“You would think, but they have empathy for some of our units, which don’t have cyber-brains; they’re just robots with one or two functions. Get a synthetic person or whatever around them, though, and it’s like a child wanting to bring home a stray dog. Kaden was good until we started missing some of our units. Important machines, expensive as fuck, all gone because this idiot wanted to save them. We have rules in place for not hiring synths, but he managed to lie and cover up what he was,” Devin said.

  “So what did you do when you learned he was synth?”

  “I fired him, told him to pack his shit and never come back here,” he said. “He’s been trespassed, banned, and we set one of those synth detectors up at the entrance to keep any more of them out. That was the last I saw him, the exit interview. Told him to send back our property, which he didn’t so we reported it to the law. Now you see why none of the guys are eager to talk to you about that thing?”

  “You’re telling me the truth?” Dhata said, studying his face as he waited for him to answer.

  “Yes, that’s all I got, and I’m needed inside,” Devin said. “Feel free to see yourself out. No one will bother you, but if you have to come back, do me the courtesy of calling ahead and setting up a formal appointment.”

  Dhata watched him walk off, but had no reason to stop him since he looked to have been telling the truth about Kaden. He called Ariana, but she didn’t pick up, instead sending him to her voicemail. He didn’t take offense, it was the nature of her job, and he had been in her position for more than fifteen of his forty-four years. She was likely on the beat, interviewing, or compromised to the point where answering a call could prove disruptive.

  “Ariana,” he spoke, recording a message. “I have some information about our synth, Kaden Maidani. He was working in St. Pete for several months at a garage named Larry’s Auto Depot. If you can get me a home address on that name, or anything else, that would be golden. Oh yeah, by the way, St. Pete PD is involved somehow. I can’t look into that for obvious reasons, but I’ll be looking around, so call me as soon as you get this.”

  Chapter 10

  The Nexus Link

  Before leaving St. Pete, Dhata decided to look in on one of the synth areas of the city to see if any of them knew Kaden Maidani. He trusted that Ariana and team could dig up some information on their victim, but with no other leads, he drove down south to Gearton. Once an indoor mall, Gearton was given to the synths by the city to keep them out of the human areas. It was one of the nicer refuges, with over 1,000 occupants living and working inside.

  The outside of the old mall was disgraceful, with plants running up the sides, chipped up paint, and a parking lot dotted with holes. It was a pre-war relic, left to rot for nearly a century. But the building was not abandoned, so Dhata wondered why no one cared to clean up the exterior.

  He parked by the street and walked the long yards to the entrance, where he stepped through the cracked glass doors. The place was busy and packed, which put Dhata’s nerves on edge. He was glad that he had decided to bring his revolver, but now worried that there were too many of them. He would have to question numerous strangers, and that would bring the sort of attention he did not want.

  “May as well make it work,” he grumbled and then pressed on through the commuters, looking for a pub. It didn’t take long to find one, and Dhata went in and found a seat by the bar and ordered a martini.

  The ceiling had a spaghetti weaving of thick wires powering a triad of fluorescent lights. These could barely pierce the darkness, however, but there was enough illumination for Dhata to see that all eyes were on him. Ignoring them, he took a sip of his drink, popped an olive into his mouth and flipped through his virtual messages.

  “You a John, sweetheart?” the bartender walked up. She was a dark-haired, beauty with violet eyes, behind large, round spectacles which he suspected were virtu-screens. She wore her jacket open with zippers everywhere, concealing much of what she wore but for a t-shirt which read, “You Only Live Once.” On her face, below a mess of black curls, was a tattoo in kanji, the brand of a synth who had once been owned.

  “There’s that question again,” he grumbled. “If there is any guarantee in life, it’s that wherever I go, someone will ask if I’m a John. I work in the private sector. Not a bounty hunter, but a skiptracer, focused on synths.”

  “Focused on synths you say,” she sung with an amuse inflection in her voice, and he could see where she had armed herself while taking a glass from a shelf. “Who you here for hon, and what have they done?”

  “There’s no cause for alarm. I’m not here for you or anyone. A synth was recently killed in an explosion, and I need to find some next of kin. The name I have is Kaden, Kaden Maidani. Does that ring familiar?”

  “What?” the bartender softened. “Kaden is dead? How? I mean, you said it already, but why?”

  Dhata looked around for eavesdroppers, then reached into his duster to produce the tablet. Placing it on the bar, he activated the image of Kaden’s damaged face, causing the bartender to gasp. She looked as if she were about to cry, so Dhata turned it off.

  “You two were close? I hate to have had to show you that image, but it’s all I have to go from. Until earlier today, I didn’t even know his name.”

  “He was driving?” she asked, but he noticed she was still holding the weapon.

  Someone called for a drink, but she ignored him, still stunned from Kaden’s photo, and when the patron insisted loudly, she let out a string of expletives that caused the room to go silent. Expecting the drunk to react aggressively, Dhata turned to face him, curious to see how far this exchange would go. The man cursed back but stood up angrily, paid his tab, and stomped out loudly, grumbling about a better bar.

  “I can come back after hours, if you’d prefer,” Dhata said. “I don’t mean to interrupt your business, and—”

  “Sit down, that one’s a deadbeat anyway, with a tab about as long as my arm,” she said rolling her eyes. “Fucker only paid just now because he knew I would call him out. I want to hear everything about Kaden. You said his vehicle exploded? How? What sort of car was he driving for it to explode?”

  “The official report reads malfunction,” Dhata drained the gin from his glass. “But we believe that he was a target of anti-synth terrorists. St. Pete PD ain’t doing jack, but that shouldn’t surprise you one bit. Name’s Dhata Mays. What do they call you?”

  “Dhata, you said your name was? You’re that Dhata Mays?”

  “The one and only,” he gave her a wink.

  “Hell, bust my rust. Dhata Mays. Friend to the synth people. And here I thought my mind was glitching. You’ve had many masters, but I’m supposed to trust you, strange as that sounds.”

  “Your mind is connected to Arch Brain then,” Dhata asked, and her eyes turned to saucers at the mention. “It’s the reason you feel a sense of loyalty to me, isn’t it? I have had many employers, yes, but the Arch Brain has been a constant, non-paying client. Removing threats to its core has led to an unspoken trust, to where I’m considered as you say, a friend to the synth people.”

  “What did you have to do to earn the respect of a god?” Nexus asked.

  “If I went into all that you’d have to close the place down, and I’d be here until morning running it down. Here’s a summary, back when I was a John working in synth crime, it became clear that the whole, serve and protect, applied only to humans. So, I got out, took the law into my own hands, Arch Brain took notice, and now here I am.”

  “A machine detective,” she mused. “To think there exists such a thing. Your name does precede you, Detective Mays, not just from the Arch Brain, but from customers. You’re a real curiosity around here. Why didn’t you just say who you were when you first came in? I’m Nexus Eida. Kaden was my friend. He worked here for a few months in ‘32, and we became close, though things didn’t work out between us. We’d always catch up when he was in town, I’m going to miss him, he was fun to have around.”

  “Did he live here in Gearton?” Dhata asked.

  “Are you pulling my leg? He couldn’t afford the outrageous rent here,” Nexus said, fixing him another martini. “He was a good man, but oh boy, was he restless. Nothing or no one could hold Kaden down. He refused to plant roots, saying that in this hume world, he would never be allowed any peace. Had a lot of crazy ideas, that one, but nothing nefarious. My god, who would want to kill him? Kaden loved everyone, loved life. Poor bastard.”

  “What about you?” Dhata said. “You or anyone you know ever have run-ins with humans targeting synths? I’m talking about attacks or, at the bare minimum, threats coming from local hate groups.”

  “Is rain wet?” Nexus said. “We deal with that shit every day, man. Part of being a synth. We’ve had ‘em throw Molotovs at our vehicles. Some even dared to come in here. That was months ago, and to be honest, we haven’t had any problems since. Actually, you’re one of the few humes to come to Gearton in a while. Most here avoid us, though we do get our share of perverts looking to bust some rust. You familiar?”

  “Indeed,” Dhata admitted, sipping at the drink slowly as he processed the information. “Do you have any photos of Kaden, Nexus? I would rather have something of him in life than to keep using the crime scene photo. I’ll make it worth your while, and any other information you can give me. I aim to find out if he was targeted and why.”

  “You don’t have to give me anything, Dhata, but I won’t turn down a hefty tip,” she winked. “I’m happy to help you catch those fuckers who murdered our dear sweet Kaden.”

  Dhata took down her contact information and slid her a hefty tip for the drinks. When he left, he had a set of new photos of Kaden Maidani, and the location of the shelter where he was staying. The martinis were delicious, but two of them already had him feeling light, and he needed to keep his wits. So, Dhata left Gearton and drove south to Gulfport, where Kaden’s shelter was supposed to be.

  On the way there, he studied the GPS system of the rental, and took notice of a large, unmarked vehicle. It had been following him since Larry’s. An armored caravan, which he recognized as the transport for SWAT. Not unusual for citizens to own them, however, since retired models were typically auctioned off to wealthy collectors. They were hard not to spot in traffic, a big black sled trying poorly to blend in with the smaller vehicles.

  At first, he had assumed it was coincidence, seeing two of these behemoths in the same day. He reasoned that even if it was police, they would be looking for his G11 and not the Neumann rental he was driving. On the way over to Gearton it had turned off, belaying his concerns until now.

  Dhata knew he was in trouble; all he had was his modified revolver with a barrel that could hold eight bullets. In his pocket, he had at most sixteen extra rounds, which he hadn’t counted on using, but if he was about to be in a shootout, he wanted his shotgun, or something automatic.

  Two things crossed his mind immediately. One, he was not in his G11, which would have been able to lose his pursuer with a single command, and two, these were likely St. Pete PD, having been notified by the people at Larry’s. Any retaliation would have his face plastered all over the grid as a fugitive. Knowing what he was up against, Dhata pulled off onto a side road, parked next to the sidewalk, and sprinted for the rear of a car wash that was bordered by a set of abandoned businesses.

  Looking around, he saw that one of these buildings had its door open. Dhata gripped his revolver and entered, expecting to find vagrants, but the place was empty. Jogging over to a window, he peered out at the Neumann, taking the time to catch his breath.

  He stood within the shadows, listening to the sounds of the city. It was loud, but he focused on that choir of industry, the odd shout, raucous laughter, and the loud, popping sound from an electroshock tube. He eventually heard the caravan pull up to stop out of view of his window, then the back doors opening, boots hitting the asphalt, and the slam of the door being shut.

  Chancing a glance through the filthy window, he counted five armored figures in masks. One stopped to examine the Neumann, while the others fanned out to search the other buildings. As if on cue, it began to rain, obfuscating the sounds that kept him informed.

  Dhata pulled out his revolver, snuck over to the door, where he waited for them to emerge. It felt as if twenty minutes had passed in the two minutes it took for one of the men to enter. First thing to break the threshold was a set of gloved hands gripping an electroshock tube. Dhata held his breath and waited, hoping fortune favored him and his pursuer would be alone.

  The clueless stranger committed to entering, swinging his weapon around when he saw the movement. But Dhata was fast, moving like a specter from the shadows, knocking the tube from his hands, while slipping behind him to initiate a rear naked choke. Once he was sure the man was unconscious, he tied his hands and dragged him to a corner facing the door.

  “It’s time to stand down,” he shouted to the others. “I have one of your men. You lost the element of surprise, and I have reinforcements coming. Either you get into that van of yours or keep playing at Special Forces. It’s your choice, but make it fast, this man isn’t looking too good, and I’m not about to free him until my friends show up.”

  He heard one of them cuss, followed by a lot of activity, then the caravan’s engine revving before they peeled off. Dhata smiled at having bluffed successfully but wasn’t so sure that all of them were gone. It could have been the driver, beating an escape to get more soldiers to counter his so-called reinforcements, while the others looked for a way to smoke him out.

  For several long moments he crouched in the dust of that abandoned office, listening to the sound of the rain coming down against the backdrop of the city. It was a harmonious symphony with nothing breaking it, no boots in puddles, and no whispers from men coordinating moves. After five minutes of nothing, he crawled to the door. The men were gone, and he now had a prisoner who could tell him the motive for their pursuit.

  Chapter 11

  Those Ties That Bind

  “What’s the verdict?” Dhata said to Ariana Garcia, who emerged from a bathroom drying her hands.

  They were in a hotel room in Ybor City, extracting information from Dhata’s hostage. After the adventure earlier, he had called Ariana to let her know what he had. Scolding him as was to be expected, she had requested to be present during his interrogation. That was how they ended up here, beyond the jurisdiction and eyes of the police.

  Before leaving St. Petersburg, Dhata had stripped his captive of his armor to make sure that he wasn’t bugged. He had dumped the rest of his clothes at the border of the city, scanned him for implanted trackers and then locked him in the trunk. He then drove him out to a synth-run hotel with a reputation for being discrete.

  Meeting Ariana there, he had removed the man from his trunk, walked him into the room, naked, and laid him in the tub. Dhata and Ariana had taken turns questioning him, but he wasn’t being cooperative even under the threat of torture. After two hours of nothing, Ariana went back to her car and returned with a rack and several spools of wire. Urging Dhata to wait, she had gone in alone, locked the door, and finally emerged after ten minutes of unsettling silence.

  “This one is a bounty hunter merc,” she said. “Old as dirt, ex-military. He’s damn near a synth, he has so many augments supporting his joints and optics. Knew something was off when we were questioning him. One minute he’s talking, then the next it’s as if he was meeting us for the first time.”

  “He has an implant hack,” Dhata said, recognizing the problem, and understanding now why Ariana had gotten her equipment. The rack was meant to stabilize his implant so that he couldn’t willfully turn it off.

  “This has gotten complicated, Dee,” Ariana said. “Paradise didn’t hire them, and considering how much cyber is inside his body, I believe him. We know that they would never deal with ‘synth-men,’ as they like to slur augmented humans like you or him. His contract came over the grid; apparently your name has been scored on a hit list. I’m sorry. Someone with large capital wants you dead, so every two-bit shooter will be gunning for you.”

  “What about Kaden Maidani? Did he mention knowing anything about our synth?” Dhata said.

  “Nothing. They’re just cashing in on a bounty, which means that Kaden will need to go back on ice. You’re going to need to lay low until we can get that contract nullified. Stop, before you object. I know that you will never be alright with staying home, but you should consider telling Robert. You being hunted affects his business, as well, since you can’t be free to track down variants with a target on your head.”

  Dhata started to go inside the bathroom, to choke the information out of the bounty hunter, but decided that Ariana was right. How would the killers know the name of the person that put up the bounty on his head? Normally with these contracts, it was a wealthy puppet master working through cyphers to obscure the lines leading back to the source.

  He had known about it as a detective, they all did, but little progress had been made to shut it down. How could they? Considering it was run by cyphers stationed in the ViVi, where police lacked the knowledge and resources to find them. His Lurita could find their location, but at the risk of her own life, if she were to be discovered. Dhata decided not to tell her. The last thing he needed was her worrying for him.

  “I’ll talk to Robert and get some synths on the case to help,” Dhata said. “Watch this be another ghost from my past looking to wipe me out. But I’m still leaning on Paradise, violating his own anti-technology rules to get at me.”

  “Robert’s solutions are rarely fast, Dhata. What do you plan to do until then?” Ariana said.

 

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