David Gatewood - The Robot Chronicles

“Shit, it’s one of the Council members.”

“It is.”

“Double shit.” A shiver ran through her, and she took a few deep breaths to steady herself. She was deep in some serious crap here. “So one of the Council has been murdered?”

“Perhaps. Councilor Reinhold is certainly dead. Whether he was murdered is for you to ascertain.”

Vicky had told Bishop the truth when she’d said she was uninterested in politics, but of course she needed a basic understanding in order to do her job. Now she cast her mind over what she knew of the Council.

It wasn’t much. The Council were shadowy figures who had mainly stayed out of the limelight since they had been handed power twenty-six years ago. They controlled via the Stewards—the Stewards were autonomous, but the Council decided which positions the Stewards should hold and the programming needed for the individual models. So in effect, they controlled everything.

Originally named the Corporation for the Advancement of Robotics, they had later changed their name to the Council for Ethical Advancement. Twelve men and women. Well, presumably eleven now.

Vicky tried to picture Councilor Reinhold in her head. He wasn’t one of the more prominent Council members. Some of them did media interviews, told the world when a new improved model was being rolled out. But not Reinhold, and she couldn’t visualize him.

“Did you know Councilor Reinhold?” she asked.

“We’d met a few times.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Later. We’re arriving. They’re keeping the… crime scene open for you, but there’s a lot of pressure to remove the body. We can talk afterward.”

The speeder settled. Vicky climbed out and stared at the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. They were high above the rest of the city on the rooftop of the most secure building in the world.

And someone had been murdered here. Maybe.

She was in danger of presuming a murder had taken place just because someone had told her not to. She needed to keep an open mind.

She felt that flicker of real excitement again. It was very rarely she had a case that caught her attention these days. Most were crimes of passion and the suspect blatantly obvious. Now she had the murder—maybe—of one of the most important men in the word, and it had taken place in one of the most secure places in the world. She only just stopped herself from rubbing her hands together.

A speeder circled high overhead, keeping out of the security zone. It looked like the press were already on site. Vicky strolled across the rooftop and peered over the parapet. Far below, she could make out a crowd milling around the base of the building.

“Has news of the death gotten out already?”

Bishop came up beside her and followed her gaze. “Obviously.”

She thought back to the comm earlier. Someone didn’t want this case solved. Would she even be here if the press hadn’t gotten word? Would the death have been covered up? Christ, these were the most powerful people in the world. And just because they were called the Council for Ethical Advancement, that didn’t mean that they were ethical themselves.

But hadn’t that been the whole point in replacing all those positions of power and authority with the Stewards? Androids who could be programmed to make ethical decisions. They would be unconcerned with greed, family, religion, differing politics. No lust for money or power. They would make decisions based purely on the good of mankind—and what actions would result in the greater good.

And in many ways it had worked. But to Vicky’s mind, the plan was ultimately flawed, and the reason why was housed in this very tower: the Council.

Because there had to be someone in charge of the Stewards.

As far as she was aware, there had been no democratic process. The Council had been presented to the world fully formed. Although it did include the last elected President of the Federation of Nations. He’d been offered the position as part of the agreement for disbanding the Federation. She’d never liked him. But then, she’d never trusted politicians. Until now.

Because now, they’d all been replaced by the Stewards. Eminently trustworthy.

“Why me?” she asked.

“Because you’re the senior homicide detective and it was an automatic allocation. But also because you’re the best. You have a reputation for complete honesty and integrity. The world is going to want to know what happened here. And you will tell them.”

Would she be allowed to?

For a moment, she considered mentioning the attempted bribery to Bishop, but decided to leave the decision until after she’d studied the crime scene. Hey, maybe she’d get lucky and her finding would be… suicide. And she’d be on her way into deep space.

But she didn’t believe that. The truth was, she was a good detective. And she knew that if Reinhold had really committed suicide, there would have been no reason for anyone to offer her a bribe—because she would have come to that conclusion all on her own.

And if it was murder? Would she compromise her own ethics to get something she wanted with a passion?

She turned around and found Bishop behind her. “You have a crime scene kit?” If he didn’t, they’d have to wait until her unit arrived.

“Of course.”

“Of course,” she muttered. Mr. Perfect.

Something occurred to her. She presumed her unit had been notified at the same time that she had. “Are my crew on the way?”

“No. We’ll be dealing with this alone.”

Vicky frowned. “That’s not protocol.” Of course, none of this was protocol.

“How can there be protocol for something that’s never happened before?”

“Good point.”

Bishop retrieved the crime scene kit from the back of the speeder, and they headed inside. The door leading from the rooftop slid open before they even approached. Were they being monitored? Or could Bishop control the electronics through some sort of wireless feed? Probably both. The two of them didn’t speak again as they made their way to an elevator and headed down.

Vicky did her normal mind-clearing routine. Breathing deep and slow, emptying her brain of everything that might interfere with her clear analysis of the scene. By the time the elevator came to a halt, she was in the zone.

At the end of another corridor, Bishop halted in front of a set of double doors. He placed the crime scene kit on the floor between them, and Vicky crouched down, flicked open the locks, and lifted the lid.

First she sprayed herself with decontaminant, which would prevent her from tainting the crime scene with her own DNA. Then she collected the pre-set recording device, which would document all her notes, everything she saw, everything she thought. She switched it on, calibrated it for her brain waves, and she was ready to go.

Vicky had seen too many murder scenes to be squeamish—and she hadn’t thrown up at a crime scene since she was a rookie called to a particularly gruesome domestic—but she hesitated before opening the door. This was the biggest case she’d ever worked on. Hell, it was the biggest case anyone had ever worked on.

At last she took a deep breath and pushed open the doors. The lights flickered on.

“Nasty,” she murmured as her eyes homed in on the body.

Dragging her gaze away, she took in the scene. The doors opened onto what looked like a large private office. Glass made up three walls, and she realized the office must be at one of the corners of the Tower. Outside, the sky was just beginning to pale.

The body itself lay in the middle of the room, and the cause of death was instantly obvious. A thick strand of wire rope was looped around the dead man’s throat, biting into the flesh of his neck. His eyes were open and bulging, his dark red tongue protruding from his open mouth. It hadn’t been an easy death.