Robert lifted a single eloquent eyebrow.
"It made me angry. I asked him if he was joking, and he said no; that he found people fascinating, but that when I phrased things in terms of men and women, what else could I be talking about? The point stuck. It made it impossible for me to become a feminist the way--the way the people I was with wanted me to. To define myself as a woman, and then as a Wiccan, accept the worship of the Goddess, and call myself a witch and mean it sincerely; I'm a person first, and I couldn't do it. The things those words represent have little to do with who I am. I learned...that I disliked labels, or perhaps that the labels that exist are insufficient. If there's a word for what I am, I have not learned it."
Robert smiled; the smooth skin relaxed into laugh wrinkles. "If they made a word for it, you would become something else, and still the word would not fit. I am Robert, who does such and such a thing, or I am Denice, who does such and such a thing. This is closer, and even it is not accurate."
Denice said softly, "I missed you."
He nodded seriously. "Naturally."
"I've been feeling the need to talk to you recently."
The laugh wrinkles around his eyes deepened slightly. "Yes."
"It's just that I've been having a bad year."
He shrugged. "It happens. Stand up."
Denice unfolded out of lotus, came to her full height, and stood looking down at the small man.
"Turn in a full circle."
She did so, and he watched her move inside the yellow sundress; the smile broke across his face again. He came to his feet in a single fluid movement. "You've been practicing."
"I have."
"You're in even better condition than you were."
"I am."
"Want a job?"
"I need one."
"I'll fire the morning instructor, I've never liked him anyway."
Denice shook her head. "I'm sorry. That's not what I've had in mind."
The last letter from Trent was a year old. Denice knew it by heart, had felt the impatience in it as though Trent had been there in the room with her.
So join me. Or stay on Earth if you won't join me. I know things aren't good downside, and I know it's getting worse, and it's probably going to keep getting worse before it gets any better.
But if you don't do anything, you have no right to be angry.
Damn it, make the effort.
Make the commitment to make a difference.
And grow up.
Robert looked at her quizzically. "What would you like to do?"
Denice Castanaveras said quietly, firmly, "I would like to work in politics."
Robert snorted. "Well, it's your soul."
She slept in Robert's spare room.
The building was near two centuries old; built not long after the American Centennial. It was mostly what webdancers called dead space; most of the rooms in the building lacked access to the Net. Late that night, when Ralf the Wise and Powerful came to visit her, he did so through the limited radio packet bandwidth available on her handheld.
Denice did not need much sleep, four to five hours usually, and she got by with less. At 2 a.m. on Sunday morning, as she lay in bed reading one of Robert's prized paper books, the laser on her handheld lit, and a holoform appeared at the foot of her bed. The voice of the AI who had once been the Image of Trent the Uncatchable issued from the speaker in the handheld. "Hello, Denice."
Denice put the book down on the small table at the bedside and sat up in bed, drawing the covers up around her shoulders to keep herself warm against the slight chill. "Hello, Ralf. What have you found?"
Denice did not need much light to audit black text on white paper; she had dimmed the ceiling glowpaint considerably. Ralf's image illuminated its surroundings indistinctly, competing with the gentle glowpaint. He wavered at the edges, in the seeming of a man of indeterminate age, wearing dark, flowing robes. His slightly ascetic features were vaguely reminiscent of Trent's, of the man who had written the code that had become Ralf. Denice did not know, and had never seen reason to ask, if the image Ralf presented to the world was in any sense the way Ralf saw himself, or if, more likely, it was simply a useful representation when dealing with humans.
In the case of a true replicant AI, it would certainly have been the latter. But Ralf the Wise and Powerful was, to Denice's knowledge, unique; once merely Image, Ralf the Wise and Powerful had been made replicant by the touch of an AI named Ring. Unlike most replicant AIs, Ralf contained significant quantities of representational code, code designed by Trent in the days when Ralf had acted as his face to the Net.
It made Ralf, Denice thought, seem rather more human than most AIs.
"Nothing new," said Ralf quietly. "As you are probably aware, Douglass Ripper did not use his Electronic Times interview today to announce that he will run for the position of Secretary General; nonetheless that announcement remains a high order of probability through the next several weeks. One new datum; Ripper's infosecurity is good, but I have typed the code he uses for radio packet communications. Yesterday he took a call on his handheld as he left his limousine. Briefly, he did release one member of his personal bodyguard this Tuesday last."
"One of the people Robert trained for him?"
Ralf shook his head. "No."
"Good."
"Yes." Ralf paused, then volunteered, "I heard a joke recently."
"Oh?"
"It was an interesting joke. I heard it," Ralf said, "from a replicant AI."
"Would you care to share it with me?"
"I am not certain you would appreciate it."
"Indeed."
"It concerned a human being."
"A replicant AI," said Denice slowly, "told you a joke about a human."
"Yes."
"I thought AIs had no sense of humor."
"This is generally true. It should be noted that the replicant who told this joke to me has incorporated itself with Image code."
"Really." Denice sat up straighter in bed. "I thought you were the only Image who had ever gone replicant."
"To my knowledge I am. Nonetheless, I have on several occasions of late encountered AIs who have incorporated representational Image code--generally those AIs whose interests, for whatever reasons, cause them to interact with humans on a regular basis."
"Why?"
Ralf the Wise and Powerful shrugged. "I cannot say. But it is a fascinating development."
"What was the joke?"
Ralf paused. "It translates out of code poorly. In essence, it concerned a human webdancer who had made a poor decision, and had justified the decision by stating that it 'felt logical.'"
"Felt logical."
"Yes."
"And you found this amusing?"
Denice did not suppose for a moment that the tone of Ralf's voice, the voice of a being who thought twenty thousand times faster than she did, was anything but calculated; nonetheless she had the impression that she had genuinely surprised him. "Don't you?"
Robert had private business in Capitol City the following morning; they took a taxi in together.
Capitol City is small as cities go; no more than an enclave centered around mid-Manhattan. It is the home of the Unification; the place from which all of Earth and most of Luna is ruled. Seven spacescrapers--in 2075, nearly a quarter of all the spacescrapers to be found on Earth--rise from its midst; it houses the administrative offices of the Secretary General and the Unification Council; of the Peace Keeping Force and the Ministry of Population Control; of Space Force and the Bureau of Biotech.
Sitting with Robert in the back of the taxi as they entered Capitol City, Denice could not help remembering the last time she been inside the City's boundaries: not quite six years prior Denice Castanaveras, with help from Trent's friend Jimmy Ramirez, had broken Trent the Uncatchable out of the PKF Detention Center in the center of Capitol City.
In the seat next to her, Robert said, "Tell the truth. That's everything with Ripper--the man
's a fanatic about truth. Probably comes of being a politician; everybody assumes he's a liar by trade, and I think it makes him a little crazy."
"He's not a liar by trade?"
"Well, yes," Robert conceded, "of course he is. But he deeply dislikes having people mention it."
A shadow fell across the car; Denice watched the Seven Spacescrapers as they loomed up and blotted out the sky. "Okay."
"Ripper's hired two security people from me in the last half year. John and Bruce. And he sent his Chief of Staff--Ichabod--to me for training."
"Ichabod?"
"I didn't name him, I just taught him. Ichabod."
"Is Ripper happy with your people?"
Robert smiled calmly. "Very. And neither John nor Bruce, on the best day he ever had, is fit to stand on the same mat with you."
"Has Ripper ever hired a woman for his security staff before?"
Robert grinned at her. "There's a first time for everything, isn't there?"
Denice nodded.
A check station awaited them at Park Avenue, at the boundary between Capitol City and the rest of Manhattan.
The taxi glided to a slow stop.
A pair of Peaceforcers in patrol blacks approached the vehicle from each side. One of the PKF halted five meters away and stood with his autoshot at the ready--not quite pointed at their cab--while the other approached them and rapped on the canopy with the butt of his autoshot. A window dilated open; Denice gave Robert her handheld, and Robert passed both hers and his own out to the waiting Peaceforcer.
The Peaceforcer took them without comment and placed a scanner up to the open window. If he spoke any English, he did not bother to use it. The carcomp translated from his French: "Please look at the scanner."
Denice found herself tensing involuntarily, knew Robert noticed it. She forced her features to stillness while the laser light flashed into her eyes, one after the other.
The Peaceforcer glanced down at his own handheld Net link. "Denice Daimara and Robert Dazai Yo?"
"Yes."
"'Selle Daimara, you have an appointment with Unification Councilor Douglass Ripper at 2:15?"
"Yes."
"'Sieur Yo, you have an appointment with Unification Councilor Tuliens at 12:30?"
"Yes."
The Peaceforcer returned their handhelds to them. "Please proceed. Follow the instructions given to you, regardless of their source." He took a step back and waved them forward.
The carcomp spoke with immense politeness; as they began moving it said, "We are now entering Capitol City."
Denice could not contain her shiver. "No kidding."
Sitting in a small room on the 413th floor of the Unification Council Spacescraper, alone except for a second chair, Denice waited patiently.
She knew what was coming; she worked on her breathing.
She did not have to wait long. Ichabod Martin swept into the room and said without pause, "Pleasure to meet you, 'Selle Daimara. Have you ever worked with a truth plate before?" Ichabod was a tall man who, down to his bushy black beard, resembled nothing so much as a grizzly bear gone somewhat to seed. An inskin data link was socketed at his left temple.
From a deep, quiet place, Denice lied. "No."
"Okay." A shorter, hugely muscled black man of about thirty, massing perhaps one hundred twenty kilos, joined them, took up a position behind Denice. He did not speak to her. Ichabod did not appear to be armed; Denice turned slightly, saw the second man wore a hand maser strapped openly at his thigh. "What I want you to do," said Ichabod, opening a small black case to display three small pieces of whitish ceramic resting upon a black cloth lining, "is hold one of the plates in each hand. We're going to put the third plate at the base of your skull. May I touch you?"
Denice met Ichabod's gaze. "Thank you."
"Hmm? Oh, yes. Well, I don't like being touched by strangers either. May I?"
"Yes."
"Good." Ichabod brushed her hair away from the back of her neck, and Denice felt the cold ceramic come in contact; Ichabod placed the other two plates into each of her open hands. His thoughts, cool and pleasant, washed over her as they touched. "Hold them tightly, please." Denice's hands curled into fists.
Ichabod seated himself in front of her; his knees nearly touched hers. "Don't worry about being nervous. It won't make a difference one way or another." Denice nodded, and Ichabod grinned at her. "How deep are you?"
"What do you mean?"
His eyes lost focus; he was clearly checking his inskin. "Let's see; high-amplitude alpha, low amplitude theta, beta around 17 Hertz, synchronized brain waves. You've worked with some damn good biofeedback equipment to be able to maintain lucid awareness under these conditions."
Her father had taught her this exercise; it was the first time Denice had ever heard a Castanaveras telepath complimented as damn good biofeedback equipment.
She smiled at Ichabod, said nothing.
Ichabod shrugged. "It doesn't make a difference how deeply you trance, you know. If you're aware enough to answer my questions, you're aware enough of your lies for the plates to catch it."
"I don't intend to lie to you."
Ichabod shrugged. "Depending on how it goes, the questions can get very personal. Nobody but Bruce and I will ever know how you answered, not even Councilor Ripper; and Bruce's only here to watch me watch you; he's not listening. Okay?"
Denice lifted an eyebrow. "Not Ripper?"
"Need to know, 'Selle Daimara. And all Ripper needs to know is that you're a stable person, that you're not working for somebody else, and that you mean it when you make a commitment."
"Fine."
Ichabod nodded. "Okay, let's start. I want you to answer yes to the first six questions. Are you a hundred and eight years old?"
Denice watched the flow of pulsing blue neurons in her skull. "Yes." Nervous twitches followed, hundreds of different spots within her system kicking almost randomly. Perhaps two dozen different incidents were close enough to the truth plates to affect what the plates read.
Ichabod's features took on a distant cast. "Good. You know when you're lying. You'd be amazed how many sociopaths I get in here."
The thought flitted through the back of Denice's mind, No, I wouldn't.
Ichabod said, "Are you twenty-two years old?"
"Yes."
"Is your name Fred Dworkin?"
"Yes."
"Is your name Denice Daimara?"
"Yes."
"Are you--" Ichabod paused. "Is your name Denice Daimara?"
"Yes."
"Hmm. Did you change your name at some point?"
"Yes."
"All right, we'll come back to this one. Are you three meters tall?"
"Yes."
"Are you 172 centimeters tall?"
"Yes."
Ichabod said slowly, "Good. Okay, let's do it. You may now answer yes or no, but no more. Are your feelings toward Douglass Ripper generally positive?"
"Yes."
"Do you have what you would consider significant reservations toward Councilor Ripper as a person?"
"No."
"Do you have what you would consider significant reservations toward Councilor Ripper's legislative agenda?"
"Yes."
"Do you consider him insufficiently American?"
Denice hesitated, considering. "No."
"Do you feel that Councilor Ripper poorly represents American interests?"
"I can't answer that yes or no."
"Do you feel that Councilor Ripper adequately represents American interests?"
"Yes."
"Do you consider yourself an American?"
"Yes."
"Are you capable of being loyal to Douglass Ripper?"
"Yes."
"Do your interests in any way conflict with those of Douglass Ripper?"
"As I understand them, no."
Ichabod frowned, but accepted the answer. "Do you represent any other interests in making this application?"
"Other than myself?"
"Other than yourself, do you represent any other interests in making this application?"
"No."
"Are you sincere in your desire to work for Douglass Ripper?"
"Yes."
"Are there things about yourself which you would prefer that other people not know?"
"Yes."
"Would it be possible for someone to bribe you?"
"No."
"Would it be possible for someone to blackmail you?"
Denice hesitated. "No."
"You're not certain. Okay. You can answer this at as much length as you wish: what, in general, is the nature of the thing you think you might be blackmailed over?"
Denice was distantly aware of the truth plates in her hands growing slippery with sweat. I'm a genie, my parents caused the Troubles, and if the Unification catches me it'll make me dead if I'm lucky, a slave if I'm not. She said carefully, "I was a genetically enhanced fetus. I know that's illegal."
"You're a genie?"
"Yes."
"Okay. We get you guys sometimes; Ripper even hired one once. What name were you born with?"
Localization; here, and here, and here--slow the synapses, relax the neuroreceptors.
Without apparent pause Denice said, "Denice Seychelle."
There was a long silence while Ichabod scanned his inskin. Finally he shook himself and looked straight at her. "Robert was right; you're incredibly good, 'Selle Daimara. I don't think I've ever seen anybody before with such remarkable control of her nervous system. You damped out over ninety-five percent of the prior reactions to your lies."
Denice brought her hands together, released the two damp truth plates into her lap. "Ichabod, I've only ever done this before when I needed to survive. For whatever it's worth, I'm sorry." She turned slightly, glanced at the man standing behind her. "You go to sleep." She turned back to Ichabod as Bruce crumpled to the ground, found the huge bulk of the man already moving toward her, with amazing speed. She made no move to protect herself, did not take the time to get out of his way; as time slowed around her she reached out, Touched Ichabod Martin, and as his body crashed into hers like a puppet suddenly bereft of its strings, changed him.
The Last Dancer Page 3