DETECTIVE MOXLEY, Part 14: “Accidents Happen”
“Take a long look, Mister Miller,” said Councilwoman Sara Lindsey. She pushed the pocket tab across the table. The image it displayed was not pleasant: A man in his late twenties lay suspended in an air cot, covered in burns that, in some cases, were deep enough to expose bone. Whether the man was alive or dead was not clear from the picture.
“Please, call me Chad,” said the man seated opposite her. Miller wore an identity badge proclaiming him a licensed lobbyist for Baxter-Derrill Medicorp. He also wore a cheap suit and a phony smile. Lindsey despised him. She had met him only this morning.
“That,” said Lindsey, “is what legalization of Sleep looks like. That is what Oyd Waller wants to unleash on Northam? On Hongkongtown?”
“Councilwoman,” said Miller, pausing to take a sip from his tea cup, “while BDM understands your concerns, we would caution you not to make judgments based on the illegal, back-alley operations that characterize illicit Sleep production. We simply want to bring this process from the darkness into the light. Yes, the chemical process that produces Sleep is remarkably corrosive. It is damaging to both people and equipment, I’m told. Dangerous technology like this ought to be regulated. There needs to be government oversight. Relegated to the shadow economy, it’s no wonder that unsafe practices exist. This was the same argument applied to the legalization of heroin and cocaine, you’ll recall… and the results were identical.”
“Waller’s motives aren’t concern for public welfare,” said Lindsey. “Let’s just put that on the table, shall we, Mister Miller? You’re here carrying water for your CEO, not trying to swing my vote for the public good.”
“I think we can both acknowledge,” Miller said, too smoothly, “that BDM would of course profit from the establishment of de-Sleep centers for the rehabilitation of the addicted.”
“So your company would not only produce Sleep and profit from its production, but also profit from the treatment of those your product has addicted.”
“That’s a cynical way to look at it,” said Miller. “We prefer to see it as a process of normalization.”
“Normalization? Is that why the bill Waller and BDM are sponsoring also deregulates soylicon? Are claiming BDM knew nothing about the manufacture of soylicon precursors at the Barkhor Street Surgery? Oh, I can see you’re surprised by that. I have my sources in law enforcement, just as you do. I know that Barkhor Street is a holding of BDM, and I know that a routine inspection there turned up contraindicated synthetics. Growing biochips, living computers, or unregistered synthetic flesh is against both Northam and Hongkongtown law, Mister Miller.”
“My employer cannot be held responsible for the actions of a few misguided, rogue employees,” said Miller, showing her his capped teeth. He spread his hands in what had to be a practice gesture of reassurance. “As for soylicon, while we regret the overzealous actions of the Barkhor Street medical professionals whose employment we’ve since been forced to terminate, we do think the scrutiny on bio-active synthetics is misplaced. Put simply, Councilwoman, the public doesn’t understand soylicon. There were certain… miscommunications when it was first introduced. Call it improper marketing. We believe banning a substance that has real application in medical science and food production was a premature overreaction on the part of Northam’s government. Given Hongkongtown’s unique legal status, if the city council decriminalizes it, we can again begin production of soylicon for local use. That may pave the way for mainland legality. It’s an iterative process.”
“It’s ghoulish,” said Lindsey. “Soylicon might as well be human flesh.”
“But it isn’t,” said Miller. “It’s a hybrid substance, officially classified as a polymer-bonded synthetic organism with no living characteristics.”
“The Medical Hegemony believes otherwise.”
“The Medical Hegemony,” said Miller, his tone darkening, “has grown complacent. When innovation is stifled by the Hegemony’s knee-jerk negative reactions, everyone suffers. But you have a history with the Medical Hegemony, don’t you, Councilwoman? I believe they’ve contributed handsomely to your campaign. Strange, that mainland medical establishment would take an interest in your political fortunes, given that Hongkongtown is the one production center in Northam not completely under the Hegemony’s thumb.”
“If you’re implying something,” said Lindsey, “I encourage you to get to your point, Mister Miller.”
“My point,” said Miller, standing, “is that you should reconsider your vote. The margin is quickly moving in our favor. After what happened to Councilman Theopolis… what a terrible tragedy.”
Lindsey felt her mouth fall open. “Theopolis was murdered,” she said quietly. “I hope you’re not saying what I think—”
“An accident,” said Miller. “Accidents happen. They’re common in Hongkongtown. A murder, a car wreck, a fire with no explanation. All merely random acts of chance, if tragic ones.” He smoothed the front of his suit and turned to go. Without looking at her, he said, “Accidents can happen to anyone, Councilwoman. Consider that carefully when you next cast your vote.” He left her sitting at the day room table.
The door closed on pneumatic runners. It opened again to admit Phillips, her assistant.
“Ma’am?” said Phillips. “Are you all right?”
“No, Phillips,” said Lindsey. “I don’t think I am.”
“Ma’am?”
“Nothing. Phillips?”
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“Get my pistol from the safe and load it.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
* * *
Miller climbed into his vehicle and sealed the doors with a wave of his hand over the lock sensor. “Scramble communications,” he said. “Query headquarters.”
“Scrambled communications active,” said the car. “Querying.”
“Waller,” came the voice a moment later. “How did it go?”
“She’s a stubborn old bat,” said Miller. “I don’t think she’s going to budge, not even if scare her. That type doesn’t back down. She’s a crusader. You can’t scare off a true believer in the Hegemony’s cause.”
“I feared as much,” said Waller.
“I think we should put a unit on her,” said Miller. “That would drop the ratio on the Council to break-even.”
“Is that wise? We have units unaccounted for already.”
“They’re… a little unstable, I’ll grant you,” said Miller. But we knew the beta programming was a little iffy. They can still get the job done. Honestly, sir, I don’t see that we have a choice.”
“What about this detective, this Moxley character?”
“He’s nothing,” said Miller. “A broken-down loser. I’ll handle it, sir. He’s a minor nuisance, not an obstacle.”
“If you’re certain.”
“I know him,” said Miller. “I’m certain.”
“Report back when you can. We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to get everything lined up before the next time the Council votes. Out.”
The connection closed. Miller massaged his chin with his thumb for a moment before turning to face the back seat. The creature concealed by the smoked windows of the car looked back at him without expression.
Miller laughed out loud.
“I do not understand,” said the creature.
“Nothing,” said Miller. “I was laughing.”
“You were laughing,” it said. “Do you have instructions for me, sir?”
“Yeah,” said Miller. “You’re on,”
“I’m on,” said the creature.
Miller fanned the lock sensor again. He was still chuckling at his own joke.
It was hard to have an expression when you didn’t have a face.