Sunrise Alley

by Catherine Asaro

  I used to be Thymus, he answered. Then the lovely little girl became a beautiful, albeit cranky, young genius with a prodigious spelling ability.

  Sam smiled. That was definitely Thomas. I'm at the Two Pines Motor Inn in Tugtown, Iowa. What she actually wrote was "I M at 2 Pines Motor Inn tugtown ia." The AI for the chat program converted it to standard English. She could have turned off the correction, but Thomas preferred it this way.

  Why are you there? he asked.

  Long story. I need help.

  I'll have someone pick you up.

  Her jaw clenched. The last time you said that, we were kidnapped.

  From Hockman?

  No. California.

  That was unfortunate.

  No shit.

  After a pause, he wrote, We have a chopper on the way.

  We need a signal to prove it's them. Anything they wrote here could be monitored, so she needed something only she and Thomas knew. Do you remember when I was ten and you gave me a birthday present that made me laugh? He had hired a clown for her party.

  I remember.

  Have whoever picks us up tell me what you did.

  All right. ETA is thirty-five minutes.

  Can it come faster?

  They can try. Are you in danger?

  She blanched. Not much, just some EIs who want to cut up my brain and turn me into an enslaved mesh code.

  WHAT?

  Yeah, that describes my reaction.

  Is Turner there?

  She glanced at Turner.

  "Go ahead," he said.

  She wrote, Yes, he's here.

  Another message appeared. My contact at the Air Force base, Major Connors, had an odd impression about your interactions with this android.

  Turner leaned over and stabbed in the words I'm not an android.

  Turner? Thomas asked.

  Yes, I'm different, Turner said. But I'm not a thing, General. I'm a man.

  More text appeared. I've known Sam since her birth. I want to know her until she is white-haired and bent over. You understand?

  Turner looked startled. I've no intention of hurting her, if that's what you mean.

  See that you honor that promise.

  "He sounds like a father," Turner said. He had an odd look, as if he wasn't sure he recognized the signs.

  "He promised to look after me if anything ever happened to my father," Sam said.

  "They worked together, didn't they?"

  "Yes. They both went to Paraguay." In a leaden voice she said, "Thomas came home. My father didn't."

  "Ah, hell, Sam." He laid his hand over hers on the console.

  She thought of Hud, their steward on the hijacked Rex. He had been the epitome of emotional control. If only she could be that impassive. Sometimes she felt as if she were tearing apart inside.

  A word appeared on the screen. Sam?

  I'm still here, she wrote.

  About Major Connors.

  What about her?

  Why does she think you're sleeping with Turner?

  Well, that was blunt. My personal life is my business.

  Is that a damned joke?

  No.

  Your "personal life" involves a biomech man who could pose a threat to world security.

  "Wait," Turner said. "Listen."

  Sam tilted her head. A fly buzzed somewhere in the room. "What?"

  "Can't you hear it?"

  It took a moment to catch what he meant. Engines rumbled, faintly at first, then growing in volume. "If that's a helicopter, I hope it's the right one."

  "You and me both."

  Your chopper is early, Sam wrote. She sent him an emoticon holo of a nervous smile. Either that, or we're about to be kidnapped again.

  It should be mine, he answered. We tried to speed up the ETA.

  Sam hoped he was right.

  * * *

  The Redbird landed in the hover lot. The town had been asleep before, but now most everyone in the motel crowded out to look, including the kid from the office and two adults, his parents probably, given how they resembled one another, blond and solid.

  A uniformed man stood in the helicopter, motioning to them. As Sam and Turner ran across the lot, the gale of the blades flattening their clothes, everyone watched. If this was another abduction, at least they had witnesses.

  With a start, Sam recognized the man waiting, Lieutenant Hollander, one of the medics who had been in the Redbird that picked them up from California, what seemed like an eternity ago, though it had only been a few days.

  "Hey." Sam had to shout to be heard above the blades. "Lieutenant, I don't know if I should be glad to see you."

  "Glad, I hope." He motioned her and Turner to climb aboard. "General Wharington said to tell you 'It was the best durn clown you ever saw.' "

  She grinned. "Good answer."

  They strapped into their seats, and the Redbird lifted off, soaring into the night.

  XVII

  Thwarted Vow

  "I want to see him." Sam thumped her hand on Thomas's mahogany desk. "You gave your word."

  He stood on the other side of his large oak desk, even more military than usual in his crisp blue uniform. Three stars gleamed on each shoulder and rows of ribbons bedecked his chest, including his Joint Service Commendation with two oak-leaf clusters. Sam knew he had many medals as well, including the Purple Heart, but he wore them only on formal occasions. Framed certificates on the wall showed his many and varied credentials. An American flag hung from a pole on his right and the blue Air Force flag with its eagle emblem stood to the left. His desk was clear of papers, but it had a holograph of his wife and daughters on one side and a holo of Sam and her father on the other.

  Right now he looked far less amiable than the smiling man in those pictures. "Sam, you aren't objective where Turner is concerned."

  "You said we would be apart a few minutes. It's been ten hours." She had slept most of that time, a guest at Thomas's home in Chevy Chase, Maryland, the house he and his wife had bought years ago before she passed away. The rest of the time Sam had spent with him and his NIA team, exchanging information. Most of her debriefing had taken place in a conference room at the Pentagon, one of the locations where the NIA had headquarters. When she and Thomas had finally come to his office, she had hoped to see Turner, but no such luck. Until she spoke to him, she feared to say too much about Charon or Sunrise Alley, uncertain how it would affect Turner.

  "You have to let me see him," she said. "I had trouble enough convincing him to come in. He agreed only because he trusted me. He sure as hell doesn't trust any of you, and now he might think I turned on him, too."

  Thomas came around the desk to her. "Dr. O'Reilly wants to talk with you and Turner separately."

  "Dr. O'Who?"

  "O'Reilly. He's the psychiatrist on this case."

  She crossed her arms. "I don't need to see a damned shrink."

  "Sam." He leaned against the desk. "General Chang doesn't want you talking to Turner. And she outranks me."

  That was certainly an understatement. Chang, a four-star general, was the Pentagon's deputy director of Defense Intelligence, which made her Thomas's boss.

  "This place has too much brass," Sam grumbled.

  He smiled slightly. "It's the Pentagon. It's supposed to have brass."

  "When do I see Turner?"

  "Don't you think your relationship is a bit—" He cleared his throat. "Unusual?"

  "No."

  "Sam."

  "Oh, all right." She dropped her arms. "Yes, it's unusual. So what? He means a lot to me. And I'll tell you something else, Thomas. He's far more likely to cooperate with your people if you let him see me."

  He considered her. "That could be an effective argument."

  Hah! "So he is refusing to cooperate, eh?"

  "I'm not at liberty to discuss it."

  She grinned. "Well, if his lack of cooperation that you aren't at liberty to discuss is a problem, I can help."

  Thoma
s answered dryly. "We will see."

  * * *

  The drive took several hours. Sam and Thomas went in a black hover-limo, long and sleek. In the distance, the supple column of the space tether rose from the Virginia countryside into the blue sky, glittering in the sunlight, higher and higher until it dwindled to a point. Satellite-controlled traffic flowed smoothly through the streets of Washington, D.C., which only a few decades ago had been so congested it could take an hour to travel a few miles. Now many of the roads were repaved and restricted to hover traffic, all under control of city grids that kept congestion to a minimum. For those who wanted even faster transportation, the magrail curved over the city, its silver arches gllistening. A mag-train hummed along a rail a few blocks away, gleaming against the sky.

  They left D.C., entering the suburbs of Virginia, and the early-morning traffic dropped off. They traveled through sparsely settled areas with large houses set far back from the road and surrounded by expansive lawns or angled woods. Every now and then they passed a sweeper-bot discreetly rolling along the road, cleaning up trash.

  Eventually they left the settled areas and entered more rugged country closer to the Appalachian Mountains, heading through forests of pine, hemlock, wild cherry, and poplar, and some younger white oak trees. They ended up at a facility hidden in a valley and surrounded by an invisible fence that hummed when the guards passed them through. The place resembled a hospital, but with a genteel architecture that made Sam think of a castle. The grounds sloped gracefully with well-tended lawns, scattered pine groves, and deciduous trees brilliant with the yellow, orange, and red leaves of a late but warm autumn. Paths wound across the lawns, bordered by azalea bushes, and curved around graceful but abstract sculptures designed in arcs of bronzed metal.

  Inside, Thomas took her down wide corridors with blue-and-gold-patterned carpets and holoart on the walls. O'Reilly came with them, a stout man with a round, ruddy face and bulbous nose. Sam gritted her teeth when Thomas also brought two guards. They were behaving as if Turner were a criminal when he was the one who had suffered from the crimes.

  They stopped at a locked door. Thomas opened it into a room that, although sunny and well furnished, looked like it belonged in a hospital. Turner sat sprawled in an armchair, his legs stretched out on the coffee table, his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair while he read a holobook. He could have downloaded the book straight into his matrix, but it didn't surprise Sam that he chose to read. Although he existed as an EI, he thought like a man, with human preferences. Perhaps someday he might electronically ingest his entertainment, but not yet.

  He looked up warily, then jumped to his feet, the book dropping to the floor. "Sam!"

  "Hi." She went over and started to reach to him, then stopped when she remembered everyone watching. Turner responded in much the same way, freezing in mid-motion with his arms up, then lowering them back to his sides. So they stood, suddenly awkward with each other.

  "I wondered what happened to you." His expression warmed as he took in her appearance. "You look nice."

  Sam responded as she always did when someone complimented her; she got nervous. Then she told herself to stop it. The days when she was an awkward kid were long gone. Besides, she had chosen her white jeans and flowered top specifically for him, knowing they set off her figure. So she smiled and said, "Thanks."

  He motioned at his suite. "Like my cell?"

  "I noticed." Sam could see Thomas and O'Reilly in her side vision. She wished they would go away. It wasn't going to happen, though, so she turned and glared at Thomas. "Why is Turner here?"

  Thomas leaned on the edge of the console near where he stood, seemingly relaxed. Sam knew him too well to be fooled; he was wound up as tight as a coil. He spoke to Turner. "Are you uncomfortable here?"

  "I feel like I'm in prison." Turner gave O'Reilly a puzzled look. "Who are you?"

  The psychiatrist came forward. He would have been taller than Turner Pascal, but this Turner topped him by three inches. "Major Jim O'Reilly." He offered his hand. "I'm a doctor."

  Turner shook hands warily, and apparently with more force than he realized, given the doctor's wince. Sam had to give O'Reilly credit; he never blinked when his human hand made contact with Turner's cables.

  "What kind of doctor?" Turner asked.

  "Psychiatrist," O'Reilly said.

  Turner narrowed his gaze. "You going to shrink my biomechanical brain?"

  "I'd just like to talk to you."

  "Why?"

  "No one like you has existed before." O'Reilly spoke with respect. "You're a form of life unlike anything this world has known."

  Turner didn't look particularly honored by the distinction. "So you thought I would be more amenable if Sam was here."

  Oh, well. It didn't surprise her that he figured it out. "It was my idea," Sam said. "So they would let me see you."

  He started to reach for her again, stopped again, and swore under his breath. Then he quit resisting and drew her into his arms despite their audience. "Whatever the reason, I'm glad you're here."

  Sam was acutely aware of everyone in the room; she had always been self-conscious about any show of affection in public. Her entire family was that way. But she missed Turner so very much. Although she knew, logically, it had only been a few hours since she had seen him, it seemed forever. She hugged him and he felt good in her arms.

  Turner bent his head. When he kissed her, his cabled arms pressing her back, she almost jerked away. She had never kissed a man in front of other people before. Maybe it was the restraint of her English background; she didn't know. But if she recoiled from Turner now, the doctor would make who-knew-what annoying analysis of her behavior, and Thomas would assume it was revulsion on her part and start his paternal challenges with Turner again. So she kissed Turner back and discovered he felt just as warm and inviting even when she was embarrassed.

  Some time later he lifted his head and looked at her. Sam's cheeks were burning, but her smile came naturally.

  Turner looked over her head at Thomas. "I'll cooperate with you on one condition."

  "What is that?" Thomas sounded disconcerted, an unusual state for him.

  "That Sam and I can get married," Turner said.

  That she didn't expect. "Uh, excuse me," Sam said. "I think you're supposed to ask me first."

  His face became tender as he looked at her. "Want to marry me?"

  Sam knew that no one would let them marry. For one thing, legally Turner was dead. For another, no one had figured out how human laws applied to formas. Besides, she had only known him a few days, not enough for a wedding even if no other obstacles existed, like his not being exactly human.

  Then again, maybe that was the point. He had hit on a way to assert his rights: only people could marry. Not machines. She had a thousand and one reasons to be reluctant, but maybe for once in her life she should stop analyzing and go with her instincts.

  "All right." Despite her intent to be pragmatic, she blushed like a kid. "I'll marry you."

  Turner's mouth opened. He snapped it closed, then grinned. "Hah! I can't believe you agreed."

  Sam laughed. "Well, I did."

  He beamed at Thomas and O'Reilly. "The lady said yes."

  Sam turned around. Thomas seemed bewildered. It was a singularly unique occurrence; she had seen him in many moods but never confused.

  "You can't marry," he told them.

  O'Reilly cleared his throat. "Mr. Pascal—"

  Turner turned with a smile that made Sam think of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. "Call me Turner."

  "Turner, yes." O'Reilly rubbed his chin. "This is a rather anomalous proposition."

  Turner's eyes gleamed. "I propositioned her days ago. Now I want to make it legal."

  O'Reilly's round cheeks turned red. "I don't think you can do that."

  Sam hadn't expected any other response. She looked from O'Reilly to Thomas. "You see, don't you? Humanity has to face it sooner or later. What a
re self-aware formas—constructs or people? Possession or citizen?"

  "If you mean our actions here will set a baseline for the future," Thomas said. "Then yes, I agree. All the more reason to use caution."

  Sam thought of Bart and the other EIs, forms of life different enough from her own that she only fathomed the edges of their intelligence. Sunrise Alley. It would only grow larger and more powerful each year. The alley would become a thoroughfare, a city, a world. A universe.

  "If we make a mistake now," Sam said. "If we do this wrong, without foresight, we will set up the human race for more grief than you can imagine. How you treat Turner now matters."

  O'Reilly considered her thoughtfully. Then he spoke to Turner. "It is true, your DNA corresponds to Turner William Pascal. I've no doubt you were made from him."

  "I wasn't made from him," Turner said. "I am him."

  "But where do you end?" O'Reilly asked. "How much can you be rebuilt before you are no longer a man?"

  "You're asking him to define the soul," Sam murmured. "Only God can do that."

  "Perhaps," Thomas said. "Unfortunately we need a legal definition."

  Turner regarded him steadily. "I feel no less as if I have a soul now than before the accident."

  Sam went over to Thomas. "His limbs aren't that different from prosthetics. Many people have transplanted or synthetic organs in their bodies. We consider them human."

  "They don't have EI matrices for brains," Thomas said. "They don't run on microfusion reactors."

  Turner spoke bitterly. "So I'm human if you replace my heart with a pump, even if it bears no resemblance to my original heart, but I'm not human if my matrix is a copy of my original brain."

  "It's become more." O'Reilly spread his hands out from his sides. "We don't have answers."

  "Charon thinks he does," Turner said.

  "He told you?" Sam asked. She couldn't tell how many of his memories about Charon came from the copy he carried in his matrix and how much from his two weeks with Charon in Oregon. If Thomas found out Turner had a copy of Charon in his mind, he would lock Turner up so tight, the former bellboy wouldn't even be able to breathe without monitors recording every move of his muscles.