Author: Alastair Millar

There was no doubt about it: normally, cases like this just sucked. Harry Bell, duty detective of the day for Zone 5 in Sector 4b of what he still called Greater London despite that stupid referendum, had silently cursed the luck that had brought him early that morning in to cover for a sick colleague. But the flimsy in his hand brought a certain closure, at least.

“So when did your old guy die?” asked Mac, leaning over the cubicle partition on his way to a late lunch.

He’d been working a home invasion case in Proletown, which meant virtually no chance of an arrest, and apparently Mac had been selected to provide some distraction. Joy.

“Hey, he’s not mine. I’m just looking after him for Barnes.”

“Yeah, right, like he’s going to want this one when he comes back. So when?”

“Couple of years ago, most likely. Body was dessicated, but not skeletonised: the apartment’s maintenance systems kept the place clean and sealed, so no maggots or beetles. Took care of the leakage, too.”

“Ugh. Seriously?”

“Yep. Dude was comfortably off, so the rent and all the utility bills were being paid off monthly on auto. Nobody noticed he’d gone until the money finally ran out.”

“Really? No family?”

“Not that we’ve been able to find.” He waved the flimsy. “Central Records says he grew up in a kinderblock, never fostered. Apparently he never married.”

“What, and his neighbours suck so much they didn’t notice he hadn’t been around?”

“Oh c’mon, it’s not like when we were kids – you know how people keep to themselves these days.” He left unspoken any mention of the political purges and disappearances that had become commonplace over the last decade; Mac was a nice enough guy, but squealers often were, right up until they weren’t. Another reason not to pry into what the guy next door was keeping busy with.

“Yeah, I guess. Any idea what killed him?”

“Not officially. I sent the body down to autopsy for Andy to look at, but I’m figuring a heart attack. Natural causes, anyway. No sign of foul play.”

“Grim, man. Sure hope I don’t go out that way, alone and forgotten.”

“Not totally alone. But our only witness is worse than useless.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a companion ’bot.”

“Aren’t they supposed to stop this sort of thing happening?”

“Well if he hadn’t been a tightwad, and had got a decent model instead of a cheap one from a sweatshop in South America somewhere, sure. But he was, and he did, so all I can get out of it is ‘the master has been taking a long rest’”.

“You’re kidding? After this long?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding? You can thank the MegaCorps for this one. So we get to live with the results. Which is more than he does, I guess.”

“Hah.”

Harry smiled a sly smile. “It WAS partly his own fault though.”

“How so?”

“The file from Records included employment history. Want to guess who he worked for?”

“Please tell me he wasn’t a cop.”

“Nah. He was one of the lobbyists hired when the manufacturers’ association spent a lot of cash making sure the government never mandated wellness and healthcare routines for ’bots. If he hadn’t been so good at his job, he might still be alive.”

Mac laughed. In this job, you took the humour where you could find it. They went to lunch.