Brooner was stunned when he read Heigle’s latest email. Not only were the charges against Waverly dismissed, but her bodyguards, Péng and Jolla, were off the hook now too. The entire case had been officially thrown out, along with his investigation into the Philo Cristaldi abduction.
When he touched base with the captain on the telephone, he was told to forget about the whole thing. Waverly had accused him of harassment, and he should find more pressing issues to occupy his time with. Then big fat Heigle hung up on him, mid-sentence, when he stubbornly refused to acquiesce.
Now he stood at the window in his office, surveying the perpetual pall of yellowish-brown smog hanging in low over the city. New Cali had been stuck beneath a stagnant dome of high pressure for over a week, and the thick clouds of toxic pollution weren’t moving. The sun was cooking the miasma from above, creating unhealthy levels of ozone at ground level, enough to kill a person with respiratory problems.
He didn’t mention Waverly’s water theft accusation to Heigle. If the system had been hacked and someone was feeding the NMS falsified data, he’d need proof before he could approach him. And the only way to validate the allegation would be hard physical evidence. Otherwise, Heigle would say he was full of it and hang up on him again.
Brooner took the elevator to the ground floor and walked to the parking garage. He almost gagged when he caught the noxious odor of the heavy smog. It was worse than when he arrived, and it stung his nasal passages as he walked to his official ride, an unmarked sedan with a big gasoline burning V-8 engine.
He drove east through heavy traffic towards the sleazy part of town. With the windows up and the AC on high to protect his lungs from the foul air. The streets were packed with Tommy Cop black and whites. The robots patrolled in pairs and stopped human operated cars frequently. To question the driver because something about their appearance was perceived to be suspicious. That was enough probable cause in New Cali.
After navigating the dense traffic for almost an hour, Brooner was closing in on the Wall. The neighborhoods became progressively shabbier as he drove east. He left the boulevard and turned onto a side street. Then he turned again on a less-congested avenue that paralleled the main drag. The Wall was just a few blocks away now, and he could see the electrified coils of concertina wire that topped it.
He pulled into a parking space in front of the Chrome Pagoda, an afterhours drinking and entertainment establishment. A detached roof over the entrance featured a cheesy looking Asian-style tower that rose an additional story into the putrid sky. The faux pagoda was mostly the color of faded chrome, but the peeling paint showed it was made from nothing more than cheap green plastic.
The streets and sidewalks were littered with a variety of trash. Empty beer cans, pint liquor bottles, food wrappers etc. Automated cleaning apparatus kept the streets downtown spotless, but no such machines existed in the sketchy section of the city.
The air quality had grown worse, and he covered his face with a handkerchief as he walked towards the door. Nearby, a pack of stray dogs were fighting over something at the mouth of a narrow alley. He had no desire to find out what it was, and he could hear the canines growling and snapping at each other as he passed through the entrance.
In the foyer, a machine scanned his driver’s license and granted him entry by unlocking the inside door. He walked through and heard it relock behind him, a sound that immediately put him on edge. If the Chrome Pagoda AI wanted to keep you inside, there was nothing you could do about it but complain to the management and find out why.
He scanned the interior of the dimly lit club. Not many patrons in the late morning hours. A couple of hardcore drinkers sat at a long bar nursing drinks. Further in, a pair of G-string clad pole dancers practiced their moves on either end of an elevated stage. It was surrounded by another sizeable bar, this one circular and currently devoid of drinkers. One of the dancers was a young African woman, the other a slim Asian male.
Machine generated techno music echoed from speakers in the back, too loud and shrill for the hour. The place smelled like stale beer and tobacco smoke along with the unmistakable tang of fresh vomit.
He took a seat at the bar and was promptly recognized by the bartender.
“Brooner,” said Flame Belloni, a tough looking woman in a muscle tank with heavily tattooed skin, short cropped hair, and multiple ear and nose rings.
“Hi Flame.”
“What’ll you have?”
“You have any decent coffee?”
“Only a cop would ask for coffee in the Chrome Pagoda.”
“You have any?”
“No.”
“Give me a club soda on the rocks then.”
“You got it.” She poured the beverage and set it on the bar in front of him.
He fished a banknote out of his wallet. It was worth a lot more than the cost of the drink. He set it on the bar and slid it towards her. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks, Brooner.” She winked at him and stuffed the currency in the front pocket of her tight jeans. “So, what brings you to the wrong part of New Cali?”
“Is Eddie available?”
“I’ll find out.” She walked a few steps away, picked up a telephone receiver, and tapped a couple of numbers on the keyboard. She covered her mouth with her hand as she spoke and then returned the receiver to its cradle. “Kenny Qian will take you back.”
A few moments later, a gorilla-sized Korean appeared at the far end of the bar. He spoke little English and silently gestured for Brooner to accompany him.
Brooner followed him down a long hallway. They came to a half set of steps, descended them, and kept going. Finally, they came to a closed door. Qian knocked lightly and then opened it. Inside the small office, Eddie Chao sat at a desk with his back to a blank wall and his right hand close to a concealed laser pistol. Chao was early-thirties, young for a Dai Lo. Han Chinese, he had bright, darting eyes and an unremarkable haircut. He was unconnected uptown and thus vulnerable to police coercion.
“Good morning, Eddie.” Brooner walked in like he owned the place. He grabbed a chair and pulled it close to the front of the desk. Qian took a step forward to stand behind him, his imposing physique towering over the detective. Close enough for Brooner to get a whiff of his rank body odor.
“Inspector Brooner,” said Chao with a nervous smile. “What brings you to my humble establishment?”
“I need to borrow a replicant.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“What’s in it for you? Well, let me ask you a question, Eddie. Have the Tommy Cops given you any trouble lately?”
“Let me think…As a matter of fact, I don’t think they have. Everything’s cool with the AI heat.”
“Well then, would you like to have some trouble with the Tommy Cops?”
“You threatening me, Brooner?”
“I don’t threaten, Eddie. I enforce the law, and sonofabitch if I didn’t see more than one code violation when I walked in this dump.”
Chao laughed. “Okay, okay. Why does Nicky need a replicant?”
“To do some undercover reconnaissance work. Out of town.”
“Where’s out of town?”
“Vegas.”
“Las Vegas is a ghost town.”
“Not entirely. There’s still a few people living there, and I need to take a look at what they’re up to.”
“Why don’t you go yourself?”
“Too dangerous. It’s an unauthorized investigation and that’s all I can say.”
“All right, all right. My IT man, Jishnu Ponn, has a couple of refurbished ADU Security Sentries he’s been working on.”
“One Security Sentry is perfect for the assignment and I’ll need transportation too.”
“Damn, you ask for a lot!”
“A motorcycle with puncture-proof treads will do it.”
“Yeah, okay Brooner.”
The detective went out the back door and crossed an alley. On the other side of the narrow lane, he walked through the entrance of a cyber repair shop, another Eddie Chao business enterprise. It was a front for illicit replicant sales and also for extortion. An unsuspecting customer might drop off their computer for repairs and then get blackmailed when the tech recorded intimate or unlawful data from the hard drive.
He walked past dusty shelves that held refurbished laptops and Intelliphones for sale. Jishnu Ponn, a slender Indian, stood behind the counter at the end of the aisle.
“Eddie sent me over to look at a replicant,” said Brooner.
“Yes, he just called. I have them in the back.” He led Brooner through an open doorway and into a cavernous workshop. At the far end of the room, three inactive replicants stood upright in narrow metal stalls. “All three are ADU Security Sentries. I replaced their processor arrays and returned them to factory default.
Brooner was familiar with ADU Security Sentries. Common in New Cali, they were a step up from the identical Tommy Cops, but not as advanced as an Ultimate Companion model. They had unique looks, but none strayed far from an average looking Caucasian male. If you knew what you were looking for, you could pick one out as a robot on close inspection, but in a crowd, they blended in.
“I need a replicant that can communicate by Intelliphone, ride a motorcycle, and handle a directed laser pistol if necessary.”
“Sure thing, Inspector Brooner. I’m confident the ADU Security Sentry will fit your needs…And I think Mike Wilson may be your bot.” He clicked a button on a handheld device and one of the replicants took a step forward.
“Hello. My name is Mike Wilson. How may I help you today?”
“Hi Mike. I’m Jishnu Ponn. I’ve replaced your quantum-neuromorphic processor array and returned your programming to factory default. How are you feeling today?”
“I’m feeling rather chipper, Mr. Ponn. Everything seems to be functioning smoothly.”
“Excellent. You’re working for Inspector Brooner for a few days. He’s your new boss until instructed otherwise.”
“I’m at your disposal, Inspector Brooner. How may I assist?”
“I’m sending you on a reconnaissance mission, out to the ruins of Vegas.”
“That sounds like an important assignment. How soon do I go?”
“ASAP.” Brooner turned towards Ponn. “Eddie said you can supply a motorcycle?”
“Kenny Qian is bringing one. He should be here any minute.”
“Okay, good.” He turned back to the robot. “I’m going to walk out to my car and get you a burner phone and a laser pistol. Wait here and I’ll have you on the road in no time.”
“Yes sir.”
He went to his car and grabbed the phone and pistol. When he returned, he found Kenny Qian parking a rebuilt motorcycle outside the shop. More than likely, it had been reworked with stolen parts. When Qian saw Brooner approaching, he ignored him and walked back in the bar without acknowledging his presence.
Brooner summoned Mike Wilson and went over the details of his mission. “You know how to handle one of these?” He handed Mike the holstered laser pistol.
“Yes sir. Marksmanship and familiarity with modern weaponry is an important part of my core factory programming.”
“Okay, keep it concealed in the pannier bag and don’t get it out unless you absolutely need to.”
“Ten-four, Inspector Brooner.”
“And here’s a burner phone. My number is the only one in the contacts so it will be easy to connect with me quickly.”
The robot took the phone and placed it in the pannier bag next to the pistol.
“The freeway that you’ll take is heavily used by automated transports. It’s in rough shape with a few detours, but if you follow the routes established by the SDVs, you shouldn’t have any trouble making it out there.”
“I have advanced GPS, so it’s impossible for me to become lost.”
“That’s good. When you get to Vegas, find the hydrogen plant and refuel. That will be your first stop. Make small talk with the attendant and see if you can find out where they’re getting the water and electricity for the electrolysis process. But don’t push it. Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone that you’re investigating a suspected diversion scheme. If anyone asks you about the reason for your visit, tell them you’re just passing through.”
“Just passing through is the reason for my visit. You’re coming in loud and clear, Inspector.”
“Here’s some cash to pay for the fuel.” He pulled a stack of banknotes out of his wallet and handed them to the replicant. “Once you’ve refueled, use your GPS to find the Desert Hills water treatment plant. Inspect the parking area and the outside of the buildings themselves and see if you can find signs of current activity. Tire tracks, footprints, etc. Look for electrical meters and see if they’re running. Listen for sounds of machinery inside. Use your phone to take plenty of photos if you find anything. The phone is on an encrypted satellite network, so you’ll be able to contact me at any time.”
“Understood, Inspector Brooner. I’m on it.”
Brooner had the replicant follow him to a nearby crossing through the wall. He pulled up next to a couple of Tommy Cop guards. “I’m Inspector Nic Brooner from downtown.” He opened his sport jacket so the robots could see his badge.
“Yes sir, Inspector Brooner,” said the Tommy Cop with the name patch that said Joe. “How may we help you today?”
“The Security Sentry on the motorcycle behind me is on official police business. Let him pass without questioning.”
“By all means, Inspector.” The Tommy Cop named Joe pointed his finger at Mike Wilson to grab his attention and then waved him through the crossing.
Brooner watched the replicant disappear into the abject slums of Nowhere City. Then he did a U-turn, stood on the gas, and headed back towards downtown.
He didn’t know if he was on to something or not. The source of the alleged tip made him wonder about its credibility, but the follow-up research fueled his suspicion. The Vegas survivors were getting water from somewhere, that much was obvious. If they were stealing it from New Cali, and he could prove it, he might end up with a promotion to a higher pay grade. If not, he wouldn’t lose much.
□□□
Mike Wilson traveled east through Nowhere City, passing endless grids of detiorating slums and shanty towns. There was little traffic beyond the lines of SDV transports. The robot saw occassional desties in beat-up gasoline burning sedans as well as dust bikers on noisy dirt bikes, but there wasn’t much traffic beyond the trucks.
The robot had no conscious mind, it simply recorded and reacted to stimulus in ways that had been programmed into its processor array. When it encountered a live human, it analyzed and stored information from the meeting, but it had no emotion. Mike Wilson felt no anger, fear, or remorse. It spoke in stereotypical language, and its current function was executing the mission as dictated by Brooner.
Mike Wilson made it across the desert in a few hours, and before long, arrived on the outskirts of the Big Abandonado. As the robot approached an overpass, it saw three men standing in the roadway waving their arms. It was Slim Crumpacker and his sidekicks, Zero and Trash. Bruno, Darcy, and five more dust bikers stood in the shade under the concrete bridge.
The replicant slowed down, stopped the motorcycle, and removed its helmet. “Hello. My name is Mike Wilson. Do you require assistance?”
“Holy shit!” exclaimed Crumpacker. “It’s a replicant, Bruno.”
“Looks like an ADU Security Sentry,” said the gang leader, stepping out of the shadows.
“How can you tell?”
“Right there,” he said, pointing at the tiny plugin socket barely visible on the side of its neck. “The cable socket is a dead giveaway.”
“Well, I’ll be a motherfucker.”
Bruno confronted the robot: “Where you headed?”
“Why is the requested information important to you?”
“Because you’re crossing Nowhere City Serpent turf, that’s why, smart ass.”
“I see. Just passing through is the reason for my visit.”
Bruno moved in close, within inches. “Sounds like bullshit to me, mechanical man.”
“I detect hostility.” In one quick, fluid move, Mike Wilson pulled the laser pistol from the pannier bag and pointed it at Bruno’s face. “Step away please sir.”
“Yeah, okay, okay.” He held his hands up and took a few steps backward.
“Sonofabitch has a directed laser pistol,” said Crumpacker.
“Yeah, I see it,” responded Bruno tartly. “Just take it easy mister replicant and no one gets hurt.”
“I carry a directed laser pistol for defensive purposes only. There is no cause for alarm.”
“Uh huh. Well, you can keep passing through then. No one is stopping you now.”
“I have a question to ask. If you can answer it, perhaps we can part company on friendly terms.”
“What’s the question?”
“There’s a hydrogen electrolysis plant nearby. Do you know where the operators acquire the water and electricity necessary to complete the process?”
“What’s the information worth to you?”
While keeping the laser pistol trained on the dust bikers with its right hand, the robot used its left to pull the cash Brooner had given it out of the pannier bag. “I’m authorized to give you a large value New Cali banknote if you can successfully answer my question.”
“Money first,” said Bruno, approaching the robot gingerly, holding out his hand.
The replicant handed him the banknote. “Where are the operators acquiring the water and electricity?”
“The electricity comes from power man.”
“Who’s power man?”
“A local cat named Logan Writt. He lives at the Blue Springs Geo-Thermal Power Generating Station, and he’s kept it online with his AI ever since things went south. He can throw a switch and turn the juice on anywhere in town, but you need to give him something for it. And he’s a snob about it too.”
“Why is he a snob?”
“Because me and Crumpacker want to open a casino and he won’t deal with us. Ain’t that right, Slim?”
“Yep.”
“Did you offer him anything for the electricity?”
“A kilo of pure, uncut syntho-bliss and he turned me down.”
“Syntho-bliss is a toxic substance that causes irreversible brain damage. That may be why he turned you down.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“What about the water? My research indicates local ground water resources should be close to or completely exhausted by now.”
“Yup, the groundwater out here was almost gone. You’re right. The wells were coming up dry. Then all of a sudden, they came back up to full pressure. Don’t know why, but that must be where Latsko gets his water. I’m not one hundred percent sure about that one, but the electricity is definitely coming from power man.”
“Thanks for the information. I’ll be on my way now.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Bruno. The filthy pack of dust bikers watched Mike Wilson open the throttle and speed away.
□□□
Hana Yamaguchi was hard at work in her office when she received an audio message from the automated attendant at the refueling station. “An unknown replicant on a motorcycle has arrived at the gate. Should I grant it access to the refueling pumps?”
Hana brought up a live view from a video camera. She could see the Mike Wilson replicant standing by its bike. “I’ll be out there momentarily and take care of it in person.”
She pulled on her sleek body armor suit, boots, and helmet before she departed. Once outside, she walked across the expansive asphalt to the refueling station entry and used her ID badge to pass through the pedestrian gate. Two SDV transports were refueling nearby, inside the fortified fence line.
She approached the replicant. “Please state the reason for your visit.”
“Hello. My name is Mike Wilson. My motorcycle requires refueling.”
“What brings you to the Big Abandonado?”
“Just passing through is the reason for my visit.”
“Where are you from?”
“That’s confidential information, but I have a question to ask if the attendant is amenable to small talk.”
“What’s the question?”
“According to information previously learned, an actor named Logan Writt is producing the electricity necessary for alkaline electrolysis, but the water source remains suspicious. My question is, where is your plant acquiring the large volume of water required for the process?”
In an instant, Hana identified the replicant as a security threat. Probably sent by law enforcement. She didn’t need to query her AI assistant to figure it out. The robot’s clumsy questioning had tipped her off.
She pulled a small electronic baton from her utility belt, pointed it at the replicant, and clicked the activation button. A silent ripple of cerulean blue, luminescent energy washed over Mike Wilson. The robot’s eyes flickered crimson, then jet-black. It fell to its knees and collapsed on the pavement, temporarily deactivated.
Hana squatted down next to the replicant and placed a palm held neural bridge device against its neck. The device searched the robot’s processor array for point of origin and current mission information and uploaded it to her Intelliphone. There wasn’t much data to sift through because it had recently been returned to factory default.
She checked the upload on her Intelliphone and found out everything she needed to know. The replicant was owned by Eddie Chao, a suspected New Cali organized crime boss and had been sent by a police investigator named Nic Brooner. Next, she used her Intelliphone to program the neural bridge device with a new set of directives. When that was done, she placed it on the robot’s neck. It swiftly removed Brooner’s mission information from the processor array and replaced it with the new directives. Then it inserted a verbal cue that would reactivate the robot.
Hana removed the neural bridge, stood up, and recited the verbal cue: “You’re back on the road now, Mike Wilson.”
The robot was instantly reactivated. “Why, I seem to have fallen down.”
“Let me help you up, Mike.” She helped it back to its feet. “What’s your current mission?”
“I have no current mission. I must return to Eddie Chao’s cyber repair shop in New Cali for further instructions. But I need hydrogen fuel for my motorcycle before I can go.”
Hana opened the gate and let the robot refuel, then she watched it ride away.
To be continued…