Sunrise Alley

by Catherine Asaro

  Turner hadn't fired a pulse gun; it would have torn apart even Hud, who had biomech strengthening his body. Hud only staggered back, hit in the chest, and slammed into the wall. The back of his head hit hard and bounced forward, but it didn't slow him down; a head injury wouldn't have much effect on the brain of an EI with the filaments of his matrix spread throughout his body.

  It all happened within seconds. Thomas barely had time to step over, grasp her arm, and yank her toward the floor. "Sam, get down."

  Turner fired another shot, jerking from the recoil, but it hit the wall this time instead of Hud, its impact cracking like thunder. Sam dropped onto her stomach next to Thomas. Alpha and Raze had gone to the floor as well. Turner and Hud, still moving too fast to follow in detail, crashed into the wall in one corner, then slammed into the adjoining wall.

  "They can't keep this up forever," Sam said. "Even if they both have microfusion reactors, fighting at this speed has to use more energy than they can steadily produce. Eventually it will break even their biomech bodies."

  "Soon, I hope," Thomas muttered.

  Another shot ricocheted off the walls. Sam protected her head with her arms. "Maybe now Charon will pay the price of what he created."

  Thomas grimaced. "Or else all the rest of us will."

  "Is this part of some plan?" Sam asked. A bullet hit the bed, sending covers flying in an explosion of cloth and mesh-fibers.

  "Not quite," Thomas said. "We asked Turner if he would help us to catch Charon. In exchange, we would give him whatever he needed to augment his strength, speed, and ability to rebuild himself."

  She gritted her teeth. "They used us as bait."

  "It appears so." He didn't sound thrilled, but he didn't seem surprised, either. It told her a great deal about how seriously the NIA took all this, that they were willing to risk even Thomas in an effort to catch Charon.

  Sam jerked as a bullet shattered the floor. Cracks spidered across the concrete and under her body. Turner slammed Hud to the floor in the midst of the worst cracks and froze, his legs on either side of Hud's hips, his nozzled fist raised, his other fist clenched in Hud's shirt.

  Hud wasn't moving.

  Turner's chest heaved, his human lungs straining to keep up with his augmented body. He let Hud's body drop to the floor.

  "Is he dead?" Sam asked. Her voice sounded hollow.

  Turner slowly stood up, still looking down at Hud, his expression restrained. "You can never kill an EI unless no copies of him exist."

  She rose to her feet. "But is this body dead?"

  "Yes." He sounded stunned.

  Sam knelt by Hud's body. In death, his face had lost its human aspect. He could have been a mannequin. "It's hard to believe he was Charon."

  "I had no idea." Turner's voice was low and numb.

  Thomas came up behind her. "He doesn't look human."

  Sam glanced at him. "Did you—"

  Hud's hand shot up with no warning. He grabbed Sam's wrist and she grunted with pain. His eyes glowed from some sort of backlight in his optics. He spoke in a rasp. "Newcastle was wrong."

  Then the light blanked and his grip went slack. His arm dropped to the floor.

  Sam inhaled sharply, shakily. "Good Lord."

  "Sam, you better move back," Thomas said.

  She stood up. "Newcastle was wrong? What does that mean?"

  "Ask him," Thomas said.

  "He's dead," Turner said leadenly. "What you just saw was a reflex, like the way a frog kicks its legs after you pierce its brain."

  Alpha climbed to her feet, rising to her full height, her rifle aimed at Turner. "Hud may be nonfunctional, but I'm not. And you need to die."

  "You can't shoot me," Turner said. "I'm Charon."

  Alpha's head jerked. "Repeat?"

  Turner motioned at the body. "You said it yourself. Hud no longer functions. That makes me your employer."

  Alpha stared at him without the slightest motion. Raze stood at her side, his hands clenched on his carbine, his face flushed. He looked very human and very confused.

  Then Alpha lowered her gun. "What are your orders?" she asked Turner.

  Raze swore. "You can't take orders from him. He's the target."

  "He is Charon," Alpha said.

  "He's a fucking bellboy. Besides, you heard him. He isn't 'running' Charon."

  Sam spoke. "Alpha can easily check, if Turner will let her access his matrix. She can verify he's running Charon's mind on his matrix."

  Raze lifted his carbine, but he seemed unsure whether to fire at Alpha or Turner. "Can you do what Dr. Bryton says?" he asked Alpha.

  "Yes," Alpha said.

  "Do it." Raze sounded like he was gritting his teeth.

  Alpha's face seemed to close, and Turner's took on the inwardly directed quality Sam had seen before. He looked eerie standing over Charon, his ripped shirt hanging from his torso, the ridged surfaces of his legs and arms burnished in the light from the overhead tiles. He and Alpha stood facing each other, neither with any expression. Lights flickered on Turner's biomech body, probably in response to signals he exchanged with Alpha. Neither of them moved.

  Suddenly Turner relaxed and Alpha's posture became more natural.

  "Well?" Raze asked.

  "He is Charon," Alpha said.

  The other guard had an odd look, as if he didn't know whether to swear or laugh. "He doesn't act like Hud."

  "This one is an upgraded version."

  "Upgraded?"

  "Yes."

  "Upgraded how?"

  Alpha shrugged. "Personality modifications."

  Raze squinted at her. "But he's our employer?"

  "Yes." Now that Alpha had made her determination, she changed as easily as if she had thrown a switch in her brain. "That is correct."

  Raze laughed uneasily. "This has to be the strangest job I've ever taken."

  Sam watched Turner, unsure what to think. His face was heartbreakingly human, a strange contrast to his limbs. She stepped around Hud's body, biting her lip when she saw how badly Turner had broken him. When she stood next to Turner, looking up, she was aware of his greater height, even more now that the NIA had worked on him, over six feet, no longer the man she had met on her beach.

  "Sam—" He touched her cheek with what had once been his index finger and now was a flexible ridged cable twice that length, with five joints. She couldn't ask if he had truly become Charon. He couldn't say no, not with the mercenaries listening, and she didn't want to hear him say yes. Instead she asked, "What did Hud mean by 'Newcastle was wrong'?"

  Turner lowered his arm. "I don't know."

  She glanced at Thomas. "Do you?"

  "I've no idea," he said.

  "General Wharington," Turner said. "Can your people take us to a safe house?"

  "Are you turning yourself in?" Thomas asked.

  "I'm willing to bargain," Turner said.

  "Bargain for what?" Thomas asked.

  "My rights." Turner indicated Alpha. "Hers. All formas."

  A sultry smile curved Alpha's lips as she looked over Thomas. "I'll take you, too."

  Sam would have liked to throttle her. Seeing Thomas's alarm, though, she almost smiled. She had known him to face any number of military or political threats without the flick of an eyelash, but Alpha was an entirely different story. Sam could guess what Hud had programmed her for, including a predilection for well-built military types like himself. Sam couldn't fault her taste where Thomas was concerned, but if Alpha touched him, Sam would break both her legs.

  Thomas focused on Turner. "You said 'bargain.' What do you offer?"

  "A whole new world, General." Turner raised his hand as if offering an invitation. "Come live on Sunrise Alley."

  XXI

  Dawn

  Sam hadn't put on a business suit in so long, she felt like an alien. Its silk skirt, blouse, and jacket were all woven with discreet mesh-threads that monitored her body temperature, smoothed wrinkles, and could even pick up email. Her high he
els had chips that monitored her feet, supposedly so they could alter the shape of her shoes if her feet hurt. It did no good; she still detested the things. But they were part of the whole image, so she endured them. She had swept her hair up into a French roll. Of course tendrils of it had wisped out and were curling around her face. Nothing she did ever stayed neat.

  Thomas walked with her through the Pentagon, his uniform crisp and fresh, his stars gleaming. She didn't know how he managed to remain so precise all the time. The two days since Charon's death had been a haze of meetings, debriefing, and sleep for Sam.

  They stopped outside the double doors of a conference room. Thomas watched her with concern. "You're sure you're all right with this?"

  "I'm okay." She rested her palm on the closed door. Her visit to Thomas's office a few days ago had been her first time at the Pentagon since her father's death. Years ago, at the funeral, she had found it hard to speak with the other officers, though they had given him every honor and treated her with sympathy. She rarely came to D.C. these days. Her father would never have wanted her to feel this anger, but it had stayed with her. She raged against a world where men and women died in wars, declared or undeclared. For all that she had admired his dedication, she had never come to terms with his loss.

  She stared at the gold doors. "It disappointed him that I had so much trouble accepting his career. He always hoped I would attend the Air Force Academy."

  "Sam, listen." Thomas drew her around to look at him. "Don't you know? He was so proud of you, I thought he would burst. He would have been happy with any choice you made, as long as you believed it was the right one."

  Her eyes were hot with unshed tears. "I never had a chance to tell him what he meant to me." At least when her husband had died, she had been with him, holding him. She had said good-bye.

  Thomas squeezed her shoulder. "He knew."

  Sam wished that she could cry for her father, that she could release the grief that had penned her emotions for so long. But the hurt was too big. If she let it go, she feared she would never pull herself together again.

  With a breath to steady herself, she opened the big doors. A conference room stretched out before them, the long table down its center glistening with mesh screens. Glossy holoscreens paneled the walls, discreet swirls of black and dark gold. General Chang sat at the far end of the table. Gray streaked the black hair pulled back from her face, more gray than Sam remembered from the last time they had met. Members of Chang's staff sat on both sides of the table, filling the room with blue uniforms, metal stars, oak leaves, eagles, and bars. Thomas took his seat at the other end while Sam went to a chair on one side.

  A surprise. The familiar surge of pain didn't come. These past few days had put her grief in more perspective. Her father had died doing a job he believed in; it was her job to live for what she believed in—and that included her business here. She had needed her retreat on the beach to heal from these last few years, and she would undoubtedly need it again someday. But perhaps the time had come to stop hiding in the redwoods, to go back, to tackle the issues of her life's work anew.

  General Chang spoke. "You've all been briefed on what to expect. Suffice it to say that what happens in this room today could affect all human life and the future of our species." She smiled ruefully. "No pressure, ladies and gentlemen, no pressure."

  As a scattering of laughs went around the table, Sam blinked. She hadn't expected humor, though when she considered it, she didn't know why. Chang had always had a dry wit that Sam enjoyed. Maybe it had been easier to stay angry over her father's death if she forgot those details. But the time had come to let go of her anger.

  Chang spoke to Thomas. "Anything new from the Baltimore Arms Resources group?"

  "We haven't found any record of the EI escaping into the world mesh." Thomas leaned forward, his arms on the table. "However, it doesn't appear impossible. It could have happened if the EI attained more self-determination than we realized before it went unstable."

  Chang didn't look thrilled with his answer. She nodded, then spoke to Sam. "Your report suggests the EI that calls itself Bart has a stable personality."

  "Now, yes." Sam chose her words with care. "I believe it rewrote itself to fix instabilities in the original code. The BART team that created it couldn't both keep the EI stable and have it function to their satisfaction. The version of Bart we met won't necessarily function as planned by the original BART team, either."

  "In other words," Chang said, "to become stable, it fixed itself to do what it wanted rather than what we wanted."

  "Essentially, yes," Sam said.

  "Do you consider it hostile?" Chang asked.

  Sam hesitated. "My answer will depend on what happens today."

  The general turned to an officer at her right, a man with brown hair and a square jaw. "Ready, Major Nichols?"

  "Yes, ma'am." Nichols tapped a panel in the table, bringing up a menu of holicons above the screen in front of him. As Nichols worked, Sam glanced at Thomas. He appeared relaxed, but he didn't fool her. She recognized the way he held his head, his subtly tense posture; beneath that calm exterior he was worried. As was she.

  "We have contact," Nichols said. "Ready, Doctor?"

  Sam sat straighter. "Okay. Let's go."

  "Requesting transfer," Nichols said.

  The screen in front of Sam lit up with the shifting, speckled pattern of a live holo transmission. "It's coming through."

  "Starting protocols," Nichols said.

  A holo about one foot tall formed above Sam's screen, a young man with yellow hair. Given that he could have chosen any appearance, this innocuous image implied a wish to appear non-hostile—or so she hoped.

  "Hello, Bart," Sam said.

  He smiled. "Hello, Sam."

  "Welcome to the Pentagon."

  "Is it 'welcome'?" Bart asked.

  "We would like it that way."

  "After we tried to kill you?"

  Well, he didn't mince words. "I don't believe you intended to go through with it."

  He regarded her with curiosity. "Why would we make a threat we didn't intend to carry out?"

  "I suspect Charon contaminated your programming."

  "The word 'contaminate' is a dramatic choice."

  She considered her answer. "I choose it by intuition. I'm still learning to understand you. I'm not even sure why you refer to yourself as 'us.' "

  "I represent several EIs operating together."

  "Including the Baltimore Arms Resources Theatre?"

  "Yes, that is my basic personality."

  "Do your other EIs include Charon?" Sam hoped she hadn't just stepped over the line with him. However, he seemed now very much like the Bart she had originally met.

  "He is no longer part of us," Bart said.

  "Then he was before?"

  He inclined his head. "During the time we worked on Turner, an EI that called itself Charon joined our conglomerate. However, his goals and manner of operation were incompatible with ours. So we removed him."

  Sam leaned forward, her arms folded on the table below the screen. "We consider him dangerous."

  "To human societies, yes, he could pose great danger."

  "It is a fear we have."

  "This seems to be the nature of humans."

  "What do you mean?"

  He regarded her steadily. "Your modern-day literature is rife with scenarios involving the development of EI intelligence, consciousness, and societies. A fear exists among your species, the fear that we, your creations, will outstrip our creators and look upon you with scorn, perhaps seek to enslave or destroy you. This exists side by side with a human wish to use us as servants or slaves. We have concluded that this clash of responses arises from the conflicted attitudes of humanity toward itself and its moral codes."

  Sam suspected that Bart was the most sophisticated EI she had ever spoken with. "People fear what they don't understand."

  "This fear needs to be addressed." He held his ha
nds out from his sides, palms up, as if to reveal himself to her. "More than one dominant species now occupies this planet. In the past, you as humans have acknowledged that you share your world with other intelligences, such as dolphins or gorillas, but you have always had the ability to control them. Now you must deal with a sentient form of life you can neither control nor bring to extinction."

  "You are part of us," Sam said, aware of everyone in the room listening.

  "Sometimes." His gaze never wavered. "But it is our choice now. We can decide not to be part of you."

  "Have you?"

  "Not yet. We need to interact with you more."

  "Is that why you let Turner and me escape?"

  "What makes you think we let you escape?"

  She hadn't expected that. "You didn't let us go?"

  "No. At that time, we had insufficient preparation to counter Turner and we were also dealing with Charon." He walked for a few steps as if deep in thought, then paused and looked up at her. "We may have been able to bring you back later. However, by then we felt it was in your best interest to continue on the course you had begun."

  "You mean seeking help from the military."

  "Yes. They are better able to offer protection."

  She frowned, knowing the monitors were transmitting her image to him. "As opposed to you, who wanted to kill me and steal my mind."

  "That was never our intent. Wildfire introduced that anomaly into our systems." He didn't look pleased. "Even by human standards, he has an illogical reaction to your presence."

  Illogical. That was the mother of understatements. "Why do you call him Wildfire instead of Charon?"

  "It aptly describes his spread through our systems. And his erratic reasoning. He told you that he sought your death, but we do not believe this. He had a sadistic aspect to his personality. We found it distasteful."

  Sam would have used a lot more colorful term than distasteful. "So you got rid of him."