State of Decay

It stood maybe five foot six, a head or so shorter than me, with thin arms and legs and long, straight black hair that partly covered its face. From behind the strands two large eyes looked out at me, the irises a pale silver color, just barely illuminated with a glow that reminded me of moonlight. They followed me as I approached.

It was an improvement over the ones I’d encountered during my tour. The skin was well preserved, and its porcelain tone made the revivor look like a doll or wax figure. The synthetic blood they were using now made some of the veins stand out darkly, but some clientele actually liked that. The cosmetic surgeries had been well-done, too, with almost no scarring. The large, augmented breasts looked out of place on such a thin body, but otherwise might almost have been the originals. The small nipples pointed forward like bullets.

“Stand over there,” I told it, pointing to one of the sinks that were covered in plastic.

It did, so it understood English. Its expression didn’t change as its bare feet padded across the dirty floor and it stood in front of the sink, its back to the mirror.

“Turn around.”

It did, gripping the sides of the sink through the plastic wrapping and bending over slightly in a movement that looked practiced. I focused on the back of its neck, just beneath the skull.

“Hold still.”

I brought up the scanner and looked under the skin and muscle where the components were clustered, a network of nodes and hair-thin filaments around the spot where the spinal cord met the brain. An amber squiggle of light jumped across a circular screen, hovering to one side of the display before snapping into a single waveform— the revivor’s heart signature. I processed the signal and pulled the identification. The lot number wasn’t on file, so it wasn’t sold legitimately. Someone had had this one made to order.

In the mirror, I could see its eyes staring downward as it waited to be violated. My investigations had suggested that Tai had the pleasure models smuggled from Korea, but whoever the woman had been, she didn’t look like a Korean local. A tourist, maybe? Someone who wandered down the wrong street?

I focused on the revivor’s face in the mirror as it stared through its dark hair, so that the men below could see it.

You getting this? I asked.

Confirmed.

I had three of Tai’s five minutes left, assuming he stuck to his word.

“You can turn around now,” I told it.

It turned, standing with its back toward the sink and staring up at me blankly.

“Someone’s probably still looking for you,” I said. I said it to myself, but it answered.

“He is.”

I had intended to use a small, directed electromagnetic pulse to short out the components and put it down before leaving the room, but I didn’t. It continued to stare into my eyes, expressionless.

Wachalowski, deactivate it.

I was well aware that everyone involved was watching this unfold in real time. Later, I would be questioned about why I did what I did. I had been picked for the operation on the assumption that I knew what a revivor was and wouldn’t be prone to hesitation. If anything went wrong, I would be held accountable.

“What did you say?” I asked. Its eyes didn’t betray any sadness, or any feeling at all as it answered.

“He’ll never stop looking.”

An uneasy feeling sank into my gut.

Wachalowski, deactivate it.

I hated revivors. I hated everything about them. They were the worst symptom of a sick arms race that had gotten out of control a long time ago. I’d shipped off for my tour thinking I understood what they were. The day I learned I was wrong came close to being my last day on earth.

The girl looked up at me. When the time came to put it down, I thought I would enjoy it.

Instead I said, “Stay here. Don’t move, and don’t say anything. Do you understand?”

It nodded.

“If things go bad, hide behind whatever you can, and keep your head down.”

I left the bathroom and moved down the corridor. A door to the left was locked, but the next one on the right opened, and I looked in to see a group of figures sitting at desks arranged in rows. Each desk had a small light that lit its surface in the otherwise dark room. Many pairs of silvery eyes floated in the darkness, turning toward me as the door opened. It looked like they were assembling some kind of electronics.

Can you make them out? I asked.

Yes.

One of them spoke in an Asian dialect, turning its attention from the desk. The translator scrolled its words across the bottom of my peripheral vision.

Who are you? What are you doing in here?

Something else had caught my attention, though. In the back, behind the sweatshop laborers, a series of crates were stacked. An automatic rifle was leaning against one of them, and I switched filters to scan inside the crates to see what else was in there.

Stop there. The words flashed at the bottom of my vision. I did.

Tai trafficked in black-market revivors; that I knew. Some minor gunrunning or drug dealing wouldn’t have surprised me either, since he already had the smuggling routes in place, but he dealt in revivors for the labor and sex trade. My investigation of him didn’t prepare me to see anything like what I saw.

The crates contained mostly guns, but not the street variety. These were weapons designed to penetrate not just body armor, but tank armor. The varieties of assault rifle I could see included sophisticated targeting systems, multispectrum scopes, and heat-seeking ammo; it was all top-shelf stuff. These were weapons of war.

What are you doing in here? The revivor asked again.

I backed out and closed the door.

Move now, I told SWAT.

On our way.

“Hey,” I heard Tai say in a low voice from down the hall. I turned and saw he had entered from the lobby. He wasn’t smiling.

“Sorry,” I said.

“I said the last door on your left,” he said. “That’s your right, and it’s not the last door.”

“I know. I just—”

“Never mind,” he said. “Those aren’t the ones you want. The ones you want are down here.” He gestured down the hallway as he joined me, placing his left hand on my shoulder.

His fist hit my ribs like a stone, and the breath went out of me. I staggered and hit the wall, gasping. The door to the sweatshop opened a little and a female revivor’s head peeked out.

“Get back in there,” Tai said without looking at it. The head retreated and the door closed.

“Hold still,” he said, fishing around in his inside jacket pocket.

“Tai, take it easy….”

At the last minute, I saw the knife in his other hand. He shoved me back, smashing me into the wall with a forearm across my neck. I felt a hard blow to my groin as the knife’s blade dug into the wall between my legs.

“Hold still,” he said. He took his forearm off my neck and I saw it was a penlight he had taken out of his coat. He flicked it on and shined it in my left eye. I turned my head, but the hand with the knife exerted a little pressure.

“Look forward, and don’t move.”

If he got a clear look with the light, he’d see the iridescent reflection that would confirm I was implanted. The blade was an inch from my testicles, and the artery in either thigh.

“Tai, you’re making a mistake,” I said. “I just got turned around for—”

“Don’t take this personally.”

I blinked once, hard, shutting down the implant; it was the only thing that was going to buy me any more time. With the visual filters off-line, he wouldn’t notice anything strange. I opened my eyes wide, and looked straight ahead before Tai could say anything else. He shined the light in my eye and leaned in close. He stared into it for a while, his breath on my face. After a few seconds, he snapped off the light.

I didn’t say anything; I just kept holding my breath. The knife came out of the wall and moved out from