Engineman - Eric Brown [170]
And - this somehow makes the slaughter all the more tragic - robotic Mickeys and Minnies, Donalds and Plutos move from body to lasered body, patting dismembered heads, shaking lifeless hands, posing for pictures never to be taken beside the lacerated remains of Junior and Sis.
Da Cruz continues galumphing along. She's seen it all before. I slow and stare aghast until I hear a, "Psst!" and see a tiny gesture from Minnie up ahead. I quicken up and join her, strutting like a fool.
We leave the boulevard, cross a facsimile Wonderland and come to the croquet lawn. The Queen of Hearts strides around and calls imperiously, "Off with their heads!" And by some ghastly coincidence the Alice 'bot stands, hands on hips, her head removed by a freak sweep of this killer's laser.
Da Cruz ducks behind a hillock and points. "There," she says, indicating the entrance of a large rabbit burrow.
I close my eyes and concentrate on the workers' dorm beneath this make-believe world.
"What are you doing?" Da Cruz asks in a whisper.
"Just casting dem ol' black spells," I jape.
I make out eleven minds down there. I go through them one by one, discarding each in turn as innocent. All I read is fear and apprehension and, in a couple of cases, even hysteria. I'm looking for the bright brainvibes of a maniac. This bunch is clean.
"You a telepath?" Da Cruz asks in a small voice as I open my eyes and clear my head with a shake.
"Something like that," I tell her. "I thought you said there were a dozen workers? I scan only eleven."
"Over there." She points a white-gloved hand beyond the burrow to a hulking structure moored in a white, simulacrum river, part of another facsimile. I recognize it. The steamboat from Huck Finn. "He didn't make it to the dorm," she says.
I concentrate, get nothing. There's a blank where the person should be. The boat's within range, and there's nothing wrong with my ability as I can still sense the eleven down the rabbit hole.
"There's no-one there," I say. "You sure-?"
Then I glimpse movement.
Between balustrades I see a guy sitting on the steps of the upper deck. He's garbed in ancient costume: cloak, frilled shirt, tight breeches and big-buckled shoes. He's there, okay.
Fact remains - I scan nothing.
"I don't get this one bit," I murmur. "You see a guy over there? Or am I hallucinating ghosties?"
"Sure. That's him. He's an Andy, an A-grader. He plays the part of Dr Frankenstein in our latest spectacular."
"Thanks for telling me," I say. "You think I can scan cyber-junkboxes just like living minds?"
She gets the message and stays mute.
So our Dr Frankenstein's an Android? A tank-nurtured artificial human, playing the lead in the Gothic classic. I reckon Mary would just love that.
As for me, I'm suspicious. I have this aversion to Andys. Okay, so this guy's a citizen-grade Android from a reputable clinic, a fellow sentient with all the civil rights of you and me. But he still doesn't scan. I can't read Androids.
Prejudice, I know. And me of all people...
Nevertheless, I avoid them at parties.
"What do you know about this guy?" I ask. And I read her to ensure she's telling me all she knows.
"Well, he's an exceptionally talented actor. He applied for the role of the Doctor in the Frankenstein show. He auditioned well and got the part."
"You think he might be the killer?"
"Him?" She's surprised. "No... I don't think so. When we met he seemed very-"
"Okay, okay. I don't want a character reference. They say the Boston Strangler was a charmer."
"But what makes you think-?"
I shrug. "A hunch, that's all. The eleven workers are clean, and here we have an unscannable Andy."
"The laser fire did come from the other direction."
"Has it occurred to you that he might have got where he is now after