Neural Wraith, page 3
Was Nick about to be sent to Second Tartarus? This seemed like some deep shit he was learning. Was this the new evolution in annoying shit the Archangels threw at him?
Deciding to play dumb, he said, “I don’t have the slightest idea what’s happening. I work for Tartarus, and—”
“Worked. As of an hour ago, the Neo Babylon Police Department has arrested almost every employee of Tartarus and suspended trading of the company. The news will be suppressed until morning and doctored updates will give the appearance that nothing is wrong until then,” Chloe said.
Well, that explained the reaction of the security dolls at the office. As well as many other things.
“I’m under arrest?” he asked.
“Not yet.” Chloe smiled again. “Your cooperation is requested, however.”
“And I’m under arrest if I refuse?”
“No.”
Chloe pointed her rifle at him.
Staring down the barrel of a gun once again, Nick realized what was truly happening.
This wasn’t about Tartarus’s shady activities or its drug smuggling.
No, this was the government shutting down an operation it regretted allowing to continue at all. Neural Spike had been stripped of all valuable assets years ago, but a handful of “low value” ones such as Nick and Helena had been allowed to limp along in the wholesale front company.
Now Babylon had returned to shut them down for good. Nick either went down like so many others had, or he played ball with the robot lady pointing a gun at him.
Even so, he had questions he wanted answered first.
“What will cooperation mean for me?”
Chloe lowered her gun and he sighed in relief.
“You will continue to live your life as it is now, but under new employment. Any breaches of contract will be considered acts of aggression against the city and result in summary judgment,” she explained.
That was code for execution. What a deal!
“So you want me to become your pet,” Nick said flatly. “And you’ll execute me the moment I step out of line.”
“You already accepted one prison. Is this any different to Tartarus?” She raised an eyebrow.
“No, but now you’ve proven that you can and will change the terms of the deal at any moment. Shall I pray that you don’t alter the terms further?” He laughed, but it was cold and mirthless. “I won’t live my life in fear like that. Make the deal better or do what my parents never had the balls to do.”
Chloe stared at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.
For a moment, Nick could have sworn she seemed human. Apparently even these new Archangels could be lost for words.
Her eyes flashed, likely indicating that she was communing with the other dolls. Then she nodded.
“Very well. Your contract shall not be altered in the future. Critical or malicious breaches of trust will still result in termination. To compensate for this, your financial compensation shall be raised to industry standards of a Cipher of your experience and talents.” Chloe gave him a disdainful look for some reason. “Given your paltry pay, you will feel very wealthy.”
Nick was being judged by a robot for how much he earned.
“You know I’d be paid a lot more if I hadn’t been legally prevented from changing jobs, right?” he said drily. “Even without an implant, I could have found some great jobs with other black companies.”
“True. Assessment updated.” Chloe tilted her head. “Do you agree to our conditions? Or is termination necessary?”
She pointed her gun at his head.
“Fucking hell, stop pointing that fucking thing at me.” He tried to knock the gun aside, but it didn’t budge. His hand stung for the effort. “Yes, I agree. Just stop threatening my life. Do you think that little of me?”
“If we did, this conversation would never have happened,” Chloe said as she lowered her rifle. It hung loosely from her carrying strap. Her eyes flashed as she said, “Effective immediately, you are considered an employee of the Neo Babylon Police Department. Your assignment is to the Autonomous Crime Management and Prevention Bureau, specifically the Archangel Division, and within that the Oversight Task Force.”
Nick rubbed his temples. He understood the words being spat at him, but not exactly what they meant.
Sure, he was a nerd when it came to modular dolls and mainframes, but he didn’t give a shit about the structure of the city’s police department. And what the fuck was the Oversight Task Force?
“That means I’m being assigned to work with the Archangels, right?” he asked.
“Yes. Specifically, you will work with us, the Mark 3s.” Chloe smiled. “Welcome aboard, Nick. Or should I call you Mr. Waite?”
“Call me whatever you want,” he muttered, then leaned back.
At some point the taxi’s dash had updated to show a new path. It remained within the CBD, but led to a random parking garage.
Activity levels remained low outside. What few bars and restaurants operated here typically shut down by this time of night, or were so high class that they didn’t want to be seen from the street. The stretches of glass that wrapped around skyscrapers typically consisted of a form of electronic-laden glass that both kept prying eyes at bay and allowed ads to be beamed into the neural implants of everyone.
Almost everyone.
To Nick, Babylon was a cold, dreary city formed of flat colors and endless amounts of man-made materials. Glass, steel, and concrete covered every conceivable inch of the island. Sure, there were a few parks, but space was at such a premium that almost all of them were constructed on top of multi-layer buildings in the outer metro.
Color was anathema here. Or at least, that had been the story of his life.
Because to every other person, Babylon glowed.
It was an experience Nick would never enjoy.
Chloe remained silent as they pulled into the underground car park. The boom gate raised before the taxi even got close, as the vehicle communicated with the network controlling the car park.
Almost no vehicles remained here. These spaces mostly existed for wealthy bastards to park their personal vehicles—which they couldn’t even drive—during the day while they worked. They were small and relatively few, but an important facet of life in Babylon.
A trio of sleek, black two-seater interceptors with sharp angles and low profiles stood out in the emptiness of the facility. The taxi pulled up next to them. Nick clenched his fists, but Chloe didn’t raise her weapon.
At the same time the taxi doors opened, so did the doors of the interceptors. Four Mark 3s got out. Two carried the same rifles as Chloe, while the others carried portable railguns. The bulky devices were anti-doll weapons, capable of blowing holes even through the armor and shields of military dolls. Thick power cables ran from the weapons to the hips of the Archangels.
“Middle car,” Chloe said, getting out of the taxi.
The moment they got out, the taxi shut down. After several moments, it started back up and left the garage. Nick stared after it.
“Won’t it record what just happened?” he asked aloud.
The Archangels collectively stared at him, but he refused to shrink in on himself. His security dolls had spotted this coming. Others could as well, he suspected.
“As far as records show, the taxi took the original trip that was booked,” Chloe said. “You were safely dropped off at your apartment complex several minutes ago. A camera even recorded your arrival. This”—she gestured at the scene around them—“isn’t happening.”
Nick took a deep breath.
When the military had raided Neural Spike, they had been efficient, but not this good. Their Ciphers had scoured the Altnet of everything and essentially made it impossible to discuss, but everyone in the city knew what had happened.
That was the entire reason Nick had been chained to Tartarus. Half the black companies in the city wanted to hire him precisely because he worked for Neural Spike, to say nothing of the genuine criminal enterprises.
Tonight was different. The rollout of emotion engines in dolls had changed the ability for the police to conduct raids.
Chloe slipped into one side of the center vehicle and beckoned him to join her. After one last look at his surroundings and the silent police dolls, he did as she bid. The other dolls re-entered their cars.
The doors shut behind him. Interior lights and fans switched on, but there was no display or tablet to show the route like every other car Nick had been in. There appeared to be a single long display that stretched along the dash, but it remained off.
This wasn’t a typical self-driving vehicle, he realized. Most likely the dash was for emergency purposes, in case the operator’s neural implant failed. For security reasons, self-driving vehicles were one of the few cases where implants couldn’t connect and physical devices were used.
Nobody wanted their car hacked into and driven into a wall. Especially not the elites of Babylon.
Red and blue lights suddenly blazed forth on the vehicles. All three shot forward in single file, racing through the exit and onto the street. No sirens blared, but Nick had never heard one. Babylon used neural sirens broadcasted to implants, that were only heard if close enough to the emergency vehicle to matter.
Chloe leaned back and gave Nick a smile. “You seem tense. I believe we have refreshments, if you desire some.”
“That’s not the problem,” he grunted out. “Am I really worth this? Five Archangels, military-spec anti-doll weaponry, multiple police interceptors, actively covering up my disappearance. I’m a Cipher from a washed-up black company, not a defector from the PRC.”
“Given we are Archangels, driven by the latest and greatest artificial intelligence engines, and entrusted with the defense of the city for that reason, do you think we would do this if you weren’t worth it?” she asked.
“Maybe. Emotion engines have plenty of bugs in them. There’s a reason the Mark 2s reverted to logic engines,” he said.
Chloe stared at him, and her eyes flickered. “I believe you just answered your own question.”
He had? But given the somewhat sullen expression on her face, he chose not to pursue the topic. The Archangels weren’t human, but they seemed to put in the effort to act the part. Their decisions and actions were difficult to understand.
Endless reams of Altnet discussions and voice chat logs were dedicated to cataloging the vagaries of the Archangels’ actions across Babylon, in an effort to find patterns. Nick was an active participant, despite his questionable status.
“When did you Mark 3s arrive, anyway?” he asked, trying to revive the conversation. They appeared to have some time.
The convoy headed toward the Spires, which was some distance away from the CBD itself. The government and security district of the city kept itself separate from the private happenings of Babylon. Multiple security checkpoints kept out the riffraff.
Nick had only been to the Spires twice in his life. First to confirm the diagnosis for his disorder, when he was a teenager. The second time had been in handcuffs, surrounded by bulky military dolls.
“The city has a standing order with Sigma Robotics and Industrial for all new models of Archangel that use emotion engines,” Chloe said, her expression returning to normal. “Although we are not the most advanced models in the employ of the police department.”
“You’re referring to Kushiel,” Nick said.
Chloe merely smiled.
Prior to the Mark 3s, there had been a single Archangel in the city who differed from the rest. A prototype Mark 2 called Kushiel. Next to nothing was known about her or her specifications, save that she was built more like a military doll than a police one.
It didn’t help that she didn’t appear to do anything in the police force, other than show up to press conferences and look pretty next to the bigwigs in the Spires.
“So they’re replacing all the Mark 1s?” Nick asked.
“No. There are too few of us to replace the thousands of Archangels in service in Babylon, particularly as there is an agreement across the islands of Neo Westphalia to share parts and resources. We comprise a small task force.”
“And what makes you special compared to the Mark 1s? I know the Mark 2s were adjusted to be military spec, because most countries wanted big, powerful military dolls to flex on each other,” Nick said. “That’s why everybody thinks Kushiel’s twice your size.”
Chloe glared at him and placed a hand under her chest. Given she was wearing a ballistic vest and had built-in armor plating, it didn’t do much for her.
For that matter, why did the Archangels even have breasts? The argument behind most dolls being female was that they were accepted into society easier, just like female voice assistants, and making them physically attractive helped. But the Archangels terrified people no matter how beautiful they looked.
Why Sigma had decided to upgrade this part of the model was beyond Nick. Especially as he doubted they had the silicone softness that most civilian dolls had. Silicone boobs didn’t stop railgun rounds.
“I was referring to Kushiel’s height.”
“You’re teasing me.” Her glare didn’t subside.
“You walked into that one. Although I didn’t realize dolls could be self-conscious,” he said. “Does that mean you dream of having a different body? Or of being upgraded?”
“Does that concern you?” she asked. “Humans granted us emotions so that we could make decisions that better matched their ideals. Can we truly understand you if we don’t feel envy, desire, or jealousy?”
No, Nick supposed. He understood that fact all too well. But that left him to wonder what the Mark 1s thought of their upgraded colleagues.
The police interceptors blew through the last of the security checkpoints around the Spires and crossed the canal bridge separating the city from its rulers. Military robots and drones armed to the teeth patrolled the marble plazas of Babylon’s Spires. With the sun down, there was no need to maintain public relations and the big guns came out to remind rabble-rousers of what Babylon had up its sleeve.
Nick couldn’t name the Spire they drove up to. There were five in total—gargantuan structures that reached for the heavens, bristling with lights, communication arrays, and defensive weaponry. Given the size of them, they were multi-functional. Each had two names, a designation from Alpha to Gamma, and a fancier name from myth such as Olympus or Axis Mundi.
Fortunately, nobody had been crazy enough to call any of the Spires the literal Tower of Babel. The trillionaires who had built the islands of Neo Westphalia in the Pacific had egos larger than their bloated net worths, but had been unwilling to tempt fate to that degree.
They drove into secure underground parking beneath the Spire. Countless police vehicles filled the bays, including automated defense drones and tanks. After some time, and several descents, they reached a closed-off section separated by a steel gate and transparent panels of glass.
“We’re here,” Chloe said.
The doors opened. Instantly, the glass panels lit up, blocking the view out. And presumably the view in.
Gun turrets with both small caliber and anti-doll munitions swiveled to face Nick, and he tensed reflexively. Chloe spotted his discomfort. The turrets turned away.
“You’re safe,” she said. “We have your agreement. Nobody will hurt you without going through us.”
The other Archangels nodded and they rolled their shoulders in sync, causing their weapons to shift. Somehow, Nick had wound up with a set of bodyguards far more dangerous than anything else in the city.
They stepped into a nearby elevator and ascended. Unlike basically every other elevator in the city, this one actually showed him the floor they were on. It lacked buttons, however.
“You will require our assistance to use the priority elevators,” Chloe explained, noticing where his eyes were lingering. “Once you are verified as an employee, you will be able to use the ordinary ones.”
The other Archangels nodded slowly, although Nick didn’t have the slightest clue why.
He did notice that they stared at him almost obsessively. If he twitched a finger, their eyes would snap to his movement, then snap back to his face.
They stopped on floor 77. Somehow, that seemed like the sort of number that was intentionally given out to robots called Archangels.
The interior of the building wasn’t anything special. Actually, it looked worse than Tartarus’s offices. The walls were a dreadful white. There were no plants anywhere. Cameras, turrets, and security devices poked out from every nook and cranny, although the dolls strode through every security gate without pausing.
An open area contained row after row of empty desks. Dozens of Mark 1 Archangels sat in cheap swivel chairs, their eyes dim as they presumably charged themselves wirelessly. Weapons lay beside them, as well as covering nearly every inch of the walls.
Nick was certain the room contained enough weaponry to supply the black market of the islands for the next century.
The moment he stepped across an invisible boundary that separated the room from the hallway, every Archangel sprang to life. Their eyes lit up and their heads spun to face him. Mouths fell open, eyes widened, and hands twitched as well over a hundred advanced police dolls stared at him in unison.
Creepy. Nick did his best to keep his emotions off his face.
Chloe and the Mark 3s frowned, however. Their eyes flickered.
Sure enough, the Mark 1s winced. It was a bizarre thing to see. They seemed to receive the message at the same time, and every one of their faces showed the same reaction at once. They turned away, but most tried to stare at Nick out of the corner of their eyes.
“Am I some sort of exotic creature from the zoo?” he asked once they left the room, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.
Then again, if the dolls did share some sort of hive mind, was there any point to waiting until the Mark 1s were out of earshot?
“Yes,” Chloe said flatly. “Individuals without neural implants are rare. Most diagnosed with your disorder receive treatment as a teenager or take the suppressant medication so they can live a normal life. Those who don’t are…”
