Four

Four

Santa Monica. As Lavigne’s hovercar pulled itself off of the freeway, the smell of pollution and salt water made him roll up the window, turn off the vents. The radio blared static, coming to life on its own. He reached over, turned the volume down. More static, indistinct voices. His phone rang in his pocket, his ringtone the Clash. “Radio off” he said, the hovercar beeped at him and the static died. He brought the phone to his ear.

“This is Lavigne.”

Silence greeted him.

“Hello?” He took the phone away, glanced at the screen. “We’re connected, I know you’re there. Who is this?”

More silence. He brought his finger to the disconnect button. Burst of static from the phone speaker.

“Not funny.”

“Oh, its plenty funny, detective.” The voice was distorted, female, an archaic text-to-speech sound to it.

“Who is this?”

“A friend.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t have many of those. Your name?”

“Call me Clone.” The text-to-speech voice said.

“Nice name, Clone. How can I help you? How did you get my number?”

“You are working the Hernandez case, correct?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that public info already?” How could it be?

“No, Detective. I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

“You a hacker, Clone?”

“I wouldn’t say that, Detective.”

“What would you say?” The hovercar flew past his apartment. “Um, car?”

“We have control of your vehicle, Detective.” Clone said.

“So, you are a hacker. And you just violated a federal law.” Lavigne paused. “A few of them, now.”

“Are you implying the fed cares about an Arkonian-Sendai Detective, Detective?”

“Probably. Where are you taking me?” He tried not to let any panic into his voice. Lit a White Mint.

“A safe location, Detective. Do not worry. You will not be harmed.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring. You highjack my car, bring me past my house, and tell me not to worry. Sure, I trust you. I mean, who wouldn’t? When a nice voice named Clone takes over your car when its a hundred feet above the fucking ground?”

“Ha ha. You are rambling. Is this how you get when under stress?” Clone asked.

“Yes.” Lavigne replied. No point hiding it.

“I will not let you become damaged.”

“You talking to me, or the car?”

“You, Detective. Why would I talk to the vehicle?”

“Good question. Now, where exactly are you taking me?”

    There was a click from his phone. “GPS coordinates should now be displayed.”

    He glanced down at the screen. “Really?”

    “Yes, Detective.”

    The map that had taken over the screen of his phone had zoomed in on a location two miles offshore, a small man island, constructed of metal, old hovercars, and old world style jumbo jets. It was a place for smugglers, cinn manufacturers, and other lowlives. He had been there exactly once before, on an old case with Hernandez. Busted some cinn maker that was cutting the drug with a nanovirus. Perp had gotten thirty consecutive life sentences. It had made his career, for about a year. And then the money had been gone. “The Scrapyard?”

“Correct, Detective. It is where I am located.”

“I figured that.” He paused, exhaled smoke. “So why the face-to-face? We could easily talk over my TV.”

“Are you saying your TV has a secure connection? That Arkonian-Sendai couldn’t listen in. Are you saying that your entire apartment isn’t monitored?” Clone paused. “Because it is.”

“So is my phone, and probably my car.”

“They were.”

“Oh.”

The hovercar sped over the water. Brownish-green waves swelling beneath him. “Scrapyard is almost off the grid, no satellite can pierce the firewall we have over it.”

“Oh, yeah. Some low grade EMP.” Lavigne twisted his lip up into a sneer.

“No. Not exactly, but it would be pointless and irrelevant to explain the exact mechanics.”

“Did you just call me dumb?” Lavigne actually chuckled.

Silence for a moment from Clone.

“Your vehicle will land outside a building made of printed plastic. My associates will bring you inside. I merely want to talk to you, but they are authorized to inflict bodily harm if you prove to be difficult.”

“Hey, I don’t even have a gun.” Shit.

“You wouldn’t need it, Detective.”

The hovercar began to descend, out the windows, he could see groups of people looking at him. The sight of an ArkSen hovercar probably making quite a few (or all) of them reaching for weapons. He landed, the doors opening of their own accord. Two men in dark gray suits approached.

“Welcome to Scrapyard, Detective Lavigne.” The one on the left said. He wore dark sunglasses, his hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“If you would come with us,” the second said, his green eyes speckled with golden cybernetics.

Lavigne nodded, stepped out of the vehicle. The doors closed behind him.

The two men led him into a building made of faded red plastic, air conditioned, metal floor. Down a hall, to a lit room, white floor, white walls, white furnishings. A figure, white skin, white eyes. Plastic. Fluorescent light reflected off the figure. It moved as they entered the door.

“Welcome, Detective.” The female text-to-speech voice said from a speaker embedded in the figure’s head.

“Face to face, huh?” Lavigne asked.

“Exactly. I am Clone, please, sit.” A white chair moved from a wall to stop a foot away from him.

He sat in it, the chair readjusting to his size and weight. “Thank you, Clone.”

“Before you ask, no, I am not a speaker for another. I am Clone.”

Lavigne lifted his hands, “wasn’t going to ask.”

“You may leave us.” The plastic figure said to the two men. They turned on their heels and left.

“So, Clone. What do you want from me?”

“I would like to hire you, Detective.”

“Already got a gig. On the job right now, actually.”

“We are aware. We would like to double your salary, if you would be willing to work with us.”

“Maybe after this job I’m on. I don’t like to leave things undone.”

“Detective Hernandez is dead. Your job is over.”

“What?”

Clone’s plastic head moved up and down once. White eyes blinked. An image appeared on the wall, Hernandez’s apartment, unchanged from the last time Lavigne had seen it. Hernandez himself, seated on the brown leather couch, head back. White shirt stained red. Throat cut ear to ear.

“Morse said they searched the apartment.”

“Indeed they did.” The image on the screen threw itself into reverse. Stopped. Began playing again. A group of three men. Hernandez coming into view. Yelling. No audio. Being thrown on the couch. A knife produced. Throat cut. Blood gushing everywhere, down the front of his shirt. Wrist implant being cut out.

“Morse…”

“We are not sure she knows.”

He watched the screen, not saying anything. Reached into his pocket. “Can I smoke in here?”

“Yes. Would you like some coffee?”

He nodded absently. A white plastic arm detached itself from the ceiling, there was a whirling noise, and it descended with a steaming white mug of black coffee. Real coffee.

“Who are you guys?” He said, lighting a White Mint.

“We are Clone.”

“Right. And if I did work for you, what would I be doing?”

“Recently, a cyberattack struck the bank accounts of ninety-nine percent of bank accounts, draining them instantly. As you can imagine, this has caused unrest in most populated areas. If you watch this:” the screen on the wall flashed, morphing into an image of the 405. Hovercars began dropping from the sky. “This happened five minutes ago. Hundreds of thousands are dead or injured.”

“How?”

“Somebody, or something hacked into the cars, Detective. All at once. Shut off their lift mechanisms.”

“Holy shit. Who?”

“Unknown. We are still ascertaining that information. We are suspecting either a rival corporation of Arkonian-Sendai, or a rogue AI. Or both.” Clone said.

Lavigne sipped his coffee. “This is really good. What would I be doing? You never answered.”

“Ashley Morse is bringing a young man named Braxton Gargaryan here. It will be your job to protect him.”

“Morse knows about you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re hiring me as a bodyguard? Why? I mean, look at me. I’m twenty pounds overweight, I smoke, I-”

Clone lifted a plastic hand. “We have followed your career. You have contacts, security clearance. Also, you have not had a job in over two months. You need the money. And Arkonian-Sendai has none.”

“Really?”

“Check your account.”

“Arkonian-Sendai was struck as well.”

“So, why this Braxton guy?”

“He was able to fend the attack off in real time.”

“That’s quite the feat.”

“Yes. You will protect him. He was already attacked once, in the Lewiston/Auburn development.”

“That was the last place an ArkSen agent was assassinated.” Lavigne thought outloud.

“We believe the cyberattack and the assassinations are related.”

“Someone is trying to take down ArkSen.”

“That is what we believe.”

“Well, shit. Sign me up.”