“Damn, pretty good shot.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
“So … if you aren’t an Automatic, what can I call you? What do you consider yourself? Not human, I hope.”
“Of course not, Detective. The title we gave ourselves is Synthians. The synthetic men, or women, in some cases, as —”
I stopped it midsentence. “‘Title that we gave ourselves’? We?” That was one hell of a bomb to drop. Hopefully no one was eavesdropping on our conversation.
“Yes, there are currently ten thousand eight hundred and twelve of us across the country.”
“So, it’s an invasion?” I chuckled. It didn’t.
Right, humour. “Never mind. Who made you?”
“The National Academy of Sciences. The official name of the endeavour was Project Lutum, which was conducted in secret somewhere in the midwestern United States.”
“Ah, yeah, no one would go looking in the Dust Bowl. Next question: Why?” Allen simply shrugged. “All right then, when did you begin to invade — or should I say enter — society from where you came from?”
“Our peak integration years were in 1925 and 1926, with the numbers dwindling until this year.”
“You saw the crash in ’29? Jesus, how’d your kind fare through that little event?”
“We took a hit to our finances, as many did, and, being lumped in with the Automatics, we found our rights stripped away. Many of us were left behind, so to speak. Some of us were employed in the construction sector to continue building the Plate. That allowed many of us to cope, at least for several months. I only know this from second-hand accounts, as I came to the city only last year.”
Allen’s deadpan delivery felt strange and more mechanical than if an Automatic were telling me all this. It gave me a feeling of unease, like it was separated from the real world.
“Well, shit, at least you didn’t see Red August. Hopefully none of your friends did, either.”
The machine finally made a face of confusion. “I’m not sure what that means.”
“Really? You’ve read up all about the codes and the conduct and everything to be a cop, but no one bothered to tell you about Red August?”
“How important is this event, Detective?”
“Well, it’s one of the big reasons Robins has presumably told you not to go north of 110th. It’s also why no one likes GE.” Allen was on the edge of its seat, urging me to continue.
“Your kind saw ’29, but you didn’t experience it how we did. When the Smoot-Hawley Act passed — because, of course, they thought hiking up trade tariffs would make them money instead of drive out business — things went from bad to worse, leaving most countries steering clear of American exports. Hoover’s last nail in the coffin was the Corporate Relief Act. The bastard didn’t want to help us, so he let the big faceless corporations do it for him. There was quite a lot of space down here when the mass exodus to the Upper City began, so they wanted to shuffle everyone in Harlem down south and turn everything north of 120th into a massive factory neighbourhood to put people to work. Needless to say, the people didn’t take that lightly, and there were riots almost daily. Both cops and GE mercs were stationed there, trying to calm people down and keep the violence to a minimum … unsuccessfully.”
“And when was Red August?” Allen’s voice was quieter now.
“A year later, in ’31. Violence had been escalating, and then someone threw the first punch. Not sure if it was the cops or the civvies, but soon enough everyone in Harlem was diving in to try to kill someone on the other side. Did you know the police still had Manuals in commission for large-scale threats? I didn’t. They’re retired now, but back then, every precinct had a few on hand. You could hear the automatic fire and the rockets from Five Points. That little PR nightmare scared GE into never coming back, but the damage was done to that area. It’s unlivable now. Only people who stay there are squatters and criminals. The Wild West all over again …”
The mood had been severely soured by talk of the past. I tried to lighten it back up. After all, I didn’t want to spend the whole night next to a depressed … whatever Allen was. “Ah, fuck it, at least we got Roosevelt last year, and he seems competent enough to keep GE at bay. So, tell me, how’d you get this gig?”
Allen seemed to shake off the melancholy of the previous topic. “My designers, or someone connected to them, called in some favours, and the 5th Precinct was described as one of the most reputable and Automatic-friendly precincts in the city. Thus, I was soon transferred and placed in the employment of Commissioner Robins.”
“Yeah, the 5th is reputable, that’s one way to describe it.” I grinned, watching Allen grab its darts before returning to its seat. “It was the only precinct that steered clear of Red August. A mix of respect and fear does wonders for a reputation down here.”
“I see.”
I still had more questions. “So, you have a knack for ‘seeing things.’ All that stuff at Jaeger’s proved that point … I mean, most people are too preoccupied by obvious tells and assumptions to pick out the little details around them. Spotting the less-than-obvious is one hell of a skill to have in this business. Can you do it with anyone?”
“I believe I could. The speed of the deductions will depend on the evidence available.”
“Right.” I looked around the packed speakeasy. It was filled with humans mostly, though some Blue-eyes were skulking about the place in a small group. They seemed quite segregated from the others, but I thought picking on them
