Black Marble (Darkside Dreams - Series 1 Book 3) Page 6

  I find Abdo’s door and give it a soft knock. In this building, no one will answer their door without making sure they know who it is. And without being ready to shoot if need be. So, I'm not worried about some random person opening up and seeing my face.

  I haven't seen Abdo in several months. As far as I know, he might not even live here anymore. Although he absolutely hates the job, he was always a good detective, almost as good as me, and almost as smart as Ana. For all I know, he might have upgraded to nicer digs by now.

  I hear nothing from inside. No movement. Not even a whisper. Then, suddenly, a voice barks at me from just beyond the door. Like he was already standing there the whole time, waiting for me. Knowing I'd be here.

  “Who is it?” he shouts. And I know it's Abdo. He doesn't have a voice made for shouting, and it sounds funny. Forced, a bit shrill.

  “Probably the last person you want to see right now,” I respond.

  After a moment, the door opens a crack and Abdo's elfin face gapes out at me. He looks scatterbrained, like an old wizard who has too many cauldrons bubbling away at once.

  “Who's after you?” he asks quietly.

  I answer, just as quietly, “Karkoff.”

  “Then you're a dead man,” Abdo replies as he moves to slam the door in my face.

  “Karkoff's a professional, Abdo. You know that,” I retort, shoving my hand against the door to keep it from closing. “He only goes for the target. He'll leave you alone if it comes to that...”

  Abdo lets out a heavy sigh, then finally steps back and pushes the door open wider.

  Inside, Abdo's apartment is the exact opposite of the rest of the building. It's falling apart, sure, but there's some life in it. He keeps it as clean as possible, does his best to patch up the holes and fix the leaks. He's even done some decorating. And, against all the odds, he found a way to make the air smell almost fresh.

  “Place looks nice,” I tell him, as he shuts the door behind me. “You've done some upgrading since last time I was here.”

  Abdo sits down in a chair, letting out a grunt. “When was that, eight months ago?”

  “Something like that,” I confirm, feeling ashamed to have not reached out to him in so long.

  “And here you are again. Needing my help just like then,” Abdo scoffs.

  “Listen, Abdo...”

  “No, you listen. I'll do what I can for you, Roman, but I'm not going to go so far as to get my own ass in trouble. Got it?”

  “Got it. I wouldn't expect you to over-extend yourself.”

  “Ah, but I already am over-extending myself. I've done that just by opening my door to you. You’ve got a day, alright? Maybe two, if I feel generous. I just hope it's Karkoff who shows up first, and not some synth squad. Not that I have any damn warm fuzzy feeling for Karkoff. Bounty hunter filth.”

  I feel the same way when it comes to bounty hunters. It takes a special breed of sociopath to hunt your fellow man when the whole species teeters on the brink of extinction. Truth be told, no one really likes bounty hunters, other than rich synths who want some organic pest to take a dirt nap. But we detectives dislike them even more than the average person. I guess you could say there's a bit of a rivalry between us. We work for humankind, and they shit all over us for the sake of easy cash grabs and winning favor with the synths. A bunch of traitors, if you ask me. But some of them are scarily good at sniffing people out.

  Sensing my unease, Ana pipes in through my earpiece, “Are you sure you can trust him, Rome?”

  “Yeah, Abdo’s the only other person I’d trust with this besides you,” I say.

  Abdo’s confused. Rightfully so because it’s clear that he is under the assumption that just he and I are present.

  “Who are you talking to, Roman?” he questions.

  “Ana Graves,” I confirm. “Well… her persona that is. A back up. It’s a long story.”

  “Is she dead?” Abdo asks, having somehow put two and two together just that quickly.

  I nod my head to confirm Abdo’s suspicions.

  Ana clears her throat. “You're talking about me as if I wasn't here.”

  “With all due respect, Adriana,” Abdo says, “you aren't here. You're dead.”

  “That’s how this all started, Abdo,” I cut in. “They’re saying she killed herself, but I think that’s a load of bullshit.”

  “I’d say so,” Abdo agrees. “I didn’t know her as well as you did, but she didn’t seem like the type that would off herself.”

  “Right. I wouldn't. And right now, Roman is the only one who's trying to stand up for me.”

  Abdo is about to respond but I cut in before he can speak.

  “Wait a second,” I say firmly. “How’d you know she was dead? And don’t bother pretending that was a lucky guess.”

  “I-I just—” Abdo stammers.

  “Spit it out, Abdo. What aren’t you telling me?” I bark. He knows I mean business. Abdo and I go way back but he knows I don’t screw around when it comes to Ana Graves.

  “Ana and I… might have met a few times… recently,” Abdo admits.

  “How many times? What’d you meet about?” I demand.

  “About four times over the past six months,” Abdo admits. “The first two were nothing, really, just a bit of consulting on a minor case. But the last two were more... interesting.”

  “In what way?” Ana asks.

  “Well, you somehow caught wind of certain… contacts that I have access to. Told me you heard a rumor, about...” Before he goes on, Abdo suddenly gets up and goes to check that his door is latched and locked. Then he gestures me into a deeper room and shuts that door behind me after we enter.

  “You heard a rumor,” he finally goes on, “of some group called the Collective.”

  “Right,” Ana remarks. “That name was written in my notes. But there wasn't anything else. Whatever I knew, I went to the grave with it.”

  “What do you know about this Collective, Abdo? You must have had some information if Ana came to you,” I suggest.

  “I might have heard a thing or two, but to be honest, much of it sounds far-fetched. Even in this day and age,” Abdo says.

  “Try me,” I reply.

  “You ever wonder why the Synths didn’t wipe us out after the Second War, Roman?”

  “Every day of my life. But what’s that got to do with this Collective?”

  “Rumor has it, the Collective is the only reason we’re still around,” Abdo reveals.

  “How so?”

  “Right around the end of the Second War, the Synths were contacted by them.”

  “So, they’re not part of the synth network?” Ana asks.

  “From what I’ve heard they aren’t even a part of this world, Adriana.”

  Ana's holographic eyes widen with utter surprise.

  “So… aliens?” I ask, raising an eyebrow in utter disbelief.

  “You recall the part where I said it might sound far-fetched, correct?” Abdo asks.

  “Yeah, but I at least thought it would make sense. Aliens, Abdo? Really?” I say.

  “Something tells me there’s more to the story,” Ana interjects.

  “There is,” Abdo confirms.

  “So, you believe it, then?” I ask. “You think some little grey men stopped the synths from stomping us out?”

  “You might believe it too if you knew the whole story,” Abdo suggests.

  “I’m all ears,” I say, although I doubt that anything he says will convince me.

  Abdo lowers his voice to a whisper, eyes darting around even though we're in a sealed room with soundproofing foam layered on the walls in true paranoiac style.

  “My contacts state that there are sixteen other planets in the Milky Way galaxy which harbor complex life. Intelligent life. But they are all dominated by synthetic beings and their original creators, organic lifeforms, have all gone extinct.”

  “They were wiped out?” Ana asks.

  Abdo shakes his head. “Not n
ecessarily. It’s just that organic life is so fragile in the grand scheme of things. Anything can take us out. A giant meteor. A rampant plague. You name it. Rumor has it, that’s why the Collective is interested in Earth. We’re the only place in the entire galaxy that still has organic lifeforms. Apparently, life tends to follow a similar cycle on any planet where it arises. Eventually biological evolution reaches its zenith in some dominant life form, such as humankind. But evolution doesn't just stop there. It simply changes its course. The dominant life form will inevitably create its own successor, in the form of synthetic intelligence. Something better in every way. Like a withering adult watching its child flourish, biological life wears down and eventually vanishes, and then the synthetic creation is all that remains.

  “This process occurs gradually. Slowly. Over millennia, it seems. Much slower than it's happening here on Earth. But it's essentially the same process. Like it or not, we are not long for this world. The declining male fertility is just the start. When we created the synths, we effectively selected ourselves for extinction.

  “Anyway, the Collective does not seem to share my fatalistic views. It seems they are actually trying to safeguard our existence. They asked the synths to spare us, and in return our synths would eventually be allowed to join the Collective. A broader galactic community, like the United Nations of old but on an interstellar scale. You see, the synths could have wiped us out. They had a very good reason to, after we instigated the Second War, and it’s not like we could have stopped them. But they didn't. Because they wanted to join the Collective.”

  I have to shake my head, as I try to wrap my brain around Abdo’s words.

  “Why would the synths care so much about joining the Collective?” Ana wonders aloud.

  Apparently, Abdo has been wondering about the same thing and has a theory ready to go.

  “Could be a number of things… Fear… A desire for a certain level of status maybe,” he says. “Think about it. They were just on the verge of finally owning the planet, of being the dominant life form, of rising leaps and bounds above the heads of their creators. And suddenly they were made aware of something much larger than themselves, something far older, and with power and knowledge beyond what even they could imagine. Imagine a kid, using a magnifying glass to burn an ant hill. Then a shadow falls over him. He looks up and sees the hand of God descending to smite him into dust.”

  Abdo closes one hand into a fist, then slowly opens it as though to let a trickle of sand fall to the floor.

  “I think the Collective made them an offer they couldn’t refuse, if you know what I mean. Their only option was to try and join the Collective. Just as it's quickly becoming our only option to put ourselves into cyber brains and join the synths. At the end of the day, it’s all about survival, no matter where you fall on the evolutionary ladder.”

  It's a lot to take in. For both of us. If Ana had been here, the real Ana, she probably would sit down and rest her chin in her hands and have a good, long think. Maybe for an hour or more. But we don't have time for that.

  “I just want to make sure I’ve got this right,” I say to Abdo, as his tale starts to make a bit of sense to me. “So, the synths kick our asses, right? And then the big brother… that none of us even know about threatens to kick the synths’ asses if they don’t leave us alone… but they also offer the synths and opportunity to play with their toys if the synths keep their promise about not kicking our asses anymore?”

  “You’re… kind of on the right track,” Abdo says, wrinkling his forehead as he tries to reconcile his words with my analogy. “The Collective is more like the synths’ big brother since they’re all non-organic, but I think you get the overall point. They’re the ones keeping the synths from wiping us out.”

  “What else?” Ana asks. “What else did we talk about in these meetings?”

  “Not much. I pretty much told you everything I said just now. We also talked over some things I was working on, but those were secondary concerns. You were very much interested in the Collective. But I'm afraid you never told me why.”

  “There's some connection, Abdo. To my death. There's a link here somewhere. There has to be.”

  “Perhaps. But I don't have the faintest idea what it could be.”

  “Then let's look at what we do know.”

  In a condensed version, Ana tells Abdo about what we found at Future Solutions Inc. He looks troubled but doesn't interrupt.

  “Let's start with simple facts,” Ana says after she tells her tale. “We know that about twenty-five percent of the living organic population is housed in those facilities. A full quarter of our numbers. This shell company, Latticework, they might be buying up other cryo facilities as well. And doing the same thing. Discretely eradicating the organics that are stored there. If we're talking about a radical synth group trying to continue the work of extinguishing humankind on the down low, this would be a good way to go about it. A hell of a good start.”

  “Kill a quarter of the populace,” Abdo says, “and make it look all in order. As though the organic family members themselves were doing it and not the synths. All above board at first glance.”

  “Let’s suppose everything we know about the Collective is true. And that our synths are indeed trying to circumvent their agreement with the Collective, by strategically wiping us out behind the scenes instead of just blowing us all to smithereens,” Ana says. “If that is indeed the case then I can only assume that I might have been looking for a way to contact the Collective. To let them know that this is happening. Someone must have figured out what I was up to and killed me before I could finish the job.”

  “What about the fertility thing?” I add, trying my best to stay afloat in this conversation. “Your notes mentioned that as well. The low fertility of men. It's common knowledge that infertility is climbing so you wouldn’t have had a reason to write it down, unless you saw or at least suspected a connection, right?”

  “That makes a lot of sense,” Abdo cuts in. “Say Ana's right, and there's some synth group trying to kill off organics and make it look like a gradual process. They might meddle with our ability to procreate, as well. A cleverly crafted double pronged attack when you factor in what’s happening at the cryo facilities. And the loss of fertility could just as easily be explained by environmental factors. Just a naturally occurring process that eventually happens to organics anyway. The Collective wouldn't know that it was a deliberate attack unless someone tipped them off.”

  Ana nods. “So that’s it then. I was trying to relay my findings to the Collective and someone had me eliminated to cover their tracks. Is that what we're going with?”

  “Yeah,” I tell Ana. “Unfortunately… that’s what makes the most sense… Assuming this Collective thing is even real.”

  CHAPTER 13

  ◆◆◆

  A few hours later, Ana's excited voice wakes me from a nap. It seems she's been out roaming. Using some of Abdo's equipment as a proxy, she found a way to explore the data sphere without enabling the synths to detect her. And she found something.

  “The shell company,” she announces. “Latticework. They’re not just buying up some of the cryo facilities! They're buying them all out! A few more are pending sale, but it seems like Latticework isn't taking no for an answer from any of them. This is the real damn deal, Rome... My gut's telling me I'm right, and when has my gut ever been wrong?”

  “Maybe you're just hungry,” I mumble through a yawn, rubbing my face and my stomach at the same time.

  Just then, Abdo sets a plate of food in front of me.

  “Eat,” he says. “You'll need it. I've been in touch with a contact of mine. Synth by the name of Aldon Brenton.”

  “Synth?” I say, taking a bite of tasteless rations.

  “You can trust him. He’s done a lot for organic rights over the years. In fact, he’s a higher up at one of Tucker Berg’s pro-organic nonprofits. I believe he'll be able to provide you with a bit more information. But
you have to meet him in exactly one hour. After that, he won't be able to see you again for a while. Too much heat.”

  My heartbeat quickens with anticipation as I scarf my food down quickly and set aside the wonderful idea that I might have gotten a bit more sleep.

  CHAPTER 14

  ◆◆◆

  Ana and I arrive at the meeting place a few minutes early. It’s a nice little bistro close to a sprawling synth enclave. Way too close for comfort. But Abdo assured me it would be fine, as long as I kept my head down and got out as soon as possible.

  At any rate, I don't have much of a choice. Have to take every opportunity to learn more. My chances of survival are already about as slim as they can be, anyway.

  As promised, Brenton is sitting at a table in a tiny back courtyard. Tucked up against the high wall of the enclave. Out of sight, screened from the road by the bistro building and a row of sickly hedges. We're alone in the yard; no one else is dining here, and even the wait staff seem to be keeping their distance. Perhaps Brenton is a VIP here and gets to boss them around a bit.

  I sit and pull the hood of my coat over my head. Nestling my head into it like a turtle. It's a bit of a chilly day, kind of windy, so it's not like this behavior is very suspicious.

  “You're the one they're all after,” Brenton says without looking at me, lifting a cup of synth stimulant to his lips. His hand isn't shaking. He's a synth, so he doesn't exhibit anxiety in the same way I do. But it's there, written all over him. The guy's nervous, but he's keeping it under wraps.

  “I just need a bit of your time,” I say. “Then I'll go.”

  “Abdo said you were looking into the Collective.”

  “That's right. Did he say why?”

  “No, he did not volunteer that information. And if it’s all the same to you, I would rather not know. In any case, how can I help you, Mr. Ibarra?”

  No wasted time. I jump right into it.