Madigan pulled a small screwdriver out of his overalls and inserted it into Alan’s ear. At least, what used to be Alan.

“Is it alright?”

“He, please detective. One mustn’t dehumanise those with the power of consciousness.”

Madigan cranked the screwdriver to the left and a small panel at the back of Alan’s head slowly pushed open. A cloud of black smoke rushed out, filling the room with the smell of torched wiring.

“It seems not.”

In truth Babbage could have guessed that much just by looking at it. At him. The entire body was slumped into a ball on the floor, but more than that, it seemed to have smudged itself downwards, melted together and moulded into the floor itself. Bits were thickened and stretched, as if his entire insides had turned liquid.

“Well, Alan, it was fun while it lasted.” Madigan stood up and looked at the detective. “This something along the lines of what you were expecting?”

Babbage almost felt like apologising, but stopped himself. It was completely illegal for such a clone to exist in the first place.

“I knew something would happen. I got the plug from a victim I found out there. Nothing remained of him though.”

“Well I’m not surprised. Alan was created here. He was, as you put it, not real. His consciousness was taken away, just the parts left behind.”

“So why would the body of the other man simply vanish?”

Madigan looked at Babbage and seemed to be weighing up a decision.

“How long have you been out here detective? Off Grid I mean?”

What a strange question. “I don’t know exactly. A day perhaps. There was an accident we were sent out to investigate and I’ve been poking around ever since.”

“Really.” Madigan looked unconvinced. He moved to the wall and flicked a switch.

“Alan, be a dear and come down here would you, there’s a mess to clear up.” He flicked the switch back and turned to the detective. “Well now, let’s see if we found anything.”

He led the way back into the viewing booth.

“Tell me detective, would you consider yourself knowledgeable about the area off Grid? Had much experience of it?”

“Not particularly. Not much crime occurs out here. Most of my work is on the other side.”

“Not much crime? Not much worth your investigation perhaps. I can assure you there is quite a demand for the sort of security I can provide those with the means to pay.”

As if to illustrate his point, another identical clone wandered into the room they’d just left and picked up the steaming frame of the Alan they’d just fried.

“Another Alan?”

“Oh yes. They’re all Alan to me.”

They watched the clone exit the room and the hatch close behind him. It. Identical machines were difficult to think of in any other way, at least for Babbage. Madigan could have his own views.

“Now tell me, what brought the good people of law enforcement away from their shiny home?”

“Just an accident. A car was brought down not far from here.”

“Was it now. People disappear every day out here, why should this car be any different?”

“I suppose they had connections.”

“Connections.”

Madigan stared at Babbage, as if that was all that was needed to refute his argument. Babbage didn’t care. He felt no need to justify himself to an arms smuggler.

Madigan seemed to read Babbage's eyes and simply turned back to the console. He flicked another switch and a recording slid out through the speakers.

“Alan, please insert the memory plug now.”

The voice was muffled by the speaker this time, filtered from the other room.

A moment later a howl erupted, tinged at its edges with melody, shifting in and out, joining together and moving, rising up and forming into a figure.

It was gone. Babbage looked up from where he found himself, huddled on the floor, his hands over his ears. Madigan was leaning over the console, his hand stiff on the switch that had ended the noise. His face was drained of blood.

“I think,” he whispered down to the detective. “We need to talk.”