n cloudless days they were the only thing in the sky. Today was cloudy however, the air filled with ready-to-pop rain, and the ghostly apparitions drifting between yellow clouds, buzzing in circling patterns, mapping as much information as they could. Rodrigo Martin finally looked away from the sun-filtered overcast. Drones were used to track fleeing criminals. It made everyone a lot safer. No need for high speed chases. You tracked the perpetrator until their path intersected with the closest law enforcement. With nobody visibly in pursuit, the bad guy was never sure where to go, and the arrest was always a surprise. Old-model pursuit androids, Puras, then reeled in the criminal. Because they were built with vehicle-speed on foot, they were rarely obstructed by traffic or barriers. Drones tracked them for up to fifteen miles without moving from their position. They fed the Puras with all they needed to know.

But still, Martin thought, even with all that, the wrong things are criminalized and real criminals still work in the shadows.

The sidewalk that once delineated cracked street from cracked building was now replaced with cardboard and rubber mats.

Why bother? thought Rodrigo Martin.

But the queue of people, who like Martin waited patiently at the county clerk’s office, were blind to the incessant deterioration. It was everywhere—a six-year-old forest growing in the middle of the interstate which almost certainly everyone in the queue had swerved around this morning.

Martin fixed in his mind the series of thoughts he’d need to input at the travel customs kiosk. He’d been here every morning for the past two weeks. All he needed now was to clear two challenges to his travelling visa request. He hoped today would finally seal it all up.

He checked his wrist for messages from Anita.

Babe. It’s hopeless. Just come home.

He selected from the suggested replies. No, we have to do this.

It was a common exchange. Martin didn’t know his step-daughter Molly almost at all. He’d attended her graduation a day before he and Anita filed their marriage paperwork. Molly moved out of college into a career of Human-to-Droid Programming. She was in the top half of her class—that really meant something in a field with a lot of turnover. She disappeared three months later, her car still running in her driveway. Between July 5th, the day of her last known phone call, and November 1st, the day they received the official missing person report, there hadn’t been a single traceable clue. Anita was a strong lady, but every day was painful.

He kept hoping. Maybe she escaped the country. Hopeful, or wishful. Tomorrow was July 5th, one year after her disappearance.

Since his de-commission with the Sacramento Police, Martin enjoyed some vestigial privileges. The New Police Commission deputized him, briefly, on a number of local investigations. He’d been happy to stay in touch with his old profession. Now that he had a tragedy of his own to deal with, the Commission was sympathetic but reticent to assist.

They hadn’t impeded his private investigation. Yet. He knew it was coming. Why wouldn’t they? In an age when only one in twenty people drove their own vehicle, it made sense that robots would replace humans in most aspects of criminal investigation.

A robot patrolled the corner now, one of the Police Unit Robot Assistance. Puras. 

A bus pulled up and let off a stream of social undesirables. Like the cat lady who just got off the bus. Lucinda. She arrived the same time every day. She may have been crazy, as the groans of recognition around him indicated, but she seemed to have her wits about her, for the most part.

Human error had been cut in half since the Cyber Surge of 2090. It’d halved every year since. As the now-obsolete profession of statisticians had prophesied, by the year 2121 all unnecessary buildings would be unoccupied, and unused highways could go back to nature.

A kid in his twenties behind him poked his head over Martin’s shoulder.

“Stop doing that,” Martin grumbled. The kid retreated. Martin felt his silent stare on his back.

A flood of people, around twenty, were let out through the doors. Most looked placid or defeated. One man made a show of tears. He was a bedraggled type who’d not eaten a full meal in perhaps a week. One of those who frequented public buildings pretending to do business until someone finally took pity. Martin motioned him over, didn’t say anything, but took the man’s wrist and punched in a code on the man’s Welfare Tracker.

“That was nice,” said the kid behind him. “You can afford that?”

“It’s a day off my life later down the road. But that’s always true.”

“You got kids?”

There was Molly now, but his two biological children left New California almost a decade ago, when things got really rough. They were doing all they could to extradite him, but there was really no legal recourse left. Now he had a new family to care for.

He didn’t answer the kid. That kind of question led to dangerous situations.

“I’m Jandro,” the kid said.

“Don’t do that,” Martin warned.

“Give my name out? I don’t care anymore, dude. I don’t think you’re gonna be able to find me anyhow.”

“It’s still stupid,” said Martin.

“A lot of things are stupid. For instance, this ‘sidewalk’ is illegal—but only if it was outside your house. Nobody really cares. Only a few things are enforced. Theft—from the government. My motorcycle was taken from my garage in broad daylight. Two big guys squeezed it through my garage’s side door.”

“That’s what I’m telling you, bud,” said Martin.

Jandro shook his head. “It’s not fair. Friend of mine recently drove outside his city—you know, a family visit. Puras caught up with him. He thought he had everything in order, but he forgot to renew his travel permit. You probably hear this stuff all the time, not sure why I’m telling you.”

he doors opened and they filed into the cool building. Jandro veered into a different queue. Martin went straight for the ‘Travel’ line. He was the only one. He looked behind him, just in case anyone cared. He noticed Lucinda.

Martin planted his face into the kiosk’s face-reader. The computer scanned his readiness-state and flashed his identity on screen.

‘Rodrigo Martin, 45, Sacramento County, 1900 Cherry Orchard Road, Sacramento, Democratic State of New California,’ it read.

‘Input Visit Reason.’

“Travel. Out of country.”

‘Travel Restrictions (2): Extradition Attempts. Requested residency in Luna, New Mexico, United States, April 1, 2119; second residency request made for Silver City, Nevada, United States, May 1, 2119.’

“Correction request,” Martin said.

‘Input correction request’ the kiosk screen opened the field.

Good. It worked this time.

“Extradition request not made by Rodrigo Martin.”

‘Correction Pending Further Inquiry. Please return to kiosk-location on 6/06/2121-8:00am for further instructions.’

Martin lifted his face from the kiosk. That was that. At least the system hadn’t kicked him out. Inputting correction requests wasn’t something lightly achieved, he’d discovered.

“Hey, good luck Lucinda,” he called passing by her.

The cat lady put her face in the kiosk face-reader. Martin joined the exit queue and saw Jandro still standing in line for ‘Job Transfer’. Martin waved but the kid was fixed on something else. The doors opened and they were ushered out.

he drive home was mostly uneventful. Something vibrated under the driver’s seat—his old police tracker box booted back up for the first time in months. He should have remembered. Drones were locked on his position for some reason. Police Central was listening. Exiting his vehicle, no drones were visible in the sky.

“What happened?” Anita’s face was fraught with apprehension.

“Going back tomorrow at 8AM,” Martin said.

“So it went well?”

“It didn’t go badly. Won’t know for sure until tomorrow.” Martin began to pull a cigarette out of his pocket but remembered he wanted it for later.

“Do you think they ever cleared you?”

“Well, that’s what I’m hoping, honey,” said Martin.

They would never get rid of valuable information on an ex-cop. It was more like getting your name on a list of non-threatening cooperators. When he’d married Anita it was two years after the expulsion of human cops from the street force. Since he didn’t have clearance to train as a Pura-technician, he took the silver-grade retirement parachute and was happy to live in one of the better neighborhoods.

“There are some new laws coming this weekend,” said Anita.

“I know.”

“We won’t have a legal right to investigate Molly’s disappearance without some new kind of clearance.”

“Clear Code Maximum. Nobody’s gonna be able to get that. They don’t want civilian investigations anymore. That’s why we need the travel request to clear tomorrow. If we’re already cleared, we’ll be out of state. And we’re not coming back.”

“Rod, please.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that,” said Martin.

♦

Next day at the County Clerk’s, the queue was longer and the weather hotter. Jandro was behind him again.

“You a cop?” asked Martin.

The kid chuckled. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Maybe? Why scope me out?”

“I’m not a cop, dude.”

“You just said maybe you are. Maybe you’re scoping where I’m trying to go, why I’m trying to travel out of the country.”

“Why are you trying to leave the country?”

“Tell me if you’re a cop first,” Martin insisted.

“Are you the cop?”

“I’m not,” Martin lied. “My brother was.”

“I’m not a cop,” Jandro repeated.

They were silent for a minute and a half.

“What kind of job are you looking for?” Martin asked.

“Agriculture,” said Jandro. “Thanks for noticing.”

“What’d you have originally?”

“Road Construction. Destruction, actually. Construction would be a miracle. Haven’t seen a pave-truck in months.”

“What vehicle do you operate?” Martin asked.

“Now you really do sound like a cop. I drive between work sites.”

“You’re the caterer?”

Jandro shrugged.

artin placed his face into the kiosk face-reader. There was a new item under travel restriction.

“Read the travel restriction section,” Martin said.

‘Travel Restrictions (3): Extradition Attempts. Requested residency in New Mexico, Nevada, United States of America (Requested Correction Pending); Alert: Spouse Unauthorised Vehicle Departure: 8:45AM. Arrest in process.’

No. Anita was smarter than this.

A new alert flashed on the screen.

‘Rodrigo Martin, spouse of Anita Martin, currently located at 2121 Pendleton Drive, Travel Customs Kiosk No. 42901-0837-ZXI. Remain in position for mandatory message delivery.’

He waited.

‘New message. Rodrigo Martin, pursuant to LawCode 679, you have been tagged as a fugitive of the law. Remain at the present location for police retrieval.’

Just before the kiosk booted him out another message screen popped up. It didn’t matter. He knew what it meant, and he knew they’d ask him about it at the station.

Two old model Puras were already stationed behind him when he turned around. That meant they had readied the arrest earlier this morning. A pura-technician, a man with one of those silver-eye cameras on his forehead, was with them.

“Do I need to do anything?” Martin asked, careful not to direct the question at either the robots or the human.

“Just don’t move a muscle,” the technician said blandly.

Martin stared at the leg portions, not wishing to activate anything more in their systems.

Unlike new Pura units, which were connected to a central algorithm system, Protective Units only processed reactions based on pre-programmed systems. They didn’t analyze human behavior in real time. Very old school and very volatile. They needed a handler, like the short sweaty guy behind them. Their volatility made them perfect for turning disgruntled customers into genteel cooperators.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Lucinda approached the technician from behind. Martin carefully moved his eyes between the robots to see her in her green tattered dress, with red scratches up and down her bare arms. The technician ignored her.

“I need to speak to anyone from the Animal Care Bureau,” the cat lady said.

Someone else shouted across the room to her.

“Hey lady, I can help you. Are you looking for animal registration?”

The whole place had turned their attention to the two Protective Units. Everyone was silent, except for the other woman, intervening in the fraught situation.

“Ma’am, what’s your name?” she shouted across the echoing tiled floor. Nobody had their head in a kiosk.

The cat lady ignored the other woman. This was not going to go well. Martin averted his eyes as he saw her reach out to the technician’s shoulder.

“I want to talk to somebody in person,” the cat lady said. The Pura on Martin’s left swiveled on its waist and blasted her with its blue taser arm. Her fragile form flew back several feet, arms reaching up, the electric current seizing her heart.

The technician didn’t budge. He stared directly at him as Martin finally lifted his eyes in amazement.

t the central police station three Puras walked on either side of him. They always kept a cool, human tone of voice, variegated across units to fit any situation. Beyond that, there was no sign of a human element. Police brutality, as such, had long since been out of use. When a Pura put the beat down on you, it took a millisecond. You never felt it. They were that precise.

That didn’t mean everything they did was comfortable.

If you made a run for it, they had two methods: they pursued on foot—you couldn’t outrun a Pura; or, they used the net-shot, a wide-blast taser with a fifteen foot radius. Martin had used it in his last years as a police officer. It did its job.

No doubt about it, Puras were the most advanced technology yet invented.

And still, real criminality goes on.

“Rod?” Anita met him in the visiting room.

Martin wasn’t going to be nice about this.

“What the hell’d you do, Anita?”

Before they could argue the Chief Operating Officer entered. They both saluted.

“Please stand,” the unit said as a formality.

The COO’s tone was coolly human, with under-the-breath expirations as the unit imitated human breathing. Technically useless, psychologically brilliant. Everyone said the same thing. Everyone knew robots were programmed to high complexity, but nobody except Pura scientists knew how it was accomplished.

“...analysis of your tone of voice indicated the motivation for your visa request. Are you listening to what I’m saying, Mr. Martin?”

“Yes, but I apologized,” said Martin, pretending he’d been listening. “And I can request a Reason For Eavesdrop on my house, can’t I?”

“Correct. I’ll be giving that record to you verbally in just a moment. Set your wrist to record when I indicate. But please give your full attention to what I am saying…”

The COO sighed exasperatedly. Anita pinched him.

“As your wife is trying to indicate, Rodrigo, your actions over the last twenty-four-hours have put you both under severe restrictions. Needless to say, you will not be leaving the country.”

“For how long?” asked Anita.

“Indefinitely,” said the COO. “Furthermore, you both have a choice to make. You can either stand for corrections next week—a two week program—or you can come to an agreement to separate ways. It’s clear this marriage has gotten both of you into a lot of trouble.”

“I’ll stand for the corrections program,” said Martin.

“Okay,” said Anita.

♦

he corrections program was a beautiful thing, Martin thought. He was familiar with all of the literature, having administered much of it himself.

Martin was given relative free rein within the Rehab wing. The clinical-white walls and bars of the prison were still there. It was so white you could see a brown splotch across the building. None of the social conditioning bothered him. He’d seen it all before. He took the tests every hour for six hours a day.

It was like a job but with more interrupting breaks. You got to choose between digital and physical curriculum. Martin always preferred paper.

Anita used to be a professor. She’ll be okay. What was it they used to say? Know the professor’s bias.

You had to prove you were still capable of being a nice person. If you passed you got to go free. It was pretty effective. That was week 1.

The second week was something new. It was called, unironically, ‘Purgatory.’

So I’m going to heaven after all, Martin mused reading the cover. The manual was a series of therapeutic euphemisms—the stuff he used to hand out to prisoners. The next section was instructions for a room with a television set.

Had to be some kind of brain-training reprogram video. He’d seen a few and they were pretty effective, even on really pathological types. Like the rest of the curriculum, it was a known quantity and hardly affected him.

I can take it. Can Anita?

Martin finished the manual and found the room. It was furnished like a lounge, with a mini kitchen. There was a robot server.

“Coffee please,” Martin ordered. He sat in the chair in front of the television. He took in the nutty aroma of the coffee and prepared himself for what he was about to watch.

The television scanned his readiness-state and flicked on. A film started to play. A plot about loggers in Canada. It was one he remembered seeing a decade ago with his ex. He shut his eyes. His and Melissa’s divorce had been forced. Not something he liked to remember. Like losing a part of your body.

This is a warning. They think I know something more. Anita, please hang on.

A warm, then hot, feeling enveloped his chestal area. It burned, but there was no pain. It expanded, traveling up his spinal cortex to his head. There it stopped and pulsed.

This is comfortable. I can feel all my thoughts at a touch.

His body convulsed suddenly. He felt the violent swing of his arm hit against the cold metal of the robot standing alongside his chair.

I shouldn’t drink so much coffee. Dad had arrhythmia. He rarely drank water.

A sharp, cold sensation to his thigh burst through the comfortable heat.

I don’t remember this place. Alaska? No, that’s not the only snow state, stupid. Utah. Idaho. Sledding behind Dad’s childhood home. Anita is going to die if she has to remember this stuff. Moron, she has different memories. Worse memories? Molly’s abduction by traffickers. No, they didn’t know that for sure. She could be dead somewhere along a highway or strung up in some psycho’s bunker. She didn’t deserve...what did she deserve? A good life. But so did he. And Anita. Was he being ungrateful?

His body jolted again. The robot server again, coldly meeting his arm.

I’m old enough to go on the ice now. I won’t go too far this time. Dad saved me last time. Is this a warning to not go too far?

Cold. Extreme cold. Warmth. Extreme warmth. Suffocation. Noisy loggers outside. Dad in the living room with mom and sis watching a movie. Somebody opening the door. There’s a gun in their hand.

artin awoke. He would have moved off the lounge chair except his body felt like it had run all night. Had he ever been this fatigued? He remembered the film. No, he didn’t remember. He’d fallen asleep. A boring drama about Canadian loggers. It was a brain-retrain, but he’d missed the whole program. Was that acceptable or would they want him to watch it again?

He fell asleep.

“Coffee?” a human voice behind him offered. The robot’s arm extended near his shoulder.

“Thanks.”

The last item on the program was waiting in the cell. This was an old favorite. Let the inmate put themselves in their own prison. Those who shut the bars themselves were allowed to leave soonest. Soon the whole cell block was a riot of slamming doors.

An echo down the hall alerted him to six Puras with a prisoner in tow. Jandro. Martin caught his eye for a moment as they opened the cell across from him.

Martin nodded his head as the electronic bolts snapped into place.

“So, uh, nice to see you again,” said Jandro after the Puras had gone.

Martin couldn’t help himself. The kid was too much.

“That’s not really an appropriate response, is it, laughing when someone gets put in jail?”

Martin laughed harder.

“You okay, bro?”

Howls of laughter.

“Seriously, dude, why the hell are you laughing?”

“It’s just—” Martin said between laughing cries, “you’re so obviously a cop.”

Martin composed himself. “I get that you’re an undercover. But—I’ll put it this way—your method leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Okay, explain. Why would I need to spy on you?”

“Aww, c’mon Jandro, buddy.”

“No, please. Explain how you got this idea.”

“Hey, why not. I’m about through here. Why not include confession with purgatory.”

“Whatever, dude,” said Jandro.

“The day we met at the customs office, you were right there with me in the line. I saw you slip into line before I got there. When the old lady got hit, you still hadn’t made progress in your line, even though I’d been in my kiosk for fifteen minutes.”

Jandro kept silent. Martin continued.

“You know what’s funny? I’ve kind of figured it all out now. This whole...shitstorm of a society we live in, letting robots do our dirty work, —it’s a big joke. On ourselves. We made the tech, we made it all.”

“Glad you found your old philosophy files,” said Jandro. “Care to tell me what this has to do with us being here on a Sunday morning?”

“I’m getting to that, Alejandro. It has to do with my missing step-daughter.”

“So that’s why you’re trying to travel out? Why all the escapades?”

“Escapades? I applied for a visa two months ago. I’ve been clearing all the obstacles since then. So I could try to find my step-daughter.”

“Where’s her biological dad?”

“I don’t know. He worked in agriculture until they replaced him.”

“Why’d you get arrested?”

“Because I got stupid. I told Anita we were leaving the country and not coming back. I don’t always assume they need to listen. I’m irrational like that, I guess.”

The conversation was suddenly quite boring. Martin looked around the empty cell, trying to find any kind of blemish on the white walls.

“And?” Jandro asked.

“My adult children, who live in the U.S., petitioned for my extradition. Twice. Then my wife got impatient and tried to leave the quad without declaring a reason. You put those facts together, and we’re fugitives.”

There was not a single speck of dirt in Martin’s cell. Of course. Robot sanitation. Why hadn’t they used that decades ago?

“I’m really sorry, dude,” said Jandro. “It’s been nice, actually, being here. At least I know you a little bit, and you seem like a good guy. But let me ask you one thing. You said your brother was a cop?”

“He was.”

“Sure, but I asked if you were a cop. You lied.”

“So what?”

“So...” Jandro trailed off. He’d run out of commentary. Martin was close to breaking his story.

“So nothing,” Martin explained.

“I still don’t get your philosophy bit.”

Leading back to the trail. Delay.

“Yeah, I get it. I’m frustrated. Maybe you can see a little bit about what I mean— life has changed a lot since robots took over.”

“They haven’t, actually.”

Martin let out an exasperated sigh. “Alright? Maybe not. What do you know?”

“Puras are just hardware. Smart hardware. But they don’t operate independently. The interactive programming, the AI, is human-operated. It all goes back to central command where they make real time decisions. Everything is done through the suits.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“I have a cousin who works on the assembly process. He’s seen all their insides, repaired them.”

Made sense. Molly’s last semester had included police procedure. It was the only in depth conversation they’d had.

“I’ve studied philosophy too,” said Jandro, trying to joke. “Everything a person needs can be brought to them. Service-based economy. As a cop you’re familiar with this concept. Stop the bad guys, keep citizens safe. Nobody does it better than we do.”

There was the admission.

“We redefined the terms,” Rodrigo said. “Have you ever seen the wastelands our criminals call home? Coming here is a vacation for them. That’s why crime is half—we couldn’t handle the capacity. And we pushed them out of city limits.”

“Where is it better?” Jandro argued.

“It might not be, but if I could, I’d leave now and never return.”

Jandro’s cell door unlocked, and he strolled out. Martin watched his jeans approach and stand just to the left of Martin’s cell. The bars slid open with a victorious slam.

“You’re a good guy, Rodrigo. I mean that.”

Martin hung his head.

“Wanna know what happened to your step-daughter? Join back up with the force and find out.”

“What?”

“We’re back to using human intelligence on the ground. We need you.”

“After hearing what I just said?”

Jandro shrugged. “Natural feeling. It’s the confession that matters. Now you get to be a part of helping again.”

andro motioned him to follow. They walked the brightly lit hallways until they reached the offices. It was one of the few things Martin missed about the job—a place away from home. He looked around the room. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see a few familiar props—a large plaque of the national seal, a framed blueprint of the city, and a full-scale replica of the original Pura, standing like a suit of armor in the corner.

“Look,” said Jandro leaning against the desk, “it’s still your choice. We’re not forcing you to choose. I’m trying to convince you—honestly, this time—that this is where you’re needed. You and the wife, trying to leave...that really complicated things. But I can fix the records. Even if you don’t rejoin the force, I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

Martin opened a drawer absentmindedly. Stacks of silver-plated hard drives. Old school stuff.

“Those are nice,” said Martin pointing at the two digital windows with sky views of the city.

“I picked out those drones. One of them is my pet. I call it ‘Benito.’ I had an Argentinian Dogo growing up. Super smart. I like to think his brain was replicated into that drone, watching and helping.”

The younger officer motioned him out of the office and they took one of the elevators down.

“Talk it over with Anita. She’s done with her convalescence. I told them to end it after the first week. She’s fine. She’s home.”

Down in the garage, Jandro opened an escort vehicle for him.

“Think about it. Call us. Have a good night, bud.”

♦

t was a cloudless night. Spidery shadows draped across his lawn. Martin was relieved to see his car in the driveway. It was comforting to enter his own house again. Anita was in the kitchen. She didn’t seem as distraught as she might have been.

“I’ve been keeping up with you,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“They kept me up-to-date. Said you passed with flying colors.”

“You know me. I’ve seen all that shit before.”

Martin wondered if she’d given up on Molly, and wanted to tell her about Jandro’s offer. He looked at Anita’s eyes and saw the pain. Of course she hadn’t forgotten. Did he dare mention her after all this?

“Did they tell you anything about Molly?” he asked.

“They found her. She’s okay.” Anita handed him a glass of water. “She’s living in Nevada.”

“That’s all we wanted to know,” said Martin. “If she was okay.” Jandro must’ve already known.

He sat down at the table. It was the best news he could have heard. For some reason the idea of living in Nevada seemed like the worst possible decision.

It’s so hot there. Crossing the desert just to arrive at crime-infested underworlds like Reno or Carson City? Gambling. Sure, he’d done a bit on the side, but for a whole state to make it their economy? Blood-boiling. God how he hated it!

Martin clutched the glass of water. He nearly spilled it as he suddenly experienced a convulsion in his chest. His shoulders shook while Anita clasped her hands over his. There was a small paper in her hands. It slipped through her fingers onto his shaking knee. She opened its crinkled edges so he could read.

‘Be ready.’