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Do Androids Dream of Electric Jam? - Ch. 1: Let's Kill Tonight

Let's Kill Tonight - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Rated M: guns, mild violence, suggestive, swearing - WC: 3388

"Let's kill tonight! Kill tonight! Show them all you're not the ordinary type." - Panic! at the Disco

The Reckoning

2122-11-01 : 18:39 UTC-8

The streets of Old Seattle have been left in shambles. The now-annual hundred year floods that began around the turn of the century have gradually made everything south of Madison Street officially uninhabitable.

Officially.

While the traditional brick and stone buildings of Old Seattle crumbled and dissolved in the rising brackish, toxic waters, most of the mid-century steel and glass buildings, designed to withstand earthquakes but not hurricanes, fared reasonably well. Their realsteel and concrete skeletons did, at least. The glass windows were all long-since blown out, decades of storms working to grind the remnants of the actual silicate-based glass into sand that clogged the overworked sump pumps installed in the late 2060s and early ‘70s’s and drove the city’s richest residents to abandon downtown, if not the planet altogether.

The only life left south of Madison were the families too poor to move, green and grey koi rumored to be from the old botanical gardens, and the thick-skinned ballard bullfrogs that ate them.

And The Reckoning.

“You’re late,” snapped a voice from the dark as he slid the salvaged synthsteel door shut behind himself.

He sighed in relief when the door closed silently. The Bear must’ve oiled the bearings since the last time they’d used this space and the creaking door in the supposedly hermetically sealed wreck had drawn nosy residents. “I know. I had to lose my tail, brother dear.” He looked around the room at their small—and growing ever smaller—resistance cell.

The tallest of the group looked ready to leap from his perch on top of what must’ve once been a kitchen island. He tugged at his sleeves, an old nervous habit from what the military used to call ‘shell shock.’ “Are you sure you weren’t followed?”

His twin’s firm hand on his shoulder halted his pissy retort before it could even begin. “Final check-in. Does everyone know where they need to be tomorrow night? The news drones will be out to cover the ceremony and we all need to be in place before they start.”

He nodded, “I’ll be at HQ with The Bear”—The Bear grinned and gave him two thumbs up—”Ready to divert the Catcher’s attention if he gets too close.”

With a whisper of movement, the one on the countertop dropped to the floor, hefting a mean-looking tangle of wires protruding from a grey plastene casing. “I’ll be planting these babies all over the Quad.”

“Good. And I’ll be at Pike with my own batch.” They looked around the room. Two decades still hadn’t yet filled in the hole left by their missing comrade.

The late one now gripped the shoulder next to his. “We’ll keep him safe and away from the action.”

He blew out a sharp breath, rustling a tuft of his permanently unruly hair. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered, voice low. The room fell silent and The Bear wrapped his arm around him and gave him a squeeze. Finally, he looked up. “Meet up at Duke’s if you need repairs.” He nodded again.

“Let’s go.”

The Catcher

2122-11-03 : 07:15 UTC-8

Sharp, icy rain pounded against the synthsteel windows on the 219th floor. Noxious clouds gathered a hundred feet or so below, casting an eerie burnt orange glow over the upper floors that magnified and reflected the flashes of lightning from the storm. As dawn approached, the programming in the synthsteel took over, gradually shifting from an opaque matte silver to a translucent amber. Light strips embedded in the window frame gave the floor-to-ceiling panels a soft, warm glow, simulating sunrise.

As he slept, the diffused light began to illuminate Logan’s face and, after a few moments of the slowly increasing brightness, his eyes snapped open and he sat up, blinking against the light. He allowed his vision to adjust before fumbling at the nightstand for his visored eyeglasses, setting the frames in place and flipping back his blanket.

He stripped out of his pajamas, tucking the already disintegrating material into the recycler before brushing his teeth and changing into his more durable work suit. He knotted his tie with practiced ease and slipped through the door, his bed already made and folded back into the floor until nighttime. Out of habit, Logan touched the wall to deactivate the lights in his room before he realized they were already off, the room illuminated by the artificial sunrise streaming in through the windows. With a shrug, he double tapped the panel to open the door and join his brother for breakfast.

As the door slid open, the droning natter of the newsfeed vocaloid blasting from the dining room filled his ears. Janus must already be awake and listening to the news. For the countless time, he silently thanked the soundproofing in his room.

… “claim that the latest ash converter series now taking flight is expected to clear over 16% of the radioactive ash over parts of the Pacific Northwest, from as far north as Vancouver and south down to the former Bay Area. The effect on crashing bee and wasp populations is unclear. In related news, a number of civilians started a show of support for the artificial pollinators produced by RUR (https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwif5MqGlcz5AhWeAjQIHYrcDsgQFnoECB4QAQ&url=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FR.U.R.&usg=AOvVaw3YAkNn3UwvYOsZi052w8xa ) after the Human Kind Institute announced their findings that it will require an 89% reduction in ash to restore insect populations to their pre-Blast levels. Leon Resk, CEO of RUR Software Corp addressed the crowds. ‘We here at the RUR pledge to continue the production of our Flightsaver pollinators, ensuring support for the world’s food chains, with only nominal price increases for hive leases in order to maintain competitiveness and satisfy fiduciary responsibilities to our stakeholders and…’”

Logan rolled his neck as he made his way down the long hallway, wishing he could somehow turn off his hearing to avoid the corporate doublespeak. He did not understand how Janus could stomach it all, but his elder brother always insisted hiding from the news wouldn’t make it go away.

“… were met with protests when later that day the president of Evergreen Energy spoke during their observation of the fifty-fifth anniversary of the Blasts. Undeterred, she announced a new fifteen-year road map for the cleanup of the battery islands impacted on that historic day. ‘Evergreen Energy has never sought to point fingers or displace blame for the ecological impact of the American terrorists’ actions on that horrific day. On the contrary, EE takes its responsibility seriously and we pledge to Clean Up Our Mess and work to reduce precipitation toxicity by 13% over the next twenty years…’”

Logan rolled his eyes, wondering which came first, the vocaloid’s programming to uncritically replay these ludicrous public relations talking points or the loss of critical reading by the human reporters of the last century. Janus had shown him ancient recordings of humans reading the news. There hadn’t been much difference.

“And in other news, today marks the tenth anniversary of the Pike Place Massacre where three lives were lost during an artifice insurrection at RUR’s primary production plant. We mourn with the surviving families and credit the quick work of the loyal Model V artifices who responded with alacrity by physically decommissioning over 800 of the responsible artifices. Yesterday, a peaceful memorial was disrupted by the actions of a malfunctioning Model V that threatened the life of the Governor and her children. The artifice was quickly dispatched by one of the city's brave Catchers—“

The vid screen was filled with grainy over-zoomed footage captured by amateur and AI vid drones. It showed the Governor, bleeding and unconscious on the ground, an aide applying pressure to a gaping wound at her side. Two small children cowered behind a blurry figure dressed in black slacks and a jacket festooned with pockets, a dark indigo shirt peeking out. The figure grappled with a tall, heavily armed artifice dressed in black foam armor. The camera zoomed again, automatic facial recognition identifying the man as Sanders, L.

"House, news off, please," Logan instructed.

Janus raised an eyebrow over his data pad. "Someone woke up cranky this morning. Usually you get through your first cup before you've ordered House to stop playing the news."

"It's just the day," he muttered. "I hope you weren't actually watching that nonsense."

"Merely burning time until I had the opportunity to bask in the presence of my little brother, the brave Civilian Catcher of Seattle."

Logan rolled his eyes but smiled as he settled into his seat. He poured a cup from the teapot on the table and took a sip before leaning forward, sharp blue eyes peering at the tremor in his brother’s hand, the paleness on the unscarred side of his face, the long, dark shadows beneath his eyes. He took another slow sip of his tea and spoke into his cup. “I didn’t see you when I came in last night.”

Janus took a bite of his omelet and chewed slowly, swallowing with some effort. “I would characterize four AM as morning, not night.”

“So you did wait up.”

“Yes, he did,” Roman chastised, giving Janus a fondly admonishing look as he walked down the hall and settled into a seat next to him. Janus poured his tea. “Good morning, Logan,” he said brightly, shaking out his napkin and placing it carefully in his lap. He raised his tea cup in salute before taking a sip. “We were all relieved when you returned home safely.”

“Good morning, Roman.” Logan smiled at the artifice, his effusive words warming him as much as the tea. “Thank you.” He raised his cup in response to Roman’s little gesture and took another sip. “And thank you for managing to cajole my brother into eventually getting a bit of sleep.”

“‘It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done.’”

Janus laughed, raising Roman’s hand to kiss his fingers. “I know you know what that’s from, but did you think I wouldn’t?” Roman’s only response was a laugh, then he gave Janus’ hand a gentle squeeze and took another sip of his tea. Looking up at his brother over his tea cup, Janus frowned. “That Model V was classed as a level 9 threat.” He paused, trying his breakfast again. “You take too many risks, Lo.”

Logan chuckled quietly, “I take every precaution.” He finished his tea and poured a second cup. “You know that… they’re your precautions. It helps to have a robotics master for a brother.”

“‘Master’ is such a distasteful word…” Janus made a sour face and stirred a little extra rice milk into his cup. He winked at Roman. “I’d graciously accept ‘expert,’ ’prodigious genius,’ ‘world-renowned—’”

“Don’t you need to be young to be considered a prodigy?”

“Now, now, now, Logan…” Patton’s cheery voice couldn’t sound stern even if he’d tried. “You know your brother’s sensitive about his age,” he chirped as he set down a plate of toast and jam in front of Logan.

“Is this—” Logan picked up the tiny jar of preserves and tapped the side of it. The impact made a rare, almost echoing ting. “This is real fruit jam. In a glass jar.” He looked up at Patton and tilted his head. “This must have been exorbitant. How did—” Logan caught Janus’ silent eye movement down toward his data pad. “No, Pat… That was a gift! Those credits were meant for you to spend on something for you… an upgrade or an experience or—”

“Something that brought me joy,” Patton grinned at Logan, eyes almost literally twinkling. Logan had been quietly relieved when Janus had reverted that upgrade, returning Patton’s irises to their factory original ice blue. Whether it was the artificiality of the tiny lights, the colder gaze it gave the caretaker he remembered more strongly than even his own brother, or merely the reminder that Patton was not human, the twinkling LEDs pushed the artifice solidly over the edge of the uncanny valley.

Seeing the hurt in Patton’s eyes in the rare few times that Logan could force himself to actually meet them had not eased his discomfort.

Still grinning with that disarming warmth, Patton winked and smeared a small scoop of the blueberry preserves over Logan’s triangle-cut toast and arranged them on the plate along with his two bean curd eggs, sunny side up, shaped in a rough smile. He patted Logan’s shoulder. “And seeing you happy, Kiddo, brings me great joy.”

“But, Pat—”

“Please don’t be angry with me, Logan. I truly bought what I wanted to buy.” He tilted his head, bright eyes scanning Logan’s features. He tucked a strand of hair away from his eyes and grinned again. “You have a big day ahead.” After Logan finally took a bite and his eyes widened in pleasure at the taste of the genuine, fruit-based jam, Patton smiled and moved to the other side of the table to refill Janus’ tea.

“So we know Logan will likely have an appearance at the press conference later today. If he doesn’t find a way out of it, of course.” Logan hid his blush behind his tea cup as Patton pointed with his chin toward Janus’ datapad. “What do you have planned today? You have first years this semester, don’t you?” Patton winked again, a quiet laugh behind his words. “Ready to torture the future programmers of the world?”

If Roman laughed, he hid it well behind his napkin.

Janus raised a hand to his chest, mouth falling open in utterly shocked outrage. “I’m as soft as a kitten on those first years.” His expression broke into a smirk at Logan’s raised eyebrow. “It’s my grad students who need to mind their step.”

Patton looked equally unconvinced and he shared a knowing look with Logan as he passed his seat on the way back to the kitchen.

"Have you been modifying his programming again?" Logan had waited until Patton had left the room, but didn’t look up from his tea, frowning into the still-steaming liquid.

"No, of course not."

Logan set down his tea and hefted the tiny jar of jam in the center of his palm. The label was hand-lettered, and Logan could only imagine where they’d gotten the ink. Perhaps home grown, along with the berries for the jam itself. With the tip of his thumbnail, he tapped the side of the jar and the old-fashioned button-top in the center of the cap. The jar was solid glass, and he didn’t need to take a sample with his watch to know the lid was realsteel.

"He has good taste." Logan looked up, surprised by Janus’ sudden comment. Janus shrugged. “You think very loudly, you know.”

“Speaking of good taste,” Roman began, tea cup cradled in his hands. “Are we continuing the Philosophiae after your classes today?”

“Are you actually enjoying it?” Janus brushed the backs of his fingers over Roman’s cheek with a gentle laugh. “You could recite Descartes in twenty-six different languages.”

“Twenty-eight,” Roman and Logan said in unison. This was far from the first time the couple had discussed the topic.

Laughing, Roman covered Janus’ hand and held it against his own cheek. “But it’s so beautiful when you read it.” He met Janus’ eyes and smiled. “Please?”

It didn’t take long for Janus to relent. “Of course, my dear,” he murmured. “Your wish is my command,” he chuckled before pulling Roman closer and pressing a kiss against his other cheek and returning to his breakfast.

When Logan had finished eating and Roman had excused himself for his morning cello practice, he stood to take the remaining dishes to the kitchen. He frowned at his brother’s half-eaten meal. “Are you feeling alright, Jan?”

Janus chuckled, “I’m fine. Just a bit of nerves. We’re interviewing for the new department chair all afternoon and I’m dreading the semi-human interaction.”

“Well, maybe take another bite of the omelet.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen entry with a little smile. “You don’t want Patton to think you’re getting sick.” He laughed, “Or worse, that you don’t like his cooking.”

“No, we definitely wouldn’t want that,” he murmured, taking back his plate for a moment and finishing two more bites of his breakfast.

Logan’s comm buzzed in his ear and he tapped it twice, watching Janus finish his tea, then unhook his cane from the back of his chair and maneuver out of his seat. As he listened to his day’s assignment, he eyed the way Janus leaned heavily on it, skin paling around the edges where he clung to the hand grip.

“Congratulations on your successful completion of last night’s assignment,” the near-human vocaloid chirped into his ear. “You have been assigned a new artifice to locate and detain.” Logan’s visor projected a meter-wide image of the wanted artifice.

It was tall, with the lanky build and habitual slouch of a decommissioned Model V bot. Structurally, it was identical to the Model V Logan had fought last night, but this new one had been heavily modded, with implants around its eyes and joints, probably extra sensors and energy packs. It had also altered its hair, lengthening it from its military standard buzzcut until its black bangs hung over its eyes, shot through with a deep purple autodye. It wore synth armor over black pants and a heavy black hoodie with worn patches of patterned vid-scrambling paint.

The image appeared to have been taken at last night’s protests, and it caught the artifice throwing back a small EMP device toward an officer’s body cam before it could activate and disrupt its own systems.

“Do you accept this assignment?”

The automated recording waited in programmed patience for his vocal print to commit to the job. “What are the charges?”

After a beat, the vocaloid rattled off a long list of offenses, larceny, destruction of public property, unauthorized modification of an artifice, unauthorized self-modification of an artifice, trespassing… Logan interrupted its litany with a sharp, “Halt list.” He sighed. “Is this artifice charged with anything beyond property crimes?”

There was another brief silence followed by a short, almost disappointed, “No.”

“Who’s next on the list if I do not accept?” Logan scoffed when the program remained silent, awaiting his passcode. The roster of other bounty hunters was an open secret. Each had a code that would reveal their assignments to the rest of the group and they all tracked each other. It was the safest way to avoid encroaching on each other’s territory because the automated dispatcher was shit and everyone knew it. “Authorization Lima-Oscar-Golf-India-Charlie-November-Tree.”

“Authorized,” the vocaloid chirped. “Recent events have overtaxed the New Seattle Police Department’s Citizen Catcher program. If you do not accept this job, it will be offered to SPD Agent R. Deckard, badge number NEX-62019.”

“Fuck.” He finally looked up and noticed Janus watching his half of the conversation. “I accept the job,” he muttered at last. “Download the file. Out.” Logan tapped his comm to end the call.

Janus leaned against the doorway, one eyebrow raised. “And I thought you only collected bounties on murderers.”

Logan straightened his tie in the mirror as he spoke, unwilling—or unable—to meet his older brother’s eyes. ‘Deckard’s a sociopath. Last year he used a perception trigger on a Model C wanted for shoplifting. Fucker said he wanted to be sure its Asmov chips still worked and it wouldn’t fight back at decom.” Logan shuddered. The poor thing’s screams had echoed through the station and the rest of the cops had just ignored it. He checked his respirator, then his gun. “Better I take it in than some animal like that.”

“Very well,” Janus’ voice was even and calm. “Are you trying to convince me?” Logan scowled at his own reflection. “Or yourself?”

“I need to go. Clock’s started.” Logan moved toward the door, but then turned around, his expression softer as he bowed his head. “See you tonight?”

“Always, Logan. Be safe.”

“Always,” he responded, eliciting a small smile from the elder brother. He turned and left, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft whoosh.

Without a sound, Patton stepped out from the hallway into the dining room and met Janus’ eyes. The human nodded once and Patton opened a secure comm line.

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