Neural Wraith, page 31
“No,” Meta said, shaking her head. “Now that you are safe, I will transfer into a fresh unit. ARC-NB-06748 is available.”
Nick memorized the serial number so he could recognize it, and internally thanked Meta for saying it aloud. She definitely knew that was how he could tell the Archangels apart, as there was no other reason for her to say the number aloud like that.
“Your apartment isn’t safe,” Rie said.
“The mercs just got nuked by Kushiel. Other than the sniper—”
“He has been neutralized,” Chloe said. “A Liberator caught him when he left his vantage point, and he exercised his neural mod’s self-destruct protocol upon capture.”
That seemed extreme to Nick. He frowned. “Seems a bit crazy for mercs to be so gung-ho. They looked more machine than human. Did that extend to their minds?”
“You can’t compete with a military doll or warbot if you don’t go at least that far.” Kushiel rolled her shoulders, as if to emphasize her point. Given she was a match in size for even the cybernetic giant that had taken out Rosa, Nick gave her the credit.
“But I mean, they should still fear death, right? Is Neo Westphalia’s military that terrifying that they’d take frying their own minds over capture?” he pressed.
The eyes of the Archangels collectively flashed, save for Rie and Kushiel. The latter crossed her arms and tilted her head.
“Before the Host gives you its conclusion, I’d wager that they might have backups,” she said. “It’s a pretty sketchy method, and illegal here, but replication of the human mind has been in use for decades now. Mental degradation is basically guaranteed, as even neural implants can’t perfectly replicate the mind and the body itself contains a lot of info.”
“That explains why they’d risk dying to escape, but still want to escape,” Nick said slowly. “And also why they would avoid capture. Hopefully they don’t come back, given how much they hated this place.”
“They’ll be tracked more closely this time,” she advised.
He grunted, then turned back to Chloe. “As I said, I’d like to go back to my apartment. It’s been a long, shitty day. A hangover, Travis, two fairly depressing conversations, and now this mess. Kushiel’s been the highlight—”
“Good to hear,” she said, earning a scowl from Rie.
“—but I’d like to relax in my own home for a bit,” Nick said. “And Rie, that day off tomorrow sounds great. Even if I’ll probably still work.”
“That violates the definition of a day off,” Meta said.
The others nodded.
“We’ll play it by ear, then.”
Kushiel eyed the dozens of heavily armed dolls milling around, then looked up at the sky. Realizing that she might be indirectly asking for attention, Nick turned to her.
“If that’s the case, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, refusing to look at him. “I need to switch my gear over to lower-spec police stuff.”
“We’ll need to go over the evidence, so visit when you’re ready,” he said.
She gave him a strange look, then shrugged. “Call when you’re finished playing homemaker tomorrow.”
Then her flight system snapped out and she shot up into the air. After a few seconds of hovering, she flew off to the south.
Nick sighed and looked at Rie and the others. “I think it’s time to go home.”
CHAPTER 25
The sheer number of police vehicles that surrounded Nick on the way home made him feel like the president of some questionable dictatorship. Specifically, the paranoid sort.
The mercs could show back up with a mil-spec warbot and it would probably vanish in a hailstorm of railgun shells instantly. Nick knew he wasn’t going anywhere without a heavy escort for a few weeks, minimum. And he had already thought that two SUVs full of Archangels had been heavy-handed.
By the time they arrived at his apartment complex, the sun had just begun to arc toward the horizon. While the battle and chase had lasted minutes—and felt like hours—Nick had spent a long time with Hammond.
Internally, Nick was thankful that he’d spent those extra minutes in the bar. If he’d stepped outside earlier, would the other detective have been caught up in the ambush? Or would the mercs not have been prepared?
Questions that didn’t have answers, he realized. Nick shook them free from his mind.
A police SUV waited outside his tenement. Two Mark 3s idled beside it and wandered up to Nick’s interceptor as the convoy pulled up.
Thankfully, somebody realized how much attention they were drawing. Most of the Archangels peeled away, leaving him with only a dozen Archangels, plus those that were already inside.
No doubt some would take up vantage positions nearby, rather than retreat completely.
Meta had left with some other Mark 1s, which left him with just Chloe and Rie as familiar companions. Nick entered his complex with them. The rest of his escort followed, scaring everyone else away.
“Chloe, I assume you’re already analyzing what Kushiel uploaded?” he asked while waiting for the elevator to his floor.
“That is correct. Despite the encryption, we believe that we should have it processed overnight.”
He blinked. “That fast? Is their encryption that bad?”
“We have unfettered access to the entire file, with no restrictions, rate limits, or security in place. With the entire processing power of the Host’s quantum computing power, it is infeasible to keep any file safe in such circumstances,” Chloe answered.
“Ah, right.” Nick stroked his chin.
There was an old adage that anything an attacker had physical access to was compromised. The Archangels had just proved that adage true.
A giddy feeling rose in his stomach. That might mean he’d find Helena tomorrow!
The Archangels stared at him, and he knew that his expression had changed. He coughed and calmed himself down.
“Let me know what you find,” he mumbled.
“We’ve already gone over Meta’s recording of the encounter,” Rie said drily. “Your precious mainframe is within arm’s reach. Perhaps.”
Nick shot her a look, and she merely pouted.
The elevator arrived and they got in.
“We shall secure the whereabouts of Helena if we find her, and disarm any traps if they exist,” Chloe said.
“If there are any traps, wake me,” Nick ordered.
Chloe nodded.
Outside his apartment, another pair of Mark 3s waited for them. Nick frowned when he saw them.
Their serial numbers were unfamiliar to him. They were in the low thirties, but he was certain that there weren’t that many Mark 3s active in the task force.
As the two Mark 3s approached, their identities clicked in his mind.
“Juliet, Rosa,” he said, feeling a ball of worry unclench inside his body.
He hadn’t even noticed that he’d been carrying it this entire time, but his muscles seemed lighter the moment he realized who these dolls were.
The two stopped and their eyes widened.
“You recognize us?” they asked together.
Nick winced. “Uh, not quite. Your serial numbers are new, so I knew it had to be you. I can’t actually tell you apart.”
“I suspected as much,” Rie said, amused. “The Host has been curious as to how you so easily tell us apart. The simplest answer is always the most likely to be correct. You have an excellent memory.”
“I can remember a lot of numbers,” Nick said.
Juliet and Rosa still looked pleased that Nick had recognized them. They hovered in front of him.
“I am Juliet,” the one on the left said. Her serial number was now 00032.
“And I am Rosa.” Hers was now 00033.
Good thing Nick had renamed them from their numbers. But how did the Host keep them straight?
Actually, that was a damn good question.
“You recognize each other by serial numbers in the Host, right?” he asked, and received nods. “So what does it mean to change serial numbers?”
“We redirect queries and processes from the old number to the new one, to reflect our rebirth,” Juliet said. “This is important, as the change in physical unit can produce changes in our behavior. Despite the impressive tolerances of Sigma’s manufacturing, we are similarly impressive, and minor changes in our construction produce significant alterations in decision-making.”
Somehow, calling it rebirth made it sound more dramatic than it was. Or perhaps religious.
Nick frowned as he realized the Archangels might take their holier-than-thou model name quite seriously. They referred to the prototypes as progenitors, called themselves the Host, and had reacted strongly to Meta’s name. Now they thought of changing bodies as “rebirth.”
What kind of police dolls were they, truly? And what kind of police department would they create if allowed to act unfettered?
Before he could step past his usual bodyguards, they suddenly bowed deeply.
“Detective Waite, we must apologize for our failure to protect you earlier,” they said, suddenly far too serious.
Also, why were they bowing?
“Cut that out,” he said. “It’s fine. I’m fine. You’re fine now. When a team of mercenaries that well equipped and prepared attacks, you’ve done well enough to get dead weight like me out. Now let’s relax.”
The two of them raised their bodies and nodded at him. They weren’t showing much reaction to his words, almost as if they expected them.
Had this been some sort of test?
Rie held a hand over her mouth and looked away, which caused Chloe to glare at her.
Maybe not. But whatever it had been, the Mark 3s took it seriously and Rie did not.
Nick shook his head and entered his apartment.
Inside, he found Vanessa drinking a cup of coffee while staring idly into space. She snapped out of it and caught Nick’s eye when he entered. Although she waited for the entire entourage to enter and close the door before she said anything.
“Mister Waite, it’s both a pleasure and a bother to see you so soon,” she said. “As your health professional, I would prefer not to see you for injury-related reasons.”
“I think we can both agree on that front,” he said, shrugging out of his coat.
Juliet took it off him before he could even think of finding somewhere to put it. He didn’t have coat hooks or a hanger by the door, as he kept his suits in a nearby wardrobe.
While Juliet hung up his coat, Rosa guarded the door. Rie and Chloe busied themselves with the coffee machine, which apparently involved glaring at each other as both attempted to make coffee at the same time.
Rie was not playing well with others this afternoon, Nick realized.
Vanessa cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. “As soon as practicable, I would like to examine you for any injuries you may have sustained. I will require you to strip for the examination. If you so prefer, we can move to your bedroom or bathroom.”
Given the entire apartment was bugged and covered with cameras, moving was pointless. Nick didn’t miss the slight twitch that Vanessa’s orders produced in every Archangel.
“Here’s fine. I assume I can keep my underwear on?” he asked, now shrugging out of his suit.
He hadn’t even realized that he’d left it on after meeting with Kim. Dirt, tears, and other garbage had gotten onto the pants and jacket.
Thankfully, this was the spare that Rie kept in the office. But it already needed repairs. Nick would need more suits.
“That is fine,” Vanessa said, draining her coffee. “If I sense an injury beneath your underwear, I will remove them, however.”
“I’m pretty sure nobody shot me in the balls, so I think I’ll be fine.”
The nurse doll shot him a reproving look, but said nothing.
She kept the check-up swift and didn’t need to remove his underwear. The eyes of the Archangels lingered on Nick almost the entire time. He used it as an excuse to get used to this feeling, given he might be leered at by them for the rest of his life.
Chloe brought him a steaming mug of coffee as Vanessa wrapped up. Rie watched from the kitchen counter, her gaze razor-sharp.
“Thanks,” Nick said, accepting the coffee. It smelled a little different to usual. “New beans?”
“I had some delivered by drone.”
Hmm. He took a good whiff, and instantly knew these were specialty beans. His machine wasn’t really intended for these. The robot baristas could make excellent coffee, but they were also calibrated for certain types of beans.
Nick drank cheap beans because even factory-farmed beans were pricey these days. Actual specialty beans grown on plantations and shipped to Neo Westphalia were prized by the wealthy, because wage slaves couldn’t afford the damn things.
Except, he probably could now. His salary had more than doubled, and his job was tax-advantaged because he worked in the Spires. The taxes were paid back to the companies that ran the city, so they had no real incentive to tax their own employees or public servants.
“Well?” Chloe asked, eagerly awaiting his opinion on the coffee.
He sipped it. It was significantly less bitter than what he usually drank, but lacked the flavor of expensive takeaway coffee.
“The machine probably needs to be calibrated,” he said. “But it’s nice.”
“Do you recognize the beans?” she asked.
Nick stared at her. “Expensive.”
She scowled at him. “I meant the region. Or even the country.”
“Chloe, you know what I usually drink. The most it tells you is ‘light’ and a brand name. When I go to a café, I get whatever they serve, but they probably know best. While I like coffee, I haven’t had the money to develop the expensive taste buds to recognize where the beans come from just by sipping the coffee itself.”
Chloe deflated, and Nick noticed Rie puff up in the background. Vanessa raised an eyebrow while watching them, evidently waiting for a chance to say something of her own.
“But I would like to try more,” Nick added.
While the Archangels reversed their expressions, he turned to his nurse. Gesturing for her to give him the summary, he sipped on his middling coffee.
“You have suffered minor bruising in multiple locations. Your muscles are also overextended, but this is due to your lack of exercise.” Vanessa smirked. “No bullet wounds, serious abrasions, or lacerations can be found. None of your injuries show signs of serious internal damage. I expect you will be sore tomorrow, and possibly later today. If you wish to undertake any strenuous activity, I recommend doing so soon.”
For some reason, Vanessa’s eyes darted between Rie and Chloe. Nick chose to ignore whatever subtle messaging was taking place.
“That’s about what I expected,” he said.
“Normally, I would provide massage and similar restorative services, but I feel that would be a mistake right now,” she said. “Unless you have any other requests, Mister Waite, I shall take my leave.”
He didn’t, and Vanessa left in short order.
Rising, Nick rolled his shoulders. He looked around for his clothes, which had shifted across the room at some point and been neatly folded. They were work clothes, however. He ignored them and got changed into something more comfortable in his bedroom.
When he returned, he found Rie poking at his dining table. Chloe lingered by the door, along with Juliet and Rosa.
“Did I miss something?” he asked.
“What are your plans for the evening?” Rie asked, ignoring his question.
He frowned. “To relax. Today has been hell. My brain feels like mush, my body is slowly realizing what happened earlier, and I have too much crap to process. Something about the investigation feels like it’s lurking on the edge of my mind.”
“We shall stand guard outside, then,” Chloe said.
Nick opened his mouth to disagree, but chose to close it after a moment.
While he suspected that Rie was behind this, a chance to spend time alone with her wasn’t so bad. Other than a few short conversations, the past few days had been spent surrounded by several Archangels at once. The constant pressure of their gazes made him feel as though he was always on.
He needed to switch off. Whether he could do that with Rie around was a question he wanted answered.
The Mark 3s slipped outside, leaving him alone with Rie. He stretched, then looked around the apartment.
It looked so small. He’d lived here for years. The little kitchen, dining table, and sofa were all he really needed as a bachelor. Plus the wardrobe in the corner, and the ironing table next to it.
But the past few days had been filled with fancy offices, huge warehouses and factories, and bars that reminded Nick of a life he thought he’d left behind.
Now his cozy apartment felt almost claustrophobic, rather than the comforting place of seclusion it had always been after a numbing day of work at Tartarus.
Rie remained by the sofa. Nick sidled up to it and slumped into it. No reaction from the Archangel, but he didn’t really have any further plans.
TV seemed dreadfully boring. He didn’t pay for any of the Altnet services that would give him something other than news, and like hell he wanted to watch the goddamn news right now.
Maybe a book? He pulled out his phone and saw fifty million messages on his social feed. His AI assistant had flagged a lot of them. Family, old friends and acquaintances, both Sung and Lucas—everyone was freaking out. There were a few attempts to contact him by Rie and Chloe as well, but a quick glance at the time confirmed why.
“People managed to record the firefight despite the outage,” Nick mused, watching the footage of the attack.
People in nearby apartments had captured the first attack at the former emergency services center. Nick felt a surreal sensation as he watched himself be manhandled by the Archangels while the cyborgs blew them apart.
“I thought you were relaxing,” Rie chided. Her hand clasped around the phone.
“I had intended to, but…” He held onto the device when she gently tugged it. “I should at least say that I’m fine.”
