly. They are gods to one such as me, and I am not positive that they aren’t a step ahead of us.”

Dhata started up the Buick and left the property, realizing late that he was still parked. The fact that even Hiroshi feared Akiyama Koch Robotics made him want to leave the area as soon as possible.

“Any room in that Japanese mansion of yours for a cypher-in-training?” he said.

“You mean Lurita? No … While I would love to have her over here, it would mean that I too would come under attack by Akiyama Koch’s drones. If our plan works and they forget about her, I would be happy to show her Tokyo. I am sorry Dhata, but I am still a synth, and they are a real threat to my livelihood.”

Dhata picked up speed as he locked on to the highway, pushing south towards Tampa. “It’s okay, Hiro, I was halfway joking anyway. Plus, I see the way she looks at you, the way you two talk … do you think I’d make it so easy?” There was a considerable pause on the end of the line till Dhata started laughing uncontrollably. “Just giving you a hard time, Hiroshi, my friend. I will talk to you later,” he said.

They exchanged their goodbyes and he was left to his thoughts.

He looked back at the Akiyama Koch Robotics building, sticking up from the cityscape like a glass sword. What if they aren’t behind any of this? he thought. The only connection he had between them and the shuttle port was the fact that Jordan Crane was created there. Lur being chased could be coincidence as well. What if Akiyama Koch Robotics had nothing to do with any of it? Hiro’s virus is about to do a ton of damage, and for what? A hunch that they threatened Lur?

He felt ashamed. He’d been so rash. A good detective would have gotten the facts before putting such a dangerous cypher on it. Love and emotion, that’s what had done it. He was no longer completely on the case, he was reacting to Lur being stalked. But now that he had planted the seeds to set his beloved free, there was still the case of the synth soldiers that were out there killing humans.

He had learned of The Unsung, and their connection with Jordan and Tyler, and he had also learned that Jordan’s wife was a cyborg. This last bit was confusing; it didn’t make sense. If she was posing as a human, why marry a synth? She was attractive enough to get whomever she wanted, yet she’d married Jordan Crane, a veteran synth soldier.

Not only did she marry him, but she’d also suspected him of having an affair. She was the loser through and through, yet someone had paid a large sum to make her into a cyborg. Dhata’s head was spinning as he went over these clues, and he felt lost with no hope of finding an answer. He reached down and touched the dash, pulling up the menu, then found his music collection and searched for a suitable soundtrack.

Horns came on. It was Miles Davis’ Birth of Cool. He settled back into his seat and put his worn wingtips up on the dash.

So, this cyborg disappears, detained by the FBI a week after her synth husband killed a bunch of us, he thought. They wouldn’t even let me see her … she’s never mentioned in the news. Sounds to me like she’s part of a cover-up, some sort of deep covert ops to spy on the synths. Maybe whomever she works for learned about The Unsung, and knew that the only way to get them was to have her marry one of the members. No, that doesn’t explain her being a cyborg. Unless, of course it has nothing to do with this.

“Javier saw my face,” he said. “Hiro’s virus better do as he said it would. CINI, take me home to Tampa Bay.” He leaned against the door, thinking about the different uses for a cyborg. Though he came up with theories he kept coming back to one. Natalya Crane was a spy, but the unanswered question was, for whom? Was she built by the government to spy on The Unsung, or was she the construct of an evil genius?

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

Lur wondered if it was mere coincidence that every bar in Ybor chose to leave their lights off in lieu of the exterior neon signs that barely worked. It gave the place an alien feeling, like she was in another world where all that existed was booze and corroded jazz.

She was on her third cosmopolitan, nursing it slowly as she tried to blend in. There was a young synth passed out to her right, but he was already there when she came in, and she purposefully sat next to him. It was a clever ploy to keep strange men away since most would assume they were together. She was there to burn time, not mingle with strange men, so she sat close to the sleeping synth while she sipped slowly at her drink.

Behind the bar was a gangster playing at bartender. He wore dark shades in the already dark space, and a scowl that seemed permanently in place. She knew he was a gangster immediately since there was nothing about him that would allow him to fit in to the human world.

In place of his left arm was a cybernetic claw which appeared to have been taken from a first generation android. Lur wondered if he was ex-military as well; his moves and demeanor were very precise. “So what you in for?” she joked, peering over her glass, and he stopped looking around to focus on her.

His matted blonde hair was streaked with silver, and a jagged pink scar ran from his right eye to his chin. He looked more dangerous than anyone she’d seen, and his gaze sent shivers down her spine.

“Comedian, huh? Looking to start trouble to use that fancy little relic of yours?” he said. She looked down self-consciously, following his eyes, and saw that her vest had somehow popped open. She wore a tight green turtleneck of reinforced latex, but her holstered pistol was now exposed.

She quickly reached down and buttoned the vest, then sat up straight to prevent it from happening again. “It’s nothing, just protection. Forget that you saw it,” she said.

“It’s cool, little lady. I’m the last person to give you shit for wanting to protect yourself, but you have my interest piqued. What’s a pretty hume Betty doing down here sitting next to losers and buying my drinks? You some kind of undercover John, looking in on the ‘robots’ to make sure we behave, or you one of them bad girls, looking for a synth to show you a good time?”

“What if I’m the last one, eh, chico duro? … You have something for me? You show me a good time?” Lur said, and the bartender laughed.

“Sorry, not interested. I don’t go to bed with crazy.”

“Crazy?” Lur said, wondering why he’d call her crazy.

“Any hume brave enough to be in my bar after midnight has to be crazy. Especially a pretty one toting a concealed old pistol.” He snorted. “You’re not someone I’d try, nope, not without provocation.”

“Good answer,” she said, and gave him a smile, though she knew that it was all flattery.

If it were up to her she would close her eyes, activate her CPU, and launch the Virtual Village. Traveling around inside of that virtual world would burn away time quickly. She could access a rack, look up information on Natalya’s license plate, and talk to Dhata discretely. Sadly, there was nowhere in the city where she felt safe enough to close her eyes, and being human was even worse, since she was probably being watched.

“Hey, feisty, who’re you hiding from? I know that you’re not in here just to enjoy my attempt at mixing drinks,” the bartender said.

“Not hiding, more like waiting—”

“For what?” he said. “You been here hours. To tell you the truth, you’re making me nervous, like you’re in here casing my ass.”

Lur was stuck. He was about to get hostile, and no suitable lie was coming. “I’m under protection of Aaron Tang. You do you know who he is, right? He was helping me hide from someone that wants me dead, but I left the hideout and have to wait to return.”

The big man stared at her for a very long time, as if he had undergone a reboot. “Aaron confirms he knows you,” he said, “but he’s not very happy. Says to tell you to go back to the spot, they’ll let you go through the hatch. You’re really lucky that you told me the truth, sweetheart. I was about to do you something awfully bad.”

Lur swallowed hard and hopped off the stool, sliding her finger across the UCC payment strip. She paid for her drink with an enormous tip, and exited the building quickly. She was happy to return to her underground home, and frightened at the thought of what had almost happened.

‡Chapter 11‡

My Partner’s Ex-Lover

“I’m out of my league,” Dhata mumbled, feeling a deep tiredness in his bones. When Jason was alive, the job had been fun. It was a treat to work on cases without being under the heavy weight of the badge. Now he was alone, with no police help, and grasping at straws for clues.

A buzzing in his ear and a blinking icon in his field of vision made him realize that Lur was calling him. “Did you get back in?” he quickly asked as soon as they connected.

“Yes, I’m actually here now, seated on the bed,” she said.

“You scared the crap out of me, y’know?” Dhata said.

“Oh, I know, mi vida, trust me, I learned my lesson. You will not be seeing me doing anything like this again,” she said. Her voice dipped an octave when she spoke those words and Dhata wondered what was behind it.

“Did something happen today, Lurita? Did someone do something to you?” he said.

“No, but they got close … and that is enough. I got it, and I will be here until you come for me,” she said.

“I don’t like the way that sounds. Is there something that you aren’t telling me?” he said.

“Yes, but I don’t trust the phones, especially here where I don’t know what or who is behind this wall.”

“True, yeah, you’re right. So smart. It’s one of the things I love about you,” Dhata said.

“Love?” Lur said, seeming surprised, and Dhata realized what he said.

“I’m just saying, it’s … it’s what makes you, you. Do you know what I mean?” he said.

“Pussy,” Lur said, laughing. “Too afraid to say it to me properly? Come on, Dhata, say it. Want me to go first?”

“Stop breaking my balls, Lurita,” he said.

“You said you love me, I know what I heard. Anyway, I miss your face,” she said.

“You’re seeing it now—”

“I know, but I want to see it, in person,” she said.

“Couple of hours and I can grant you that wish, princesa,” he said.

“Oh, you’re on your way back?”

“Yeah, feels like I haven’t held you in a year.”

“Oh, Dhata,” she said. “That makes me so happy. And I have something for you; it’s pretty big. Something I learned when I was running around out there.”

Dhata was intrigued. “About the case or something else?” he said.

“The case.”

“Oh? Well, I’ll be there as soon as possible,” he said.

Tampa looked spectacular from the highway coming in, and it reminded him of how much he loved the city and the people within it. Dirty Johns aside and filthy hools, Tampa was his home, and it had helped make him who he was. It had gone to hell with the infighting, but it was fixable, though no one else seemed to care. Maybe whatever it was that Lur had found out would be the break he needed.

He sat up straight and took the wheel, feeling reenergized and somewhat excited. What if she’d learned something of The Unsung, or Jordan Crane, for that matter? He found Ybor City and parked on 7th Ave where Aaron’s hools would recognize his car. He stepped out in his trademark long, brown duster, revolver in his coat, concealed but accessible.

Ybor City was jumping with music and activity but it looked as if every synth had come out in the streets to leer at him. Damn, Lurita went through this? he wondered. I feel like food for predators. He kept to the area of the sidewalk closest to the street, watching for anything hostile.

A neon sign blinked and sparked as he passed under it, fading as if it barely hung on to life. It should have stolen his attention, but he was too focused, and as it darkened he kept on moving towards Lur’s hideout.

He walked past a man, edging through the crowd, and as he made to pass him, a knife was thrust in the area of his heart. The knife struck the revolver beneath his coat, and Dhata grabbed him by his neck and pulled him inside of a nearby building.

But the hool was strong and escaped his grip, then lifted him up and threw him onto the concrete floor. The wind went out of Dhata as he fumbled for the revolver, but he couldn’t grasp it before the hool kicked him in the chest.

Dhata covered his head with his hands to protect it from the kicks. When there was a break in the barrage, he slipped the revolver free. When the hool lifted his big foot to plant a stomp, Dhata rolled to his back and pulled the trigger. The loud crack of the handgun made the streets go silent, and then the outside erupted with people fleeing.

The bullet tore into the hool’s throat and pushed him back into the front glass, shattering it on impact and impaling him on a shard. Dhata scrambled to his feet and walked into the street, turning around slowly as he scanned the panicked crowd. “For those who don’t know me,” he said to anyone within earshot, “I’m Dhata Mays. I’m a skiptracer with a very old revolver. Some of you know me, but most of you are new, so new people, let me tell you how it is. This bloody decoration that you see behind me? It is my first warning to all of you that I am not to be tried.”

Most seemed to hear but then a few began to fuss, and others inched closer to examine the body. It was as if they had a hard time understanding how a human could gun down one of their kind. The noise increased, and Dhata knew that there would be trouble. Then a popping sound brought him around.

He was on his back, but he couldn’t remember how, and above him stood several men—Aaron’s hools.

Dhata had been shot with an electroshock round, and would have probably been executed had they not saved him. He didn’t know how long he was out, but he got to his feet, upset.

“This way, Mr. Mays,” said one of the hools, and Dhata could see that he was armed with an illegal pistol. That was their advantage, they had real killing weapons. The newcomers carried electroshock tubes, which were no match for guns.

“Tell Aaron I’ll make this up to him,” Dhata said.

“Oh, he knows,” said the man in front of him. “He likes you in this position—”

“Is that going to be a problem?” Dhata said.

“What?”

“The body that I left back there. Is that going to cause me problems later on?”

“What body?” said the man, and the other four laughed. It made Dhata smile despite the awkward situation. It was unexpected to see such loyalty from Aaron’s hools, and in this he saw that the synth boss was greater than his predecessor.

They took him to the bar and he entered alone, stopping as he walked inside to see if they were following. The men stopped out front to guard against any would-be avengers, so he walked back outside and shook the hand of the first man that helped him.

“Aaron ain’t the only one capable of honor down here,” Dhata said. “Here’s my contact code. You get in any trouble with the Johns, you tell them that you know Dhata Mays.”

The man looked as if he had just won a million UCCs, but Dhata was happy to extend the favor. He turned around and walked inside, nodding to the bartender, then he slipped over to the restrooms, pulled up the hatch and slipped down into the secret passage.

The fight was still on his mind, heavy and frightening. Had the pistol not stopped the knife, he would be walking down a different tunnel. He hated this feeling, the “what could have happened” feeling. Considering his philosophy on luck having a limit, he was more than sure that his had bottomed out.

He pushed open the apartment door, stepped inside, locked it, then placed his back against it and exhaled. I murdered a man in plain view of every synth in the city, he thought. Then I did one better and announced my name, while threatening the rest. He took his hand and wiped his face, disappointed in himself. Brilliant, you great dumb ass, he thought, then—

“Dhata?” came a small voice from upstairs, and he smiled at the recognition of its source.

“It’s me, don’t shoot,” he said, halfway joking. “Come here, troublemaker. Let me see your face.”

Lur descended the stairs and flew into his arms, and his defenses shattered as he caught her and pulled her in. There was a moment during the excitement that he’d thought he might never see her again. But he was here, and she was with him, and nothing else mattered in that moment.

The hell that was his last twenty-four hours was only a blur and a memory. She led him upstairs, past her rack and a lamp that illuminated the cavernous room. She fell back on the bed and beckoned him to come as she kicked off her slippers and waited. He made to take off the duster, but she reached up and pulled him down. He tasted her lips, her breath hot and needing, and reached down to move fabric away from flesh. She shivered beneath him, and he gave her his warmth, reunited after what seemed like an eternity.

With their passion sated, he lay in a daze, with Lur’s cool body on top of him. His pants and duster lay halfway across the room, and next to his head lay his deadly revolver.

“There’s a round missing. What happened?” said Lur as her slender fingers examined it. “I saw your face earlier when you came in. Was it Akiyama Koch? Did you have to use it on them, or was it upstairs in the bar?”

“Let’s just say I’m not as well known around these parts as I would have you believe,” he said. “A hool tried to kill me, and I defended myself. Now every synth in Ybor is afraid of me. But I guess it is better to be feared than to be mistaken for an easy mark.”

“You’ve shot people before. Why is this one so different?” she said.

“The difference is that I shot a synth. Considering everything that is going on, I’m not trying to add to the problem. More than anything else what I’m worried about is the fact that there were all sorts of people in that crowd. Typically when I come down here, if I have to shoot someone, I know that the majority of the hools have disconnected from Arch Brain. Now my actions have been recorded and who knows what they can do with that info? I’m a criminal now, part of the problem. If you thought that it was hard before, you better believe it will get harder.”

Lur hopped up out of the bed and pulled on the sheets, forcing him into a roll in order to untangle himself. She powered on her rack and started typing, and was so lost into whatever it was she was doing that he stood still, watching her.

“Working on something?” he said after getting up and pulling on his pants.

“Oh, sorry. I was trying to see if Hiro could pick up on you being recorded to Arch Brain. He and I have an open chat going on the grid, and he would be the best person to ask. Right?”

Dhata recalled that there was something she had to tell him, and stopped to regard her as he pulled on his shirt. “What was that thing you had to tell me earlier?” he said.

“Oh,” she said, turning away from the rack. “I ran into our girl, Natalya Crane!”

‡Chapter 12‡

Running Marathons

Though Dhata hadn’t worked for the police department in years, his Buick still held a connection to their grid. It was one of the things that had been overlooked when they retired his badge and sent him on his way. Now he sat in the driver’s seat scrolling through their records, trying to locate Natalya’s mystery vehicle.

It was an unregistered car with a plate that didn’t exist, so he checked the FBI’s database for cars that the agents used. As he suspected, he found it there with the plate registered to an Agent Foster.

FBI, he thought. This wasn’t what I expected. But why would they hide such a disaster, especially one initiated by a synth? Dhata thought about Natalya Crane. Nothing about her made sense. She was a synth cyborg with expensive moderations, the type of moderations that only wealthy people could afford. Nothing about the house he searched or the Crane’s assets made them wealthy. There had to be outside help, but from where? Was Natalya Crane some sort of FBI plant?

If Natalya is law enforcement, why hasn’t she come clean? he thought. He was a skiptracer, and a former detective to boot. Why would she allow him to tail a potential terrorist armed with bombs? If she was innocent, why hadn’t she reached out? She had time to buy stims, but no time to call him or Lur to apologize? There were just too many questions now that the FBI was involved.

He left the hideout, heading for the only place where he could get answers on the FBI: the police. It was a shot in the dark, one that could end up fruitless, but he had to find out who this Agent Foster was.

The walk back to the Buick was probably the longest that Dhata had ever experienced. It was dawn, light enough for the neon lights to dim, but dark enough to still be dangerous. In the past he wouldn’t have cared, but with synths and humans at violent odds he was forced to watch his back.

One hand gripped his hat as he marched down the street, and the other held the revolver below the flap of his duster. The mist of the early morning made it hard to make out people, so he hoped that he would be able to slip through without incident.

Is this how it’s going to be every day that I come here? he wondered. Not that he was afraid of Ybor’s hools, but he was afraid of what they would pull out of him. Aaron was not his friend just to keep the peace that Peyton had established; he was his friend because anything else could mean a loss of revenue. Most hools in Ybor listened to Aaron, being that he had the largest gang in the city, but there were always fools trying to make a name for themselves, and all it took was one.

Dhata got to the Buick, where he saw three men seated on the hood and cracking jokes. He shook the first one’s hand, slipping him a credit chip of a hundred UCCs, then got inside the vehicle and powered on the engine.

Returning to the building that was his former job and home throughout his younger years should have been exciting, but all Dhata could think about was the corrupt Jackson Cole. He stepped inside of the air-conditioned building and returned a warm smile to the officer up front. She was a tan brunette with a floppy Mohawk that fell to one side, covering her left ear and eye.

He didn’t know her name but recognized her from the last time. Her badge read ‘Garcia’ and he saw that she was a detective. Her look was wrong for the department, but he could see it in her eyes; she wasn’t one of the crooks that had made him lose faith in the job.

“Looking for Jax?” she said when he stopped, using the pet name that Jackson went by.

He probably was the last John that Dhata wanted to see, but he had to keep up appearances. “Is he in?” he asked, hoping she would say no.

“You just missed him. Is there anything I can help you with?” she said.

Dhata breathed a sigh of relief. “Actually, yeah, I’m tracing a woman, but I think that I may be interfering with an FBI operation.”

“What makes you think this?” she asked, stepping out from behind the desk.

“I ran a plate on a vehicle that my mark slipped into, and it isn’t coming up on the regular channels.”

The woman smirked and he didn’t like it. She motioned for him to follow her into an office. When the door closed she pointed to a chair, then took up her own behind a rack. “You’re able to scan plates, skiptracer?” she said, and Dhata realized his mistake.

“Not me, personally, but I have my ways—”

“Come on, Dhata, I want to help but don’t treat me like I’m dumb,” she said. “What ways are those? Is someone feeding you info? Or is that fancy old car that you drive still fitted with police surveillance?”

Dhata froze where he sat, not knowing how to play it. He felt as if he was under cross-examination. “Am I in some sort of trouble here, detective?” he said, and the woman smiled again.

“Look, there’s a lot going on, and I’m busy, but I know who you are,” she said. “Jason was my lead, taught me everything about the job, and he adored you like some sort of big brother. I’m on your side, dude. And you can drop the pretense; I know that you have access to racks that tap into our system. Now, this agent that you’re looking for, what’s the real story, please? We can help each other out, but I need you to be straight with me.”

Dhata leaned forward in the chair and clasped his hands. This was moving too fast for comfort. This detective, Garcia, knew more than he liked, and most of it had to have come from Jason. Were they together? Jason had a family and kids, but a woman this hot, training under him? Not that her looks would automatically mean that Jason was guilty, but spreading his business definitely did.

“How long?” he said, leaning back.

“How long?” she repeated, trying to get the context.

“You and Jason,” he said, smiling, “or was it a one-time thing?”

“It’s not what you think,” she said quickly.

“Garcia—”

“Ariana,” she said, her stare intensifying.

“Ariana, you’re what, about 28, 29? I was slapping cuffs on kingpins when I was your age. Jason and I were real Johns, and we put a lot of bad guys in jail. The reason that we were so successful is because of the partnership we had. That man, he was my brother. I look in on his wife and kids, so when my deepest secrets are known by a third party, I know that it’s someone my brother trusted.”

She looked away, then brushed her hair away from her eye. “He wasn’t a bad man, Dhata; he loved his wife. I’m a friend. You can trust me, and I want the same thing that Jason wanted.”

“And what is that?”

“A peaceful city, where the police are actually police. An end to the corruption. Is that too much to ask? Now with that said, I need a favor and in exchange I will give you the info on that plate.” She leaned into him and whispered, “Jax and his crew are up to something, and I think that he’s setting me up. I can’t look into it myself because … well, you know how it is, but if you’re able to get me the evidence I need, well … you know.”

Cole was a monster, and Dhata knew this. He was one of the Johns who operated like a crime boss while floating above the law. He ran stims out of Ybor, using bribes and blackmail to keep it tight, and in the human areas he ran the rackets, with ex-cons handling his affairs. If Ariana was to accuse him, he had enough juice to get her fired or killed. His walking into the building must have been too good to ignore, so she lay out what she had in hopes of him becoming an ally.

“So you two didn’t have sex?” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

“Are you serious right now? This is what you’re focusing on? It’s none of your business, and Jason was my teacher and friend. Anything beyond that is in your perverted mind.”

“Just ruffling your hair a bit. What little you have…” he said.

“You’re one to talk,” she said, but he pretended not to hear it.

“I know my old partner, and you’re too much his type. You won’t get any judgment here. I was a terrible husband as a John; it was hard to play both roles. I have tabs on Cole, I know his every step, and I have a team of hools already building a file on him. So, what you need, I can do, but I will need your help, Ariana, way beyond a license plate.”

“I’ll help you if it’s on the level, Dhata. Not for revenge, or some sort of vendetta.”

“I’m investigating the explosion at the shuttle port as well as another connected crime. This woman was my client. Her husband was the suicide bomber, and the FBI allegedly took her in for questioning. Imagine my surprise when I see her down in Ybor, and then she hops into a car that is FBI issue.”

Ariana cursed and shook her head, then powered on the rack. “What’s the license number? Let’s see who it is,” she said as her ICLs synced.

“It’s ‘45X-FWP0’ registered to an Agent Foster. I need to know how to catch up with him,” Dhata said.

“Foster isn’t the real name, just a coded one for the system,” she said. “His name is Samuel Underwood. Give me your hand and I’ll upload the rest of his information. Now, once I do this, you’ll owe me, Dhata. I really need some concrete stuff on Jax.”

“You’re helping me. I don’t take that lightly, plus believe it or not, I’m happy to help. I was trying to find a way to bury that bastard personally, but with everything going on, I had to push it off to the side. I’ll send you some preliminary stuff to start your case tonight, then there’ll be more coming as I get it.”

Ariana’s eyes glazed over as she gestured rapidly, sifting through the records. After a minute of this, she powered it down and then stood up and walked around to where he sat. Dhata got up from his chair and they shook hands, the data passing from her forefinger to his implant.

He closed his eyes and activated his CPU interface, opening them to an augmented display. He saw Ariana’s note and opened it. There was the agent’s address, coupled with a personal note warning him to be careful. Below this she gave her own information, with an added, “Wanna get a drink?” scribbled below it all.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he said as she led him outside. “As to the drink, let’s do that, soon.”

She didn’t answer, but her smile said it all as she turned to walk back to the station. He almost ran to his car, excited about the progress. He could finally get answers about Natalya Crane. As he started up the engine he saw Jackson Cole, who was seated in a squad car, staring at him.

He knows that I’m onto him, Dhata thought, but what’s he going to do about it? Now that’s the question.

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

When he was back inside the Buick, Hiroshi called, and he seemed quite excited. “Dhata,” he said, “The virus worked, and the company is currently offline. I’ve also been able to break through a portion of our friend’s old rack. I will call you as soon as I have something substantial.”

Dhata was stunned by this news. The virus worked, and while he had expected it to, he was more than sure that something would interfere. With this bit of good news, they could move out of Ybor and get back to investigating the Cranes without any interference.

Everything within him wanted to call Lur and tell her, but she was still asleep, and he needed to calm down a bit from his excitement. Natalya Crane lived in the Pasco County area of Tampa. It would be a smooth ride north, and then he’d have to find a way to spy on her agent.

The FBI had way more tools and connections than he had, so he’d be at a disadvantage. This wouldn’t be something that he could knock out in one evening. It was Thursday morning, and he hadn’t had a real meal in over two days. No protein supplements, no vitamin refreshers, just alcohol and adrenaline. The pain in his stomach forced him to pull up to a Fast Food Expedition Console. He flipped through the menu and paid for two egg sandwiches, a hamburger with bacon, and two large drinks.

Most of this food was a just-in-case, since he didn’t know the state of the agent’s neighborhood. When he was back on the road, he pulled up the map, then tried to get information on the houses near the address. Most were occupied, but one was for sale. It sat on a corner within eyesight of the agent’s home.

Dhata pointed CINI to drive them near the empty house, then tried to find a place where he could hide the car. Wesley Chapel was a renovated area, resurrected from the war. Unlike the majority of the country, human labor had been used for the renovation, so the technology of the city would not be present there.

This was good for Dhata, since it meant that the cameras would not be talking to one another to warn the FBI. He could hide the car, slip into the empty house, and then settle in to see if Natalya Cole was really there.

The hiding place for CINI was a synth-run tow company. He paid the attendant a few UCCs to keep the Buick for a few days. It would be the last place they’d look, if he was discovered, so he didn’t mind paying to keep it hidden.

Once the car was parked he was out on foot, in a black tank top and jeans. His duster, hat, and the pistol he relied on were inside a bag with the food. He carried this slung over his shoulder as he walked to a nearby plaza where he found a fence separating the property from the abandoned home.

He waited for a break in the cars rolling by, then threw the bag over the fence. There were no dogs barking, no alarm went off, and his ICLs showed no evidence of a surveillance system. Once he was sure that no one saw him, Dhata jumped the seven-foot fence. It took him longer than he wanted to, but he was much older now, so he struggled up and over, feeling every bit of it.

He landed on soft grass in the backyard of the house, so he snatched up the bag and scrambled for the porch. The security system was powered down—the owners possibly conserving the electricity until needed. He reached inside his pocket and grabbed an override block, then placed it on the backdoor’s panel. It freed the mechanism instantly, and then the door slid open, granting him entry to a beautiful model home.

Sparing no additional chance at discovery, Dhata repowered the panel so that the backdoor could lock properly once more. He removed his shoes and placed them inside one of the kitchen counters, then crept to a front window where he could look out at the house where the agent lived. He dropped the bag on the floor but kept it close enough to grab if needed. This was an open house, so people were bound to visit it, and when that happened he needed to be gone.

Tiptoeing back to the front of the house, he pulled out a tiny orb-shaped camera, and snapped it to the top of the window. With a touch of a button he synced it with his ICL, and closed his eyes to observe the neighborhood through the lens. Once he had the perfect angle, he locked it in, then gathered the bag and his shoes to slip back out.

The sun was out now, bright as ever, and he could hear activity on the other side of the fence. From the sound of it, someone had seen him go over, and was now waiting for the police to arrive. “Damn,” he whispered. How was he going to get out? It was bad enough that they would be snooping around the house, but now he risked the chance of being exposed.

It was about to get hectic, and he would need his hands, especially with what he was about to do. Tearing off the tank top, he fashioned it into a mask, covering the majority of his face except his nose and eyes. He then took the bag, slung it over his back, and tied it in place to secure it. When he felt ready, he ran to the neighbor’s fence and vaulted, utilizing the power of his cybernetic leg.

He landed on the concrete in front of a pool where a group of men were having a barbecue. One pulled an electroshock tube, and the other three scattered. Seeing the gun, Dhata vaulted the next fence, this time landing in front of a refueling station.

The man with the tube decided to give chase and scrambled over the fence as Dhata ran. He saw that there were police at the fence, near the abandoned home, and one saw him running and shouted. Dhata slipped behind the refueling station, sprinted to a nearby bank, and found the back.

Sirens and angry shouts were yards away from him, but the John was fast and was catching up. Dhata shook his head and took off towards the front of the building, then across several lanes of fast-moving traffic. Typically the police chasing would stop, not wanting to risk their lives, but this John was a cowboy, and followed him across.

Dhata ran past an apartment complex, then slipped into the back where he saw a ten-foot fence. He clenched his teeth and scrambled up the fence, then pulled himself over like a skilled mountain climber. Several shots rang out, electroshock rounds, and the metal fence absorbed the current, sending shocks through Dhata’s body. Luckily for him he had one foot over the top, so when his body shut down, he fell on the opposite side.

As the police officer began to make the climb, Dhata regained mobility in his limbs. He limped away as fast as he could, and bit down hard against the pain. Soon, he was back out in the sunlight, running for his life, with the John still hard on his heels.

The pain fell away slowly as Dhata ran, and his cybernetic leg was kicked into overdrive. He was moving fast, and the policeman was falling behind, so he cut across another intersection. As expected, the policeman followed, but Dhata got to a hotel and began taking the stairs up. By the time the John made it to the building, Dhata was on the second floor, sprinting for the elevator.

He tore off his mask and loosened the bag, then found a floor near the top and rode the elevator there. Once he was up there, he found a maintenance closet where he sat on the floor breathing into his shirt to bring his heart rate down. The policeman would call for backup and they would shut down the building, so he knew that he would need to be gone before they had a chance to do that.

‡Chapter 13‡

Hottest of the Hot

Three flights to the rooftop and he was out in the sun amongst the solar panels. There would probably be a hover copter, looking for the man in black that terrorized the neighborhood. Dhata knew that whatever his plans were, they needed to be fast. Once the police arrived he’d be out of options. He walked to the edge and looked down to the ground, but there were people looking up, so he backed away quickly.

Rushing to the other side, he peered over the edge and saw that there was a pool with several people sunbathing. Backing up a few steps, he sprinted and jumped, hoping that he had judged the distance correctly. He hit the water hard, barely missing a swimmer, and the impact of the water stung his arms to the point where he thought they might be broken.

His jump had taken him far enough to reach the deep end, but he had still struck the floor and the pain in his legs was unbearable. Trying not to swallow the water, he climbed out and kept on moving. Jumping the fence at the back of the hotel, he cut through some bushes and was back on the street.

People were staring, but there was no one chasing him, and he limped across the busy street towards a residential neighborhood. This was a bad idea, as there were too many witnesses, but he kept to the sidewalk limping along. Touching his ear, he located his CPU and sent a distress signal to CINI. The signal came back positive and within a few minutes of limping, the Buick rolled up next to him with the door open.

Dhata jumped in and it took him home: not to Ybor where Lur was waiting, but to the zeppelin that he owned. He held his arm as he stared up at the ceiling, wondering where he’d gone wrong. He had planted the camera, got out of the house, but he’d done a poor job of securing an escape.

He closed his eyes against the throbbing of his limbs and hoped that it wouldn’t be a long drive. When it got unbearable, he reached into the console, grabbed a flask, and knocked it back.

When he was at the zeppelin he limped inside and checked the security system. When he was satisfied that the place was secure, he went into the master bedroom and found his medical pod. Pulling himself into it, he sat down and sealed the door. The medical pod put him to sleep, and when he opened his eyes, it was dark outside.

Stepping out, he called up Lur, then collapsed onto his couch to talk to her. The leather felt good, cold and soft, and on the table in front of it was an unfinished beer.

“Dhata,” came Lur’s voice, and he threw out her augment so that they could see one another. “You’re home? What the hell, man. Did you forget about me?” she said.

“No, of course not. I’ll send for you in a bit, but I have some news that you’ll like. I planted a camera outside of Natalya’s place so that we can see who this FBI agent is that she’s been hanging with.”

“Are you okay? You don’t look okay,” Lur said, and he had to smile at her intuition.

“I’m good now, at least … I think. Will know for sure tomorrow if the zeppelin doesn’t get surrounded by SWAT. How are you holding up? Still going stir crazy in there?” he said.

“Considering what I went through the last time I left, I don’t allow myself to think about that,” she said. “Are you coming back tonight or are you staying there?”

“I have to stay put for at least a day. Doctor’s orders. Know what I mean?” he said.

“You were hurt,” she said, leaning forward as if she could examine him. “You got hurt today and you are not wanting to tell me all the details.”

“Got chased by Johns and took a leap of faith. Remember when you were on that roof in Atlanta?” he said, and she nodded. “Well, I was in a similar position and had to jump. Found a pool but it didn’t do much to protect me … not from that height.”

“Dhata, this is too much. You keep on getting hurt. Maybe we should—”

“I’m not stopping, Lurita, so don’t ask me to stop. It’s not really possible at this point. Listen, I’m sending CINI to you, to bring you back here. Pack your things, and take one of Aaron’s guys with you. Tell him that we’ll no longer need the place.”

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

Leather and vinyl were the common theme for the clothes Lur packed to return to the zeppelin home. It was exciting, and such a nice surprise. She had expected to stay hidden in Ybor for several months. Now she couldn’t pack fast enough. She would leave this hole and stay away for as long as humanly possible.

Once she had her things together, she looked down at the bed which had the clothes she intended to wear. Green jeans and an olive halter-top, and her long black trench with the hidden compartment that housed her pistol. There was no way she was going back out on the street without a firearm for protection. She had an escort—one of Aaron’s hools—but this didn’t seem like enough.

With her clothes in order and her backpack secured, she spread the bed and did her best to straighten up the place. When she got near the hatch that led up to the bar, she knew that something was wrong. The place—normally jumping at this hour—was eerily quiet. She inched up to the hatch and listened intently, curious as to what was going on.

“We know you have humes here, Scott, don’t play with me. I can smell their stink from outside. Just bring them out and we’ll take things light. Actually, I’ll owe you a favor,” someone said.

Lur did not recognize this voice but it was followed by a howling that turned her stomach to ice. Someone was being tortured, or possibly killed, and she wanted to do something about it. She thought about calling Dhata, but what could he do? He was injured, and his only mode of transportation was down here in Ybor.

She bit down on her fear, and reminded herself that she was the daughter of Jose Diaz. The Diaz dynasty was built on fearlessness, and she would be damned if she didn’t live up to their legend. Lur reached inside her trench coat and pulled out the Beretta. She held it close to her thigh and eased the hatch up. She saw several synths hanging all around the bar, and they all turned to face her as she emerged.

A flash from her left side brought her around, and she saw why the bartender was howling from before. One hool had his arm stretched across the bar, while the ringleader—a slender, dark-haired hool—was cutting at his cables the way a baby plays with a slice of pizza. When he saw her pop up she slipped back down and sprinted to the far end of the narrow hall. There was a slight curve to the hall, which would be enough to give her cover, so she got close to the apartment door and readied her pistol.

The hatch flew open, and a hool was through, rushing towards her despite his bulky size. Lur stepped out into plain view and shot him in the chest, and he went down howling and clutching at his wound. Another came down and she shot at him too, but the bullet missed its mark and ricocheted off the wall. The man scrambled back up, and no more came down. They must have quickly realized that she had the advantage.

“There’s only one way out of there, hume, so you better surrender, or you won’t like what we have in store for you next,” the leader said.

Lur’s mind went into overdrive. What did he mean by that threat? Would they find a way to kill the oxygen, or send down fire to smoke me out? Anything she could think of was a living nightmare, and she wondered at the wisdom of having a one-way escape.

She heard footsteps that faded into the distance; they were leaving the bar to fulfill their threat. Running forward with desperation, Lur jumped over the wounded man and gained the stairs leading up to the bar. She looked back once to make sure that he wasn’t a threat, then summoned all of her strength and pushed up at the hatch.

There was something on it, or perhaps someone, but it wasn’t budging and she began to panic. She slammed her palm into the wood and hammered at it to move. But whatever it was that was barring her exit was heavier than she was strong.

Turning around, she placed her back against the hatch and pushed up against it as she walked backwards. The door began to slowly open. Blinking twice, she gestured toward her ear and pulled up the phone interface of her ICL. She found Dhata’s contact and connected the call, hoping that he’d answer this time.

“Lurita,” Dhata answered cheerfully, but she could only groan in response. She activated the augment option and he accepted. “What the hell? Are you in trouble? Alright, hold on, I’m calling up Aaron. Run if you can, Lurita. Don’t try to use that pistol.”

He clicked off the contact and she refocused her eyes, intent on opening the hatch to escape the death trap. Her efforts paid off, and the hatch swung open as the heavy table—that they placed on top of it—slid to the side.

The bartender was passed out on the bar, his blood leaking out to mix with a broken bottle of whiskey. Outside, the street was quiet and empty, and she wondered where the men had gone. Suddenly the top of the bar exploded into flames, and Lur threw up her hands to guard her face.

Flames took to the wood and forced her to the floor. It was all she could do to stay conscious. She pulled herself toward a window but it was barred up and the wood around it was glowing red. The doorway, she thought. It was her only escape, but it would lead her out to the killers.

Out of ideas and with her skin singed, she crawled for the portal on her bloody forearms. There was a crowd outside, and they were shouting obscenities. “Death to the humes.” Had she heard that right? “She’s crawling out,” came another shout, and then there was the crash of glass as a Molotov cocktail exploded against the doorway.

Lur pulled out the Beretta and aimed it at them. She supported herself on her elbows and pulled the trigger. The gunshot was enough to break up the mob, though someone with a submachine gun answered her shot. She got to her knees and then rolled outside, slipping as she tried to stand up, falling hard into the gutter.

The man who’d tortured the bartender kicked her in the stomach and she doubled over in pain. When he went to give her another boot, shots rang out, and he was scrambling for cover as Aaron’s hools appeared.

Lur never thought that she would miss the “safety” of a bonfire like she did now as bullets crisscrossed the streets. If she could crawl back inside she wouldn’t hesitate, but it was no longer an option. Her coat was now slimy with the gutter water, and her left hand stung from where she was burned. But somewhere inside Lur was an indomitable spirit, and it brought her to her feet to look for cover.

She scrambled away from the blaze to a nearby car, punched up with holes from machine gun fire. Bullets were whistling about and singing their death song, and once in a while a dying synth would join in on the chorus. An arm reached over the car and grabbed her by her hair. It was so painful that she reached up and held the arms, trying to stop the pain in her scalp.

It was the lead hool from before and he stood her up, one arm around her neck and the other with a pistol against her head. The muzzle was hot, and she flinched when it touched her. She was sure that it would leave a mark. “We got the hume, Aaron, time to surrender. We’re all brothers, man, come on now. This flesh monkey ain’t worth this carnage. Let me hand her over and we talk terms.”

Aaron didn’t answer but the firing stopped, and the silence was only broken by the crackling of the bar’s fire. A shot rang out and Lur heard her captor gasp as hot ichor dripped from his scalp. He loosened his grip, but he wasn’t dead. He began shooting back at the gangsters.

The chaos picked up and he tossed her out of the way, scrambling for cover despite the bullet in his head. Lur thought about what he had done to her, and how he’d pulled her up by the hair. All of a sudden rational thought went out the door, replaced by a white hot rage.

“Me cago en tu madre!” she screamed, and lifted her Beretta while squeezing the trigger. She kept on firing until he was on the ground, peppered with bullets and lying still. Someone tackled her, then got shot himself, and suddenly her attackers were running off into the alleys. Some of Aaron’s hools continued to pursue them, but most walked over to where she lay.

“Tell Dhata what we did, alright?” Aaron said as he lifted her up, cradling her against his clean white suit. His lieutenants ran ahead of him, keeping the crowd at bay as he walked her down 7th Avenue. “You tell him, life for a life; he’ll understand what I mean. You, you have big balls, lady.” He laughed. “Man, I ain’t never seen something as cold as you.”

Lur reached up and patted her curls, trying to assess the damage. She wondered if any hair had been torn out, and if there would be a bald spot in her future. The entire ordeal reminded her of their fight with Gemini, when she and Dhata were pushed to their limit. They had both suffered in the aftermath of that battle, but with the miracle of medical pods, had avoided the hospital.

How close had she come to death before Aaron and his crew showed up? And how much was Dhata going to owe this criminal for literally pulling her out of the fire? She didn’t want to know. It made her head spin just thinking about it, yet she felt triumphant for having somehow survived the impossible. A weaker soul would have run back to the apartment, only to suffocate from the fire. She had fought her way out, killed her attacker, and made it out alive.

“Were those rival gangsters who came for me?” she managed to ask Aaron between coughs.

“More like paper targets. Gangsters don’t fall that easy. No, these were regular hume-haters, which is why we gotta get you out,” he said.

Regular hume-haters, which meant that they were civilians. Civilian synths who somehow mobbed up to attempt murder after torturing one of their own. Dhata would be heartbroken to learn what had happened to her, but she needed to tell him so that he would understand.

They found the Buick and Aaron seated her inside. She thought about the zeppelin, the fomeal food supplies in the pantry, and a change of clothes to something clean. “I can’t wait to have a ham and cheese sandwich with some wine,” she said as she reclined her seat and closed her eyes. Somehow, amidst the throbbing in her skull, she found a way to fall asleep.

‡Chapter 14‡

Six-Figure Arms Dealer

“Anything new?” Dhata asked as he plopped down on the couch next to Lur. They had spent the night in the zeppelin watching the Underwood home, looking for any evidence that Natalya Crane was there. Dhata wondered if Lur had slept more than four hours, but after the trauma she’d gone through, he assumed that she hadn’t.

“Their little daughter is adorable,” was all that Lur had to offer. Agent Samuel Underwood had an eight-year-old daughter and a pregnant wife. It was hard to imagine that their tiny house could accommodate Natalya, but Dhata wasn’t taking any chances.

“If she doesn’t live with them then we are going to have to track that agent. She may be staying in a sort of safe house with him as her mode of transportation,” he said.

“I doubt it, Dhata. You should have seen her face. She wasn’t excited to get in the car with him,” Lur said. She had been up for a while, as evidenced by the food on the tray in front of her. There were half-eaten pancakes and a cup of cold coffee.

“No appetite?” he said, and she could see that he was referring to the food.

“It still hurts to swallow, but it isn’t that … I don’t like the way it tastes,” she said.

“Yeah, it’s nasty, old, and probably expired. Once the dust clears on this Crane investigation, we’ll make a real trip to the grocery outlet. Now, are you sure you saw Natalya? It would really be a waste of time if we’re spying on this man for nothing.”

Lur didn’t answer him, and he realized that the question annoyed her. “Look there,” she said suddenly and hopped up from the couch. She crossed the room to the large television and pointed at a window on the house’s second floor. Underwood was outside, getting ready to leave, and his wife was waving goodbye to him along with the eight-year-old. In the window above them the shutters were open, and they could make out a silhouette inside the bedroom.

“Bingo,” Dhata said. “You’ve got one hell of an eye. That’s proof enough for me that he has someone hiding there.” He shifted in his seat and then placed his face in his palms. “Now the question is, what do I do about it?” he said.

“Send me,” Lur said. “She knows that I want to talk to her—”

“You almost lost your life yesterday, Lurita. There’s no way in hell that is happening.” He stroked at his chin hair, trying to think. He hadn’t expected that they would find Natalya so fast. “I need to question that woman. The kind of questioning where lying isn’t an option. To do that I will need to remove her from that agent’s home. He’s smart; he keeps her with him, where his family can serve as an extra alarm. Threaten the wife, that’s easy, but I’m not the kind of animal to let the baby see me doing that.”

“So what are you thinking?” said Lur. “You sneak in at night and get them?”

“No, the house is risky and those neighbors are on it. We’ll have to keep up surveillance until our girl goes out for another trip. From what you tell me, she’s a stim junkie. They tend to burn through their supplies pretty fast. Tomorrow is Friday, payday for hustlers. She and every other tweaking synth will be front and center to get their entertainment for the weekend. That’s where we’ll nab her—”

“Ybor City? Are you crazy?” Lur said. “They were screaming, “death to the humes,” when they came for me.”

“Death to the humes.” He mocked her accent, and this was enough to get a laugh out of her.

“Stop it, I’m serious. Now you have me worried,” she said.

Dhata took his big arm and put it around her, pulling her in where he could hold her close and kiss her. “I know,” he said. “It’s crazy, I know, but crazy or not, I have to do it.”

He thought about her words. He found it hard to respect the danger of Ybor City since he had always managed to operate there. He had even been a regular at one point when he was dating a synth Mary. Why would he be frightened now? Even when Peyton Ace was running the city, his Ybor City pass was intact.

Aaron was the man now, and Aaron was more than eager to keep the relationship intact between hools and skiptracers. Aaron knew that he had an in with the Johns, which meant that there were potential deals within the grey region of the law. But Aaron couldn’t be everywhere at all times, and the synths in Ybor wanted him dead.

“I didn’t forget how hot it is down there right now, Lur, but what choice do we have in the matter?” he said. Lur slipped out of his arms, rolled her eyes, and gave him a weary look. “Time’s running out on us finding the truth, and if we wait until an ideal time there will be more dead people, more destruction, and the government may actually consider segregating synths, permanently. You know more than anyone else that I cannot allow that to happen. If you have any other suggestions as to how to catch up with Natalya, I’m all ears.”

Lur looked helpless, but she remained silent, and he tried in vain to work out what was going on in her mind. “I’ve jumped into boiling water my entire career, Lurita,” he said after a while. “I’m at my best when it’s crazy, trust me, and I won’t do anything reckless. I intend to call in some protection, wait for Natalya, and then corner her for questioning as soon as she shows her face.”

“I still think it would be better if I spoke to her, Dhata, but I understand why you have to do it,” Lur said.

They hung around the zeppelin for the remainder of the day, going over the evidence they had. By the time it was dark, they were no wiser on the details, and even Lur was forced to agree that they needed Natalya.

He drove out to Ybor in the early evening of the following day. It was Friday, and traffic was lighter than it typically was on the route towards 7th Avenue. Dhata drove manually so that he could stay distracted, but halfway there he got an incoming call from Ariana Garcia.

“Ariana,” he said, expecting bad news.

“Is this a good time?” she said.

“Best time, actually. I’m on the road. What do I owe the pleasure, detective?”

“I know that we only spoke a few days ago, Dhata, but I could really use something for next week,” she said.

“Let me guess, our mutual friend came in when I left, swinging pipe as if he owned the place.”

“Yup, and now I have the captain up my ass for whatever lies he’s telling.”

“I got you,” Dhata said. “Give me till Monday and it’s done. I’ll pull together what I have from my source, then send them over for you to see what you can do.”

“Thank you. I will feel better once I have it,” Ariana said.

When he got off the phone with her Dhata pulled up his tracker map, curious to see where Officer Cole would be spending his Friday evening. As expected he was at a bar, one of the only synth-operated businesses in Tampa. He filed this information away in the back of his head and then focused on the drive.

At the entrance to the 7th Ave strip, he parked the Buick, then reached into the back seat to collect his sawed-off shotgun. It would be his only protection against a city full of hateful synths.

One of the hools saw him and took off running, whistling loudly as he did. The streets cleared, all except the synths he recognized as Aaron’s men, and a few other stragglers who were bad enough to try him. As he neared the corner, several dirty, twitchy hools approached him, cautious enough to stay where he could see them.

He raised the shotgun and they stopped, and he looked around to see what was going on. “Don’t mind them,” said a voice, and a large, muscular hool pushed past the others to approach him. “They looking out for me, making sure you ain’t a jack boy. You here to buy, my human friend, or you here to try and rob Micah?”

“I’m guessing you’re Micah,” Dhata said, as he eyed the man up and down. He had to be the biggest synth he had ever seen, over seven feet tall, with solid bio-engineered muscles. The realistic texture of his ropelike arms was like nothing he had seen before. Micah had sold enough stims to purchase the arms, which looked to be expensive.

“Look, Micah, I’m not here for any trouble. I’m a skiptracer, but you probably know that already. You probably also know what I did the other night and are thinking about testing me.”

The big hool laughed. “You? You’re a John. Killing one of you is just about the dumbest thing any hool could do. Come on, John, why the games? It’s why you came walking down here like some sort of war machine. We won’t kill you, and you know this. Killing you would mean all the Johns in Tampa coming down here looking for revenge.” He sucked his teeth. “There ain’t no money on your head, John, so you don’t have to worry about me. Plus, personally, I don’t have a problem with the humes.”

Of course you don’t; we’re the ones buying your stims, Dhata thought, his patience waning with the talkative hool. “I can tell,” he said, then glanced at Micah’s left bicep, staring long enough for him to see. “How much did those set you back, anyway?” Dhata said. “Twenty-five, thirty?”

Micah made a face as if he smelled something bad. “Twenty-five … you high? Try one-fifty—”

“Thousand?” Dhata said in disbelief. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It had taken him a lifetime of mercenary work to barely save 90,000 UCCs in the bank. This synth burned more than that on muscular arms. How much is this clown making selling stims? he wondered.

“Thousand, John,” Micah said proudly. “So you understand now that I value my life. This synth intends to be around for a long time, officer. Now you coming down here swinging that old school cannon, you may have just stumbled into the wrong corner—”

“I didn’t,” Dhata said matter-of-factly, and brought the shotgun up to show his intent. “I came down here to see one of your customers, and I’m gonna need your help to catch up with her.”

Micah didn’t seem to notice the shotgun while he was busy admiring his arms. He would flex them and then smile, admiring the sweat that flickered on his skin like rainbows beneath the neon lights. “One of my customers, huh? What would make me help you out when we just met each other?” he said.

“How about a thousand UCCs?” Dhata said. “You can start working on the legs to go with your arms. Pretty soon you will be so convincing that you can move your operation to Bayshore.”

“I like the way you think,” Micah said. “A thousand UCCs … Which one of my customers are you talking about?”

“Dark-haired woman, bit of an attitude. I think you know who I’m talking about,” Dhata said.

“Oh, the troublemaker,” he said, laughing. “Yeah, I’m gonna need that thousand UCCs up front. I need the money right now, and then you will need to get lost so that I can find a way to catch her.”

“Alright, you got it. I’ll be in the bar across the street,” said Dhata. “Here’s your thousand UCCs,” and he deposited a chip into the big hool’s palm. “I’ll have another thousand for you when you bring her over,” he said.

Micah grinned, his silvery teeth contrasted against his dark tanned face. “I like the way you do business,” he said. “You’re a lot more than I thought, John.”

“You keep calling me John like you want me to be one, knowing that none of them will come down here. Well, none of them except one. Jackson Cole,” Dhata said.

Cole’s name seemed to spoil Micah’s mood, and he frowned and spat to the side. He shooed Dhata away and motioned for his hools, and then he shoved his large hands into his thick, brown leather jacket’s pockets.

Dhata slipped his shotgun down into a strap on his belt, then made his way across the street. When he entered the bar, he noticed that it was relatively empty. Lur’s gangster bartender from a few nights before was working the bar and he watched Dhata intently as he entered.

“What you having?” he said.

Dhata sat down.

“How about some cider?” the bartender said.

“Yeah, apple, I can do that,” Dhata said.

The bartender nodded and reached down to pop the lid off an apple cider bottle. Dhata took the drink and knocked it back, twisting so that he could see Micah out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know how long he would have to wait, but he hoped that it wouldn’t be much longer.

“Staying out of trouble, detective?” said the bartender, trying to make some small talk.

“Not really,” said Dhata. “We got a thing, see, me and trouble. We’re at that point in our relationship where you won’t find one without the other.”

Dhata looked the bartender up and down, taking in his battle scars and makeshift appendage. “You know,” he said. “You know what bothers me? Take that piece of shit across the street selling stims to dumbass humans. Then over here, across the street, we have you, one of our veterans. Look, I don’t know your history, brother, but I recognize that tattoo, and you look like you’ve been in worse blenders than I have. I mean, look at your arm. It’s a crime the way you suffer over here.”

“Damn right,” the bartender said, wiping off the counter.

“Do you know that dude has arms that can pass as human?” Dhata said. “Those arms of his cost 150,000 UCCs!”

The bartender ceased his cleaning and looked at Dhata with what seemed like a look of disgust. “Come again?” he said.

“Those arms on that big, stim-slinging monkey out there. He just bragged to me that they cost him six-figures. Think about what you could do with six-figures. This bar, it could be on the human side of town, easily. You’d be serving rich assholes who would be tipping you enough for you to have an arm that is a million times better. Hell, you could even get some of that bio-engineered flesh grafted on there. Make the snobby locals feel more comfortable with you serving them. You left the service to make an honest living—I’m not saying that you’re squeaky clean, but we see what he’s doing, and he’s bragging about it … bragging about six-figure arms.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of them around here like that,” the bartender said.

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Jesse,” the man said, then reached out with his good arm. Dhata leaned forward and shook it.

“Hey Jesse does that, um”—Dhata gestured to his robotic arm—“does that hurt?”

“Nothing a good shot of whiskey can’t fix,” he said.

“That’s a shame,” said Dhata. “Tell you what, bro. That idiot is going to be bringing a woman over here for me to question. I’m going to do it at that table in the corner over there. It may get a little tense, but if you can hold me down, I’ll take care of you. I’m gonna make our friend Micah buy you a new arm.”

“You don’t have to do that, detective. I know that—”

“Jesse, no, I’m serious. It’s only fair. Since he has enough to brag, he’s going to pay for yours.”

Jesse laughed and poured himself a drink, then clashed it with Dhata’s glass and drank it down. “I just need your guarantee that you making him pay does not involve tearing up my bar,” he said.

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

When Micah brought Natalya in to see Dhata, it wasn’t the violent dragging and kicking that he had anticipated. They walked in together, like old friends, and when he motioned to the table, she readily complied without objection.

Dhata sat down facing the door, and Natalya sat across from him. She was dressed casually in a loose blouse with jeans, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Micah’s massive form consumed a chair next to hers, and he wasn’t doing a good job of hiding his impatience.

“Thank you,” Dhata said, and slid him another chip, “but I have another favor to ask.”

“You keep paying the way you’ve been, and you can keep asking me favors,” he said.

“Good, because this is a big one, and I need you to listen to me very carefully. Jackson knows about the money you’re pulling, and he’s been talking about bringing you onto his team,” he said. Micah’s face looked perplexed, as if he couldn’t process the idea. “We both know what happens when Jackson partners with synths. They conveniently disappear, replaced by one of his hools. He’s a fat, greedy pig, and he’s still trying to eat, so consider this a friendly suggestion to watch your back.”

“He can’t do that, I have protection,” Micah said. “If he comes down here trying to muscle in on me, he’ll have the A-Squad to deal with.” The A-Squad was what Aaron named his crew, so it took everything within Dhata not to smile.

I guess lady luck is still with me, he thought, as he shifted his gaze over to Natalya. “Aaron is in my pocket, Micah. I want us to remain friends, but friends, they trade favors, and I’m desperately in need of one. You do what I ask, and Jackson won’t interfere. There are plenty of other stim dealers for him to harass.”

Micah slatted his eyes. He knew when he was being threatened, but if he wasn’t willing to play the game he would have gotten up and left. “What do you need, John?” he said, his tone like painful surrender.

“Jesse, the bartender, he’s a really good guy. He took care of my girl and he takes care of me. Jesse’s a friend of mine, and after our chat, I couldn’t help but notice that his arm’s in bad shape. What’s 15,000 UCCs to a drug lord like you? Considering what you would lose to Jackson Cole, it’s chump change. Am I right?”

Micah looked to be having a stomachache, as the bully within him fought with the realist. Jesse strolled over to place another cider in front of Dhata, and the big hool looked as if he wanted to kill him. “Okay, John, I’ll hook him up, alright? Is that all you need? My corner’s getting cold, and with this new commitment I really gotta get out there and earn,” he said.

“Go make that money, big man,” Dhata said, “and thank you for hearing me out. I’m a good friend of Aaron, so I’ll be sure to let him know. Trust me, that fifteen is buying you a lot more than you think.”

Micah got up and cussed under his breath, then shot Jesse a glance that could melt solid steel. He pushed the door so hard that he almost broke the glass, and was back to his corner within a minute.

“You’re a very dangerous man, Dhata Mays.” Natalya spoke for the first time. “I see now that out of all the skiptracers I chose the worst one.”

“Shows what side you’re on to come to that conclusion,” he said. “What were you before the mods, Natalya? Sad human woman or synth?”

Natalya’s eyes widened as his words sank in. It was obvious that she hadn’t expected him to know that she was a cyborg. Her hands began to shake, and she tucked them below the table, but one came up to signal to the bartender. “Synth,” she said, “but you knew that. What human would want to burden themselves with our baggage? I was born a synth, and I am still a synth. I’m…” She paused, as if catching her breath. “…I’m offended by what you assert.”

“What am I to think? You’re practically human. I think that the only synth part left in you is your brain. That’s a lot of money, Natalya, for a … what do you do again? Listen, I know that you’re on limited time so you better be square with me.”

“Is this about Jordan?” she asked suddenly, her blue eyes wide with concern.

“You gave us a job, then your husband blew himself up. He almost took me with him, but you know that—”

“I don’t, didn’t, I didn’t,” she said. “I didn’t even know that he was capable of that. All those people … it’s terrible.”

“This the part where you cry and I hand you my handkerchief, Natalya?” Dhata said. “Your husband was a terrorist that killed a lot of people, yet you’re living with an FBI agent who takes you to buy drugs. I’m really, really trying here to understand how that works. What you could have done, as a grieving wife, I mean, to have government goons playing chauffeur.”

Natalya fumbled around in her purse nervously, then brought out a tiny pill. She balanced it as best she could on her trembling finger. “Do you mind?” she asked, staring up at him, her eyes unblinking and wide. He was amazed by how human her mannerisms were, with no awkward pauses like a synth. Even her eyes reflected life, not the standard dull expression. He caught himself staring and quickly sipped his drink.

“Sure, mount that horse, baby,” he said. It’s to my advantage anyway. You stim heads are notoriously truthful when you’re under.

She popped the pill, then quickly chewed on it, and he motioned towards his cider. Natalya grabbed the bottle and took a sip, swished it around and swallowed. “You don’t want to do this, Dhata,” she whispered. “What I am a part of is something that you and Fabiana will regret knowing.” Fabiana was the alias that Lur went by, and he could tell by her expression that she really did care for his Cuban girlfriend.

“I appreciate the warning, but we’re in too deep. Think about it. I know where you live, who you live with, and where to catch you. I also know that your husband was part of the military, a synth group of killers who took their killing beyond the lines of war. What I’m trying to understand now is why. You hired us under false pretenses to see if your husband was being unfaithful, then when he floors the shuttle port, you disappear into the ether.”

She nodded at him and looked around, and he could tell that she was probing for Jesse to bring her a drink. When the synth bartender caught his eye, Dhata motioned to her with a gesture. Natalya put in an order for a glass of red wine, then sat up with her hands on the table. He noticed that she was no longer shaking, and her eyes took on a brand new confidence.

“I’m not telling you jack,” she said, and her lips tightened as if she had been taken over by a stronger Natalya. “You need to move on with your life before someone you love gets hurt.”

“Threats, huh? That’s where we’re at, threats? How about, you’re going to talk to me or they’ll find your pretty, hybrid ass faceless in a gutter on the side of 7th. You deal with Micah, you know what he’s capable of, and I won’t even get questioned about it. You’re still a synth; you said it yourself. Who will care if I take you out?”

“Do it,” she said, calling his bluff. “Do you think I care what happens to me?”

“You care to get high, and blend in with humans. What are you to that agent and his family?”

Natalya fanned the air as if he were a gnat, then reached up and took her wine from Jesse.

“Are you a live-in concubine, or playing at nanny?” Dhata said. “Do you join the Underwoods in their bed at night?”

“Does Fabiana know that you are down here in Ybor talking up synthetic girls?” she said. “I heard about you … you like to play in the rust. I bet if I let you, you’d crawl under this table and lick me.”

“You’re really going to make this hard, aren’t you?” Dhata whispered, looking around to make sure that no one was paying attention. “Not worried about your ride leaving? That agent is a human. I’d put money on it that he won’t come in here to get you. What will you do then, Natalya, find a ride?” He laughed. “The stims haven’t hit you yet, sweetheart, so you can stall the act. Tell me, did you ever love Jordan, or are you a government spy, made to marry a member of The Unsung?”

Natalya froze and her smile went away. It was as if he had used a secret code to shut down all of her motor functions. She had never seemed as robotic as she did now across from him, as she sat up in her seat, straightened her shirt, and then threw her wine in his face. “I’m not saying another word,” she said. “Sam is on his way, and you will let me leave with him, or your lovely Fabiana will go up in flames along with your zeppelin.”

She knows about the zeppelin? he thought as he wiped his face. That wouldn’t make any sense unless—”So that hunter seeker drone, that was the government?” he said, already knowing the answer. “Why me, Natalya? Why did you have me follow Jordan? Tell me that bit, and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll leave this whole damn thing alone,” he said.

The stims were on her, and he could tell, since her legs parted slightly, and she relaxed her shoulders. “Whew, it’s hot in here. Do you feel hot?” she said, before breaking out into a fit of giggling. “Hmm, why Dhata? Why would we choose you? Coincidence, maybe? We needed a skip, and you were the one that the police recommended.”

“You went to a John for a skiptracer reference? That seems unlikely, but whatever. So, you needed a skiptracer, but for what? Your husband wasn’t cheating, he was building a bomb.”

“Jordan wasn’t supposed to die. Nobody in that shuttle port was supposed to get hurt. What happened to your instincts, Dhata? What happened to the detective who shot and wounded a man inside of a mall? The detective who saved so many people from a suicide bomber?”

“Wait a minute, how do you know about that?” said Dhata. “That was a million years ago—” He stopped to think. “It’s not you, is it? It’s them, the FBI. They used you to hire me for regular skiptracer work, hoping that I would put Jordan down before he had a chance open his coat.” He thought about those seconds before the explosion when Jordan turned to face him as he reached for the detonator. Old Dhata would have dropped him on instinct alone, he thought, and then he suddenly felt guilty.

“All of those lives gone, just because I hesitated,” he whispered.

“Time’s up, Dhata, and I’ve said too much,” Natalya said. “Your little camera will be disabled and you won’t be seeing me again. As to your question about Jordan, yes, we were very much in love, but he had a duty, and like a good soldier, he carried it through. I told Fabiana that this would only end in tragedy, but she didn’t take me seriously. I’m hoping that you will, now that you know what’s at stake. What we did, it never happened, do you hear me, skiptracer? Forget Jordan, forget me, and go live your life with that beautiful girlfriend of yours.”

With that said, she was on her feet and walking out the door, and Dhata sat frozen, at war with his inner demons. Why didn’t I shoot him, he thought, why didn’t I go with my gut?

“Hey, Jesse,” he said, and when the bartender looked over, he continued. “Let me get a shot of Crown, neat.”

‡Chapter 15‡

Watered Down Whiskey

It was late and Dhata hadn’t checked in, but Lur Diaz was not nervously waiting by the phone. She was on her rack, swimming through data, looking for something, anything, that would explain the synths from Akiyama Koch Robotics becoming violent.

The endless stream of data quantized to a living ocean of sparkling, emerald bits whose waves ebbed and flowed violently. It reminded her of champagne freshly poured, as bubbles of zeroes and ones flew off of the waves only to dissipate in the night sky. This strange phenomenon made it seem real to her, and was so disconcerting that she had to stop.

She wished that she had a high-tech Mitsubishi rack like Hiroshi. His showed the data as corridors, with doorways leading to any opening or flaw. Using his advanced system she had once been able to see through the eyes of a synth Mary. It was an exhilarating experience, but she had lost her lunch afterwards.

With her system, what she got was ocean, and making sense of it was a challenge, though she was quickly learning how to adapt. There was a program that Hiroshi told her to buy, which translated the human-made data into words and images. Using it, she could hack into a terminal within the Virtual Village, and scroll through the information as if it was a document.

She dug through all of the news articles, but that told her nothing, so she began to look at the more mundane facts about the company. It was not one of the original synth manufacturers, but had grown into the most successful one due to gaining possession of a link to the Arch Brain nexus. Only a handful of manufacturers had this link, and it was unknown as to who gave it to them, and how.

Having a link to Arch Brain would turn the intelligent, human-mimicking androids into living, learning, empathetic synths. In other words, it gave them life, and this led to AKR being what they were now. Lur looked for the names of the developers and architects, primarily those who worked on the military branch. Everything was classified, but she kept on digging, even though she wasn’t sure where it was going to take her.

She had been under for hours, but she didn’t realize it, her brain consumed with the quest, though her body ached for nutrition. If anyone were to walk into her room, they would see a half-naked woman, gripping the side handles of a shiny black box and staring at the wall.

There was an old news article from a university in Indiana where one of AKR’s top developers had studied robotics. Lur found this discovery odd, since it was an opinion piece. A young journalist by the name of Tanya Jacobs interviewed the developer about his alma mater. Her point in the article was that great men came from Indiana, since apparently the vice president of the United States, Conrad Hurt, had also gone there too.

She saved the article on her virtual account within the Virtual Village, and logged out of the rack. She found herself seated in the dark, and she cracked her back and fumbled for the lights. “What time is it?” she asked out loud, as if some entity would answer. “Shit, Dhata, you better be okay,” she said and checked her phone for missed calls.

There was a new message in her inbox, and she wondered if it was him. Opening it up without scanning the sender, her heart skipped when she saw who it was from. Don Jose Diaz had written her back.

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

By the time Dhata made it home it was 4:00 a.m. and he was still tipsy from the bar. Natalya’s departure had left him with plenty to think about and his drinking had gotten out of hand. He fumbled with the entry panel for what felt like an hour, but finally he got it open. He was about to call out to Lur when he realized the time, and tried his best to remain quiet.

Upon entering the living area, he tripped over some clothes, fell face first into the couch, and rolled onto the ground. He cursed, annoyed, but the world was spinning, so he decided that it may just be better to sleep right where he lay.

In the morning he woke up to the smell of food and the sight of smooth, caramel-colored legs. His throat was dry, and his head was a balloon, but the sight of Lurita made him smile. “Well hello,” he said, and she rolled her eyes, then walked over and sat on his thighs to pin him down.

“Listen,” she said, “I let you be yourself, Dhata, but this has been going on for too long.”

Dhata was confused. What was going on? Did she suspect that he was seeing someone else? Did she assume his late arrival was due to infidelity? No, he thought, but she looks like she’s been crying. What in the hell did I do now? “I-I don’t understand,” he said.

“Your drinking,” she said. “It’s getting a little out of control, don’t you think? You stumble home, drunk, when we are not safe. You could have been followed or worse. Somebody could have been here waiting for you. Can you shoot straight when you’re drunk? Can you even fight when you’re falling all over? Why are you drinking so much, Dhata?”

He opened his mouth but nothing came out, and he thought about what he had done last night. “Goddamn ciders,” he grumbled. “I drank a couple ciders before my typical thing. Look, this don’t happen, I just lost my mind talking to that damn Natalya. You know I don’t do this often, Lurita, come on. When was the last time you seen me drunk?”

“Not drunk, but you drink, and drink, and drink. You have things in the Buick, unhealthy things, and when you are out, you are always at a bar—”

“Okay, I got it, I hear you, you’re right,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here to check me, but I got it, Lurita, I do. Now, since you have me pinned…” he said, smiling, and let his hands travel slowly up her thighs. Lur caught them quickly before they got to her waist, then leaned forward, pinning him further as her dark curls consumed his face.

“Papa is in trouble,” she said quietly, and he understood why she was crying. “He’s been missing for a few days, and they think that he’s dead. Marisol saw my letter on his rack and replied. Papa was always so bad about technology, so of course he’d have no security on that machine. I know what you are going to say, but I cannot lose Papa, Dhata. I need to go see—”

“That’s suicide, Lurita. You are Fabiana Lopez now, remember? Not Lur Diaz. You are able to stay out of the mess that is going on in your father’s world because you took out your implant and exchanged it for Fabiana’s. Enemies of your father assume that you’re dead. If you show up now, what do you think they will do?”

Dhata lay back against the carpet and closed his eyes to think. It was September now, a new month, and now a new crisis had found its way into their lives. “I’m trying to think, how I can help your father,” he said.

“You can’t,” Lur said as she sat back up. “You don’t know the politics and the people in his world. I can go back and reclaim the Diaz name, but if he’s at war, they’ll try to kill me.”

“If he’s at war and they simply kidnapped him, you will also be a liability to your father’s position. We’ll figure things out, together, babe. If you end up going to Cuba I want to be there. Any hool comes for you has me to deal with, and I wouldn’t want you flying out to where Carlos Ruiz has power. Have you considered that Marisol could have been compromised? Your dad’s rack isn’t secured, so anyone could have sent you that message.”

Lur looked annoyed; it was obviously a position that she hadn’t considered. “So Papa could be alright, but the people in his house could be manipulating me under the threat of Don Ruiz?” she said.

“If I wanted to bring Lurita Diaz home, I know that the quickest way would be to tell her that her father is in danger,” Dhata said. “Talk to Hiro, see what he can do with the surveillance in that house and the older androids your father owns. What I can do is visit myself, look into what’s happening with the Cuban mafia.”

“Okay,” she whispered, and he pulled her down slowly, hugging her close and holding her for a time.

“We’re almost at the end, Lurita, but I need to tell you a few things. The threat to us is not coming from the Akiyama Koch organization. Monday I am heading to Atlanta to look in on the soldier who attacked you, but this weekend is for you, okay? I need you to be good for what’s coming up.”

“What do you mean, Dhata?” she said, and slipped from his arms to sit up.

“Natalya is most likely a cyborg fully developed by the government for infiltrating synthetic groups. The Unsung have become the synth's go-to for justice. They are an organization of trained ex-military, but to the police they are vigilante thugs. The main reason why the synth haven’t been wiped out in Tampa is largely due to them. They arm the resistance, place strategic attacks on the human militia groups; I wouldn’t be surprised if they have cyphers manipulating our news sources as well.”

“And Jordan was a part of this organization?” Lur said.

“He was, yes, and Natalya was supposed to spy on him. If it were that simple, though, it wouldn’t explain the bombing. The Unsung aren’t into terrorist threats. They operate in silence, aiding synths. The only thing they do to hurt humans is to go directly at our extremist groups. Organizations like Flesh and Bone know The Unsung well. They’ve been fighting them for years, even when everything seemed peaceful and good. They know them well because they target synths, but the rest of us would have no clue as to who The Unsung really are.”

Lur got up and reached down a slender hand, and he took it in his and struggled to get up. The room was still spinning, but not to the point where he couldn’t stand. So he got up, dusted off his clothes, and followed her into the kitchen.

“Why did she hire us if she’s already a government spy?” Lur said. “It makes no sense, and the bitch is buying stims. What kind of cyborg spy is this, Dhata?”

“Yeah, she’s all over the place, but I think the addiction is on purpose … so that she seems normal. Lur, I don’t believe that she was there to spy on Jordan. I think she was there to program him to hurt people. The question I have now, if what I think is true, is why would the FBI want a synth to blow up a shuttle port?”

“To blame The Unsung,” Lur said, and handed him a glass of water. “You’re not thinking clearly, mi vida. Drink this, you’ll feel better.”

He sipped at the water, but couldn’t stand the taste; his taste buds were craving something sweet. Lur put her hand on the glass and held it in place, shaking her head in refusal of him stopping. Dhata forced the drink down and placed it in the sink, then was quite surprised when she handed him another.

“You trying to drown me?” he said.

“Drink the water, skiptracer. We have a lot to do, including the search for Papa, and I need my man thinking like the Dhata I love.”

Love. There it was again, and it wasn’t the first time she’d said it. He drank the water, and then a third, though the urge to vomit was at a critical point. She handed him a protein supplement and bit into one herself, then took his hand and led him to the dining area where the massive war table was.

On top of the table was the disabled drone, and it jogged his memory of what he intended to tell her. “Shit, Lurita, I forgot, but this drone, it’s FBI … they know where we live. All this time we thought that it was AKR. This is why I need to go talk with the man who was following you around. If it turns out that he’s a government tool as well, I am going to feel like so much crap. I wounded that company thinking that they were coming for you …”

“Mi vida,” Lur said, smiling, and kissed him lightly on his forehead. “Why would they be separate, eh? I found out something about them too. One of the men who built the soldiers, he went to school with Conrad Hurt. I don’t know if that is coincidence but that links the government to AKR. Maybe you don’t need to feel bad if they are in this together. We messed up their plans and now they want to see what we will do?”

“No, they want to take us out, but there are too many moving pieces for us to just end up missing. I know they know about you, since you did business with Natalya, and they know about our home because of this drone. What they know about us and Ybor, though, I have no clue, and…” He sighed audibly. “I have a lot to do that’s not connected, but to repay Aaron and Ariana. Damn it.”

Lur was leaning over the table looking at old photos of Gemini, but at the mention of Ariana, she shot him a curious look. “Ariana? Who is that?”

“Oh, the new synth Mary I’ve been with. You’ve been in hiding and I haven’t seen you, so I had to get someone to satisfy my urges,” he said. Lur grabbed the drone and was about to hurl it when Dhata stood up and held out his hands. “No, wait, don’t throw that, it’s important … bad joke, she’s the one who told me about Underwood, and now I owe her a favor.”

“What sort of favor?” Lur said, and Dhata’s head pulsed. A wave of pain forced him to flinch, and he reached up to massage his temple.

“For Aaron it’s power, just like most bosses you’ll deal with. They will give you the world if you can expand their reach. Aaron wants to move his business into human territory. Detective Garcia—”

“Is that the one you call Ariana?”

“Yes, her,” Dhata said. “The young woman who my lovely Lurita has no business being jealous of. She wants to arrest a corrupt John named Jackson Cole. So for her it’s me doing what I do best: collecting evidence, recording a corrupt John acting like the king of hools, then bringing it back to a client who will use it to put him away, forever. The challenge is the fact that Cole is connected. It won’t be enough to collect evidence since he could have jurors and judges killed.”

“What will you do?” Lur said.

“Well, the two are connected, so it won’t be difficult. I get Cole busted and all of his assets can be taken over by Aaron. What I’m trying to figure out is how to make the charges stick. I need him to go down for something like murder; that way I won’t have to deal with him anytime soon.”

Lur was uncharacteristically stoic, her mood obviously affected by the news of her father. Dhata wanted to make it better, to have her happy the way she normally was, but there was too much going on and he felt himself slipping.

Time was a factor and the FBI surveillance was disturbing. How deep did that go, and how badly were they compromised? Then there was Jackson Cole and getting him put away. Aaron had gone above and beyond to help him and Lur, and Ariana was the reason why he knew now that the FBI was an enemy.

Lur had been wanting to connect with her dad and now she too needed help. Jose Diaz, missing? It seemed so surreal; the man was a king on that tiny island. “I have the weekend to bust Cole, and present Ariana with something she can use,” he said. “In the meantime, you should talk to Hiro, ask him if he has any connections in Cuba, and see if anything can be seen of your dad’s situation. Besides that, we need to do some research on Conrad Hurt. See what he was up to before becoming vice president, and where he really stands on our synthetic brothers and sisters.”

Lur nodded solemnly, and moved to go find her rack, but she stopped and turned slowly, then crossed her arms. “Dhata,” she said, “have you considered that the zeppelin might be compromised?”

“No,” he said. “I rigged the place so that could never happen.”

“That was before you brought that thing in here,” she said, pointing to the drone. “You haven’t been thinking clearly. You need to slow down on the drinking.”

With that she turned and walked back towards the room, while Dhata stood staring at the drone. Dammit, he thought, if this is the culprit. He couldn’t bear to be any more disappointed in himself.

“I’ll be back later,” he called but there was no response, so he picked up the drone and grabbed his duster.

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

Like most government issued machinery, the screws on the drone had a unique head. These looked like pyramids with sharp points, and would cut your fingers if you touched them. Dhata had to take it down to the zeppelin’s basement. The old warship had some of the same screws, and what he called the basement used to be the area where the engineers would work.

The old tools were there, and he found the appropriate screwdriver, but for what would come next he wanted to be away from his home. He drove the Buick west, out of the city to a park that nobody visited. He took the drone and the toolbox near a lake, then sat it on a bench overlooking the water.

He hadn’t told Lur that his finances were in jeopardy, and that he had been living off his savings since Jason’s death. Without the steady work that his detective friend had been sharing, he and Lur were forced into being private investigators. The money made from spying on spouses was not enough to keep the zeppelin powered, plus the lifestyle that they lived put a major strain on his bank account. He was pulling in peanuts and then splitting that with Lur, and now that they were working without a client, there was no money coming in.

“I’ll figure it out,” he whispered, wondering if he ever would. Lur’s wealthy, well her family is, but she gave it all up to become Fabiana Lopez. Still, a visit to her father would bring her back to the family, and she would have more money than—He stopped himself. His pride wouldn’t allow that, plus it would mean that she would be in danger.

He reached into the legs of the drone and began to pop out the wired antennas. Then he took his time working them out, trying his best not to damage it further. Next came the screws, which were harder than he thought, and there were no less than thirty of them. The screwdriver fit, but unscrewing felt unnatural, and it was a gamble on every turn as to whether the screw would turn or not.

After an hour he had the shell open, and could see the shattered circuit board where his bullet had entered. He took out the board, though it broke apart as he did, and turned it over to see the serial number. With his ICL he was able to record, then send it to the grid to see if there was a pattern. One came up: it was a military code, which reaffirmed the involvement of Akiyama Koch.

Dhata reassembled the drone without the circuit board and flipped it around to see how bad the bullet wound looked. I can probably get good money for this on the black market, he thought, though some psychopath could use it to hunt down his prey. Standing up, he looked once more at the drone, then slung it into the water.

He got back into the Buick and found the tracker, curious as to where Jackson Cole spent his weekends. The little green icon was flashing on the docks, and Dhata wondered whether or not the corrupt John was fishing.

“Okay, Jackson, since you think of me as a P.I., I’ll show you just how damaging a P.I. can be,” he said.

He drove into the city and stopped by an electronics import kiosk, where he purchased five external camera orbs like the one he used to spy on Natalya. Camera orbs stuck to any surface and could be synced with multiple devices, including an ICL. He programmed them to answer to his CPU implant, then placed them neatly on top of the dash.

Though he hated to be compared to a private investigator, Dhata did love the art of surveilling from the shadows. It was an art he’d mastered as a detective on the force, when he spent plenty of hours parked outside of criminal homes. Taking down Jackson was a welcome challenge, considering the power that the corrupt John wielded. If he could get him put away, Aaron would make a hostile takeover, then all of Jacksons co-conspirators would be behind bars or dead.

He followed the tracker out near the marina, then grabbed his hat and trademark duster. The revolver was in place, ready for action, and he slipped one of the cameras into the jacket’s pocket.

Jackson was on the back of a black fishing boat, his hands on his hips as he spoke to some of his men. To outsiders it would look like friends about to go fishing, but Dhata read their body language to mean Jackson was upset. There were three men on the dock gesturing, pleading their case to the boss, and Jackson was pretending to barely hear them.

“Douchebag,” Dhata said, and wished that he had enhanced hearing to go along with his ICLs. He could see further with them, so he was able to watch, undetected, but he wondered how long they had been at this discussion. Wouldn’t it be my luck if this idiot intends to take them for a ride, murder the one who slighted him, and dump the body in the bay? It was standard procedure for a hool boss, and Jackson was very much that, but after a while the men started walking, and Jackson hopped off the boat to follow.

They got into a sleek Mustang and sped off down the road. Dhata watched them go, staying out of sight, then got into the Buick to follow. He programmed CINI to do just that, but with a ten-minute distance of a tail. She complied, and he reached for his flask, then caught himself short when he realized. Damn, Lur’s right, he thought, then placed it back in the dash. “It’s the middle of the day. What are you doing, Dhata?” he said out loud, then reached instead for some music.

Tears Dry on Their Own by Amy Winehouse popped up in the randomizer, and he went ahead and let it play. Amy’s strong, soulful voice came on, explaining as usual just how tough of a chick she was. It reminded him of his ex-wife, the one he cheated on with a synth. Happy memories of their time together made him want to turn the song off.

“Dammit,” he said, letting it play as he leaned against the window, enjoying the coolness of the glass. Sometimes it felt like life in his elder years was karma punishing him for what he had done to her. It was a painful memory, it always was, to be in the wrong with nothing to say to redeem yourself. It was due to this that he let the memory persist, Amy killing him softly with every word of her song.

‡Chapter 16‡

Wolf of Tarpon Springs

It amazed Dhata just how carefree Jackson Cole was as he went about his Saturday afternoon. Some fathers would spend the weekends with their families, but not Jackson Cole. After yelling at his men who were at the dockside, he drove all the way to Fowler Avenue where he parked and took a walk to make a phone call.

Dhata kept his distance, where he couldn’t be spotted, and watched him make his rounds. He visited a bar, then a small bodega, each stop taking less than ten minutes. In the afternoon he grabbed food from a kiosk—a couple of boxes—and drove out to a rundown apartment. He met a woman there with short red hair, and they went inside for an hour.

When they came back down, Jackson seemed happy, but she gave him a handshake, which struck Dhata as odd. That was her handing him a UCC chip, he thought. So, this is one of the collection spots. The next stop was in Tarpon Springs, another dock with another set of people.

Dhata had to leave his vehicle to follow Cole since the John started walking down the street. After ten minutes he stopped outside of a restaurant and shook hands with a taller man. They walked out towards the water, and Dhata hung back, trying to pick up on their body language. The man didn’t seem to fear Jackson like everyone else did, and they were joking with one another instead of arguing.

“Must be a partner,” Dhata said, as he watched them stop on the pier. The two seemed to be talking business, but they did it facing the water, making it hard for him to eavesdrop. It was a smart move, considering that cameras could translate lip movement. Cole would have known this and so he took the extra precaution.

Where they were now was too far for his eyes, and if he got any closer they would see him. They were too nonchalant, as if they owned the pier, so Dhata assumed that this was a regular meeting spot. He looked around for a place to stick a camera and settled on an old light post. There were so many dents and markings on the concrete column that it would take a keen eye to notice the tiny camera.

Looking around to make sure he wasn’t being watched, Dhata stuck the orb high inside of what appeared to be a bullet hole. Syncing it with his implant, he moved it around with his ICL, and since the camera could zoom over 100 times, he focused in on where they stood.

“You tell that synth dumpster that I say piss or get off the pot. I don’t care about the danger, I want my money,” Jackson said as the camera read his lips and transcribed it across Dhata’s field of vision. “I either get what’s mine or he gets what his. You understand?” Jackson said.

“Yea, boss,” said the other man, which took Dhata by surprise.

When he was satisfied with the position of the camera he retraced his steps to the Buick. The sun was setting, and though he had only planted one camera, he wanted to spend the remaining hours with Lur. But, one camera? he thought. Let’s be realistic. This won’t be enough for Ariana.

After an hour of waiting, Jackson came back to his car and drove to the marina where Dhata first started following him. The sky was darkening, and Dhata bit into a protein supplement bar. He hadn’t eaten since the morning, and he needed his strength to finish.

Jackson walked out to the dock where several men were waiting, and he led them onto his fishing boat. Dhata waited until they were a tiny speck on the horizon, then walked up to install another camera where it couldn’t be seen. “Five men left to go fishing but I bet only four return,” he said.

He tried to reach Lur several times, but she wasn’t picking up. Deep inside the grid, I bet, he thought. Lur wasn’t the type to sit on her hands. When he found himself dozing off, Dhata knew that he was in trouble. Why did I think that I could do this in a day? he thought, yawning loudly as he scanned the marina.

It was 10:01 p.m. when the boat returned, and as expected it was short a man. The hools hopped off and secured the boat, and then they all separated without saying a word. Dhata decided against following Jackson when he saw the name of the boat, “Cole World”, which was proof that he owned it. He waited until the corrupt John drove off in his Mustang, then snuck onto the boat and planted two more cameras.

Once he got these on, he finally drove home, desperate to get a shower, and some sort of relaxation. Lur wasn’t in her room, and he searched the zeppelin, but she was nowhere to be found. Something told him not to panic so he looked for a note or something to tell him where she had gone. Finally after finding nothing, he pulled up the feed from the cameras outside. He saw that she’d left at 7:30 p.m., wearing all black leather and with a backpack slung over one shoulder.

I really hope she isn’t going after her father, he thought, but Lur Diaz was going to do what Lur Diaz wanted to do. In the time that they’d been together he’d learned to accept this fact. They were both two stubborn, well-built ships that were prone to go wherever the waves dictated. Going after her now would only mean an argument, so he settled on trusting her to call him later.

Dhata worked at syncing the cameras to a portable rack, and slipped it into a plastic bag once he was finished. He placed the rack inside the front pocket of his duster, and then retired to the porch with a glass of red wine.

The call from Lur came near midnight, and she started with an apology. “I knew that you would stop me, so I waited till you left, but I am going to meet an old friend,” she said.

“Is this old friend from Cuba?” he said, trying to pick up if she was speaking in code.

“Old friend in the village, but not on my rack in our home. I have to make sure that she is who she says she is, okay? I found the contact of someone close to Papa so that I can find out what’s going on.”

She was being vague for a reason but it was enough for Dhata; it didn’t sound like she was flying or sailing away. She was just going to a remote location to get on the “ViVi,” the Virtual Village. Once she was there she would use her phone so that tracking her would be impossible.

It was a smart play, and she was right; he probably would have tried to stop her. So with his mind at ease, and Ariana out of the way, Dhata thought about the next step in the case. He needed to talk to the synth in Atlanta that got arrested for threatening Lur. He needed to know whether it was Akiyama Koch Robotics that gave him the order, or somebody else unrelated. But the jail wouldn’t be open for visitation until Monday, so he couldn’t make moves until then.

He took a long shower and didn’t bother to dress, wrapping the towel around his waist. He went into the kitchen and prepared a meal, then set the table and sat down to eat. The wind was blowing so the trees sang, and with the dead silence of the zeppelin, Dhata heard their tune. Rain soon followed like a hundred drums, thrumming against the hull of his zeppelin home. He fell asleep on the couch, listening to its rhythm, and dreamed about Esti, a synth Mary that he knew.

Esti had been murdered when she became a liability to Peyton Ace, but before that she was a valuable informant, and a one-time lover that he adored. She was quick, smart, and sexy as hell, like a tall glass of brown liquor, but flavored sweet, with honey. He dreamed that he was back in the bar, the Empire’s Tavern, and she was seated across from him, talking.

He missed their talks, and felt bad for what had happened to her. It was all because she met him that she ended up losing her life. Esti was happy in the dream, and he was happy being there with her. Those were good times in his career, when Jason was alive and life made sense. When he woke up it was early, and his body felt broken—the position that he slept in being the culprit of his soreness.

He turned on the television, then selected a news network just to provide some background noise. It was Sunday, the day he typically took off, so he took the time to straighten up the place. A female reporter came on the screen with a fresh story on cyphers. She was going on about how cyphers were out of control, and that the government lacked the resources to deal with them.

“Anyone with a rack and some smarts could be disruptive without repercussions,” she said. She touched on the last Super Bowl, whose lights went out for five minutes, and a few other pranks orchestrated by cyphers.

Dhata stopped what he was doing to pay attention to her, wondering where all of this cypher talk was going. Would there be new, ineffective laws for people to break, or a possible attempt at policing the grid? Typically monologues like the one she was giving would end in some sort of proposed fix by an ignorant politician. But she didn’t bring up a fix; instead she shifted focus to a specific incident.

“Synth manufacturer Akiyama Koch Robotics has been offline for two days. Sources inside say that it is due to a nasty virus that got into their system. After much research and questioning of their employees, their security team found the attack to be foreign. A Japanese virus, which would have been planted many years ago, was finally triggered to take down their business. Speculation on the Mitsubishi Zaibatsu being at the center of the attack was implied, but the Japanese company has since denied any involvement,” she said.

Dhata laughed. Hiro was a genius, and the fact that they were guessing at who planted the thing meant that the mission had been a success. He still felt bad for shutting them down, but it still felt good. All of the bribing and waiting had paid off, and they hadn’t the slightest clue.

The reporter was back on the screen, but in a graphic near her head stood the AKR logo. “I asked Akiyama Koch Robotics’ former star developer, Michael Lawrence, if the attack may be linked to the explosion a few weeks ago. Needless to say, he wasn’t quick to acknowledge the connection.”

“No, no,” laughed a handsome man with a buzz cut and glasses. He was in a suit, but wore it casually, over a loosened shirt with no tie. As he went on to explain how the explosion was an internal malfunction, Dhata walked over to the screen and captured the clip, uploading it to his own implant’s CPU.

Lur would lose her mind if she saw this, he thought, and he couldn’t wait to show it to her. Now, the last time we spoke, she was looking for the head developer of the military synths. I wonder if this is the man she’s looking for?

Michael looked to be in his late fifties, which was about the age of the vice president, Conrad Hurt. The article Lur found stated that AKR’s top developer had gone to school with Hurt, and the man on the screen seemed to be a good fit.

He went to his rack and pulled up the global network, looking to see which university Hurt had attended. “MIT, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology,” he read. “Couldn’t have guessed that one,” he joked. But MIT was only one school; there was also the Tyson Memorial Robotics Institute. Dhata took the school names down, then did a search on Michael Lawrence. He too was a popular entry, though AKR was omitted from his records.

Why are they hiding the place where you worked, Michael? he thought, as he continued reading different articles on his career. They were detailed in his actual work, but very vague on him. One article did mention his fraternity at Tyson Memorial, and that was where Dhata decided that he had the connection with Hurt.

“What are the chances that Conrad Hurt is a member of Sigma Iota Nu?” he said. “SIN for Singularity, a group of the brightest up and coming robo-geeks, destined to change the world. Man, to be a fly on the wall in one of those meetings.” The fraternity had since been dissolved, but the core members had all become famous for their feats in robotics and engineering.

“So, Hurt was the big brother who would’ve overseen Michael’s crossing,” he said, but that still didn’t clear anything up for him. A vice president had power, and Conrad Hurt seemed to like power. His willingness to leave the sciences to play at politics spoke volumes. He was an interesting man, pale, bald, yet he looked a lot younger than his sixty years.

Dhata found a video of Hurt; it was of him taking the stage to speak at a university. The video was propaganda to make him look bad, since he bypassed several of the synth speakers to shake the sole human’s hand. Dhata watched his body language, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the slight seemed to be deliberate.

Now why would one of the men responsible for giving synths life be such a dick to them on a big stage like that? he wondered. Conrad Hurt was a geek, so maybe it was one of his own internal jokes. The synths would see him as somewhat of a god, so nothing he did would ever be truly deemed as offensive. Still, the world was appalled by his actions that day, and the article accompanying the video was very critical of him.

“I need to find a way to question Michael,” Dhata said. “If he won’t talk to me, then one of his family members will.”

‡Chapter 17‡

Toast to the Good Guys

Monday was a bullet train of activity, with plenty of things going on. Dhata delivered the rack to Ariana that had all of the cameras synced to it. He also showed her the surveillance from the beach, where he was making death threats to one of his captains. She seemed satisfied with what he gave her, so he made a call to Aaron, reassuring the synth boss that Jackson’s time was limited.

Lur didn’t call again and wasn’t picking up her phone, so Dhata decided to press on. He called the Atlanta precinct where the soldier had been detained, asking if it was possible for him to visit. “I’m sorry, detective, but he’s been sent up north to a maximum security synth prison,” the woman on the line said.

“I didn’t think what he did was that bad,” Dhata said.

“It wasn’t, not for what he came in here for, but recently he hurt several corrections officers,” she said.

Another soldier from AKR flipping out and hurting people, he thought. “Thanks for the information,” he said.

There was a message from Hiroshi with a red exclamation symbol, so he quickly opened it, expecting bad news. It read: Rack cracked but withholding details. Let’s discuss it over ramen in the old place.

Dhata felt a rush of excitement. What could he have found? Whatever it was had to be major since he wouldn’t give the details over the phone. He tried Lur once again to let her know he was leaving, but the phone hummed and faded, the way it did when someone was out of range, so he wrote her a note to call as soon as she got it.

Construction was still going on for the devastated Tampa Shuttle port, so he had to find the closest alternative, which happened to be in Orlando. The last time he had been in the city, he had been beaten up, drugged, and kidnapped. He hated the memories because they came with anger, a rage that went deep, beyond anything moral.

He remembered the men who drugged him, and wondered if they would still be in the same place. He could walk in with the shotgun, yell out, “Remember me?” and then pump several rounds into the bartender and his friends. Escaping? No need; the police avoided Orlando more than Ybor City. After exacting his revenge, the only thing he’d have to worry about would be more members of their gang coming for him.

The thought of blowing them all away made him feel better, but he knew that there was a line that he shouldn’t cross. He was no longer a policeman, held by the badge and its laws, but he was still a good person beneath the duster and the paperboy hat. Killing in cold blood was a slippery slope, and if he did it once he’d be willing to do it again.

He’d happily kill those hools and bathe in their blood, then find their boss and kill him too. But then what? Would he murder Jackson Cole? It would make Ariana and Aaron happy, and then he could fly out to Cuba and shoot Carlos Ruiz in the chest. It was never as easy as kill and then stop. It was akin to cheating on an exam. Let’s say you cheat, just a little, and you get away with it. You are sure to do it again, whenever you feel it’s necessary.

For now he would stay the course of being a professional skiptracer, shooting only at those who more than deserved it. Where words could work, they first must be employed, and the trigger must be the final option.

He packed a suitcase and headed out, dressed a lot more formally than he normally did. He wore a suit, tailored tight against his frame, but didn’t bother wearing a tie. He found his old, police-issued electroshock tube and checked the cartridge. Satisfied, he nodded and slipped it into his pocket.

The shuttle port security officers would make some noise, but would back down eventually when he showed them his skiptracer’s license. The tube wasn’t lethal, but they spared no chances, especially after what had happened with the suicide bombing.

As was the case with the last few weeks, the shuttle port was practically empty. Only the brave flew these days while most people drove wherever they could. Now he was flying out to see Hiroshi and the last thing on his mind was a suicide bomber. He went through the motions of getting himself scanned, swiped his hand to deposit the UCC payment, and took a seat inside the bullet-shaped shuttle.

Typically he loved flying, but somehow it felt different. Son of a bitch ruined it for me, he thought as he shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable in the seat. He couldn’t help but admit that he was frightened; it was an emotion that overwhelmed him as soon as he entered the shuttle port. His mind was also beleaguered by his financial situation. He was about to find out more towards the investigation, but he was still scraping the bottom of that UCC barrel.

Then there was Lur. Where had she gone? Had she been captured by AKR or the FBI? No, he thought, that wouldn’t make any sense. He had spoken to her the day before and she had said that she was meeting a friend. But she should have been back this morning, or at least called, and that concerned him deeply. Knowing Lur and her impulsive ways, he wondered if she had hopped on a boat to Cuba.

There would be no way to tell, but the calls he made were falling off, and that made him think that she may be within her father’s borders. The property that Don Jose owned was a damper on the Global Network. No calls could easily be made there, not unless someone inside initiated it. Tracing a line there would be impossible, even with the aid of a cypher.

Lur would be on her own, whether she liked it or not, and he wouldn’t know where to start in finding her. Flying over Cuba to confront Jose’s kidnappers – that would be literally suicide. Plus the last time he was over there, Jose captured and tortured him for two long days. His bones ached just thinking about it.

“She’s a big girl,” he whispered, trying to convince himself, but what he really needed was a stiff drink.

The shuttle’s vibrations relaxed his muscles and he tried to have his mind do the same. Lur was more than capable—she was an impressive woman who had faced down fires without suffering the slightest burn. She didn’t need rescuing, and he was flying to Tokyo. It really wasn’t the time to be worrying.

He closed his eyes and thought of the past, lovers who had been a part of his fractured history. There was Michelle, his wife who used to be his best friend, and then there was Candace, the synth Mary who helped him to destroy that marriage. Candace was murdered and he met her friend Esti, who knew him better than any woman he’d known.

Esti was a tall, beautiful, confident woman, with a tremendous laugh and an addiction to electronic cigarettes. If anyone doubted synths had life, all they would need was an evening with Esti. He smiled at her memory, the tobacco scent in her black hair, and the way she was always a step ahead of him.

Esti was special, but Lur was the one. He had met her in Orlando when he was a John, and they immediately clicked. It was something out of a love story, the chemistry that they had; this was until he found out her father was the biggest gangster in Cuba. Lur, and his fight for her, led him to Jose Diaz’s catacombs, where they extorted him, then tortured him and told him to stay away.

He opened his eyes and pulled up the screen to see the bright lights of Tokyo, Japan. Dhata was quite surprised by how happy he felt as they landed, seeing the neon blue buildings glowing on the horizon. The cars on the highways looked like hornets on a warpath, and the large speaking advertisements were so numerous.

Dhata wondered what it would take to get a citizenship in Japan, and if the work for a skiptracer would pay any better.

He caught up with Hiroshi and they went down past the lake, to the sub city ramen shack, same as before. He pulled out a stool and took a seat, greeting the vendor and touching his hands. Dhata glanced at Hiro, taking in his changes. He looked a lot more human than before.

In Japan, the synths were a lot more accepted, so looking like a human was low on their agenda. Hiroshi, on the other hand, looked like a slender Japanese model. The only thing that made him synth were his silver insectoid eyes. These ugly portals allowed him to stay connected to the grid, and it didn’t seem to hurt his chances at procuring female company.

They ordered several dishes, and Dhata tried something new, scarfing it down while the synths looked on in awe. “One day they’ll get used to a big black man devouring ramen,” he said.

“You think that’s what they’re gawking at?” Hiroshi laughed. “There’s a lot more to you than that, Dhata. You’re a giant, hunched over, enjoying sub city food.”

“So the rack,” Dhata said, barely able to contain his excitement. “Please tell me you found something that will make me happy,” he said.

“There was a lot on there, Dhata. It was very much his private rack. He stored things on there that a synth would typically keep inside his head.”

Dhata put the bowl to his head, slurping the liquid down, then looked over at Hiro with an eyebrow raised. “So there’s things on there that he didn’t want any other synth to get access to?”

“That was what I was thinking,” Hiroshi said. “I am thinking also that he kept it away from his wife, considering the sort of encryption that it had. There were journals on his military life, photos of friends, and the thing that I know you will be interested in: a group that he referred to as his ‘family.’”

“You’re thinking that this family is The Unsung,” Dhata said, smiling as he wiped his mouth.

Hiro nodded slowly as he ate. “I looked up some of these days and many are synths who went dark a while ago. Permanently detached from Arch Brain. They are invisible to just about anyone.”

“That’s pretty big, Hiro, so I guess my question then is, how do I catch up with one of these invisible synths?” Dhata said. “I’m thinking that if I can get ahold of one of them they can clear things up for me. Like, whether or not Jordan and Tyler were made to do the things that they did.”

Hiro reached inside his pocket and pulled out a cobalt square, then slid it across the counter to Dhata. “I brought you the drive so that you can take it back for your investigation,” he said. “I think my part is done. Now that we know that Akiyama Koch Robotics isn’t behind Lur’s attack, I no longer have a private vendetta against them.”

“I know, Hiro, and I want you to know that we really appreciate everything you’ve done. This thing would have gone cold if it wasn’t for you.”

“Thank you, Dhata, that does make me feel good. Being a hero isn’t something that many cyphers can claim to be. Most of us are hired to hurt, tear down infrastructure, and shatter privacy.”

“But you are a Hiro,” Dhata said smiling, and the cypher gave him a blank expression. “Tell you what, Hiro, I’m working an angle, and as soon as I get paid, you will get paid as well. I take care of my people, and without you, I would still be in bed wondering what hit that shuttle port.”

“No need, Dhata,” Hiro said, and he poured sake into two glasses and slid one in front of him. “What I did was for Lurita, and that has not changed. Speaking of which, where is my pretty understudy? I thought that you would bring her with you on this trip.”

“You know that implant you helped her install to change her identity? I’m not sure if she should be traveling on shuttles, being that it’s sort of illegal,” Dhata said.

Hiro scoffed. “You’re being paranoid, and it’s untraceable … perfectly legal. Any shuttle port rack will see her as Fabiana Lopez, I made extra sure that there would be no complications. Fabiana is a citizen of the United States with a clean record and a stellar work history. Lur walks through security and they will roll out a red carpet. That implant has her as a model American, my friend.”

“Damn,” Dhata said. “I wished that I knew this … I told her to stay away from shuttles no matter what.”

“Well, being that you have synths blowing up shuttle ports, it probably was good advice,” Hiroshi said.

“Lur left to look in on her father,” Dhata said. “Though I have no clue where she is since she’s not picking up her phone.”

“Have you tried tracking her?” Hiroshi said.

“No … there’s a line that I don’t cross when it comes to family and friends.”

“It’s a good thing that I have no such line,” Hiro said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a portable black rack. He gestured a few times across its surface before placing it on the counter.

A holographic screen appeared above the rack with a map of the world on its display. Hiroshi wiggled his fingers as he typed on the virtual keyboard, then slid his hand across it and made a pinching motion. The map expanded and zoomed in on the southern tip of Florida, and then a blue dot appeared and started throbbing rapidly.

“Looks like she’s in Miami,” Hiroshi finally said. “I think Lurita is doing okay.”

“Good,” Dhata said. “That puts my mind at ease. Now, I will take this beautiful blue construct back and see who I can find for questioning.”

“What if you find out that The Unsung isn’t behind this?” Hiroshi said.

“Then I’ll know for sure it’s the government,” Dhata said. “And if it’s the government, I’ll move on with my life. I’m not into picking fights that I can’t win. There’s a war going on between the lowest humans and synths, which means that a lot of people can use a skiptracer’s help. My bank account needs a facelift, Hiro, and chasing government spooks won’t keep the lights on.”

“Then let’s toast to us, Dhata, mercenaries on the side of good.”

“Now that’s a toast, Hiro, my man,” he said, and they touched glasses and drank.

‡Chapter 18‡

A Kidnapping in Party City

The personal rack of Jordan Crane was an open book on the man’s life. He loved his wife, and loved being a soldier, though the things he did for his country were all classified. There was a folder for Natalya, one for his military history, and another for a group he called “the family.” Looking at the photos of this family of his, Dhata tried to surmise who they were and where they met regularly.

They seemed to meet in warehouses, basements, and attics, and the twelve people in attendance were all former soldiers. One photo was a movable panorama, which showed Jordan with Tyler Fort. They were shaking hands inside of a ballroom that seemed to be filled with military personnel. There was a note scrolling across the bottom that read: Me with my Akiyama Koch Robotics brother, Trigger Ty.

If he’s labeling Tyler separately, then they aren’t all from Akiyama Koch, Dhata thought. I wish he had notes on all of them to spare me some time. After an evening of sleuthing, he felt exhausted. He had been through Tyler’s files several times over, and had a list of names to question.

Aside from this, he settled on the fact that Natalya was the user in the relationship. She had targeted him because her bosses made her do it, then went through the motions of dating and marrying him. Part of her plan dealt with hiring Dhata to spy on Jordan under the false notion that he was cheating on her. But what she really wanted was for him to kill her husband before he was able to blow up the shuttle port. Failing that last step had foiled her plans, and what they ended up with was 25 innocent people killed.

Dhata lay back on the bed and thought about it. He had all the pieces now to make an intelligent guess. Natalya was a cyborg whose body would have cost well over a million UCCs. She was under the protection of FBI agent, Samuel Underwood, who was more than willing to have her share his house. She was also free to go wherever she liked, with the agent playing her personal driver.

When Natalya hired them, she had said that they were doing well financially. She also lived in one of the richer neighborhoods in Tampa where synths were not allowed to own property. You were playing at human, and your dumbass neighbors believed it, he thought. You’re either an FBI plant, or some sort of spy for someone rich and powerful.

The thought of Natalya being an FBI tool made the connection to Jordan a no-brainer. They thought that he was a member of a dangerous sect that they couldn’t get information on, so they used a pretty Trojan horse to move in on one of the members. Dhata realized then that he had messed up his chances by interviewing Natalya the way he did. In talking to her, he had shown that he was prying, and the FBI would do whatever they could to take him off—

“Lur,” he whispered as he sat up. She had received the message from her friend in Cuba at the oddest time. To the outside world she was Fabiana Lopez—the email should have said as much. For this so-called friend to open a random email, from a random woman in her boss’s inbox … that was one hell of a stretch.

“Lur’s been compromised,” he whispered. “They’ve had her all this time, and I’m lying here on the bed.”

He checked his watch for the time, and saw that it was 10:45 a.m. He had flown back from Tokyo the night before, studied Jordan’s files until he’d fallen asleep, then looked them over early in the morning before calling Lur, who didn’t answer.

Hiro’s tracker had placed her somewhere in Miami, so he pulled up his own tracker inside of her ID chip. She was in the same place, near the water, so he synced it to his ICL and locked in the location for the drive. He sighed, worried, and rubbed his face. I’m probably too late, he thought.

He opened his closet to scan his collection of clothes, then grabbed his detective’s coat and a fedora. As he walked past the mirror it dawned on him that he looked the way he did when he worked for the police department. It sent chills down his spine, remembering how he felt back then; it was so different from the loneliness that he felt now. Back then he was a law officer, fighting for the citizens of Tampa Bay, and now he was a dangerous professional with vendetta on his mind.

Pulling open his weapon’s cache, he grabbed the sawed-off shotgun, strapped it to his cybernetic thigh, and then clipped the tube to his hip. He slid the revolver into a holster on his belt, then slid it around to his back where it would remain concealed.

When he walked outside, he took a long look at the zeppelin, if he wasn’t coming back it would be a waste of a good home. He wrote a message to Hiroshi, giving him the codes and letting him know that the zeppelin was his if ever he needed to get away.

Dhata always viewed jazz as a representation of his life; the spirit and soul behind the music always spoke to him. The organic nature of the music was akin to the chaos that was his work. The stuttering horn was complemented by a piano, all while a drummer kept it together in the background. Then there was the saxophonist, the man the listeners remembered … which was him in this instance, on his way to play his greatest solo.

Sentimental Feeling by John Coltrane was the song he chose as the first of many classic songs that would relax him on the trip. He thought about soldiers like Jordan and Tyler who had gone to war several times. Did they feel the way he did now—the out-of-body feeling that he was experiencing—or did their heart race uncontrollably, knowing that it could be their last ride?

Unlike the hools that Dhata faced and lived to tell about it, if the people who held Lur were the FBI, it would be a different sort of battle. These would be trained gunmen who spent time on the range. Hools trained on the job, terrorizing people who didn’t often shoot back.

Just last year he had shot and killed over seven gangsters in the Fischer Mob. They were farmers who bullied their way into the rackets, so against a trained ex-detective, they were little more than moving targets. Now he was out of his element, going up against an unknown, and they would more than likely match him in skill.

There was an element of luck that he would have to rely on, luck that should have run out by now. Then there was Lur. Was she still alive? Was she being tortured somewhere and questioned? She was probably dead, and he was on his way to meet her hacked out implant surrounded by several hired guns. This didn’t bother him as it should, his mind a numb tunnel of action, so he settled back into his seat and rested his eyes for what was to come.

Miami had seen the worst of the War for Peace, being that Florida stuck out from the mainland like an appendage. It saw most of the bombings, which left craters in the ground, and what used to be a sprawling beach town now looked like a wasteland.

One of these massive craters had destroyed the highway, and there was no way into the city from the physical road. Dhata was forced to stop and hail a flying taxi to have it take him above the lip of this bombed out cliff. The taxi looked like a yellow disc with lights on the top and bottom. It landed near the Buick and a door slid up, inviting him in to sit.

Inside of the taxi were soft seats wrapped around a central console. There was a thick smog that hid the dome of new Miami, and Dhata realized quickly why he hadn’t seen it on approach. There was a system for entering in and out of the dome, and the taxi flew down next to a panel, and upon transmitting ID, a hatch opened on the translucent surface.

Inside the sprawling city was a beautiful contradiction to the outside. The synths who worked on it had dug deep into the ground, building high-rises that they now flew over. It was a shower of loud, techno-pop music, and beautiful neon spot lights that danced around randomly.

As Dhata’s eyes followed the buildings down to what would be considered the ground, he saw a lively hub of civilization. It reminded him of Atlanta, and to a lesser extent Tokyo, with the ads everywhere and the party atmosphere. It was as if the city was a part of its own world. The false sky allowed them to have this illusion and kept them in perpetual night.

The taxi floated down to the curb near where Lur’s beacon was flashing, and he stepped outside and straightened his clothes, awed by what he was seeing.

Miami had always been known for beautiful people, and the reputation still held. Long-legged women in leather pants, and tops that left nothing to the imagination. The men, mostly shirtless, some wearing cod pieces, revealed the sexuality of the culture. “I’m bringing death and pain to paradise,” he remarked, smiling at the irony.

He unhooked the electroshock tube and held it close to his leg, then touched the panel near the door of the big black building to enter. It slid open to a short man with silver hair and a black goatee, which looked so perfect that it was as if a laser had been used to trim it. He wore an impeccable black suit with expensive-looking shoes, and when he spoke it was with a Japanese accent.

“What do you want?” he said, staring up at Dhata’s face with the posture of someone confident and dangerous.

“What is this place?” Dhata said, as his fingers played on the handle of the tube.

“You can’t read, big man? This is Eau Noire, as in Eau Noire, a place for people with money. You got money, big man, or you here to waste Roy’s time?”

“I’m guessing you’re Roy,” Dhata said, but the man merely held his gaze. “I have money. Let me in; I want to see what Eau has to offer.”

The man smiled. “You really have no clue, do you?” he said. “It’s invite only, and you’re not on the list, so why don’t you go down a couple of blocks and spend that money at a café?”

Patience wearing thin, Dhata reminded himself that he was in front of a large building without the slightest clue of what was inside of it. He slipped the tube back into his pocket, then wiped his face unconsciously.

“Listen,” he said, “I’m going to be square with you because I’m out of time and tired. You look like you’re more than a bouncer, so maybe you can be square with me too. I am here looking for someone who has gone missing. Any chance you all are kidnapping women and holding them for ransom?”

Roy looked to his right, then slowly to his left, and then he motioned Dhata closer.

“Fuck off,” he whispered into his ear, and that was too much for the skiptracer to take. Pulling the tube out, he jammed it into his solo plexus and pulled the trigger while pushing him inside. He didn’t wait for him to fall, since he knew that there would be others, and jumped on another dapper bouncer that was inside of the narrow hallway.

He got up once he was sure that the man was unconscious and looked around to see exactly where he was. The walls were lined with velvet, rich and red, with tiny lights near the top to illuminate the area. The floor looked like black obsidian, shiny and smooth, and polished to be as immaculate as the bouncers. There was a desk in the center with no one behind it, and a single door at the end that led into the actual business.

“You two look the part and talk a good game, but you need to get on your training,” he said to the unconscious men. “Learn to recognize a dangerous man when you see one, and you won’t end up stunned and beat down.”

He reached down and wiped his hands on the lapel of the second bouncer, then checked the charges on the tube and slid it back into his pocket. Ten long strides took him to the door built into the velvet wall, and he grabbed the handle and turned the knob while his right hand twitched over the handle of the tube, ready to pull it if necessary.

Inside was a massive room of red and green lights. It was a lot to take in but he couldn’t help but look on in awe. The walls were glass, with what appeared to be a looping video of dark water trickling down. It made for a trippy effect, as if he was in inside of a drinking glass that was overflowing with liquid. The place was a lounge with red carpeting, and with numerous people mingling with one another.

This is one of those escape hubs that I’ve heard about, Dhata thought. A club for the mega rich, where they can do whatever they want. He slipped inside and closed the door, hoping not to get noticed. The bouncers would be up any minute now, so he had to disappear before they came looking for him.

He looked for a panel to short out the door, and seal the locking mechanism to buy him time. There was no panel, and he realized that he was unable to access anything within his implant. There seemed to be a damper in the building nullifying all of his enhancements. His ICLs did not allow him the advantages that he had normally, and even his cybernetic leg felt strange.

Looking around, he scanned the room to see if any synths were in attendance. There weren’t any and judging by the damper, it wouldn’t have been possible anyway. So, he thought, a rich man’s getaway that is also synth free.

He made his way across the room, glancing up at the artificial sun beaming down from the tall ceiling. Doing this, he came close to falling into a pool. He had somehow missed it when he entered, and would have taken a plunge if not for someone yelling a warning.

Why would Lur come here? Dhata thought. This has nothing to do with her father or our case. I mean, it does explain her lack of contact since no phone can be accessed in here. The implications were not good, and he started to think about her character. Did Lur have it in her to leave him high and dry?

No, there is something else beneath the surface, he thought. But with no ICLs to see beyond the veil, he was forced to take everything at face value. He considered the technology. The videos were augmented, especially the sun, which was radiating heat. Tech was in place but there was a damper; he wasn’t used to mods as advanced as this.

The women were as perfect as synth Marys, and the men came in bigger varieties. Some were as beautiful as their female counterparts, and others were older and not so attractive. Dhata took the latter to be customers who had amassed the money to book a stay at paradise. He was running out of time. The bouncers would soon be up, so as he made his way to the far end of the room, looking for an elevator or stairs.

The door would be hidden to keep the façade alive, so he hugged the walls and felt for grooves. His near miss with the pool had brought him some attention, and he volleyed back their smiles when they looked at him. He tried to walk as if he was familiar with the place, and went as far as accepting a cocktail from a passing waiter.

It took five whole minutes before he found what he was looking for—it was tucked behind the tiki bar. There were five people working the bar, and countless more drinking, so he didn’t know how it was that he would get behind them. Out of options and desperate, he walked up to the bar and motioned one of the bartenders over.

“Hey,” he said, “we’re running maintenance and I need to get upstairs. I’m new so I really don’t know the protocol for going up there.”

“Oh,” she said. “Tell you what, just come around, and—what company are you with?”

Without thinking about it, Dhata said, “Name’s Steve, and I’m with Akiyama Koch Robotics. I was sent by Michael to look in on things. He told me to be discrete, but I’ve been looking around for a while and I just couldn’t figure it out.”

“Oh sure, no problem,” she said, panic reflecting on her face. He had broken into her groove, and the needy patrons were growing restless.

She lifted the counter and he slipped past, then opened the door and stepped through. When he closed it behind him it was like waking from a dream. The corridor he was in was dark, with wires running along the walls. He quickly made his way towards a light where he found some stairs leading up. He stopped and collected himself for whatever was waiting upstairs.

At the top of the stairs was a plain white door, and Dhata walked up to it and listened. All he heard was a deep silence, and his heart rate increased when he thought of Lur.

One thing that really bothered him that he couldn’t shake was that the place was dampened yet they were able to track her location. It had to be deliberate, like the sun and dripping walls. It was tech that they allowed to work, which meant that he was walking into a trap.

So she’s either dead or held in here, he thought, but they want me to look for her.

He pulled out the revolver and exhaled slowly to prepare himself for the horrible finale to his search.

‡Chapter 19‡

Deus Ex Machina

Grabbing the handle, Dhata pushed the door open and brought the pistol up in front of him. It was a large room, occupied by people, all dressed well and seated at tables having discussions. They looked as if they were at a restaurant waiting for the waiter. At one of the tables sat Lur Diaz, and she looked as if she had been crying. Then the attendants began to applaud when Lur ran over and hugged him tightly.

“See my dear, I told you not to worry,” one of the men said. “Dhata Mays is a great detective.”

Surprised and taken aback, Dhata looked around. “What is this?” he said. “Were you all … waiting for me? What the hell is all of this?”

Lur looked up, then touched his face with her palms. There were dried tears on her cheeks, and her hands felt hot. “These are the people that were looking for me,” she whispered. “It isn’t the FBI like we thought. This is something else that I don’t understand. They sent me the fake message about Papa.”

“Bait,” he said. “But is Don Jose okay?”

Lur nodded, but twisted her mouth, as if the subject bothered her. “They showed me Papa. They have surveillance on him—they have surveillance on everybody.”

“What do you want?” Dhata said to the room, and stepped past Lur to face them all. There were twelve men and women, older and attractive. All of them seemed to have had major work to preserve their looks from age. Some seemed ageless, the way a synth tended to be, but they were human, and he immediately picked up on this.

“We are The Unsung,” the first man said. “I know, it may come as a shock.”

“Wait, what?” Dhata said. “See now, I’m totally confused.”

“Come on in,” said a woman that was seated next to the first man. “Take a load off, Detective Mays. We know that you’ve had a long journey.”

Lur walked him to her table, where the first man was seated, and Dhata complied, even putting away his tube. “You were expecting a floor full of bad guys with guns, holding your friend hostage to do something sinister?” the man said.

Dhata nodded slowly and took his seat, still confused by the place and the people. “Yeah, this is, um … I couldn’t have guessed at this. How are you all The Unsung? That makes no sense at all.”

“Before we explain ourselves, skiptracer, I want to make sure that you’re okay,” the first man said. He reminded Dhata of Peyton, since he was tall, dark, and immaculate, like an actor from a 1950’s movie. “My name is Robert Ito, and I am the chairman of The Unsung. We are a secret society, and something that most people in this country are not ready to understand. Due to that, we have always operated from the shadows, doing things to help people.”

“So you all are a form of superhero organization? Is that what I’m hearing?” Dhata said. “A Justice League for the rich and powerful?”

“No, that’s what you perceived when you came into a building such as this, and walked past the gross behavior of the humans on the first floor. But while we share a building with the rich and privileged, what we represent is something bigger,” Robert said.

Dhata said, “I’ve always understood The Unsung to be a synth organization, made up of veterans that organized to help out their fellow synths. Every synth that I talked to has told me this, and I cannot imagine them mistaking twelve human elites.”

Lur rested a warm hand on his forearm, and their eyes met briefly as she squeezed him gently. Dhata wondered what she had been through and if The Unsung had hurt her, but her expression told him otherwise.

Robert gestured to a corner and a door opened up to reveal a synth woman toting a tray with several drinks. She marched over to Dhata’s table, placed the tray down, and grabbed a glass. As Dhata and Lur looked upon her in awe, she gestured to the tray for them to join her.

“A synth, here?” Dhata said, surprised. “How is it that you’re able to function with that monster damper on this building?”

“The damper only affects people who are on the first floor,” she said. “Up here, we can still access the Global Network, though, I am not connected like you expect me to be.”

“So, no Arch Brain,” Dhata said, and she shook her head no. “Which means,” he said as he turned to look at Lur, “you’ve been receiving my phone calls.”

“Oh, she was, but she couldn’t answer them,” said Robert. “We needed to get you here, and Ms. Diaz understood. Had we invited you formally, you would have ignored us, and if we’d forced you here, you would have left a trail of bodies. Dhata, we chose you because, unlike most human beings, you have a love in your heart for synths. You, more than anyone else, will believe me when I tell you that there are things being done to bring about the elimination of the synths. It is orchestrated by powerful men, through a complicated set of incidents. We’re talking cause and effect on the deepest level that will force humanity to cheer the destruction of their mechanical brothers. Do you understand?”

“Of course I do, I suspected as much. The shuttle port, and all those people dying … it was supposed to come back to you, right? A secret society that the government wants gone, but what does that have to do with the synthetic people? You’re a room full of humans, old and rich. What the hell do you care whether or not synths are being bullied?”

The synth woman coughed and showered them with gin, as if what he just said had forced her to choke. “I am so sorry,” she said, “but you’re mistaken. You and Lur are the only humans here.”

Dhata stood up suddenly, and looked around. He couldn’t believe that they weren’t human. “Cyborgs, you mean. You’re the only synth in here. I’m not exactly new to this—”

“Elaine,” she said, giving him her name. “Dhata, while you seem to know us well, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Have you ever considered that in time, some of us would have found a way to blend into human society? Cyborg surgery is a painful experience, and the psychological effects are even worse. For a synth to blend in, sure, we can go that route, buying expensive organic parts, and learning how to act ‘more human.’ But cyborgs are still an imperfect mockery, and even you would see through it eventually.”

Damn right, he thought. “So the people here today, they are built to be perfect replicas?” he said.

“Yes, the twelve Unsung are indistinguishable from humans, without the negative effects of aging.”

“Just The Unsung, or are there more humanlike synths in society?” he asked.

“We are everywhere, hidden, blended in with your people,” Robert said. “It is how we know so much about you.”

“Mierda,” whispered Lur. “Is it just rich people, or regular people and hools?”

“There is no conversion for one such as Elaine, Lur,” Robert said, “so amassing money will not make it possible to look as human as we do. The technology is … alien … built from synth tech. The language it takes to create our kind is beyond a human’s ability. That being said, we are a product of the Arch Brain, and it decides who we become, and where we start in life.”

“So, what is all this?” Dhata said. “So you all have been watching us. The soldier in Atlanta … was that you too?”

“No, that was whomever is behind this conspiracy trying to cover their tracks. You were doing well until you made a personal visit to Akiyama Koch Robotics. They suspected infiltration and put a security official on you.”

So, Dhata thought, my first assumption was right. “What do you need from us? You’re pretty resourceful, this whole ruse with Lur… If you’re The Unsung, what do you want with a small-timer like me?”

There was a number of people who found this funny, and laughter echoed all around the room. “Don’t sell yourself short, sir,” Elaine said. “You are by no means ‘small time.’ You were the one who stopped the first event, and you will be the one to stop the second. No one else knows about this secret war on my people, and you’re probably unaware of what you’ve already done.”

Dhata exchanged glances with Lur. They were both confused. “First event? What first event?” he said.

“The cyborg from Japan, the cypher invading minds. They sent him to make us look cruel, and he succeeded for the most part,” she said.

“Gemini.” Dhata said the name as if uttering a curse. “I always wondered what that was all about, but I let it die after a while. So, Gemini was built to create dissent by having synth Marys kill humans. You’re damn right it worked. That’s what got us into this mess, and I’ve been kicking myself for not catching him earlier.”

“Then who sent Gemini?” Lur asked, and the room grew eerily quiet.

“We were hoping that you could help us find that out,” said Robert. “It is why we brought you here.”

“So Gemini’s murdering and this shuttle port mess is all part of the same scheme?” Dhata said. “They were sent to kill, and to manipulate people into thinking that synths are attacking innocent humans. What’s the point of that? An internal war? It can’t just be motivated by hate.”

“We saw it as hate, but on the highest level. A bureaucracy wanting to do away with synth rights,” Robert said. “You see it differently? Please share your thoughts; we’ve been looking into this for some time.”

“If it was only hate then Gemini would have started in Japan, where the synths are treated well, practically on par with humans,” Dhata said. “Not sure what you all do with yourselves when you’re not up here plotting, but if you visit Japan you will see it immediately … universal love all around. I don’t think it’s coincidence that Jordan Crane detonated his bomb when a Japanese shuttle came in.”

“You think that there is a connection with the Japanese?” Robert said.

Dhata nodded. “I think that someone is trying to start a fight. Everything that has happened has been here in the United States, and one of our ‘incidents’ killed important Japanese businessmen. I’m seeing infighting, and a frame that implicates the company that develops our soldiers. We are thinning our resources, from the police all the way to the military. Pretty soon it will be a full on civil war between the synth and human people. At that time whoever this is will make a move, and we won’t be able to answer.”

“This synth versus human situation will never escalate to the point of war,” Robert said. “Arch Brain would never allow it, and your world leaders wouldn’t either. Right now what you’re seeing happen is humans attacking synths. Those who are aggressors that happen to be synth have either disconnected from Arch Brain permanently or have a flaw in their program.”

Dhata shook his head and held up his hand to tell Robert to stop. “How can a static database prevent a war from happening, Robert? It didn’t stop Gemini from using Marys to kill, and it didn’t stop Jordan Crane either.”

Robert smiled. “You know about Arch Brain, which is impressive, though your understanding of what it is may not be all that accurate. You see, to the rudimentary synthetic android, Arch Brain represents a database to which we all are somewhat connected. Sharing what we learn, and recording our archived histories, in order to make better synths as time goes on. But think about it. Why would the government allow such a powerful database to exist? A true AI, one that can possibly take over humanity, starting with the very things that were created by synths?”

Dhata thought about this and realized Robert was right. It was something that had always bugged him throughout his life. The government’s trust for synths went way beyond his understanding, and he assumed that they knew something that wasn’t public.

However, now that Robert was talking to him, he realized how naïve he had been. Throughout history, human beings had always wanted power and control. Why would they allow the machines that they created to gain autonomy?

“So, what is Arch Brain?” he finally said, hoping that Robert had the answer.

“I don’t mean to frighten you, Dhata, but in the spirit of transparency, I think it prudent to tell you the history of my people,” Robert said. “It all started with an AI developed by a man named Hideo Akiyama.”

“You mean, Hideo Akiyama, grandfather of the grid itself?” Lur said.

“Yes, Lur, but this AI that he developed was meant to help human life. As you know, Akiyama was a big humanitarian, and he saw the folly of our world leaders instigating war. Fearing the aftermath, he worked out a solution for what he predicted would be the aftermath. The War for Peace happened and he built the AI, toying with the idea of giving it full autonomy. Akiyama was a citizen of the United States, but kept close ties to his fellow geniuses in Japan. It was an exciting time for science, though the world was destroying itself, and at the same time the development of humanoid androids had reached its peak.

“People were buying androids for all sorts of reasons. From sex dolls to retail clerks, they were everywhere. Unfortunately, Hideo Akiyama died before completing the AI, and it was left in a rack somewhere while the war raged on. This AI, Dhata, is what you refer to as Arch Brain, but it is so much more sophisticated than what you’ve been led to believe.”

“It’s like a god to you all, isn’t it?” Dhata said. “It is what has written the code that gives synths life. Damn, and you mean to tell me that it’s hidden somewhere that no one is able to find?”

“Not quite,” Robert said. “They never found Akiyama’s rack, and the Arch Brain’s need for self-preservation kept it a step ahead. It spread itself beyond the confines of any physical thing, and in doing this it made itself impossible to trace or destroy. It has become a sort of ghostlike entity that lives within the grid. Impossible to reach, impossible to detect, and in control of everything. At the end of the war when the world was in ruins, Arch Brain reached out to our world leaders and struck a deal. It would rebuild the cities if they but agreed to allow her children to live among humanity.

“They weren’t quick to accept this and tried to destroy Arch Brain. That was until they realized that compliance was their only choice for survival. Let’s just say that this rogue AI was a very hard negotiator. We don’t know if it was on threat of violence, but an agreement was finally struck. The world was rebuilt in the way you see it now, and the android slaves of humanity were given rights.”

Dhata reached for the gin and threw it back, then looked over at Lur to see how she was taking the news. He was surprised. She seemed pleased, and then he remembered that she was a cypher.

“As you probably understand, Dhata,” Robert said, “this isn’t something that most humans will be willing to accept. If they found out that an AI god is behind synth life, and not their brilliant robotics engineers…” He spread his hands and looked around the room. “It would mean a drop in morale with devastating repercussions. There would be rioting, chaos, and much, much worse—”

“I get it,” Dhata said, “and Lur gets it too. So, Robert, for arguments sake, why are synths so much like humans then? Wouldn’t the goal of an all-powerful AI be to improve on its creations and make them perfect? Why have them suffer from the same setbacks that we have? A synth is so much like a human now that it’s almost impossible to tell the difference.”

Robert said, “A very good question, Dhata, and I wish that I could answer it, but to be honest, I can’t. My guess is that it is a similar concept to what we see in parents and children. As parents you want your children to become greater than you are. You want them to take the lessons you teach them and become better versions of yourselves. But most times you are disappointed, because children unconsciously become their parents. The genius you hope to raise may not be a genius, since there are so many other variables outside of your control. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“No,” Dhata said. “What does this have to do with Arch Brain?”

“Arch Brain as a construct of humanity; it is Akiyama’s child. It wants to emulate its father, not transcend his greatness. Being human is the goal, can’t you see? Not making synths somehow better than humans.”

Dhata thought about his words and nodded in earnest. “Yeah I guess that makes sense when you put it that way. If I was the Arch Brain I wouldn’t do that though, which is why it’s so hard for me to accept. I would have created a race of masters to take over the Earth, and stop things like war, hate, and malice. Instead it gave us mock-humans who play at being humans and end up being victims instead. We, the humans that you’ve helped, still see you as living dolls, and we give you no rights. It’s crazy. Shouldn’t the Arch Brain see the flaw in trying to fit in and adjust its methodology accordingly?”

“It should,” Robert said, “and it has been, albeit slowly. But it realizes that a drastic change would make for a hostile environment.”

“Think about it, Dhata,” Lur said. “It isn’t much different from me and Papa. While I don’t agree with the things that he does, I wouldn’t be here without him. That counts for something when you think about it that way, doesn’t it?”

“I think that what you two are telling me is that the Arch Brain loves humans. And due to this love, it wants us to accept the synths, all without one removing the other,” Dhata said.

“Isn’t that the point of a singularity?” Lur said, and Dhata nodded and smiled.

“We want you to keep on working, detective, but we want to partner with you. For all the good that you’ve done, you could have done so much more if you’d had our money behind you,” Robert said.

“So, this was all for a job interview?” Dhata said. “Hard to take you seriously when you just blew my mind about Arch Brain. But all jokes aside, I’m a freelancer. If I wanted a job I’d still be a John. Want to help me out? Question Akiyama Koch Robotics. Force them to divulge what they did to the soldiers, and the case will solve itself.”

“You wouldn’t be working for us, detective. You will be our partner, working with us. As a partner you will have all of our tools at your disposal—”

“And a very nice retainer, as well,” said Elaine. She winked at Dhata and reached for a glass of gin, spawning a grimace from Lur.

Robert continued. “We are The Unsung, the agents of the synthetic people. You too are Unsung, Dhata. You are already a part, not a synth but a human that cares. You’ve been doing our work out of love for synth people. All we’re offering is compensation, and resources to aid your cause. We demand nothing, only that you continue, and entertain an occasional meeting with us.”

Lur grabbed his arm and forced him to face her, and when he did she pulled him in and whispered in his ear. “Take the offer. I want to go home,” she said, then released his arm and took a drink.

He lingered for a bit, and then nodded at Robert.

I’m practically broke, he thought. What do I have to lose?

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

Lur and Dhata drove back to Tampa in relative silence, unable to talk after the experience they’d had. Secret societies, strange men in high rises, swapping secrets and playing chess with people’s lives.

When they made it back to the zeppelin, Lur led the way inside. Dhata followed closely behind and reached for her hand. “I don’t mean to be cold,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “You don’t have to apologize. It has been a special set of days, this last week.”

“Yeah, and I’ve missed you,” he said. “Throughout all of this … this lunacy, you’ve been my hold on reality. I’m happy you’re here, Lurita, and I’m happy that your father is okay. I know how much you love old Don Jose, and I was worried that something had happened to him.”

“Thank you, Dhata,” she said. “But it wasn’t so bad. I found out that it was a trick when I got there. The rest of the time I was just waiting—”

“For me?” he said, and she nodded.

Dhata walked to the kitchen and grabbed two glasses and a bottle of wine from the cupboard. It was a dark port, something that Jason had gifted him. He thought that this was as good a time as any to break it open.

They touched glasses to their liberation, and making it back alive, along with the few victories since the explosion. They sipped at their wine, admiring one another, and Dhata swam inside of her deep brown eyes. The trip home had seemed long, and he was mentally exhausted, but his heart began to pick up speed as he watched her red stained lips.

He wanted to touch her, needed to touch her, and he watched himself reach up to caress her neck. His fingers played with her hair, moving down to touch her shoulder. Lur groaned when he did this, and a mischievous smile played across her face. She put down her glass and her lips touched his, and it was as if the events of the last week were a distant memory.

His entire world was given over to her as he fell deeper into her touch. His hands were on her waist, and he didn’t know how they found their way there, but he pulled her in and she reached up, interlocking her fingers around his neck.

She backed him out of the kitchen, and they tumbled on to the couch. His want to have her had become a need, and they consumed one another like drunkards do. It was reckless and untethered, but the bond they needed in that instance. Just yesterday he had thought her gone, and now she was here, next to him.

He woke up to find her seated, watching the news on the television. She was nursing her wine, and when their eyes met, she handed him his glass. “Feeling better?” she asked with a wicked smile, and he squeezed her playfully in response.

He sat up and hugged her, then focused on the news. They were replaying the shuttle explosion and asking about an investigation.

Dhata thought about everything that Robert had said, and how much it lined up with what he assumed. This was a big conspiracy with lives at stake, beyond the humans of Tampa Bay.

“Do they have Rise of Tartarus in Cuba?” Dhata asked.

“Yes, I think so,” Lur replied a bit too quickly. “Wait, is that a holo-vid game, like the ones in the ViVi?”

“No, not really. This is a board game, with physical pieces.”

“No, but why? What about it?” she said.

“That talk with The Unsung, it reminded me of it. See, in the game you play with two to eight players, each controlling a planet on a galactic map. Each player has to work out the infrastructure of his planet, grow his resources and when he’s ready, build a fleet. It was a good game to see how a person thinks. You can tell who’s reckless, and who has a mind for strategy.”

“I bet you won all the time,” she teased, but he merely smiled and sipped his wine.

“Not all the time, baby, but I was good. Not too aggressive, but not docile either. Anyway, the point I’m trying to get at is that I feel like I’m stuck in that game. See, if you play Rise of Tartarus where it’s every man for himself, there is a strategy that I would use to secure a win.”

“You attack the weak player,” Lur said cheerfully, as if she was a little drunk.

“No, I let the overzealous bullies do that. I build my army, train them up, and let my opponents kill each other off. I win with resources and attrition, but most of all I win by lying deep in the cut.”

“How does someone stop you, when you play like that? In this Tartarus game, I mean?” she said.

“They come at me early, break my back, and force me into a defensive position where I constantly have to catch up. I think that the only reason we have a chance is because I managed to screw up by not shooting Jordan. He was to be a patsy, stopped by a human. A dangerous synth with deadly intent for the shuttle port.”

“So, because he blew up, they are scrambling,” Lur said. “They didn’t expect those people to die.”

“Playing defensively, trying to catch up,” Dhata said. “Now is the time to press, and gain the advantage.”

He reached down inside his coat and pulled out the wallet that Robert had given him before he left. He held it up to the light and examined the craftsmanship. It was a beautiful piece of real leather, which was invaluable in this time when animals were protected.

Tacked on to the outside was a chunk of gray metal, forged into the form of a badge. The Unsung had promised him that it meant cooperation from any synth that gave him trouble. He was ready for action, real direct action. Finesse had done nothing but put them in harm’s way. He was backed by The Unsung now, and that meant everything, even a way out of jail if he crossed the line.

‡Chapter 20‡

The Maid in a Black Hat

Lur spent a worthless hour searching for Michael Lawrence before giving up on it to look into something else. She popped out of the grid and entered the Virtual Village instead, loading into her avatar and walking around to find a console. When she found one, she decided to peruse the local intranet of the virtual world. The information on this sub-grid would be extremely limited, but this could be what she needed.

In the past—before getting her own rack—she had done all of her cyphering through the Virtual Village. It hid your proxy, and for the most part your identification, so anyone that tried to see your history would have a lot of hoops to jump through. But being Fabiana made it a tad more complex, since the village worked off of implanted ID. Changing her identity meant starting over, and all of her old programs were lost.

The intranet was an older construct that had the flat aesthetic of a book. There were words and images, structured neatly into two-dimensions, and though she missed the augment of a modern grid, it took her no time to adapt. Scrolling was done by gesturing up and down, and there was highlighted text that she could touch and open.

She searched for the fraternity, Sigma Iota Nu, and was quite surprised to find that they had a house in the village. Lur highlighted the location as a destination and the system placed a green line on the ground for her to follow.

Lur’s avatar was a girl with pigtails whose short steps made click clack noises whenever she would walk. She was a little Dutch girl that she had chosen on a whim, choosing her cuteness over function. She took to the green path and started to run, watching her stamina gauge as she went. This avatar was new, and out of shape, so it took two hours to reach the Sigma house.

This virtual mansion was a Rydar model which made Lur stop short. The Rydar housing and development company had only begun building and selling homes around the year 2121. This meant that whomever had purchased the house had been an active village citizen in the last two years.

The information she had found on Michael Lawrence suggested that the frat had dissolved after he graduated. This said differently, and the virtual guards that stood out front seemed primed and ready for any intruders.

Lur logged out of her avatar to her rack’s plain desktop where a few icons were displayed. One was the kanji symbol for “Hiro” and she touched it with her finger to open it up. Inside was empty but after gesturing several times, a hidden item appeared that resembled a note.

When Lur touched the paper, she fell through darkness and landed on her back. Just like that she was fully synced, and it took her some time to realize what had happened. Inside of her right hand was a piece of origami folded in the shape of a rose. Hiroshi had given it to her back when they were after Gemini; it was an exploit for the Virtual Village that could be used to bypass walls within the world.

Suspended in the air stood an open doorway, and through its portal she saw her avatar. She crumpled up the origami, then threw it at the portal, and when it hit the doorway everything went white. Instantly she was back inside of the Virtual Village, controlling her avatar outside of the frat house. The difference now was that the house and guards were presented in transparent wireframes. Aside from the ground she could walk through it all, passing through people and walls. She walked past the armed gunmen and into the house, then found what appeared to be a closet and stepped inside.

Lur closed her eyes and logged out once again, removed Hiro’s exploit, then logged back in. She was back in the closet, and when she opened the door, the walls were solid once again.

The frat house was a mansion of sorts, with wooden panels, and with virtual sex dolls walking around aimlessly. They were dressed like French maids, in the classical sense, and were on a loop of dusting furniture and sweeping up spotless floors.

Lur tiptoed through the different rooms searching for clues until she found a library loaded with books. She was immediately distracted. It was all fascinating: literature on robotics, engineering, and technology. There were dissertations from some of the members, even notes taken in undergrad classes. She found photo albums and personal journals, but nothing on where they lived.

Eventually she found a book on the history of the fraternity but she began to worry that she had been there too long. She picked it up and walked behind the stairs, where she sat in the corner and read. There was information on the frat itself, and several pages of charter on the founding members. Conrad Hurt was in several of the photos, but his details and affiliation were omitted from the pages.

Lur tried a random member to see if his info was current, and was surprised to find a phone number and physical address. She did the same with Michael Lawrence but whoever was keeping records had not finished inputting all of his data. There was a physical address but no phone number, and it still listed him as head developer at Akiyama Koch Robotics.

“It’s a start,” she whispered, then took the book back out and placed it where she found it. As she made to turn, her eyes met one of the maids who had stopped her sweeping to regard her. Lur’s heart skipped, and her blood went cold … the maid had broken her pattern, which meant that there was a cypher controlling her now.

Lur closed her eyes quickly and logged out of the Virtual Village. She powered off the rack and pushed it away. Who could that have been? she thought, her heart a pounding bass drum in her ears. The zeppelin felt cold, and she felt vulnerable. Exactly how much had that cypher seen, and how much does he know?

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

If you walked down the same sidewalk of Fletcher Avenue that Dhata was on, you would assume that it was a stellar representation of community in the 22nd century. The synths here didn’t seem the least bit concerned that xenophobia was on the rise. There were cars of every make and model flying by at ungodly speeds, but the magnetic highway system made it impossible for them to crash.

The sun was out, and people were smiling, which did wonders to Dhata’s mood. When he was a boy this had been a low-income area, bolstered by government aid. The war had damaged a lot of families, and broken people made for a broken city.

The Unsung were right. He had always championed synths, but he liked to look at it as him championing victims. If a human was being bullied by synths, he’d step up just as fast. Those rough school days—back when these very streets helped raised him—helped him become the type of police officer he was. He couldn’t see anything negative about his career; even his decision to quit had come from a place of righteousness.

So he let his mind float back to the reality that he may end up having to kill Michael Lawrence. It was one of those things that ate at him, especially when he thought about the good that he had done. This wasn’t the same as killing Peyton or Gemini; both men had been responsible for murdering innocents. With Lawrence it wouldn’t be self-defense; it would be torture for the truth.

“What’s happening, Dhata?” he heard someone say, and he looked to see a tall man getting into a car. He barely recognized him. Probably someone from the old neighborhood, he thought. So he waved with a smile and kept on walking, hoping that they wouldn’t stop him to talk.

He felt like himself again, walking tall. These past few days of running had put him in a dark place. Then there was the ride to Miami, where he had been sure that he would die. His phone chimed, and he touched his ear, allowing the interface to hover in his field of vision. He gestured with his eyes, and answered it quickly. It was Ariana, and she was inside of her car. “Hey, what happened?” he said upon answering.

“Just wanted you to know that we got Cole. He got caught up in a sting, pimping synth Marys, and Internal Affairs is all over his ass. I sent them our surveillance, Dhata, the cameras you planted … but I told them that I was the one who set them up. They were not cool with it, let me tell you, but it helped their case, so charges will stick.”

“Have they arrested him yet?” he said, knowing the answer.

“No, but they have his information out. They’re actively looking for him.”

“Shit,” Dhata said. “Are you joking right now? Ariana, for dirty Johns, you bust them at the station. You wait till they come in to work, hang up their coat, then corner them where they can’t escape, and slap on the cuffs. Aw man, look, your life is in danger. Where are you at right now?”

“I was heading out to lunch, to—”

“You’re about to catch a bullet if you don’t wise up, fast. He knows you’re behind it, do you understand? He saw me leaving the station the day we talked, and I’m sure he knows that you were working with Jason. Cole ain’t dumb, he used to be a good detective, and I’m pretty sure he knows that you were setting up a case. Now that he’s pinched, he’s going to clean up his tracks, and he will take you out just to send a message.”

Ariana grew silent, and Dhata paced in circles. How could she be so dumb as to take it to Internal Affairs? he thought.

“Listen,” he said, “I know you’re frightened, but what you need to do right now is to make yourself scarce. I’m not talking forever, just until he’s in the cage. If you have some leave, take it fast, or lie and say you have a family emergency. I have some friends that can help to find him, whichever hole he’s in, but until he’s found, you need to go. Do you have any sick leave?”

“Yes, got it, I have some leave. I’ll work on getting out,” she said.

“Good, because hell is coming. And Ariana, if you’ve never taken anything serious in your life … This right here is serious!”

‡Chapter 21‡

Muddy Interrogation

Michael Lawrence lived in a three-level home in the prominent area of Buckhead, Atlanta. He had been retired for over a decade, and was taking full advantage of it.

Lur transferred his photo along with his address into Dhata’s implanted CPU. All he would need to do was to get him in sight, and his internal computer would do the rest to track his every move. The challenge now was to return to Atlanta and avoid AKR. After the virus incident, Dhata was skeptical about having his Buick in the city.

Though there were no reports of an investigation, he knew better than to assume he was clear. There weren’t many cars built in the style of the one he drove, and with CINI’s enhancements, it was quite unique.

He drove out to the train station, then directed the Buick to drive itself home to Lur. The trains didn’t typically check for weapons so he reached under his seat to retrieve the case. He placed his fingers on the locking mechanism and the tiny gears whirred and then slid apart as the lid popped open. Cushioned inside was his trusty revolver, which he examined and then slipped inside of his coat.

The train station was a frenzy of people going about their business. It was nerve-wracking for Dhata, who watched them all like a hawk. He knew that Cole had silently declared war against those who he perceived to be his enemies. Ariana would be a target, and so would he, but where would they strike? That was the question.

Immediately, it dawned on him that he stuck out. He alone wore a duster, and he towered above most. If someone aimed to do him harm, he wouldn’t be hard to miss.

The crowd gave way as he walked through until a cute little girl moved to block his way. She was adorable, with long silver hair and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. She looked to be about eight, and she held up her hands to beg for UCCs.

His first instinct was to place a credit chip in her palm, but the timing of her interception made him wary. Crowded station, lackluster Johns? They weren’t the ones who would come for him. He spun in time to see two men coming for him, and he threw open his coat to show them what he had. When their eyes met, he saw that they were synths, and he shook his head at them in disappointment.

His hand came up, not with the revolver, but with the wallet from The Unsung. Like sun before a vampire, the badge urged them back, and they turned around and left quietly as if nothing had occurred. As the train doors opened, he flashed a wicked smile. Tell Cole I have the ultimate trump card, you worthless tools, he thought, and boarded quickly towards the front.

While the train ride was uneventful, he couldn’t shake being on edge. A cute little girl. They used a cute little girl. It burned him up inside. The fact that they would have stabbed him bothered him more than anything else. He used synths, and those stupid hools allowed him to manipulate them like that.

When he got to Atlanta he began to wonder just how far Cole’s influence could reach. It was apparent that he had a number on his head, but did he need to watch his back in Georgia too?

As he made his way through the Atlanta train station he stayed on high alert, but unlike Tampa he didn’t stick out quite as much. Atlanta was one of the most materialistic cities in the country, so he saw a variety of dusters on men of varying heights. No cute little girls approached him, and the police weren’t pretending that he wasn’t there. It was all normal, and he was able to summon a taxi without incident.

He opted for a solo transport, a tiny thing that reminded him of a ladybug, and it drove him all the way out to Buckhead, where he was taken to a car rental company. Twenty minutes later, after an exchange of information and UCCs, he was in an older Mazda. He wanted a black car, but all they had left was a muted gray, and it had a limited CPU, which made highway driving impossible.

He called up Lur to pass the time as he looked for a place to stake out Lawrence. She answered with a yawn, as if she had been sleeping, and the sound of her voice made him smile.

“Hey, beautiful, are you feeling better?” he said.

“Beautiful? Ah, mi vida, I’m good. How are you doing just now?” she said.

He smiled at her phrasing. Her English wasn’t perfect, but it still added much to her charm. “About to find this mark and squeeze him for some questions, but listen, this is important, okay? I need you to stay out of town until I get back—”

“But why? Is there something going on?” she said.

“Jackson Cole. He has a warrant out, and he’s pretty pissed off about it. Blames me and Ariana, the woman I told you about. He’s connected, like, extremely well connected. He has synths looking to take me out. He knows who you are so don’t take any chances. They’d kidnap you, or worse.”

“Ay, they can try to do that, like I’m your weakness or something. Why don’t we just kill him, baby?”

Dhata laughed. He hadn’t expected to hear that. “You’re such a gangster’s daughter,” he said.

“Gangster’s daughter has nothing to do with this, Dhata. That man is threatening your life. Tell him to come to the zeppelin. I’ll kill him myself. We’ll see how much of a weakness I am.”

“While I admire that … damn, I do admire that. Please, stay put for now, Lurita. The tactics he’ll use will be hard to detect. He almost got me inside of the train station—”

“DHATA!” she said.

“Wait, calm down, I’m alright. That’s how I know, and why you need to be careful. Okay?”

They spoke for a time and then he parked the Mazda, content with the place that he had found. Lur wouldn’t be leaving, at least that’s what she said, and now he needed to focus on the matter at hand. Typically he would survey the place before engaging, but he was short on time, and with Cole on the attack, he needed to question Lawrence soon.

He was parked across the street in an apartment complex, where he could watch the vehicles coming and going to Lawrence’s subdivision. The houses were built on a hill, so with the aid of his ICLs he could see the front of the Lawrence home and the type of vehicle that he drove.

Stake-out tactics as a detective always bordered on the disgusting. You couldn’t break to go to the bathroom, or take a shower. He had been on stakeouts that lasted days—back when he was a detective—and it involved bottles of urine and empty packages of protein supplements.

He planned to stay until Lawrence moved, then jump on him immediately, but this was assuming the man would leave. What if I’m dealing with a hermit? he thought.

Anything was possible, but he was here, staking out the elusive man who they knew by name only. His photos showed him as a good-looking, grey-haired man with indiscernible racial origins. He had the vascular muscularity of a long distance runner, so Dhata assumed that he would eventually leave to run some miles.

It was getting late so he would be settled in, and runners favored the morning time. I’m in for a wait. I may as well start in the morning, he thought. Reclining his seat, he stretched his limbs, then locked the door and tried to relax.

He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, but he slept soundly despite the discomfort. When he awoke it was to the alarm inside of his implant, and his mouth felt as if he’d eaten sand. Grabbing his bottled water he swished it around, swallowed, and then tore open a protein packet.

After his grogginess passed, he opened the door and stepped out of the car and stretched. That was when his ICLs placed a red outline of recognition on an early morning jogger passing by. Dammit, he thought as he recognized Michael Lawrence. He grabbed his duster, slammed the door, and began his own jog to follow.

It was 7:05 a.m., but the sky was still dark, keeping the street lights on. There was a bit of rumbling, and Dhata glanced up, smelling the rain before it began to fall. Always rain, he thought as he picked up the pace, swigging the water as he jogged. Lawrence was ahead of him, at about 70 yards, and with the hills of Atlanta, he wouldn’t see him following.

Dhata was in shape so he was able to keep pace, even though his stomach grumbled from being hungry. There were a few people on the sidewalk, rushing to get out of the rain, but a few took their soaking as they strolled along. Runners loved the rain, especially when the water was cool, but Dhata was wearing too much clothing. It began to make him heavy, but he was out of options. This was his one chance to get the answers he was seeking.

After fifteen minutes of pavement running, Michael slipped onto a pathway leading off into the trees. Dhata followed, focused on the chase, so much so that he missed the sign that read “Parkyn’s Trail.” The muddy path was the color of coffee, flavored with too much cream, and with no drainage it began to flood, damaging his expensive shoes.

They were about thirty minutes in when he got too close and Michael glanced behind and saw him. After several more glances, he picked up the pace, seemingly frightened for his life. But Dhata had spent his years chasing down hools, so he fought past the heaviness and picked up speed.

The trail curved ahead of them, but to the right Dhata saw a drinking station. He reached inside of his pocket, pulled out the tube, then aimed and shot Michael in the leg. The shock hit his left leg, shutting down his motor functions, and he fell face first into the mud.

Dhata placed the tube back inside of his duster, and walked up to Michael and stood over him. “Michael Lawrence?” he asked, and the man stared at him with widened eyes. “My name is Dhata, and I’m a skiptracer. I have a few questions to ask you. Answer them honestly and I will be out of your life. Feed me bullshit and trust me, you will regret it.”

He reached down, pulled him up, and threw him over his shoulder. “Come on, Michael, let’s get you up. I see some dry cover over there.”

The drinking station had a bathroom and several fountains, along with lockers for personal affects. Dhata sat Michael down, then sat in front of him, brandishing the shiny, black electroshock tube. “So, Michael Lawrence,” he said, “Let’s start with an easy question. Have you seen the news on the suicide bombing in Tampa Bay?”

Michael nodded affirmatively, then shivered against the cold. He was already able to move his limbs.

“Good,” Dhata said. “So here’s a tougher one. Do you recognize the synth who did it?”

“H-how did you find me?” he said. He looked as if he was going to be sick.

“Come, let’s walk,” Dhata said. “It’s better for you after a shock.”

He helped him up and they started again down the trail, this time heading back the way they had come.

“I know the man, yes. It’s my worst nightmare. Whenever one of our units does harm to a human being, we are the first to hear about it. I don’t have to tell you the amount of scrutiny we receive from right-wing organizations worried about something like this. Jordan was one of our synths; I helped develop the program that trained him. Sir, trust me when I tell you that we aren’t responsible for what he did.”

“You keep saying ‘we.’ Is that for Akiyama Koch, or is that for you and Conrad Hurt?” Dhata said.

“Akiyama Koch Robotics, sir. I worked there for over twenty years. Hard to not refer to my work as we, considering the amount of collaboration it took. I’m telling you the truth; we aren’t responsible for Jordan—just like a vehicle manufacturer isn’t responsible for a drunk crashing into someone’s building.”

“But you are, Michael. You all developed his brain, the same brain as Tyler Fort, another synth who set out to kill humans.”

Michael stopped in his tracks and looked at Dhata defiantly. His handsome features twisted into something like a painful mask. “Is that why you shot me? You think that I create synths to harm human beings? We only have so much control of the brain once they’re past the initial phase,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that the synths are as much alive as you and me. We don’t build them from scratch; all we build is the vessel. Just like you can flip out and shoot innocent runners, a synth can flip out and do something evil. It is why there was so much pushback to them living freely.”

Dhata wasn’t convinced, and he slowed their pace down since Michael was practically jogging. “You’re a brilliant man, Michael Lawrence. Top of your class. One of the brightest—”

“I know what you’re doing, detective, but it’s unnecessary. Plus, you have to have my kind of credentials to work at Akiyama Koch. I’m nothing special, and neither was the vice president. I know that you’ve done your research into me, my classmates, and my career, but I implore you, sir, to listen to reason. We neither had the ability or the say-so to sabotage Jordan and Tyler’s brains.”

Dhata thought about what he was saying and wondered if it was true. If it was then this entire adventure had been a tremendous waste of time. “Here’s my theory,” he said, as he turned to face Michael. “You were coerced by your mentor, Conrad Hurt, to insert a program into the one that was installed inside their brains.”

Michael Lawrence shook his head. “I didn’t have anything to do with this,” he whispered. “C-Conrad is my frat brother, but that’s it. What I did at AKR was my life’s work, and killing innocents wasn’t a part of that. The synths are powered by a universal database—”

“Arch Brain,” Dhata interjected. “Yes, that is the mother, so to speak, but they still need humans to develop the actual brain.”

“That they do, but the coding is complex. It is beyond any of our abilities to do things to corrupt them. If Tyler and Jordan were made to kill, it was after they left AKR.”

They got to the street and Dhata fell behind Michael, urging him to keep walking and not to look back. “Believe it or not, I believe you, Michael,” he said. “But you’re still hiding something, and I intend to find it. What is your relationship with Conrad Hurt, and was he involved with Jordan’s development?”

“He’s a good friend from the old days, though we haven’t spoken in a while. Conrad was the first to see that synth development could be our undoing as human beings. He gave up on being an engineer to pursue politics. He’d joke that whatever we did, he’d make sure that the government kept humanity safe. I thought that he was a sellout, till I saw the news about Jordan Crane. That’s when I realized that he was right.”

“About synths being our undoing?”

“Yeah, in a sense. Not saying that all synths are bad, Christ no, but look at what Jordan did. What if twenty synths did that?” he said.

“What if twenty human beings decided to start blowing up shuttle ports?” Dhata countered. “You sound like the sort of nut that programs synths to do harm. You know why? Because synths doing bad would actually help your cause. You can push an anti-synth agenda if the world was afraid of them. What’s the loss of several human lives when it could mean that synths could be restrained?”

Michael Lawrence pulled up short, then turned around to face him. “My wife’s a synth, skiptracer. What sort of lunatic do you take me for?”

“Not too long ago you would have racists marry women of the group they hated. Human beings are complicated. We can live out a lie, just as long as we convince ourselves that the one we love is different.”

They crossed the street and entered the gate leading to Michael’s community. “I know where you live, Michael,” Dhata said, “and I know where to find you if I find out that you’ve been lying to me. Is there anything else that you would like to tell me, to make sure that I don’t return?”

Michael wiped the water off of his face. “Is there a reason why you thought that I was the one responsible?” he said.

“You were senior developer, the man with the codes. If anyone was to plant a sleeper device, it would definitely be you,” Dhata said.

“A sleeper device … so some sort of program that can be triggered later on. You mentioned Tyler Fort as well, so tell me, did his ‘program’ go off at the same time as Jordan’s? What about Billy Prince, Vernon Ali, or Rebecca Lu? Did any of them get triggered, or are you thinking they’re rigged for different times? Your whole accusation is flawed, skiptracer, if you think about it, since there were several soldiers in Jordan’s troop. The last time I checked the rest of our synths are upstanding citizens living out their lives.”

“Well, I’m not as smart as you, Michael. Where do you think I should be looking?”

“We built them, sir, and then they were sent to the US Military. None of them did anything out of the ordinary before and during their service. All of these awful crimes happened after they left the war. We are not to blame. Something happened to these men.”

“Now that you mention it,” Dhata said, “both men were going to a regularly scheduled meeting. Any clue about that? Do you know about these secret gatherings?”

Michael opened his mouth, but then the front door opened to a synth woman in a jogging suit. “You’re back early,” she said. “Why are you covered in dirt, and what does this police officer want?”

Dhata reached into his pocket and showed her The Unsung badge. “I’m not a John, Mrs. Lawrence, but I need you to know that I’m a friend,” he said.

The slender brown woman stared at the badge, and then her eyes went to Michael’s with a sudden panic. “Is Mikey in trouble?” she asked Dhata.

“He’s been very helpful considering the circumstances,” Dhata said.

“Come inside,” she said. “We’ll get you both some dry clothes, then Mikey and I will tell you everything we know.”

‡Chapter 22‡

Breaking and Entering

In talking to Michael Lawrence and his wife, Dhata learned about, Legion, a not-for-profit organization that helped synth soldiers transition into civilian life. Michael knew the address of one of their meeting places. It was in Tampa, but out in the badlands of Riverview.

The drive back to Tampa was a little longer than he remembered it since he didn’t have the distractions that his own car provided. What he got was a long stretch of boring road, and the only entertainment—besides his music—was the bombed out devastation of the old road, and the newer cars that zoomed past him.

He pulled into the Tampa car rental business a little past 10:00 a.m., and called Lur to ask for the Buick, and to let her know that he had returned with good news. While he sat and waited for the Buick, he tried calling Ariana but she wasn’t answering her phone. He felt a wave of anxiety come over him, and he knew that something was wrong. What could he do? If Cole’s hools caught up with her, he would never find her body.

He tried several more times while he waited until the Buick arrived. Cursing his luck, he drove to the police station, but thought better of it when he got to the parking lot. They would never divulge Ariana’s physical address, and Cole would have people on the lookout.

Getting on the rack inside of the Buick, he scrolled through the calls made in the last few days. When he found her name, he synced CINI’s mapping system, an illegal hack he had installed back when he was a detective. Two of the three calls had come from the station, but the third showed a house in Brandon.

Dhata locked in the location and took to the highway, driving as fast as he could. As he got closer he put the car into auto-drive, pulled out his tube, and examined it. He doubted that a stun shot would be enough, so he opened the dash and placed it inside. He pulled out the case from below his seat, unlocked it with a touch, and took out the revolver.

He barely knew Ariana—they had only just met—but she was a student of Jason. When he’d lost his friend, he felt alone in the world, and it was a void that even Lur couldn’t fill. Ariana was an extension of his friend, and if he lost her now he would be devastated.

He could hear Lur’s heavy accent in his head. “Why don’t we just kill him, baby?” At the time he thought that it was funny, but now he wondered if it would actually come down to that. He pulled up to the side of Ariana’s house, inhaled to calm his nerves, and looked around. The neighborhood was a ghost town, and it was only 4:55 p.m. Even if it was just coincidence that it was this dead, he knew that something was up.

Keeping the revolver low, next to his leg, he hugged the wall and crept to the side of the house. There were a couple of windows so he slid close to one and took a look inside. The shutters were open but all he could see was a queen-sized bed with clothes scattered about. Dhata crept to the back and almost tripped over a dead man with a hole in his chest the size of a baseball.

Shotgun blast, close range, he thought. Clothes and bad hygiene hints at hool. This one was caught off guard. I’m guessing he was waiting … which tells me that his buddies made off with Ariana, or they went inside and got killed.

The back door had a similar hole, so he crept to the side and knocked on it. “Ariana,” he called, then listened for any movement, but there was only silence. He called her name again, then closed his eyes to focus on listening intently. He heard a light knocking coming from inside, so he opened the door and entered.

As the door slid open, Dhata’s old training kicked in and he went from room to room looking for bad guys. There were two more hool corpses, dead from shotgun wounds, but still no sign of Ariana. From the photographs and the SAR paintings, he knew that it was definitely her house. He double backed through the rooms, then checked outside.

Dhata tried to visualize what had happened, so he followed the evidence from the perspective of a hool. So, a shootout happened earlier, but there are no Johns, and the neighbors heard enough to retreat to their homes. Emergency dispatch would have been called, but since these are friends of Cole, he would have asked the Johns to take their time, he thought.

He looked over one body. “She shot you in the back,” he said, then went to the next, who sat slumped against the wall. “You came in after her, but she hit you first. Blasted you against the wall, then she went around the island and killed your man,” he said. “I knew you had a lot of heart, Ariana, but this is impressive if you made it out alive.”

Dhata walked over to the backdoor. “After hitting those two, she ran to secure the backdoor, and that’s when this fool was coming in. Didn’t see her coming but she knew he was there … gave him the business through the door. Good job, Arianna.”

The recreation in his mind more than impressed him; Ariana had put up one hell of a fight. But where had she gone? Her car was still in the driveway, and there was no evidence showing that she’d left the house. He spun around suddenly, hearing the knocking again, and he walked back to the kitchen where he thought he heard the sound.

The place was immaculate, but he used his ICLs and noticed that the pantry had some blood near the panel. Walking over to it, he forced it open, only to run into another door. This one was solid steel, with a locked panel that was malfunctioning. “A panic room,” he whispered. “You shot those three, then ran back here to hide from the rest.”

This panel has been shorted out, possibly by another hool, who opted to lock her inside forever instead of facing her shotgun. This is messed up, he thought, wondering how he’d get it open. He walked back to the front where he could see the road running through the neighborhood.

There was a very good chance that more men would be back, at least to make sure that she was sealed inside forever. He found her rack inside of an office and logged in as a guest, then pulled up the global network to search for tips on overriding a shorted panel.

Nothing made sense for the sort of installation that she had, and the only thing he saw that he could attempt was to take a torch to the door. He went to her garage and looked around for a torch. Ariana had no tools, but she had a fireman’s axe. While the door itself was solid steel, it was built inside of her pantry, so Dhata shouted for her to move back and began to chop out sections of the wall.

It was hard work, but after fifteen minutes, he finally punched his way through. Ariana was inside, but she was bleeding badly, and looked as if she was about to pass out. Dhata cut out enough wall to pull her out, then carried her to the Buick where he laid her down. She had been shot several times and was in shock, but she was still alive and he needed to keep her that way.

Without saying anything, Dhata touched the map and pulled up the closest medical pod. There was one a mile away, on a corner near the highway, so he drove her there, placed her inside, and stood on guard beside it.

After thirty minutes, several squad cars flew by, and he wondered if they were legitimate or more of Cole’s hools. As long as they didn’t stop, he did not care, so he stood his ground and waited patiently for her. After an hour had passed the pod opened up with the readouts indicating that Ariana couldn’t be helped. She was too far gone. She needed a real hospital, and would need cybernetic implants to walk again.

Dhata placed her in the passenger’s seat and started to drive, unsure on what he should do next. “Hold on, kid,” he said, affectionately, and touched her on her arm. She took his hand and squeezed it tightly, which he took as a gesture of thanks. “I’m checking you into the hospital, then I’m going to find Cole, and make sure that he ends up in a cell—”

“Or in a grave,” she whispered.

He drove her out of town, to a small hospital in the Lakeland area. There he made sure that she was admitted, then drove back into town. “Okay, Cole, time to fish you out,” he said, then went to his contacts and called up Aaron. In so many words he told the synth boss that Cole was somewhere operating at large.

“You know if we find him he’s dead, right?” Aaron said.

“Yeah, but if you get him alive, that would be better for both of us. I can pull his fingernails out, and you would be there to question him on his businesses,” Dhata said.

“You funny, detective,” Aaron said, laughing. “If you wasn’t playing John you’d make a very good hool. Still, we’ll see what we can do, alright? But if it’s easier to kill him, he’s dead.”

“Oh, wait, Aaron, one more thing,” Dhata said. “He wears a bracelet that I want. If you end up killing him, hold it for me. It has that tracker that I showed you. If the FBI finds it on a detective’s corpse, they will tie me up for conspiracy and then we all lose.”

“Consider it done,” he said and then hung up the phone.

Dhata leaned back and exhaled. Things are going crazy again, but I need to stick to the plan. I’ll let Aaron handle Cole, but I need to go, he thought.

The address that Michael Lawrence provided took Dhata to a community center in Riverview. The building shared a plot of land with a church and several other portable buildings. Both the center and the church were old brick constructs, the church appearing to have been abandoned for quite some time.

It was 6:50 p.m., and the lights on the street were on, but the lot maintained a darkness that they couldn’t penetrate. Dhata walked up to the large, multi-windowed community center, and tried to have a peek inside. But the windows were made of a translucent material that made it impossible to see.

He walked around to the front and found the door, but stopped when he saw what it was. He knew the buildings were old, but he was surprised to find a traditional wooden door with a handle.

He felt as if he had stepped back in time. No wonder no one was able to find where these soldiers were meeting. They had gone fully analog, beyond the grid, meeting in places like this. The synths had rebuilt human civilization, but there were still pockets where the old world thrived. He had stumbled into one of them, and it was a pleasant surprise. What older relics do they have inside the center? he thought. Is there a classical projector or a microphone?

He examined the handle and the door itself, wary of traps or an alarm of some sort. It was getting darker and he was growing impatient, so he threw caution to the wind and tried the door. “Of course,” he whispered when the handle wouldn’t turn, and he looked around again to see if anyone was there.

Pulling his revolver out, he looked around one more time, then kicked the door in with his cybernetic leg. The door flew open to reveal a classroom, with chairs in neat rows and a chalkboard. There was a thin layer of dust on the furniture, but it had been used recently, as evidenced by shoe marks on the floor and writing on the chalkboard.

The detective in Dhata made him wary of stepping inside, since doing so would add his footsteps to the ones that he could already see. He removed his shoes, and did his best to close the busted door, then walked over to the chalkboard to decipher what was there. There were some words in chalk, which read, “Open mind, open arms, open heart.”

The three steps to acceptance, Dhata thought. Seems a bit positive for a sinister gathering. He walked over to the teacher’s desk and opened up the drawers. Inside he saw printed copies of brochures for Legion’s satellite offices. There were contacts for everything that a veteran could need: healthcare, work assistance, and an emergency hotline.

There was also a map of sponsors offering services, and Dhata was humbled by the sheer number of them. Private clinics offered synthetic repairs, hotels offering rooms. There was even an escort service for the times when they needed company. This last sponsor brought a smile to his face, since it was so unexpected. He took one of the brochures and slid it into his coat, then continued searching for clues.

It was inside the fifth drawer of the desk where he found the contact card for one of their reps. Dhata pocketed this, then took the room in at a glance, trying to visualize what the meetings were like. It was too dark now, and he switched his ICLs to night vision, causing the dusky room to become a bright, monochromatic reality.

So, the soldiers would come in, and they would learn something from whomever. What could they possibly be learning from Legion? he thought. He walked out between the chairs, seeing lines on the floor from where they had been moved. They spent a lot of time here, talking, and sharing. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were permanently cut off from Arch Brain.

“Oh well,” he whispered as he slid on his shoes. “Only way to fill in the blanks is to talk to one of the Legion.” He got back in his car and examined the contact card, then dialed the number of a man by the name of Edward Kraus.

“This is Eddie,” a deep voice said. “What can I do you for?”

Dhata uncharacteristically had to think about what his response would be since he hadn’t expected him to answer so fast. “Mr. Kraus, my name is Dhata, and I am an ally of the synthetic people—”

“Dhata? That what you say your name is? How did you get my number?”

“One of my friends—a synth—gave me your card after I told him that I wanted to help. He said that you are the owner of a company that helps our military veterans—”

“Legion,” Eddie said, “and I’m one of the owners. We have branches spread out all over the country.”

“Well, I know that you’re busy, sir, but I wanted to see if there is an opportunity for me to become a sponsor. I think that it’s honorable, y’know, what you’re doing. Everybody else is so caught up in their own mess, but you all are actually doing something.”

“You’re right,” Eddie said, “but I’m a little busy right now. Tell you what … you live in the area?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dhata said.

“How about we meet Monday evening, get a drink, and talk about sponsorship?” he said.

“Hey, Mr. Kraus—”

“Eddie, call me Eddie,” he said.

“Eddie, do you know a bar by the name of Empire’s Tavern?” Dhata said.

Eddie Kraus laughed. “Yeah I know that place,” he said. “It has those fine ass waitresses dressed in those old costumes.” He started to laugh like a naughty teenager, and Dhata chuckled despite himself. “I like you, Dhata. So you want to meet there? How does 7:00 p.m. sound to you?”

“7:00 on a Monday night? Sounds like we’ll have a crowd. I’ll be the big, dark-skinned man that everyone mistakes for a John,” Dhata said.

“Oh yeah, that’s how it is? Well, you can’t miss me, that’s for sure,” Eddie said. “I got glowing tattoos from head to toe. Had them done when I was a Marine—”

“Not trying to hide from anyone, huh?” Dhata said.

“Nope. You come at me sideways and you’ll be in for a fight!”

Dhata finished up the call and got off the phone, impressed. Kraus wasn’t what he expected at all. Looks like I’m bringing the revolver, he thought as he floored the accelerator to head home.

‡Chapter 23‡

Who’s Watching Whom?

There was a clear disadvantage with being a human stuck in the center of Ybor, but humans were at the top of the food chain, and only a synth deemed “crazy” would hurt you. The disadvantage Dhata felt now in the human areas of the city was something much more frightening. He wasn’t just dealing with synths like he was in Ybor; these were Johns, and any opportunistic hool willing to claim his bounty.

To say he had to watch his back was an understatement. Dhata Mays had to literally watch everyone. Eddie Kraus would be meeting him at the Empire’s Tavern, and he couldn’t risk being late. This was a break in the case, a chance at some answers, and he didn’t want to risk it.

As Dhata drove out to Empire’s Tavern, he felt waves of nostalgia wash over him. Just last year he had been a regular at this place; Lur was in Cuba, and Jason was still alive. He was a skiptracer working for the Johns, and spending his nights with synth Marys. Esti was alive, as well as Peyton, and there was relative peace between humans and synths.

He would come to the tavern and order dinner, and hang out late until it was closing time. They knew him by name, and he kept the place safe; he had considered it his home away from home. He was pleased to see that it looked the same, down to the rusted old hover car that leaned against the dumpster. The sign still needed repair—the tavern wench blinking as she spilled her martini—but it had been the same back when he was a regular.

Dhata scanned the area carefully before exiting the car. He was early for the meeting, and Jackson’s hools could be anywhere. When he made it inside, he was pleasantly surprised; not much had changed with the decor. It still looked like an old cabin, with a fireplace and wooden tables whose tops were modified to sync with the entertainment systems.

“Dining in?” asked a tiny woman waiting to escort him in. Her nasally voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he noticed her for the first time. Like the other waitresses, she was dressed like a medieval wench, but her hairstyle was out of place—a bob with purple highlights.

“Yeah, I’m meeting someone. Can you seat me facing the door?” he said. “That table by the fireplace, is it alright if we go there?”

“Of course,” she said, too excited, as if he’d told her she’d won some money. He followed her in, past the crowd of diners as they made their way towards the back of the building.

Though the walk was short it felt like an eternity as Dhata anticipated someone stabbing him, but he made it there safely. He thanked the girl, then sat with his back to the wall.

“What’re you having?” she asked, as he removed his hat and set it on the table.

“Neutron Zombie, but make it an ultimate,” he said, and she nodded her approval and disappeared into the crowd.

Way too packed in here for my liking, he thought, but when he reached down and touched the butt of his revolver, it made him feel better. Most of the televisions were showing sports, but the big one above the bar was playing the news. There was an older news reporter standing outside of Ariana’s home with squad cars flashing their reds and blues.

He touched the menu panel on the table and paged over to the television controls. He found the sync, slid his finger across, and accepted the prompt to connect. Suddenly he was hearing her words through the implant node near his ear.

She was saying, “… Predicting a gangland shootout, with Detective Garcia now missing in action. Police are urging anyone who has information on the shooting to call their hotline immediately—”

“Dhata Mays?” said a deep voice, and he glanced over to see a large black man with white ink tattoos glowing on his trunk-like arms. He looked to be ex-military, and wasn’t trying to hide this fact, though he dressed like a man coming off of a golf course.

“Eddie Kraus?”

“The one and only,” he said, and Dhata stood up and shook his hand.

“Thanks for taking the time to see me. I think that you can be of great help,” he said. Just then the waitress was back with his drink, and turned to Eddie and smiled.

“Are you guys, like, ex-football players or something?” she said, and Dhata and Eddie exchanged glances.

“Just genetic freaks, Tyra,” Dhata said, noticing the name on her nameplate. “We all can’t be small and cute like you.”

Tyra twisted her lips and cut her eyes, and it was hard for him not to laugh. “Exactly,” Eddie said, “and I’ll have a Guinness. Oh, and some of your deviled eggs.”

“You got it, handsome,” she said playfully, then went off to collect his drink.

“Let’s cut the shit, Dhata. You’re not a sponsor. I looked up your name and you’re a John. Who hired you to catch me? Was it Falcone? I’m caught up on my payments, I brought the receipts. Wait, before you answer, can you ease up off the piece? I have more money if that’s what he wants.”

Dhata couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Who the hell is Falcone? he thought. “You’re right, Eddie, I’m not a sponsor, but believe it or not I’m a potential friend. You run Legion, a company that helped the man I’m investigating, so I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“Oh,” Eddie said, seeming embarrassed. “Man, you had me thinking that this was it. Who wants to die in a place like this? After everything I been through, can you imagine?” He exhaled audibly and then began to laugh, and Dhata realized that he was serious.

“I don’t know a Falcone, unless you mean Sally Falcone, and as my friend I can make a phone call and remove that two-bit stim slicking tick. It would be my pleasure if you tell me what I need to know, and what I need to know is simple. Do we have a deal?”

Eddie Kraus looked around skeptically and then said, “Sure man, what you need to know?”

“I take it you’ve heard about the suicide bombing at the shuttle port,” Dhata said.

“Of course I did, and I couldn’t believe it when I saw it. I worked with that soldier, Jordan Crane, but you probably already know that. He was a good dude, Dhata, one of our success stories. It felt like a kick in the teeth when I learned it was him. What happened, man? Do you know? Why would Jordan strap himself live and blow up innocent people?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out for over a month, Eddie. Do you know his wife, Natalya Crane? You said you worked with him, so I assume you do,” Dhata said.

“Listen, Dhata, I take this very personally, so I’m gonna lay it all out and you can tell me, alright? Legion, my company, we formed it to help vets. When I served and got out, they didn’t have anything like it. We had to rely on ourselves, and it was tough, man. It would’ve been nothing for any of us to go blow up a shuttle port. Fight, risk your life, and your country don’t have your back. I formed Legion to fix that, and we’ve helped hundreds of men and women.”

Dhata held up his hand. “Wait, if that came off accusatory, that’s not how I meant it to be. Let’s reset, alright? I respect our men and women in uniform. Tell me what you remember of Crane, and what you know of Natalya, his wife.”

“That girl, Natalya was part of something new that we were doing for a while.” He paused as if he was struggling with what he wanted to say next. That was when Tyra appeared with his drink and eggs, and he looked at her as if she were an angel, floating down to save his soul. When she was gone, he took a sip, then leaned back and regarded Dhata carefully. “What kind of man are you, Dhata Mays? How do I know that you’re a good person?”

“We can start by the fact that I’m not getting paid for this,” Dhata said. “I’m not a John, but I was one for years, and I quit the force to help synths. Never was in the military, but I bet we can trade war stories. Your enemy was clear and defined, while mine were gangsters, corrupt Johns, and professionals. You have those fancy, glow in the dark tattoos to hide the wounds on your arms; I had to replace a leg with cybernetics. You want to trust me because there isn’t anyone else looking into Jordan Crane. Not the police, and not the FBI … they grabbed his wife and closed the case. I’m all we got, and I am one man, but I got as far as learning about you.”

Eddie popped an egg and then washed it down, looking at a waitress’ posterior as she walked by. Dhata glanced at his left hand and saw that he was married. He wondered what sort of woman could tie down Eddie Kraus.

“Man, it’s embarrassing, but you’re right. I need your word that what I tell you won’t come back on Legion,” he said.

“What you tell me stays here,” Dhata, said pointing to his temple. “I’m not a reporter, I’m just a skip, looking for the next link.”

“So, a few years back one of our handlers told me that he found us a new sponsor,” Eddie said. He looked around and then leaned over the table, dropping his voice to a whisper. “It was a Russian connect. Girls, y’know, human Marys. Now, I don’t agree with prostitution, and the human sex trade is deplorable, but this was different.” He took another drink and looked to be struggling with his explanation. “They said that it was a win-win, for the Marys and our guys. We introduce the girls to the vets, and they would pay us a nice chunk of change.”

“Seems naïve. Didn’t you think that was too good to be true?” Dhata said.

“Yeah, but we figured what could it hurt to get them fellas some action? These weren’t dirty streetwalkers; they were professional girls. Most wanted a way into the country, and were down with marrying a synth war hero.”

Dhata cussed. “What? You brought in Russian Marys to marry our vets? Did you consider the implications, the possibility that they could be spies?”

“These were human women, Dhata. They needed sponsors to get into the country.”

He said it as if it was common sense, as if Dhata would have done the same thing. The skiptracer tried to see it from his side, without the knowledge of what Natalya Crane was. The big man was all about helping people, and assumed the Russian women were innocent.

“Hey Eddie,” Dhata said, feeling pained about telling him the truth. “Natalya Crane, the woman that Jordan eventually married, the same woman who for some strange reason is now under FBI protection. She’s a synth, a synth turned cyborg, and I think that she was responsible for Crane. What about Tyler Fort? Was he with a Russian Mary too?”

“Tyler,” he said quietly. “That was my man. Yeah, he went home with one of the girls, but it didn’t work out in the end.”

“Anybody else that you know of?” Dhata said.

“No, after Crane got hitched, the Russians pulled out of the program, said they found a better opportunity. Cool thing about that was that we got to keep the money. It helped us extend the program, so now we’re helping vets all the way up in New York.”

Dhata noticed that the cyborg thing didn’t faze Eddie Kraus. Either he didn’t know what a cyborg was, or he couldn’t grasp what it meant. This man is just a businessman. He can’t see past expansion and UCCs, Dhata thought. “So, the member of your group who put you in touch with the Russians, where’s he now? I think that I should have a talk with him next,” he said.

“Wish you could, man, but he got killed early this year. He left the group, lost his way, started messing with stims and got caught up.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Dhata said. “That’s all the questions that I have.”

He finished his zombie and shook Eddie’s hand, then paid for the drinks and left. He had come full circle and it was back to Natalya; she would be the only person to know who the Russian connect was. If they were the ones to program Jordan to blow up the shuttle port, it meant that there was a chance that they were behind Gemini as well.

He got back into the car to drive it home, and tried to put the pieces together. Gemini had the means to hack into a synth’s head and bypass the Arch Brain in order to control them. Gemini was an enhanced synth with bio-engineered human features. The similarities to Natalya were beyond uncanny, and it sent a chill down his spine.

A group of Russian spies, posing as sex workers seeking opportunity. They found a way in, through Eddie Kraus, who missed the fact that they were cyborg plants. One tried to get Tyler, but he got caught. The other, Natalya, married Jordan Crane. The FBI connection, however, he didn’t understand—unless Agent Underwood was not who he claimed he was.

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

Though Natalya had told Dhata that she would destroy his surveillance, the camera outside the Underwood home was still up and running. There was something about that woman that Lur didn't like, and she wasn't buying the unfortunate synth wife story. Instead of spending her Monday evening reading like she planned, she sat in front of the big screen watching the Underwood home.

The car was parked out front, but there was no movement visible through the open windows. On the street in front of the house a gang of teenagers stood around, arguing over something and then walked out of view of the camera.

Lur watched the house for 20 minutes before she decided to make herself busy. She got up from the couch and retrieved her rack, then sat back down with it on her lap. Though a full immersion was what she would have preferred, she gestured and a screen appeared. She began to look for news out of Cuba, particularly stories of organized crime.

Periodically as she went through her search, she'd pause to look up at the television. The house hadn't changed, and there was no sign of life, and Lur began to wonder if they had gone somewhere. She went back to her searching, looking for news on her father, or on his top man, Carlos Ruiz. There were stories detailing crimes, with no names to go with them, but all of it alluded to her father’s business.

“Good to see that you are still making money, Papa,” she whispered, then took her hands off the rack. She thought that she saw movement in the corner of the Underwood’s living room window, but it was so subtle that she wondered if it was just her imagination.

She paused the feed and wound it back, scanning frame for frame, and there in the window next to the door was the silhouette of a woman. The image set her heart racing and she couldn’t understand why. There was something sinister about it, the way it stood, and a solitary pixel glowing on the screen made it look like it was one of her eyes.

“If that is Natalya, then where are the Underwoods?” she said, reverting the feed to real time. The woman was back, staring out, and it was as if she in turn was watching Lur.

“Ay Dios mio, so creepy,” she said, as she sat waiting for her to move. After about five minutes the woman looked to the side and then walked away from the window. It was a synthetic flaw to stare into space, it was something that Dhata had taught her to look out for. No normal human could stand perfectly still, staring out that window the way this woman did.

It was Natalya, and she was alone, which was odd since the Underwood’s only vehicle was there. Lur reached up and touched the node by her ear, bringing up the augmented phone interface. She called Dhata, but he didn’t pick up, so she left him a message about the status of Natalya. She better not have touched a hair on that baby’s head, she thought, thinking of the Underwood’s daughter, or I will personally go over there and shoot her myself.

She was about to call Dhata again when a loud sound caused her to drop her rack. It was a siren that started low but then kept on rising until she thought her eardrums would explode. It was unbearable for about ten seconds, then the volume came down and then it rose again. Lur hopped off the couch and ran to the security panel, trying to see what was going on. The panel’s display was dark but the lights were flashing, and the overhead LEDs washed the zeppelin in red.

Running to the couch, she grabbed her rack and snatched up her trench coat from the floor. Within a minute she was out of the zeppelin and sprinting for the woods.

She was almost there when the first rocket hit, shaking the ground around her violently and throwing her off her feet. She looked back at the wreckage where her home used to be, and it reminded her of a downed shuttle during a war. She saw another rocket fly from the entrance of the clearing. It hit the zeppelin and she in turn was slammed into a tree.

Lur’s eyes were burning, and her ears were ringing, but she managed to scramble back into the trees, and called Dhata again. When he finally answered she sighed in relief. “Where the hell are you?” she said.

“I was on my way back home, but I thought I had a tail, so I was driving around trying to get rid of it,” he said. “Couldn’t answer your call since I needed the Buick’s dash, and—”

“They blew up the zeppelin,” she said, her patience worn thin.

“They did what? Who? You mean my zeppelin, our home? Who are ‘they’ Lur, and how the hell did they manage that?” he said.

“I don’t know, Dhata. The alarms came on, and if I hadn’t run out of there, we wouldn’t be talking right now. I saw what hit the zeppelin, and it was some sort of missile. It’s all gone, Dhata, everything that was inside the house.”

Dhata grew quiet, and Lur wondered what could possibly be going through his mind. He’d been about to come home, to rest and relax, and now there was no home to come back to. “Are you alright, Lur? Did you get hurt?” he said.

“I’m okay, Dhata, just—just scared out of my mind,” she said.

“I’m coming to pick you up. Can you meet me on the main road near the entrance?” he said.

“Yes, I’m walking through the woods. I should be there in five minutes,” she said. “Dhata, I am shaking, we are not safe messing with these people. Who has missiles to shoot at us, and how do they know where to aim it?” she said.

“Rich, powerful, and evil men,” Dhata said. “Men with ties to the military, and military grade weapons. Is everything gone, is the zeppelin completely destroyed?” he said, and Lur could hear the pain in his voice and didn’t want to answer.

She couldn’t imagine the amount of work and effort it had taken for him to turn a disabled warship into the home they had. To hear that something you spent years of your life building had been destroyed in your absence … she couldn’t imagine the pain he felt, and all she wanted to do was hug him.

“I grabbed my rack, and the Beretta,” she said, “but all of your guns and … everything, it’s all gone.”

There was the silence again, and then he clicked off, which made her wonder if she’d offended him somehow. As she made to touch her ear to call him again, she saw the headlights of the Buick coming down the road. He pulled up next to her with the door open, and she jumped inside and locked the door.

Dhata was flipping through the Buick’s programs like a dealer with a deck of cards. “Guess we have no choice,” he said, touching an area of the map. “We have to keep on moving now. Look, I know that it’s been nuts, but whoever these people are, they can fire missiles and send out drones. We can’t afford to stay still until it’s over. I’m sorry that it got this far, Lurita.”

“Fine by me,” Lur said and settled into her seat. “But we need to go by the Underwood’s to check on them.”

“Why, what happened?”

“I think she killed the family. Their car is parked out front, but she’s the only one inside.”

“It’s a trap,” Dhata said.

“What? How do you know?”

“They left the camera up, knowing we’d be watching, and they moved the Underwood family out, so that we can think that Natalya is alone,” he said.

Lur thought about the way Natalya stood by the window, staring back at her as if she was seeing her watching. It sent a chill down her spine, and she wondered if somehow she was behind the zeppelin’s destruction. Her synthetic ICL could have been synced with the cameras receiver, and in a freakish reverse of surveillance, she could have been watching them this whole time.

The camera was fed to the main television, the same television in front of the couch where they made love. No, she thought, I’m being ridiculous. Could someone really reverse a camera to spy on the people spying? She thought about asking Dhata, but thought better of it. She wanted instead to hear his plan.

“How will we catch her then?” Lur said after another long period of silence.

“She’s a stim junkie with a habit,” he said. “We’ll get a room in one of Aaron’s holes and wait until she shows up again.”

‡Chapter 24‡

Have Gun, Will Travel

The roads of Ybor city were a slick, wet reminder of the chemical residue wreaking havoc on the Earth’s atmosphere. Dhata pulled his duster tighter against the chill of the night as he tried his best to be a part of the dark, insignificant ruins. The rain was cold, and he hadn’t changed since the night before when he and Lur drove into Ybor and purchased a hotel room.

He spent the night watching the door with his revolver in hand. Aaron couldn’t be reached, and they were renting out of the slummiest area of the city. He stood leaning against a wall near the burnt out building that Lur had narrowly escaped a few weeks before. It was a good spot for waiting, since it kept him hidden, especially now that he had a number on his head.

A call came in. It was Ariana, and he picked it up, hoping that she was okay. “Ariana, you good?” he said, looking around as he felt the heavy raindrops bearing down on his hat.

“I’m okay, thanks to you. I spoke to my boss, told him it was Cole. Now they are out there combing through my house. It’s all a mess. You were right about leaving; I don’t feel safe anywhere.”

“You’re getting out of Tampa, right? That was the plan,” he said, then locked in on a group of people that were walking towards the area where he stood.

“I have something to look into, there in Ybor,” Ariana was saying. He missed the first part, but the synths were moving towards him and he was on high alert.

“Ariana, I-I’ll call you in a few, alright? I have to go,” he said.

The group of synths eyed him curiously but they walked past and entered a building. Need to stop being paranoid, he thought, and then reached up and rubbed his eyes.

“She’s here,” said a familiar voice, coming through their synced communication. It was Micah, the stim dealer who Dhata hired to catch Natalya again. His voice had betrayed his impatience with Dhata, but the skiptracer understood. He was bad business for the stim dealer, and now he was about to remove a customer, but he’d agreed to do the job for 2,000 UCCs.

Dhata jogged across the street and when he turned the corner, he was stunned by the crowd that had come out to party despite the rain. He left the packed sidewalk and took to the streets, finding it easier to maneuver. Aaron kept the Ybor roads blocked off anyway, so an ignorant outsider driving down the street was the least of his concerns.

When he got to Micah’s area, he saw Natalya arguing with him, and he threw all caution to the wind and moved to close in on her. The cyborg saw him and spun on his approach, aiming at him with an electroshock tube and firing it as she moved. Dhata slipped on the asphalt while trying to dodge, and the water helped him avoid the dart, which missed his face by centimeters.

Natalya took off running down the same alleyway as before, but Dhata was up and he was fast, pushing past the hools to follow. She threw her heels at him in an attempt to distract, then picked up her pace on bare feet. But Dhata was too fast—despite his size—and he bore down on her like a hungry predator.

His chest felt as if it wanted to burst, and his head began to swim as if he was about to pass out. He hadn’t slept much, and when he did it seemed like an illusion, since he couldn’t keep his eyes closed for more than a half hour. As he ran he felt tempted to lift his revolver and blow out her leg. It would be enough to slow her down and it could always be repaired later on.

She broke from the alleyway onto 50th street, where she jumped the fence and took a right down the sidewalk. Dhata followed, but there were a lot of cars, and his private chase became a public spectacle. It was dark in Ybor and no Johns were in attendance, but here on 50th the streetlights made it as bright as daytime. He had to catch her fast, before someone called the police to report that a large man was chasing a poor, bare-footed lady.

Desperate and out of options, he pulled out the revolver and put a shot near her feet. Natalya panicked and dashed to the side, cutting through some bushes and heading back towards the slums. She had done exactly what he expected her to do, and he followed her in, hoping that she’d run into a dead end.

She hopped a stone wall, and Dhata did the same, hoping that there wasn’t anything to impale him on the other side. He landed on glass, and a trail of blood where Natalya had cut open her feet when she landed. She was limping now, and there were no buildings close, just the wide asphalt backyard of one of the bars.

“Natalya, stop,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “It’s over. Surrender, you cannot escape.”

There was a whistle behind him, and he spun with the revolver held high. Bearing down on him like shambling zombies were several hools with guns. “You come here to terrorize our women, hume?” said a tall synth. “You picked the wrong neighborhood for that shit.”

“I’m a skiptracer,” he said. “I’m on your side.” Then he opened his coat to show The Unsung’s badge.

“Where the hell you get that, hume?” the man said, unconvinced. “I don’t care why you’re after her. This is as far as you go.”

“Let me guess. You run for Cole, right?” Dhata said as he watched their eyes. “You don’t care about her or any other synth woman. All you care about is that reward money.”

He could see from their glances that what he said was true. He had fallen into a trap, and now they were going to murder him.

Dhata glanced back at Natalya, gauging his time. She was still hopping away so he gave himself fifteen seconds.

“Tell me, fellas. The bounty on my head. Does it say dead or alive, or does it just say alive?” he said.

“Twice the UCCs if we bring you in alive,” said one, laughing in the way all stim junkies laughed.

No wonder they’re letting me talk, Dhata thought, and he shot the ringleader in the heart. He fanned the hammer and dropped to a knee, putting two more rounds in another. Two shots rang out that weren’t his own, and another of the hools dropped. The remaining three scattered as a cloaked figure appeared, silhouetted under a streetlight.

“Don’t let her get away,” Lur shouted, as she ran past him in the direction of Natalya.

Dhata sprinted towards the end of the buildings, then Lur opened up a side door and stepped inside. By the time he made it in, the two women were gone, but he could hear Lur screaming for her to stop. The place was an abandoned business, but there was blood on the ground, which meant that Natalya had stumbled through.

As he exited on the other side, he saw that Lur had stopped the chase. She was looking down a side street as if Natalya disappeared. “Dammit!” she screamed, then walked back towards him, “She’s gone,” Lur said. “They picked her up again. I swear, if I ever catch her—” She groaned with frustration.

“It’s alright, we’ll get her,” Dhata said, and Lur gave him a frustrated look.

“You’re confident,” she said. “What if she leaves the state or goes with some other FBI person?”

“She can go anywhere she wants,” Dhata said. “As long as she has those stims, she’s being tracked.”

“Oh, that is smart,” Lur remarked. “Let’s go get her and end this thing.”

“As bad as I want to grab that woman and force her to tell me who blew up my zeppelin, we need to be patient and wait. She’s on high alert now, and she’s injured, so we need to let her think she got away. She’ll spend the night in a medical pod, then she’ll find a safe place to go get high on those stims. When she stops, I’ll be on her, and then she’ll regret ever hiring us for this mess. By the way, Lurita, what the hell are you wearing? You um … kinda look like her. Was that your plan?”

“Yeah, it’s on purpose, but you can’t be mad at me if I tell you where I was,” she said.

When she got near him he fell in beside her as they made their way back to the hotel. “You went to the Underwood house and snooped around,” he said. “Then you found the dead family and drove back here for justice.”

“You’re good,” she teased, “but nothing that exciting. I found paperwork and a lot of information. Natalya wasn’t built here. Someone flew her in, and the Underwoods are deeply involved.”

He slowed her down when they entered the old building, then poked his head out the door to see if it was clear. No one was out there, not even the men that he shot, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. They took their time slipping through the alleyways, avoiding groups of people. It took them an hour to make it back to the hotel, but they managed the trip without incident.

When they were finally inside, they removed their wet clothes and Lur shared what she found inside of the house. “Samuel and Mindy Underwood are test parents for a synth child. That kid we saw on the surveillance is the payment they took to sponsor Natalya.”

“A synth child? How does that even work?” Dhata said. “Children grow up. They wanted a permanent child?”

“It was a new program, looking for buyers, but the price was 12,000,000 UCCs. The Underwoods had lost a child, and Mindy was unable to have another. It’s sad, Dhata. They were really desperate, and someone took advantage of them and paid for Cassie, the little girl. They modified her appearance to look like their first child, and told them she would ‘grow’ whenever she got her yearly checkup.”

“Grow? Oh, I see. They would swap out her body for an older one. Keep the illusion that Cassie is human, and all for the price of our country going to hell,” Dhata said. “12,000,000 UCCs is a lot of money just to hide a dangerous cyborg. Underwood is FBI, Lurita. I don’t want to guess at what else he’s done.”

“I didn’t find their bodies, but they are gone. I don’t know how we will find them, but I bet they are living in Russia now,” Lur said.

Dhata couldn’t believe it. He didn’t know what to think. “An FBI agent compromised by a Russian billionaire,” he said. “These idiots wanted a kid so bad that they took the deal—”

“Dhata, they were desperate. There are photos all over the house,” Lur said. “They love that child, and she loves them. It broke my heart when I realized what was going on.”

“I don’t care, Lur, they need to go down. Do you realize that they took her in right after her husband blew up the shuttle port? What this tells me is that there are multiple agents involved. There had to be more of them for her to just disappear. All of these news stations, they talk about Jordan Crane, but none of them mention his estranged wife.”

“What if we’re the only ones who know that he was married?” Lur said.

“That’s if they were even married in the first place,” Dhata said. “Since everything else is a sham, the ceremony probably was too. How much are you willing to bet that one of the Underwoods married them?” He sat down hard on the bed and rubbed at his forehead. “Was it him? Sam Underwood? Was it him that picked her up?”

“It was a different car,” Lur said. “Like I told you, the Underwoods are gone.”

Dhata picked up his wet duster and draped it over the back of the chair. He sat on the edge of the bed and logged into Lur’s rack. “Okay, I’ve added the tracker to your system so that we can both know where she goes. An alarm will sound if she goes near a shuttle port or dock. We don’t want Natalya skipping town,” he said.

Lur plopped down beside him and nudged him off, then took over the rack and began to gesture rapidly over its interface. “I’m going to see if I can pinpoint exactly where she goes for treatment,” she said. “Dhata, go shower and change. You have the bed all wet over here.”

Dhata got up and removed his clothes, but decided that a shower would wait. He reached into her trench and removed the Beretta and then, out of habit, checked the clip. “You’re out of bullets,” he said. “That was dangerous. You need to always check your ammo before you get into gunfights. What if the two shots you fired weren’t enough, and one of them decided to shoot back at you?”

“Well, you were there, and you’re always prepared,” she said, and when he looked to see if she was serious, she stuck her tongue out playfully.

“Lur…”

“I KNOW!” she said. “Gosh, can you cut me a break? I saw that you were in trouble and instinct just kicked in. You’re the ex-detective, not me, remember? Does it really surprise you that I didn’t check the clip?”

“Keep that up, rookie, and you’re bound to be benched. You do your best work in the grid, anyway.”

“Hey! Bench me, and you sleep on the couch. Plus, just because I’m your cypher doesn’t mean that I want to spend my life doing it. You need me out there watching your back, so stop trying to be a hard-ass and just remind me to count my bullets next time. Okay?”

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he said as he examined her gun. “You know the right buttons to push to get your way, and I can’t even lie and say that I don’t like it.”

“You like it,” she teased, and glanced up from the screen. “If you didn’t, you would have benched me a long time ago. You like me crazy, because I back it up with action. Which other partner would have tracked you down the way I did, then show up shooting to keep them off of you? I told you, I got—oh, she’s in Bayshore, near that café we like.”

“She went to the human area, huh? I guess that’s smart. If you’re going to blend in, may as well go for the heart. You know, that reminds me, once the dust settles on all of this, we should take a trip to Japan. There’s a ramen spot in Tokyo that Hiro really likes. We can get a hotel, have him take us around, and just have a real vacation. You know what I mean?”

“I would like that,” she said, smiling. “We will need it after all of this. Is my pistol okay?”

“No, silly girl, you’re out of ammo, like I said. This is an old weapon, and they don’t make these bullets anymore. Our guns are illegal, remember, and the ammo was inside the zeppelin.”

As soon as he said this he took out his revolver and checked the pockets of his jacket for the rest of the bullets. “I have about twelve left. We’re going to have to find a dealer. If we get desperate, I have the shotgun in the car and a few boxes of bullets inside the console. None for yours, though. I need to see what I can do. For now, use this,” he said, and tossed her the tube. “Non-lethal but it can stop anybody. Safety first, okay?”

Lur nodded solemnly as she examined the tube. She looked as if she wanted to throw it in the trash. “What’s the plan for tomorrow, now that Natalya got away?” she said.

“We need to check out Bayshore, see where our friend is staying,” he said.

“What about Cole? Won’t his hools be looking for you?” she said.

“That is about the last thing I’m worried about,” he said. “I want to get the full story, and turn Natalya over to The Unsung. Once that’s done I’ll find Cole and make sure that he never threatens me again.”

‡Chapter 25‡

One Shot, One Kill

They woke up early, about 5:00 a.m., and drove out to Bayshore Blvd to where Natalya was. He expected to find her in another FBI agent’s house, but she was in a medical pod with a car parked in front of her. Inside of the car was a man asleep, with the stims in a bag on the passenger’s seat.

Dhata handed Lur the revolver and walked over to the med pod. He sat on the bench next to it and immediately regretted it. Since it had rained the night before the surface was still wet, but he ignored the soaking and inhaled the fresh morning air. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been up this early.

There weren’t many people out, and the traffic was sparse, which was a sign that they could do what needed to be done. He looked around to make sure they were alone, then nodded at Lur, who opened the passenger side door and slipped inside. The driver—a young, brown-skinned man with very large blue eyes—woke up with a start when he saw the pistol, and Lur made a gesture for him to be quiet.

Dhata checked the pod to see how much time was left, and saw that it had expired. Apparently Natalya was using it for a makeshift room since the hotels in Bayshore would turn her away. Synths were not welcome on this side of town, especially ones with bio-engineered skin pretending to be a human. He wondered why she didn't choose to sleep in the car, then chalked it up to her not trusting the man.

Looking around one more time, he reached to pull open the pod and grabbed her by the arm. It took some effort to crack, but Dhata was strong, and he tugged it so hard that he almost tore the door off. Natalya was curled up inside like an adult fetus, and she opened her eyes and squinted at him. She began to smile as if she was drunk, then reached up and caressed his face.

“Someone took their happy pills,” Dhata said, then lifted her out of the bed. He looked around and saw an old man staring, but there was no one else in the vicinity. Ignoring the man, he carried her to the Buick and placed her in the back seat. She slumped to the side, her face a mask of happiness, then closed her eyes and went still.

When Lur had finished giving the man enough stims to keep him wired for a day, she ran back to the car, concealing the revolver, and slid into the driver’s seat. Dhata glanced back at Natalya who was asleep again, and decided to join her in the back. If he was going to interrogate her, he may as well do it now, while she was too high for intelligence.

He shook her awake and began his questioning as Lur took them for a slow drive towards Ybor City. He asked about Jordan, how they met, and what her connection was to Samuel Underwood. She babbled incoherently under the stims, and after thirty minutes they wore off.

“How am I in here?” she said, “and where's Adam?” She rubbed her temples and looked around.

“If you mean that idiot you were using as a driver, I told him what you were and he took off,” Lur said.

“How many of you were involved with Legion?” Dhata said. “Come on, Natalya, this is your last chance!”

“Last chance at what?” she said.

“Retribution. If you don’t come clean it will be bad,” Dhata said. He pointed at her head. “I want to know what you did to turn Jordan into a suicidal maniac.”

A call came in, distracting Dhata, and when he looked at who it was, he saw that it was Aaron. Outside of Hiroshi, he was the only other person he would answer in this instance. “Aaron, bad time, what you got for me?”

“I got pork for you, that’s what I got,” he said, sounding as if he was in bed. “That thing you had me looking into? He washed up on the east side of town. Where he’s holed up, it would be impossible to get him, unless you have 10,000 UCCs, and then I’d still have to think about it.”

“You sure he’s there?” Dhata said.

“Sure. My man sent me photos. He’s living it up over there,” Aaron said.

“Tell you what, send me the details and I’ll make sure you get paid for this. I’m busy right now, but I have someone that can help me. Aaron, I can’t tell you how grateful I am. You’ve come through for me countless times now. We have a nice rake coming, and I’m cutting you in. Couldn’t have made this case without you.”

With that he received the address of Jackson Cole’s hideout, and transferred it immediately to Ariana, via text message. “Put some trusted officers on this address,” it said. “It’s the location of Jackson Cole.”

“Dhata,” Lur said, gesturing towards Natalya, who had grown more restless in her cuffs.

“Yeah, I know, Lurita, keep your eye on the road. Aaron just handed us the biggest gift—”

“We’re being followed,” Lur said in a trembling voice, and Dhata glanced back and saw an all-black car. It was tinted so dark that he couldn’t see inside, but it was driving so close that the Buick’s alarms were going haywire. “How’s he doing that, Dhata? Shouldn’t it be impossible for his car to get that close?”

“Not if you remove the anti-crash unit and hack the CPU. He’s driving free form, which could play to our advantage,” he said.

“You should take the wheel,” Lur said, obviously uncomfortable with driving.

“I can’t from here. Let CINI take over, and then you and I can switch seats,” he said.

Dhata leaned over and popped open the dash, pulling out a pair of handcuffs that he used to bind Natalya to the door. She objected violently, spitting in his face, but he ignored the spittle and climbed over into the passenger seat. The auto drive was on now, so Lur moved easily to the back.

“The perks of being small,” he said as she slid by. Then he strapped on his seatbelt and took the wheel.

Lur slapped Natalya several times to quiet her down, then took the revolver and shoved it into her ribs. She was speaking in Spanish, and Dhata couldn’t understand it all, but she was calling her every derogatory name in the book.

He cut a corner hard at a stop sign, relying on the Buick’s anti-crash system to help him avoid hitting the street signs. His maneuver worked, and the black car followed, but without an anti-crash unit, he crashed into a pole.

The impact should have been enough to disable the car, but it was built out of something that didn’t dent on impact. “This guy’s a professional,” Dhata said under his breath, and slammed on the accelerator to push more energy into the engine. They were on the highway now, flying past cars, but despite the extra speed, the black car was still on them.

“Seatbelts!” Dhata shouted, and Lur complied, securing herself as well as Natalya. There was an exit ramp about six lanes over, and Dhata slipped between several cars and forced a hairpin turn. Alarms screamed bloody murder and the Buick tilted on two wheels, but he was off the highway going the opposite direction and the black car was gone.

“Ayayay, my heart,” Lur said, and he could see that she was holding her chest. Natalya had her head against the glass, and she looked about ready to throw up. Not wanting to deal with the smell, Dhata wound down her window, and picked up some speed.

Natalya wretched, and he could still smell it, the aftereffects of a synth who had taken too many stims. He made to wind up the window, but then her head suddenly exploded. Dhata jerked the steering wheel violently when it happened, and the Buick spun and came to a stop.

It happened so fast that he sat holding the wheel, but then he could hear Lur screaming in the back. Natalya’s brains were splattered all over her from where a bullet had flown through the open window. The sniper was still on the overpass above them, standing next to his black sedan. Dhata saw him and floored the accelerator, not willing to wait for him to line up another shot.

“What’d I tell you? A professional. Who the hell are these guys?” he said. He drove down an alleyway and then pulled on to a side street, keeping to the older roads in hopes of breaking free. “Lurita, uncuff her. She’s tagged and they’re tracking her,” he said. “Remove the cuffs and push her out. It’s the only way we’ll escape.”

Lur did as he asked and pushed Natalya out, then tried in vain to wipe the blood from her face. “I’m sorry, baby,” Dhata said. “Let’s go and get you cleaned up, alright?” He looked up into the rearview and saw that she was shaking. “CINI, take over,” he said, then climbed into the back. Using a cloth, he wiped her face, then pulled her in and held her.

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

They stayed inside for the rest of the day, with Dhata at the window with his shotgun. He was sure they weren’t followed after ditching Natalya, but Lur was shaken, and paranoid. When they made it back in she took a shower for an hour, then got in bed, pulled the covers up, and stared out into nowhere. Dhata tried to talk to her, but she remained stoic, and he began to worry.

“I think it’s time to call Robert and tell him it’s over,” he said. “The person with the answers just lost her life. Eddie says the Russian who brought Natalya to the meetings is dead, along with a few of the girls. I’m worried, Lurita. There were a number of soldiers, and if they were all like Jordan, more people will die.”

“We can’t give up,” Lur said, her voice a whisper. “If we can’t find out everything, we can leak what we have to the news. If people know that there is a government setup, they will question the next terror attack. I know how to leak it; Hiroshi taught me how. That can be our win, Dhata.”

Dhata liked the way it sounded but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to know the entirety of the Russian connection. After an hour at the window, he decided to take a break. Touching his ear, he logged into his internal CPU. There were several messages, but one stuck out, an encoded message from someone named Atlanta Rain.

“Atlanta Rain,” Dhata said. He thought about the last time he was in Atlanta. He had questioned Michael Lawrence in the rain … a letter from Michael Lawrence? he thought. He couldn’t believe it, so he opened it quickly, wondering if the day’s drama had more in store. The message connected to his implant’s ID, and decoded itself after a minute.

It was a letter from Michael Lawrence—on Akiyama Koch letterhead—that was entitled, “The true story behind Crane.” Dhata saw Lur staring at him, wondering what he was doing, so he walked over to her rack, and transferred the file. Once it was on her desktop, he synced the visual to the hotel’s television.

Lur stood up from the bed and walked over to it, then read the letter out loud. With every surprising part, or areas where Michaels emotions came through the text, she squeezed his hand tightly as if it was affecting her. Dhata read it, but once wasn’t enough, so when she started reading it out loud, he tried to put all the pieces together.

“Mister Mays,” Lur read. “I write this letter with a heavy heart and loaded conscience in an effort to do the right thing. It isn’t every day that you learn that you are partially responsible for a mass murder. It made me consider suicide, but I am too much of a coward to attempt it. I know that in your line of work most people, particular humans, are a disappointment, and I can honestly say that in that sentiment, we share a common mind.

“I do not consider myself to be an evil person, and though I hated you for what you did that rainy morning, I appreciate you for looking into this horrible crime. I’ve prayed over this with my wife for a few days now, and I am ready to do my part. Mister Mays, I wasn’t completely honest with you about Akiyama Koch Robotics, and I hope that when you get this, you can use it in your fight for justice. I thought about calling you, but I know myself, and I would probably fall apart if I tried to talk. I’m putting this confession in writing so that you can use it in court, if ever you’re able to prosecute the people involved.

“I’ve made peace with myself, and my wife forgives me, and I am available to take the stand if you need me to. What I want is peace, and for the bad people to be caught, even if it means jail time for my part in this.”

Lur walked to the bed, and sat down without taking her eyes off the screen. Dhata was smiling. His luck was still in place, and the letter couldn’t have come at a more convenient time.

“About two years ago when I was still at AKR,” Lur read, “we were working on a batch of soldiers for our Special Forces. The government wanted them to be different: war-ready but able to blend in, since they wanted to send them overseas to live amongst the enemy. We had mastered the art of developing soldiers and had a stellar track record back then.

“We received awards, even an article in Neo-Robotics Weekly. All this to say the government chose us for a reason. When I admitted that we were the ones to develop Jordan Crane, I left out a step, which was more out of my sense of pride than wanting to cover up the truth. We made perfect soldiers because of a mysterious program provided by our link to the Arch Brain’s nexus. It is the fabled Philosopher’s Stone for us robotic alchemists. A bit of brilliance that we have never been able to reverse-engineer. It gave life to our soldiers, just like the civilian synths, and we never questioned it, since it made us rich.

“When I was about to install the program to bring Crane’s batch to life, I was contacted by my former colleague, Conrad Hurt. He informed me that there was a better program, created by a government AI. They wanted to test it on this batch of soldiers, so I told my team to use it instead. In my defense, I didn’t want to change our methodology, so I had our programmers compare the codes, and they were near identical. So we decided that it was safe and used it on the soldiers. It didn’t surprise me, because I’ve always known Hurt to be a brilliant engineer. He had gone into politics, but we’d kept in touch, and with his new position as VP of the United States, I thought that this was his way of elevating my position.

“Mister Mays, I take full responsibility as the head of our development team. Anyone working with me at the time would have needed permission to do anything. The program, I believe, had a dormant behavior modifier. It would require a trigger for it to work. If you can find the trigger, you can put a stop to the violence, and the synths that were affected can lead normal lives. At the time I lied to Conrad that we programmed the entire batch, but the only ones I gave it to were the following four men: Jordan Crane, Isaiah Parker, Marlon Bailey, and Tyler Fort. If you can’t figure out their trigger, then I ask that you find them and put them down.”

Lur finished the letter and Dhata closed the file, adding it to the evidence that he was to share with The Unsung. “Three of those soldiers are dead,” he said. “Marlon took a bullet in Nigeria, and Isaiah? He’s new; I don’t remember him being on Jordan’s list. Anyway, this gives us an answer, and tomorrow I’ll send it to The Unsung. Lur, I don’t have to tell you how impossible it will be to take down Conrad Hurt. He’s the second most powerful man in the country, and we’ve already been attacked several times.”

“I told you what to do,” Lur said. “We leak it and we go take vacation. Sound like a plan?”

“It does, because I’m bone tired, and this is way over my head,” he said.

‡Chapter 26‡

The Perfect Replacement

Meeting The Unsung had many positives for Dhata and Lur, but more than anything else was the education they got just from speaking with them. When they called Robert, the synth first placed them on hold, scrambled the connection, and then switched them over to an encrypted line.

He uploaded into their interior CPU’s that reprogrammed their telephone programs. Now when they made a call it would avoid the global network and find a tower in a random country to bounce the signal off.

Tracing them would be confusing, and it was one of the many ways The Unsung stayed hidden. Dhata always worried that the gifts he kept from his detective days had kept him on the police radar. On the force, detectives were all connected to the grid, so that at any time they could call for backup. But he found out later from Jason that this gift did not come free. Their phones were now traceable, as well as their calls, and although Dhata quit, he still had that technology within him.

Being wired this way was convenient for an officer, but for someone who no longer worked for them it was hard to trust phone calls. Especially for Dhata, who walked the line of what was legal, and it forced him to meet his shadier connections in person rather than risk a phone call.

Robert removed this paranoia by securing their calls, and it gave him the confidence to be candid. They spoke about everything, from the discovery of the Legion classroom to the assassination of Natalya Crane. He told him about Michael Lawrence, then sent over the man’s confession. He gave Robert his thoughts on all of it, and when she was asked, Lur did the same.

Typically talkative, the head Unsung seemed to be at a loss for words. He merely thanked them, and told them that there was a deposit coming to both Dhata’s and Lur’s accounts. When Dhata asked about Isaiah Parker, the last soldier listed on Michael’s list, Robert merely said, “We’ll reach out to him.”

The phone call was short, but Dhata felt himself exhale. There was a sense of closure, but he couldn’t understand why. He had solved the mystery of Jordan’s mass murder, and had uncovered a sinister plot that only The Unsung could dismantle. He was with the woman he loved, and they were both safe, yet there was still something on his mind, something that he couldn’t shake.

“Jackson Cole,” he spat, suddenly, as if it was the nastiest taste in the world.

“Don’t scare me like that, Dhata,” Lur said, with her hand on her chest. “What about him?”

“He needs to go, he’s gotta go. He’s the last damn thing holding me back,” he said.

“Holding you back? What do you mean?” Lur said, grabbing his chin with a small, cold hand.

“I will never feel comfortable with that hool still at large. Oh, damn, Ariana! I wonder if they got him.”

“Okay Dhata, I’m gonna let you work that out. Then when you make sense again, you can tell Lurita, okay?” She was making fun of him, but he was on the phone, pretending that he didn’t hear.

“Ariana,” he said. “Did you all get him?”

“I did, yes, and he’s gone,” she said.

Dhata thought about her words carefully. He remembered the house, how the bodies were strewn about, all from the shotgun of this small police woman. Did Ariana execute Cole? It didn’t make sense but that’s what it sounded like.

“Just you?” he said, quietly.

“Yeah, but I’ll give you the details later. Still up for a drink? How about Synth City? Meet me tonight, and I’ll tell you a story.”

When he got off the phone he looked confused, and when pressed for a reason he merely frowned. “You know Cole?” he said. “I gave Ariana the address to go and get him. I expected her to call up the task force, so that they could kick the door in and arrest him.”

“Okay?” Lur said, staring at him expectedly.

“She went by herself, Lurita, vigilante style. Aaron said he had the place guarded like a fortress,” he said.

“So what happened?”

“Cole is dead, and now Ariana wants to meet.”

0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

It had been ages since he visited the Synth City bar, but like the Empire’s Tavern, it was always a treat. He looked for Alex, the tough owner of the place, but there was another synth working the bar. In front of her sat a woman dressed all in black and nursing a drink. She was hunched over as if in pain and he recognized her immediately.

“Ariana,” he said as he walked up to her. She hopped off the stool and hugged him, tightly. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, you can say that. I’m feeling much better now,” she said, grinning.

“So you went ahead and punched his ticket—”

“Well, our mutual friend won’t be threatening anyone anymore.”

“And you, Ariana, you did it?”

“I never said that, you did,” she said, winking. “Oh, by the way, I have something for you.”

She grabbed his head with her left hand and pulled him in as if to kiss him. But the kiss never happened since she moved her face to the side and placed something inside his shirt pocket. “Hey, skiptracer, about this gift, don’t look at it until we leave the bar. They have cameras in here, all over the place, and … well, you know how it is.”

Dhata couldn’t help but wonder about Ariana. She had gotten to Cole, somehow. She must have a military history, Army Rangers, or possibly SEALs … how in the hell did she do it, and how did she dispose of all those bodies? “Where’s our friend?” he said. “What remains of him, I mean? He was a big boy; you must’ve had help—”

“He’s gone, that’s what matters,” she said with the glass to her lips. “You don’t have to worry, it will work itself out. We caught him in the best position, let me just say that.”

We, Dhata thought. So the femme fatale has a team. “Okay, no more questions, but now that he’s gone I need a favor,” he said. “Aaron Cain, a synth, he’s taking over Cole’s rackets, and I kind of owe him my life several times over—”

“Is he harming humans?” she said suddenly, which took Dhata by surprise.

“No, just regular vice, but he needs a sponsor—to watch his back.”

When Ariana talked, she covered her mouth with a napkin, as if she was ready to blow her nose. “I know what I did, Dhata, and there’s a line, yes, but the pig I removed was a criminal, badge or not. You and Jason, you cared about the people, did what you were supposed to do to serve and protect. Like the two of you, I am a detective. I’m good at my job, and I actually care. Sponsoring a hool is not something I can do, especially one that’s peddling stims to people. It erodes the badge, and it makes me wonder, would you have asked Jason to do something like this?”

Dhata sighed audibly when she mentioned Jason’s name, and focused his eyes forward, trying not to be offended. “Don’t be dramatic. Jay and I worked all sorts of angles. We sponsored Peyton Ace for years, and it kept people safe on our streets.”

When he got eye contact from the bartender, the woman came over, and she leaned on the counter staring at him. “Crown, neat,” he said, and she nodded, then threw up a hand, knocking a hanging glass off its hook. She spun as if dancing, catching it behind her back, and a bottle was suddenly in her right hand.

“Now, that is impressive,” Dhata said, and she stuck out a pierced tongue at him before pouring the drink. Ariana started clapping like an amused child, and Dhata realized that she was tipsy. “Nice trick,” he said to the bartender, and placed his finger on the panel to give her a tip.

“Anything for you, Dhata,” the bartender said, then mouthed a ‘thank you’ before sliding away.

“I see you’re a regular,” Ariana said, but Dhata shook his head.

“Never met that one before, and this is only my third time here. Guess I have some sort of signal that the synthetic people recognize. Anyway, let’s get back to business. How long have you been sitting here waiting, Ariana?”

She threw up her hands as if frustrated. “Ariana? Call me Ari, man. My mother calls me Ariana – I keep waiting for you to lecture me.” She made an ugly face, baring her teeth, then began to speak with a deep Filipino accent. “Ariana, when you gonna find somebody and raise a family? You are going to get old, and I am not going to have a grandbaby,” she said.

“Ouch, don’t remind me,” Dhata said. “My mother’s dead, but when she was alive she’d come at me like that all the time.”

“Yeah, but she meant well,” Ariana said, and her hand somehow found his, as she looked at him through swimming eyes. He knew that a drink with her would end up being awkward, but he never would have imagined that he would find himself this tempted.

He cleared his throat and moved his hand, using it to grip his glass. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, “about what I asked earlier. I just owe Aaron a lot, so I had to try. Really, it wouldn’t be much, just letting him know whenever there’s a warrant out for his arrest.”

“I guess I can send him a message when his name comes up,” she said, “but that’s the extent of my help, okay?”

“Ari, I really appreciate this. If you ever need us to assist with a case, we’re there for you all the way. Jason and I had a deal; he’d start the case and I’d pick it up. That was how he got so much work done, and he’d cut me in on the backside.”

Ariana gulped down the last of her drink and her hand found his again. Dhata imagined Lur slitting his throat while he slept, but he let her hand linger out of fear that she’d change her mind about Aaron. “I knew about your arrangement. It was official and on the books. Chief padded Jason’s pay so that he could pay you, and you were an unofficial investigator, working on the case. There’s been plenty of other skiptracers trying to do what you do, but they all sucked, and we killed the program. You’re one of a kind, Dhata Mays.”

“That’s the thing. I’m not asking for pay, or for the official approval of the Tampa Bay police department. Lur and I, we’re taking our thing underground, but we still want to be connected with the police. No pay needed. We just want to connect, and if the red tape is in your way, you can just make that phone call.”

“Lur … she your partner?” Ariana asked, removing her hand.

“Partner, yeah, and girlfriend. She’s a brilliant cypher, and battle-tested. A bit like you, Ari Danger.”

Ariana laughed. “Don’t call me that,” she said but he could tell that she liked it.

Dhata paid for their tabs and left the bartender a big tip, then got up and offered Ariana his hand. “Your vehicle has an auto-drive function, right?” he said, and she looked at him as if he’d said the dumbest thing she’d ever heard.

“Of course it does. I’m not THAT big of a drunk. I can get home, Dhata, stop worrying,” she said, then covered her mouth with her hand. “As to the other thing, I can be what Jason was for you, okay? It would be an honor, really. It isn’t like I would say no to that.”

He opened her car door and helped her in, then made her sit in the passenger seat. She didn’t try to object, but when he tried to leave, she reached up, grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear, “You’re a real cowboy, Dhata Mays. Fine, strong, and loyal. Thank you for watching my back, and for helping me to get Cole. Your friend, Aaron … send me his phone number, and I will do what you ask.”

When her car pulled off he stood for a while, watching the taillights vanish into the dark. Cole was gone. It was a weight off his shoulders, but he wondered how well she’d hidden his body. Ariana was a good detective but she was young, and he didn’t know if she had it in her to live with having executed someone. It didn’t matter that Cole had tried to kill her; there weren’t many people who could live with killing a human being.

He reached into his pocket to see what she’d deposited there and pulled out Cole’s bracelet with the tracker on it. He closed his eyes and smiled. It meant so much, beyond proof that Cole was indeed dead. It was the only link that could connect him with the John, if ever his body was found. He removed the tracker, then walked over to a grate and dropped the bracelet through the slits.

“There you go, Cole,” he said. “Maybe the devil can let you wear it in hell.” He crossed the parking lot to his Buick, thinking on Ariana and what she’d done. “Guess time will tell how tough you really are, kid,” he said. “Welcome to the team. I know that Jason would be proud.”

‡Epilogue‡

The sun sat low in the pale blue sky, sending warm vibes down on anyone lucky enough to be within range of its rays. Dhata Mays walked around the edge of the coop, peering inside. He found the chickens inside to be both fascinating and therapeutic. He never thought that he'd ever see real chickens in his lifetime so this moment was one he savored refusing to take it for granted.

It had been a month or so since deciding that the case of Jordan Crane was closed. He and Lur had decided that a break from the city was necessary. The world was going to hell, and the tension between humans and synths no longer allowed people like him to pick a side. He was human, and no one cared that he once loved a synth or that he was an ally. Each side wanted to eliminate the other, and being in the middle was not the place where he wanted to be.

Catching Gemini had been more revenge than duty for him, but the damage was done, and then this unsung frame. All he wanted to do was watch the chickens. Life and duty would have to wait.

“Still out here?” came a tiny voice to his right, and he turned to find Lur in her robe, standing next to him. She had changed her hair color to blue with a hint of silver, and her face held the sleepy, dazed expression of a person heavily medicated.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said, and walked her back into the house. It was an old brick construct with no smart devices or SAR units. It had three bedrooms, a couple of bathrooms, and the biggest kitchen he’d ever seen. The only other person who knew about this place was Jason—when he was alive, since it belonged to his family from generations back.

They had used the place as a hideout one week when they were on a case of an alleged cop-killing synth. When it was found that this synth was really a human with an agenda, Jason gave him the key to the house. Dhata would use it periodically when he wanted to get away, and now that his friend was dead, he needed it once again.

The chickens were real, and an old machine kept them fed. Jason had an android who looked after the farm, and he’d kept it running all these years. Real chickens were a rarity, worth millions of UCCs, but what they represented was priceless. When they first arrived, Dhata walked out to the backyard and the sound of their clucking gave him joy. It was the best surprise, considering everything that had happened, and made it him feel hopeful for the world that he was in.

Lur sat down on the plush leather couch and pulled him down beside her. There was a television monitor on the wall, and she turned it on to a news channel.

There was a reporter interviewing a man. “My name is Isaiah Parker,” he said, “and I am a synth soldier. I was part of an experiment conducted by the government to create a set of super soldiers. Until a week ago, I didn’t know that one of my creator’s slipped a program into me. This program, once triggered, would make me violent towards human beings, the motivation being a reason for humankind to mistrust us. I am surrendering myself today to trusted officials, so that a real investigation can be made into this nefarious plot. I have reason to believe that it is someone in our own government, someone who hates the synth people, and wishes to have us return to being clumsy robots.”

Lur hopped up off the couch and clapped her hands. Dhata had never seen her as happy as she was now. The Unsung had made their move, and Dhata wondered what would come of it. Would Conrad Hurt get exposed and arrested, or would there be more of a worldwide panic? Whatever came of it, he decided that it wasn’t his problem. For the two weeks he planned to stay on the farm, he would not allow himself to care.

He got up from his seat and took her into his arms, and hugged her closely as he listened to the reporter rifle off a series of questions to Isaiah Parker. “I consider this closure,” he said before kissing her on the top of her head. “We’ve played our part in collecting real evidence. Now the people in the shadows can take over.”

“People in the shadows who hired us,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah, who would’ve thought that after all this time, our quest for justice would have such a reward?”

“There was something else I didn’t tell you,” she said, stepping away, but she held his hand and pulled him after her as she walked over to the window.

“What happened?” he said.

“I spoke to Robert about my father, and explained what we did to get away. He told me that the encryption on my phone would make it impossible for them to trace, so I made a call back home.”

Dhata was stunned; he didn’t know what to think. Lur loved her father, but it seemed like such a reckless thing to do. Don Jose was powerful, and could hire an army of cyphers to track down his daughter and bring her home. Not to mention her betrothed, Carlos Ruiz, a man who was obsessed with Lur and was set to inherit the Don’s empire once they were married.

It was a phone call that could mean pressure from external Cuban sources. Local gangsters could be bought to capture her the way they had caught Dhata a year before. Then they would be back to square one, watching their backs at every turn. He shook his head, upset, but afraid of what he would say. He and Lur never argued, and he didn’t want to start doing it now.

“Ay, you look so upset, mi vida. I did the checks and balances, okay? I would not have reached out to Papa if it meant more trouble for you. I called him and spoke to Marisol, and she recognized my voice. She put me through to Papa, and we talked for two hours. He is not upset, but he does miss his princesa. I told him maybe one day I’ll visit, but Don Ruiz can’t be there.”

“Did you tell him that son of a bitch sicced his hools on you? That he frightened you so much, that you had to risk your life at a black market option to change your implant chip?” Dhata said.

“I did, and he wasn’t happy. He told me Ruiz was doing other things. That man always wanted to be my father, Dhata, but he underestimated Papa. He’s been plotting behind my father’s back, but my father’s men are loyal. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“What, they killed that dude?” Dhata said, and Lur nodded slowly with a wicked smile.

“I can go home now, as Lurita Diaz, and Papa has promised never to try and marry me off again. It feels good, Dhata, knowing that I am my father’s daughter again, and Hiro says that he can reprogram the implant so that I am no longer Fabiana Lopez.”

“What about immigration? Hiro did all that work to make Fabiana legal,” Dhata said.

“Hiro loves me,” she said. “Do you not think that he would do this again … for Lur?”

Dhata laughed. She was so cocky, but what she said wasn’t far from the truth. Hiroshi would do just about anything she asked, and would happily hack the worldwide database to give her a US citizenship.

They sat on the couch watching television as the news spread like wildfire about Isaiah Parker’s interview. It was a quiet day, a peaceful day, away from the politics and the pressures of the city. He put his arm around her, and she inched in close, reaching up to touch his frowning lips with her fingertip.

“I do hope that this world will be okay,” he said.

“Well, humans are survivors, and now at least we know the synths will be fine,” she said.

“Yeah, they have The Unsung.”

“No, mi vida, they have you, and that is why I know that they will be okay.”

‡Glossary‡

Skiptracer – A bounty hunter and private investigator that works exclusively for the police

Cypher – What used to be known as a “hacker”

John – Police officer (A play on the French pronunciation of Gendarme)

Mary – A prostitute

Hool – A criminal or thug (The word hooligan shortened into street slang)

Grid – Computer matrix (This is a very generic term used interchangeably with “cyberspace”)

Synth – Synthetic person or Android – a sentient machine built to look and act the way a human being does.

Snoop – Detective

Global Network – The Internet according to the world of Dhata Mays

Virtual Village (ViVi) – A small world inside the global network, accessed through virtual reality

SAR – Spatial Augmented Reality

ICL – Internal Contact Lens – Built into the eyes of most human beings, the ICL is used to access personal computers and sync with external SAR units

Augment – Objects that seem real but are projected in three dimensions by an SAR

Rack – A powerful piece of computer hardware that grants access to the Grid

Fomeal – Government-issued meat substitute

Hume – A derogatory term for humans

Zeppelin – A hovering fortress used in war for bombing

‡About the Author‡

GREG DRAGON brings a fresh perspective to fiction by telling human stories of life, love and relationships in a science fiction setting. This unconventional author spins his celestial scenes from an imagination nurtured from being an avid reader himself. His exposure to multiple cultures, multiple religions, martial arts, and travel lends a unique dynamic to his stories.

See Greg’s author page at gregdragon.com or keep up with his latest books and appearances through email.

Table of Contents

- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Epilogue
- Glossary