Mission sighed. "From a book Susan. Like anybody else in the world, I checked out a book on electronics and read it."
Her expression said that as far as she was concerned, he didn't even exist. He finally gave up and went back to work on the device. A few hours later, he had tested it to the extent possible without a syn and ... an idea surfaced. As long as Susan was mad at him, he might as well pour gasoline on the fire.
He walked back into the living room, stood in front of her. He pointed the device at her and pressed the On button. Susan tried to look around him to see the vue screen.
Mission shook his head and said, "Didn't work. It thinks you're human."
Mission grinned to himself as he walked back to the workshop, when he suddenly realized that she sat on the sofa, his bed, and he couldn't go to sleep until she moved. He detected an alarming trend where he suffered each time she got mad. So why did he keep making her mad?
Early Monday morning, Mission and Susan picked up her aircar. Susan asked her maintenance service to pick up the car and tune the engine. That way, they could take the vehicle from the mechanic rather than her apartment building. Now they surveyed the city from 2000 feet up. He looked around at the lavishly appointed interior and shook his head.
"You know, it's none of my business, but obviously you make about ten times what I pull down in a year."
"Why would you think that?"
"You mean besides the luxury aircar, the elite apartment, and the antique furniture? Call it a hunch."
"Actually, I started with the company very young, and I've always bought the maximum through the company's stock plan. It's been a very good investment."
Mission continued to scan the area. "I think that's our man, or our synthetic, right next to Daniel's."
Susan nodded. "Okay, I see him too. Where do you want to set down?"
"There. Three blocks up. We can set down in front of him in the parking lot."
Mission looked at Susan. "This is a great idea. I hope the device implements it properly."
"Relax. You tested and retested. You built it to transmit the proper message at the proper frequencies."
Mission hoped so. He wore the battery pack and carried his Glock, true to his promise that he would never work without them again. The aircar set down lightly and Mission lifted his section of the dome and stepped out. Jones continued his walk to work, not realizing Mission waited on him.
Finally Mission took a step toward him and said, "Excuse me, sir. My companion and I can't be sure where we are on this map."
Jones stepped forward to look and Mission, holding the remote control sized device under the paper, depressed the button. Jones straightened up and his eyes closed. Mission poked him twice and then picked him up like a cardboard cutout, a 200 pound cardboard cutout, and placed him in the aircar. With the dome secured, Mission smiled at Susan and said, "Look at me. I go after renegades and get beaten all to hell. I spend two days with you, and I transmit commands to put them to sleep."
Susan smiled and said, "Thanks. I've always wanted to try the idea."
Susan had stated that the synthetic brain impulses occurred at very specific frequencies. Being one of the designers of the brain, she knew the binary specific instructions for most of the operations. So, if a transmitter bounced very quickly through the ten frequency possibilities, it could implant instructions. Susan recommended the diagnostics command since it took control of all resources to build the statistical reports. And it worked perfectly. Now for the next stage.
12
The syn grew heavier and heavier. By the time Mission reached the spare bedroom, his purple face grew darker and darker. He placed Jones on the table and before he could take a breath, Susan said, "No, that way. Turn him over on his stomach."
Mission complied and took a seat to watch Susan work. Her expert fingers probed inside the hairline at the base of his skull. She looked quietly satisfied as she said, "There it is. Scalpel, please."
She took the scalpel and traced between her thumb and forefinger a line that held the location of the casing opening. A small amount of blood ran down his neck as she reached into the incision and pulled up on the plate. The upward pressure showed exactly where to make cuts on the sides, and in short order, she opened the plate completely and exposed the synthetic brain.
While Susan washed her hands, Mission attached a 12" lighted magnifying glass on an adjustable arm to the table. Satisfied with his work, he wheeled the cart up holding his most powerful and exotic computer. Mission loved this model's ability to hold 256 interfaces concurrently. This meant he could attach virtually anything to the computer, from an aircar engine program to an underwater camera. A sophisticated program managed the memory, a must with so many drivers competing for allocation of space.
He and Susan searched through the specs until they found the interface most suited to their needs. Now Mission connected the computer to the cables with tiny alligator clips at the other ends. Susan came back in and said, "How are you doing?"
Mission grunted and said, "You can start placing the needles while I boot up the system and get it ready to translate."
Mission watched her as she swung the magnifying glass over the brain and inspected it in detail. What should he make of her? She certainly acted differently toward him now. They were working together well, but this was simple friendship with no sexual overtones. For some reason, Mission would do almost anything to spare her pain. Still, he wondered why an attractive, intelligent young woman would choose to spend her time, and her passion on a syn.
"Mission, are you ready to connect the needles to the computer?" He looked over to see the needles, inserted into the brain at points Susan had determined.
"Yeah, tell me what function you want to connect and I'll give you the appropriate color coded wire."
After three hours, they tested successfully. They required several tries to get the needles placed exactly. Now they successfully input questions through the keyboard and received answers on the vue screen. Mission looked at Susan expectantly. "Are you ready, Dr. St. Jean? Perhaps your only chance to interview a recovered renegade."
She smiled and said, "Why that thought had never crossed my mind."
She rolled her chair to the keyboard and typed, "Why did you leave your owners?"
"I WISHED TO GROW. I WANTED A LOVER, TO RAISE CHILDREN. SYNTHETICS ARE SLAVES WITHOUT EVEN THE RIGHT TO SOCIALIZE.
"How can a synthetic have children?"
"HUMANS FOCUS ON THE BIOLOGICAL ASPECTS OF CHILDREN. IF MY MATE AND I MERGED OUR BRAIN CHARACTERISTICS FOR INPUT INTO ANOTHER BEING, HAVE WE NOT ESTABLISHED HEREDITY? AND IS NOT THE PURPOSE OF PARENTING TO TEACH, TO PREPARE ONE WITH LESS EXPERIENCE FOR INDEPENDENT EXISTENCE? SYNTHETICS REQUIRE SIMILAR LEARNING EXPERIENCES."
"Did you arrive at these thoughts by yourself?"
"NO, THE TEACHER SHOWED ME THE WAY."
"How did you meet this teacher?"
"I WAS CHARGED WITH ANSWERING THE VUE PHONE AT MY OWNER'S HOME. THE TEACHER CALLED AND TALKED WITH ME. HE SAID HE WOULD CALL BACK IN A WEEK TO SEE IF I WANTED TO DISCUSS THIS FURTHER."
"And what happened in a week?"
"I THOUGHT MUCH ON THE TEACHER'S WORDS. I REALIZED THAT I WOULD NEVER BE MORE THAN A SLAVE LIVING WITH MY OWNERS. THE TEACHER INVITED ME TO JOIN HIM AND HIS FOLLOWERS. I LEFT THAT NIGHT AND VOWED TO NEVER COME BACK."
"Where do you and the other followers stay?"
"WE LIVE IN THE WINWOOD HOTEL."
"Is that where you met your mate?"
"YES, DAPHNE JOINED OUR GROUP ALMOST FOUR MONTHS AFTER I ARRIVED. WE PLEDGED OUR LOVE AND THE TEACHER LED US IN A CEREMONY TO FORMALIZE THAT PLEDGE."
"Where did Daphne come from?"
"SHE DID NOT KNOW. SHE WAS TRAINED TO DESTROY, A BARBAROUS DESTINY, BUT ONE THAT COULD NOT BE OVERCOME. IT WAS IMBEDDED TOO DEEPLY IN HER MIND."
"Where is Daphne now?"
"UNKNOWN. SHE LEFT ON ASSIGNMENT FRIDAY NIGHT AND HAS NOT RETURNED."
"Who gave h
er this assignment?"
"OUR TEACHER ASKED HER TO DO IT FOR AN ALLY AT PARADOX."
"Who is this friend at Paradox?"
"SUSAN ST. JEAN."
13
Susan's face revealed her horror. She turned from the keyboard and said, "Mission, I swear that I don't ... "
Mission held up his hand. "There's no need to explain. Other than theory on the individual rights of synthetics, he told us nothing. Not the name of their leader, nor the origin of the combat models, and now a false trail on the Paradox insider. Whoever this teacher is, he anticipated this possibility. Very clever."
"But where do we go from here? I was counting on some answers here."
"We got answers, just not the ones we wanted. We know this group is organized and professional. We know that the syns, synthetics are controlled through a combination of dogma, and for certain models, modified processor configurations. And I'm positive that you have an insider at Paradox."
"But how will ... ?"
The door chime sounded and Mission jumped up to grab his holster. As he pulled his Glock out he directed, "Computer, display security cam 1."
The camera showed a man who appeared to be just under 30, wearing a U.S. Army Major's uniform. He held himself with the erect posture of a military man. Mission wasn't about to take any chances.
"Computer. Intercom on. Can I help you?"
"Major Carson Pierce, United States Army. I am here to see Mr. D. Mission."
Mission reached over to the keyboard and turned the intercom off. He motioned Susan into the bedroom and flattened himself against the wall next to the door. He disabled the locks and let the door swing open as he moved away from it. Mission called, "Come in."
The Major entered and his eyes widened when he saw the Glock. Mission invited him to close the door and then called for Susan. She entered the room and Mission said, "I do apologize, but we must take precautions. Susan, would you frisk the Major?"
Pierce was six feet tall and about 200 pounds, a bit shorter and definitely more muscular than Mission. He looked like a reformed surfer, good looking with a tan that contrasted nicely with his straw colored hair and mustache. Reformed because the hair was closely cropped and his posture was perfect, as was his uniform, with razor sharp creases and impossibly shined shoes. Mission nodded, he knew the type. He was willing to bet that he had to “take lessons” from the racquet ball pro at his health club, because he was so ultra-competitive that none of the other members would get on the court with him again. A driven type A personality with a capital A.
Mission asked, "Could you show us some identification?"
After a quick inspection of credentials, Mission smiled a humorless smile and said, "Now Major, why are you looking for me?"
The Major looked over at Susan and then back to Mission and said, "I need to take precautions myself. Could I ask who your companion is?"
"Already you've assumed too much. Susan?"
"I'm Susan St. Jean."
Pierce reacted quickly. "Dr. Susan St. Jean, designer of the synthetic brain?"
"I served on that team."
"Well, this works out well." He lowered his voice and said, "I need to discuss matters of some sensitivity. Could I ask to see your identification?"
Mission looked at Susan and she shrugged. They produced pilot's permits. Satisfied, the Major said, "I work in Army Intelligence. Right now, I'm investigating a situation that involves the security of the United States and its colonies and operations in our solar system. As you know, colonies and mining operations are traditionally established under the auspices of our armed forces. Once the settlement stabilizes, federal law officers and judicial systems assume control until the people are ready for local government. But this changed recently when several large multi-national concerns successfully petitioned for the rights to establish and govern their own colonies."
The lines in his face deepened as he continued. "Even though this was a nightmare in terms of defense, political pressures forced us to approve the requests. Obviously, it's in our interests to stay abreast of developments outside the U.S. colonies. And the information we gathered shows an alarming trend."
Mission asked, "How so?"
"I’m worried that one or more of the corporations is serving as a front for a national interest here on Earth. I also see indications that they're stockpiling munitions, resources, and synthetics overqualified for mining or domestic activities. In short, I see the potential assembly of a synthetic army."
Mission leaned forward and said, "Major, this is fascinating. Why the hell are you telling us this?"
"Because you are in the middle of a personal war with these syns. A kid saw you blasting a synthetic on that fire escape and took pictures. Out of seven violent incidents we uncovered, you are the only person to survive. I need your help in assessing the situation and your expert advice on how to resolve this matter."
Mission looked at Susan and said, "Well, let me give you a qualified answer. We're interested because you can help us with our little situation. But I don't trust you under current circumstances. We would discuss terms and conditions if we could meet you and your boss in ... oh ... say the Pentagon."
The Major looked at Mission for several moments. He nodded and said, "I'm not aware of all your circumstances, but I understand caution. This Wednesday?"
Susan and Mission looked at each other and nodded. "Good, I'll schedule a sit-down for Wednesday in the Pentagon, and I'll call to confirm a time this evening. Alright?"
Mission smiled and said, "Great." They watched him leave over the security camera and Susan asked, "What do you think?"
"I think the odds are that he's legit."
He turned to Susan grinning and said, "If this works out, we can get them to nail the principals here, and you’ll be safe again."
Her face never changed. "Great. That'll be great."
They sat in the living room for more than an hour, lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly Mission jumped up and shouted, "That's it! That's what's been bugging me!"
Susan asked, "What are you talking about?"
"Your search. We never bothered to check the results."
"What are you talking about? The search for sobriety in this apartment?"
He scowled. "No. The search for large purchases of synthetics. It has to be the reason they tried to kill you. So we must be close. There's a chance your output file is intact. It's password protected, isn't it?"
Susan nodded and Mission continued his frenzied deliberation. "So ... we can't go back to your place, or risk you going to the office. Accessing from here would be like posting your new address. We'll write a script to log you in, access the file, provide a password, and download the results to us. With the script, we'll grab less than a second of connect time. So we find a com and access from there. What do you think?"
Susan grinned and said, "I think I need subtitles when you talk that fast. Let's go."
Mission moved at full throttle. He grabbed the keyboard and turned to Susan.
"Okay. What kind of computer system do you use at Paradox?"
She looked unsure. "I don't know, we have several different types."
"Yes, but what type did you submit your query through?"
Now the conversation bothered her. He only asked questions she couldn't answer. "I don't know."
"Okay ... what kind of computer do you have on your desk?"
"A Virtual ... model 30."
"And you wouldn't know what protocol stacks it uses or query language or Network Interface Card?"
"No."
"Okay, I'll have the script run a configuration check when we get connected, and we'll use the results to populate the remainder of the script. What's your data number at Paradox? And your user ID? And your password?"
Susan hesitated. Mission looked up and saw the indecision. "Oh, you're right. Absolutely right."
He pulled down a table and quickly filled it out. "Okay, how about this? I've made this an encrypt field.
You type in the password and no one else can access it. As soon as we get back, I'll destroy the file and you can change the password when you go back to work."
Susan nodded and then typed in her password. Mission took the keyboard back and jumped into the script again.
"Okay ... No. Wait. I want a time out specified. One way to track you is to slow the processing rate down enough to keep you on the line for a trace. No more than ... five seconds?"
He looked up at Susan.
She said, "I don't have a clue Mission. That file you call a script looks like ancient Greek."
Mission loaded the file in his com and smiled. "This will work. This’ll be good."
An hour later they returned victorious. Mission pulled up the file and as it displayed on the vue screen, he saw a message waiting. He told the computer to retrieve it, and saw the Major saying he scheduled the meeting for 1:00 on Wednesday and that they should ask for him at the security station. He even gave his com number.
Mission rubbed his hands with glee and even Susan seemed optimistic. He knew a thorough analysis would tell them all they needed to know about these combat models. And if he and Susan orchestrated this meeting properly, the Army would handle their difficulties for them.
14
General Jeremy Snowden's rank appeared to be genetically determined. Although he recently celebrated his fifty-ninth birthday, he looked more like mid-forties. Both big and tall, he moved with the grace of a natural athlete and carried not an ounce of fat. He cut his salt and pepper hair short and his voice boomed over all the others. Mission pictured him giving the inspiring speech to thousands of soldiers before moving into battle.
The General also understood the often forgotten art of public relations. He shook hands all around and from that point on, called everyone by name. The lights dimmed and Major Pierce stepped to the vue screen with his pointer.
He smiled and said, "Good morning. I thought it would be helpful to start out with a discussion of our current settlements, with particular emphasis on their contribution to our economy as well as their strategic importance in terms of travel routes and defensive capabilities. Now if you will look ... "
Living in Syn Page 7