Copywriter Taken into Custody; Local Author Accused of Mecha Murders
ROUGE CITY--Cecilia Cecie Martin was taken into protective custody last night,
charged with destroying
the fourth Mecha found damaged in the city. Miss Martin
protested her innocence and seemed in shock as security guards
Bob Stanger and
Leslie Tiessen led her to the Rouge City lock up. So far the only lead linking
Miss Martin to this
destruction is a complaint she expressed against the victim,
a German import locally known as Alex. The Mecha, a bondage
artist, had allegedly once
pinned Miss Martin to a wall four years ago.
Cecie couldnt do this; shed cut her own arm off before shed harm a Mecha,
commented Karl Vautrin,
a friend of Miss Martins present in the crowd that
surrounded the crime scene on Harlot Square. Ive known her since she
moved up
here [in 2155] and shes always been deferential toward Mechas.
City Manager Destiny Rohrschact has been said to have called in a detective to
investigate this
rash of damage. Ms. Rohrschact was unavailable for comment.
* * * * * *
Cecie couldnt help reading this item as she sat in one of the cells of the
Rouge City lock up beneath City Hall. A security Mecha stood opposite the cell
door, reading a newspaper as slowly
as an ordinary human. She sat hunched on a
box close to the bars of the cell, away from the others: two Orga hookers whose
red-rimmed eyes and purpled nostrils suggested they were stringer snorters, a
guy who kept bragging about all the
smart safes hed broken into, and a teenaged
boy in a red halter top and a black leather microskirt, whod tried feeling
her
up. It didnt help that her skirt was sliding down since theyd taken away her
belt when they booked her.
She had to turn her back to the security Mecha to avoid seeing the photo on the
front page: Hals
shot of her arrest. They could call it taking her into
custody, but she knew what it was.
Dont p--- on my leg and tell me its raining, she thought.
She heard footsteps in the corridor and the buzz of the smart lock opening.
Walter, well take care of this, said a voice in the corridor. She turned
around. The security
Mecha had stood up, blocking the passage of the newcomers,
but it stepped aside.
The warden of the lock-up, a bulky man in a military blue suit, approached the
cell; behind him
were Flyte and Vautrin and a man she didnt recognize: a
calm-faced, slightly round-shouldered man moving into late middle-age,
his
sandy-brown hair hardly grayed, yet receding from his high, intelligent brow;
calm, gray eyes and a strong if
ordinary face, the kind women call good-looking
in a fatherly way.
Cecilia Martin? Stand up, please, the warden ordered. He unlocked the door of
the cell with a
smart key. You can come out now; these men are here to help
you.
Howd you get yourself caught? Vautrin asked.
A simple case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Cecie replied.
The guards based your arrest on too circumstantial evidence, the warden said.
They may as well have arrested everyone else on that plaza, the third man said.
The third man led her to a small, windowless room with a two way mirror on one
wall, a deal table
and two chairs stood in the center of the floor under a caged
light. He offered her one of the chairs. Have a seat, Miss
Martin; or would you
rather I called you Cecie?
Miss Martin will do, but Im afraid I didnt catch your name.
Im Isherwood Burnstead, Camden Police Detective. Im also with the Sex Work
Division of the Federal
Trade Commission, he said, sitting down opposite from
her. The City Manager sent for me to investigate these Mecha destructions.
I didnt destroy those Mechas.
Thats what were trying to find out.
She looked into his face. He seemed sympathetic enough, but that could just be
his mask. I couldnt
kill a Mecha. I...Im in love with one. I couldnt kill any
of his kind.
I dont think you did either. Im here to clear your name by cracking this
case.
Now, do you know anything about this at all? Have you seen anyone suspicious
before or after
you found the bodies?
Ive been keeping an eye open since I stumbled on the first one, for Joes
sake. Im a writer; I
notice things, peoples behaviors and mannerisms.
Now, what Id like to know is how did you find out I didnt kill Alex?
Burnstead smiled calmly. That was easy: Alex was configured with a moderate exception parameter to
First Law, making him a little more aggressive. If you'd try to do anything to him,. he'd have fought back. You'd have a few
bruises about your face and neck,
maybe your clothes would be torn. You havent a mark on you. Whoever did in that
Mecha
would have their clothes soaked in lubricants and hydraulics: you havent
a spot on you.
The only eye keener than the eye of a writer is the eye of a detective, she
noted. Do you have
any idea what youre looking for?
Why would you need to know?
I want to help you, for Joes sake.
I have two possible profiles: one may be a malfunctioning Mecha, the other may
be a disgruntled
former client. There are a lot of other possibilities, but its
too soon to start jumping to conclusions. Ive taken something
of a personal
interest in this case.
She smiled thinly. Oh, saving the damsel in distress?
No, Flyte pointed Ms. Rohrschact toward me: he and I go way back, as they say.
I guess I should thank him for getting me out.
Vautrin and Flyte met her in the wardens office when they let her out. Cecie
could have hugged
Flyte when she saw him, but she restrained herself.
How are you doing now, girl? Flyte asked.
Ive had better nights, but itll get better, she said as a clerk handed her
the box containing
her belongings: her belt, her datascriber, her wallet and her
satchel, which someone had buggered, probably searching
it for the murder
weapon. It was a beat to death satchel that would have given way sooner or
later, but theyd speeded
up the process. Thanks, she said, putting a hand on
Flytes shoulder.
I couldnt let you get pinned with the blame, he said.
As soon as we read the news in the paper, we dropped breakfast and came down
here, Vautrin said.
Hope my waffles didnt turn to rubber.
She could only smile as they led her out into the light.
They met Frank and Bernie in the front atrium of City Hall. Bernie hugged Cecie
close; Frank
put a brotherly arm about Cecies shoulders.
What happened? How did you get into this mess? Bernie demanded, trying to
shake Cecie.
Bern, let off; shes just had the worst night of her life, Frank warned. Hey,
Cecie: Ill treat
the both of you to breakfast after Mass. Then you can tell us
what happened.
You already know.
We need to hear it from you.
They walked out together into the cool, white light of the growing day.
Cecie noticed an unearthly clearness to the light, like the kind of glow that
creeps around
the edges of the window shade on the morning of the first snow of
winter.
When they stepped out onto the front steps, Cecie found the city covered with a
quarter inch
of wet snow. The neon lights glowed pastel hues off the mist of
flakes that still fell.
Snow? Cecie asked. I dont remember the forecast calling for snow.
It was quite a surprise when we came up here, Frank said.
* * * * *
Later, in Arabicas, Cecie told them her end of the story at length.
I guess it really was a hot time in the old town last night, Frank said when
shed finished. After
you got tossed into the clinker, there was a car accident
downstairs. This kid lost control of his cruiser and smashed
into a concrete
piling. He survived, but I think he wishes he hadnt: his old lady of a mother
shows up and starts
hollering at him. The kid almost choked himself on his neck
brace trying to get off the stretcher and strangle her.
I saw that coming, Cecie said and told them about the domestic disturbance she
and Joe and Julien
had nearly walked in on.
I wonder if his mother was all over him because shed found out he was seeing a
Mecha, she concluded.
Or maybe he was and she started prating about how the rash of destructions has
been the hand
of God at work purging the world of these machines of iniquity,
Frank said.
Sometimes I wonder if God isnt using Mechas to phase us out or to trim back
our numbers, Cecie
mused.
Bernie nearly dropped her coffee cup. Cecie! You mustnt say such things. God
promised Noah He
would never again destroy mankind.
No, but He might allow our species to be culled back through a slower, more
lingering chastisement,
Cecie said. What Id like to know is if the person
whos doing this might not mistake an Orga for a Mecha. Its happened.
Yeah, I worked for the paper in Trenton a while back, when Id first started,
Frank began. He
looked around, then leaned over the table closer to them and
continued in a low voice. Dont let Joe hear about this, but
they had me cover
the Flesh Fair when it was playing there. They somehow picked up a guy who just
happened to be a
Mecha rights activist. Hed been in the woods, counting the
derelict Mechas there, trying to collect them and take them
to a refuge, but the
Hounds got to em first. They scooped him up with the Mechas. Poor bloke got
chained to a rack;
they tore him limb from limb in the ring. The Johnson almost
got shut down, wish to God he had. I wrote a few emails to
the editor under
various names, agitating for it.
But the Flesh Fair is still up and running, Cecie said.
Maybe the killer is connected tothat, Bernie hedged.
Thats one of a million theories on the streets, Frank said.
Can you do me a small favor, Frank? Cecie asked.
Sure, as long as it wont offend Bern.
Can you get Finkelsteen to free up some space on the op-ed section for the next
paper?
Maybe. What you got in mind?
Im just going to set the record straight. But thats for later: today I have
to recuperate from
last nights jolt.
You deserve it, you need it, Bernie said.
Frank stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. I could use a decent forty
winks myself. I didnt
get in till after three this morning: Hal held me up,
said he wanted to dither with the photos before he brought em to
Finkelsteen. I
told him to bring the dang camera to the news room, but he said he couldnt
trust the system: hed had
too many bad experiences with bugs and viruses, he
didnt want to risk his camera during the flu season. Last I knew, hed
found
some little nook to crash in.
Id better get home and crash in a better way, Cecie said.
* * * * *
The Sweitzes parted company with her at the door of Arabicas. She gathered
her
coat around her, trying to warm her chilled soul.
As she crossed Main Plaza on her way home, the snow still fell softly. The
service droids hadnt
yet cleared the plaza, which lay white and sheening
lightly where passersby had left black footprints.
A shadow fell over her; she turned.
Joe stood beside her, his black satin umbrella in hand, open over them both.
Have you survived your ordeal in the lock up? he asked.
Barely, she said. She slipped her arm through his and rested her cheek on his
shoulder.
He folded her close with his free arm. But who cleared your name?
Mr. Flyte showed up: hes helped bring in a detective to investigate the Mecha
murders.
And that explains his absence at this mornings inspections, Joe said. He had
gone forth to help
set you free. And what of this detective?
He seems like a sympathetic sort: sympathetic to Orgas and Mechas in distress.
I offered to help
him, to repay him for helping clear my name.
The more pairs of eyes he has to assist him, the more quickly he can find the
killer; perhaps
I can offer my keen vision to help in his efforts.
I think it would be best for everyone if you stayed put where youll be safe.
And leave the ladies of the city to starve on the swaggering of Julien? Joe said, chin lifted, head
up, eyes snapping wickedly.
Just be careful. Did you set you DAS on high like I suggested?
I heeded your advice. And, I must needs add, Julien took it to heart as well.
There was an odd lilt to his voice. He glanced over his shoulder.
Dont tell me it altered him, she said.
Alas, it has, and it reveals areas of his programming he would not wish to have
disclosed. He
held out his hand to her. Come with meand you shall see.
She let him lead the way along the street to the small, columned plaza before
the Isola da Capri.
She spotted Julien posed sensuously against a pillar, but
she noticed something odd about his pose. He stepped away from
the column with
something like a shudder; after a few seconds, he leaned back against the
column. The cold of the
simulstone must have set off something in his sensors.
I didnt think the cold got to you guys, she said.
Not unless our DAS has been set high. Does not the cold burn your flesh?
Thats true.
Cecie glanced sidewise at Joe, her lips curling in a mischievous smirk. Joe
returned the grin.
He glanced down at the snow, then looked at her.
Shall we have a go at it? he asked in a low voice.
She replied by stopping down and grabbing a handful of wet snow. She stood and
tossed the wet
wad toward Julien, but not right at him. Julien flinched and
looked around.
Sacre bleu! Who threw that snow?
Joe caught up a handful and tossed it over Juliens head so that it splattered
at the smaller
Mechas feet.
Mon dieu! Julien turned around. Joe and Cecie quickly turned to each other,
Joe leaning seductively
close to her.
Quelle belle innocence, Julien snarled. Two black cats have feathers in their
mouths.
How can you say with certainty that Cecie and I threw the snow? Joe asked,
eyes open and innocent
as he gestured toward the other passersby on the plaza.
Julien let out a harassed growl and turned away from them, nose
lifted slightly
as he strode down the street, a bantam with ruffled feathers.
Now we are alone, Joe said, lowering the umbrella over them. May I see you
safely back to your
hotel room before you are mistaken for another criminal?
Sure, thanks, but just to my door, okay?
His sultry face cooled into a pensive look, but he still offered her his arm.
At the hotel door,
she let him kiss her, but she broke away almost abruptly and
opened the door just wide enough to fit her body through.
Joe reached out and
caught her hand, but she managed to slip through his grasp, snapping the door
shut in his face.
* * * * *
Just my luck, Ill have to fix the evidence myself and they had to bring in
an
expert, the pantywaisted motherfuckers; no, thanks: not my idea of damage
control, but itll put a whole new angle
on the case
* * * * *
Burnstead moved among the tables in the temporary morgue in the subbasement
of
City Hall, just above the lock-up, a tech at his side. Four tables stood by
side, each bearing the sheeted form
of a Mecha. To the tech, Burnstead looked
like the typical rubber-heeled detective, with no idea what the death of a
Mecha
entailed.
I trust you checked to see if any parts were missing Burnstead asked the tech.
Yes, there were a few parts we couldnt account for, the tech
said, a little surprised. Several
conductors were missing, along with a
breathing simulator pump, a voice synthesizer frame, a genital control pump--"
Could be the work of a malfunctioning Mecha or someone with a damaged lover
model, Burnstead
said, lifting the dustcover from the body of the most recent
victim, a Sidekicks AL-636-Z.
Thankfully, Burnstead thought, they had left the unit unwashed. They hadnt
tried to patch it
up, either. Hed seen too many Mecha corpses when a rookie
tech had tried to make it presentable, destroying evidence in
the process.
He examined the gaping chest cavity: the right breath simulator pump had been
carefully removed,
the work of someone who knew what they were doing, not some
rage-maddened anti-Mecha activist, or a jealous rival or an
angry spouse. An
expert had done this: Orga or Mecha.
He plugged a secondary power unit into an access dock at the back of the Mechas
neck. He reached
behind its ears and pressed the faceplate release switch.
The plate cracked and opened, uncovering the metal understructures.
The neural cube dock gaped. Empty.
Did you know about this? Burnstead asked the tech, pointing to the empty slot.
We didnt open the unit, but we ran an x-scanner over the face to see if there
was any other damage.
The cube was there then.
What time did you run the scan?
Just as we got him in, about 20.30 last night.
What about the others?
As far as I know, we scanned them as they came in. If the cubes were missing,
theyd have noted
that on the report.
Burnstead removed the power supply from the AL unit and turned to the next unit,
the RP. He lifted
the sheet, plugged in the device and opened the plate.
Nothing in the neural cube dock.
Mother of God, he murmured. He removed the power supply and went to the next
unit, the DR model,
and opened that ones face.
No neural cube.
He approached the fourth, the first unit to be destroyed in this serial kill. He
practically
tore apart the halves of the plate as they parted.
Gone.
He looked up at the tech. I want to see all the sign in tables from the
security computers, the
tapes from the security cameras, any security records
whatsoever. Someone just stole the most important evidence.
* * * * *
Cecie slept through most of the day, but she woke up late in the afternoon
to
find the snow had melted. Saturday night: Joe would be booked solid, no chance
to get him on his own.
She decided to go for a walk, do some peering about the city, listen in on
peoples moral gyrations
and watch, from a healthy distance, their plunges into
ethical dementia.
She followed her nose. If Phila knew what she was doing, she would be livid.
Cecie could almost
hear the kind of squawking altercation that would ensue.
Theyll suspect you again!
I offered to help Burnstead; he needs all the pairs of eyes he can get.
But people will begin to talk.
Does it matter? Do I care? No!
But what if the killer goes after you. I dont want to see you get hurt.'
So far, all the victims have been male lover Mechas. Im female; I wear
glasses: no Mecha does.
And Im hardly likely to be mistaken for a Mecha: Im
too natural looking. Besides, if anything happens to me, maybe it
was just my
time to go. If I didnt get killed, maybe Id have had a heart attack. Im not
afraid of death.
But what about?
Oh, get out of my head, Phila! Cecie thought, shaking her head.
* * * * * *
She left the beaten paths lit by the rose and cerulean and gold and amber and
violet and emerald
neon and headed into the Red Zone, the Citys closest
equivalent to a red light district (come to think of it, the whole
city was the
red light district of the Eastern Seaboard). The softer lights and the
holographic advertising gave way
to peeling posters on the brick walls and
sullen red and orange neon. Divey bars and strip joints and cathouses replaced
the upscale clubs and bordellos.
She passed by a group of teens gathered around a packing case under a broken
streetlight, snorting
stringer, that gray green powder that smelled like a
mixture of borax and raw sewage. She nearly tripped on an anything
but discreet
couple on the pavement of the sidewalk: a cheap, older model Mecha hooker
grinding herself against some
paunch salesman type.
She passed a group of Orga hookers congregating in front of a bar.
Hey, look whos here! The Lily of Rouge City herself! shouted one girl with
orange and black spiked
hair.
Goin slumming for a change? yelled a second, covered in little more than a
lot of black body
paint with orange sequins stuck to it.
Got tired of the Mecha? taunted a third. Several others shouted various
invitations and prices.
She looked their way, acknowledging their presence and
letting them know she was aware of them, but she said nothing to
them. But for
the grace of God, there am I, she reminded herself. But for the sins and crimes
of men, they could be
me.
A bum tried to feel her up as she passed him by, but she kicked him in the
kneecaps. He shambled
away, cursing, looking for less aggressive prey.
Cecie drew her coat closer about her; no wind blew, but the air still
burned
with cold, with a clammy tang to it. A mist had risen from the river, filtering
into the streets and alleyways,
filling them with a yellow-green vapor which
glowed with the neon lighting, flashing red and pulsing orange. Shadows moved
through the haze, bums in tattered clothes, half-naked whores of both sexes; a
guy with USB jacks in his neck passed
her, his eyes unblinking yet red-rimmed,
clearly a Mech-Org.
She passed by the Do as You Like Hotel, a four story structure tilting over
the sidewalk, ready
to fall on the hapless passersby.
A short figure in a huge coat loped down the steps to the sidewalk, a bulge
under his coat that
might be a camera case, his Homburg jammed down on his head.
She walked slower to avoid catching up with Hal. As soon as
they came to a cross
street, she turned down it.
She must have been getting closer to the river. The fog grew denser till it
seemed to clot before
her eyes and solidify into each passerby.
A low, electric whine rose in the near distance. Two white rods pierced the
curtains of vapor.
The whine grew louder, the hairs rose up on the back of her
neck.
The gray bulk of an electric freight cart heaved past her. She sighed out loud;
relief spread
through her veins: Nothing to be afraid of.
But she realized she was quickly approaching one of the freight elevator hubs,
Rouge Citys closest
equivalent to a dockyard. She felt for the stunner in her
coat pocket and drew it out. She thumbed it on. The contacts
crackled, a blue
bolt of current leaping between them.
She looked behind her. No one except a drunk retching his guts into the storm
drain. She turned
to look ahead as she turned down another side street.
She guessed she was approaching a cross-street, a small plaza to guess from the
amount of
light, like a beacon showing the way back to civilization.
Someone cackled maniacally behind her; she turned to look: only a hag of a bag
lady shuffling
along, going in the opposite way.
Cecie turned back to the light.
Something moved against the glow. A black cloud condensed in the swirling
vapors, coming toward
her, seeming to take one step back for every three it took
forward.
Her feet froze to the pavement. Her heart thudded against her breastbone and her
pulse banged
in her temples so hard, she swore everyone could hear it.
The black density elongated, transforming into a tall, dark figure. She heard no
footsteps. The
figure seemed to hover along the street. She shrank back against
the clammy brick wall at her side.
The build, the shape of the head, the mold of the figure, the cut of the
garments made her think
of Joe. What was he doing there? She almost stepped out
to warn him off.
Joe would have had Julien at his side. Something about the gait was not right.
The stranger moved
stiffly, the strides too long and decisive to be Joes
elegant strut. The stranger walked too mechanically, relentlessly.
Could he see her? If he was Orga, he would have a hard time seeing a girl
dressed in black hiding
in the shadows against a brick wall. If he was a Mecha,
he could see her clearly in the dark. He might even be able to
smell her and
sense her pheromones.
The figure kept walking toward the spot where she stood, no indication that he
had seen her.
She smelled an oily reek coming from him, the same odor she had
smelled near the bodies of the destroyed Mechas.
She made out a badly healed -- or sealed -- slash across his right cheek. The eyes
above stared
straight ahead, glancing unblinkingly neither to the right nor to
the left, two pale gray-blue orbs nearly white in the
dim light, empty of all
emotion, like the eyes of a corpse or of a lemur.
He approached the spot where she stood and kept on walking, not acknowledging
her at all.
She watched him continue up the street, his form diminishing into the distance
and the fog as
he walked. The vapors swirled in behind him and hid him from
sight.
She made herself walk normally till she reached the plaza, Hooker Square, the
line of demarcation
between the Red Zone and the more respectable areas.
Once on the sidewalks lit by the softer light, populated with the
less seedy
revelers, she quickened her pace, not running, but trying to put as much space
between her and the Red
Zone as she could.
* * * * * *
Burnstead sat in his room at the Graceley, poring over the list of employees
in
the City Security headquarters who had accessed the storage room they were using
as a morgue for the destroyed
Mechas, trying to see if hed overlooked anyone.
No one knew anything about the missing cubes. Hed searched their apartments.
No
sign of the cubes, not a trace. There was no way to account for them.
Hed met with the two newspaper guys, Sweitz and McGeever, the good-looking kid
with the scriber
and the skinny toad-snake with the camera. Theyd asked him the
usual questions; McGeever somewhat ghoulishly insisted
on photographing him near
the dead Mechas.
Off the record, Sweitz had asked him if hed discovered any clues from the Mecha
corpses.
I just discovered someone has removed the neural cubes from the Mechas,
Burnstead replied.
Sweitzs eyes got big. Whoa, someone was pretty thorough.
McGeever shrugged. Bugger knows his stuff, knows how NOT to get caught,
otherwise the techs ud
see his mug on the cubes when they scan em.
They were stolen from here some time last night.
Oh boy, the plot is really thickening, Sweitz said.
He was about to get up and take up his accordion, which he always played when he
needed to step
back from the facts and do a little thinking. Someone banged on
his door. He got up, keyed the lock and opened it.
Miss Martin stood there, her face ashen. He let her in.
Whats wrong, Miss Martin? You look as if youve seen a ghost.
I only wish it were that simple, she said, sinking onto the chair he offered
to her. I just saw
a Mecha that looked very much like the one the police in
Nova Francisco and Omaha are looking for.
Are you sure?
My knees were knocking together, but my head was clear.
* * * * * *
A time to be made. A time to be destroyed.
A time to destroy.
* * * * *
As she finished talking, the phone rang. Burnstead reached for it and picked
it
up.
Hello? Burnstead speaking.
This is Stanger; we just found another Mecha over near 7th Street, not far from
the Red Zone.
Im coming right over.
He hung up and went for his coat.
I guess Id better stay put, she said.
Im afraid so.
Another one?
Yeah, I dont want to have to rescue you again.
To be continued
Literary Easter Eggs:
The snowfallWe had a brief, freak snowstorm the day I drafted this chapter,
dumping about
a half an inch of wet snow in our area, but it melted within a few
hours, once the sun came out again. Snow on colored
leaves, only in New England
