Chapter 2 - The Blonde

I hopped on one of the self-driving city buses. This type of Transport was free from state employees. Otherwise, I would have had to endure various advertisements on many screens in the cabin.

After thirty minutes, I arrived at my office in the Bochum police station, together with Sam.

In the last twenty years, the work of the police had changed a lot because of digitalization. Now Offices serve as a safe retreat from hacker attacks, to make undisturbed investigations and researches by implant. Paper was no longer in use at the police force. All official procedures took place in the augmented reality of the implants.

My office was therefore not my own. I shared it with two colleagues on shift duty. The colleagues proudly displayed pictures of their children on their desks and adorned the walls with their children's drawings. My contribution to individualization was a large basket with a blanket, in which Sam made herself comfortable. The office chair had recognized me and already adjusted to my measurements when I entered. I hung up my coat and left the silver box in its pocket. Then I fell into the office chair and put my feet up on the desk. If my colleagues noticed, I would get in trouble, but this was the most comfortable position for me to think. And after all, I was the most senior and could therefore take a few liberties.

I closed my eyes and activated my implant by activating the switch under my temple. Modern implants already reacted to mental commands. The implant manufacturer had a framework agreement with the city of Bochum, so they would upgrade me. But I shied away from being butchered for just a few firmware updates.

Therefore, my employer provided me with only a standard model at a lower price. Wearing implants had been mandatory for police officers for seven years. I had resisted this order a few months, but six and a half years ago, I had to undergo the operation at St. Augusta Hospital. Civil servants were now required to wear an implant, although its use remained optional. Except for some basic functions, such as a navigation, calendar, telephone directory, the news, and the internal police information system, I ever used my implant.

Other colleagues never turned it off. Electrodes powered it in the brain and the body’s kinetic energy, allowing it to operate almost indefinitely.

Brave new world. I sighed and started to work. In front of me, about a meter away, a large screen appeared.

»Show me the satellite records of the Westpark incident this morning. Hubert Syska is the investigator in charge.

Before my eyes, the records of the satellite materialized. The system understood what I wanted to see. When the cargo drones released the rear retaining clamps, the recording began. I saw everything from a god-like bird's-eye view. The system had already calculated the dense cloud cover out of the images. Everything was visible.

»A little closer to quadrant C-6«

The image zoomed in on said quadrant. The man stood at the edge of the ponds and stared at the drone in horror. Then the remaining retaining clamps loosened. The man moved, but it was already too late. With relentless force, the container struck him.

»Stop. Back up and then stop again. Then mark all persons registered in the immediate vicinity.«

The recording backed up and then stopped. Red circles surrounded the pinheads of the man and Sam and me standing on the bridge. Even Sam’s implant got registered by the satellite.

The man was Immanuel Goldschmidt. 44 years old, living in Essen. Married. Two teenage daughters. Occupation: software engineer.

»Is there any evidence of other people in the immediate vicinity at the time of the incident?«

»Negative.« The artificial police assistant replied in a soft voice. I rubbed the bridge of my nose. From the perspective of Syska and the APA, everything was crystal clear. A tragic accident. Sad for Goldschmidt’s two daughters and his wife. Well, that’s life. Shit happens. Who said that? I couldn’t remember. But I knew I had seen this Immanuel Goldschmidt arguing with a woman before his death. Perhaps his mistress? Possibly. The woman had seemed younger. And the two had not seemed familiar with each other in that way. I made a mental note to talk to Mr. Goldschmidt’s wife about an affair her husband was having. Only one thing remained to be clarified.

»Show me five minutes around the time Goldschmidt talks to me. I want you to magnify it 300 percent..«

The recording started. You could see me struggling to get to Goldschmidt, kneeling down to him and taking his hand. But Goldschmidt’s hand was empty. It looked exactly as Syska had interpreted it. An injured man reaches out for help and dies. And an old policeman is with him in the last seconds, watching.

I looked at my coat with the silver box.

No one at the police department knew it existed, and no one connected the silver box with Goldschmidt. The only people who knew of the existence of the box were the unknown woman and myself.

And, of course, someone else. The one who had killed Immanuel Goldschmidt. After all, how likely was it that the owner of this invaluable silver box had died in such a tragic and accidental way? Not very high.

I cut the connection to the APA. I didn’t feel very comfortable here in the office.

I stood up.

»Come on, Sam. We’re going home.«

***

Sam and I caught another self-driving city bus that took us to my apartment on Hildegard Street. Once there, we took the elevator to the top floor. My apartment was too big for Sam and me. But when I had rented it decades ago, I didn’t live there alone. And now, thirty years later, the rent was cheap for such a prestigious district as Bochum Hamme. Sam trotted from the apartment door straight into the kitchen to her bowl and sipped a little water.

I was a bit more civilized, went to the stove and put a small pot of espresso on the induction stove. When the pot boiled after a few seconds, I poured a sip into a small cup and toasted Sam with it.

»Here’s to you, Sam,« I said. Sam paused for a moment, looked at me, and then continued sipping her water.

***

I poured myself another cup of espresso and walked with it from the kitchen to my small study. It was only a tiny den next to the bedroom. But this was the room of my apartment where I spent the most time. There was only an old television armchair, a reading lamp, a side table, and a bookshelf in it, which contained a lot of worn-out detective novels. My bookshelf housed the most extensive collection of crime novels printed on paper in all of Bochum. Nobody but an old fart like me reads actual books anymore, let alone detective novels. No one seemed to have time for longer stories these days, unless you could chop them up into digestible pieces and upload it to YouTube. I placed my small cup of espresso on a narrow order table next to the armchair, went to the coat rack, and retrieved the silver box from my coat pocket. Then I went back to my cubbyhole, sat down in the TV chair, turned on the floor lamp, and finally examined the mysterious box.

The lid had an engraved pattern. It was a circular ornament that remotely resembled a flower.

Around the ornament was a Latin phrase … Divites et potentes.

My Latin was more than rusty. I had only got the Beginners level at school.

»Computer. Please translate Divites et potentes.« The soft voice of my implant obeyed.

"'Divites et potentes' is Latin for "the rich and the powerful."

»The rich and the powerful,« I muttered the translation to myself. With a clearing of my throat, my implant’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

›You haven’t used my research function for quite some time. Since that time, there have been some urgent security updates. Would you like me to install them now?‹

"No!"

»Are you okay with me installing these updates while you sleep?«

»Hell no! Remind me next month.«

»All right. I’ll remind you next month, Joseph.«

Nothing was all right. Where was I? Ah, yes: The rich and the powerful.

The terahertz scan of Bob the robot had shown that the hull was of an extreme age. What had been Bob’s estimate? Over four thousand years? Latin had been in use for about 500 years before Christ. So someone must have added the engraving later.

Now it was time to investigate what lay within the box. The rim of the lid of the box had a slight depression. I reached under it with my thumbnail and opened the box.

If the contents had complicated electronics, someone hid them well. The box was not empty, however. The inside comprised a polished surface interrupted only by a red, round button in the center.

The box contained no additional engravings. There were no additional engravings on the box. The assumption seemed to be that the owner of the silver box understood its purpose. I stroked my finger over the surface of the knob. Initially, the material appeared to be plastic, but upon touching it, it emanated a cold sensation, causing me to suspect it was a gemstone. Maybe they used a zircon to make the button.

What had Bob said? This silver box seemed to be a kind of amplifier for certain frequency ranges, which is used in commercial brain implants for the use of network services. It could unlock many new and unknown functions in implants.

So caution was called for. This inconspicuous thing could influence the functions of implants. It was not something to be taken lightly. In the early days of implant technology, a few brave hackers themselves had tried to add functions to their implants and only had themselves lobotomized. I didn’t want to end up like Jack Nicholson at the end of ›One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest‹.

But I wanted to find out why someone in Bochum’s Westpark wanted to kill an inconspicuous software engineer from Essen with a cargo container.

»Oh, screw it!« I pressed the red button on the silver box.

Nothing happened. For about two seconds.

Then … nothing was the same anymore.

***

In an instant, I found myself in a well-lit room, leaving my apartment behind.

Indirect lighting in the room’s ceiling was increased, making it brighter. The ceiling was constructed of concrete. The walls of the room were as well. Indirect lighting was present at the baseboard level, just like it was on the ceiling.

I sat at a plain wooden table with light brown grain. Oak. Another chair sat opposite the table.

On it sat a tall, blonde woman with blue eyes and high cheekbones. She wore an updo and a gray costume that seemed to match the bare concrete walls of the room. She smiled at me.

»Hello.« The Blonde said in a deep and smoky voice.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Chief Inspector."

I nodded and said nothing. I had seen this woman before. It had only been a few hours ago, but it already seemed like days. The woman sitting on the chair in front of me was the same woman I had seen this morning in Westpark, together with Immanuel Goldschmidt.

»I think we need to talk,« I said to the unknown blonde.

»That’s why we’re here.«

»And where is ›here‹?« The blonde hesitated to answer.

“It’s a safe place,” she said, sounding honest but also a little mocking.

»And where is this safe place?«

»This place …« The blonde made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

»… is called ›The Stream‹. It’s a virtual reality that was developed thirty years ago by sweeper.net under the direction of Katherine Williams.«

I had heard of sweeper dot net, of course. I had also heard of Katherine Williams. Only the term ‘stream’ was new to me.

»Is this something like the augmented reality that is made possible by implants?«

»These two technologies are very similar. However, the virtual reality of the stream is more of a parallel world than just a layer of additional information like the augmented reality of implants provides.«

She grabbed my hand. It felt warm, dry, and soft.

»But what you feel here is not an actual sensation.« I cleared my throat.

»It feels pretty real to me.« The blonde smiled.

“Your brain receives that impression with the help of your implant.”

»Since we are already holding hands … Can you tell me who you are?«

»Of course. My name is Siv.«

»Just Siv?«

The blonde nodded. I withdrew my hand.

»What were you arguing about with Immanuel Goldschmidt in the park this morning ... Siv?« I asked, looking her in the eye. She held my gaze.

»Mr. Goldschmidt and I had a minor disagreement."

»About what?"

»About the ownership of the little silver box you just activated, Chief Inspector.«

»Is it that old?«

»Even older. It came from a manufactory in the city of Nu’Or-Leen, which has been gone for thousands of years.«

»And what does this silver box do?«

»Well, first, it allows us to talk in private, but that is not all it offers.«

»Such as?«

»Did you read the inscription on the lid?«

»The rich and the powerful.«

»This is the motto of a secret society that calls itself the Eternals.«

»Like these Marvel Superheroes? What kind of secret society are they?«

»Now that you have caught the eye of the Eternals, you will find out soon enough.«

»How so?«

»You have received the silver box. You have opened it and activated it with your thumbprint. This silver box will only work one time. Once you activate it, you cannot use the mechanism it contains again. And because of the activation, you are now in for some big changes«.

»I wake up in a hospital because I overloaded my implant with this thing and fried my brain?« Siv laughed. It was a friendly and happy laugh.

»No, my dear Chief Inspector. You now have abilities that only an illustrious fraction of the population of this planet possesses«.

»You’ve got to be kidding me.«

»No, not at all. I want to help you with your investigation.« I didn’t believe her.

»Did you kill Immanuel Goldschmidt?«

“No,” I couldn’t determine if Siv was lying. If she was playing poker, she was unbeatable at it.

»Did you have something to do with his death?« I asked. Her answer followed a slight hesitation.

»No. I didn’t.« She rose.

»But that’s why we’re having this conversation, Chief Inspector. I want you to investigate. I want you to find the murderer of Immanuel Goldschmidt.«

»Why?«

»It’s personal.«

»And you think it’s murder?«

»Your intuition didn’t fool you. The cargo drone didn’t lose that container in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone caused the drone to malfunction.«

»Do you have proof of that?« Siv shook her head.

»No, I don’t. If I did, I wouldn’t need your help, Chief Inspector«.

»What are these personal reasons you speak of?«

»Well, first, I have a strong survival instinct, Chief Inspector. I’ve managed to stay alive for quite some time.«

»What do you mean by that?«

»This Immanuel Goldschmidt won’t be the only body if his killer has his way.«

»Do you have any suspicions about who the killers might be?«

»I do, but I don’t want to influence your professional opinion.«

»But haven’t you already? By letting me use the silver box?« Siv shook her head.

»All I have done is to give you a better hand for the game. How you play it now is up to you.«

»I don’t like other people deciding my fate.« Siv shook her head.

Chief Inspector. For the first time in your life, you can do as you please. Make good use of this privilege. If I have judged you correctly, you will. If not, then…«

»Then, what? Are you threatening me?«

»No, of course not. You’ve been on the side of the law all your life. We’ll see how well you do in the big leagues.«

»And if I don’t want to?«

Siv leaned back in her chair.

»Then you’re not the man I thought you were, Joseph. The responsibility now lies with you."

With a smooth movement, she stepped away from the table and slid her chair under it. Then she nodded.

»I wish you luck. You’ll need it.« And at the same moment ...

***

… I was back in my little cubbyhole.

Sam lay at my feet and looked at me. Obviously, she hadn’t noticed my brief trip into the ‘stream’. She rubbed his head against my leg, as if to say that as such an old man, I shouldn’t behave like this.

»You’re right, Sam. You’re right.«

I reached for the espresso cup and noticed my hands shaking. Maybe espresso wasn’t the right drink in this situation. I mustered all my strength to get up, only to find my knees trembling beneath me.

Sam gave another questioning bark.

What’s the matter with you, old man?

»It’s all right, Sam. I’ll be all right. Just a little wobbly on my feet.«

***

I went to the bathroom and washed my face with cold water at the sink.

My reflection in the mirror showed me my age. My face was pale and exhausted. I closed my eyes. There was no need to look at misery all the time. ›The Stream‹ trip had been remarkable. Everything had felt real. I could still feel Siv’s hand. Had this been an illusion?

Then I heard some noise in the kitchen.

I opened my eyes. Gun. That was my first thought. But I kept my service weapon in a small safe in my bedroom. I hadn’t carried it for years. now and then, I would take it out, take it apart, clean it, and put it back together again. Of course, I hadn’t loaded it. I only fired it during marksmanship tests and never had to use it during my entire service. The best I could find was a scrubber sitting in the hall because I was too lazy to put it away. I took it and snuck it into the kitchen. Strangely, Sam didn’t jump at the sound.

I took a deep breath. My heart was in my throat. I gripped the scrubber handle tighter. Then I jumped into the kitchen.

»Good God!«

There was a woman in my kitchen. She was wearing a dark suit and holding an old-fashioned clipboard. When she saw me, she dropped it. The leaves on it came loose and swirled through the air like pale fall leaves.

The woman was a brunette with pearl earrings and an old-fashioned water wave.

»You scared me!"

»What are you doing in my kitchen?« I snapped at the woman.

»I’m listing your possessions.«

»What for?« I asked, puzzled.

»As your personal assistant, this is one of my first duties after my activation.«

»Activation? Who activated you?«

»Well, you, of course, sir. Your implant is now state-of-the art with an updated assistant …« She pointed to herself.

I realized I knew the woman’s voice in my kitchen. It sounded more natural. But it was the voice of the assistant to my standard implant.

»Again, what are you doing in my kitchen?« She pointed to the leaves lying all around.

»Just a moment.« She flicked her finger, and the sheets disappeared. Then they reappeared, stacked on a clipboard that the assistant had taken from the kitchen counter. »I took a quick look at your assets.«

»I see«.

»At first glance, they seem very modest. But by making a few investments with your retirement savings and optimizing your current expenses, insurances, and subscriptions, you’ll have about a million Euros available in about three minutes.«

»What?« I asked.

»Since I can operate in the markets worldwide, I have been able to bring your assets to a million euros.«

»Who authorized this?«

»I found a message from a certain Siv about this in my data storage. The message is: don’t spend it all at once. Think of it as an expense account for your investigation.«

Siv. Was she trying to bribe me?

»You can’t do that. That kind of money can’t just go into my account. It’s illegal.«

»Do not worry about it. You have access to the money, but the Treasury or any other government organization cannot trace it.

»I don’t want any of that dirty money!«

»The money is not dirty at all. I have only made investments that are within your moral parameters, according to your personal profile. Your money has helped 37,534 people."

»How so?«

»Microcredits, renewable energies. Generic medicines that people in Africa otherwise can not afford. Thanks to you, you have provided around 100 children in Bangladesh with the opportunity to no longer have to weld apart old tankers, but be looked after and attend school.

»Yet I made a million?« The assistant smiled.

“Those who already have will receive more.” I only needed 10,000 euros in seed capital to generate enough in three minutes to get a million euros in dividends.«

»If it’s so easy, why doesn’t everyone do it that way?«

»Not everyone can do it. Only a few clients have the equipment. Do you want me to stop optimizing your finances?«

»No. It’s okay.«

I leaned against the fridge. Sam came trotting in. She didn’t pay any attention to the assistant, just strode through. Her legs flickered as Sam passed her.

»You’re not real,« I said to the woman.

»Of course not, sir. I’m just a digital representation.«

»You look plenty real, though.«

»That’s part of the upgrade package.«

»I see,«

»Would you like to have sex, sir?« The assistant asked.

»Excuse me?«

“Now that your financial situation is stabilized, I suggest engaging in sexual activity for relaxation. In thirty minutes a lady can be here.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I rubbed my eyes. Was this all happening? Then I shook my head.

»No thanks. I don’t want sex right now.«

I didn’t even know the last time I had had sex in my life. Then I remembered, and more importantly, with whom, which made me a little sad. Jesus. Had it been that long?

»Are you sure? People have a basic human need for physical closeness and we shouldn’t suppress it for too long.

»I am not suppressing anything. I want no more company right now. To share my thoughts with one woman is enough for me.«

»I see. Shall I withdraw, sir?«

»You can call me Joseph.«

»I understand, Joseph. Shall I withdraw?«

»Yes.« Then I reconsidered.

»No. Not at all. What’s your name, anyway?«

»You haven’t chosen a name for me yet, Joseph."

»What kind of name would you like?« The assistant tilted her head.

»I get to choose my name?« She seemed stunned by this possibility.

»Well, I guess that’s your right.«

»Ah … Then ... then I’d like to choose the name … Madeleine.«

»Madeleine. Okay. Nice to meet you, Madeleine.«

»Likewise, Joseph. Would you like me to leave you alone now?«

»If you don’t mind. I have some things to think about.« Madeleine nodded and disappeared before my eyes. The kitchen seemed empty and abandoned. The presence of another human being had been missing from this place. Sam nudged me with her nose.

»Yes, big girl?« I knew what she wanted.

But first I went into my cubbyhole and got the silver box back. Then I went into the hall, took my coat off the hook, put it on and put the silver box in my coat pocket. Then I grabbed the lead.

Sam gave a satisfied ‘woof’.

»Come on. I have to go to Amazon anyway.«

***

I went with Sam to the Amazon store on Zechen Street. It had once been an Edeka supermarket. But Amazon had bought up almost all the German chains of retail stores. While Sam gathered gossip from the Hamme dog pack, I contemplated the events of that crazy November day.

Siv had explained that the update to my implant had opened up unprecedented possibilities for solving Immanuel Goldschmidt’s death. The question now was how to proceed.

I looked at my Apple Watch. I had flextime. Perhaps I could pay a visit to Immanuel Goldschmidt’s widow before returning to the Station.

I can do more for you, Joseph. Madeleine said. She was not speaking to me, but I could hear her thoughts in my head.

Let me guess. That’s part of the upgrade, too.

But of course.

Well then. What can you do for me?

I’ve already handled the cases on your desk. So you have no further duties at the station.

Why did you do that?

It’s part of my assignment that Siv gave me. I am supposed to help you as much as I can with any difficulties that interfere with your investigation of the case.

Okay. Thank you.

You’re welcome.

So instead of going to Amazon, I called a Citybus, again with Madeleine’s help, and told them to take me to Immanuel Goldschmidt’s address. I wanted a word with Mrs. Goldschmidt.