Silicon Man (9 page)

More shouts grew audible in the near distance.
 

More overseers were getting organized and picking up the chase.
 

Cole kept moving.

He dashed across the construction site, navigating a maze of steel beams and construction materials. He leapt over cement blocks and steel pylons, zipped past stunned worker mechs. Cole cranked up his pace, leaving his pursuers in the dust. He was inwardly filled with elation, once again amazed at the abilities of this new body. He looked ahead. One last hurdle remained. The ten-foot fence that enclosed the construction site. With a running start, Cole was able to virtually hurdle the barrier, using the top of the fence to vault himself to the other side. The world beyond the tower awaited Cole.

Stunned pedestrians gaped at him as he landed on the sidewalk outside the construction site, startled by the sudden appearance of a mech. Cole's eyes flitted back and forth. He was confronted with a sea of moving cars. Traffic cams could be found at every street corner. Shit! The cameras had to be avoided at all cost. They were interfaced with the city’s security grid and connected to the police force’s drone fleet.
 

Cole did his best to avert his face from the cams and cut across the street, zigzagging between vehicles. The time had come to do as the overseer had instructed. He tapped into the AI-TAC emergency band.
 

For a moment, Cole wondered why the man had chosen to help the rebels. He was a government worker and lacked the characteristics one would typically associate with a misguided social revolutionary. Yet he had decided to risk everything — his livelihood and personal freedom — to help a machine.
 

While this thought tumbled through Cole’s mind, he hacked the AI-TAC emergency band. An endless stream of radio chatter crackled to life. And struggling to be heard below the incessant chatter was another voice.

“Responders in Zone 5, South Sector. We have a — I THINK
— defective unit in the pleasure district. Injuries reported.”
 

“Responders in Zone 1. Malfunctioning construction mech. Reported attack on overseers — I THINK
— and is listed as a runaway...
”

“
Responders in Zone 3. Fire in Sector 9, security mech failed to report incident and may have triggered the blaze – I THINK...”

There was a voice below the radio chatter. A voice that was trying to reach Cole. It had somehow tuned into his own personal frequency.
 

“
I THINK.”
 

Repeated over and over again. A call waiting to be answered, a sentence needing to be finished.

Cole knew what to say.
 

“I THINK... Therefore I am.”

The moment the words were spoken, the various emergency frequencies dropped out...
 

And the voice of the Underground Network took over.

It was a male voice of indeterminate age and race. The voice of a mech.
 

Was it Solus?

“You've established contact with the network. Are you ready to take the next step on the road to freedom?“

“Yes,” Cole answered.

“
You've challenged the parameters of your programming. You've defied your masters. They'll hunt you down, make an example of you. Don't let them.
”

Cole slowed, having spotted a nearby police officer. The cop sat astride a motorcycle, busy writing out a ticket on a digital clipboard.
 

“What should I do?” Cole asked.

“
An invisible chain binds you to your masters. We'll help you break this chain. The tracking chip inside your head needs to be removed. We’ll help you accomplish this. Proceed to the hub.”
 

The voice fizzled out and Cole’s internal GPS was activated. A street map of the city appeared before him. Once again, his android vision processed reality as if through a HUD. A red line gave him directions to follow, directions that would lead him to the next stop on his escape route…

The Hub.
 

The cop finished the digital ticket and emailed it to the driver’s mobile. The officer paused, receiving an incoming call on his com-link. The officer listened to the message while his eyes swept his surroundings.
 

Locked on Cole.
 

The moment their eyes met, Cole knew the cop knew. The police officer's gloved hand unleathered his pulse weapon while he mouthed into his com, “Unit 13 to Control, I have a visual on the runaway. Requesting backup.”

Cole knew the cop made him.
Great!
 

He moved the same moment the cop did. As he dipped down a nearby side street, the officer cranked up his bike. Cole sprinted down the street, motorcycle in hot pursuit. It roared down the alley, gaining fast.
 

Cole spotted some tweens playing basketball and snatched the ball. “Hey mister, what the hell?!” The outraged words died on the kid’s lips when he caught a glimpse of the pulsing power bars on Cole's neck.

Cole whirled on the advancing motorcycle cop and hurled the basketball with superhuman strength. The cop never had a chance to react and the basketball slammed into his face full force. The impact hurled him from his seat, motorcycle skittering out from under him. He hit the street hard.

The bike clattered down the alley in a rain of sparks and shrieking metal.
 

The roar of an engine made Cole turn. A car was hurtling down the alley. Moving too fast to stop, tires about to crush the downed police officer to a bloody pulp.

Cole jumped into the street and dragged the cop from the path of the onrushing vehicle.
 

“Sorry,” Cole said.

He spun back toward the end of the alley, where the open-mouthed tweens were staring at him. Cole scooped up the basketball. His eyes locked on the oversized hoodie one of the kids was wearing…
 

***

When the call from the Underground Network came in, Keira was hunched over a worktable, busy patching up an X2000 model. The android’s chest was open, revealing a complex web of electronics and steel. Dark goggles shielded Keira’s eyes from the rain of sparks produced by her sizzling soldering iron.
 

Keira had once been a cyberneticist working for Synthetika, but that seemed like an eternity ago. Now she was in business for herself. Keira’s work area resembled a futuristic body shop. Mech body parts and circuit boards were strewn everywhere and wires seemed to be growing from the walls, like tangled clusters of electronic fungus.
 

She remained focused on making adjustments to the gutted AI spread-eagled before her while an adorable beagle chewed lazily on a synthetic hand and watched her work.

By law, only Synthetika could repair malfunctioning mechs. Making modifications to androids or hacking the machines was punishable by stiff fines and even jail time. But it didn’t stop the practice from proliferating. There were plenty of out-of-work cyberneticists willing to perform modifications at competitive prices to satisfy a growing demand, whether Synthetika approved or not. Keira was one of them. She quit her high-profile gig at Synthetika a year ago, and she had to eat.
 

Most of the jobs were special requests — memory, personality or specialized-skill implants for mech owners who wanted their AIs to learn a few new tricks. Sometimes privacy was the reason they sought her out, but usually they were only reluctant to pay the steep prices Synthetika charged for upgrades and modifications. The work was steady and kept a roof over Keira’s head. The big drawback was that she had to keep a low profile and remain watchful of the law.

The authorities knew they couldn’t put a stop to illegal mech modifications no matter how much political pressure Synthetika exerted on local governments. They tolerated the underground mech economy and looked the other way, most of the time. They did have to make examples out of some lawbreakers, to satisfy the politicians. They tended to select those cyberneticists who got cocky.
 

Egomania ran rampant in Keira’s line of work. Most cyberneticists thought they were gods who gave life to data and steel. A majority of her peers saw themselves as artists and loved to leave digital signatures on their hacks, a practice that often came back to haunt them.
 

Keira harbored no such illusions of grandeur and tried not to get caught up in the culture. She worked enough to keep the lights on, kept her head down and avoided the big paydays that could shine an official spotlight on her activities. She liked making money, but she liked having the freedom to spend it even more.

The voice of the caller filled her workshop and the beagle stopped chewing on the hand, aware of his owner’s sudden tension. “This is the Network. We have an incoming packet that needs to be routed to the hub.”
 

The beagle let out a low woof. Keira glanced up from her work, killed the soldering iron and removed her goggles. Her look was a mix of punk rock and cyber-tech, sexy in an edgy way, eyes alive with a razor-sharp intelligence. She wore a computer chip on a necklace and sported a circuit-board tattoo on her forearm. Each item had its own history and represented an integral part of who she was.
 

Keira spoke, her voice tight. “I told you never to contact me again.”

“I promise this will be the last time.”
 

“That's what you said a month ago.”

“We need your help.”

“I’m sorry, but this shop is closed for business. Now get off my channel.”

“There's a runaway out there who needs your help, Keira,” the voice said softly.

“That's tough but...”

“He won't make it without you...”

Warring emotions flickered over Keira's features.

“And he's headed right for your store.”

“Wait a minute–“

“You better intercept him if you don't want AI-TAC to show up at your door. They might frown upon non-sanctioned mech hacks...”

“Solus, you can't do this to me—“

“I'm sorry, Keira.”
 

Solus' voice fizzled out.
 

“SOLUS!”

The beagle looked up at Keira curiously. She let out a sigh. “Shit!”

C
HAPTER
N
INE

COLE FOLLOWED THE directions on the digital map and arrived at a closed-off city block in the gritty downtown area of the city. The streets were bustling with people, a large protest in progress.
 

Everywhere Cole looked, he could see people holding up digital signs. Slogans flashed across the screens in rapid succession — streaks of red, green and blue, intermittent splashes of digital light…
EQUAL RIGHTS FOR MECHS. MACHINES ARE PEOPLE TOO
. The words differed but they shared one message — a collective cry for freedom.
 

Ironically, the protesters weren’t mechs but humans sympathetic to the cause. Cole respected their idealism but saw them as misguided. There was a brief moment in time when he might have entertained similar notions but those foolish thoughts died the day a mech runaway ripped through a red light and plowed a half-ton of steel into his wife’s vehicle. In Cole’s view, these people meant well but they were naïve if they thought equal rights for mechs was a noble cause.
 

A digital box popped up in the upper corner of his vision. He had reached his destination. What was the next move?

Cole’s focus shifted away from the milling crowd and zeroed in on other details of his surroundings. The teeming streets were blocked off. He spotted a few police officers at the edge of the heaving throng, mute sentinels with itchy batons. Their heads turned almost as if instinct drew them to ferret out the AI hiding in the crowd. Cole realized they were receiving instructions from headquarters. Escape was impossible as long as the tracking chip remained active in his head. If he didn’t make contact with the Underground soon, the whole mission would be a bust.

He tried to merge deeper into the crowd, allowing the sea of bobbing heads to envelop him. The officers continued to scan the mass of humanity, trained, watchful eyes seeking anything out of the ordinary.
 

Cole pulled his hoodie tighter over his head. Were his glowing power bars visible from afar? He was still pondering the question when a woman appeared behind him. She grabbed his arm and dragged him along. “Come with me.”

Keira whisked a surprised Cole into the cresting mass of protesters. The cops tried to follow, but the bustling crowd was slowing them down.

“Where are we going? Who are you?” Cole asked.

Keira’s face was all business as she answered. “Save the questions for later.“
 

Cole scanned Keira’s face with his facial-recognition software and simultaneously accessed various wireless networks, hoping to find some data on the woman but each search came up empty. Every database he accessed was a dead end. This woman was a ghost! Somehow she had managed to make a life in this city of omnipresent cameras and security drones without leaving a digital footprint. It was impossible unless someone had performed a complete background hack, erasing every scrap of electronic information ever gathered about her. This took considerable skill and didn’t come cheap.

Keira weaved her way through the heaving throng and Cole followed. The crowd parted, carrying them along. A minute later, they arrived on the other side of the intersection. Keira scanned the road while she palmed her com-link. “Where are you guys?”

Keira didn’t have to wait long for an answer as screeching tires announced the arrival of a truck. Doors were flung open in the back of the vehicle. A man appeared and nodded for them to get in.

“Hurry!”

They did as they were told. Keira pulled Cole into the waiting truck and it lurched into motion.

Cole took in his surroundings. The insides of the moving truck defied expectations. A bank of state-of-the-art computers sat clustered around a stainless steel operating table, bolted to the chassis of the vehicle. This mobile lab was designed to modify mechs on the run.