Occult Assassin 4: Soul Jacker (13 page)

One false move or malfunctioning system could easily become the difference between living and dying. Out in the colonies, mankind struggled to carve out a home for itself in an environment seemingly designed to eradicate life at every turn.

The man in gray took note of another detail—mechs were everywhere. For every human servicing the spaceport floors, there were two synthetics. They worked mostly as bag checkers and sanitation workers. These animated mannequins went about their routine, mundane duties in what seemed like a trancelike stupor. They might move like humans, but their frozen features were lifeless, plastic. They were second generation X-2000s, and unlike the first generation, boasted synthetic skin.
 

As he moved past them, the androids halted their workflow, blank gazes trailing after him. His presence stirred something in them—was it curiosity? Surprise?

The travelers continued their patience-testing journey through an endless series of security checkpoints. A female customs agent divided her attention between the incessant stream of data on her 3-D holo-screen and the flow of humanity before her. When the man in gray’s turn arrived, she said in a perfunctory voice, ”Hmm, the Luna colonies. First time on Earth?”

“Yes,” he answered.

The woman returned the I.D.
 

“I hope you enjoy your...”

She broke off, eyes filling with disbelief as she caught a better look at him. Before she could say anything else, he’d pocketed his card and was on his way.
 

He’d been forewarned that he might encounter such a reaction upon his arrival. People would treat him differently on the homeworld than on Luna, but he was steeled for the worst. At least he hoped he was.

Once cleared through customs, the man in gray headed for the spaceport’s nearest exit. Unlike the other travelers, he didn’t carry any luggage. Walking briskly, he stepped through the sliding doors and eyed a nearby cab.
 

As he approached the vehicle, the cabby kept checking the TV monitor on his dashboard, entranced by some sporting event. The man’s attention barely wavered as the door opened and the man in gray slid into the back.

“To the city, please.”

“You got it,” the cabby replied, barely looking up from the screen. Like the woman in the terminal, he was just another human being dulled by his robotic routine.

The cab glided into traffic. The football game played in the background as the driver guided the cab out of the spaceport. To the cabby’s dismay, a news bulletin interrupted the sporting event. Images of a monolithic industrial complex flashed onscreen. Police hoverships and security drones circled the jagged factory buildings. The voice of a news anchor grew audible.

“In late breaking news, a group of terrorists have seized control of one of Synthetika mech manufacturing plants. Police are already on the scene, ready to deal with the situation. This is the latest escalation in a series of hate crimes directed against Synthetika. It follows the recent announcement that production on the new line of X-3000 models is scheduled to expand later this year.”
 

The footage showed a mob protesting in front of the sleek corporate headquarters of Synthetika. With fists held high, they brandished placards with anti-mech slogans. A ring of cops tried to keep the crowd in check.

“The X-3000s have met with great success throughout the colonies, and Synthetika feels the new model will prove just as popular here on Earth…”
 

Images of the X-3000 appeared, driving home the difference between the earlier AI models. These synthetics looked for all intents and purposes human. Only when they tilted their heads did their true nature become apparent. Power bars embedded in the back of their necks sparked with electronic life. A subtle but unmistakable distinction between man and machine.
 

“Atari Raspell, head of the HDL, had the following comments...”

The Human Defense League’s magnetic leader appeared on-screen. His height, weight, and features seemed average, even plain, but the fierce firebrand conviction of his words wove a hypnotic spell.
 

“
Every day, about three hundred Americans lose their jobs to androids,”
Atari explained.
“As we speak, there are a million mechs operational in San Francisco alone. Synthetika’s slave race of machines already make up twenty percent of this city's population. What do you think will happen once the X-3000s hit the market? The time has come to stand up for our human rights.”

The cabby nodded his head in vigorous agreement.

“Damn straight. If ya ask me, I think we should just scrap `em all.”

The cabby fired a backward glance at the man in gray, seeking approval and…froze. His passenger wasn’t a man but the spitting image of the X-3000 model showcased in the news bulletin. Shimmering red-green light emanated from the back of the android’s neck, exposing his true nature in the dimly lit cab.
 

The cab swerved, nearly veering onto the shoulder, and the man in grey said, “You better keep an eye on the road,”
 

The cabby's attention jerked back to traffic as the self-driving system kicked in, straightening the weaving vehicle.
 

His creators had named him Adam, being one of the first of his kind. He had expected to encounter intolerance on the homeworld, but not quite so soon after his arrival. He remembered a line from the classic twentieth century movie
The Wizard of Oz
.
 

You’re not in Kansas anymore…
 

Well, he wasn’t on the colonies any longer. Earth suddenly seemed a lot less appealing, and he wished he could tell the cabby to take him back to the spaceport.

Adam studied his reflection in the cab’s rear-view mirror. He could definitely pass as human especially if one didn’t pay too close attention. Unlike the X-2000s back at the arrival terminal, his features were animated, lifelike. Synthetic skin had given way to an organic bioshell grown in amniotic tanks, which perfectly hid the steel endoskeleton and sophisticated electronics underneath.
 

Synthetika could’ve easily perfected the illusion, but the exposed power bars in the back of his neck served a distinct purpose. It wasn’t a flaw in his design but a conscious choice on his creator’s part to differentiate him from humans. They wanted a machine that was able to appear human but could still be identified as a machine.
 

Fortunately, it was a difference that could easily be downplayed in social interactions. Adam pulled up the collar of his trench coat, hoping that by obscuring his electronics it might put his driver at ease. He didn’t want to end up in a car accident on his first day.
 

Synthetika had assigned him to Earth to be an ambassador for a new generation of mechs. In the near future, the X-3000s would be as prevalent here as they were out in the colonies.

An incoming message from his superiors pulled him out of his thoughts. He was receiving new instructions to proceed to the manufacturing plant.
 

“There’s been a change in plans. I won’t be headed to the city after all.”
 

The cabby stole a cautious look at him in his rear-view mirror.
 

“Don't worry,” Adam said. “This won't affect your tip.”
 

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