Skyway Angel Read online

  Skyway Angel

  by: James K. Douglas

  Chapter 1

  Dark clouds hovered low in the sky, threatening rain as they slowly moved above the upper levels of the city. The slivers of morning sun slipping between the buildings did little to wash out the light of neon signs on both sides of the street. I lifted my jacket’s collar against the wind gusts from the alleys. My boots splashed through streams of runoff water from the morning condensation sliding down the cracks of the brick and concrete towers to collect on the sidewalks.

  Halfway to the clouds above, the Skyway stretched the length of the city and branched out in every direction, carrying the wealthiest of the city’s residents to their jobs on powered walkways. Ballistic glass shielded those “Uppers” from the elements, providing them with safety and security while the majority of the city’s residents, the “Lowers,” shuffled along on the pavement below.

  Bumper to bumper traffic clogged the streets as people tried to make their way home from twelve hour night shifts in dirty factories. As I made my way past one of the many courtyard markets that dot the city, the smells of fried dough and sizzling meat filled the crisp October air. I watched a passenger jump out of a car and order food from one of the vendors. By the time his food was in a bag, his ride was only about half a block from where he left it. Hopping back in, he handed the driver a small box of fried rice and chicken, and I was no longer sure my breakfast was enough fuel for the remainder of my walk.

  Mixed into the sidewalk's crowd were the bionically enhanced residents of the city, people of every age and race with artificial arms or legs. In the cold weather, most of these plastic and metal limbs were hidden beneath pants and long coats, but it was still possible to tell from the way they moved. The myoelectric designs of Marshall Engineering tended to move a bit slower, more deliberate. The chinese knockoffs tended to be twitchy, with small spasms in the fingertips.

  AlterBionics limbs were controlled via a chip implanted directly into the peripheral nerve, allowing them to move the most naturally. This made AlterBionics limbs the best product on the market, but even with the ban on medically unnecessary bionics recently being lifted, few of these people had the money to pay for the nerve implant procedure out of pocket. Fewer still were on the list to get the new AlterBionics artificial spine.

  I pulled a twenty out of my pocket as I approached an older man panhandling from a sidewalk bench. His powered back brace squeaked and shed flecks of rust as he gave me a small bow of gratitude. A billboard on the wall behind him displayed the City Morning newscast, the show’s host espousing the many benefits of spending the city’s tax money on the latest powered armor for the police force. I told the old man to take care of himself and moved on.

  The closer I traveled to the center of the city, the more the crowd thinned. A ring of corporate owned apartment buildings surrounded the business district, and the only Lowers who had any business being near them were the people hired to clean the floors and bathrooms. Work had brought me here, too, but not the scrubbing toilets kind.

  Flashing blue lights signaled that I was growing close to my destination. A police drone flew overhead, fans spinning silently in its origami crane wings. I tried to not look directly at it as it scanned the area around the gathered police officers and the van that had been sent to clean up the remains.

  Five officers stood around a red mess, discussing the weather. Three were in standard black uniforms, but two were in the new power armor designed by Marshall Engineering and manufactured by their subsidiary, Ultramarine Tech. Called the ME-Slim, the new suit was black from the top of the full-coverage helmet to the bottoms of its high traction boots. Polyethylene ballistic plates covered the broad areas like the chest, thighs, and shoulders, while form fitted kevlar bridged the gaps between. Overlapping shingles ran the length of the spine, allowing protection without sacrificing mobility, and a thick defensive collar guaranteed that the strongest bionic arm wasn’t going to be able to snap a cop’s neck.

  The word “POLICE" was printed in reflective white letters across the chest and back, and down both arms of each suit. Instead of a badge on the left breast, a small digital screen had been installed to display the officer's badge number, but not their name or picture. From the outside, there was very little to identify the officer as human.

  Marshall Engineering remained tight lipped about the inner workings of the new armor, but rumor had it that coiled nylon monofilament muscles lining the interior of the suit were responsible for the wearer’s increased strength and speed. It was nothing compared to the extra heavy power armor the military used, but the idea was to have a suit that could be cheaply mass produced so every cop would be on equal footing with bionically enhanced civilians, like myself.

  I continued my slow pace forward to get a closer look at the mess that must have once been a human being. The meaty bits were unrecognizable, smashed and splattered into globs of organ and splintered bits of bone. Surrounding that were scraps of servo motors and metal plates. There was as much metal there as there was flesh.

  When the smell hit me, my legs stopped their pace. Death has an odor that affects a person on a subconscious level, smelling something like raw meat and rotten fruit. Even if you’ve never smelled it before you know immediately that something is wrong.

  “Jackson,” came a harsh whisper from the shadows of a nearby alley.

  Recognizing Cassdan’s voice, I approached the alleyway in a direct line, without checking my surroundings. I didn’t want to give any sign to the officers that I didn’t belong.

  In the dim light of the passage, Cassdan’s twisted top mohawk, dark skin, and long black coat were almost invisible. In my experience, that’s generally how he liked to be. And yet, the white ink of the circuit board tattoo above and behind his right ear still caught what little light crept into the alley.

  “What took you so long?” he asked through tight lips.

  “A seven mile walk on crowded streets,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “She called me a little over two hours ago, maybe two and a half. Said something was wrong, and then the line went dead. I came as quick as I could, but…”

  He bent over to place his hands on his knees. I took a step back in case he felt the need to let go of his breakfast.

  “Who was she?” I asked.

  He took a deep breath. “An old friend, Angela Vidales.”

  I felt my eyes go wide. “Do you mean the Angela Vidales? Marshall Engineering’s top model and spokesperson?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “How the hell do you two know each other?”

  “We used to live in the same building. We lost touch a long time ago, but started chatting again recently.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”

  “No, but I plan on finding out.” He stood upright and faced me. “Mr. Bell, I need to hire you to watch my back while I track these bastards down.”

  Even in the dark of the alley, I could see the muscles in his jaw flex and his lips tense. Something behind his eyes began to smolder. He meant what he said.

  I didn’t know Cassdan well, but he seemed like a decent person. I didn’t hesitate to pull out my phone and bring up my standard contract. After typing in a fair price, I handed it to him to look over. As he pressed his thumb to the bottom line, the device scanned it and logged the contract.

  Slipping the phone back into the hidden pocket in the lining of my black field jacket, I asked, “Were there any witnesses?”

  “Maybe one,” he said. “Follow me.”

  He led me out of the far end of the alley and turned left, toward the Skyway access point a block away. As we moved, he pulled a small device from his pocket and hooked it over his right ear.
A small glass panel popped out and slid over his eye, lighting up with a digital display of what, to me, just looked like backward words.

  We came to a stop outside the ballistic glass doors of the access point. Beyond them was a small foyer and an escalator that carried the approved up fifty stories to the Skyway. The glass lit up as we approached. Cassdan pulled up his left sleeve, revealing a curved digital display strapped to his wrist.

  “What is that?” I asked, as he scrolled through a menu, selecting the right program.

  “Access,” he answered.

  Activating the program, the display on his headset switched from a projected display to a nearly opaque image of a human eye. Light brown in color, it didn’t match Cassdan’s shade but it moved around with his gaze, following the direction of his visible eye as if it were alive, the pupil shrinking in the glow of the Skyway entrance. The edges of the projected image also seemed to be tracking the movement of his eyelid, so that the image blinked when he did.

  Closing his left eye, he turned toward the glass doors. They sprung open, giving him entry into the small space beyond. I followed him in, already knowing what was coming next.

  As I stepped inside, a second set of doors slammed shut, keeping us from going forward to the escalator. The glass lit up in red. Cassdan began typing something into his arm mounted computer.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He held up a single index finger as a response.

  As he finished typing, the glass again became clear and the doors opened, allowing us through. He moved in first and I followed, stepping onto the moving staircase. I tried to keep my eyes forward to prevent vertigo as it carried us swiftly away from the ground.

  “Care to explain?” I pressed.

  He sighed and said, “The Americans with Disabilities Act prohibits discrimination against individuals with disabilities in all areas of public life, including jobs, schools, and transportation, meaning that even though the Skyway is designed around voice activation, it still has to have programming that allows it to be useful to non-verbal individuals. Thanks to the retina scan, it already thinks I belong here, so all I had to do was show it some falsified credentials and tell it that you were my guest, without alerting it to the fact that my voice doesn’t match the person I’m impersonating.”

  I removed my jacket and fleece vest in the warmth of the climate controlled environment. “How could you be sure you picked a nonverbal person to impersonate?”

  “The security on this people mover isn’t that sophisticated. In this world, disabilities come and go, so it’s programmed to avoid discrimination first, and be secure second. I imagine that helps to prevent lawsuits, but it does mean it’s not much of a challenge to people like myself.”

  Despite living in such a computerized society, I hadn’t had the pleasure of knowing many hackers. Cassdan had some impressive skills, and a reputation to match. Whether it was cracking the best lock or tracking the untraceable, he was the man to see.

  “You know, with access like this you could’ve come picked me up and gotten back in less time than it took me to walk here.”

  “I didn’t have this access when I called you. I just finished rigging it up twenty minutes before you arrived. Took me a while to account for a few variables.”

  “Well, then maybe it’s good I didn’t get here sooner.”

  “Are you joking?” he asked. “Whoever killed her probably knows she called me. I’ve been checking over my shoulder every ten seconds.”

  With still a minute to go on the escalator’s climb, I proceeded with the standard questions. “So, Ms. Vidales was a model, yes?”

  “The top model for Marshall Engineering, more of a spokesperson, really. Her job was to show off the latest ME-Limbs at all the fancy dinners and movie premiers, as well as photo shoots for all the magazines.”

  “And she was a quad-amputee?”

  “When she was fifteen, she was caught in an apartment fire while her parents were at work. She survived by jumping from a seventh floor window, but she shattered both arms and both legs.”

  “Was this the same building you lived in at the time? The one where you two became friends?”

  “Are you doing a background check on me?”

  “Just getting the facts,” I said in lieu of apologizing. “Keep going.”

  “As a publicity stunt, Dr. Marshall gave her new arms and legs, but it all became such a media sensation that every year he’d give her the latest stuff. She’d do another little photo shoot, and all the world continued to believe that prick was a big humanitarian.”

  I chuckled. “You act like the man sent a hit squad after you.”

  Cassdan didn’t seem to be in much of a laughing mood, but it wasn’t much of a joke. After teams of Marshall’s security agents had been sent after myself, my client at the time, and Cassdan, who we had consulted in the case, I hadn’t been sure I’d ever hear from the hacker again.

  The escalator reached its peak and we stepped off onto the nearest of twelve conveyor belts, each wide enough to hold a civil conversation standing side by side. Like any other road, half of the lanes moved in the opposite direction, and the closer one got to the center of the road, the faster the belts moved. I checked to make sure no one was too close before continuing.

  “So, she was a crossover?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Her parents were factory workers, carpet mills mostly. They lived most of their lives paycheck to paycheck, barely making ends meet.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “My understanding is that they died last year when a lift truck took out a support beam and brought the roof down on top of them.”

  We reached Angela’s apartment building in no time. I followed Cassdan’s lead as he stepped into the exit lane and off the belt into the small lobby of the building. There was no doorman or any apparent security, only two elevators and a door to the stairwell. We stepped inside the first elevator that arrived and Cassdan pressed the button for the penthouse.

  “She’s living above the Skyway, and they were still in the factory?”

  “You know how these Uppers are. They don’t trust a crossover with real money. She was basically paid in trade, given allowances for food and clothing. Even her bionics were technically loaners from Marshall Engineering, traded in every year for the newest model. Any actual cash she made, she gave to her parents, until they died.”

  I thought that over for a moment as I listened to the hum of the elevator. “What about the apartment?”

  “Marshall owns the building, but technically the apartment was hers, a signing bonus, if I recall. I imagine ownership is going to revert back to Marshall in a couple of days.”

  “She didn’t have any other family?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  The elevator dinged and came to an abrupt halt. I grabbed the wall to stabilize myself as the doors opened. A short hallway lay in front of us, white from end to end. A single door sat at the far end, as white as the walls and only visible due to the shadow lining the small slit where the hatch separated from the wall. With no handle, I couldn’t tell if it opened to the left or right, or even up or down, and if there were security cameras in the hall, they weren’t obvious.

  My client continued to take the lead, crossing the small hall and banging on the door. “April,” he called out. “April, I’m here. Open up.”

  “Angela had a roommate?” I asked, staying a step behind him.

  “Not exactly,” he answered.

  Chapter 2

  The door slid open to the most lavish apartment I had ever seen. Taking up the entirety of the eightieth floor, it had more couches than I had shirts, and enough potted fruit trees to start an orchard. Brushing past the leaves of the pomegranate trees flanking the entrance, I followed Cassdan into the massive circular room.

  On the left of the room was an enormous, round bed. A dozen pillows were stacked around the edge close to the wall, and a half opened curtain hung from the cei
ling with enough material to completely encircle the sleeping area.

  To the right, a number of the couches surrounded a low dining table. Driftwood had been used to make the table, cut flat and smoothed out, with sections of blue glass used to fill in the gaps and holes of the organic surface.

  Curved glass made up the entirety of the outer wall of the apartment, sectioned into ten foot wide panes. A column at the center of the room obstructed my view of the shattered window where Angela had been forcibly removed from her home. I was about to take a closer look when the remaining resident appeared.

  Waddling out from its hiding place under a couch on the right side of the room came a short-legged Shih-tzu. Keeping its head and tail low, the creature sniffed the air and proceeded only a few steps at a time, its little nails clacking on the hardwood floor. Moving closer, I squatted down to pet it. It only had a single eye, and that was dim and cloudy.

  Scratching behind its ear as I asked, “Is this April?”

  “His name is Wink,” came a woman’s voice from seemingly everywhere at once.

  I jumped hard enough that I nearly left my bionic arm behind, but Wink seemed calmed by the voice. He plopped his furry behind on the cold floor and perked up his shaggy ears. His head panned from left to right before dropping down a half inch and panning again. He did this four times in a row, scanning the room before him, apparently using sound to map out his surroundings. I half expected his little typewriter head to ding at the end of each line. His singular eye looked around as well, but I doubt it did him much good.

  “Was that the house computer?” I asked Cassdan.

  As Cassdan said “Not exactly,” a two foot wide disk dislodged itself from the base of the apartment’s central column. It approached on small wheels and opened from the middle, unfurling a sheet of flexible plastic upward using telescopic arms so that it stretched from roughly my own height all the way to the floor. A small lens on either side of the little machine lit up, projecting a double image onto the reflective surface of the black sheet. Finally, the arms pulled closer to one another, warping the sheet into a half tube, drawing the double image into focus.