JENNY-LEIGH 8
Chapter 1
BEFORE THE BUZZ SAW FIRED OFF, SCARLET MONKEYS DANCED IN MY DREAM. The HQ link, a security and communication chip implanted in my neck, just below the right ear, and at all times tied to the Agency, sounded like a two hundred pound bumblebee, an unhappy one to boot. The call originated from Andy. The ringtone indicated a matter of priority; no consolation for being jerked out of an alcohol-abetted sleep. As I floated to consciousness, anticipation of two weeks leave spent mostly in a self-pitying, nostalgic haze evaporated like dew in August.
Sitting up, I knocked a plastic plate full of snack food leavings to the floor. The clatter of impact sounded uncomfortably loud in the quiet apartment. The physical repercussions of the previous night’s overindulgence didn’t help. “What?” I grumbled. The communicator transmitted the word along with the irritation in my tone.
“We have a situation.” The calm, detached voice of my android partner doubled the aggravation.
I got that from the ringtone. Already knowing what the answer would be, I couldn’t resist pulling the Andy’s chain. “How much would you charge to report I was unavailable?”
“Your suggestion violates my ethics program. In any case, the General is on his way in.”
That got my attention. Last I heard he was wintering somewhere on a sunny beach. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten.”
“The General says you have six.”
I took a moment to sweep away a three day old pile of dirty plates and junk food, along with empty wine bottles. A single seductive eye of ocean blue beckoned from the computer monitor, the end of a tape Stephy and I made on a vacation in the Adirondacks. With a thumb, I rubbed my wedding ring, reflecting on the last time we got away together. The last time before…
The General said “six”.
The Army Intelligence Agency command center occupied a building, supplemented by a labyrinth carved out beneath a small forest south of Atlanta. Built during the Cold War, the underground part could take a near direct hit from the Soviet’s best and biggest. Those days lived two centuries in the past. We rode air cars now. The cars, like almost all mechanical devices, drew power from the earth’s magnetic field. That included androids. They and the other machines handled most of the work.
My air car cleared rooftop security. The ground crew waved me to a designated landing spot.
“Good to see you, Agent Turner,” said the Ethel android valet that met me. The fabricant slipped into the recently vacated driver’s seat. “I’ll take it from here. He’s waiting.”
A floor below, I passed another checkpoint leading to a set of elevators. “He’s waiting,” the android on guard reminded me. If one knew something, they all did. The HQ mainframe saw to that.
An elevator took me down five hundred feet. A shuttle car handled the rest of the trip. My organization took pride in being part of the regular Army, superior in every way to the buffoons in the Homeland Security Guard.
Don’t let our attachment to the Army fool you. The arrangement fulfilled logistic and admin needs only. The General dealt directly with The President. We were phantoms, akin to the position the staff of the Manhattan Project occupied during World War Two. Men in Black, Skunk Works, Double Oh Agents. Down through the years, a confused public whispered these names, among others. Always, we remained in shadow doing our part to keep this crazy old world on an even keel, more or less. We referred to our organization as the Agency.
The elevator door swished open. The first face I saw was Andy’s. “He’s waiting,” the android stated.
How do I describe my boss? He stood tall and ramrod straight in a Three Star’s uniform, the only person in the complex not in civvies. The mane of white hair, paired with sun burnished lean features, reminded me more of a fierce, uncompromising Old Testament prophet.
Andy led me to a conference room. The General acknowledged my arrival. The hair stood out against a freshly acquired deep suntan.
I tried small talk. “Up from the Bahamas?”
“No. Stateside. The Florida Keys. And Jocelyn sends regards.”
I thought of my mother-in-law, stopping the recollection short of the recent painful parts shared among the three of us, regarding Stephy their daughter.
The General continued. “Sorry to pull you off leave but there’s good reason.”
“What do you mean?”
He fiddled with a remote built into his chair handle. A map of Florida appeared on the wall screen. After another touch, the display zoomed in on an area midway between Orlando and Ocala. “This is the Quintana installation of Simetrics Robotics. They make the best recreational androids in the world.”
Andy interrupted. “Porndroids is the popular term.”
With a flicker of irritation at the interruption, the General resumed. “The Jenny-Leigh line is the industry’s gold standard.”
“The male counterpart is the Scotty,” Andy said.
“Enough, Andy.” I followed that with the shutdown command.
The automaton immediately sat. Bending its head forward, the life-like glitter in the eyes faded to the barest of sustaining glow. The face assumed the standard expression of quiet optimism or, as some saw it, of vague regret.
An image of the most expensive, complex sex toy in the world came to mind. The factory customized each to the owner’s preferences. They came in a wide variety of physical types, often duplicates of celebrities past or present, all drop dead gorgeous, well beyond the means of a mid-grade government agent. The mass market made do with the three variations of Donnas or Johnnies, none of which you’d be embarrassed to be caught out in public with.
“I can’t imagine what business we’d have with a manufacturer of cybernetic pussy.”
A brief smile crossed the face of my otherwise straight-laced boss. “Quintana’s been working on some sensitive projects for the government.”
“Like what?” I couldn’t see a connection.
“They’ve adapted a Jenny-Leigh for military uses.”
I thought about the most logical possibility. “We’re not talking about servicing the troops are we?”
This time the General ignored the quip and turned toward the screen image. A crosshatch of Ocala’s streets dominated. The satellite image showed various shades of white, brown, and gray against the surrounding green. The installation in question glittered, a white blip in the forest about twenty miles southwest. “At two thirty-seven this morning we lost all contact with them. That’s like the Pentagon dropping off-line.”
I knew better than to ask if they’d checked all the obvious reasons for going dark. “What do you suspect?”
A long contemplative finger touched his lips. “Your job is to find out. A team is waiting.”
“Why me?”
“You grew up in the area, as did all the team members. You’re going in without androids.”
“No androids? What are you not telling me?”
The General turned to the map projection. “Nothing to tell. A place packed with people and androids dropped off-line without reason. The personnel carrier is waiting on the roof.” I took a step to the door. “Bundle up,” he added. “They’re having a cold snap down there.”
Still, why no androids? They’re stronger than humans. Faster too, not to mention their willingness to sacrifice themselves for our safety. Seemed like a lose/lose deal to me. I settled the internal debate by deciding the boss must’ve had his reasons. He always did.
Five agents joined me on the way, three women and two men. I’m not much on the far side of thirty but their eager young faces reminded me time moves only one way. We piled onto the roof where a personnel carrier air car waited with idling engine. A rhythmic whir emanated from the dark vehicle. Exhaled breath made white plumes in air as cold as Georgia gets in January.
Atlanta’s night lights deployed all round. For most structures, below the third floor it was pitch black. With darkness, the buildings sealed off the street level, forfeiting the outside to criminals, abandoned androids, and heavily armed police patrols. No human on legitimate business ventured near.
I peered over the side. About a mile away the orange twinkle of gunfire preceded muffled thuds. Then a collection of pulsating blue and red lights profiled vehicles and facades at the scene. Must’ve been a drug bust.
An Agency technician addressed me. “Agent Turner, here are your weapons.”
At seeing the pulse rifles, Rita, one of the team, let out a low whistle. “Jeez, are we hunting elephants?”
Elephant guns, but no androids for company. Curiouser and curiouser.
“All I know is this is what Ordnance sent up,” the tech answered.
I picked up one of the pieces, checked the chamber clear, and sighted at a rooftop halfway across town. “Standard medium grade over-and-under. Armor piercing along with EMF issue. How many rounds?”
The sergeant signaled a crew standing by to load the weapons before answering. “Twenty apiece.”
“Twenty apiece?” Rita chimed in. “Not just elephants, but a herd of them.” She shoved an errant dark lock under her helmet.
“I guess we’ll just have to see.” Again I wondered what the General hadn’t mentioned.
Soon enough, the lights of Atlanta faded behind. Blurry splotches of illumination floating below the air car gave the only sign of motion. And move we did, at better than Mach One. Ten minutes into the flight, the pilot said, “Ground control reports the lights back on at Quintana. Everything’s running normally.”
“Is the mission scrubbed?”
To my surprise, the General had been listening in. His voice filled the speaker. “Since you’re in the neighborhood, pay them a visit. Make nice. Let them give you the ten cent tour.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Anything out of place.” A moment of dead air followed. Then the General returned. “And keep your weapons handy.”
For the rest of the trip I turned the General’s last words over in my mind.
Sitting up, I knocked a plastic plate full of snack food leavings to the floor. The clatter of impact sounded uncomfortably loud in the quiet apartment. The physical repercussions of the previous night’s overindulgence didn’t help. “What?” I grumbled. The communicator transmitted the word along with the irritation in my tone.
“We have a situation.” The calm, detached voice of my android partner doubled the aggravation.
I got that from the ringtone. Already knowing what the answer would be, I couldn’t resist pulling the Andy’s chain. “How much would you charge to report I was unavailable?”
“Your suggestion violates my ethics program. In any case, the General is on his way in.”
That got my attention. Last I heard he was wintering somewhere on a sunny beach. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten.”
“The General says you have six.”
I took a moment to sweep away a three day old pile of dirty plates and junk food, along with empty wine bottles. A single seductive eye of ocean blue beckoned from the computer monitor, the end of a tape Stephy and I made on a vacation in the Adirondacks. With a thumb, I rubbed my wedding ring, reflecting on the last time we got away together. The last time before…
The General said “six”.
The Army Intelligence Agency command center occupied a building, supplemented by a labyrinth carved out beneath a small forest south of Atlanta. Built during the Cold War, the underground part could take a near direct hit from the Soviet’s best and biggest. Those days lived two centuries in the past. We rode air cars now. The cars, like almost all mechanical devices, drew power from the earth’s magnetic field. That included androids. They and the other machines handled most of the work.
My air car cleared rooftop security. The ground crew waved me to a designated landing spot.
“Good to see you, Agent Turner,” said the Ethel android valet that met me. The fabricant slipped into the recently vacated driver’s seat. “I’ll take it from here. He’s waiting.”
A floor below, I passed another checkpoint leading to a set of elevators. “He’s waiting,” the android on guard reminded me. If one knew something, they all did. The HQ mainframe saw to that.
An elevator took me down five hundred feet. A shuttle car handled the rest of the trip. My organization took pride in being part of the regular Army, superior in every way to the buffoons in the Homeland Security Guard.
Don’t let our attachment to the Army fool you. The arrangement fulfilled logistic and admin needs only. The General dealt directly with The President. We were phantoms, akin to the position the staff of the Manhattan Project occupied during World War Two. Men in Black, Skunk Works, Double Oh Agents. Down through the years, a confused public whispered these names, among others. Always, we remained in shadow doing our part to keep this crazy old world on an even keel, more or less. We referred to our organization as the Agency.
The elevator door swished open. The first face I saw was Andy’s. “He’s waiting,” the android stated.
How do I describe my boss? He stood tall and ramrod straight in a Three Star’s uniform, the only person in the complex not in civvies. The mane of white hair, paired with sun burnished lean features, reminded me more of a fierce, uncompromising Old Testament prophet.
Andy led me to a conference room. The General acknowledged my arrival. The hair stood out against a freshly acquired deep suntan.
I tried small talk. “Up from the Bahamas?”
“No. Stateside. The Florida Keys. And Jocelyn sends regards.”
I thought of my mother-in-law, stopping the recollection short of the recent painful parts shared among the three of us, regarding Stephy their daughter.
The General continued. “Sorry to pull you off leave but there’s good reason.”
“What do you mean?”
He fiddled with a remote built into his chair handle. A map of Florida appeared on the wall screen. After another touch, the display zoomed in on an area midway between Orlando and Ocala. “This is the Quintana installation of Simetrics Robotics. They make the best recreational androids in the world.”
Andy interrupted. “Porndroids is the popular term.”
With a flicker of irritation at the interruption, the General resumed. “The Jenny-Leigh line is the industry’s gold standard.”
“The male counterpart is the Scotty,” Andy said.
“Enough, Andy.” I followed that with the shutdown command.
The automaton immediately sat. Bending its head forward, the life-like glitter in the eyes faded to the barest of sustaining glow. The face assumed the standard expression of quiet optimism or, as some saw it, of vague regret.
An image of the most expensive, complex sex toy in the world came to mind. The factory customized each to the owner’s preferences. They came in a wide variety of physical types, often duplicates of celebrities past or present, all drop dead gorgeous, well beyond the means of a mid-grade government agent. The mass market made do with the three variations of Donnas or Johnnies, none of which you’d be embarrassed to be caught out in public with.
“I can’t imagine what business we’d have with a manufacturer of cybernetic pussy.”
A brief smile crossed the face of my otherwise straight-laced boss. “Quintana’s been working on some sensitive projects for the government.”
“Like what?” I couldn’t see a connection.
“They’ve adapted a Jenny-Leigh for military uses.”
I thought about the most logical possibility. “We’re not talking about servicing the troops are we?”
This time the General ignored the quip and turned toward the screen image. A crosshatch of Ocala’s streets dominated. The satellite image showed various shades of white, brown, and gray against the surrounding green. The installation in question glittered, a white blip in the forest about twenty miles southwest. “At two thirty-seven this morning we lost all contact with them. That’s like the Pentagon dropping off-line.”
I knew better than to ask if they’d checked all the obvious reasons for going dark. “What do you suspect?”
A long contemplative finger touched his lips. “Your job is to find out. A team is waiting.”
“Why me?”
“You grew up in the area, as did all the team members. You’re going in without androids.”
“No androids? What are you not telling me?”
The General turned to the map projection. “Nothing to tell. A place packed with people and androids dropped off-line without reason. The personnel carrier is waiting on the roof.” I took a step to the door. “Bundle up,” he added. “They’re having a cold snap down there.”
Still, why no androids? They’re stronger than humans. Faster too, not to mention their willingness to sacrifice themselves for our safety. Seemed like a lose/lose deal to me. I settled the internal debate by deciding the boss must’ve had his reasons. He always did.
Five agents joined me on the way, three women and two men. I’m not much on the far side of thirty but their eager young faces reminded me time moves only one way. We piled onto the roof where a personnel carrier air car waited with idling engine. A rhythmic whir emanated from the dark vehicle. Exhaled breath made white plumes in air as cold as Georgia gets in January.
Atlanta’s night lights deployed all round. For most structures, below the third floor it was pitch black. With darkness, the buildings sealed off the street level, forfeiting the outside to criminals, abandoned androids, and heavily armed police patrols. No human on legitimate business ventured near.
I peered over the side. About a mile away the orange twinkle of gunfire preceded muffled thuds. Then a collection of pulsating blue and red lights profiled vehicles and facades at the scene. Must’ve been a drug bust.
An Agency technician addressed me. “Agent Turner, here are your weapons.”
At seeing the pulse rifles, Rita, one of the team, let out a low whistle. “Jeez, are we hunting elephants?”
Elephant guns, but no androids for company. Curiouser and curiouser.
“All I know is this is what Ordnance sent up,” the tech answered.
I picked up one of the pieces, checked the chamber clear, and sighted at a rooftop halfway across town. “Standard medium grade over-and-under. Armor piercing along with EMF issue. How many rounds?”
The sergeant signaled a crew standing by to load the weapons before answering. “Twenty apiece.”
“Twenty apiece?” Rita chimed in. “Not just elephants, but a herd of them.” She shoved an errant dark lock under her helmet.
“I guess we’ll just have to see.” Again I wondered what the General hadn’t mentioned.
Soon enough, the lights of Atlanta faded behind. Blurry splotches of illumination floating below the air car gave the only sign of motion. And move we did, at better than Mach One. Ten minutes into the flight, the pilot said, “Ground control reports the lights back on at Quintana. Everything’s running normally.”
“Is the mission scrubbed?”
To my surprise, the General had been listening in. His voice filled the speaker. “Since you’re in the neighborhood, pay them a visit. Make nice. Let them give you the ten cent tour.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Anything out of place.” A moment of dead air followed. Then the General returned. “And keep your weapons handy.”
For the rest of the trip I turned the General’s last words over in my mind.
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