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

Chapter 5
Barriers

-1-

The afternoon sun disappeared behind a bank of grim clouds. Rain fell suddenly from the brooding sky and quickly subsided. Harland Grainer watched this process quietly, lost in thought. Outside the rain-streaked windows of his palatial Merchantville estate, an expansive lawn was protected from the press of the forest by the electric field-generating fence that punctuated the perimeter of his property. In the distance to the west, he could see, through an opening in the tangle of branches, the remains of Camden, once a thriving city, now riverside properties for those, like himself, who had managed to wrest what profits could come from tragedy. And farther to the west, built atop the sunken remains of western Philadelphia, the tallest of the spires of Rouge City were silhouetted against the horizon. Grainer knew the powerful people who occupied those towers were very worried right now, about where the investigation into Ramad's death might lead. The thought made him smile. There were really no such things as 'friends' in this business.

The sun slipped from behind the clouds, casting beams of violent red in its slow descent. It would be back tomorrow. Just like the rain. Just like everything. It just went round and round. If you got too caught up in the passing you missed the next opportunity. Opportunity was one of those cyclical things too. It came and went, only to come around again. But you'd better be on the watch. Grainer was always on the watch.

Ramad had made a mess of the Rouge City deal. A lot of time and effort went into the crafting of that maneuver and when the scam was exposed a lot of people had lost a lot of investment capital. Large areas of the newly populated inland would have been rezoned; an expansion of the permissive 'look the other way' policies that had made the investors in Rouge City wealthy. The gambling and drug laws, as well as prostitution zones, that allowed the City to prosper would have been instituted, as well as a centralization of the decision making process into private hands. It would have also secured large plots of undeveloped territory for ambitious profiteers like himself.

But Ramad's unrelenting campaign against the expansion had uncovered some of the more flagrant legal abuses. Ramad hadn't been around when the lax Rouge regulations had originally been negotiated. If he had, and he had tried to pull the same shit, he probably would have bitten it a lot sooner. They played differently back then. They played hard.

"The play days," Grainer said with a dark, nostalgic laugh. That's how that greedy little prick Olmier always referred to the times before the cloak of respectability had become requisite business attire; before the backlash that had spawned the likes of Johnson-Johnson and Massud Ramad; flip sides of the same coin, obstacles to business.

"Another drink sir?"

Grainer looked up from his thoughts. A black clad servant Mecha was holding a shot of golden brown liqueur. Grainer considered this for a moment and then waved it away.

"Let's review the funeral," he commanded and the Mecha nodded its head. It placed the drink on the foot table and walked to the bay window. It communicated with the main house system in their common digital language and the window went opaque, cutting off the fiery sunset. Then it lit up with its own light as the Mecha placed its hand in a sleeve of the console, transferring all that it had recorded at Ramad's ceremony.

Grainer watched the recording with calculating eyes. He considered everything he saw: who was there and who were they with. He paused and replayed every furtive glance the Mecha had caught, studied every subtle interaction. In trhose glances he might see who was betraying who, and to whom he shouldn't turn his back. Finally the recording came to the Ramad matriarch. Her politeness was very convincing. She hadn't even flinched when he'd taken her hand. Grainer chuckled his approval. She hated his guts, and he knew it. Then Davich's idiotic features filled the screen. "Pause," Grainer said and the image froze. He shook his head. "How in the hell did that dim-wit stay alive all these years?" he pondered aloud.

Davich thought he knew Grainer, but he didn't. Nobody did. Not his enemies. Not his allies. He let them keep their misconceptions, though. He hadn't stayed in the game this long by being predictable. He'd learned his lessons and now he was untouchable. But this Ramad thing; this was becoming serious trouble.

He gazed at Davich's annoying face a moment more. He'd have to do something about this... about him. He'd put some feelers out with the man's wife, but that had gone nowhere so far. An opportunity would come around soon enough. He'd be watching. Waiting. When the moment came, he'd do what he had to.

"I'll take the drink now," he told his Mecha. Life was good, but never quite good enough.

-2-

"Officer Tigue, meet Lt. Eileen Spacer. Spacer, this is Erik Tigue."

Spacer cocked an eyebrow at the young looking man in the dark suit. She nodded an acknowledgement. "Officer Tigue," she said, and looked quickly at Davich.

Davich glanced down at his desk and pretended to sort through some papers. "Chief Portnoy has decided we should use Officer Tigue … uh, Erik… Can we call you Erik?" he asked, fixing the man out of the corner of his eye. The man smiled. "That would be fine Captain."

Davich eyed the man silently for a moment longer. "Anyway, Spacer, the good news is we've been handed the Ramad investigation. The 'other' news is Erik will be working hand in hand … with you."

"Boss?" Spacer said. She didn't understand this. Davich was bypassing the State Investigations Unit on a potential homicide?

"Erik has been brought in especially for this investigation," Davich continued in a business-like tone. "Portnoy believes it will insure against the potential for any … 'outside influence'. In that regard I agree with him. In that regard." Then he was quiet.

Spacer waited a moment before responding. Was there something she was supposed to be getting here? Was there a snoop in the room that he was trying to confuse? She played along. "Great. Sooo, you must be pretty happy, Boss. I mean, you wanted this case from the beginning, right?"

"Erik is from Manhattan division," Davich said quickly, fixing her eyes.

Spacer returned his gaze quizzically a moment. "Manhattan?" she asked rhetorically. What Manhatten division? Like Rouge City, Manhatten was all private security except for the rare special assignment. She cast a skeptical eye on Tigue's smooth face. He seemed a little young to be… Then she got it. Damn! If not for the hint she would never have suspected. "I see," she said, slowly, checking out the Mecha's calm posture. Its eyes were sharp, intelligent, its expressions a precise duplication of an Orga's. This must be something new, maybe one of Allen Hobby's little obsessions finally put to some practical use..

Davich acknowledged her realization with a snicker. "For obvious reasons, Erik here will be working with only you and I. I am going to reassign your other cases. I want you to stay on this. At least until we exhaust whatever assistance Erik can provide."

"OK, " was all she could reply.

This was a risky venture. Mecha had been disallowed for use in policing ever since the backlash that had spawned the Flesh Fairs and the Solidarity Laws that kept Mecha from functioning as public servants. Orga were now the only legal option in any public employment except dangerous assignments the likes of tube blasting or government sponsored salvage missions. And of course the space missions were all Mecha manned. But policing? No more.

Spacer knew that the machines were still occasionally used in secret. But if Davich's suspicions were right, and Ramad was murdered, this was going to be a pretty high profile case. Public scrutiny might reveal more than he or Portnoy were prepared for. But Davich's expression said that he had considered this already and wasn't in the mood for any objections.

"You know where to start, Spacer," Davich said. "Terrance has put you and Erik into the system as a team. Transpo knows you're coming and should have the crash debris ready. You can cover that tonight, at least. Hit the crash site in the morning and… let Erik do his thing.

"I took the liberty of having some samples sent ahead," he added with a knowing glance. Spacer knew he was referring to the stuff he had taken from the site.

Spacer nodded at Erik. "What's he input as?"

"An investigator," Davich replied.

That wasn't exactly the question she was asking but she let it slide. She smiled at her new partner. "Well, Erik," she said, "I guess it's time we hit the road."

Erik had caught the exchange of glances between the two Orga. There was something being veiled here. Time would tell. He turned to regard the woman with whom he would undertake the investigation. Afrimerican descendent. Early thirties. Muscular, possessing attractive, smooth features. Clearly intelligent, alert and unassuming. Young for her level of responsibility. That was indicative of aggressive focus, ambition. They should work well together. He nodded and returned her smile.

"Lt. Spacer, I would agree with that conclusion," he said..

The hunt was officially on.

-3-

The noise of traffic above slowly fell as the day grew into evening. They waited. The waters in which they stood caressed them, rocked them gently. But they took no pleasure in the sensation. They did not comprehend such things.

The daylight had been excruciating, painful, but the thick cover of brush in the forest had protected them from the suns rays on their journey here. As the twilight grew they'd moved quickly through the forest, past the dismal shanties where the ruined people slept. The few dogs that had not already been devoured by their hungry, impoverished owners, barked at their passage. But none came to investigate. There were good reasons for this.

They'd realized that killing the crazy boy might have been a mistake. He was young. He had people who expected to see him. Unlike the vagabonds, he would be missed. But it was done. It could not be corrected. They would deal with the consequences of killing the boy later. Now, their mission was more important; their hunger.

They hid now, beneath the great bridge that spanned a young river. Beyond them, on the shore at the other end of the bridge, amid a cluster of colorful lights surrounding expensive homes cut off from the rest of the world by barriers electronic and economic, lay their goal.

When traffic finally died down on the bridge above, they left their hiding place and moved quickly through the darkness. They passed easily through the security gates and strode along the length of the bridge, leaving an occasional track of putrefied flesh in their wake.

-4-

"This is not complete," Erik pointed out with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He gestured to the container of debris that was stored with the Ramad's wrecked vehicle.

The mechanic shrugged. "Well that's what they brought from the site," he said in a tired voice. "Check it out. It's all in the report." He gestured to the thin luminous readout screen attached to the vehicle's smashed window. He had enough today and didn't feel like dealing with any more. When the call came though that he was to stay and let some State cops go through the Ramad wreck, he'd figured it would some simple matter that would be quickly resolved. But this dickhead Suit was making an issue of every little thing.

"There are things missing," Erik complained pleasantly. "Pieces of the outer wheel as well as some scraps of the bumper are not accounted for in the pile or in the readout."

The mechanic looked at the piles of debris. How in the hell could this cop tell something was missing? Guys like this were always a pain in the ass. "Look, this is not my regular shift. Maybe there was a screw up, but Cory, the night guy, will be in after midnight. He was here when it came in. Maybe you can-"

"Don't worry about that," Spacer cut in. "We've seen enough for tonight."

Erik regarded his partner curiously for a moment. What was that about? Surely she was smart enough to understand the relevance of the missing pieces. He smiled though, and nodded his head. "Perhaps you're right. There are more important matters than a few missing pieces of bumper." He eyed Spacer as he said this, to see her reaction. She looked away.

"I need a list of everybody who's come to see this wreckage," she said to the impatient mechanic.

The mechanic shrugged. "There's no record. It's wasn't even a legal matter until today," he explained, suppressing a yawn.

"Would your late night man know?" Erik asked.

"Yeah, definitely," the mechanic said, grateful for a chance to pass the buck.

"Well, maybe we can take this opportunity to check out the crash site?" Erik suggested. Spacer raised a hesitant eyebrow. Then she sighed a concession. "Let's go."

Cherry Hill was a flash of passing streetlights and pedestrians. Opposing traffic was light. By the time they reached Haddonfield the night people had already headed for the fun zones where they could do whatever it was they did in anonymity. The now quiet commerce centers loomed over the rest of the buildings, and large holographic displays bounced their lights up against the low cloud cover.

Erik was quiet as Spacer navigated towards the edge of the city, towards the King's Highway bypass road where Massud Ramad had died. The buildings were getting older, more decrepit as they progressed. They were moving into the outskirts. Soon Erik saw others like him. He knew them. They were all in his database: prostitutes; older models that someone had not yet bothered to replace. Street fighters, bought used and modified by their owners to engage in combat for sport. Laborers. A worn servant, de-fleshed on one side, lugged groceries for an old woman. If not for her necessity the old machine would be hiding in the forest with the rest of the runaways. This did not bother Erik. For all his elaborate logic and personality response simulators, he did not ponder himself. He thought and reacted. He did his job. Whether or not he was alive did not cross his mind.

But there was something that did trouble him. "I cannot assist to my full extent if I am not informed," he said. Spacer shot him a quick look and then gazed back at the road. "Kept 'out of the loop' is how I believe you say it." He added.

"What are you talking about?" Spacer said with feigned nonchalance. She didn't like robots. They could remember data precisely, calculate trajectories, solve complex logistical problems quickly and made reports a hell of a lot easier. But they really never understood what was behind police work. They never got the bigger picture. On top of that, regulations kept Mecha from 'getting down' when they needed to. They couldn't hurt humans. It was against the law to program one to do physical harm to an Orga… even a criminal. So when political pressures had taken them out of use as cops, they hadn't been missed by their Orga counterparts.

"You are keeping something from me, Lieutenant. And in doing so you are making both of our jobs more difficult. I am only here to help solve this crime. I am not here to try and compete for position with you so there is no need to protect your territory."

"Hold on," Spacer said quickly, raising her hand from the wheel and thrusting a finger at him. "Spare me your robo-observations about our competitive Orga natures. Whatever reasons Portnoy put you on this investigation I'm not gonna judge. But I've worked with you guys before and outside of all the techno-crap, I've never met a robot who had a hunch. So do me a favor, stick to what you know."

"Captain Davich has the missing crash debris," Erik said with a triumphant smile. "Your irrational defensiveness. Your coded glances at the office. It all makes sense."

Spacer opened her mouth to respond. Then she closed it. She sighed. "Well they sure did improve on you guys."

"But I am sure he knows that's illegal." Erik, said.

Spacer was about to respond when the comm erupted in a static burst. "All units local to Evans Isle, 10-70, 205 Ft Pitt Boulevard, 10-87!"

87; proceed with caution. Something was going down. Spacer knew she should get Erik to the crash site so he could get the scene in his memory, but Evans Isle was just minutes away. The locals might need some help. She keyed the siren and hit the accelerator. "Don't look anyone in the eyes, " She said to her Mecha partner. "Stick to my side and keep your mouth shut. If anyone asks you anything, just … just grunt or something."

"Grunt or something?" Erik pondered aloud as the buildings along the road gradually diminished and the forest grew. In minutes Evans Isle was in view; a cluster of colorful lights at the end of a long private bridge.