by Mark New
‘What can I do for you, Captain?’
‘Call me John,’ I said. ‘I’d like you to tell me what David Winter was doing for you.’
‘I don’t think I understand, John’ he said smoothly.
‘Sure you do. Becky and George already gave it away when they said that you had four key people dead and one incapacitated. Becky was way too quick to tell me that the communication between Martin and Winter was friendly chit-chat and I hear ol’ Merlin isn’t doing too well in Detroit. So what’s the beef, Chief?’ I instantly resolved never to use that expression again. Toe-curling. It had the effect of making him laugh out loud, though.
‘The beef? You’re really not what I expected at all.’
‘What were you expecting?’
‘Miss Kingston, in particular, described you as utterly brilliant but completely burned-out by years of stressful service, mainly as an assassin - a task you loathed and which caused you all kinds of moral problems. You were almost certainly mentally unstable and our difficulty in finding you not only added to your mystique but the likelihood that you wouldn’t be interested in assisting. That was especially true when our problem was compromised systems and a few deaths,’ he raised his hands to forestall protest, ‘not that the deaths weren’t tragic but they were hardly likely to entice you to work for us. I assume it was what Becky has called the Naimittika event that brought you out of the Cook Islands, yes?’ I nodded.
‘I thought the end of the world might be worth watching,’ I said facetiously.
‘Quite so. And yet here you are, undoubtedly erratic but not the clinically depressed genius I was led to believe would be coming. I think our chances of survival have improved rather more than I thought would be the case.’ Praise indeed. The good thing was, if I couldn’t deliver, nobody would be around to complain about my failure. ‘Before I answer your question - and I will - I’d like to ask you something if you don’t mind.’
‘Go ahead.’ It seemed a bit impolite to refuse.
‘Was it all just a carefully controlled cover story on your part?’ Clearly Doc hadn’t leaked my medical file to the highest bidder.
‘Pretty much.’ Actually, Becky’s assessment had been scarily accurate. I thought Jason might be alarmed if I told him I’d only been this functional for a couple of days. I wasn’t even sure how functional ‘this’ was, either. I’d gone from the verge of a depression to emotional overload within hours and was acting like an idiot most of the time. Jason seemed to accept the answer, fortunately.
‘Impressive.’ He shook his head almost imperceptibly as though shaking off the train of thought. ‘So, David Winter. Yes, he was working for us under the greatest of commercial secrecy. He and Dr Martin were collaborating on a next generation seneschal that was to be magnitudes of intelligence above the current generation.’
‘Is that possible?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not an expert in the field but Joshua was pretty convinced. He’d known David for years, of course.’ I recalled hearing Winter’s own thoughts at the conventions I’d attended. It wasn’t impossible that he’d be interested in revisiting his first love of AI design.
‘Do you know how far they’d got?’
‘Not exactly. I tend to hire the best people and just let them get on with it. They report back occasionally when they have something to say.’ An employer who places trust in his staff? No wonder he was a popular multi-billionaire. I wondered if all the successful corporations had the same enlightened view of their staff. Somehow it seemed improbable.
‘Had you received any reports from them at all?’
‘Only one from Joshua after his first series of vir-meetings with David. He told me that David had encountered something during the course of his game designs that led him to believe that a major advance was possible and that Joshua personally felt that they were on to something.’
‘Was there any timescale for the project?’
‘Only the standard tech timescale: get it done before the competition finds out. As far as I know, nobody else is researching it in quite the same way. After all,’ he pointed out reasonably, ‘we were the ones who had David under contract.’
‘Is that what Martin was working on at the facility where he died?’
‘Partly, I expect. He had a number of ongoing projects. You could ask his team, if you like.’
‘I’d rather you asked them. They might be a bit more forthcoming if the big boss asks directly.’
He smiled. ‘You mean like Mr Catz?’
‘I mean exactly like Mr Catz.’ I smiled too.
‘Plus,’ he said, ‘It will keep me out of your way as, under our newly-agreed operating protocols, I’ll now have to visit the team in person.’ You catch on quickly, Mr Latimer. I could throw him a bone though.
‘You’re the big boss,’ I reminded him. ‘Ask them to come to you.’
‘I’ll do that,’ he laughed. ‘What are you going to do now?’
‘Well, it seems forever since I left home so I think I’m going to eat, then sleep and then decide when I wake up how best to save the world.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ He offered his hand and I shook it. ‘If it facilitates a quick solution to armageddon, I’ll arrange for biscuits on the table next time.’
‘Very much appreciated.’ I turned to leave. ‘Especially your use of English.’
‘Biscuits, cookies, what’s in a name?’ he said as I headed for the door. When I opened it, Taylor was waiting on the other side of the doorway.
‘Captain,’ she said with a smile, ‘George has asked me to arrange accommodation for you and anything else you might want.’ It was an interesting offer. She was young and pretty and wearing a classic black and white business ensemble including an incredibly short skirt. There was only one thing on my mind.
‘Terrific,’ I beamed. ‘Can you recommend a good restaurant?’
◆◆◆
By happy accident it turned out that the hotel in which Taylor had installed me had a perfectly good restaurant on the top floor. It wasn’t entirely unexpected as the hotel itself was one of the Canton group. Though the Canton in Raro hadn’t exactly escaped my attention, especially when I was helping myself to Becky’s breakfast, I hadn’t ever seriously expected to be able to afford to stay at any comparable place so I hadn’t studied the specs of this new breed of ultra-up-market hotel. It was breath-taking in a way that left you reeling from the sheer expense involved in its creation. It wasn’t ostentatious, decadent or vulgar - far from it: it was extremely tastefully appointed, contained discreet hi-tech of a grade you’d only expect in a major corporation and was still small enough to confer an experience of total exclusivity on its guests. It left me with a slightly uneasy feeling that such treats were available to the wealthy few in a world that had only just begun to address the issues of poverty that afflicted so many billions of people on the planet but I still absorbed the thought that I was staying here with a certain relish. I intended to make full and extensive use of the facilities in the sure knowledge that I’d never be able to afford to stay anywhere like this again.
Taylor had insisted on accompanying me, pausing only to pick up her shoulder bag from her office. I was thinking that it was ironic that in the mid twenty-first century, when you could have on a flimsy piece of plastic all of the contained knowledge of humanity, half the population still insisted on carrying bags of...stuff, when my reverie was interrupted by an encrypted message from George. I pretended to read it on my slimpad. It said simply ‘Cover story.’ I understood it immediately and just sent back an acknowledgement. It was interesting that his own PA knew no more than the cover story. George couldn’t be a man given to pillow talk. I just hoped that he didn’t talk in his sleep. It reinforced the idea in my head that Taylor was supposed to be acting partly as my shepherd and partly as a spy for the company, presumably on the basis that she had the acting skills to pull it off.
Despite my suspicions as to her motives in inviting herself to dinner in
the restaurant, she turned out to be excellent company. The maître d’ sat us at a table by a large picture window with a glorious view of the city. The hotel was no more than twelve stories high but was built in the hills so we appeared to be towering over the neighbourhood. She told me how she’d grown up in San Francisco but moved to LA when she joined Argonaut Industries. I remarked that she seemed young to hold such a superior administrative position in senior management and she giggled and said that George Latimer preferred to surround himself with staff who were of modern outlook and not set in their ways. That made me laugh and she laughed too. While we enjoyed pre-dinner drinks at the table, I went Online and covertly looked up her details. There were some professional qualifications in business administration, a few reviews of vir-shows in which she’d taken a minor role and some basic biographical information. It all hung together, even when I hit the deeper levels. Her age was given as twenty-six which seemed to be about right. A scan of her skin tone via my ocular implant was inconclusive as to whether she’d had any rejuv treatment. I don’t deny that I quite enjoyed checking.
The maître d’ brought over two large printed menus. It was deliberately retro to emphasise the classiness of the place. No table inlays here; the tables were solid wood and contained no tech. It was when we were looking at the menus that I noticed that I was the envy of a substantial number of our fellow customers. Over the top of the menu, I saw furtive glances aimed in our direction. It was quite a boost to my old, tired ego. I contrasted with most of the clientele who were wearing lounge suits, evening dresses and the like while I was wearing the same old black jeans and t-shirt that I’d been wearing when I boarded the jet. I hadn’t bothered to bring any luggage. I whispered to Taylor that they were all wondering how a tired looking middle-aged bandit like me could sit here abusing the dress code and still end up at the best table with the best-looking woman in the establishment. As she was covering the lower half of her face with her menu to disguise the laughter, I mentally filed away that it was probably the first time in a decade that I had actively flirted with a woman. Unlike some of the other emotional thoughts I’d been squirreling away, that one didn’t concern me. The one which followed, about whether I’d have flirted just the same had it been Becky on the other side of the table, was a little more disconcerting. Taylor reassured me that she’d have a change of clothes sent to my room for the morning, together with a selection of toiletries.
I’d recognised that I was hungry but I didn’t realise how hungry. I ordered a three course meal and Taylor did the same though she mostly had salad-type dishes and picked at them whereas I went for the full steak experience. I’m not and never will be a ‘foodie’ so the exquisite presentation was lost on me but not the excellent taste of the dishes. The sommelier was deeply disappointed that I insisted on drinking only ice-water and was only slightly mollified when Taylor ordered half a bottle of house white at my insistence. I noticed that she got through about two-thirds of it by the end of the meal. The dessert I’d chosen was a white chocolate concoction which I resolved to analyse during my stay so that I could pass the recipe to Joe. Taylor settled for the sorbet which she said was very good.
‘By frozen water standards,’ I said, which made her laugh again.
She said how much she liked her trip to the Cook Islands and asked me how long I’d been there. I told her the truth as it was something she could easily verify at work. She asked how it was I came to be there and I lied about just wandering around the globe and liking the place so much that I stayed there. It gave me the opportunity to ask about her round-the-island boat trip. She told me the whole story, which she found hilarious though some fellow customers weren’t amused, about what an amateur production it had been.
‘You know that size boat really needs a crew of six?’ I asked when she related how Ranu had trouble serving cocktails on board while coping with other more important duties, like navigating.
‘At the moment it only has one competent crew member,’ she giggled, ‘and one...’
‘Ship’s parrot?’ Our laughter drew attention from the other diners.
By the time she had filled me in on her acting ambitions, most of the other patrons had gone. As the waiter cleared the last dishes from the table Taylor asked me if she could order our after-dinner drinks. I agreed, expecting her to call over a waiter but she just waved merrily at the maître d’ who nodded at her. Moments later he personally brought over two brandy glasses on a silver tray, one for each of us, and made a discreet withdrawal. I looked at the coloured liquid and then at Taylor. She waved at my glass as she picked up her own.
‘Try it,’ she said. ‘Tell me what you think.’ I picked it up and sniffed the contents.
‘Cognac,’ I said, then took a taste. I smiled contentedly when I realised what it was.
‘I heard you drank pretty much all of George’s stash on the jet so I made sure the hotel had some in stock.’
‘That was very thoughtful. Have you ever considered working as someone’s PA?’
‘Nah,’ she said. ‘Where’s the money in that?’
She insisted on walking me to my suite and took my arm as we left the restaurant. It was only one flight down so we took the stairs. Unlike most hotels, the stairs weren’t the poor man’s choice but were laid out like one of those stately sets you used to find on old-time cruise liners. I had apparently been given a corner suite which contributed to the theory that no expense had been spared in hiring me. It was when we were descending the stairs and joking about doing a vir-musical song and dance number with top hat and tails that I noticed that Taylor was tall. I’m over six feet and she must have been five-ten at least. I tried to remember how she looked alongside George as he was much shorter than me but I realised that in Frisque’s they’d been sitting down and at the door of the Argonaut office my perspective was complicated by the fact that it was me who was sitting down. Taking note of people and surroundings, Harvard? Welcome back to real life.
As we reached the door of the suite, I was half-expecting and half-hoping that she would attempt to infiltrate the room. There was never any question that I would refuse. I was on an operation and such liaisons were a bad idea unless they were wholly justified by the mission parameters. This one wasn’t - at least not yet. I was actually pleasantly surprised when she pecked me on the cheek, said goodnight and that she’d pick me up in the morning. I thanked her for a most enjoyable evening and watched her walk down the corridor before I entered the suite.
Words are inadequate to describe the luxury of the interior. All I knew was that it was a shade before midnight local time, I’d been awake for far too many hours and all I needed was a shower and a bed. The fact that the shower had hundreds of settings, all controllable through the suite AI, and the bed was probably the most comfortable I’ve ever encountered just highlighted how much my life had changed since the last time I slept. I barely recall my head reaching the
pillow before I was deep in dreamland.
◆◆◆
I awoke shortly after seven in the morning. The AI noticed me moving in the bed and greeted me with a cheery good morning and a note of the time. It sounded a bit too much like the way an American might think an English butler might speak. Usually there was a menu accessible to guests in upmarket hotels that gave limited control over superficial items like AI voice but I discovered that I was able to resist the temptation to alter it. I had a better look around the suite than I had managed the previous night. It followed the general hotel theme of understated wealth and supreme style. The furniture appeared to be old and possibly even genuinely antique. The bed was a huge four-poster with drapes still attached to the four corners. I hadn’t even noticed them when I’d climbed in. There were picture windows on two sides of the bedroom currently concealed by filmy looking curtains which didn’t prevent the sunshine from giving the room a natural light. There wasn’t a vir-window in sight. I didn’t know what Argonaut were paying for the place but it must have been a small fortune.
There were two messages waiting for me. The first, through the room AI, was from Taylor. It just said that I should call her when I wanted to go anywhere and she’d come to pick me up. There was no hurry, she said, George had told her that I had a free hand in conducting my business so she should fit in with my timetable. It looked like she was to be attached to me for the duration. I wondered how deeply she’d been debriefed after she left me last night. The other message was a private one from Doc and sent direct to my personal interface. It said simply
‘How are you?’ I sent a quick reply that just said ‘Fine, thanks,’ and tried to calculate in my head the time in London. I gave up and looked it up Online. Just as I found out it was mid-afternoon, Doc came through live.
‘Got a minute?’ he asked. ‘Want to meet in the café?’ This was one of our standard meeting places Online. It was one of the many popular social networking areas and was laid out as someone thought a street might have looked in eighteenth century London, with cafés, pubs and a handful of shops. I was never convinced of the authenticity of these period places. There were horse-drawn carriages, for example, that looked about right but I didn’t have the expertise to know the details.
I decided that I had a little time to meet Doc so I agreed and immediately landed there. I dressed my avatar for the period so that I didn’t look out of place with everyone else, dodged the traffic both equine and human and went into the café. Doc always dressed up for these occasions so I wasn’t surprised when he arrived shortly after I took a table looking like he was a country gent who owned most of Somerset.
‘I thought you might have picked a military uniform,’ he tutted.
‘It’s been so long since we came here, I barely remembered to dress up at all.’
‘I still come and go,’ he said, ‘I think I would have quite liked this period.’