by Paul Anlee
“Nigel,” Strang began, but Hodge held up a hand to stop him.
Hodge jammed his hands into his pockets, and paced to the edge of the clearing, muttering to himself. By the time he wandered back to Strang and DAR-K, he was calmer.
“Okay. I confess. Though I’m sure there’s no need for that, seeing as you two have all the evidence you need to convict me.”
“We are not interested in convicting you,” DAR-K said. “Though, I believe Alum may be working toward that end.”
“Why? Why would he want to discredit one of his own?”
“I’ve calculated a 96.3% probability that he’s on a path leading to dictatorship,” DAR-K answered.
“Dictatorship?” Hodge scoffed.
“Classically, it is one of the more effective methods of leadership in early societies,” Strang explained. “Factor in that he’s also the religious leader of an essentially fanatic group, and it’s practically inevitable that he’d make that choice.”
Hodge’s eyes narrowed. “How can we get enough votes to stop him? Or do you two have something else in mind?”
“For the moment, no,” DAR-K answered. “We Cybrids will demonstrate both our goodwill and our capabilities to the people when we fix the various systemic problems.”
A short tentacle extended from the front of the machine; it pointed directly at Hodge, who took a worried step back.
“You and your colleagues will assist us by halting all counter-activities, effective immediately.
“In time, we could uncover all your methods and identify everyone in your network. The election would be over, and we would all pay dearly for the results. So, your activities will stop. Order will be restored. You will declare yourself in support of the Progressives, and you will join us as a candidate.”
“Would anyone believe I’d switch from Alum’s Yeshua Republic party to the opposition, to yours? How credible would that be?”
Strang played with his tablet and held it out again. “Here’s a draft of a speech wherein you speak admiringly of the effectiveness of the Cybrids’ efforts in restoring the malfunctioning systems. As well, you discuss how you’ve had recent conversations with DAR-K, and how those conversations led you to somewhat of an awakening.”
Hodge nodded as he scanned. “Mm-hm. Yes, it’s a start, I suppose. Of course, I’ll have to review the speech.”
“Certainly. We’re not trying to force you into anything, Nigel. We’re trying to give you an honorable way out.”
“Out of what?”
DAR-K answered, “Prison. Or worse. I don’t think Alum would stop with merely throwing you in jail. He might allow the riot that would inevitably follow his public revelations about you to get out of control. Physical harm is not out of the question.”
“Alum wouldn’t turn me out just like that,” Hodge protested.
“Listen for yourself. You might be surprised,” DAR-K said. She played back a recording of another meeting.
Hodge picked out Alum’s voice right away. His blood chilled when he heard him say, “You have to think of the long game, John. It will end when we want it to, when it’s to our best advantage.” Then the recording was done.
“Who is this ‘John’ he’s speaking to?” Hodge asked.
“John Trillian,” she answered
Aside from the content of the tape, Nigel marveled at the obvious closeness of the two men, and the depth of secrecy needed to keep this “John Trillian” out of the public perception, even more so, away from the attention of the Governing Council.
“How did you get that?” Hodge demanded.
“My temper may have run hot, but I’m still Kathy Liang. I wasn’t so out of my mind with rage that I couldn’t think to plant a listening device or two.”
“Believe her, Nigel,” added Strang. Their eyes locked.
Hodge looked away first. “It seems I have little choice,” he sighed.
“You do. You could accept the personal and political ruin that you likely deserve,” DAR-K suggested.
Hodge couldn’t tell if the Cybrid cared what happened to him, but a way out, a way forward while salvaging his political career, that still left hope. As long as he lived and stayed in the game, the outcome was still to be decided.
“Alright then. How can we give ourselves any chance of winning against Alum?” Hodge asked the Cybrid.
“There’s more,” Strang interjected.
“Much more,” DAR-K echoed. “The snippet of conversation you just heard led me to investigate Alum and Trillian more extensively.”
“Ahh! You found dirt,” Hodge guessed.
“Your group’s activities have had a lull of late, correct?”
Hodge picked at a lure on his vest. “Our goals were being met without much need for direct intervention.”
“That’s because Alum and Trillian have taken to helping you out.”
Hodge started in surprise and pricked his finger on the lure he’d been toying with.
“Ow!” He shook his hand and put the bleeding finger in his mouth. He pulled it out after a few seconds and examined it. “You can prove that?”
“Indeed,” DAR-K replied. “That’s the only way this election will be fair.”
Hodge shook his head. “MAD.”
“Yes,” DAR-K confirmed, “Mutually Assured Destruction. After Alum grants Cybrids full citizenship rights, I will send him all the evidence I have showing his collusion in the habitat problems. He will know I mean the election to be a fair one. We won’t use what we have, provided that he doesn’t use what he has.”
“Will that be sufficient?”
“Oh, he’ll try dozens of ways to see rumors are planted and that hints of damning information about you gets out, but this will restrain his direct involvement to some degree. His petty interventions won’t be a large factor in the overall results.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Nigel, please,” Strang admonished. “Among her many other talents, this is the most powerful mathematical brain in existence.”
“Thank you, Jared, DAR-K acknowledged. “Alum can run the game theory scenarios as well as I can. He’ll know he can’t push any dirt on you and Ms. Cutter too hard. He’ll also know I can counter any rumors he creates about Cybrid collusion.”
Hodge held out a hand to interject. “Alum is a game theory genius?”
“He is more than he seems,” DAR-K replied. “He may be my equal.”
“But how?”
“When Darian Leigh made the virus that created the lattice enhancements in humans, he made three capsules. One for each of his lab assistants. Greg and I, that is the original Greg Mahajani and Kathy Liang, took ours. Larry Rusalov, the third assistant, appears to have given his to the Reverend LaMontagne.”
“Alum’s spiritual father,” Hodge recalled.
“Much, much more than that. It seems the Reverend found a way to extract or copy the lattice virus from himself and give it to the young Alum. I don’t believe it was taken voluntarily.”
“That’s horrible!”
“Yes, it is. Alum was exposed to an IQ-enhancing lattice from almost as young an age as Darian himself. His mind was also probably slaved to the Reverend’s for a good number of those years. Our ‘Leader’ is older, smarter, more capable, and more ruthless than anyone suspects.”
“He’s an unholy abomination!”
“Every bit as much as what he preaches against. More so than most Cybrids, whose only crime has been to have the wrong computational substrate, and at least as much of an abomination as I am.”
Hodge thought about what he’d learned. “Is there any way we can use this against him?” he asked.
“I have no desire to carry on down that road. Over the past few decades, there has been enough disparaging of IQ-enhancing dendy lattices, and of those who have them, to suit me a lifetime,” DAR-K answered. “And keep in mind that I’m a machine; my life is likely to be a long one.”
21
“didn’t Alum
cancel the Securitor program?” Greg/Darak pushed back from his keyboard and swiveled his chair around to face John Trillian.
While he was programming inworlds for Alum, it was best to appear to need the standard interface rather than using his lattice. Especially when Trillian might be watching over his shoulder.
“Yes, he did.”
“Then why are we continuing to develop this battle simulation inworld?”
“We may have other uses for it.”
Greg sighed. “Is that the best answer I can expect? No answer at all?”
Trillian walked over to a lab bench and picked up a crystalline Cybrid brain from among the dozen sitting there. He turned it over in his hands, letting the light reflect off its polished surfaces.
“What do you think it’s like, living inside one of these things?” he asked.
Greg stood up and stretched the kinks out of his back. “I’ve always assumed it was the same as living inside our brain. At least, that’s how I program the sensory input.”
Sitting for hours at a desk and pretending to work like an unenhanced human had been taking a toll on him, mentally and physically. I need to make more of an effort to get out into the tunnel park and walk around.
He meandered over to the door and peered outside. A pair of scientists were engaged in deep discussion on a bench by the river. Rare to see people around here.
Behind him, Trillian grunted. “This one, though, it’s special. Isn’t it?”
“It is,” Greg answered. “It contains a partial copy, a pared-down concepta of Sgt. Alden St. Michael, retired. I’ve kept everything I could find pertaining to battle strategy and tactics, plus loyalty, duty, and honor. Everything unrelated was left out of the copy. Should be ideal for testing the inworld battle simulator.”
“Yes, ideal.” Trillian set the Cybrid lattice back on the bench. He joined Greg and looked out at the park. His eyes wandered left and right, following the science service tunnel off to infinity in either direction.
Greg followed Trillian’s gaze. “It’s quiet around here. I thought this place was supposed to be a beehive of activity.”
Trillian snapped around and focused on his co-worker, searching his face for signs of criticism. “Be glad you’re among the few with access.”
Greg held up his hands, deflecting Trillian’s suspicions. “Don’t think that I don’t appreciate being able to work for Alum and the Administration. I mean, this is a dream job right? I get to play and create all I could possibly want.”
“It is a dream job to be doing Alum’s work. The Lord’s work.”
“I guess I wouldn’t mind knowing the work is appreciated and enjoyed, is all.”
“You have inSense. Don’t you visit your inworlds while you develop them?”
“Sure, and I like them. It would just be nice to know that my intended audience appreciates them, too. You know? To talk to some of the Cybrids and get their feedback.”
“That kind of conversation is prohibited except for Cybrid supervisors,” Trillian replied.
“Of course. I used to be a Supervisor, you know, when I first got here. Not that the Cybrids and I ever actually talked. Apart from you and Alum, I’ve received no feedback on Vacationland. And I have no idea if this current project is at all useful.”
“The battle simulations?”
“Well, if the Securitor program isn’t going to use them, who will?” Greg kept his face as open and innocent as possible. He was broaching dangerous ground.
“Video games, especially military ones, have always been popular,” Trillian replied casually.
Greg nodded, as if he took the answer seriously. “True. Well, among kids—teenage boys, particularly—for sure. That hardly describes the Cybrids, though, does it? Or are we going to release it on one of the inSense channels? It’s a little too destructive for most players, don’t you think?”
“You could say that, yes.” Trillian snorted. “No, we won’t put this out for public consumption. Let’s just say that every civilization needs to prepare contingencies.”
“Contingencies? Against what?”
“One never knows. That’s why they’re called contingencies.”
“So, on the remote possibility there may someday be some nebulous future need for a Cybrid military—“
“Or a human one,” Trillian added.
“—for a Cybrid or human military training program, I should continue development?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay. It’s your dime, boss.” Greg went back to his station.
Trillian stood in the doorway a while longer, staring at the outdoor part of the tunnel. “That’s all the time I have today,” he announced abruptly. “I’ll check on your progress again next week.”
“Same time, same place,” Greg replied. “I’m here every workday.” Trillian was already striding away to his next meeting.
Greg stared at his screen, contemplating for a minute. That was an odd exchange. Evasive, even for Trillian.
He copied a chunk of code he’d written weeks ago onto his computer. The program had been completed within minutes of starting on it, but he had to make it look like it was coming along with great difficulty over a period of weeks or months.
To that end, his code contained a small routine to make the computer think everything had been entered manually. Spyware or anyone checking his work would detect a history of keystrokes, complete with typos, fixes, test compilations, and practice runs. Greg wouldn’t be present for most of it.
He walked over to the bench and picked up the Cybrid CPPU Trillian had been holding minutes earlier.
Curious that Trillian chose this particular unit. Even more curious, he seemed to know something about it.
On a whim, he threw the brain into a test harness. He’d become intimately familiar with every association, label, and conceptual relationship in the simplified mind of Sgt. St. Michael. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but he’d been picking up something odd from Trillian, and he was pretty sure this brain held a clue. He activated the CPPU and dove into the conceptual structures stored within.
Trillian, you’ve been busy! The alterations to the abbreviated data structures jumped out at him as if they’d been written in flaming letters.
Greg extricated his own lattice senses from the Cybrid concepta. It had to have been Trillian. Who else? Unless…could Alum himself have deigned to visit the science labs? Highly unlikely. No, this coding was too similar to what he’d discovered in the Securitor minds he’d examined.
Sneaky! Trillian had altered the loyalty and honor sections of the concepta, giving it a peculiar admiration of Alum and emphasizing the protection of his Administration over that of the habitats and their citizens.
That’s scary; he’s also ramped up aggressiveness to dangerous levels.
Greg paced the length of the bench. Without Securitors, this makes no sense. I’ve seen no sign of any more being built. So either the construction program is still secretly active or the CPPU is intended for something else.
Any Vesta facilities capable of housing a covert Securitor manufacturing facility were all nearby. Without a thought, Greg shifted to the closest one.
The facility was quiet. A single half-completed Securitor body sat in the middle of the room, wires dangling, electro-muscles without power. Not here.
He shifted to two other nearby possibilities in quick succession. There was no sign of Securitor construction in either of them. He shifted back to his lab and went for a walk down by the river in the park.
The two scientists he’d seen earlier had left; nobody was visible in any direction.
Something else had been bothering him about the changes to Sgt. Michael’s data structures. He called up the memory of his code review, and turned his attention to the lowest level of the operating system.
There. The BIOS routines for managing rocket propulsion and thruster jets had all been replaced.
Greg recognized the intent of the code. A shifter. An
independent, locally-entangled jump-shift management routine.
Someone had figured out his travel method!
Sure, shifters were almost ubiquitous now, but they all went from one discrete entangled point to another.
I’m the only one who’s ever experimented with shifting using nothing but naturally-available entangled particles. His heart was hammering. He took a moment to dampen his emotional response to the discovery. His breathing slowed.
He examined the code more closely. Whoever programmed those shift routines had stopped well short of the kind of distances that Greg’s sense of adventure and desperation had taken him. Maximum jumps were sensibly limited to under a kilometer at a time, with short recalculation rests in between.
He couldn’t help but smirk. There are some advantages to being a little crazy, I guess. Still, it’s a fast method to get around, and it uses very little energy. Just a little for calculations and the specialized RAF generator, that’s all.
So, is this modified concepta heading for some new kind of Securitor? And who’s responsible? In all the habitats, who has the skill to challenge Kathy’s original designs?
There was only one possible answer. Alum.
If Alum were building some new kind of police or military Cybrid, where would he hide it?
Greg called up the construction plans of all three asteroids. For redundancy, every critical scientific function had been installed on at least two of the three asteroids. Cybrid manufacture was on Vesta and Pallas. He’d already checked out the likely locations on Vesta and found no covert activities there.
He shifted to a storage closet inside one of the four possible Cybrid labs in Pallas. He listened at the door then cracked it slightly ajar. Nothing. He stepped out and swept the empty lab. There were no signs of any recent activity.
He jumped to a supply closet in the next lab on his list. He could hear sounds of movement outside the closet, the whine of e-muscle, the click-click of metal tools. He cracked open the door for a peek.
What the hell is that? He fell back into the closet, pulling the door closed as he reeled. The latch made a soft snick as it fell into place. He held his breath.