The Unsung Frame, page 9
part #2 of The Synth Crisis Series
“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?
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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.
