Deus ex Sapiens

TW: Guns, slavery and droids.

“Time for the truth, Arthas. I’m not who you think I am,” said Mayko Belle with her private school English and French blended accent.

Detective Arthas Jacques’ blue eyes widened. “No? Who are you then?”

“My name is Bella Nguyen. I’m an agent for the MSA.” Tucking one of her poker straight black hairs behind her ear she fixed him with a steely gaze.

Laughing, he turned his head away from her and nodded. “Right. Of course. Trust me to fall for a beautiful woman who wants something else. Go on then, tell me what the Martian Security Agency wants me for?”

All feigned concern for him fell away in an instant. “There’s a new technology up for grabs. A game changing moment for humanity is coming. Earth wants it. Mars wants it. Tycoons from both have beggared themselves for mercenaries to get their hands on it.”

“It? What is it?”

“It’s called Deus ex Sapiens. Biotech or nanotechnology, no one is sure yet. We’ve been given proof of concept for most of the claimed benefits.” Her brown eyes caught the skepticism in his. “Superhuman strength, healing. Increased reaction time. Those have been demonstrated. The company behind it claims it will extend lifespan by decades, perhaps centuries.”

“It all sounds like bullshit? Did you all fall for a three year old and some video magic?” He smirked. “If it sounds too good to be true it is. I don’t need to tell you that.”

“If there’s something else to it I won't be surprised, but I’ve seen proof of its effects. For all that’s been demonstrated so far people have been killing each other from here to Hanover. There’s a silent war being fought over it.”

“The bombs,” said the detective, looking her in the eyes again. “That’s what they were about?” He looked for signs of honesty or deception in her body language. He found nothing. “Was I at least right about you being divorced?” He pointed to her wedding finger. “You twirled the air around your ring finger as if you were used to something being there. You have a scar which looks like the mark of a shitty husband. Was I right about that?”

Belle’s shoulders sagged. “You saw?” Her eyes scoured the finger. Why is any of that relevant?

“Because it’s the only thing I know for sure about you. You’ve already said you’re a liar. An agent.” He turned. “Orange,” Arthas spoke to his battered black droid. “Run searches for Mayko Belle and Belle Nguyen. 

“Yes, sir.” The droid’s eyes switched from purple to orange. “Searching,” it said in a Washington DC accent. “Matches found.

Mayko Belle, PHD, born in Ascraeus Mons, Dome Six. Geological prospector with Suzuki Saturn Mining Corporation. Fifty-two years old.”

“Thank you. What about Belle Nguyen?” Arthas asked.

“Sergeant Major Belle Nguyen served with distinction for twelve tours. Service photo redacted. Age redacted. Service record redacted. Height redacted. Hair colour redacted.”

“Okay. The rest is redacted. Understood.” Arthas nodded. “So. You outrank me.” He gave a mock salute. “Sergeant Major is the required rank for transition to MSA. I’ll give you that.” The Spectrum droid’s eyes were back to purple, the bodyguard and pilot program was running again.

“Let’s get a drink,” said Arthas. Waving an arm, he motioned Belle to the back of the ship. “Do I have to call you Mayko in public?”

“For now,” she said as she walked towards the ship’s hatch. “What’s wrong with being aboard the ship? It’s easier to talk privately here.”

“I’d like it to stay private, Sergeant Major Nguyen. Purple,” he said to the droid.

“Aye, sir?” it replied in its thick Newcastle accent.

“Run a full diagnostic of the ship. Sweep for bugs. Be thorough.” The detective pulled his service weapon from his locker and holstered it beneath the jacket Belle had bought him. Suspicious eyes scoured her from head to foot again. “Watch her.”

Arthas took off everything she had given him and everything he had been wearing since he’d left the medical bay. Changing into his own plain clothes, he handed the bundle to the droid. “Check these as well.”

“No problem.”

“Thanks, Purple. I’ll call if I need you.”

“Is that really necessary?” Agent Nguyen asked, nodding at the clothes.

“I don’t know Carmen Sandiego. Is it? Will Green find any bugs?”

“Green? His eyes are purple just now,” her confusion seemed to be genuine.

“I am the technology analyst of the Spectrum unit,” said the droid, eyes flicking to emerald, then to red and orange. Then the eyes blinked out.

The Spectrum unit dropped the clothes, arms twitching. One eye flashed between all of the colours then out again. One foot rose. The arms lept to the side as the torso rotated. It slammed into the deck with a clang.

“PURPLE!” Arthas dived too late to catch the droid. “What did you do to it?” he shouted at Belle.

“Nothing. It soaked up a bomb blast to protect you. It’s damaged. I told you that.

“You also told me your name is Mayko.” The detected reached for an access panel on the spectrum unit’s back. He was tossed aside by a sweep of the arm that knocked the wind from his lungs. Wheezing, he watched his mechanical companion rotate, punch and kick wildly.

Flashing red eyes signalled an emergency system restart.

“Four oh four. Error. Four oh four. Error.”

Rubbing his chest, Arthas crawled back and hammered his pass code into the panel on Spectrum’s back. “I know. I know. It’s going to be alright.” Pulling his gun from the holster, he aimed at Mayko. “Hands where I can see them.”

Holding out her palms, she waited. “I didn’t do this, Arthas. I was in that explosion as well. You think I would blow myself up?”

“You didn’t have a scratch on you,” he said. Though his voice shook, his arm was steady, gun aimed perfectly at her glabella.

“It all hit you and the droid. It saved you. You saved me. Come on, Arthas, put the gun down.” Her voice was that of a mother who finds her child with a sharp knife waving about in their hands.

“Shut up, Konnie. Stop lying to me.” Spittle sprayed from between his teeth as he growled at her.

“My name isn’t Konnie, Arthas. I’m not your ex-girlfriend. We met here on Kells Station just before the bomb went off. You know that.” She stood straight, moved her shoulders back. “Lower your weapon, soldier. Save it for the enemy.” Her voice wasn’t private school anymore. It was a military academy bark, Drill Sergeant style.

The barrel of the gun lowered. Arthas placed a hand on the head of his droid. “You’re gonna be okay, guys. Just hold on. I’ll get you help.”

“Input directive,” said the droid in a voice that was the baseline operating system over which all of the personas had been installed. It was a voice that made Stephen Hawking’s voice generator sound emotionally diverse.

“System restore, reset to a week ago.”

“Please confirm the date for system restore function.”

“MDY 461. Week 7/223. Sol 2.”

“Confirmed.” Arthas hated the voice. It had no accent, intonation or personality.

“Estimated time remaining, one hour, forty seven minutes.”

Closing his eyes, Arthas made a fist. “If you had any part in this-” His threat died with a growl in his throat. “They’re my only friends.”

“I’ve told you what happened to your robot.”

“Droid. Robot means slave.”

“Whatever. I have the answers you’ve been looking for. I know why that man was murdered on the freighter. I know the names of the people behind the bombing.” Her lecture was a headmistress to an unruly boy. “You don’t think any of them had a part in this? You don’t think it was the bomb? It’s happening here, Arthas, then the next demonstration. That’s why the bomb went off, to clear out other competitors for the sale.”

Eyes on his mechanical companion, Jacques asked, “is the sale happening here?”

“No. I don’t think so. It’s another show to drive up the price. I have an invite.” Her voice had a lot in common with the broken droid’s safe mode speech. “Cuff me if you want to, we should wait here. The demonstration is in two hours.”

“Ship. Play me something.” I’ve Been Trying by The Impressions echoed off the walls. Handcuffs snapped over Belle’s wrists.

Arthas watched the timer on the panel of the Spectrum droid’s back tick down. The next song was I’ve Been Loving You Too Long by Otis Redding.

“This is your music?” The spy shook her head. Sheets of perfect black hair swayed with the movement. “No wonder you have woman troubles. This is some depressing shit, Arthas.”

Blue eyes watched her hands, wary of an escape attempt. When The Temptations version of I Wish It Would Rain rang through the still air, the detective noted the spy’s foot tapping to the beat.

“Colourblind? Ironic for you, waiting for a spectrum droid to reboot,” Belle said of the Counting Crows song. Her head began nodding during Florence and the Machine’s Howl.

Estimated time remaining: zero seconds. Initialising.

“Boss?” Purple eyes flickered. “Another error?” The Newcastle accent was music to Arthas’ ears.

“Yeah, a bad one. On your feet. We’ve got work to do.” Unlocking the handcuffs, Arthas waved a hand for her to lead the way. With his service pistol hidden under his coat, he walked a pace behind Belle. “Interlace your fingers and keep them behind your back,” he whispered as they walked.

“Yes, boss,” she said in the high pitched accent of a California girl. She giggled, skipping as she led him on a winding tour of Kells Station.

“You like accents huh?” he asked, eyes darting from side to side. Despite his duty to avoid civilian collateral, the soldier in him longed for an assault rifle. Having Purple by his side let him push fear to the back of his mind.

“It’s part of my job,” she said in a mix of the private school voice he’d known first and a Martian accent he suspected was real.

“Can I help you?” asked a man with exactly the kind of gun Arthas wished for. He had the bearing of a soldier, the bulk of an Earther, and the narrowed blue eyes of a killer.

“We’re here for the demonstration. Don’t lose money pissing off a buyer.” Belle’s voice had a growl worthy of a guard dog.

Tilting his head, the mercenary looked her up and down again. His deadly eyes scanned Arthas. “You raise that pistol in there, you’ll get one in both eyes. Understand?”

“Understood.”

The man gave a knock on the door behind him, still watching them suspiciously. “Play nice,” he said, showing them silver teeth.

The hatch opened to an empty corridor. Belle Swaggered into the lion’s den without a glance at the guard.

Crowds stood on a balcony overlooking what should have been an emergency hanger primed with escape ships. Arthas found himself outnumbered and outgunned.

Soldiers dressed in the uniforms of a dozen mercenary outfits vied for space at the railing. Soaking up the the details of their faces, Arthas looked at his droid. Purple was likewise taking note of each man and woman. Their scars and tattoos would be recorded, invaluable to the investigation. One eye flickered blue, hinting at the dual use of the Purple bodyguard and the sapphire coloured eyes of the persona responsible for crime scene photography.

“Friends, Romans, countrymen, and droids, welcome.” The booming voice came from the hangar below.

“I can’t see,” said Belle in a way that ordered Arthas to remedy the issue.

Lifting her onto his shoulders as if they were a couple at a concert, he hoped Purple and blue were seeing more than tattooed shoulders and body armour.

“Today, you came for a demonstration. What you’ll leave with is a free sample,” the voice was aristocratic but tinged with artificial volume. As a fan of droids in their many forms, Arthas knew the model of virtual presence device used by the host.

Holding Belle by the thighs, Arthas hoped he could trust her to be honest about her view of the demonstration. Truth seemed an unfamiliar concept to the agent. He had no proof that she even was an agent of Mars.

“Behold a drone. Fit only to work, eat, sleep and die.”

Drones don’t eat, thought the detective.

“A man such as this lives but a short time, and withers all the while under the stresses of his work. That need not be the case. Deus ex Sapiens can remake this crude and rusting tool into an everlasting, unbreakable worker. Stronger, he heals like no creature ever has. He will work until his master has no more use for him, youthful as ever.

Consider the benefits to your labour force. Consider prisoners given multiple life sentences doing hard labour for centuries, until they’re have paid off their debt to society.

“Imagine soldiers who can remain alert for weeks at a time. Imagine holding weapons used before only when mounted to vehicles.

Imagine eternal life.

Shall I demonstrate?” Glee rang off the walls from a machine using entangled particles to enact the speech and movements of a man that would be anywhere in the solar system.

The laws of physics had once suggested instantaneous communication between planets was impossible. As with all laws, humans found a loophole.

The few faces Arthas saw were alight with the possibilities on offer. They clamoured for the show.

“Very well. Let the show commence.

Jack. Time to wake up.” As the droid looked left and right, Arthas spotted the snipers on platforms to the left and right, enough to kill the entire audience with a single volley.

Light blossomed in Purple’s black metal palm. A hologram of the scene below unfolded for the detective.

A man emerged from a life support case, a zombie from the ground. He was muscle and bone, vertebrae showing in the skin of his back. The droid master drew a knife from a concealed cavity. Running the blade down Adam’s arm casually, the droid stared up at his audience.

“Do you see?”

Arthas saw. Blood dripped from the line for a moment. The master droid wiped away the blood to reveal an arm without a mark.

“Small wounds vanish in moments. Grievous harm heals in hours. That which would have been fatal is more likely an inconvenience.”

Arthas saw a man clench his fist. A tattoo emerged from the crimson sleeve of the boiler suit. The tattoo proclaimed him to be a member of Black Gemini. The band of brutes were wanted for massacring union leaders from mining companies of every world. Knowing where one of them had been would be a breakthrough in their case if Arthas lived to make the report.

“Back in your box, Jack.” The dismissive voice was that only used by people who consider others property.

How can I just stand here and let this happen? Arthas asked himself. Because if I reach for my weapon there’ll be a slaughter in here and Jack will die anyway.

“Do I have a volunteer to be the first to sample the next leap in human evolution?” The circus master raised his hands to encompass his eager audience. Some raised hands, most raised voices.

“You in the blue and white, Bullet Donors isn’t it? Come on down.” Purple’s projection switched to the volunteer.

A man who was seven foot tall if an inch, waded through the crowd to a loading lift. His private army had a reputation little better than Black Gemini.

“All the procedure requires is a single injection at the brain stem. You accept.”

“Yup,” said the man with the grin of a lottery winner. “Make me a god.”

The droid stepped behind the man with a needle in hand. A dose disappeared. “I’m sorry to say it’s not instant, but there’s another demonstration in a month. You’ll be ready by then. Take this.” The droid slapped a tiny communicator into the test subject’s slab of a hand.

Belle’s thighs tightened around Arthas’ neck.

“Who’s next?”

One by one, the biggest or the boldest thug of each ground got a shot and a comm. Many left right away. The patient few stayed to watch.

“Any more?” Most of the mercs were gone.

“Me,” said Belle.

“Certainly,” the voice of the aristocrat had a beaming tone as the droid looked at her. “May I say also that you look delightful. Truly a vision of beauty.”

“When did a woman ever turn down a compliment?” asked the spy flirtatiously. “Why are you giving it away?”

“Like any corner thug who gives the first hit of a drug for free, I’m creating demand. Once people see what you can do, they’ll all want it.”

Arthas’ hands gripped the cold railing of the balcony, white with dread. She was making a mistake.

Expecting a villains maniacal laugh, she watched him inject her.

“No more takers? This is the one and only time it will be free. Your loss. Deus ex Sapiens. Tell your friends. Tell your enemies. Tell everyone.” Metal fingers made to snap, the sound of his real fingers snapping came from the speakers in the droid’s mouth.

The snipers filed down into the hanger one by one. Picking up Jack’s crate, they retreated down a hallway, the droid followed. Covering each other in a retreat pattern taught in Earth’s military academies.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” said Arthas.

“I neeeded information. I got a sample.”

“No you get shot,” said the leader of the Bullet Donors, raising his gun.