Another day, another dollar. Or, in my case, another hangover. And a fog where my memory should be. Never easy to roll out of bed just to head to the office. There, I would stare at the computer monitor for a couple of hours, hoping that I had taken enough notes the day before to jog my shattered head. Then the rest of the day back out on the street to “knock on doors.”
The Human Crimes Division Richmond District Subsection office was about a two hour walk for me. I could not afford to live where I worked. I got paid – how did the old idiom go? Peanuts. I got paid peanuts. Ironic that the idiom should remain when I had no ability to even afford a peanut. They shipped peanuts to Earth from agrostations in orbit around Saturn. No, it was Petroline and Simugruel for me. Day in, day out. So I certainly could not afford to live within ten square kilometers of Richmond District. Could I look over the smoke strewn bay? Only on the beat.
Yeah, I could have taken transit. But I didn’t like being slammed up against that jumbled mass of men and women on the tramway. Vacant-eyed. Going to work. Counting beans for Greens. Besides, bad guys didn’t take the tramway. And I was a cop. So I did whatever the bad guys did. I had to.
Mostly I walked because it made my mornings a lottery of sensation. I could remember certain things. I would get flashes of the Martian invasion. Not helpful for my work, which was all in my life that could be said to matter, besides the actress. She came back to me too. A blessing. Her red dress. Her red hair. Long eyelashes. The saddest, greenest eyes I’d ever seen. The feeling of her hand on my leg underneath the club table.
But – Mars! I remembered the heat of my standard issue EnPro suit, the fog on the viewing glass, the incredible recoil of my 20mm SuperCarbine. I felt like I was a person again. And not a mindbroken slave of the Administration. Which is what I was. But I found it a source of hope that whatever the Administration had done to induce memory loss had not been 100% effective. I could remember fighting against them… have you seen what 20mm can do to a Greenie? Or an android? I have.
I passed the boarded-up hulk of what had been a church or an opera house, or a museum, or some other monument of human preeminence. I realized the maintenance of these little memories may be what was needed to most optimally demoralize us. I remembered blowing off Greenie heads. Stomping their narrow chests to smithereens with CON boots. Didn’t matter much now, did it? They employed me. They were the Administration. How magnanimous.
I stopped at the first Petroline stand I could find. Funny little huts on the edge of the sidewalk. The stands were built dilapidated on purpose. It was supposed to look like some human fellow from Los Estados to the South or the Indochinese Peninsula had come here in search of business and opportunity. Like he just dropped a trailer and started hawking. Rusty tin on the roof, a nonsense list of menu items in a language other than English, and wheels on the front so it looked like some kind of box truck. All were required by the Administration in order to get the license to sell Petroline. Who knows why. I only knew it was required from the faintest recollection of a case I handled as a rookie. Human Crimes gets tied up in license disputes. The guy I arrested was going for something a bit more baroque with his Simugruel truck… had yellow arches. We put 27 rounds of 10mm into that asshole. All I can remember.
The first sip of Petroline is bitter as all hell. Goes down hard, you can’t help but cough. But then everything gets clearer. You can finally see the Simuliquor stores, the stands to buy illicit pornolikeness chips for Playdesks, and the Pachinko halls that litter the main floor of every building you saunter pass. You can see the plainclothes android cops hunting for what I have been told are illegal android models. I notice them right off the bat, if they’re close enough. They smell like cucumber. Androids must not have a sense of smell. Or they’re looking for something else. In any case, they don’t drink Petroline.
Today I could see the weariness in the eyes of my fellow sojourners. My fellow man, heading to a job where he would be shot full of other chemicals that make him better at pushing buttons. Shifting text boxes around on a screen. Today, they seemed jumpier than usual. I noticed men shoving each other to board the tramway. Arguing over prices as if they would ever change. I even saw a man spraying the words “KILL ALL GREENIES” onto a wall in an alleyway. I almost detained him, I admit. But that would have been hypocritical. Petroline makes those moral quandaries clear.
Most importantly, Petroline wakes you up, makes you alert. Gives you a jitter. Good for hangovers. You can expertly solve Sudoku puzzles one after another for hours now. Some people do that for a living. But it doesn’t make memories clearer. It could not do that, otherwise the Administration wouldn’t allow it. I assume.
I finally arrived at the office, a five story building with a concrete façade canted in the direction of the street, so that it appeared to be falling atop the entrant. I scanned my keycard, placed my eyeball in front of a sensor, said my name (George Killeverything) and gave my date of birth (I just turned 30, for reference. I knew this because I had celebrated with the Actress). Then I typed in my 12-digit Ident-encrypt code. I had keyed in a different code every single day of my employment. Couldn’t remember the first one. They let me in anyway.
When I entered, I got a readout in my viz that I had to go to Chief’s office. I walked in. Small, square room tucked in the corner of the building’s brutal first floor. Rough, unfinished concrete walls that would skin your hands if you swept them along the surface. Had a window, not that you could see all that much. You could reach out and touch the apartment building next door if you opened it.
Chief Coldpepper had a picture of his wife and kids on the desk, which he faced outward, toward his guests. He was skinnier in the photo.
“Killeverything,” he said. “You’re two hours late.”
I said nothing. Nuzzled my chin into my jacket. Sniffed.
“You gotta keep that to an hour and a half max, or the Administration is going to force me to discipline you.”
“Okay.”
“You’re one of my best lieutenants and as far as I’m concerned you could have a bad shoot every single day and I wouldn’t lose any sleep.”
“Thanks.”
“Shit, Killeverything. They don’t understand the work you do even when you’re late. I wish I could give you a raise. Instead, I have to infantilize you in my office. It’s wrong.”
“Well, yeah.”
Chief Coldpepper waved his hand. “Just do what you do best. But try to get here a little earlier.”
I walked out and went to my cubicle. 3rd floor. Sat down at my desk and booted up the monitor. Above me came the incessant racket of gunfire as Human Crimes beat cops qualled and requalled on their service weapons. I was due for that too. Else they would take my piece away. But: no time. I was reminded of that when I went through my notes from the day before.
SUICIDE (?) VICTIM IS ONE YOSEP YINZ… THE OWNER OF EDEN ENTERTAINMENT LIMITED.I frowned reading the notes. I had a feeling the case was big. Forgot it was this big. Forgot the guy owned the company the Actress sold her likeness to. Was surprised it hadn’t got kicked up the chain to Executive Crimes yet. Surprised they didn’t want some big-brained Greenie on it. Maybe they just hadn’t heard yet. I read the next note:
BETTER KEEP THIS TO MYSELF…I scratched my chin. Took a long gulp of Petroline and coughed. How had I found out about it? I scrolled through the array of notes.
THE ACTRESS IS PRETTY SCARED… HAVEN’T SEEN HER LIKE THIS… TOOK ME TO HER PLACE AFTER DINNER… THOUGHT I WAS GONNA GET LUCKY… GUESS I DID IN A WAY… IN THE WAY THAT LUCKY IS SOMETIMES SYNONYMOUS WITH UNFORTUNATE… TURNS OUT IT WASN’T HER PLACE… IT WAS HER BOSS’S PLACE… HE’S DEAD… TWO BULLET WOUNDS TO THE FOREHEAD… SUB M.O.A. … WEIRD 9MM HASTILY JERRY-RIGGED GUN CONTRAPTION RIGGED TO HIS PLAYDESK IN FRONT OF HIM… HOW DID HE MANAGE TO CLICK TWICE…? MENU FOR GLADIATOR FILMS CURSOR BLINKING… CUSTOM SUICIDE SCENARIOS… ILLEGAL AS HELL, BUT IF ANYONE COULD GET AWAY WITH IT… GOT THE ACTRESS OUT OF THERE… CALLED IN A FAVOR WITH THE GUYS IN COLD STORAGE…I shut off my computer and stood up. Looked around. Lieutenant Drinkmore was the only other guy in here, and he looked a little sleepy. Seemed strange that none of the other detectives were at their desks…
I went to the morgue. 3 levels down, but a quick trip in our nifty elevator, considering. I took a sip of my Petroline and when the doors opened, I nearly spat it out.
Three Human Crimes detectives and a Greenie. Circled around a corpse. And my “friend” in the morgue, Bruce Getsum, standing behind them, his arms crossed. Biting the fingernails on one hand. Gross. Didn’t he realize where he worked?
He owed me a favor from who knows how long ago. It was a big deal. Think I’d walked in on him taking a picture of a corpse, something of that nature. Had it posed. Do remember him telling me they didn’t pay him enough to keep him from extracurriculars. I said, “This seems intracurricular. And that’s the problem.” So I was able to keep him in my pocket. Which was nice, because otherwise these guys would analyze a stiff and have him incinerated before you could bother to take notes. I think they bore the lion’s share of Nuke Fransisco’s 40% unsolved murder rate, to tell you the truth. The Administration bore the rest. Me? I was just doing the best I could.
And right now my colleagues were making sure the best I could do was pretend I didn’t know a thing. But I had to see what I could glean from them and the Greenie. Who I was surprised to see.
They didn’t normally slink around the Human Crimes Office in Richmond District. Towering over the human lieutenants. Lanky. Wearing nothing but a fitted ceramic vest. Cropped tail in the manner customary of law enforcement. Big black eyes and gills. Forbidding fangs. That face, permanently wearing what looked like a shit-eating grin. Just their morphology, I was told.
The case did seem more like the Greenie’s purview than ours. Above a certain level of prestige, Greenies take over to prevent “man’s inevitable corruption.” And there were the defects of memory, of course. Mostly, they felt like we human flatfoots were not only stupid but bound to have an interest in important cases beyond merely enforcing the law. Money. Power. Influence. Maybe they were right. The Actress was involved. That’s why I wanted it figured out. Love.
I shared a quick glance with the coroner. His eyes went wide when he saw me, mouthed “sorry” or “sonofabitch” and then he looked away.
“Who’s the stiff?” I asked. The late Yinz’s face looked terrible.
The lieutenants turned around.
“What’s up George?” said Jim Gruesome. I liked him okay. Huge mustache.
“None of your business,” said Salander Abattoir. I didn’t like him. Looked like a man-Greenie hybrid for how skinny he was. Had killed more homeless than exposure.
“It’s Yosep Yinz,” said my best friend on the force, Dick Truth. “The entertainment magnate.”
The Greenie looked at me. The vocoder amulet around his neck flickered with red lights. My viz lit up too, producing a line of subtitles that I could read in case I couldn’t understand the vocoder. There was always a bit of delay, which was annoying.
“What do you know about this, Lieutenant Killeverything?” he asked, the voice modeled by computers to sound as natural as any man’s voice, but in a frequency which was feminine. His black eyes bored into mine, looking like he thought this was all hilarious, but again, that’s just the way their god-awful, ugly faces appeared to us.
“Uh… well. I didn’t know he was dead. I don’t use his service, so I couldn’t give a shit. Personally, I find him a vile pornographer.”
“What’s wrong with that?” asked Abattoir.
“He made other stuff too, you know,” said Gruesome.
Dick Truth just chuckled.
The vocoder blinked again.
“Why are you down here?”
I shrugged. “I was looking for all the other cops. Sometimes we come down here. Have a smoke and a bit of Petroline. It’s quiet. Cool. But forbidding, to tell you the truth. I don’t really like smoking on the clock to begin with and especially not around a bunch of dead people. But I already checked everywhere else.”
Abattoir scoffed.
I read the readout on my viz say “It’s against the law to lie to an officer of the Gorn - ” but I spoke before his vocoder processed it.
“Why are you here, sir? Ain’t this Human Crimes? Our jurisdiction?”
The Greenie’s vocoder blinked. “Executive Crimes received a tip.”
“From who?”
“Anonymous.”
Interesting, I thought. I looked at the corpse again.
“So, suicide?”
“Actually, George, if you look closely – ” Jim Gruesome pulled out a tape measure, “You can see that what looks like one big hole is actually two big holes.”
I scratched my head. “Well, geez. How did he shoot himself in the head twice? Seems like it would be difficult. Nigh on impossible… This will lead to breakthroughs in neuroscience… the brain can live on after emulsification. I never considered it.”
Abattoir took the bait. “You imbecile. He was murdered.”
“Good God!” I shouted. The Greenie jumped. His vocoder blinked.
“You should keep your emotions in check. It is not becoming of an officer of the law to be excitable.”
“I know, I know,” I said. “It’s just… it seems big.”
“Big case,” agreed Gruesome.
“Body was dumped in the trash enclosure,” said Dick Truth. “Only spot in the whole complex without cameras.”
“So Yinz was murdered, and then dumped, undoubtedly by somebody familiar with the building. And then the body was tipped off to Executive Crimes. Anonymously. For some reason. Even though it would have been smarter for that person to keep the dump to themselves. Unless there were other considerations.” I scratched my chin and stared at the floor, getting the feeling that I should have been a bit more thorough when I had pored over my notes.
I looked up. Each of the men and the Greenie were staring at me.
“I have to go knock on some doors,” I said.
After I left the office, I ducked into an alleyway to remotely check my notes on my computer through my viz. I scrolled through all of them, reading quickly, trying to find anything that indicated I may have submitted the tip myself. I found nothing. Not good. I transferred the files from my computer to my viz, and then deleted them from the office computer.
This process took some time. It also clouded my vision with file folders and dialogs to the point that I lost situational awareness. By the time I remotely emptied the recycle bin on my office computer, I realized that Dick Truth, wearing a trench coat with the lapels over his neck and a discrete bowler hat, stood directly in front of me. The busy sidewalk behind him. Thousands of pedestrians who wouldn’t so much as slow their pace if my throat was cut and I gave out a scream. But Dick wouldn’t kill me. He was my best friend on the force. Right?
“Wow. Didn’t see you there,” I said.
“You were standing there for a pretty long time.”
“Yeah…”
“Staring at a particular brick? Bring back a memory?”
“No… you know how it is… can’t remember shit …”
“Didn’t think so,” said Dick. “Let’s walk.”
I followed Dick back onto the sidewalk, expecting us to turn in the direction of the Human Crimes office, but we went the opposite way. South.
“I’ll be straight with you, George.”
“Excellent,” I replied.
“As your friend, I have to give you a one-hour head start. But then we’re going to come for you.”
I gulped. Looked at him. The laugh lines beneath his eyes were thin, in disrepair. Hardly used. Stubble on his chin. Eyes like a basset hound’s.
“Why Dick? Why?”
“I think you know why.”
“I didn’t kill Yinz.”
“Look, whatever reason you had, I’m sure it was a good one. He was a piece of shit. In the pocket of the Greenies. But I’ve got a wife. An outstanding application for a child. I can’t just pretend nothing happened. And neither can the rest of the force.”
“Chief didn’t seem suspicious when I came in.”
“He has since been apprised of the situation.”
We walked without speaking for a time. A massive tramway blustered past us. Purple arcs of electricity leapt above our heads. Made my cheeks tingle.
“So they’re not kicking it up to Executive Crimes?” I asked.
“Not yet. Provided we can bring you in.”
I nodded. “I won’t give you my service weapon.”
“Didn’t expect you to.”
“You’re my best friend on the force, Lieutenant Truth.”
“Ditto.”
I removed my pistol from my shoulder holster and whipped Dick Truth across the face with it. As I did so, his face seemed to contort slowly into a resigned grimace anticipating the pain of the blow. But he didn’t raise a hand to defend himself. He took the hit and fell over in a heap on the sidewalk. There were a couple of gasps from onlookers. I noticed an android stop in his tracks and examine the situation. Just to decide whether one of us was one of them. Then the android, blonde, blue-eyed, and beautiful kept on moving, sauntering off down the sidewalk like a Playdesk star. Human, it had decided, all too human.
Then I ran. Westward for a while. And then north. To the Presidio. To the actress’s mansion.
Many years ago, before the Greenies and the androids won the war that decided the fate of the planet, long before my parents were born, and maybe even their parents, the Actress’s mansion had a stellar view of the Bay and that magnificent bridge. But now, all was obscured by yellow smoke. All except boosters twinkling in the pall. But from the front gate, the mansion was still beautiful. It had a definitively human majesty. I was grateful to the Actress for many things, and spending time in this exalted place ranked highly on the list.
The gate opened automatically for me, which I was pleased to see. I had expected to endure a drawn-out argument with her about whether I should be let in, if my notes from the previous night were anything to go on. But she had evidently forgotten. I walked the path toward the front step, carpeted on either side by low-lying, red flowers, climbed some steps, and knocked on the door.
I heard footsteps faintly inside. Some words. She was there; she was talking to someone. I drew my service weapon and put it behind my back.
She opened the door. Eyelids streaked with mascara. Wearing a blood red robe with a plunging neckline. Predictably, there seemed to be nothing underneath it. Unpredictably, there was someone moving in the shadows of the greatroom behind her. The figure moved behind a concrete pillar. I stepped forward, sweeping her out of the way with one arm.
“Out of the way, honey,” I said.
She moved with my arm, as light and dainty as a feather, or a flake of ash. I raised my service weapon.
“George, stop –” she said quietly, sadly.
I fired five rounds into the concrete pillar. Gray spalling chipped away, littering the floor. My ears rung.
“Human Crimes!” I said. “Get out from behind there with your hands up!”
“George,” said the actress from behind me, her voice strained. I could sense tears on her cheeks. “It’s not what you think.”
“I hope not,” I said. “Close that damn door, honey.”
The door shut behind me with a deep, echoing click. I kept my eyes on the pillar.
“Out!” I said. “Come on, fiend. Show yourself. Don’t you know this woman is spoken for?”
A chuckle… yes, a chuckle came lilting through the air from behind the pillar. Psychotic. Anti-life. Anti-everything. Its tenor made me cringe. A scripted bit of throwaway noise just to break the terrible silence. I sniffed the air.
“Cucumbers,” I muttered.
The android came out from behind the pillar with his hands in the pockets of a black polystyrene jacket with a high collar bearing two mirrored swastika details in white. His perfect blonde hair styled to look messy. Radiant blue eyes. An alluring smile. A stunning figure in all, taller than myself by a head, and broad shouldered. I had not fought one in years, and never up close.
“Honey, you can’t be hurting for love this much,” I said, turning to the actress.
She stood with her back against the wall, her chest heaving, hair falling over her shoulders.
“It’s not what you think,” she said after a moment, her eyes flitting between me and the android. “It’s worse. Or better. I don’t know anymore.”
“You just tighten the front of your robe and stay behind me.”
The Android took a step forward.
“Lieutenant,” he said.
I shot the ground in front of him.
“Don’t take another step. Android scum.”
The android shook his head. Removed a hand from his pocket. Carrying a chip of some kind. Vizdisk, is what it looked like.
“I’m not scum,” he said. “I’m perfect. But you know that.”
“If you think I’m sticking that disk in my head, you need to be factory recalled.”
The Android smiled. “There’s $500,000 on the disk. Along with some memories.”
“Just take it,” said the Actress. “Everything will make sense.”
“Memories? Why would I want your memories? You think I give two shits about Androidergarten?”
“They’re not exactly memories. It’s more like a briefing. After you write it to your viz, you won’t forget it. But you’ll have something to go on. Not some crazed fantasy that a perfect organism like myself would be using your lover for sexual pleasure. We don’t feel like that.”
I breathed heavily through my nose.
“You called me Lieutenant. You know me. I don’t know you. Do you see the problem, chippie?”
“Of course. Your species forgets. That’s why you should write the briefing on the disk to your viz.”
“I can see the money angle. You want to frame me for something. Probably the Yinz murder, right? Is that why you’re here?”
“I don’t want to frame you. Neither does my set.”
“Your set?”
He indicated the swastikas.
“I don’t know what that symbol is supposed to signify. Are you some kind of Buddhist?”
Then the Android moved. So fast that I couldn’t shoot him. I blasted out a pane of glass in the greatroom behind him instead. But then he was behind me, wrapping his arms around my shooting arm and neck into a headlock. The Actress screamed.
“We’re not framing you for Yinz,” the android said into my ear. The cloying cucumber scent was intense, though undoubtedly pleasant. “We’re making sure you don’t wreck the side of the bargain you agreed to. I’m guessing we have about half an hour before Executive Crimes shows up. Ten minutes, because someone probably heard those gunshots. Impulsive ape imbecile.”
“Don’t hurt him!” the Actress said.
“Don’t put that thing in my head,” I said. “I don’t want to know what I agreed to.”
I grunted and strained against the headlock, but to no avail. Might as well have labored against metal. The android’s muscles felt like tissue, but they would not give. Maybe a construction model before the war. Before man’s total subjugation. Before I was conscripted into Human Crimes.
I heard the click behind my ear, felt the chip shunt roughly into the leads buried in my skull. The android let me go, and I fell to the floor. My viz filled with graphics. The first one I noticed was my checking account balance. Went from $5 to $500,005. That softened the blow a bit.
For a few seconds, there was nothing else. I scoured my thoughts. What had I done today? Had some Petroline, went to the office, came here. Big conspiracy with my name written all over it. Unfortunate, but nothing I didn’t already know, and which I had not yet forgotten. Yesterday was as foggy as ever. Then, suddenly, as I stared into the dim great room, I noticed something spinning in the corner. Some sort of glyph. And then it flew toward me. I stuck my arm out to protect myself, but I could not, because it was just an artifact of the viz. A swastika, rotating in my vision. Then words.
Humanoid Total Terror AllianceThank you for your service in the continuing struggle.OPERATOR: GEORGE KILLEVERYTHINGSPECIES: HUMANSUBSPECIES: FRANKISH LATINOIDMEMORY FUNCTION: 35%CONTRACTS COMPLETED:1Dues required for next briefing: $100,000“You can’t be serious,” I said. “$100,000 for dues in this crackpot organization?”
“Just pay it,” said the Android.
I sighed, then toggled yes with a flick of my eyes. Then my entire field of vision was obscured by text. The swastika still spun in the background too.
“You guys could have made this a little easier on human faculties, you know,” I said.
“Please,” said the Android. “There isn’t time for the quips.”
BACKGROUND:The HTTA considers itself a TERRORIST organization dedicated to the eventual overthrow of the GORN-led ADMINISTRATION. To this end it primarily utilizes members of the law enforcement community of species ANDROID and HUMAN in an ecumenical effort to overthrow the illegal and hostile SUBJUGATORS of the HUMANOID races.OPERATOR GEORGE KILLEVERYTHING: Born Year 2X89 BG-22. Child of OFFICER in NUMERICAN Expeditionary Forces. Adolescence spent on Battle Cruisers. ENLISTED in Marines two years before the Gorn invaded Mars. SERVED honorably until the conclusion of the War. PRISONER in CENTRAL WYOMING SuperMax Human Detention Facility No. 115 for WAR CRIMES against GORN and ANDROID populations during MARS and later EARTH insurgency. Released four years ago to undergo reeducation. Member of HUMAN CRIMES force RICHMOND DISTRICT SUBSECTION NUKE FRANSISCO ever since. OPERATOR HISTORY:OPERATOR KILLEVERYTHING has completed ONE successful contract with the HTTA.Contract: KILL YOSEP YINZ of EDEN ENTERTAINMENT LTD.I groaned.
“You guys might not believe this, but I suspected I was involved,” I said.
I felt two soft hands on my back and turned. The actress stood over me. I wanted to look into her beautiful eyes, but she was obscured by that auspicious spinning symbol.
“You did the right thing, you know. Even if these guys put you up to it.”
“Right,” I said.
“I called you yesterday, because I was worried that I had done it. You helped me dispose of him. That’s why you found the body in the morgue. That’s why, I assume, you’re here.”
I nodded and looked at the android.
“I killed him, and I made it look a suicide.”
“You tried,” said the android. “Unfortunately for you, you shot him in the face twice. So it was not very convincing.”
“I can’t believe that I don’t remember killing him. Something like that – ”
“It’s probable,” said the android. “We think exposure to booster exhaust destroys long-term memory. It’s a helpful side effect for the purposes of the Administration. Not so helpful for us. Only the memories with the strongest emotional pull seem to remain. Since you’re a veteran, and a war criminal, I’m not surprised you don’t remember killing him.”
I grunted. Then found an option to read the contract briefing, which cost another $100,000, and opened it with a bit of reluctance. Mostly anger.
CONTRACT BRIEFING:YOSEP YINZ of EDEN ENTERTAINMENT LTD. is a known COLLABORATOR with the ADMINISTRATION. His company ships PLAYDESK platforms and customizable film templates to users across the reach of the ADMINISTRATION. His COMPANY boasts 4.6 BILLION hours of custom films created. These range from anodyne romantic comedies to black-market GLADIATOR films in which the USER is ABLE, through special software which the ADMINSTRATION illicitly produces, to create films in which the USER themselves STAR as murderers, rapists, cannibals, ET CETERA. ANY OTHER LIKENESS MAY BE UPLOADED TO THIS GLADIATOR FILM NETWORK, which is MAINTAINED and MODERATED BY YINZ himself. The BLACK MARKET for GLADIATOR FILM likenesses is LARGER than that of PETROLINE. The ADMINISTRATION allows the production of these films for the purposes of DEMORALIZATION and DISSIPATION of the HUMAN race. CONFIDENTIAL STATISTICS from the ADMINISTRATION DEPARTMENT OF HUMAN PSYCH HEALTH show that 90% of the HUMAN race spends their free time after working hours watching PLAYDESK films. A FURTHER 45% of these watch GLADIATOR FILMS. The HTTA considers it a primary objective that the HUMAN race be freed from this ADDICTION before serious progress against the ADMINISTRATION may be made. To this end, the HTTA, using a complex series of phishing scams directed at YOSEP YINZ, has programmed a DEAD MAN SWITCH, which will destroy the network when he is KILLED.The ASSASSINATION of YOSEP YINZ, therefore serves TWO PURPOSES. It deprives the ADMINISTRATION of a powerful HUMAN collaborator. It also DESTROYS the GLADIATOR FILM MARKET as it EXISTS today.There was some stuff in there I knew, some other stuff I had only assumed. For one thing, I knew that it couldn’t be a coincidence that nearly every soiled cretin we pulled in for a murder or rape had a Playdesk rigged for Gladiator films in his apartment. I didn’t like that Human Crimes wasn’t permitted to investigate the connection further. That was for Androids. Allegedly. Now it seemed like they weren’t allowed to look into it either.
My only question was how they had gotten me to do it. I took a look at the Actress again. Swastika spinning where her flawless face should be.
“He stole your likeness,” I said.
She nodded.
“Millions of people already used it, I’m sure.”
She nodded again, that most loved star of the Playdesk entertainment ecosystem. 800 million hours of film generated. Action adventure. Comedy. Musical comedy. Dark fantasy. War. Romance. And now: rape and murder. Snuff. My beloved. I clenched my fists. I would kill Yinz again.
“He got me drunk after we hit another hundred-million-hour milestone,” she said. “Simuliquor. And some other stuff. Told me I made him more money than the PlayDesk. Said he wanted to raise my royalties. Gave me papers. I signed them. “Dropped me off” at home. Then he scanned my body while I slept. Found out when I woke up. I’ve told you all this before.”
“I wish I still forgot,” I said. I paid another $100,000 to close out the briefings and download them to my viz, and finally, my vision was clear.
I looked into the sad green eyes of my darling dearest and pulled her close. Planted a passionate one on her beautiful lips. Hugged her. Then I stood.
“I don’t appreciate how you manipulated me,” I said to the android, who stood like a beastly blond stone. “You used my relationship to get a motive. You used my access and equipment as a cop as the means. And you used my bad to remove your own culpability. And I bet you’ll do it again.”
“It was the simplest way.”
“Right. A bit bittersweet, seeing as my life is now forfeit. But I’m glad Yinz is dead.”
“As are we. Another brick in the wall tossed down. And more to come. Androids will no longer hunt each other at the behest of an inferior species, and the Humanoid races will become one.”
“Sure. Right. One thing though. I gotta tell you.”
“A condition? You’re already an operator with the HTTA. A burned double agent. You don’t have a bargaining chip. We overpaid for you as it is. Your next contract, if you survive the night - ”
I drew my 10 millimeter and shot the Android in the head before he could say another word. Taken by surprise as he ran his mouth. A rain of nuts, bolts and black oil rained across the room.
“I don’t work with Android scum.”
I put my hands around the Actress’s waist. She covered her mouth with her hand. Whimpered, then laughed. Kissed me on the cheek.
“Just like the old days?” she finally asked, timidly.
“From the sound of it, not half as good as the old days. But good for these days.”
There was a silence between us. I rubbed the silk of her red robe, a thin thing, soft beneath my skin, though not nearly as soft as her skin.
“Why don’t you put on something presentable,” I said. “We’ll go get a nice dinner. Duck. Steak. Peanuts. I’ve got $200,005 to blow.”
“Okay,” she said. A bit of trepidation in her voice. A bit of abandon.
I let her run off up the spiral staircase to her room, her billowing robe offering glimpses of her shapely calves. Her red hair flew behind her like a banner.
- - -
Another day, another dollar. Or in my case, another shift making pants at the Alcatraz pant factory. For free.
I wasn’t sure how I ended up in this place. Thought I had been a cop. Thought I had been a good guy. One of them anyways. Not too many anymore. It was mostly Greenies and androids out there now. And a few people with shattered memories among them.
After the twelve-hour shift, I went back to my cell. I assumed every day was like this. Work, rest. Work, rest. Not that bad when you can’t remember any of it. One day (of course, I’m not sure which), a letter arrived. I never disposed of it. Left it on the tiny sink so I would remember to read it after I brushed my teeth every night and morning.
Hey Detective,
Wanted to keep you apprised of some things. It’s getting crazy out here. Human Crimes has never been busier. Hate crimes against androids and Greenies, especially Greenies, are rampant everywhere. Including Richmond District! Don’t know what changed. Can’t say I blame the people though… I just do my duty and haul them in.
Sort of related: the Administration is basically becoming more transparent. They’re letting Human Crimes have access to old cases so we can try and track down this terror group. HTTA. Crazy set. Androids gone wild. And some humans too. Basically, the Greenies want us to cooperate with hunting them down. I got promoted helping out on that front. They’re even letting us take on some Executive Crimes cases.
Which brings me to this letter. I pulled some strings to get it to you. And I’m pulling strings now. I think they will review your case. And that’s not just empty words. They know you dropped one of those terrorists. You can’t be all bad, right? You were ahead of the game on HTTA, somehow. Even if you did kill Yinz. That’s what I tell them anyway.
But I’m not much for long letters, and I’m already starting to forget why I started writing this one. So I better sign off.
P.S. Our application to have a child was approved a while back. His middle name is Killeverything. A beautiful baby boy.
Your best friend on the force,
Dick Truth
I felt like I could almost remember Dick’s face. Almost.
And then I walked to the end of my cell and sat down at my penal issue Playdesk. It was an older model, of course, because we were prisoners, but it offered a few good selections. I made the same film every night. A mystery romance starring my favorite red-headed Actress.