Catalyst

by Kincaid,S. J.

  “General Mezilo, may I take the lead?” Frayne asked him.

  Mezilo sat in his chair and nodded for her to question Tom. She rounded on him.

  “I’m at the Pentagonal Spire for a reason, Mr. Raines. As you know, I’ve been involved in several investigations relating to the Pentagonal Spire—your father’s situation, the disappearance of Heather Akron, the defection of Elliot Ramirez—so I was eager for this chance to see the place firsthand. While here, I decided to oversee the administration of today’s ethics test.”

  “That was you, huh?” Tom said, feigning surprise. “Great. I hope you realize, if there’s ever a real emergency in the middle of a sim, no one’s gonna take it seriously ever again.”

  Frayne exchanged a glance with Mezilo. “I do realize that risk. That’s why we were only able to administer that ethics test once. Unfortunately, the simulation ended too quickly for us to evaluate any of the trainees—any but you.”

  “Gosh, I’m really sorry about that,” Tom said with mock sincerity. “It was not my intention at all.”

  “At least we have this opportunity to discuss your own performance.”

  There was an edge to her voice that made Tom uneasy. His gaze bounced between Frayne and Mezilo. “What, don’t tell me I failed. I know I killed sixty-three people, but . . .” He stopped. That wasn’t particularly ethical, he knew, but he’d been very sure their definition of ethics did not match his own. “I was ethical about it, wasn’t I?”

  Frayne gazed at him hard. “You passed, Mr. Raines. That’s the problem. Not only did you pass, you passed with flying colors.”

  “I’m not seeing the problem here.”

  “My problem is your response to this scenario fit none of the psychological profiles we’ve constructed for you. I find it very unlikely you would react so immediately and so aggressively to a threat of that nature.”

  “I’m sorry you think that, ma’am.”

  “All I want to ensure, Mr. Raines, is that no one warned you in advance you’d face an ethical test.” She drew a familiar metallic device from her pocket—a lie detector. “Put this on.”

  Tom gazed at it a moment, his stomach dropping.

  “Put it on, Raines,” Mezilo ordered.

  Knowing he had no choice, Tom clipped it into his neural access port. He watched Frayne flip open her tablet screen, her every movement precise, exact.

  They went through the same routine as before, where Tom stated his name, answered a truth, answered a question designed to make him lie. This time, Frayne asked him about several websites from his internet history, embarrassing ones that he didn’t want to admit to visiting with a woman there, and General Mezilo looking on. His face felt like it was on fire.

  Frayne folded her slim fingers in front of her. “Did someone tell you before the ethics test that you would be in a simulation?”

  “No,” Tom answered.

  “Did someone inform you during the simulation that you were being tested?”

  “No.” No one had—at least not directly. He’d found out for himself by snooping on Frayne.

  Well, after hearing that whisper. Had someone in the simulation said it? Tom racked his brain, but he still couldn’t wrap his mind around that. Maybe he had imagined it.

  She leaned closer. “Did you hack the computers before the test and learn that you would be in that simulation?”

  Tom looked her right in the eye. “I did not.”

  Frayne searched his screen for a lie that was not materializing. Her next few questions similarly turned up negative. No, Tom had not been tipped off to the possibility of an ethics test by any of the soldiers. Yes, Tom had killed the rebellious soldiers in the simulation purely out of duty to his country—and that one was easy to agree to, because Tom considered saving the other trainees from needless investigation a real service to his country. In every one of Frayne’s questions, she focused on the exterior conditions—the possibility that someone else had alerted Tom to the scenario. Never did she question whether he had figured it out purely on his own.

  Finally, Frayne had to accept it. “I’m satisfied with his answers, General.”

  “Very good, Raines,” Mezilo said with a nod. “I see Joseph Vengerov’s praise of you wasn’t unfounded.”

  “Thank you sir, ma’am,” Tom said, his hands balled up into knots at his sides. He tore out the lie detector device and handed it back to Frayne.

  For her part, she studied him. “I’ll still need confirmation with a census device. His memories of the scenario.”

  Tom’s stomach plunged.

  “You’ll get them,” Mezilo assured her.

  Tom sat in his chair, his mind racing frantically over his options, as Mezilo saw her out. After she was gone, he returned to the other chair and considered Tom.

  “I didn’t think you’d cheated. You handled that scenario exactly the way I hoped my trainees would. The world is changing, Raines, and I need to know who can be counted on around here.”

  Tom met his eyes. He despised him. “You can count on me, sir.”

  “You’ve also impressed me with your handling of the plebes.”

  Tom felt a spark of an idea. Mezilo was obviously feeling very gracious toward him. This was a great opportunity.

  “May I have permission to speak frankly? Sir?” He put a lot of emphasis on that last part, knowing he had to play respectful to get what he wanted here. Mezilo would react poorly to any slight hint of insolence.

  Mezilo gave a stern nod. “Granted.”

  “Sir, the plebes are all good kids. But I have an issue with their programming. They’re all still tiny. They haven’t had their growth spurts yet. That always happens the first few weeks at the Spire. I was five foot two when I came here, and a week later, I was seven inches taller, okay? But for some reason, it’s not happening to them. And another thing.” He leaned forward. “General, I think there’s an operant conditioning algorithm in at least one of the plebes. Something to do with rule compliance. That’s going to be a problem. One of my trainees simply couldn’t function in response to the demands of the simulation, and I think those algorithms are the reason why.”

  “I see,” Mezilo said.

  It was aggravatingly noncommittal. “Sir, I realize the importance of regulations, but I think they can be taught to follow the rules without compelling them. You’ll get a better performance out of them if they have more liberty of action, especially if there’s ever an emergency situation like that in real life.”

  Mezilo shook his head. “I can’t simply wave my hand have the techs overwrite those algorithms, Raines. They’re hard written to the new neural processors.”

  Tom’s facade of deference slipped. “New neural processors?”

  Mezilo looked at him sternly.

  “Sir,” Tom added belatedly.

  “We’re not advertising this, Mr. Raines. I want you to keep this to yourself—but, yes, the plebes you’ve been directing all have a new technology in their heads: the Austere-grade processors from Obsidian Corp. They’ve saved us a bucket load of money, because Obsidian Corp. offered the hardware and servicing of it for free if we’d participate in beta testing the product. Your plebes are the first test subjects. After Obsidian Corp.’s completed a case study with them, they’ll expand the test group to adult soldiers.”

  Tom was stunned. “But adults can’t . . .”

  “They can’t handle your processors, Mr. Raines. You have the early model, called Vigilant-grade processors . Vigilant-grade processors force the brain to adapt to them, and adult brains can’t adapt. Austere-grade processors, like those of the new plebes, don’t have all the functions of neural processors like yours, but once they’re ready for the general population, that won’t be an issue.”

  “The general population?” Tom blurted. At Mezilo’s look, “Sir?”

  “Where did you think this tech was heading?” Mezilo turned in his chair and gazed toward the door, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Take a good look at th
ose plebes. They’re pioneers of a brave new chapter in human history. Once Obsidian Corp. has tested the Austere-grade processors, and perfected a delivery vector less invasive than brain surgery, well . . . we’ll enter a new era of human history. Crime, unruliness, and disorder will be eradicated for good. Imagine what we’ll accomplish once everyone on Earth has to play by the same rules.”

  “The laws.”

  “The laws, Raines. Everyone will follow the law. Everyone will have to.”

  Except for the people programming them.

  Tom couldn’t manage a word. His mind was on Joseph Vengerov. Those were his processors. If they got into the general population . . .

  For that matter, those were his laws. Vengerov and the other bigwigs in the Coalition paid good money to control the lawmakers. If he ever had the means to force people to comply automatically with anything encoded into law, he had the means of totally controlling everyone.

  Mezilo misinterpreted the look on his face. “Quite a thought, isn’t it? Like I told you, the world is changing. Some people aren’t going to like where we’re headed. Luckily, there are people who can be counted on to make it happen.” His hand clapped Tom’s shoulder gruffly. “And I’m glad to know they include you.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  CHAPTER TEN

  TOM THOUGHT HE’D have a chance to strategize about the census device situation. He thought he’d figure something out before Frayne swung by to collect his memories of the simulation.

  He didn’t.

  The very next day, Tom was in the middle of civilian classes when a ping appeared in his neural processor:

  Report to Olivia Ossare’s office immediately.

  It was strange, getting called out of class like this, but he rose to his feet and headed to Olivia Ossare’s office accordingly.

  It wasn’t the Pentagonal Spire’s social worker waiting for him outside the door, though. It was Irene Frayne. And two armed marines.

  “Mr. Raines,” she said. “Thank you for coming. We can get under way with your memory extraction. I’ll conduct it personally.”

  Tom darted an uncertain glance through the clear glass door into Olivia’s office.

  “Ms. Ossare isn’t here,” Frayne informed him. Her eyes held his, and Tom knew Frayne must have read about the last time he’d been hauled down to the census device against his will, the way he’d run to Olivia Ossare for help. Frayne was making it clear already that he couldn’t fight this, couldn’t stop her.

  He tried to plaster on a look of cool indifference, his pulse leaping frantically.

  “Will you cooperate, or will this be a culling, Mr. Raines? If so, we’ll stop by the infirmary.”

  Tom laughed softly and whirled around. “Nope. I’m glad to cooperate. Let’s get this done.” His mind raced frantically for his options, and he still wasn’t sure what to do as they stepped into the elevator. There was no way out of this. She’d see his memory of the simulation and then he’d have some serious explaining to do. He had no illusions that Frayne would keep quiet about it. Everyone knew a sizable number of people in the NSA worked on the side as contractors for Obsidian Corp.

  And Tom knew he couldn’t fight a census device. He knew it would do nothing but destroy him.

  So here it was.

  Here it was.

  All the efforts at secrecy, gone. He wondered what sort of research they’d do on him. If he gave himself up, then he could still protect Medusa. If they culled him, he would never be able to keep her from them.

  They stepped through the doorway into the darkened Census Chamber.

  Then Tom saw someone he never thought he’d be so thrilled to lay eyes on.

  “If you’ll excuse us, soldier, this cadet and I . . .” Frayne’s voice faded when she stepped around Tom and saw the man also. “Lieutenant Blackburn.”

  The large man glanced up from where he was leaning over a computer, his scars livid against his skin in the flickering light. “Ms. Frayne. Are you planning to use the census device? I’ll help you out.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant, but that won’t be necessary. You’re dismissed.” She stepped to the side for him to leave.

  He didn’t move. “Nonsense. I’ll be happy to run it for you.”

  Frayne stiffened. “I am quite proficient in the workings of this technology. I assure you, your assistance isn’t required.”

  Blackburn smiled lazily, his eyes hard as diamonds. “That’s all well and good, but I have to insist. You may not appreciate this, but a census device is a very destructive mechanism. I use it on the trainee—excuse me, the cadet—or no one does.”

  Even as he spoke, text appeared in Tom’s vision center, net-sent to him via thought interface. Have anything to hide?

  Tom net-sent back, YES!

  What time segments?

  Tom isolated the time segment of his memory that needed to be hidden from Frayne, even as she said, “The Safe Communities for America’s Future Act gives me legal authority over these proceedings, Lieutenant. I am authorized to order you out, and you have to step aside and cede control over this operation to me.”

  Blackburn looked almost amused. “Really? Are you referring to clause four point five point one of the Safe Communities Act?”

  Frayne blinked.

  “Is that it? Because if so, I’d refer you to clause two point two point three that directly contradicts and unfortunately supersedes that one.”

  Frayne’s lips went white. “I’m not familiar with that clause.”

  Blackburn blinked several times. “Why, haven’t you read the law?”

  “I’ve been briefed by a colleague.”

  He nodded. “Ah, and did this member of No Such Agency actually read the law?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Of course not.” Blackburn drew out the words with a certain relish. “How could anyone? It’s over three thousand pages and it’s all in legalese where one single word changes the definition of everything that preceded it. I suspect the only people who have actually read it even in part are the Obsidian Corp. contractors who wrote it for Senator Bertolini before he sponsored legislation that could put his constituents in prison for life over a technicality. It would literally take a superhuman effort to be intimately familiar with this law, much less the thousands of other national defense laws that relate to it, so, no, I’m not surprised you’re totally unfamiliar with it.”

  “Whether I have personally read it or not, the law is the law.”

  “No, the law is a contradictory tangle of rules designed solely so anyone can be entrapped at will if they can’t afford a high-powered legal team. I guarantee you, I can find hundreds of ways you’ve personally broken the law, and at least as many contradictions to most any clause you try to throw at me. That brings me to my point: unlike you, I actually have read the law.” Blackburn thumped his fingers on his forehead. “I have a superhuman brain, Ms. Frayne. I can download and comprehend in intimate detail every law on the books. Never try to wield the legal code like a mallet against me. You will lose, and you’ll humiliate yourself in the process, just like you’ve done today.”

  Frayne’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes like daggers. “I can have an order directly from President Milgram within a day.”

  “Perhaps. But until that happy order comes from our commander in chief, you have no authority here. I’ll use the census device on Raines,” Blackburn said, “and it’s entirely up to me whether or not you stay in the room for the process, but I’m feeling generous. Would you like to observe the memory extraction, Ms. Frayne?”

  Frayne was rigid, her cheeks white. She nodded stiffly. Tom had to look away quickly so she wouldn’t see him fighting laughter. She waited as Blackburn manipulated the controls, her slim shoulders so tense, she had to be furious.

  Tom never thought it would be possible, but as he flo
pped down into the chair under the inverted metallic claw of the census device, getting ready for Blackburn to use it on him, he wasn’t anxious anymore. His apprehension had dissolved away. Instead, he felt this sense of incredible relief and amazement, wondering by what stroke of good fortune Blackburn happened to show up at exactly the right moment to save him.

  The memory removal began, the projected light plastering across the screen Tom’s memory of being surprised about their first sim in a while, and then the fake out, followed by the soldiers pouring out, attacking Karl.

  When it came to the time segment Tom had net-sent Blackburn, the perilous memory of hooking into the system, Blackburn made the screen go totally black.

  “Your eyes were closed?” Blackburn said, giving him his cue.

  Tom nodded. “Yup.”

  “His eyes were closed?” Frayne said incredulously.

  “Closed,” Tom confirmed. And the darkness dragged on for nearly five minutes straight. Then Tom “opened” his eyes again, came out of the fake simulation room, and killed all the soldiers.

  “Were you taking a nap?” she said acidly.

  “No.” Tom tried to sound innocent. “I was ever so scared. I thought it was real. I hid and closed my eyes because I was so scared, but then I realized it: no one was gonna come save me. I had to save myself. That’s when I went and . . . you know, killed all those people.”

  “And a fine job you did, young man,” Blackburn said, his voice bland.

  “Thank you, sir.” It was one of the few times in Tom’s life he didn’t have to force that “sir” out, too.

  FRAYNE MUST’VE BEEN irritated, because she didn’t stay around to see the rest. She abruptly wheeled around and stepped from the room. Tom sat below the beams of the census device for a few moments more, then Blackburn said, “I think that’s enough,” and flipped the machine off.

  Tom sneaked a glance back at him. “Can I talk to you?”

  “You’re doing that right now.”

  “Talk to you talk to you.” Tom didn’t know when he’d get a chance to speak with Blackburn again.