“Drop it, Toby.”
“Oh, come on! This is big news for you. I feel like a proud dad watching my son meet his first girl. Let me have this moment. It’s a big step.”
“Now you’re pissing me off.”
“Fine, fine. All right. I guess I’ll have to talk to him myself —”
I hit the brakes. The tires squealed as Toby’s head flew forward and hit the dash. It looked at me with annoyance while I grinned.
We finally pulled up to the address — a generous description for the site. To the south was a long stretch of road leading back to civilization. To the north was the wall of the Grotto: poorly welded, terribly balanced, an overall eyesore. Whatever happened behind those walls was alien to all but a few of us. And they didn’t open their gate for anyone unless they planned to jump you, take your clothes and your vehicle, and leave you wandering around with nothing.
“Man, that’s just plain creepy,” Toby said, getting out of the car with me and staring at the wall. “You’d think they’d be more welcoming.”
“Would you be? The government takes their money and runs, says it’s their own fault, and sics GE on them. Then, when they make their own little city here, the government comes knocking and demanding a piece of the pie. I can see why they’d do it.”
“You’re defending the Grotto?”
“I’m just saying I can empathize. Doesn’t mean I want to live there. Now focus. We aren’t here to sightsee.”
I was careful to lock the car door, so no one could sneak inside and hide, then later cut my throat as I started driving. The site had used to be a string of condos, all of which had been cannibalized for bricks and metal to build the Grotto, leaving a muddy pit with bits of metal and wood poking out. Snow had dusted over everything, though the grey skies had yet to release another wave of white. The still water, even with the lights from the car illuminating it, was almost pitch black. Garbage lily pads in the form of cardboard and cloth floated around, while concrete tress and lumber reeds poked out. The liquid hadn’t frozen because of the filth within — which made my job easier. I wasn’t planning on digging through ice to solve this case.
I was first to step into the swamp. I held my revolver above my waist. Cleaning it would take me half a week if it got dirty, so I preferred to save myself the work. I’d tucked my pants cuffs into my shoes, but that did nothing to help me stay clean, as the water came up to my knees.
“Fucking … disgusting.” Toby eased its rusted silver into the muck gingerly. “Why on earth did you ask me, of all the machines in the city, to come with you?”
“You’ve got police programming. I’d rather have a gunslinger with me on this than a bureaucrat like Allen.”
“Ah, you’ve named him, too.”
I stared daggers at Toby, which only served to make it laugh.
“Too predictable, Roche.”
Ignoring Toby, I focused on the task of finding what Stern had dumped here. It could be stuck in the muck below, or perhaps it had already corroded. It was my fault for not asking when he’d last dropped off a delivery here. I was running on nothing but expectations.
Suddenly, my foot caught on something hard and crooked that snapped up my shoe and locked me down under the mud. I yanked my foot out and called Toby over to reach down and pull up whatever I had stumbled on.
“Oh, Christ. You’re paying for my refurbishing appointment,” Toby groaned as it reached down, felt around, and pulled hard, its clogged servos working extra hard to lift whatever was down there.
It must have been heavy, because Toby struggled to drag it to the “shore” of the trash marsh. After a few minutes, it succeeded in heaving the dirt-covered device onto the incline, and its metal hands wiped away some of the muck. I took over, using my shirt to clean the object off and find out just what it was. A gleam of silver metal appeared under the dirt, and we looked at each other in surprise. A few moments later we had uncovered it, revealing an old, busted Automatic. The bullet holes in its chest and head told us why it was here. I popped open its noggin and found a hollow space — no Neural-Interface.
“It’s just some poor bastard’s dumping ground, El. No one cares about Automatic murders. Come on, this is a waste of time.”
“There must be more, Toby.”
“I’m sure there are, and I’m sure no one cares. You’re the only one. Can I go home now?” Toby stared at me, but didn’t take long to sigh and relax its shoulders. “How many more?”
“As many as we can find. At least one of them will offer some useful information.”
The search took well over two hours, during which time we hoisted up seven Automatic carcasses. There were many different kinds — Erzly, Grifter, even a female Hoofer model, which was rare to see — but all of them shared the same features: bullet wounds, no NI, and at least several months’ worth of sludge stuck in them.
I told Toby one more before we called it quits, so it picked up the pace dragging the final Automatic to the shore. As soon as the machine was dropped on the edge of the swamp, I saw that it was caked in a lot less dirt than the others had been, which meant that it was fresher. Wiping the muck away, I could see just how fresh it was.
“Son of a bitch.” Toby’s head spun to face me as I inspected the dead Automatic. “This is Rudi.”
“You know him?”
“It … and no, not directly. But this is the Automatic that shot up that speakeasy and got tossed when I went back to the crime scene. I have a hunch that
