Schematic of Terror
a weekly serial by
Bryan Harrison
utilizing the environment and
character concepts established in the
Stephen Speilberg
film
Artificial Intelligence.

Chapter 2
An Inappropriate Plea

-1-

Davich stepped over the piled debris from the smashed cruiser that his friend, and one of the few honest men he had ever known, had died in. The cruiser had just been hauled into the yard. He'd beat it over here just after leaving Mariane at The Lady. Spacer had gone back to the precinct to take care of that overcrowding problem. But Davich wanted to make sure that no one had a chance to tamper with the wreckage before he saw it. The portion of the vehicle that still remained intact was parked among a gathering of other wrecks. He stood quietly among the wreckage, remembering his friend, and then turned to face a young man who was watching him cautiously.

"This probably wasn't an accident," the young mechanic said. The kid kicked a broken tire frame. "This thing is burnt. The whole wheel well was charred like… like someone blasted it or something."

"Didn't come from impact?" Davich asked as he leaned down to inspect the twisted metal.

The kid shook his head. "Nothing like that would come from impact. Could'a been some vags maybe, using an old tube blaster they found in the pipes or something, but that's doubtful. Won't know for sure until they start the investigation." The mechanic shrugged off his hypothesizing. "All I can tell you for sure is they weren't going that fast. Probably hit the exit wall head on 100 kilcks or so. But the force that hit the right wheel came from the passenger's side and drove them into the inside service-exit wall."

Davich grunted an acknowledgement. All the mainland highways had recharging stops in the inside islands. The force that struck their tire had come from the side of the road which means it could have been an attempt to drive them into the service-exit. Had someone been waiting there? He shook his head to clear his mind. He was tired and he had to be careful with his next step. He really didn't have any jurisdiction here. Fortunately, the kid didn't seem to know that.

"I need you to send a report to my net-home," he said casually, handing the kid a card, hoping the man wouldn't balk. But the kid wasn't as ignorant as he thought.

"Uhh, sir you'll have to wait for the official disclosure," the kid said, tight lipped. "I shouldn't have even let you in here, but… " He let the word trial off. Davich waved his hand as if clearing the air and then draped his arm over the mechanic's shoulders.

"Look, umm…" Davich raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

"Cory," the mechanic replied.

"Ok, Cory… look, I know you have regulations," Davich said, leading the young man to the edge of the large garage, away from some people who were studying the debris of another accident. "But this is not an official request. It's just between you and me. A man died in that accident. I know the guy's wife and family, see? It would mean a lot to them… and me, if I could get the results beforehand."

Cory was not impressed with neither Davich's rank nor the man's sudden affable posture. He didn't shrug Davich's arm off, but he did shake his head resolutely. "No. No, sir. No can do." Davich sighed. He respected Cory's position. The kid had been stuck with New Years duty, the worst time of year to do accident reports. This was his jurisdiction and Davich knew the kid intended to mark his territory.

"Ok, ok… fuck," Davich surrendered. "Look, at least do me this. Save your initial findings someplace." He put his hands on the young man's shoulders and locked his eyes. "And if you see anything, I mean the slightest discrepancy between what you find and what gets released in the official report, you tell me. OK?" He pressed his net-home card into the pocket of the Cory's grey overalls.

The mechanic pondered this for a moment. Then he nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, no prob."

"Oh, and one more thing?"

The young man rolled his eyes. "What?… Sir."

"I wasn't here"

-2-

The first sunrise of the New Year was finally breaking as Davich strolled out of the Department of Transportation's Impound. Already bleary-eyed people were gathering at the entrance to claim vehicles that had been towed, or maybe taken by Highway Rangers when proper papers were not presented or the driver failed or refused a sobriety test. What a way to start the year. He wished he'd been here on such a mundane errand. "Fuk-it-all." He huddled his shoulders against the cold and his breath clouded. There was heaviness in the air. A penetrating moisture that pressed uncomfortably against his face, making him realize how tired he actually was. He would prefer a good rain, or even snow, rather than the gloomy fog that was typical this time of year.

Then Davich saw something that broke him from his thoughts. A vehicle. Familiar. A larger, stretch cruiser. Mercedes? Reva? He wasn't sure. They all looked alike to him. He just knew it was one he couldn't afford. This was no rental though. This was private and he was sure the owner would be riding in the back, hidden behind opaque glass. The thing slid into the lot quietly and then up the ramp usually reserved for towing units or state vehicles. Davich felt knew who was inside that car, and would have loved to verify it, but he didn't want to be seen anymore than the person hiding behind the dark glass. He made his way into the lot and slipped into his cruiser and out onto the road before he would be noticed.

David raced to the scene of the accident. It had taken the city less time than usual to clean the mess up and get it to the garage. That was strange. One would think that in the confusion of New Year's morning things like that would take a bit longer then. It bothered him.

The morning traffic was light since almost most people would be at home nursing hang-overs. The only moving figures he saw were City Service Mecha, cleaning up messes and repairing what damage had been done by late night revelers. So it only took ten minutes to reach the accident site and he was relieved to find that not much clean up had occurred. The sun was rising against the gray mist and the forest to the west of the road was coming alive. In the distance behind him the night-lights of Cherry Hill were going off. This was a lightly traveled section of road. It linked the private residences in which the Ramad's lived, to the main connector routes to the city. Davich saw that the remainder of debris from the crash had been piled up against the divider wall. He checked for traffic and then jumped out to inspect the piles.

Fortunately the thing was being treated like an accident, just another drunken New Year's mishap. But Davich already knew differently and he had to get some samples before the locals realized it and tagged the site as a crime scene. He inspected the burnt chips of aluminum and bits of frame and bumper. He picked up a a handful of the debris and slipped it quickly into his coat pocket. Once this area was labeled a crime scene, his actions would be considered illegal. But since that had yet to happen, he was clear of any wrongdoing. Technically.

After retrieving more of the charred wreckage, he walked to the east side of the road where whatever had caused Massud to loose control must have come from. He walked along, inspecting a 50 meter length of ground. The earth was too hard here for any footprints to have been left. Nor did he see any shells or anything else that might indicate a weapon had been used. There were probably a host of devices that would deal out enough force to knock a cruiser off course. But this one would have had to be easy to obtain and small enough to be handheld and unnoticed by Mariane when she saw…. whatever she saw..

He stood and gazed out beyond the point of the crash. To the west lay the dense inland forest which climate change had caused to overgrow with new, strange plant life and insects. Shanty towns of Orga made their homes in those dark woodlands. It would be easy enough for somebody to disappear in that direction. But Mariane had seen someone was framed against the lights of the city. So they must have escaped to the east. There he saw a large expanse of undeveloped territory and beyond that, the distant south end of Moorestown. Some buildings had stood in this field once, but not during his lifetime. He suddenly wondered why had it gone undeveloped so long? It might have been a toxic zone, but he'd did not recall seeing it on any map of hazard sites. Maybe it was the site of some accident that the military didn't want to admit too. They'd surely had enough embarrassing indiscretions revealed over the decades. In the middle of the field he could see aged broken foundations and blackened piping poking up from withered brown shrubbery. Someone could hide in there, he decided. His bet was on the forest, but he'd have the field checked out too.

He was turning to leave when he saw something move out in the field. He stopped and focused on the outcropping of shattered rock. Nothing. Damn, he was tired. He shook his head. He had to go now. Cory, the mechanic, would be filing his findings, and once the locals found out about that burnt wheel well they'd be out here. He hopped in his cruiser and shot back towards the city.

On his way he saw another vehicle approaching, headed towards the accident scene. It was the same limo he seen at the garage! Now he was sure who it had to be. He tinted his windshield as he passed the car. There'd be a better time to confront the man.

-3-

At home, in the small get-a-way room that he'd named the 'study', Davich paced anxiously to and fro. He was making his case, arguing into the vocal interface unit in his wall. "I need this case, Terrance," Davich said.

On the other end of the line, a weary sounding Terrance Portnoy, Chief of the State Criminal Investigation Unit, sighed. "What the hell are you talking about Rachman? You're out of the loop on this thing! What am I supposed to do, just tell the locals to blow? And anyway, you got no shoes anymore."

"Massud was at Martins party, Terrance!" Davich yelled. "The party was at the northern border. It wouldn't be a stretch to argue cross-divisional jurisdiction and make this a state matter. Like I told you, the car got blasted with something. It's criminal and you can damn well press jurisdiction if you…"

"And like I told you, you got no shoes!" Portnoy interrupted. "You're a desk now. Get used to it!" He was quiet a moment and then softened his tone. "Look, even if I did press this one, which I have no intention of doing, I couldn't just hand it to you. There'd have to be someone else."

"Like who?" Davich asked feigning a calmness he didn't feel.

But Chief Portnoy wasn't playing anymore. "Like nobody you'd know! Look, Rachman, I'm sorry about Massud. He was a good man, I know that. I know he was your friend and I am glad Mariane will be ok. But your involvement is completely inappropriate! Until any evidence indicates otherwise, it's a local matter."

"You know about the Rouge City shit, Terrance!" Davich roared into the comm, his exhaustion and frustration taking over. "Now you are gonna fuckin' pretend like this is not related?"

Terrance took a moment to gather himself. He and Davich went a long way back. When he spoke his voice was measured. "Stop now, before you get yourself into some serious shit my friend." Terrance was one of the few men who could effectively tell Rachman Davich to shut up. "I already know what you're thinking. I can even put a name to it. But we still have rules and regulations, Rachman, and my job is to see that they are observed."

Davich felt his anger subsiding. Terrance was right. He had to step back. But he'd decided that the info from the mechanic, if it ever came, he would keep to himself.

Terrance continued, "Now, the minute I see anything in this case that indicates something outside local jurisdiction, I'll snatch it. But not one second sooner." And the line went dead.

Davich beat a fist against his desk. Terrance had been his only hope to beat the locals to the punch. Now he felt beaten before he had even begun. He wasn't one of the inside players. He had no favors to call in. He did his job and did it well, but his job did not take him into the back rooms, into the places where the real deals that ran the city were made. Terrance was the one with the balls and influence to get this pegged a State investigation. Those local assholes would just screw it up. And Grainer… damn it! This thing stank of him. If the local clods let him walk…

"Fuck!" he spat, unconscious of the little figure that stood at the door of the room.

"That's not a good word," a tiny voice said and the small figure walked from the shadows of the hallway into his study. Davich turned and sighed. He didn't like that thing coming in here.

"Hello Allison," he said with forced politeness. Damn. Where was Linda? Why couldn't she keep her toys in her part of the house?

"Hello, Rachman," the child replica replied with a disturbingly life-like smile. There was a permanent blush to the cheeks of her pale little face, and long black curls ran over the shoulders of her filly laced dress. Unlike most people, especially Linda, who found the simulator's accuracy cute, it only annoyed Davich. He'd bought it for her when they'd been turned down for a license due to the rocky state of their relationship. They could have reapplied, but even then he'd known it would not get any better. So, she'd imprinted the thing and now it was always by her side. It had become her little minion.

"That's not a good word, Allison scolded, "and Mommy says that you shouldn't use it when you are at home."

Davich wasn't in the mood for this right now. Had Linda put it up to this? "Well, you have a point, dear," he replied smoothly as he walked over and leaned close to the robot. "Why don't you give Mommy a message for me? Tell her I said…" and then he whispered into the Mecha's ear, just in case Linda was listening on the house comm. He was satisfied at the shocked expression that the simulator donned and at the way it ran out of the room, no doubt to report to Mommy that he was using bad words again.

He slammed the door behind the thing and began to sort through the debris from the crash site. He'd have to get someone to check this stuff for him, but someone unofficial, off the record. Portnoy made it clear that he didn't have anyone in his corner if the locals came after it.

Suddenly his comm. came to life. A businesslike, feminine voice said, "Incoming call. Private source. Non commercial."

Private? Could be the mechanic. But so soon? "Answer," Davich said and the connection clicked.

"Hey Boss! " It was Spacer. "Hate to disturb you, but I got a call at the office. It's someone I am sure you want to talk to. I am patching it through now." Then she disappeared and another voice came on the line.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Davich knew that voice. His face curled into a snarl at the sound, and he made an unconscious growl.

"Hey! Davich? Is that you? This is Harland Grainer. Look, I'm sorry to hear about Ramad and I think we need to talk a few things over."

-4-

They'd seen the man studying the place where the car had been taken. They saw him notice them and moved back into the dark of the ruins. There was a time when the sight of him would have been a matter for concern, a time when they might have fled into the ancient underground piping, down into the realm where they'd be sure not to be followed. But not anymore.

They were getting stronger. Daylight was much less of an impediment and would soon be no obstacle at all. It wouldn't be long now, not much longer, for their plans to be in effect.

(cont...)