Synthetica Read online

  “Okay,” Xander seemed to accept her outburst with extraordinary calm. “Where do you want to go?”

  “I don't know,” she ran a hand through her hair. “Anywhere.”

  Her tired mind flittered about, desperate just to run away, to get out of the city if she could; but that wasn't a solution - not if she wanted to keep her job and stay out of prison. She couldn't bail on Officer Hughes, not after everything she'd done for her. Plus, Nox would have a field day if she took off and left the city now.

  She pressed her hands to her eyes, willing herself to think; where did she want to go? It took a while for her to think clearly but eventually, through a haze of fog, she remembered her words from yesterday. It was far too late to save Dalla, but what about the other unsuspecting souls who might want to get a Civitas product for cheap? Who else was out there that might suddenly become a murderer without knowing anything about it?

  “Denzel,” she said, lowering her hands. “We have to speak to Denzel. I need to find out as much as I can about those – those SLPs for Officer Hughes.”

  “Good choice,” Xander said. “I was wondering whether we should still go or not.”

  “We? Don't you have work today?”

  Xander shook his head.

  “Day off,” he said, and for a split second, his eyes softened, a flash of their old sparkle returning. Anais wiped her face on her sleeve and took a deep breath.

  “Let's go,” she said, with a conviction she didn't feel. She felt as though she'd never truly feel strongly about anything ever again.

  Xander reached forward and grabbed her hand. The warmth of his palm felt reassuring to Anais, a small reminder that she wasn't completely left alone. Together, they set off walking back towards the city, not speaking, but for Anais it was enough to know that there was someone still on her side.

  It was only polite, after all, that one informed someone when their services were no longer required.

  So it was completely beyond him why Denzel was on his knees, begging and crying. It didn't evoke any sympathy in him; if anything it simply made him more contemptuous.

  Or maybe it had something to do with the knife in his hand. Every time Denzel glanced at it, he burst into renewed sobs.

  “P-please, just give me a chance, give me a chance. You'll have your money from the deal, I wasn't keeping from you, I swear, I swear. An' I sold six more of those chips today and I told 'em that if they had any friends, to send them my way. Word's getting out – I just need a little more time. Just a bit longer. Please, please...” Denzel seemed inconsolable as he dissolved into tears.

  His brow creased as he tried to imagine what was going through this pitiful man's head. And then he decided he didn't particularly care.

  “Get. Up.”

  His voice was soft, but he still saw Denzel flinch at the hoarseness of it, at how wrong it sounded. He was used to people recoiling at his voice. He didn't care so long as they still listened to what he had to say. Denzel gave a loud sniff and forced himself to his feet.

  He took a step towards Denzel, and Denzel cowered back.

  “You can keep the money.”

  Denzel looked as though he couldn't believe his ears.

  “W-what?”

  “This was never about the money. I have no use for it. Keep it.”

  Relief washed over Denzel's face and he began to gush in his relief.

  “Thank you, thank you, I -”

  “Why are you thanking me?”

  Denzel stopped. His gaze kept flicking back to the knife.

  “I am running out of time. And patience. You told me you could sell. Each and every one. Of those programs within a week. You have not. Lived up to my expectations. You have failed me.”

  Denzel remained silent, stealing terrified glances between the knife and the masked face in front of him.

  “I have no use for failures.”

  He lifted up the knife and Denzel squealed, stumbling backwards and falling onto the floor.

  “No – no! Please! I can still help you! Those programs – they're amazing, I ain't never seen a copy that good before. They're just like the real thing would be. I can sell them, I swear, I swear!”

  He paused.

  “You really. Think they're that good?” His voice was still as soft as he could make it.

  Denzel nodded furiously.

  “They're real good. They'd pass any test, honest.” Denzel's voice was almost a squeak in his terror.

  He looked down at Denzel grovelling on the floor. He was almost tempted to tell Denzel what his programs actually did – how they were so much more than anything Civitas could ever dream of. But then he decided it would be much more fun to show him.

  “Denzel,” his hoarse voice was quiet but the cruel, amused undertone was unmistakable. “Would you like me show you exactly how my programs work?”

  Eleven

  The security scanner was broken.

  Not just broken, Anais found when she inspected it, but hacked to pieces. Small metal parts littered the alleyway floor and a jagged piece of titanium casing dangled forlornly from the wires sticking out of the wall.

  A trickle of fear pierced through her fog of grief. It was no coincidence that the front door of Denzel's shop had been locked when they'd tried it, and now this. Whoever it was had been determined to force their way in.

  Xander had picked up what was left of the inner workings of the scanner and was now examining the tiny picochips along with a fragment of wafer-thin glass. Their eyes met as they both turned to look up at the building in front of them. The back of Denzel's shop was identical to those around it; the empty street showing the same freshly painted walls with metal doors at set intervals, showing the back entrance to each shop.The only exception to the uniform look was the now useless scanner by Denzel's door.

  Anais put out her hand, and froze as she realised the door was already slightly ajar. Slowly, she pushed the door open to reveal a narrow corridor which was crowded with the same kind of electrical antiques that Denzel's shop had been full of.

  “Be careful,” Xander's warning rang in her ears as she stepped into the passageway. Immediately the smell hit her; a combination of musty fabric and a trace of something more ominous, like rotten milk or decayed food. She tried her best to breathe through her mouth as she navigated her way through the piles of junk on either side of her, but she could almost feel the heavy smell settling over her skin like a blanket. She managed to squeeze her way past a pair of big white machines which had rows of buttons above their large circular doors. The only source of light was behind her and she had to squint to see through the gloom.

  There was a small crash and she heard Xander swear. She turned to see him untangling his feet from the wires trailing out of the white machines.

  “What the hell are these?” he grumbled.

  “Dunno,” Anais said, suppressing a sudden laugh from the look of indignation on Xander's face.

  Before she could say more, there was a thud above their heads and they both froze. Anais stared at the ceiling, her heart hammering hard. There was another thud, fainter now.

  “Did you hear that?” Xander whispered, also looking up at the ceiling.

  “It might just be Denzel,” Anais whispered back, her heart in her mouth. But something, she couldn't say what exactly, told her it wasn't.

  There was another faint thump, and another. Footsteps. Gradually the sounds faded away and after a few seconds of complete silence, Anais glanced at Xander and put a finger to her lips.

  They tiptoed through the corridor until they reached a set of stairs leading upwards into the gloom. Anais and Xander exchanged a look; Xander shook his head, but Anais ignored him and began climbing the stairs as quietly as she could. At the top was a small landing with
several doors leading off it. Only one of them stood slightly ajar, a crack of light streaming through the narrow gap.

  Anais heard Xander's breathing in her ear.

  “What do you think? Should we try and call for him?” Anais murmured under her breath. There was something about this place that made her want to keep her voice down. The fact that Denzel hadn't appeared yet, despite the noise they were making downstairs, struck her as rather ominous.

  “You can try,” Xander breathed back. Anais cleared her throat.

  “Denzel?” her voice sounded high and thin. She tried again. “Denzel? Are you there?”

  There was no answer.

  Mouth dry, Anais crept forwards towards the open door. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the door handle. She berated herself for being so scared when, logically, there was nothing to be afraid of. She took a deep breath and pushed it open.

  It took Anais' eyes a few seconds to adjust. Light filtered through a gap in the thin curtains, but it seemed extraordinarily bright after the darkness in the hall. She blinked and saw that this room was just as cluttered as downstairs. Piles of computer screens, toolboxes and parts of machines that Anais couldn't identify were everywhere. There was a dangerously high pile of metal crates either side of the door, crammed full of more plastic and metal. She took another step forward and then stopped still, her heart going haywire.

  Denzel was sitting on the sagging couch staring straight at her. There was a trickle of something dark coming out of his mouth, which was slowly dripping down onto his orange t-shirt. In his limp right hand, he held the same small device that he'd used to download the SLP onto Dalla's ID chip.

  “Oh fuck,” Anais whispered.

  “What the -” Xander's sharp intake of breath came from behind her. For a moment, all Anais could do was stand there, horrified. She wondered briefly if she should be screaming or raising the alarm somehow. Instead, she found herself taking a step towards Denzel's body. Xander seized her arm, making her jump.

  “What are you doing? Anais, we should go,” Xander said, the fear in his voice palpable.

  Anais shrugged him off and knelt down in front of Denzel. His blank eyes seemed to stare straight through her, making her shudder. Her RetCom remained silent, the only confirmation she needed that he was dead. And yet, she couldn't help reaching out and touching where his pulse on his neck ought to be. She gasped as his skin's unexpected warmth flared up her fingertips. She snatched them away again, heart pounding. Her eyes alighted on the machine in Denzel's hand and, ever so carefully, she touched his right ear. His head flopped to the side, but now she could see clearly what she was looking for. Denzel's ID chip had been burnt black, standing out against the raw skin around it.

  She just managed to stop herself from shrieking as Xander grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.

  “We have to leave, now,” he said urgently. Anais took no notice of him as she stared down at Denzel's limp corpse.

  “He's only just dead,” she choked out, her throat constricting.

  “Even more reason for us to get out of here,” Xander said and Anais finally registered the alarm in his tone. She looked up at him.

  “Why?”

  “Anais, listen to me,” Xander placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes. In this light, they looked almost black. “If the police find us now we're both going to be arrested and this time, they're probably not going to let us go. If they find you at the scene of another crime, there is no way you're walking out of that station again. It's too suspicious.”

  Anais couldn't help feeling a little outraged.

  “But, I never -”

  “I know,” Xander cut across her. “I know. But the police won't see it that way will they? Almost every single time there's been a murder, you've been involved somehow. If they come here and see that Denzel's ID chip has been fried the same way Marcus' was – bearing in mind that you were with Marcus when he died, and now we're alone here with Denzel – they're not going to let you go. It'll be our word against theirs. The medics are going to be here any second once they realise Denzel's ID had gone off the grid. Someone's probably already on their way to check it out. We have to leave right now.”

  Xander's firm voice brought her back to her senses. He was completely right. Except...she couldn't help glancing back down at Denzel. He had been their only lead to finding out why Dalla and Marcus had died. How were they supposed to find out where the SLPs came from now?

  A siren sounded in the distance and Xander glanced edgily at the window.

  “Let's go,” he turned and strode across the room. Anais gave Denzel one final look before following him. Xander was waiting by the door, but as she went to pass him, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She spun on her heel, staring wildly around the seemingly empty room.

  “What?” Xander glanced around the room. “What's wrong?”

  Anais shook her head. She didn't have the words to explain it – all she knew was, something was off. There was an inexplicable feeling that something was wrong, something they'd missed. And then it came to her.

  “Xander,” she said in a low voice, trying to keep her voice calm. “Denzel is dead. But he's probably been dead for what, ten, fifteen minutes, maybe? Once that...thing,” she gestured to the machine in Denzel's hand. “...is downloaded into your system, you start having a fit. So there's no way he was in any state to get up and walk around for at least a few minutes before he died.”

  “Right,” Xander shot her puzzled look. “Where are you going with this?”

  Anais looked him straight in the eye.

  “So who was it we heard walking around?”

  *

  Almost as soon as she spoke the words, the teetering pile of metal crates by the door pitched forward. Anais screamed and just managed to jump out of the way. A CPU unit tumbled out of one of the crates, catching her on the leg and causing her to stumble. Xander was caught right in the middle of the avalanche. Anais heard him yelling as various pieces of metal came crashing down on him.

  It seemed to go on forever. She threw her hands above her head as lightbulbs and old screens exploded as they fell around her. She felt the sting on her arms as more than one shard of glass caught her on the way down. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a dark figure slip through the doorway, hampered somewhat by the mess he had created. But before she could go after him, she had to know if Xander was okay.

  “Xander,” she screamed. She scrambled up and began pulling objects off the pile, ignoring the jagged pieces of glass and metal that pricked her skin.

  “I'm fine,” Xander's voice was muffled underneath the crates. “Just go!”

  With one last agonising look at him struggling out from under the wreckage, Anais leapt over the mess, stumbling through the door. She blinked as she found herself back in the dark hallway. She could feel reverberations coming up through the floor as whoever it was fled down the stairs. She didn't give her eyes time to adjust to the lack of light as she ran, almost pitching herself headfirst down the stairs as a result. She took them two at a time, jumping the last few and landing with a grunt of pain on the floor. She looked up in time to see the intruder running down the corridor towards the open door, holding his right arm rather stiffly. She shouted and set off after him but he didn't pause. Instead, he began pulling down the piles of junk around him as he passed, obstructing her path. Anais managed to scramble through most of it but it served his purpose. By the time she reached the door and looked up, he was gone.

  Undeterred, Anais burst through the doorway and stared wildly around the alley. It was empty except for a supply van that was hovering a few doors down, the driver looking at her quizzically as he unloaded boxes of dragon fruit. The nearest exit was the one that she and Xander had walked down not half
an hour earlier. She ran as best as she could but a fire was beginning to shoot its way up her leg from where the CPU unit had hit her.

  She limped down the small alley and into the main street, and her heart dropped. The crowds were beginning to descend on the market, making it impossible for her to pick out anyone suspicious. She cursed, spinning around, but she couldn't see anything; just a group of middle-aged tourists ambling past while several men in spotless suits hurried by, their shiny shoes clicking smartly on the pavement. Across the street, several council workers in navy uniforms were pinning up silver bunting and banners in preparation for Civitas' parade. A woman in a deep purple suit and high heels was walking a small yapping dog. She stared in distaste as she passed Anais, who was looking distinctly worse for wear.

  Anais looked around more closely. There were several individuals walking alone, but none of them seemed to be clutching their arm or to be out of breath. No one was even wearing a black jacket, or had shoulder length hair, like the intruder had had.

  She pushed her hair back from her face, wondering what on earth they were going to do now. There was a slight pressure on her shoulder as Xander caught up to her and laid his hand on her shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, running her eyes up and down him. Apart from a rip in his silver uniform and a few small scratches on his hands, he seemed okay.

  “Yeah, I'm fine,” he also scanned the thickening crowds. “No luck?”

  Anais shook her head. Xander glanced down, noticing the tear in her leggings.

  “Are you alright? What happened?” he asked.

  “It's fine,” she said, although her leg was still throbbing. She bent down to inspect the area. The skin wasn't broken, but there was a red patch with a faint purplish tinge to it. She was going to have a nasty bruise there in a few days time. “It's just bruised.”

  “So what now?” Xander asked. “Where do we go from here?”