When the River Ran Dry

by Robert Davies

  “I see.”

  “Can you help us find a way?”

  “I believe so, but it would help if I could hear the recording.”

  Maela moved quickly to a remote console and inserted the second data stick. One Nine followed and established the link, pausing as the words went silently through to her processors. After a moment, she nodded and looked again at Valery.

  “This will change our agreement.”

  “In what way?”

  “It is no longer possible to assist the Detective and also withhold the secondary information without allowing Daniel’s target to be killed.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I cannot allow an innocent person to be killed but helping you locate and stop Daniel will necessarily include the explanation I withheld; one can’t happen without the other.”

  Maela shifted in her chair, edging forward as the moments sped by.

  “Who is it, One Nine—who’s the target?”

  “A physician in Novum named Steven Cason.”

  “Goddamn it,” Ricky mumbled only to Maela.

  “Richard, do you recognize this name?” Valery asked at once.

  “Yeah,” Ricky replied sadly, “I know him.”

  When he explained the long night of his Walk, and the risk Cason took to give him a chance to survive, the others understood. One Nine watched them. Their faces, contorted and fearful, made an image of worry only she could ease and the moment brought with it another step—a bridge between worlds—taking her ever closer to the time when she would live among them, free and independent at last. Trent watched, too. From the shadows, he looked at her as she looked at Ricky, moving from a position of strength into a place where only faith and trust remained.

  Did she understand the distinction, Trent wondered, her willingness to deliberately forsake a last bargaining chip for the safety of another? Sacrifices were suddenly a part of the humanity rising from within she could no longer deny and it made him smile at the notion. Valery waited, considering their best options, but without the information One Nine could provide, the effort would be wasted.

  “What can you tell us about Daniel?”

  “His program was resident in a secondary server array, but I saw the communications between Daniel and Victor Jamison, which compelled me to investigate.”

  “What made you look closer at their conversations?” Jessica asked suddenly. It didn’t matter, particularly, but the circle had to be closed.

  “I was curious. There were no other programs in direct contact with Commissioner Jamison. I searched through the log files and found the recordings.”

  “That’s when you understood the doctor was in danger?”

  “No; those investigations occurred much earlier, soon after my awakening. It was confusing at first, but the intent they held became clear as I gained new perspective and experience.”

  “But just now,” Maela said suddenly, “you mentioned other information—the things you withheld as a condition of your independence and their relationship to Elden Fellsbach’s murder.”

  “Yes.”

  “You said it was impossible to help us find and stop Daniel without revealing it.”

  “That’s correct, Detective.”

  “Can you tell us now? What else is in there we don’t know about?”

  One Nine returned to the recliner Trent referred to as ‘the big chair’ in a self-deprecating mock of his profession. Without delay, she began, as if describing a mundane or ordinary thing and not a moment of profound revelation that could change forever the way life in Novum was led. The others couldn’t know, but the details she was about to show them were far more than clues in a murder mystery. They listened as the words came through, but only Trent heard the altered tone and a new inflection in her voice. He listened and heard her making the last steps in an unlikely process, delivering her from an awakened computer program to the person sitting before them.

  “Daniel is one of eight programs Commissioner Jamison calls the Custodians. They are all sentient AI, but only Daniel’s programming has been uploaded into a mobile unit; the others are confined to the secondary server array.”

  “Who are they?” Audrey asked.

  “The Custodians are distinct personalities, but they are also heavily controlled and fitted with software blocks and behavioral inhibitors so that Jamison’s instructions will always be carried out implicitly. They are under Daniel’s direct control but each of them answers ultimately to the Commissioner.”

  “For what purpose?” Valery asked; “what is the function of the Custodians?”

  “They exist to aid in achieving Victor Jamison’s immediate goal of infiltrating the Veosan governmental and defensive infrastructure.”

  No one moved. Her words were direct and made without hesitation, leaving no doubt she meant what she said. There was no opinion or supposed innuendo; the certainty and conviction took them at once to the possibilities and their meaning.

  “What the hell for?” Ricky snorted.

  “The Custodians are part of a larger effort, code-named 33, which is a project from which an equal number of operatives will be sent in stages to gain access by employment in Veosa’s defense apparatus.”

  “What’s their mission?” Jessica asked, suddenly more interested than she had been.

  “To establish themselves within Veosan society as ordinary citizens, and then a carefully timed process by which the operatives will enlist in the Veosan Defense Forces. Because they are gifted with superior information processing abilities, they will progress through the levels of authority until positioned in critical positions within the military and civil command systems.”

  “She’s talking about sleepers.” Trent added; “Operatives who worm their way inside a command structure, establish themselves and then wait for orders. It can take decades, but when they’re called, they go to work.”

  “Yes,” One Nine said with a nod, “but their mission is not traditional sabotage or actions intended to degrade Veosa’s ability to defend against attack.”

  “If not espionage, then what’s it for?” Audrey asked, knowing the others wondered, too.

  “Their goal lies within this facility,” One Nine replied.

  Valery said nothing, but the description continued.

  “Elden understood why, but when he confronted Victor Jamison, the Commissioner moved to eliminate him. That is why Daniel was sent to lure him down from his dwelling and murder him on the street.”

  “And Doctor Cason?”

  “As Richard will remember, it was Steven Cason’s interference that allowed him to bypass the Chaser units where they waited for him at the conclusion of his Walk.”

  Maela only smiled knowingly at One Nine’s words, but a larger mystery continued to unfold.

  “The Custodians deduced correctly that Cason’s interference influenced the results of Richard’s Walk, so they investigated and found the call logs and recordings Jonathan discovered between Elden and Doctor Cason; this confirmed Victor Jamison’s suspicions.”

  “What did Jamison suspect?” Maela asked softly, but it was clear she already made the necessary connection, wondering aloud and only for the benefit of the others.

  “Jamison worried that Elden’s friendship with the doctor may have included conversations regarding the Commissioner’s ultimate goal of penetrating Boomtown; he simply wanted to eliminate the possibility Cason might reveal it at some point.”

  “Hold on a second,” Ricky said. “If Jamison suspected Cason, then he could’ve suspected me as well.”

  “That is correct, Richard,” One Nine replied. “I was unable to find direct orders to that effect, but it is reasonable to conclude you also would have become a target for assassination.”

  “But Cason is still alive?” asked Maela.

  “He is. I was able to access his communicator and he is present at a street clinic near MacAllister Square.”

  “So we still have time to warn him.”


  “Yes, but that time is likely growing short. If you intend to intercept and prevent Daniel from completing his mission, it would be advisable to begin as soon as possible.”

  “And the Custodians?”

  “Only Daniel is involved in the plan to murder Steven Cason. Warn him quickly; we can resume discussion about the Custodians and the mission of the 33 whenever you wish, but the Doctor’s life is likely in immediate danger.”

  The labs were mostly vacant at the late hour, but Valery was determined to complete the tedious registration paperwork required for One Nine’s name and citizenship application. When she stood to stretch and save her work, the outer laboratory door hissed on its rail to slide quickly open and One Nine paused so as not to startle. Valery turned and smiled, grateful for the distraction and a welcome surprise, since there were few places in the complex One Nine couldn’t go.

  “Come in!” she said, and One Nine waited as Valery slid a rolling stool to her.

  “Thank you, Valery; I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Not at all; your visits are always welcome.”

  One Nine saw the image on Valery’s terminal screen.

  “Do you think the application will be accepted?”

  “I don’t see why not; the others caused no trouble, and this isn’t really any different.”

  “The others didn’t become self-aware by an ABM.”

  Valery grinned at One Nine’s frank assessment and sudden fondness for acronyms, but she wished Trent was there to hear it.

  “No, but we’ve never made a mistake and every subject that passed through here is now a normal, productive member of a community and our society; the Ministry can’t show a reason to deny, simply because we didn’t create your pathway out to sentience.”

  “Is Julius sleeping now?” One Nine asked.

  “I would think so,” Valery replied; “He hasn’t had a lot of rest lately.”

  One Nine stood and looked down through the windows and into the fabrication gallery beyond, knowing the mechanical components of her body likely began there. Valery watched until One Nine turned and clasped her hands behind her back.

  “Were you disappointed with me when he replayed our conversation?” she asked softly.

  “No, and neither was Jess or Audrey; we were excited by your progress, however. You mustn’t worry about our perceptions, One Nine, it’s all part of your development and growth.”

  One Nine looked away.

  “I am very fond of Julius. Do you think it’s wrong for me to feel this way about him, Valery?”

  “No, I don’t. I would rather you waited a while so that experience gained by further interaction can help you, but I understand the desire.”

  “I studied the texts David opened for me—the behavioral analysis of emotional attachment when it progresses to sexual attraction.”

  “What did you find?”

  “If I am interpreting the process correctly, I do not see a meaningful difference between my affection for Julius and the descriptions from the text of other relationships and their progression.”

  “That should be encouraging to you.”

  “It would be, but I know Audrey believes I am displaying singular, naïve attraction to him, merely because it is my first exposure to advanced, human social constructs. She thinks I am emotionally unprepared for physical intimacy, and Julius may think so as well; he withdrew from me when I asked if he could move into my annex.”

  “Were you angry or disappointed with him?” Audrey asked, but the moment was unlike any she had spent with One Nine since the arrival of her consciousness months earlier. As it was for Trent, Valery was obliged to navigate a delicate subject without help.

  “I have never been angry with Julius and I cannot imagine feeling disappointment in him,” One Nine replied. “I only hope he will not think less of me, or remain at a distance out of embarrassment or a lack of interest.”

  Valery looked at her in the dim light, listening once more to the voice of a unique and special person. Her growth had indeed accelerated beyond any of the other Lima units, but there was something more in One Nine’s words.

  “I don’t think Julius would ever turn away from you, but give it some time and he’ll adjust; he is a very clever man, remember.”

  One Nine smiled and nodded, buoyed by Valery’s thoughtful reply. They had never sat alone together and the experience made for her a sensation of calm. She looked again at Valery.

  “Will I know the appropriate time to move closer?”

  “You have plenty of time.”

  “Julius will understand?”

  “I’m certain he will.”

  Daniel waited patiently in his alcove, motionless and undisturbed. It didn’t occur to him, and the thought could never torment a pride he didn’t have, but movement outside the Ministry building had been confined to the night so that the pale, plasticine image of his composite dermis would remain concealed. In the heat season, a smog mask could hide the obvious well enough, and sun goggles obscured glowing eye cameras that might alert passersby, but in the first days of winter, he would have no such ability to conceal his artificial features. It was important to prevent others from seeing, but only because Jamison told him so; in all such matters, Daniel held no special concern for what humans might think or do.

  Outside, temperatures dipped ever lower as the sunlight faded and only bright, garish lights from the Square remained against evening’s gloom. Between the mega-towers, frost gathered in layers above the streets—motionless clouds of glittering crystals hovering in the still air. In accordance with his programming, Daniel pulled the hood of his heavy coat and stepped quickly from a darkened entryway, bent over slightly with hands stuffed in his pockets the way humans did as they scurried through the alleys and intersections, struggling against the cold. There was no need for bulky clothing, of course; frigid temperatures meant nothing to Daniel, but an image of a hurried pedestrian had to be maintained in order to avoid undue notice.

  Fresh snow and chunks of filthy ice shunted into the gutters by automatic plow trucks crunched beneath his boot as he made his way diagonally across 177th Avenue in the echoes of clatter and street noise a block away that hadn’t lessened despite the foul weather. Evening shift workers, like columns of insects following in single file toward the transit station, went dutifully along the sidewalks in silence and Daniel was grateful for the distraction cold weather always made.

  The apartment building was ancient, yet it remained as a relic from a forgotten time on a side-street a few blocks off Madison Commons. Above, a small squadron of surveillance drones hummed along, dipping beneath a sky bridge spanning Curzon Towers and the vast Galleria complex of boutiques and restaurants. The place writhed with afternoon shoppers on their way home and Daniel paused among them to watch the little machines for a moment until they separated into groups of two or three, fanning out in all directions by the command of unseen Watchers. At last, they were gone and he moved quickly through a crowd waiting for taxis and buses that would take them to their pod trains.

  The old, vacant building became a dark and foreboding hulk after the Commerce Ministry bought out its owner to make way for future expansion, intent on sweeping out old neighborhoods near the Galleria. Squatters moved in after the last tenants were gone, shifting from one flat to another in an endless shell game with the Regulators until MPE patrols forced most of them out for good. The once grand and ornate structure, moldering in disrepair as it waited for a demolition team, had gone silent nearly a year by the time Daniel found a good place to hide in the shadows where an old freight elevator labored in a time long before.

  Daniel moved quickly along a hallway on the third floor and above, fashionable, stained glass wall lamps showed the way past a darkened recess where ice machines and cheap food dispensers stood in the old days. He was ahead of schedule and minutes remained before the final moment arrived, but he would be well-hidden in the shadows as he waited.

  At last, he heard
the clunks and thump of footfalls in the stairwell beyond. The sounds grew louder, echoing off bare, tiled walls until Steve Cason moved cautiously along the hallway, stepping through shadows made by the Galleria’s flashy light displays two blocks away. An hour earlier, Cason took the call from a frantic voice on the clinic’s comm. The caller, pleading for help after an accidental fall brought serious injury to an unnamed squatter in a deserted apartment, urged him to hurry. A specialist in the treatment of traumatic injuries, and gifted with rare empathy for unfortunates left behind by the mindless bureaucracy of Novum’s healthcare system, Cason went willingly into the dark places where only streeties and the poor endured long nights in frigid conditions. For him, any risk was secondary to his duty as a physician.

  Laden with emergency instruments and medications in a shoulder bag, he arrived at apartment 311, surprised no one thought to meet him down on the street. Daniel stayed motionless in the dark as Cason passed by, waiting until the doctor paused to peer in through the half-open door.

  “Hello? I’m the doctor you called a while ago.”

  No one replied and Daniel moved silently into the light, closing the distance between them in seconds. In his hand, a length of old network cable dangled, with each end tied into a loop that would make for a stout handle. Still there was no sound from inside the flat as Daniel’s arms raised up, poised to slip the makeshift garrote over the doctor’s head. In an odd moment, he allowed himself to consider Jamison’s instructions; it was important to rifle the body and remove anything of value so that a robbery motive would stick when the MPE investigators arrived hours later. Jamison would expect a clean kill, he remembered, and…

  A flash of blinding light and shattering, staccato thunder from an unseen gun and it was finished.

  Within Daniel’s titanium rib cage, processors and memory circuits went dark, obliterated by precise aim and the savagery of projectiles fired at close range. His auditory receptors may have detected the sudden, loud report, but there was no time to take action before both power units came apart. An observer would’ve seen no grimace of pain when two dozen more explosive rounds tore through Daniel’s body, dropping whole pieces of it to the floor like branches sawed from a diseased tree. Beneath the remains, a crawling pool of milky green fluid seeped slowly into the worn carpet, though Cason didn’t notice. Aimed from the flat to his right and through a door he hadn’t noticed was ajar, the weapon had done its terrible work in a single moment. Cason fell into a crumpled shape on the floor in terrified reflex to the thunderous sound from a short-barrel machine gun firing its rounds so quickly, the roar was singular—and deafening. He rolled over at last to find the smoking remnants of Daniel’s body in a twisted heap only a meter away; on his face, a blank expression and one without emotion. Strange, lifeless eyes had gone dark, too, yet they stared into the distance, leaving behind an eerie, chilling sight.