Chapter 1 - The Accident

I was crossing the footbridge on the east side of the park with Sam when she stopped and pricked up her ears.

I looked around. Except for a couple standing by the retention ponds on the level below me, Sam and I seemed to be the only ones in the park this early in the morning.

It sprawled across 75 acres in the western region of Bochum city. It housed, besides the park, a building that was known as the Century Hall, used as a blower machine shop and now converted into a multi-purpose hall for events.

I had attended concerts there ages ago. I could vaguely remember a young Scottish woman who had been in the charts for a few years. Angie McDonald had been her name ... or something like that. The couple standing at a distance, talking animatedly. No. It went beyond animated conversation. They were arguing. The man had dark hair, olive skin, was slim and of medium build, and wore an elegant wool coat over his expensive suit. The woman, a tall blonde with an updo, wore an old-fashioned trench coat, the style of which was coming back into fashion. I couldn’t hear what the two were arguing about. They were too far away for that.

I kneeled down beside Sam, which was harder than I would have liked. The cold and damp fall air was not good for my old bones.

Sam lifted her muzzle and stared up at the gray sky with low-lying clouds, then gave a short bark. It sounded worried, as much as a dog’s bark could sound worried.

»What’s wrong girl?« I asked her, stroking her head. Then suddenly, with thundering rotors, a transport drone dropped out of the sky.

Its cargo consisted of a 20-foot container about the size of a small truck. But it only held for another three seconds before a mighty ›KLONK‹ signaled the release of the two rear latches on the retaining clamps. The drone sank lower, like a huge bumblebee loaded too heavily, as the automatic controls tried to compensate for the sudden weight shift. I estimated where the drone and its cargo would crash in the park and opened my mouth to warn the couple at the retention ponds. Both looked up, startled. The man stopped as if frozen. The woman reacted and started to run.

Before my shout could leave my throat, I heard another ›KLONK‹ and the front retaining clips of the drone released the container. In ghastly silence, it plummeted down into the depths, shattering with an eerie roar at the edge of the containment basin and burying the man beneath it. Circuit boards and plastic parts flew through the air for meters. A few of them even crashed into the balustrade of the footbridge we were on.

Sam barked like crazy, jumped around, and pulled on the leash. The blonde stopped for a moment and stared at the spot where she herself had been standing a few moments ago.

»Hey!« I called out to her. She turned her head and looked at me for a moment. She was a beautiful woman.

in her late twenties, as far as I could tell with my old eyes, which were still my own.

Then the woman turned again and ran off.

»Hey!« I called after her again. I sighed, activated my implant and dialed 911.

»Emergency call center Bochum. What kind of emergency is this?«

»Lenke here. Service number 1080 93. A cargo drone has dropped its container in Westpark. Presumed one injured or dead from the crash. Suspected cargo of the container is computer parts.«

»Copy that. Implant verified. GPS coordinates received. Sending a rescue unit.«

Sam barked at me as if to ask, »What are you waiting for, old man?«

I released her leash, fearing she would rip my arm off otherwise. She sprinted off, scurrying down the gangplank to the lower level where the smashed container was. I followed her as fast as I could.

***

By the time I reached the container, I could already hear the distant sound of the rescue squad’s sirens.

Presumably, in two or three minutes, the drone copters of the fire department and other forces would land.

I doubted I could assist the man trapped under the container, but in the present, uncertainty prevailed. Many members of the military and police had artificial parts built into them, which made you a little tougher than ordinary people who were just flesh and blood. I wore an artificial arm after losing my own in the explosion of a bomb. The cargo container had burst when it hit the ground. I was climbing over old-fashioned Dell desk computers that were going to be recycled. Sam was standing near what had once been the container’s hatch, barking at something.

»Hello?«

No response. I stalked stiff-legged over a stack of more PCs. Then I saw a trembling bloody fist rise from the rubble like the hand of a living dead.

I made an effort to grip the hand, as it held onto something. The grip loosened, and the hand dropped an object. Automatically, I caught it. It was a small, flat, silver item. I tossed aside some of the PC cases to get to the man. His head was caved in on one side and covered in blood. Unless the man’s body was mostly artificial, I guess he was beyond help. To me, it seemed like a miracle that he was still conscious.

»Damo …« he croaked. His breathing was only a whistle. his lungs were collapsed and full of blood.

»What?« I asked.

»Damocles …« the man whispered, pointing to the silver item. Then his gaze broke. He was dead. Sam barked and then looked at me. However, I didn’t know what the man had wanted to tell me either. A swelling roar and bright blue lights announced the imminent landing of the rescue forces.

I thought about it for a moment. Then I put the box in my coat pocket. I pulled out my ID and walked with it toward the rescue workers jumping out of a drone copter.

The firefighter looked at me.

»I know who you are, Mr. Lenke. I can read your profile.«

He was right about that, of course. In the days of implants, you no longer needed a smartphone for identification, let alone a plastic badge. The firefighter saw the identifier of my badge number floating above my head like a speech bubble in a comic book. I had turned off that feature on my implant. I didn’t want to know what everyone was. Shrugging, I pocketed my old-fashioned badge again.

»Old habit«, I said.

»Man, an ... ancient habit. How old are you? Your profile doesn’t show that.«

Well, I had disabled that feature too. A friend from college, Simon Haddad, had done that for me. I felt old enough myself every day. I didn’t need to keep trumpeting that to the world.

Sixty-seven,« I said.
Hey, three years, then you’ve made it - pal« the fireman remarked with a grin. He was an estimated thirty years younger than I, maybe born in 2007. I clutched the silver box in my coat pocket. Actually, I had intended to hand it to the first rescue worker I met.

But I had my doubts about this youngster. I forced myself to smile.

»It’s not the years. It’s the mileage«

»What about him?" I asked, pointing to the man lying on the ground.

»Don’t you see that? He’s already dead. No pulse.«

The firefighter replied.

»I only have the standard model.«

»I guess that’s all the force is paying for, huh?« I nodded. The firefighter nodded as well.

»Are you in charge of the investigation?« I shook my head.

»That’s what the KDD colleagues are doing. I’m with the CID.«

»Alrighty then. Let us do our job and step aside.« I nodded. In my capacity as a witness, I was just delaying my colleagues.

The man pointed to Sam.

»Is that yours?" he asked.

»It’s a she. And yes, she’s mine.«

»A real beauty. Doesn’t fit your type.«

I gave the fireman a look.

»Come on - Sam.«

***

I sat down on one bench by the retention pond and watched the carp fishes. Sam lay at my feet, dozing.

After about twenty minutes, I saw another drone copter from the main station land on the lower level lawn.

Out of it climbed Hubert Syska. He was with the KDD and the investigator in charge. In his hand, he carried an aluminum thermal mug.

Syska was in his late thirties and saw himself as a gift to the ladies, but above all, to the Bochum police. Syska was a hormone-driven moron. But for some inexplicable reason, he always got along with his superiors. That’s why he had already surpassed me in rank at his age. Syska talked to the guys from the fire department for a moment, took a quick look at the dumpster, and then came over to me and sat down on the bench next to me along with his thermos.

He gestured to the battlefield behind us with a nod of his head.

»Some shit, huh?« he remarked.

»You could say that.«

»You got something?« Syska asked. I hesitated. With my robotic hand, I still clutched the silver box in my coat pocket. I looked at him. Syska laughed and patted me on the shoulder.

Did you actually wait to make your statement?«

»Well, that’s the drill« I replied.

»Relax, Lenke.« Syska grinned and pointed his finger at the gray sky.

»Big Brother has recorded everything and already analyzed the data. The report is as good as done.«

»Don’t you want to add my testimony?«

»No need. What did you see the satellites didn’t?«

»And what about the woman?« I asked.

Syska took a sip from his thermal mug.

»What woman?« I pointed to the dead man.

»Just before the container buried him, the man was arguing with a woman. She was much closer than I was.« Syska shook his head.

No woman appeared in the satellite records. You must have been mistaken.« I looked at him, puzzled. For a moment, I thought he was pulling my leg. But then I read in his face that he was serious.

»Syska, listen…«I began. He shook his head.

»Nope. No need. I’ve got everything KDD’s Artificial Intelligence needs for the report.« He stood up. Then he paused for a moment.

»One more thing. In the satellite recording, it looks like the guy reached out and then said something to you. What was that?«

Damocles. The poor bastard said the word Damocles.

»I’m sorry, Syska, but I didn’t get that. Sounded like a rattle to me. Sadly, my ears aren’t the best anymore.”

Syska shrugged his shoulders now, too.

»Don’t be sorry, Lenke. Just makes my job easier.« He tapped his fingers against an imaginary hat brim.

»See you around.«

I nodded at him in farewell.

»See ya.«

***

I sat there for a few more minutes, then headed home with Sam.

As I did, I clutched the silver box. I didn’t dare pull it out to examine it. In this decade, not only the walls had ears, but the sky had eyes.

The absence of the silver item in the satellite recording of the accident was odd. For the modern technology of the police, this inconspicuous appearing silver item had been invisible.

And it must have been the same with the less inconspicuous, tall blonde with the updo.

I believed that Syska lacked the capacity - or desire - to fully comprehend the magnitude of this tragic cargo drone accident.

And then the dying man whispered a word to me.

Damocles. That had been some Greek from ancient mythology who hadn’t enjoyed having a sword dangling from a horsehair above his head.

I glanced at my old-fashioned Apple Watch. Of course, I could have the time superimposed on my field of vision by implant, but I was old-fashioned about that, too. Augmented reality had always remained suspicious to me.

The clock showed half-past eight, indicating that my shift was still a couple of hours away. So instead of going home, Sam and I hopped on the 306 monorail to the main train station and then changed to the 0-35, which took us to the university campus in a few minutes.

***

The university library was one of the central buildings on campus, along with the Auditorium. The building had ceased to operate as a stock library a few years ago, as most of the books had been scanned and processed and were now available on the Internet. Simon, along with a handful of remaining colleagues, worked in the archive, which was on the upper floors of the building near to his office. There, the last existing book copies were located, and they were digitized. As more and more students at the Ruhr University were studying with the help of their implants, the vacated lower floors had been converted into offices for university employees.

Other floors served as virtual labs where students and professors worked on experiments or augmented reality projects, depending on the faculty.

Simon’s job description as a graduate librarian was now one of those threatened with extinction. More was being read than ever before in human history. However, thanks to implant technology, the texts floated in space in front of the reader’s field of vision or were read aloud by a pleasant voice.

The spacious office was a maze of book stacks. Sam ran ahead, relying on her nose. I myself had to pass through this maze first until I finally met my old friend at its center as well. Simon referred to himself as a Jewish Arab or an Arab Jew, depending on his mood. For me, he was one of my last friends who was still alive.

He was squatting in front of Vincent, the stout scanning robot with whom Simon had worked for the last few years.

Sam sat next to it and waited for Simon to greet them. But he was occupied with the robot in front of him. Simon was the person who was better at dealing with things like books and equipment than with living creatures. His relationship with Vincent was close. The mismatched pair, the lanky old man and the squat roundish robot shared something of a love-hate relationship. Vincent had opened the lid of his head. On the exposed glass scanning surface lay an old book bound in dark leather.

Today’s terahertz radiation scanning technology eliminates the need to open each page of a book for scanning. Placing the book on the head of the robot was enough for Vincent to capture the book in seconds.

»I already captured this book three years ago« Vincent explained with a bored tone.

». But not this edition.

»This edition is identical to the 2024 edition already captured.«

»Just do it, Vincent« Simon pleaded, rolling his eyes.

»Why should I?«

»Because that’s your fucking job, you tin bucket!« he grumbled.

»My job is to capture all the documents in the library collection. Re-capturing texts that have already been scanned adds unnecessary work.«

The robot paused.

»Hello, Chief Inspector Lenke. Perhaps you can distract your friend a little so that I can continue my work undisturbed.«

»God, I long for the days when a scanner didn’t talk back.«

»I’m sorry to hear that.« Vincent remarked. Simon sighed, removed the book from the glass surface, and replaced it with a stack of other books.

»Here. Enjoy it, you tin bucket.«

»Thank you very much,« Vincent said. Simon finally turned to Sam, who greeted him with a wagging tail.

»Hello, my girl. Are you still hanging out with that looser?« he asked, then winked at me.

»Hello Joseph, what brings you to this haven of knowledge and madness so early in the day? Do we have a dinner date today? No. It’s way too early for that.« I shook my head.

»Nothing like that. I want you to look at something.«

I took the silver box out of the pocket of my coat and put it on the desk in front of Simon. He looked at the box.

»What’s this?«

»I was hoping you could tell me. A dying man in the West Park put this box in my hand. Strangely, the satellite’s records showed no trace of it.

»A dying man?« asked Simon. I nodded.

»He had a drone cargo container fall on his head.«

Simon raised his eyebrows.

»A cargo drone losing its cargo ? That’s more than unlikely. Such incidents are rare.«

»And yet it happened. I was a witness. So was an unknown woman. But the satellite’s records do not show any evidence of her presence. At least according to Syska’s testimony.«

»A woman, you say?" Simon scratched his temple.

»It’s not so easy to erase people or objects from records. Especially not records with the technical standard of government agencies like police satellites.« Simon pointed to the box.

»Did you show Syska this thing?«

»Why would I show him something that officially doesn’t exist?« Simon nodded and looked at the box more closely.

»True.« He knew all too well of my dislike for my colleague.

»But ...« Simon pointed out: »aren’t you misappropriating evidence? I was once led to believe by an old friend that as a police officer you had to respect the law.« I rolled my eyes and ignored this objection.

»What does the term ‘Damocles’ mean to you?« I asked. He knew I was noting his objection, but ignoring it for the moment. He cocked his head.

»What do you think of that?«

»Well, Damocles, according to legend, was a protégé of the tyrant Dionysius of Syracuse. As I recall, that was in the first half of the 4th century. I think one is not sure if the tyrant was Dionysios the First or the Second. This said, Damocles envied Dionysius. The tyrant was rich and powerful. He flattered the tyrants. Damocles was an ass-kisser. Dionysius therefore showed Damocles the dangers of wealth and power with a prank. Dionysius invited Damocles to a banquet and allowed him to sit at the royal table himself. What Damocles did not know, however, was that Dionysius had had an enormous sword hung above Damocles’ seat, held up by nothing more than a horsehair. The feast began. But when Damocles finally noticed the sword above his head, Damocles could no longer bring down a bite. He asked to be allowed to leave the place. He preferred to live in freedom and renounce his privileges. Damocles had learned that wealth and power must be paid for at the price of danger.« Simon looked at me.

»And what does this imperialist legend have to do with this thing here?"

»I don’t know. That was the last thing the man in the park said. It seemed precious to him, along with this silver box.« Simon shook his head.

»Well, it means nothing to me.« He turned his head.

»Hey, Vincent. Get your tin ass over here!« Vincent rolled up.

»The more polite one is, the more polite he treats the lower!« Simon lifted his brows.

»Ludwig Börne, I guess,« I remarked.

»That is correct.«

"What are you trying to tell us?" Simon asked.

»Just a thought« Vincent paused.

»What can I be of service to?« I gave Simon a hint that I didn’t want Vincent to approach.

»Stop,« I commanded. Vincent stopped.

»What is it?« asked Simon. »I don’t want him listening in.«

I said. Simon looked at the silver box.

»I see.«

»Vincent, I’d like to talk to Bob!« He turned back to Vincent.

The Robot hesitated for a moment. Then he said: »As you wish.«

I almost thought I heard a grinding noise in Vincent’s metallic guts. Then the robot continued speaking in a softer, higher-pitched voice.

»My name is Bob. How may I be of service?«

I looked at Simon.

»This is Bob,« he explained.

»Bob is a separate, secured partition of Vincent’s personality. I set it up in case an old friend I know wants to investigate things that aren’t quite pristine, if you’ll pardon that old-fashioned expression.«

»Well, thank you, Simon. I owe you one.«

»So, Bob.« said Simon to the robot, placing the silver box on the glass surface on top of the robot’s head.

»What can you tell me about this silver box?« The robot was silent as he examined the object.

»This silver box is an ancient object.«

»How old?« asked Simon. Bob hesitated, as if the robot was aware of the implications of his words.

»Considering the workmanship of the material, an estimated 4600 years.«

»There you have it, Joseph. That thing is a valuable antique.«

»There’s more,« Bob continued.

»However, the box extreme age is at odds with the state-of-the-art transmitted technology it contains. This silver box appears to be a type of amplifier for certain frequency ranges used in brain implants to use network services. Apparently, it's used to unlock many new and, to me, unknown functions in brain implants.«

»Do you have any explanation how and why such technology was installed in such an old silver box?«

»No. I can’t explain that based on the data available to me.«

»Thank you, Bob.«

»You’re welcome, Master.« I raised my eyebrows. »Master?« I looked at Simon.

If the tin bucket has been given a new personality by me, at least it’s one that respects me, as opposed to its actual one.

Simon took the silver box from the glass surface of the robot head and handed it to me.

»So this thing is …«

“To me,” Simon remarked, “it seems like a talisman of sorts.”

»A what?«

»A magic item. Something that transforms the properties of something mundane into something special.«

»But this is a technical object. How is it supposed to have magical abilities?«

»It just depends on perspective. How did Arthur C. Clarke put it? Any advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.«

»And how does it work?«

»I don’t have the faintest idea.«

»But if Bob’s analysis is correct, then this thing accomplishes something that is considered impossible, right?«

»Exactly. I wasn’t aware that you could upgrade a standard implant in this way. You can, of course, upgrade the firmware in a brain implant from time to time. That makes the implant safe from external attack. But this thing here remodels your implant without extensive brain surgery. So this thing must be pretty damn sophisticated, and therefore pretty damn valuable.«

»Valuable enough to kill someone for?«

»Are you kidding? This thing is worth millions. Maybe more.«

I gave a surprised whistle.

»Could someone who could build something like this also make a cargo drone lose its load in the right place at the right time?«

»That possibility exists. And that possibility scares the shit out of me. It would be highly logical for you to set aside your ego and promptly surrender this item to Syska. Let this schmuck deal with it.«

***

As I stepped back out of the library building with Sam, I stood indecisive for a moment. Was Simon right?

Should I just hand the silver box over to Syska? I would get in trouble, of course. Stealing a piece of evidence from a crime scene was no petty offense. However, no crime was investigated. The whole thing had been a tragic accident. But of course, Syska was only investigating toward an accident because he knew nothing about the existence of the silver box. What had Simon said? The box, and especially the technology inside it, could be worth millions. But why wasn't there anything on the satellite records about it or the blonde woman? However, Syska asserted that there were none. I myself had not yet seen the records. My mind was made up. I would look at the records first, and then decide whether to give the silver box to Syska. Something about this whole thing seemed very odd to me. I just didn’t know how odd.