Cyberpunk

I am in charge of finding individuals who are charged with crimes against creation. The government has strict rules to delegate how robotic and cybernetic based life can be developed. My sworn responsibility no matter how little I like it has been on this force against such mayhem for over a decade. Without servants like me, the world is at risk for a chaotic overhaul to the stability the governmental leaders continuously work to ensure.

        As I walk down a deserted alley, I search for the last known address for the individual I’m tracking down. I was told she may have had a partner in her past crimes but it’s unknown if they still cavort with each other or even if the partner is still alive.

        I step into the door frame of a building which looks ready to crumble into dust if even breathed on too heavily. With a scan using my upgraded retina system, I look over the main room. The system helps me track, locate, and usually identify visual clues within a millimeter of acuity. In my scan, I go over each figure inside, a red light glowing over each of them, but no sirens go off. I walk to another part of the main area and repeat these actions, a small worry hits me that I might not find Professor Dormer here. A few minutes later, the crimson shine sparks into luminous white and the sirens inside my head kick on. 

        “Target acquired,” I say to myself and walk with a purposeful gait to a brunette drinking alone in a booth. 

The woman must hear the chink-chunk of my boots on the wooden floor because she looks up from her drink at me as I arrive, her brown eyes gaze into my silver ones. 

“Dr. Dormer, you are under arrest for a crime against creation, evading arrest, and potentially living under an assumed identity. I recommend you come with me quietly so to not make things more difficult for yourself.”

She doesn’t blink and calmly finishes the drink in front of her instead, “As you wish. My identity is not assumed by the way, it’s my officially married name. I only recently adopted it.”

“Very well. Present me your hands ma’am,” I tell her and instruct her to stand before me as I make a mental note. Husband may be the partner alluded to in my notes. Make sure to use this during interrogation. 

Dr. Dormer silently places her hands behind her back and I type in the program keys on my wrist that issue virtual cuffs for her. The laser shackles are a new standard protocol by the government. They cut down on the fighting of those being arrested. Anyone who tries to break out of them is given an immediate and unforgettable burning pain that results in not repeating their attempt. 

I escort Dr. Dormer outside the building without incident. She remains calm through our entire path to the building where I will be interrogating her. Her tranquil demeanor makes me wonder if she wasn’t half-expecting me to find her. Once we reach our destination, I buzz in on the intercom to announce our arrival. 

There’s an unmistakable whoop of exhilaration on the other end first, “Excellent capture 4978, bring her in. You’ll be using room 12.”

After the door swings open, I step inside and catch a glance backward. My look at Dr. Dormer is the first time she shows any hesitation. I guess the reality of where she is and the severity of what happens if she’s found guilty means.     

Finally.

“Four-nine-seven-eight? My arresting officer doesn’t even have a name?”

Her question surprises me, “It’s, err, a code. We have to operate and find criminals without being on the tracking lists for regular individuals. I think it’s based on the date we started working for the creation crimes force.”

Her face falters for a half-second before she catches herself, nods, and follows me inside. I grab her by the right elbow and guide her down to the biometric monitor for a complete scan to ensure her body is free of nanotechnology that could aid her in an escape. At the device, her calmness has evaporated, and panic inches into her face. Her right eye starts to develop a subtle twitch of worry. After the scan determines her body is clean, I type the a new command into the machine. Now, her body is being checked for its genetic accuracy and is not a medical or mechanical clone. 

I watch the doctor as she waits for this scan to be complete. Her eye’s twitch has calmed down, but her shoulders grow tense. Considering why I had to arrest her, the idea of her being a clone would be almost comical. When the inspection finishes, I walk her to the interrogation room. She sits down without me asking her to. A good sign she’ll be compliant in answering my questions, I muse. 

“Dr. Dormer, do you know the charges that have been issued for your arrest today?”

“Yes.”

“Are you aware of the level of consequences one faces if found guilty of the offense of a crime against humanity?”

“Yes,” her tone has a curtness to it. 

“Do you admit to performing the acts which led to your arrest today?”

“Yes.”

           I’m taken aback by her forthcoming nature. If things continue this way, I will only have to ask one, maybe two more questions. Then, there will be no hesitation before she is sent to face her formal punishment. I clear my mechanical throat and she talks again. 

“I want to give a statement about why I did it first.”

           Her statement of a full sentence startles me. I walk from behind her to look her in the eyes from across the interrogation table.

“Do you realize that’s not necessary? It won’t help lessen your punishment.”

She says she doesn’t care. Dr. Dormer explains she wants to provide a story that will warn about the harm of laws against creation-based crimes. In my internal hard drive, I do a quick mental scan of the history of these legal standards. Dr. Dormer is the first offender of such things in two decades. The only reason she’s being charged now is because of how long she was on the run after her initial act. Learning this detail pings my curiosity circuit.

“Okay. I’ll grant you permission to give your statement. Do you want it recorded for the official record via audio or video?”

She requests the audio format and I hit the button on the wall to start the device’s use.

“My statement is more of a story,” she begins, “It begins twenty-five years ago and I want you to first consider what power love between a couple can lead to.”

Dr. Dormer starts her tale with details about a man and a woman. Young and idealistic, they first met after graduating from respective university science programs. The female studied mechanical areas and the male focused on biologically domains. A chance meeting led them to first interact and they found an instant connection with each other, having had the same professors but at different times or for different classes. 

“To think, we could have known each other this whole time and compared notes,” the woman teases in the story.

His eyes light up, a gleeful smile mirroring hers, “Oh yes, if only. No reason we can’t make time for each other now.”

Dr. Dormer explains how inseparable the couple became from then on. Gentle banter and playful jokes quickly became flirty innuendos. The woman character initiated their romance with lingering arm touches, holding him in longer than usual hugs. A wedding followed within in a year and Drs. Dormer and Abernathy and life was as close to perfect as they found. Their relationship grew in its joy when she became pregnant within their first married year. The pregnancy was moderately easy, no major concerns as they waited out the nine months that led them to welcoming their beautiful boy into the world. 

He was perfect despite his illness. 

Early in this toddler years, their son contracted an infection without a known origin or cure. All of his father’s years of studying biological sciences could not help him offer relief to his own son. He could not find a way to decode the affliction which ravaged Jansen’s body. Every day became a devastating trial to ensure he would live to sundown and then again through the night afterward. Sometimes, the boy would have a few days where he didn’t struggle or experience sickness. These were the days the family treasured for all they could given their rare nature amid such dark and heartbreaking others. 

The worst day was Jansen’s last. 

Drs. Dormer and Abernathy’s son died after a week of constant pain, punctuated by a fever and persistent bowel issues. When she explains this part, her interrogator bows his head, trying not to look at her crumbling face. 

She tells him how the couple’s grief subsumed them and their lives. They isolated themselves completely from society, depending on no one else for the solace they knew only they could give each other. Mourning lasted for months with days going by in silence while others were full of wailing despair. Finally, one day, Dr. Abernathy had an idea that offered a chance to get them out of their heartache. 

“What if we made a cyborg replicant of Jansen?”

Her husband looked at her, confused, desperate, already speculating, “Say again?”

“What if we created a robot that we uploaded Jansen’s experiences before he died into? We could keep the droid in the house like another child.”

“Honey, you’re in pain. We both are and no new version of our son will ease that,” Dr. Dormer says and sits down beside his wife.

“It’s a perfect solution. We won’t ever have to worry about illnesses again. Mechanical intelligence is getting so advanced too, he may even make new memories.” 

Dr. Dormer looks at his wife’s eager face. Her eyes have the spark he first saw on the day they first met. This somehow brings the start of relief to enter his body too. It gives him hope as he starts to wonder how long the endeavor she’s suggesting would take. 

“You wouldn’t have to do most of the mechanical work, I promise,” Dr. Abernathy says with a kiss to his cheek seeing him thinking, “Your part will be the neurological and biological bases.”

A few more moments pass. He doesn’t look at her but he can feel his wife’s eyes drill an imaginary hole into his face. She’s pleading silently to get what she wants and after another prolonged silence, Dr. Dormer gives a silent nod and agrees to the idea. 

They worked feverishly for weeks until their creation finally began to show progress,” the accused criminal explains. “Dr. Abernathy clapped with joy when she saw her ‘little boy’ make his first steps. It was even more thrilling when she heard him speak in a near-exact replica of Jansen’s voice.” 

Dr. Dormer was happy to see his wife’s enthusiasm return too. He gave the ‘new’ son plenty of affection but tries to keep a safe distance too. He felt he had to protect his heart. Then, one day at work, he hears a gossipy warning. 

The government has made a new law that criminalizes the making of unsanctioned robotic developments. In simple terms, anyone who is not legally contracted to create cyborgs faces serious legal consequences. As he hears his co-workers’ conspiracy theories, Dr. Dormer stays quiet. He does not react on his commute home using public transportation when an official social media announcement of the laws are given. 

The first time he said anything about the regulations is when he gets home to his family. He made sure Yaki (they’d chosen an alternate form of their son’s original name) was out of earshot when he talked to his wife. In hushed tones, he tells her what he learned and his worries about their family’s livelihood.  

“I can’t let you be placed in danger over this,” she whispers to him, “Not for my own foolish desires.”

“I’m just as guilty as you are. Who did the neurobiological designs again?”

After they got Yaki to sleep that night, they started to devise a plan. She will leave the house and go on the run by dawn the next morning while he stays behind with their creation. Once a week passes without a visit or interference from a law enforcement agent, he will take Yaki and follow her. 

It all goes wrong within hours of her department when a pounding fist slams on their door and Dr. Dormer opens it, keeping his nerves as calm as he can. 

“Good morning sir. I was wondering if you be willing to answer some of my questions,” the official says, his face is without emotion.

Dr. Dormer welcomes the other gentleman inside. His questions start out innocuous. Employment basics, life details, etc. The government worker soon gets more personal and asks about the doctor’s family. Dr. Dormer steadies himself with his hands under his legs so he doesn’t get too animated in his answers. 

“No, I haven’t seen my wife today. Maybe she left for work before I did? It is like her to get an early start,” he answers slowly.

“It says here in my records you and Dr. Abernathy had a son previously. My data shows he sadly died a few months ago. Please accept my deepest condolences, a child’s death is always painful.”

Dr. Dormer thanks him with gritted teeth as the men stand. The official shakes his hand with three firm pumps.

“I’m sorry it had to go this way too,” the suited man says.

“Pardo--?”

Before Dr. Dormer has time to get his answer, he is injected with a syringe directly into his jugular. He blinks rapidly for a few seconds before his body goes slack. As he drifts out of consciousness, he recognizes the poison work its way through him. He guesses he has maybe five minutes before his death. 

“Barry, you’re a good scientist. I hate to lose your mind at the university, but things have to be done,” the other man told him to make for the last words he ever hears. 

The official then watches Dr. Dormer’s body crumble into a heap in its position on the floor. He goes into the house’s smaller bedroom and finds the cyborg boy in stasis. With a quick movement, he unhooks it and takes the machine to his car before he drives back to his office headquarters. 

“Wipe all the memories you’re able to,” he told the scientists who helped him track the item, a sneer comes over his face, “The bosses have something special in mind for this machine. They want to make an example of this case.”

Dr. Dormer lifts her head to face me then. Her face has returned to its steadfast stillness from before. She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. I wonder if I need to ask for any concluding remarks. Instead, a different question comes to mind.

“How were you aware of what happened to the boy’s father after you left your home with him?”

“Just because I was on the run didn’t mean I stopped tracking certain news reports,” she says without blinking.

She then explains her years of living on the fringes in society, never keeping the same alias for more than a year but never destroying her original identity either. Dr. Dormer explains how her name was all she had to call her own by then and didn’t want to lose it. I scan my files for some of the first name pseudonyms she mentions she’s used. All of them are variations of engineers who she tells me inspired her while she was in college.

“Why now then? Why did you let me catch you today?”

Dr. Dormer grows somber and emotion catches in her voice, “I know what they’ve turned you into Yaki. I wanted you to know how much love went into your development. I wanted it to be known how much love underlies nearly all non-sanctioned creations. The government’s laws are vile and hurt people more than help them. I had to make sure to make it personal right back.”

I remain speechless as her words run through my mind. They trigger my memory drive to bring up my training from its initial days leading up to my first arrest. A family had tried to develop a pet for their mother whose physical despair would not ease after years of suffering. They’d read something about certain animals being comforting. The elderly woman fought me for an hour before I could remove the creation from her grasp. After that, I had to bring her children into custody. That interrogation was my first and most painful. I turn away for a moment to keep from looking at Dr. Dormer.

“I don’t expect to change you from what you are now Yaki,” she says to my back, “I just wanted to see you one last time. I accept my fate for what it is. I’ve always been aware of what would await me for my crimes.”

Her voice breaks then and I hear her sob more than say any words. I push the stop button on the recording device. I help her stand then since the cuffs limit her ability to do so independently as I escort her to the room where she’ll be punished. After I close that door, I walk back to the interrogation room and hit the buttons that will erase the parts of our conversation after she revealed knowing about her husband’s death. 

“Goodbye Mother. I’m sorry.”