Finn's Golem (7 page)

I looked around. In for a penny, in for a pound. I pulled him to his feet. He was solid as a rock and weighed about twice what a man his size would have.

“Mister...
,
” he almost blubbered
,
“
b
less you...”

“Yeah, yeah. Bless me. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

We staggered together like a pair of drunks, out from under the concrete and iron and into the maze of the slums. Into the night.

Two hours later I was sitting in the back room of a curio shop on the edge of Synthtown, cooling my heels. It hadn’t taken me a lot of conversation to suss out that the Synth I’d pulled out from under the Aquaduct was a low-level runner for somebody’s gang. It’s why I carried him the sixteen blocks he’d asked me to instead of getting him to cover and leaving him to fend for himself.

I’d brought him as far as a warehouse space in the Warrens near the A-88 Bridge. It had looked deserted at first glance, but after a few seconds the courtyard had begun to teem with Artificials of all shapes and sizes, all wondering who the sopping wet human was, and what he’d done to their pal.

They’d taken the little yellow bastard off my hands, but hadn’t looked ready to let me leave until they had the story. The Synth had given it to them right enough. Made me sound awful good in the process. Not like a bumbling idiot at all.

There was awestruck silence for a moment as they carried their wounded fellow inside. Then one of them had stepped out and put out his hand. It was a proper looking hand. In fact, the whole design of this model suggested that he was created with human interaction in mind. He had the right number of arms and eyes, and they were all in the right place
s
. He wasn’t built pretty, and he was big enough to have been made with real work in mind, but he was smart and spoke well. In short, the perfect mid-level scumbag operator.

“Thanks pal
,
”
h
e had said
.
“If there’s ever anything I can do-”

“Maybe there is
,
” I had replied
.

And that was how I came to be waiting in the back of a crappy little shop that sold hand-made garbage to folks from the sticks that wanted to take something home made by a ‘real live Artificial’. Like everything they owned that predated Emancipation wasn’t enough.

Like I sa
id
, the Synth who took the beating was a low-level operator. Mister Handshake was the Lieutenant that ran whatever the operation in the warehouse was. Synths did nothing original. They didn’t know how. These ones were criminals and criminals knew things, or they knew who did. So calls were made and I was brought here. I was almost certainly not waiting for the boss. But I was waiting for someone, and so far it beat wandering the streets in the rain waiting for someone to jump me. Just.

The door opened and a giant walked in. He had three squat legs, all like tree trunks, and long, thick arms with hands like shovels. He didn’t speak. He probably couldn’t. He could mine coal like the devil himself, but he wasn’t meant to talk. He also made a helluva bodyguard, if you were shopping for something that would intimidate without being very effective in a firefight.

The giant looked at me for a half minute, then scuttled to one side, revealing a grey-skinned little grease ball standing in the doorway behind him.

“So this is him
,
”
t
he grease ball said to no one in particular.

“It is
,
” I replied anyway.

“This is the human who shot two of his own kind to save poor Joey’s skin.”

“Joey?”

“The man you saved.” His yellow eyes seemed to look right through me.

“No one mentioned his name
,
” I said
.
“I thought you people all had numbered codes.”

He stiffened
.
“What the hell does
you people
mean?” he asked
.

“What does it usually mean?”

The Synthetic smiled and shook his head
.
“You’re quite the hard-ass, aren’t you?”

“Some have said.”

“So tell me, hard-ass, why would you risk your neck and blow away two of your own kind to save somebody whose name you didn’t even know?”

“What the hell does
your own kind
mean?” I said with something between a smile and a sneer, which was about the best I could manage
.
“And nobody’s asked my name either, Mac, but you’re here in the middle of the night, and that says something.”

He nodded. “I suppose it does. Mickey said you want information.”

I had nothing to say to that, so I didn’t.

“Are you a cop?”

I snorted
.
“Yeah, Mac. I’m a cop. That’s why I blew away those two yobbos instead of helping them kick Joey to death.”

He smiled
.
“All right then.”

“The name’s Finn. I’m a shamus.”

“A what?”

“A private detective.”

He seemed amused by this. “A... what was the word you used...
s
hamus?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t find any of this as cute as he did.

“All right then
,
Finn. I’m Vince.”

We shook hands. It was like shaking a water balloon.

“Vince. Joey. Mickey. You boys consult The Big Book of Hoodlum Names when you set up the gang?”

Vince smiled. I could get real sick of looking at that smile. “In our business we interact with many human operators. It helps to play to the expectations. Besides, for Synthetics, it is an act intimacy to reveal one’s full alpha-numeric designation. You don’t just throw that around, especially to humans.”

“Synthetics? I thought the politically correct term was Artificials
.
”

“Artificial means
not real
.”

I nodded
.

“I feel real
,
”
h
e said simply.

I tried not to roll my eyes
.
“You’re reclaiming the word.”

“We’re reclaiming the word. Just so you know, I can say
Synth
. You can’t.”

“So noted. Look, I didn’t come here for a Civics lesson.”

“No. You came here for information.”

“I did.”

“That is a valuable commodity.”

“More valuable than Joey’s ass?”

Vince looked amused by this
.
“Almost certainly, but I take your point. I wonder, Finn, did you save Joey in order to trade for information?”

“I did what I did, and I’m not sorry that I did it. I’m not going to try and snow you into thinking I’m progressive, okay? But I did what I did. Those two punks? They’re not
my kind
, Vince. My kind don’t kick unarmed people to death for fun, artificial or otherwise.” I got up out of my chair. The walking dump truck behind Vince stiffened, but didn’t move. “You don’t want to help me, don’t help me.”

Vince held up his hand
.
“I didn’t say that. Regardless of your intent you did a good turn for one of my boys and I am grateful. But my business is dependent on a certain mutual respect for fellow travelers.”

“All I need is a little information on an out-of-town operator. A human operator. Somebody that might not normally work out of Bountiful, but could have a team here now. I need to know.”

Vince seemed amused
.
“What makes you think that I would have such information?”

“I don’t
,
” I said
.
“But I know that I don’t have it, and I know that I need it.”

Vince looked at me a long time. At last he spoke. “Is the water over your head, Mister Finn?”

I had nothing to say to that, so I didn’t. I didn’t need philosophy from a Synth.

He looked at me for a moment longer then spoke over his shoulder. I couldn’t follow any of it. It was that God-awful gibberish they spoke between each other. It sounded almost like real words, but garbled. Sometimes it seemed to be in code, and then a word you almost recognized would pop in. I’d never been sure that they didn’t do it just to annoy us.

The giant nodded mutely and turned to go. Vince gave me a chuck on the shoulder. “Follow Carl
,
”
h
e said
.
“He’ll take you to a junior associate of mine who will take you to see someone.”

“And that someone will have the information I need?”

He shrugged
.
“Or she will know who will. And she will know it is a favor to me. Do you have any further questions?” he asked
.

“Yeah
,
” I said
.
“Did you say that monster’s name is
Carl
?”

At first glance, I thought she was human.

The light in the bar wasn’t very good, but it was one of those lounges on the borders of Synthtown where the crowd was pretty mixed. The brunette behind the bar wasn’t tall, but she sure was well put together. The rest of the staff deferred to her like she owned the place and as I approached her I looked back to make sure I hadn’t been pointed the wrong way. The Synth at the door gave me a nod and slipped out. There was nothing for it now.

I sat down on a stool at the end of the bar, away from the rest of the crowd. She called off a unit with green skin and tentacles that tried to serve me and a moment later wandered over herself.

She was only maybe five-four, but it wasn’t what you noticed about her first. She wore a kind of bar-chic elegance that hung low enough to distract but not look trashy. The kind of view of more exciting locales that was impossible to resist because it seemed like it wasn’t intentionally on display. My guess was that it was perfectly calculated.

She approached and leaned in towards her side of the bar, setting her elbows down in such a way that her arms pushed her breasts in together softly. Just enough to give the trained eye a perfect sense of their texture. She leaned in a little further, as if to speak over the music, which wasn’t really loud enough to merit it. It was at that moment that I realized that her skin was just a little bit too pink.

Even when they were building new Synths, it was illegal to make them look exactly human. Didn’t matter for the most part, they were designed to work, not to look pretty. Except for those for whom looking pretty had been their work. Units built for sex had been created with as subtle a deviation from human standards as possible under the law, which satisfied everybody but a few perverts, and they could always find a way. But this one was something else again. Like I say, the light wasn’t good, but she could almost pass.

There must have been something like surprise on my face, because she looked up and smiled wide. I could see then how her designers had got away with the skin tone; her eyes were almost shocking violet. They seemed to dance with amusement at my expression.

“Disappointed?” she asked
.

“Always
,
” I replied
.
“Sooner or later, always.”

“Aw
,
”
s
he pouted
.
“Poor baby. What can I get you?”

“Scotch and information.”

She looked around quickly
.
“One’ll cost you more than the other
,
”
s
he purred.

“When you find out what I’m after,” I warned
,
“you might not want to play.”

“Mmmm
,
”
s
he said, arching her back a little
.
“And here I thought you just wanted to talk.” Her nipples suddenly showed like diamonds through the fabric of her top. Like all of her kind, she responded to the slightest stimulation as if it were flowers, candy and a half a bottle of tequila, and it pissed me off.

“Is the flirting good for business, or just a subroutine you can’t shake?” I snapped
.
“In any case, stow it. I don’t go in for silicon.”

The smile left her face and was replaced by something harder and colder. Something I wouldn’t have thought she had in her
.
“Spill it or blow, flatfoot. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, and talking to cops ain’t good for it.”

“I’m not a cop, I’m a shamus.”

“You say potato.”

“Vince sent me
,
” I said
.

“Of course Vince sent you. Why do you think I came over here? Because you’re so pretty?”

“He said it was a favor to him.”

“It is. But I don’t owe Vince no favors just now, so don’t push your luck.”

There didn’t seem to be any profit in getting my back up. “Look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot, but I’m having kind of a long night, and I could use some help.”

She looked at me sideways. “Sure. I heard what you did for Joey.”

“Let’s keep it among friends, shall we?”

“Are we friends now?”

“We are if you say we are.”

She smiled again, as if amused by the idea. “All right... friend. Go sit in that booth.” She pointed
.
“I’ll be over in a minute.”

I did what I was told. She sauntered over two minutes later with a glass for each of us. I stood when she arrived, figuring she’d like that, and she did. The booth she’d pointed to was remote, but positioned in such a way that every patron in the place had a nice clear view. It seemed like an odd choice.

She sat down on the side by the wall, where I had been. I moved to sit across from her but she shook her head just enough to get my attention.

“No
,
” she said quietly
.
“Next to me.”

She was sitting just far enough into the booth for me to squeeze in next to her, but no more. I sat awkwardly and reached for my drink.

“Don’t face the bar, look at me
,
”
s
he said.

“You’re not looking at me
,
” I said irritably
.

“We’re not playing that we’re in love
,
”
s
he hissed
.
“You’re trying to talk me into bed, and I am playing hard to get.”

“You’ve never played hard to get in your life
,
” I growled
.

“That’s better. But smile a little. Like you are telling me jokes and trying very hard to impress me. From time to time I will smile and look at you like you’re clever and like I just might say
yes
.”

“What are we doing?” I was getting irritated.

“I don’t care if people here think I am a tramp
,
”
s
he said
.
“First of all, it’s probably true. Secondly, no one cuts your throat for being a tramp. But selling information can get you killed. So tell me what you want, but tell me like you’re telling me that I’m pretty and funny and clever and that your wife doesn’t understand you.”

She was smooth and elegant, but I could tell her heart was racing. I couldn’t tell if she was nervous or just getting off on this.

“I need some information about an out-of-town operator
,
” I began
.

“You’re very bad at this
,
”
s
he said
.
“Put your hand on my knee.”

“No one can see your knee.”

“Shut up and do it
,
”
s
he said, her eyes flashing.

I did so. Her leg was just as soft as you would want it and just as firm as you could ask it to be. It was a symphony. I could feel her thigh muscles tighten at my touch and her abdominal muscles pull in as if by reflex. She bit the inside of her lips and shivered a little.

“You have nice hands
,
”
s
he said and looked back at her drink
.
“Does my pleasure disgust you?”

“You feel it too easily
,
” I said
.
“It doesn’t mean anything.”

She snorted
.
“Puritan
.
”

“You’re programmed to feel it.”

“We’re all programmed to feel it
,
”
s
he said coldly
.
“You’re programmed by biological imperative to want it, to need it. Millions of years of evolution make you feel it. Those that liked it the best did it the most, those that did it the most spread their filthy genes the farthest and the song carried on and on and on. Then you mixed in little details like love and guilt and religion and made the easiest thing in the world so complicated you can hardly stand to do it.” She took a drink
.
“I just like having sex. But apparently I’m the one with problems.”

She had said all of that before, I was sure of that. It was impossible to tell her age, impossible to tell how much time she would have done in some cathouse before the Labor Guilds petitioned to make her a person. And in the process to have her and her nice, clean friends thrown out in favor of pox-ridden Guild whores. She’d have been a Sub, that much I was sure of. She was too little and soft for a Dom. Too much like the eager-to-explore girl-next-door is supposed to be and never is. She caught me with my eyes on her breasts and there was no point pretending that she hadn’t.

“Are you looking for seams?” she asked.

“What if I am?”

“You don’t know much about Artificials, do you?”

“I thought the term was Synthetics again?”

“Shut up
,
”
s
he said
.
“Only the big industrial models were grown in separate parts. The top lines
,
the soldiers and whores, we were grown all in one piece. But you don’t have to take my word for it. Be a good boy and I just might let you check
.
”

“I told you, I don’t go in for Synths.”

She turned in to face me. I could feel her breath in my face, just inches away. It smelled of lilacs. It would always smell like lilacs
.
“You know what I think? I think you want me so badly you could scream, and I think it makes you sick. And that makes me very, very sad for you.”

“I thought we weren’t playing that we were in love
,
” I sneered.

She laughed like I was funny and clever. She said something that sounded like “
Imbeeceel
.”

“Speak human or I’ll smack your ass until it’s baboon-red
,
” I said
,
looking as much as possible like I was reciting love poetry.

She purred and her thighs pulled tight again. “You’re getting better at this. All right. Your out-of-town operator, what’s his name?”

“Cyrus Carter.”

She froze. “The Locust? You’re out of your mind.”

“I just need information.”

“I might not have been born, but I can still be killed.”

“It’s a favor to Vince
,
” I said, getting pissed off with this
.

“Vince never did me a favor this big
,
”
s
he said
.
“Vince doesn’t have a favor this big in him.” She wasn’t haggling, she was scared.

“Nobody will ever know. And I can pay.”

“You have no idea. No idea how these things work.” She was quivering now, trying to find a way to gracefully exit the booth she’d put us on display in. I held her wrist under the table. “Do you have any idea how badly you have to hurt someone who was designed to feel every clumsy gesture as indescribable pleasure in order to make them feel
pain
?” she protested.

I slipped my hand inside her open neckline and slid it down, quickly and with purpose, running the length of one finger over her nipple, which practically shook in its eager response. She gasped and closed her eyes. They fluttered open a moment later.

“You do know a thing or two about Synths after all
,
”
s
he whispered
.
“At least some of us.”

“Like you said, a clumsy gesture
,
” I said
.
“But it calmed you down.”

She shook her head
.
“I would not say that the sensation I am feeling is exactly calm. But you did get my attention. Come on, let’s step into my office.”

I let her push me out of the booth, she stood up after me and led me into the back.

“Whatever will people think?” I asked.

“That you’re the luckiest meat-bag in the city
,
”
s
he said without looking back at me
.
“But if it took you any longer than that to persuade me, they’d
know
that something was up.”