2

BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA

. . . AGAIN

"What kind of artifact could make someone explode?" Pete asked aloud as they drove to the hospital to interview witnesses. The very same hospital where the victims affected by R.J. Reynolds' Glass Ashtray had been taken. "I think I saw a movie like this once."

"It can't be a coincidence," Myka said, staring out the window at the empty early morning streets they'd been driving just the previous day.

"Artie said—"

"Artie says a lot of things, Pete. And he also never tells us everything he knows." She shook her head, glanced at her partner. "I don't know — this doesn't feel right."

"Well then, let's say they're connected. What does R.J. Reynolds have to do with people exploding? Or robots, for that matter? And if the ashtray is still active, then why did the sick people in the hospital get better?" He nodded his head towards the front windshield, where ahead, the hospital was just becoming visible. "Speaking of."

"I don't know, Pete, but it's not a coincidence that we're here in Berkeley again. Right? It can't be."

He pulled their rented SUV into the hospital parking lot. "Well, let's talk to some people and figure out what we're dealing with."

Myka nodded, and silently returned to staring out the side window at the familiar hospital they had visited just a day earlier.

###

"Who are you?" said the man in the hospital bed. His right leg was strung up and in a cast. A deep cut over his left eye was stitched and bandaged. "I already told those other detectives everything I remember."

"We're not detectives," said Pete, coming to stand beside the man's bed. He withdrew his badge. "Secret Service." Behind Pete, Myka held out her badge as well.

"Secret Service? I figured Homeland Security, maybe. Not you guys. You investigate terrorism too?"

"We're investigating this case," Pete told him. "I'm Agent Lattimer. This is Agent Bering."

"Ned Shallet. That's what it was wasn't it? Terrorism? Suicide bomber?"

"Is that what you think happened?"

"What else could it have been?"

"You told the police immediately after . . . whatever happened, that you thought that the guy was a robot packed with explosives." Pete met the man's eyes. "That he was sent here by aliens."

"Yeah, well that sounds crazy, doesn't it? I'd nearly been blown to bits. I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't know what happened."

"But now you do?"

Myka interrupted. "Mr. Shallet, have you had contact recently with anything strange? Maybe an ashtray?"

"An ashtray?" He scrunched up his brow, then shook his head. "No, nothing strange."

"How are you feeling? I mean, besides your leg, obviously. How's your breathing?"

"Just fine. Look, what's this about?"

"We just want the truth," said Pete. "Now, listen, Ned. We deal with crazy all the time. Crazy doesn't bother us, okay? We pretty much deal exclusively in crazy. So, what can you tell us about what really happened out there?"

Ned opened his mouth as though he was about to repeat his previous statement, but he paused. Then, he sighed. "Look," he said. "I can't explain it. But I can remember how certain I was."

"Certain of what?" Myka asked.

"Certain that that guy wasn't human. That he was a robot meant to blend in with us, and that he was concealing a powerful bomb inside of him."

"What made you think that?"

Ned shook his head. "I don't know."

"Think, Ned. What made you think he was a robot?"

Ned shrugged. "I just looked at him and I knew. That's all I remember. There were already a few others who had noticed, pointing at him. We . . . we started chasing after him. Calling for help. For the police to come. We chased him for a while, until we trapped him in this dead-end alley between a couple of stores. He turned and faced us. He said . . ." Ned lowered his eyes. "He said . . ."

"What?" pressed Myka. "What did he say?"

"He said he wasn't a robot. That he was human. He looked afraid. Scared to death actually."

"Then what happened?" Pete asked softly.

"That's when he blew." Ned closed his eyes, remembering. "I was lucky. I was far enough back. The blast threw me down. When I came to, paramedics and police were all over the place. Not everyone made it."

Pete and Myka shared a look.

"Even now," continued Ned, "I can remember how obvious it seemed. That this guy wasn't human. That he'd been sent here to kill us. I know that sounds crazy. I mean, it was just some scared guy that we were all chasing after. But I was so certain." He looked up at Pete and Myka pleadingly. "What's happening to me? What happened to him?"

"You're going to be just fine, okay?" Myka spoke soothingly to the man. "Just get some rest. Thank you for your time."

She turned, and went to the door.

Pete met her in the corridor.

"Well?" he asked.

"If Ned came into contact with an artifact, he seems fine now."

"Did all those people come into contact with an artifact at the same time? The police report says there were two dozen people in that alley, chasing after the guy that exploded. Oh yeah, not to mention the guy that exploded, Myka. What else could cause that other than an artifact? So did Martin Chambers blow up because of an artifact—"

"Or was it everyone else who was affected by the artifact?"

"But something made Chambers explode, Mykes—"

"And at the same time all those people imagined he was a robot full of explosives."

Pete nodded. "So an artifact turns him into a literal droid bomb, and the others were just seeing the effect?"

"Unless . . ."

"Unless what?"

"Unless there are two artifacts."

For a moment, the two Agents considered the ramifications of two artifacts acting together in unison, possibly wielded by a single person, or perhaps, however unlikely, just coincidentally in the same place.

Pete suddenly staggered, sucked in a sharp breath. "Whoa, Mykes."

"What is it?"

"Vibe. Strong one. We have to go, right now."

Together they rushed down two flights of stairs and out a side exit into the morning sun. Pete hurried down the sidewalk towards where their rental SUV was parked. At the curb, he paused.

Myka stopped at his shoulder. "Okay, Pete. We're outside. Where exactly are we going?"

Pete looked around, trying to recapture the feeling of the vibe, so strong just a moment before. But now, it was merely the memory of a feeling. He tried to remember what the vibe had been, precisely. Something bad, he was sure of that.

As he pondered, sirens gradually became audible, distant at first, but growing louder. Pete looked at Myka. The sirens grew louder still. Several police cars came into view, one after the other, racing down the street in front of the hospital, zooming past.

Pete grinned, and Myka flashed one of her own in reply.

"I'm guessing that way," Pete said.

They hurried into their vehicle.

A moment later, they were speeding away from the hospital, following the path of the distant police cars up ahead.

# # #

When they neared what was obviously the scene — several police cars, red and blue lights flashing, had been joined by an ambulance — Pete slowed the car. The police were gathered at the base of a tower apartment building. A second ambulance was arriving on the scene as Pete parked the SUV.

"This doesn't look good," he said, exiting the vehicle.

Together, he and Myka approached the officers gathered around the entrance to the apartment building. Flashing their badges, they found an officer who appeared to be in charge. "I'm Agent Lattimer," said Pete, and then indicated Myka, who introduced herself: "Agent Bering."

"Secret Service?" said the cop, studying their badges. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, we saw you boys racing past in a big hurry. What happened here, Officer . . ." He left a blank for the man to fill in his name.

The cop frowned. "Captain Fuller," he said after a moment. He studied Pete with eyes hidden behind mirrored shades. "And what? You thought you'd swing by and rubberneck my crime scene?"

"Whoa there, Protect and Serve, there's no need for—"

"We just came from the hospital," Myka cut in, "where we talked to a man injured when another man near him exploded. So maybe you two boys can skip the pleasantries and you, Captain Fuller, can answer my partner's very simple question."

The police officer peered at Myka for a long moment before acquiescing. "Alright then," he said, "got a guy who went through this building door to door with a rifle, blasting anybody who happened to answer the door. We think he shot about five or six people before our guys got here and nabbed the lunatic."

"Holy cow," said Pete. "You took him alive?"

"Yes we did. Might have put a couple holes in him that weren't there before, but we got him." Fuller chuckled.

"Do you know what set him off?" asked Myka.

Fuller made a face and shrugged. "What set him off, I imagine, is that the guy's completely nuts."

"What makes you say that?"

"What makes me that say that is I got a bunch of witnesses that report he was knocking on random doors, accusing the people inside of being androids, and then shooting them."

"Androids?!" Pete looked at Myka.

"Pete, you know what this means."

"This just became our case." Grinning, Pete held his hand up to receive a high-five. Myka shook her head a little. She made a face at Pete with just her eyes, and then shook her head a little more. "Mykes, come on, don't leave me . . . right, yeah." Pete lowered his hand, tugged at his belt, and turned to face Captain Fuller. "People were shot. How many, uh . . ."

"Five or six."

"So, yeah. No high fives," Pete mumbled, looking down.

"You said you took the shooter alive," said Myka, moving on. "We're going to need to talk to him right away."

"Well, you're in luck. Agent Bering was it? Agent Lattimer?" Captain Fuller pointed towards the entrance to the apartment building. "They're bringing him out right now."

Loaded onto a stretcher being wheeled out by two paramedics lay an obviously injured man. His blue jeans were splattered with blood, and one of the pant legs had been cut away. A thick wrap of bandages, a hint of red dotting the center, was wound around the man's thigh. He was lying on his back, but appeared conscious. He grimaced as the paramedics dropped the stretcher over the curb to the asphalt of the parking lot. A police officer walked along just behind the stretcher.

Captain Fuller called out, "Ortiz! These two agents are gonna have a word with our man there." He indicated Pete and Myka, who were already striding over to the rear of the closest ambulance where the stretcher had stopped. The officer, Ortiz, acknowledged the info with a wave of his hand, and watched disinterestedly as Pete and Myka approached.

"What's your name?" asked Pete, on one side of the stretcher, leaning close.

The man looked up, beads of sweat apparent on his forehead. "Steve," he gasped. "Steven Pouty."

"We have a few questions for you, Steve."

The man, Pouty, nodded, and then groaned.

"Does it hurt bad?" asked Pete with genuine concern.

"Yeah," the man replied, his voice steadier. "It hurts."

"Why'd you shoot those people, Steve?"

"I had to."

"You had to?" asked Myka, standing across from Pete. "Why?"

"I-I don't know. I just I knew I had to retire six of them."

"Retire?" Myka glanced at Pete. "Why do you use that word?"

"Because they were . . . I mean, I thought they were androids." He squeezed his eyes shut. Voice ragged, he said, "They were people. I shot six people."

"Yeah?" said the nearby officer, Ortiz, who was listening in. "Well, good thing you're a lousy shot, you nutjob. Four of them will live for sure, and the other two might pull through." He leaned closer to the stretcher. "You better hope they pull through, dirtbag."

"Okay, easy there," said Pete, urging the police officer back.

Myka also turned her attention to Ortiz. "Did anyone else report seeing androids? Or, you know, life-like robots? Anybody else see what this guy saw?"

"Are you nuts, too, lady? He shot half a dozen people because he thought they weren't people. Everyone else here is sane."

She turned back to the man on stretcher. "Steve, why did you have to shoot them exactly? When did you first start to believe that these people were androids that you had to kill? What were you doing?"

"I . . ." The man shook his head and grimaced. "I don't remember exactly, I was just . . . all of sudden I just knew I had to grab my rifle and find them."

"And shoot them?"

Quietly, Steve Pouty said, "Yeah."

"That's enough questions for now," announced Captain Fuller, coming over. "Let's get this guy outta here." He waved for Ortiz and the two paramedics to move Pouty and the stretcher into the waiting ambulance.

"We may have more questions for that man later, Captain Fuller," said Myka.

"Not sure what you're investigating," the captain replied. "Nutjob went in there and shot some people. We went in there and got the nutjob. Case closed." He looked Myka and Pete up and down and then strode away, calling out to one of his other officers, who was securing the entrance to the apartment building.

Myka and Pete huddled some distance away.

"Well," said Pete, "what are we thinking? A bunch of people see what they think is a robot which then explodes, and now one person sees a bunch of robots and shoots them. So we're looking for something that what? Turns people into robots temporarily?"

"I don't know, Pete. Two dozen people saw Chambers as a robot packed with explosives, and then he actually did blow up. Here, we have Steve Pouty, who believes that he had to kill six people because they were"—she paused, thoughtful—"not robots, Pete. He called them androids."

"Androids, robots. What's the difference?"

"Words are important, Pete. None of the witness reports from the first incident used the word, 'android'. They all insisted Chambers was a robot. So why the change? Why did Steven Pouty see androids? And with Chambers, everyone saw him as the danger; but here, Pouty was the dangerous one, dangerous to the androids. It was like"—she looked meaningfully at her partner—"it was like he was hunting them, Pete."

"We should call Artie." He reached into a pocket and withdrew the Farnsworth.

Just before he snapped it open, he and Myka looked up at the sound of shouted voices and running boots. Several of the assembled police officers, at Captain Fuller's shouted orders, were running to their squad cars.

"Hey, Fuller!" shouted Pete. "What's going down?"

Captain Fuller glanced up, saw Pete and Myka, and looked briefly irritated. "Just got the call. Potential double homicide at the Pacific Shopping Center. Five minutes." He ducked into his cruiser. A second later, the engine roared to life. Fuller peeled out, tires squealing, siren blaring, following after two other police cars already burning rubber towards the street.

Pete looked down at the Farnsworth in his hand. "Hold that thought," he said, tucking the device back into his pocket. He and Myka raced to their rented SUV, and a moment later they were pulling out onto the street, racing after Fuller and the other cops.