Dial-A-Drug
The rain tumbled down, slapping loudly whatever it encountered. Detective Miles stood under a back doorway to a crumbling apartment building observing the scene before him. A well aimed drop took out his cigarette in a sputtering hiss as bulbs from holo imagers flashed off the puddles like bolts of lightning.
Damned Earth crimes.
So much for retirement. Two months ago he was the top cop in the outer colonies, overseeing a division of 30 officers pursuing major crimes in inter-colonial space. One bad case and now he was back to scraping rock dwellers off the floor.
Giving up on the butt and tossing it into a black puddle, he flipped up his collar and ventured out from his shelter.
“What do we got Larkin?”
“Not sure, woman called in the body this morning, saw some friggin’ kids playing with it.”
“Cause of death?”
“Undetermined. No apparent injuries but she looks like she has rabies” the junior detective offered, pointing towards her mouth with his foot.
“Get her back to the morgue, I want a full autopsy.”
“Looks like she went out feeling pretty good” Larkin noted, pointing towards the woman's neck with the gesture of a shoe.
A holo imager flash went off and glinted off the object he had been referring to, a small round disc on the woman's neck that had become a ubiquitous sight everywhere man’s light shone: the Dial.
“Do you Dial? With eDrugs you can enjoy the experience of substance-free stimulation, so real you’ll forget it's a simulation. Best of all, no nasty side effects, just pure pleasure at the push of a button-”
“Cut! Cut, cut. Alec, that was terrible. Jeez, lets just call it a day huh?”
“Don’t blame me, who writes this crap!? ‘Pure pleasure at the push of a button’ please - sometimes I wonder if the real thing was this bad...” Alec griped, stepping off the set and heading towards his dressing room, selecting cocaine from the dial on his neck and feeling a rush as the device began flooding his nervous system with signals.
The Dial. It had been hailed as a revolution in curing addiction and eliminating substance-fueled crime. The device could instantly reproduce the feeling of any drug through modifying the neural patterns of the user. Simply select your drug(s) of choice, set the duration time and violà. At the end of the set time (or with the press of an emergency override) the experience stops and you can return to an uninhibited state, no hangovers, no crash. Since nothing was actually consumed there was no physical danger, no cancer, no high blood pressure, no heart disease, no liver failure.
Ever since its introduction to the market it had cut into the profits of every major competing sector - tobacco, alcohol, prescription pharmaceuticals, illegal drugs - and taken over a considerable market share.
The Dial, which was run as a wholly owned subsidiary now represented the single largest contributor to the profit margin of its parent company, The Ecstasior Dynaco Group. They had new offices, new staff and a marketing budget big enough to pick up semi-famous actors with well publicized struggles with addiction.
The Dial’s ever widening use and availability concerned some, and competitive industries, prohibitionists and drug purists alike all decried the advent of the digital drug. Yet for many it was too easy an answer to too many problems to be seen as anything other than the greatest invention since wireless TV.
Detective Miles pushed open the heavy metal doors to the city morgue. The cold stale air inside reverberated with loud scratchy opera music pumping out of a small portable music player to which the entranced mortician, Saul, was singing along. Saul must have been about 105 and seemed only had ever known two things: autopsies and arias.
After several failed attempts at getting the old mans attention Miles pulled the plug on his music. Saul trailed off mid note and looked around the room for the culprit.
“Detective Miles, what do you want?” he said through a thick eastern European accent.
“The report on my victim, you got it yet?”
“Ahhh yes the young woman.” Saul made his way to the desk, flipped his music back on before rummaging through the stack of files and papers humming to himself. Moments later he produced a small memory card.
“It is all on here. Hard to pin down an exact cause although it - it reminds me of an overdose. Ludicrous I know, who bothers with real drugs now anyway…”
“Thanks Saul” Miles said, taking the disk and leaving the freezing basement as the old mans voice echoed something tragic in Italian.
Larkin wasn't the brightest, or the strongest or the fastest. He was well liked but no one exactly knew why. He had a feeling that him getting teamed up with Miles wasn't the amazing opportunity to work with a hero cop that the captain had presented it as but he was not one to rock the boat.
He sat back in his rolling chair that squeaked and squawked whenever it moved and took a bite out of a stale coconut doughnut he had selected from the box in the break room. The coffee was terrible. The doughnuts were passable.
“Larkin, I got a lead lets go.”
Miles came in wearing his usual trench and hat, papers and disks under arm, a steaming foam cup in hand. He deposited the stack on his desk, spun his service weapon and grabbed an extra clip of rounds from the bottom drawer.
Mid-bite Larkin asked “where we going?”
Miles took a sip of the hot black liquid and nearly spat it out in disgust. “First, somewhere with better coffee.”
The waitress brought them two steaming cups of coffee, a small bowl full of sweet packs and creamer capsules, and a slice of apple pie for Larkin.
“Saul said it reminds him of an overdose.”
“No mystery there. Plenty of people still do conventional drugs, you even smoke real cigarettes.”
“Right and I have a Dial too because I’m supposed to quit, but she didn't have anything in her system, and real drugs would leave a trace.”
“So what’s your lead?”
Miles stirred his coffee with a spoon, watching the creamer and dark liquid swirl together until it was one uniform light brown shade.
“Its more of a hunch” he offered. “I want to go up to the Ecstasior Dynaco offices.”
“Ecstasior? For what?”
“What if she did OD?”
The Ecstasior Dynaco Group had its corporate headquarters in a large complex in the center of the city. A series of glass and steel towers rose from the ground, connected at various levels by suspended walkways. In the entry plaza a massive sculpture of an archer towered above and a frieze of heroic depictions of titans of capitalism flanked the large glass doors with heavy brass handles.
The marble floor in the entry and attention to detail in the architecture recalled a classier time contrasting harshly with the thoroughly modern security and reception equipment.
A clean suited man greeted them immediately as two silent guards met their gaze.
“Welcome to Ecstasior Dynaco, do you have an appointment?”
Detctive Miles produced his badge “Police, we need to speak with whoever’s in charge of the Dial eDrug division.
“I see. Please wait here” the man replied, picking up a phone and asking for someone in urgent hushed tones.
Moments later the elevator opened and a middle aged woman in a business suit stepped out smiling.
“Welcome officers, your visit is unexpected but we are always happy to help with any investigation we can, perhaps we should take this to my office.”
Her office was high up in one of the central towers and provided a view of the entire city framed by the other towers in the complex.
“Can I offer you anything?” she asked, picking up and drinking from a glass of water on her desk.
“No we’re fine thank you.”
“Well what can I help you with officers?”
“Detectives.” Miles Corrected “Is it possible for someone to overdose on the Dial?” he asked evenly.
“Detective…” she began
“Miles”
“Detective Miles, the Dial is safe, tested above and beyond all required standards and regulations and has not once been proven to cause physical harm. What reason do you have to believe otherwise?”
“None” Larkin interrupted, sitting forward licking his lips, “just exploring every avenue, you uh, understand.”
“Well the Dial is not a drug and cannot cause an ‘overdose’ as you put it. Its a neural implant. Now I’m afraid I will have to refer any further questions through legal counsel. We do appreciate your concern but the Dial is proven safe. You know, you may want to investigate those who stand to gain by making anyone think otherwise.”
“Cold ass bitch.” Larkin spat as they stood in the shadow of the giant archer.
“You should’ve let me handle it” Miles grumbled, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette.
The rain was coming down in sheets again and the plazas drains could not keep up causing a large pool to build up reflecting the Ecstasior complex. Miles lit his cigarette and took a drag.
"Look why don't we split up for a bit huh?" Larkin asked "You follow your leads and I’ll follow mine."
"I'm going to the Lowers, there might be something to what she said." Miles thought out loud.
"And I’m going back to that diner" Larkin announced happily. "See you back at the office."
Miles drove away in their car leaving Larkin to catch a cab.
This was why he had left earth. The people left on this rock were too much like their ancestors who had destroyed it, too weak in the same ways.
He sped through the streets, sirens on, heading towards one of the entrances to a lower expressway. At the mouth of the tunnel the words “#FuckEarth” had been scrawled in large red letters that stood out from the rest of the graffiti.
Miles chuckled grimly to himself, “fuck Earth is right” he thought as the car plunged into the fluorescent lit tunnel.
The Lowers were another failed experiment in human housing designed around a problem, not people. When the overpopulation crisis was at its peak, entire areas below ground were excavated and turned into subterranean cities that had deteriorated into substandard slums. They were the bastions of debauchery and one of the last places to find real drugs. Any kind you could possibly want.
He pulled over in front of a dive and made his way into the dimly illuminated room. Broken pink neon cast a glow on cheap dancers and drunk regulars while patrons indulged in seedier vices in dark corners and back booths.
He scanned the room for Max, finding his old source sitting in a booth with two girls. Miles plopped down on the opposite bench and slid in, helping himself to one of the shots of Tequila on the table. Max un-busied himself with the girls wondering who in the hell had such a nerve but broke into a fit of laughter when he saw who it was.
"Detective first grade Anthony T. Miles. What in the fuck are you doing back Earthside?"
"Been working district G here in the city. Its a long story"
"District G? Wow who’d ya let get away?” Max laughed, “The Leader of the Space Cartel?”
“Like I said, its a long story.”
Miles and Max went way back. It was good to have some underworld connects back on Earth which was invariably the root of all inter-colonial crime back when he was in charge of policing three sectors of space. In exchange for valuable information Max was free to operate with relative impunity.
“I was wondering what happened to you when some new greaseball impounds one of my shipments and demands 20% more than whatever you charged me to get it back. Luckily the dumb bastard didn’t know your take, I actually pay 5 points less now than I used to - but honestly, I’d rather be bribing you A.” Max chuckled, sitting back as the girls removed themselves from the booth.
“Max, I need your help.”
Miles left about an hour later, carefully stepping over the passed out drunk on the stoop while fishing for a smoke. Exhaling a noxious cloud, he pushed the cars remote starter, slid in under the gull wing door and pulled off into the maze of tunnels. He vaguely headed for the surface, weaving the car along the congested throughways.
He had a lot to process. Max had always been full of shit but if what he had said was even remotely true, this wasn't just some dead bum in an alley. Max was, among other things, one of the last major suppliers of real drugs. He dealt primarily in pills and opiates but had a reputation as a man who could get anything for the right price.
Like all other conventional dealers, his business had drastically dried up as more and more users turned to the Dial. When asked about the possibility of sabotaging the devices in order to discredit them however, he scoffed.
“Look, I’m not saying we all didn't take a big hit when everyone went digital, but a man like me will always be needed to provide the real McCoy. Now someone out there may want to sabotage the Dials. And I wouldn't be mad if they did, but it wasn't me. Ya said it looked like an overdose - honestly you might be barking up the wrong tree. No technology is perfect...”
Back at the station he found Larkin fast asleep, feet up, leaning back in his chair, crumpled grey fedora covering his face.
Miles fell into his own seat loudly, irritated to only illicit a slight grumble from his snoozing partner.
“Larkin.”
The portly man snapped up, hat and feet falling to the floor. “Jeeziz” he mumbled, grunting as he bent to retrieve the hat.
“Where’ve you been”
“The Lowers.”
Larkin grimaced: “Did you shower? Yeesh.”
“I want to look into old cases, closed and open. I want to see if this has happened before.”
“If what has happened? I still say we got a dead vagrant - could’ve been anything. Exposure. Fate. An act of mercy from God.”
“Its an overdose, some sort of malfunction with the Dial. And its happened before.”
“How can you be sure?” Larkin asked while halfheartedly attempting to straighten out the mounds of paper on his desk.
It was a fair question. Right now all Miles had was a hunch. A hunch which had been confirmed and elaborated on by Max. But the word of a known criminal wasn’t proof. And Ecstasior Dynaco had been a dead end with expensive lawyers.
“Just get me the files.”
By the next morning he had found one open and three recently closed cases of dead Dial users with no clear cause of death. Larkin walked in to the bull pen clutching a steaming cup of coffee.
“Late night?” he asked, sipping from the hot beverage.
“Come on, I need to see Saul again.”
The city morgue was several blocks from the precinct. As they drove slowly through the morning traffic, Larkin pressed Miles for details on the case, apparently taking interest now that there were some actual clues to follow.
Saul again didn't notice their arrival at first, wrapped up in his favorite solo until they were literally standing on the other side of the body he had just finished dissecting.
“Must you always sneak up on me” the old man grumbled. Pulling a sheet over the corpse. “What do you want now?
“I need you to remove the Dials from our Jane Doe and from a case you should still have the body of - #4187J” Miles replied.
Saul consulted a clipboard: “4187… J Ah yes, drawer 23. Over here.”
In short order, Saul was handing two sealed evidence bags containing the small metallic discs to detective Miles. “What do you plan on doing with them?” the old man asked.
Miles offered no reply simple taking the bags and thanking the old man before making a brisk exit.
“So what are you going to do with em” Larkin asked back in the car.
“My informant said he has a guy who can pull the proof off their dials, show me how it killed them. One of his hacker kids”
“Pheeeeeew” Larkin let out a low whistle “So you really think these Dials are what did it huh?”
“Looks that way” Miles confirmed.
“Maybe while you do that I oughtta go back to Ecstasior. See If I can’t lean on them a bit. I knew that PR lady was hiding something.”
Miles left Larkin outside the Ecstasior Dynaco building and headed back for the Lowers. The morning rush hour had died down and the streets were surprisingly calm in the midday sun. There was a man washing windows in the entrance to the Lowers where traffic backed up and Miles passed him a dingy credit note to scrape the bird shit off the windows.
Back in the seedy joint all hints of daytime disappeared. Noon or not the place always seemed to be full of inebriated guests and tired girls.
A gruff looking bartender wiping glasses with a dirty rag directed him to an office Max used in the back. Detective Miles walked down the narrow corridor, noting the yellowed photographs and newspaper clippings hanging at random intervals along the dull green painted paneling.
The door to Max’s office was half open and sounds of laughter spilled into the hallway. He knocked gently pushing the the door open to reveal a smoking Max in his characteristic pose, leaned back, a lady for each arm.
“A.” he said happily “Back so soon?”
“I was here yesterday.”
“Fuck. Time flies.” Max depressed the emergency stop on his Dial which had previously been concealed by his long hair and laughed sitting upright with a shudder as though an astral projection returning to his body.
“Don’t judge me” he snickered, offering Miles a smoke which the detective gratefully accepted.
“I have the Dials from two cases” he said, exhaling a thick puff.
“Two? That’s even better. Well. Lets get Kat.”
Kat was another young girl in her 20’s but unlike the rest of Max’s harem, she was not out of her wits high all the time. She was sharp.
Her attitude was strictly business and Max didn't appear to try any of his usual antics with her.
“Kat, can you show the detective here why the Dials he has killed their users.”
She turned to Miles who handed her the sealed evidence bags. She sat down behind Max’s disgusting desk, brushing aside empty take-out containers and used drug paraphernalia to make room for a series of tablets and screens she pulled from an oversized messenger bag.
In moments the shabby office took on the look of an orbital lab with cables and projected displays everywhere. Kat connected the two Dials to I/O ports and produced a third which she connected in a similar fashion to yet another screen. After a series of keystrokes graphs appeared above their respective devices, the two he had brought showing an exponential surge towards the end of the Y axis.
“What am I looking at?” Miles asked softly, staring at the projections around him.
“This is a model of the signal transfer rate in the Dial’s shutdown sequence. The two you brought me have been tainted, I call em skull spikes, and will almost invariably kill the user via a massive neural shock. This one shows you how a normal Dial should disengage.” Kat explained, pointing to the different graphs.
“Why?” Miles asked.
“Its a design flaw in the hangup loop. It can be introduced through a bad update patch or download disc but they’ve been around since the first Dials - one of the little design bugs Ecstasior kept under wraps.”
“How did you figure it out?”
“One of these killed my sister.”
The silence in the room was broken by Max clearing his throat.
“Yea I er, found Kitty when she was a teen. Her sister was one of my best girls... When she died I took Kat in as a hacker. Kid’s a friggin genius” he said tousling her hair eliciting a death stare from the young woman.
“So how common is this?” Miles asked, getting them back to the point.
“Not very. But enough. Rarity keeps the prices up...” Kat mused.
“What are you talking about?”
“What she uh, means is, uh, the defective discs are worth a pretty penny. Nothing cleaner than killing someone with something no one thinks is lethal you know. I’ve uh, cornered the market so to speak” Max explained.
“I’ll be damned...” Miles said, beginning to realize the staggering ramifications.
“Max, I owe you one. Kat, thank you, nice to meet you.” And he was gone, back down the hallway, through the club, onto the streets and into his car, heading up out of the lowers.
His mind seemed to be racing along with the car. There was a defect and it was widespread. And it was potentially an untraceable murder weapon. The thought that this could have been kept secret - the number of people who would have had to be complicit or part of it.
He tossed his cigarette butt out the window and reached in his coat pocket for the pack only to find it empty.
“Fuck.” he cursed under his breath, reaching up and turning on his own dial to his preferred flavor of menthol cigarettes. The device let off a small hiss as the neurostimulants flooded his brain with the sensation of smoking.
Somehow he still craved the real thing.
He met Larkin under an overpass near the entrance to the lowers. His portly partner was looking out over the skyline.
“So, you got your proof?” he asked when Miles came up and joined him.
“I got my proof.”
“So now what?”
“We can't go to the captain. I’m pretty sure there have been cases like this before, it hardly took me anything to find a few from just the last months. If there is a cover-up, he’s in on it.”
“Yeah, we’re getting no love from Ecstasior either. Gonna need a warrant. So what’s the play?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Miles answered “Damn I need a smoke.”
The Dial cigarette was starting to wear off and he wasn't about to do that again. He leaned on the railing looking out over the city. A strange sensation came over him. It crept up his spine like a bubbling at the base of his skull.
He gasped in shock and looked at Larkin with bulging eyes.
Larkin smiled coolly.
“It didn't have to be this way Anthony. If you had just let it go when they dumped this case on us, we coulda been having a slice of pie together at that diner.”
Miles struggled to remain upright “What. What’d. What’d you do to me?” he managed to say - gripping the railing in front of him with whitening knuckles.
“That would be the bad update. I had them program it into your cigarettes. I knew you were getting close, just not how close. Don't worry in a minute it will all be over. And you’ll just be a dead cop with a bad heart who should’ve retired when he had the chance.”
Miles desperately lunged at Larkin as his head pounded and pulsed. He fell spasmodically at Larkins feet, trying futilely to grab his treacherous partner. His eyes went wide, saliva foaming up as he fell back against the overpass sidewall in one final convulsion.
Larkin bent to retrieve the Dials from his former partners trench coat pocket, already dialing on his cell. He pulled out the two evidence bags and crumpled empty carton of cigarettes.
“Its done” he said he said into his cell, snapping it off and slipping it and the Dials into his own pocket.
He dropped the empty carton on the ground next to the body and began to make his way down off the overpass.
