5.
Barriers

-1-

The afternoon sun disappeared behind grim clouds. Rain fell quickly from the sudden grey above and then subsided. Outside the rain streaked windows, a large expanse of green grass separated his palatial home from the tangle of forest pressing against the field generated by the charged fence that punctuated the perimeter. In the distance, visible through an opening in the mess of green branches was the thriving business district of downtown Trenton.

Harland Grainer watched quietly as the sun slipped from behind the clouds again, casting streaks of red as it concluded its descent. It would be back tomorrow. Just like the rain. Just like everything. It just went round and round. If you got too caught up in the passing you missed the next opportunity. Opportunity was one of those cyclical things too. It came and went, only to come around again. But you’d better be on the watch.

And he was always on the watch.

Ramad had made a mess of the Rouge City deal. There had been a lot of time and effort that went into the crafting of that maneuver. The result would have been large areas of the inland being rezoned. An expansion of the permissive ‘look the other way’ policies of Rouge City. The gambling and drug laws, as well as prostitution zones that allowed the City to prosper would have been instituted as well as a centralization of the decision making process. It would have secured large plots of undeveloped territory for ambitious players like himself. But Ramad had campaigned hard against the expansion. He hadn’t been around when the lax Rouge regulations had originally been negotiated. If he had, and he had tried to pull the same shit, he probably would have bitten it a lot sooner. They played differently back then. They played hard. None of this running for council and posing as respectable bullshit.

Grainer grunted a nostalgic laugh. ‘The play days’. That’s how that greedy little prick Olmier always referred to the times before the limiting regulations. Before the backlash that had spawned the likes of Johnson-Johnson and Massud Ramad. Flip sides of the same coin. Obstacles to business.

“Another drink sir?”

Grainer looked up from his thoughts. His servant Mecha was holding a shot of golden brown liqueur out to him. Grainer considered this for a moment. Then he waved it away.

“Let’s review the funeral,” he commanded and the Mecha nodded its head. It placed the drink on the foot table and walked to the bay window. It communicated with the main house system in their common digital language and the window went opaque, cutting off the vision of the fiery sunset. Then it lit up with its own light as the Mecha placed a hand in a sleeve of the console, transferring all that it had recorded at Massud’s parting ceremony that day.

Grainer watched the recording with cautious eyes. He considered everything he saw. Who was there and who were they with. He paused and replayed and checked every furtive glance the Mecha had caught. He studied every subtle interaction carefully. Finally the recording came to the Ramad matriarch. Her politeness was very convincing. She didn’t bat an eye. Grainer chuckled an approval. She hated his guts, and he knew it. That dim-wit Davich didn’t understand the game. How in the hell had he stayed alive all these years? His idiotic features filled the screen now and Grainer shook his head.

Davich didn’t know him. Nobody did. Not his enemies, not his allies. They thought him brash, a thug even. But they were wrong and he let them keep their misconceptions. He hadn’t stayed in the game this long by being predictable. He played it clean and he was untouchable. But this Ramad thing; this was becoming trouble. He gazed at Davich’s annoying face a moment more.

He’d have to do something about this. An opportunity would come around soon enough. He’d be on the watch.

“I’ll take the drink now,” he told his Mecha. Life was good. But it was never quite good enough.

-2-

“Officer Tigue, meet Lt. Eileen Spacer. Spacer, this is Erik Tigue.”

Spacer cocked an eyebrow at the young looking man in the dark suit. She nodded an acknowledgement. “Officer Tigue, ” she said and looked quickly at Davich.

Davich glanced down at his desk and pretended to sort through some papers. “Chief Portnoy has decided we should use Officer Tigue … uh, Erik… Can we call you Erik?” he asked, fixing the man out of the corner of his eye. The man smiled. "That would be fine Captain.”

Davich eyed the man silently for a moment longer. “Anyway, Spacer, the good news is we’ve been handed the Ramad investigation. The… ‘other’ news is Erik will be working hand in hand with… you.”

“Boss?” She didn’t understand this. Davich was bypassing his investigations team?

“Erik has been brought in especially for this investigation,” Davich continued in a business-like tone. Spacer knew something was up but didn’t quite know what yet. “Portnoy believes it will insure against the potential for any outside influence. In that regard I agree with him. In that regard.” Then he was quiet.

Spacer waited a moment. Was there something she was supposed to be getting here? “Great. Sooo, you must be pretty happy, Boss. I mean, you wanted this case from the beginning, right?”

“Erik is from Manhattan division,” Davich added quickly, fixing her eyes.

Spacer returned his gaze quizzically a moment. Manhattan? What Manhatten division? Like Rouge, Manhatten was all private security except for a few special assignments…. Then she got it. She checked Erik again. Damn! She wouldn’t have caught it. “I see,” she said, slowly checking out the Mecha’s calm posture. Its eyes were sharp. Its expression precise. This must be something new.

Davich acknowledged her realization with a snicker. “For obvious reasons, Erik here will be working with only you and I. I am going to reassign your other cases. I want you to stay on this at least until we exhaust whatever assistance Erik can provide.”

“OK, “ was all she could reply. This was risky. Mecha had been disallowed for use in policing functions since the backlash. Spacer knew that the machines were still used occasionally in secret, but if Davich’s suspicions were right, this was going to be a pretty high level case. Public scrutiny might reveal more than Davich would like.

“You know where to start, Spacer,” Davich said. “Terrance has put you and Erik into the system, so Transpo knows you’re coming and should have the crash debris ready. You can cover that tonight at least. Hit the crash site in the morning. I took the liberty of having some samples sent ahead,” he added with a knowing glance. Spacer knew he was referring to the stuff he had taken from the site.

Spacer nodded her head at Erik. “What’s he input as?”

“An investigator,” Davich smirked.

“Well, Erik,” she smiled at her new partner. “I guess it’s time we hit the road.”

Erik had caught the exchange of glances between the two Orga. There was something being veiled here. Time would tell. He regarded the woman with whom he would undertake the investigation. Mid thirties. Young for her level of responsibility. Indicative of aggressive focus, ambition. Muscular, possessing attractive rounded features. Alert and unassuming. They should work well together. He nodded and smiled.

“Lt. Spacer, I would agree with that conclusion,” he said and the two departed the station.

The hunt was officially on.

-3-

The noise of traffic above them rose and fell as the hours grew into evening. They waited. The waters they stood in caressed them, rocked them gently in the tide, but they took no pleasure in the sensation. They did not comprehend such things.

The daylight had been excruciating, painful, but the thick cover of brush in the forest had protected them from damage. As the twilight grew they’d moved quickly through the forest past the dismal shanties where the ruined people slept. Whatever dogs had not already been made dinner heard them and barked at their passage. But none came to investigate. There were good reasons for this.

Killing the crazy boy might have been a mistake. But that was done. It could not be corrected. Their mission was more important. Their hunger.

Now they hid beneath the great bridge that spanned a young river. Beyond them, at the other end of the bridge, amid a cluster of colorful light surrounding expensive homes, cut off from the rest of the world by barriers electronic and economic, lay their goal. When the traffic had died down above they moved from their hiding place and strode quickly along the length of the bridge, leaving an occasional track of putrefied flesh in their wake.

-4-

“This is not complete,” Erik pointed out with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He gestured to the container of debris that was stored with the Ramad’s wrecked vehicle.

The mechanic shrugged. “Well that’s what they brought from the site,” he said in a tired voice. “Check it out. It’s all in the report.” He gestured to the thin readout screen attached to the vehicle’s smashed window. He’d been through enough today. When the call came though that he was to stay and let some State cops go through the wreck he’d figured it would be something simple. But this guy was making an issue of everything.

“There are things missing from the list,” Erik complained pleasantly. “Pieces of the outer wheel as well as some scraps of the bumper are not accounted for in the pile or in the readout.”

The mechanic looked at the piles of debris. How in the hell could this cop tell something was missing? Guys like this were a pain in the ass. “Look, this is not my regular shift. Maybe there was a screw up, but the night guy will be in after midnight. Maybe you can…”

“Don’t worry about that for right now,” Spacer cut in. “We’ve seen enough for tonight.”

Erik regarded his partner curiously for a moment. What was that about? Surely she was smart enough to understand the relevance of the missing pieces. He smiled though, and nodded his head. “Perhaps you’re right. There are more important matters than a few missing pieces of bumper.” He eyed Spacer as he said this, to see her reaction. She looked away.

“I need a list of everybody who’s been to see this wreckage,” she said to the impatient mechanic.

The mechanic shrugged. “There’s no record. It’s wasn’t even a legal matter until today,” he explained, suppressing a yawn.

“Would your late night man know?” Erik asked.

“Yeah, definitely,” the mechanic said, grateful for the chance to pass the buck.

“Well, maybe we can take this opportunity to check out the crash site?” Erik suggested. Spacer raised an eyebrow. Then humphed. “Let’s go.”

Trenton was the flash of passing streetlights and pedestrians. Opposing traffic was light by now. The night people had already headed for the fun zones where they could do whatever it was they did with a comfortable level of anonymity. The quieting commerce centers loomed over the rest of the buildings, and large holographic displays bounced their lights up against a low cloud cover.

Erik was quiet as Spacer navigated towards the edge of the city. The drive to the garage had been equally as quiet. Now the buildings getting older, more decrepit as she drove. Soon he saw others like him. He knew them. They were in his lists. Prostitutes. Old models that someone had not yet bothered to replace. Street fighters, bought used and modified by their owners to engage in combat for sport. Laborers. A worn servant, de-fleshed on one side, lugged groceries for an old woman. If not for her necessity the old machine would be hiding in the forest with the rest of the runaways. This did not bother Erik. For all his elaborate logic and personality simulators he did not ponder himself. He thought and reacted. Whether or not he was alive did not cross his mind.

But there was something that did trouble him. “I cannot assist to my full extent if I am not informed.” He looked at Spacer who glanced back, and then at the road. “Kept ‘out of the loop’ I believe is how you say it?”

“What are you talking about?” Spacer said with feigned nonchalance. She didn’t like robots. They could remember data precisely, calculate trajectories, solve complex logistical problems quickly and made reports a lot easier. But they really never understood what was behind police work. They never got the bigger picture.

On top of that, regulations kept Mecha from ‘getting down’ when they needed to. They couldn’t hurt humans. It was against the law to program one to do physical harm to an Orga. Even a criminal. So when political pressures had taken them out of use as cops, they hadn’t been missed by their Orga counterparts.

“”You are keeping something from me, Lieutenant. And in doing so you are making both of our jobs more difficult. I am only here to help solve this crime. I am not here to try and compete for position with you so there is no need to protect your territory.”

“Hold on,” Spacer said quickly, raising her hand from the wheel and thrusting a finger at him. “Spare me your robo-observations about our competitive Orga natures. Whatever reasons Portnoy put you on this investigation I’m not gonna judge. But I’ve worked with you guys before, and in spite of all the techno-crap, I’ve never met a robot who had a hunch. So do me a favor, stick to what you know.”

“Captain Davich has the missing crash debris,” Erik said with a small smile of triumph.

Spacer opened her mouth to respond. Then she closed it. She sighed. “Well they sure did improve on you guys.”

In a frantic burst, the comm erupted. “All units local to Evans Isle, 10-70, 205 Ft Pitt Boulevard, 10-87!”

87; proceed with caution. Something was going down. Spacer knew she should get Erik to the crash site so he could get the scene in his memory, but she keyed the siren and hit the accelerator instead. “Don’t look anyone in the eyes, “ She said to her Mecha partner. “Stick to my side and keep your mouth shut. If anyone asks you anything, just … just grunt or something.”

“Grunt or something?” Erik pondered this as the buildings along the road gradually diminished and the forest grew. In minutes Evans Isle was in view, a cluster of colorful lights at the end of a long private bridge.