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automated lanes of the Ventura Tollway, and we raced silently at 200 hundred kilometers an hour toward downtown.
Chapter Two
It was a night for back doors. The next on the tour belonged to the new police headquarters. Two cops, one human, male and beginning to wrinkle, and one bot, sexless and stainless, met our cruiser. There's nothing impressive about the rear entrance, beyond the fact that its smooth surfaces must be easy to clean. Below a Christmas wreath, someone had slapped a small sticker on the glasteel door that read, "Garbage in, garbage out."
The copbot directed us through the building with simple commands: "Forward." "Left." "Halt." The cat kept me between her and the bot, and she watched it constantly. A few states had banned copbots, but I couldn't remember if Minnesota was one.
The human cop never said a word as we walked a long hall, then rode the elevator. Since we weren't exactly prisoners and we weren't exactly guests, his compromise between intimidation and civility was that all-purpose emotion of the underpaid civil servant, boredom.
They left us in a small waiting room with a holovision set. I looked out. A copbot stood at attention in the hall. I tried the door. Locked.
The cat dropped onto a couch and said, "Any idea how long we wait?"
"They have any reason to be nice to you?"
"No."
"Me, neither."
So we watched HV. Adam Tromploy, KCAL's digicaster who seems as artificial to me as any human news anchor, gave us the day's events, starting with the proposed Chimera Rights Resolution. It was facing fierce challenges in the U.N.'s General Assembly; the likelihood of passage was "not good."
"Some surprise," the cat said, curling up on the couch and closing her golden eyes. "Like the genomeries would free their property out of the goodness of their hearts."
The next news item brought her to the edge of the couch—a werewolfing in an Italian restaurant in New York City, the fifth in that city this year. The restaurant's security-cam caught most of the action:
A shaggy apeman in a busboy's uniform was carrying dishes through a room filled with human diners when he staggered. His tray slipped from his hand. Plates, glasses, and cutlery clattered onto the hardwood floor as he doubled over, clutching his chest. Customers turned and stared. A human in a white jacket, probably the maitre d', hurried up to him, looking angry. Then the apeman reared up. Before the human could speak, the apeman snapped the guy's neck, threw him against the dessert cart, and tore into a man and a woman at the nearest table.
In less than thirty seconds, the ape killed four humans and a dogwoman waiter who tried to stop him. Her sacrifice gave everyone else time to get out. When the cops arrived, they opened fire with bullets, not sleep darts. The first shots barely slowed him. He tore open a copbot before he finally fell under the hail of police fire.
As medics carried out the dead and wounded in the background, a man in a bloody shirt gave the usual werewolfing victim's spiel: One, it attacked anything that moved. Two, how could anyone want to give critters equal rights when one of them might begin a killing spree at any time?
In the interest of the appearance of balanced reporting, some guy came on with a subtitle proclaiming him a real scientist. He gave the usual chimera expert's spiel: One, statistically, genetically enhanced creatures are not significantly more likely to go berserk than humans. Two, we've given chimeras our virtues; should we be surprised if they have our vices, too?
The cat's eyes closed again when Tromploy began talking about AIs competing for the world chess championship in Jerusalem. I could've dozed then, too. The contest may've officially been between Indigo 74 and AI-LL23C, but it seemed more like free advertising for Chain Logic and Apple IBM, the companies that designed them.
I looked out the door again. So far as I could tell, we had been forgotten. I said, "Why me?"
The cat
Chapter Two
It was a night for back doors. The next on the tour belonged to the new police headquarters. Two cops, one human, male and beginning to wrinkle, and one bot, sexless and stainless, met our cruiser. There's nothing impressive about the rear entrance, beyond the fact that its smooth surfaces must be easy to clean. Below a Christmas wreath, someone had slapped a small sticker on the glasteel door that read, "Garbage in, garbage out."
The copbot directed us through the building with simple commands: "Forward." "Left." "Halt." The cat kept me between her and the bot, and she watched it constantly. A few states had banned copbots, but I couldn't remember if Minnesota was one.
The human cop never said a word as we walked a long hall, then rode the elevator. Since we weren't exactly prisoners and we weren't exactly guests, his compromise between intimidation and civility was that all-purpose emotion of the underpaid civil servant, boredom.
They left us in a small waiting room with a holovision set. I looked out. A copbot stood at attention in the hall. I tried the door. Locked.
The cat dropped onto a couch and said, "Any idea how long we wait?"
"They have any reason to be nice to you?"
"No."
"Me, neither."
So we watched HV. Adam Tromploy, KCAL's digicaster who seems as artificial to me as any human news anchor, gave us the day's events, starting with the proposed Chimera Rights Resolution. It was facing fierce challenges in the U.N.'s General Assembly; the likelihood of passage was "not good."
"Some surprise," the cat said, curling up on the couch and closing her golden eyes. "Like the genomeries would free their property out of the goodness of their hearts."
The next news item brought her to the edge of the couch—a werewolfing in an Italian restaurant in New York City, the fifth in that city this year. The restaurant's security-cam caught most of the action:
A shaggy apeman in a busboy's uniform was carrying dishes through a room filled with human diners when he staggered. His tray slipped from his hand. Plates, glasses, and cutlery clattered onto the hardwood floor as he doubled over, clutching his chest. Customers turned and stared. A human in a white jacket, probably the maitre d', hurried up to him, looking angry. Then the apeman reared up. Before the human could speak, the apeman snapped the guy's neck, threw him against the dessert cart, and tore into a man and a woman at the nearest table.
In less than thirty seconds, the ape killed four humans and a dogwoman waiter who tried to stop him. Her sacrifice gave everyone else time to get out. When the cops arrived, they opened fire with bullets, not sleep darts. The first shots barely slowed him. He tore open a copbot before he finally fell under the hail of police fire.
As medics carried out the dead and wounded in the background, a man in a bloody shirt gave the usual werewolfing victim's spiel: One, it attacked anything that moved. Two, how could anyone want to give critters equal rights when one of them might begin a killing spree at any time?
In the interest of the appearance of balanced reporting, some guy came on with a subtitle proclaiming him a real scientist. He gave the usual chimera expert's spiel: One, statistically, genetically enhanced creatures are not significantly more likely to go berserk than humans. Two, we've given chimeras our virtues; should we be surprised if they have our vices, too?
The cat's eyes closed again when Tromploy began talking about AIs competing for the world chess championship in Jerusalem. I could've dozed then, too. The contest may've officially been between Indigo 74 and AI-LL23C, but it seemed more like free advertising for Chain Logic and Apple IBM, the companies that designed them.
I looked out the door again. So far as I could tell, we had been forgotten. I said, "Why me?"
The cat
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