Living in Syn

by Bobby Draughon

  "Yes, professor, I do. You strike me as a man who loves to let his imagination run free. To dream up a hundred experiments every day. So my question is this. Have you ever imagined a way to trick a synthetic into hurting a person? Can you think of any means to defeat the central logic forbidding a synthetic to harm a human?"

  Hunt jumped up and said, "We've already told you no! What more do you want?"

  Matlin waved him off saying, "No Chandler, that's not what he asked. Now General, you have to understand, this kind of talk can prove very damaging. So I want assurances that what I am about to say will never be repeated outside this room."

  Chandler Hunt displayed the classic signs of an impending stroke. His face flushed purple and a huge artery stood out on his forehead and twitched to some maniacal rhythm. "This is absurd. The professor is a theoretician. He will bring up some obscure and virtually impossible situation, and you're going to grab it like it's fact, and crucify us with it! Professor, don't say anything else."

  General Snowden said, "I expected this meeting might grow heated. I wish I could convince you that we too, want a quiet, happy ending here. Now, Professor Matlin has some ideas on the subject. He can answer in the privacy of this room, or under subpoena with fifty television cameras."

  Hunt said nothing. But now the positions were clear. Give the Army everything they want right now or risk a public oversight committee. Conservative senators would beat the drum for their Fundamentalist constituency. It was a big, expensive stick that Snowden had just waved in their faces. Professor Matlin said, "Chandler, this will be alright. We’ve done what we knew to be best at every turn, and we always put safety first. We have done nothing wrong."

  Then he leaned forward and said, "I must repeat, no one can ever discuss what I am about to say."

  "Did you know that visual processing in a human is the most complicated input/output operation in the entire world? The lines of resolution, the three dimensional reconciliation, the ability to differentiate between thousands of different written symbols? Simply fantastic. Paradox includes three specialized processors in our synthetics to keep up with human abilities."

  "And one visual ability is unique to humans. The ability to recognize human faces. We do it so unerringly that courts consider it proof. They believe the most compelling possible evidence is a witness that saw the face of the criminal. A large and specialized part of the brain handles processing for visual recognition of faces. Obviously, our synthetics also require specialized processing for the same functionality. Visual Chip Number Three handles that task. Number One processes the right eye information and Number Two handles the left. Then they feed their conditioned data to Number Three for 3-D reconciliation and face recognition along with a few other specialties."

  The professor really enjoyed expounding on the technical aspects of the synthetic. He held his hands out to emphasize his point and said, "Now, let us imagine that the Number Three chip is altered. Let’s say that every time visual data is recognized as a face, the chip overlays the image with a likeness of the metal robots of fifty years ago. Suddenly the synthetic can harm any human, because he doesn't recognize them as humans."

  Hunt held his head in his hands. He didn't look up as he asked, "Fenwicke, how long have you known about this?"

  Fenwicke was puzzled. "What do you mean, known about this? It's an idea from several years ago. It required no actions, because we control all the chips that are used. And if someone tried to make the changes, they'd probably destroy the brain. And if not, we would catch them during diagnostics."

  The General asked, "Do you use more than one type of chip for the visuals?"

  Hunt nodded, "Yes, we offer different levels of visual capability in conjunction with special skills. It's like an options group on a car. When you get a bigger engine, you also need a heavy-duty suspension and better brakes."

  The General said, "I see. And if a customer was happy with everything on his synthetic except the for the visual acuity, could you accommodate his desire for an upgrade?"

  Again, Chandler nodded. "Yes, it's a delicate operation, because there is a chance of injuring the eyes or the brain, but we have done it."

  The General pushed, gradually redirecting the conversation. "Does Paradox manufacture its own computer chips?"

  Hunt shook his head. "Very, very few. And those are usually for prototypes. We used to make all our own chips, but we found our designs worked better if we built on chips already used in the industry."

  "So if you wanted say, an ITEK888, you would shop for the best price. And if ITEK888 was temporarily out of stock, but the vendor told you the EAGL101 was a lower priced lookalike, you might use that?"

  Chandler looked over to Warren Westin, who nodded. He turned to the General, looked at him over the tops of his reading glasses and said, "Of course we would. That's the whole idea of competition in the computer chip market. Exact duplicates in terms of function and reliability go head to head on price."

  The General nodded. "That makes sense. Now. I'd like to talk about a particular purchase. Our intelligence sources tell us these combat models were bought in one lot of 300. Did you make such a sale in the last three years?"

  Chandler nodded to Tanya. A portion of the table yielded a small directional microphone. As she whispered her authorization and access routines, an eight foot vue screen sprang to life. Tanya said, "Searching. There it is."

  The General squinted at the screen and said, "Now help me out. The buyer doesn't matter right now, but what they purchased does."

  Tanya said, "Well, they purchased 150 MM995s and 150 MF995s."

  "And did they order any options, like visual processors for these models?"

  "Checking ... no. No options."

  "Can you show me the associated invoice or inventory pull for the visual processors?"

  Tanya focused on the task. "Hmmm, this shows they waited 90 days for the chips and then reordered."

  The General scratched his chin. "Isn't that unusual? To not have the visual chips for 90 days?"

  Now Westin squinted at the screen. "Oh, I see. The combination of the double nines does it. That combination of intelligence and agility requires our highest visual sensitivity and acuity. We use the RAM7000s for the 99s, a real high performance chip."

  The General prompted Tanya. "Can you find the invoice for the RAMs?"

  "Searching ... searching. Here it is. Let's see, they substituted ROK900s for the RAMs."

  Westin said, "I never heard of that brand."

  Matlin said, "Neither have I."

  Chandler said, "Tanya, search through our commercial lists of computer chip products and find that chip."

  Again she whispered rapidly to the computer and the answer jumped onto the screen as Tanya shook her head, "No such chip."

  The General turned to Chandler Hunt. "Now do you believe that combat models can be built?"

  Chandler's face turned white and he could only nod his head.

  The General stood up. "Thank you Mr. Hunt. I wanted to make sure. Army Intelligence already combed the Paradox computer records as well as those of the vendor that shipped those chips. It took three solid days of computer time to track each one of the trails from that purchase. The modification and subsequent erasure of the table entries that permitted the chip substitution. The sales and technical staff involved with the order. And finally, tracing the purchase of the chip manufacturer unit through dummy corporations to delivery at an interim location. Now we have all the information we need. Mr. Hunt, would you call your front desk, and ask them to send the Military Police? They’re waiting in your lobby."

  He looked down at Hunt with real sympathy and said, "I'm sorry Chandler. We’re going to make an arrest."

  Chandler picked up his com, mumbled a bit, and then hung up. He looked up at the General and said, "They are on their way."

  Mission still worried. He didn't believe they could identify the insider at Paradox, even with the data trail. And this meeting put Susan's l
ife at considerable risk. He rested his head on the table and heard an ungodly shriek. As he looked up to see who screamed, he saw the massive conference table flipping over on top of him!

  16

  Mission's mind raced in a hundred different directions. Would the edge of the table flipping over smash him against the wall behind him, or crush him on the floor? Did an explosion do this? Pierce, Westin, and Baker sat on his side of the table too. They would be crushed as well if he didn't do something. All these thoughts ate less than 1/10 of a second. Mission swept up the empty chair beside him and swung it up to eye level. The table rammed the chair into the wall and he heard a structural member give, but it didn't collapse. The spinning motion stopped and for an instant, the table hung in mid-air. Mission snatched his feet back as the table dropped, and Baker, feet wedged against the wall, rammed it with his shoulder. This pushed it far enough out from the wall to miss Westin and Pierce's legs by inches.

  As the table fell, Mission knew what had happened. Tanya Ricci threw the table over in panic, not just because she was the insider but because she was a syn! She wrapped her left arm around Susan's neck and held her stiffened right index finger about an inch from her eye.

  Anger, rather than fear, radiated from Tanya's face. She said, "This doesn't have to be messy. You back away and I’ll walk out of here with no one hurt. Understand?"

  Terror smothered Susan. Tanya squeezed her throat enough so that Susan slowly choked, gagging and gasping. Mission jumped over the table and held up his hands. "Look Tanya, no tricks. Let me trade places with Susan. Okay? You still have a hostage. And you'd rather hold me. Remember, I'm the bounty hunter. Instead of watching out for me, you get to hold me by my neck. You want me, not her."

  As Mission took another step toward her, she tightened her grip on Susan's throat and screamed, "You take another step and I won't have a hostage. Understand? I don't need to trade."

  Susan couldn't last much longer. Her arms and hands jerked spasmodically. Mission looked around, desperate for an opening, for the slightest opportunity. Then he saw the MPs coming up the aisle. As they turned the corner, they virtually ran into Tanya, catching her by surprise. She reacted by throwing Susan into them with enough force to send them tumbling fifteen feet back. Tanya turned to run in the other direction and Mission took a quick lateral step to intercept her. Unfortunately, no one explained to Tanya that if you run into a stationary player, you lose the ball and the other team gets a free throw. She ran right over Mission. Her shoulder caught him just below the chest and slammed him on the floor. One of her feet stepped on his right thigh and the other foot stomped his left shoulder. As that foot came up, Mission snatched at it and caught her ankle.

  Mission thought his arm would come out of the socket when she took her next running step. The force of the movement pulled him almost two feet off the ground. Then as the stride ended and the foot touched ground, so did Mission. He reached up to add his other hand to his grip as she took her next step, propelling him straight into the side of a desk. Mission pulled his head down into his shoulders but the impact still stunned him. His vision dimmed and then returned as Tanya drug him through the office, banging him into chairs and coat racks and doorjambs. As she rounded a corner, he rolled through a trash can, a side chair and partially under a desk. As Tanya continued to run, the movement yanked him out from under, upending the desk and leaving much of his skin on the exposed corner. As he screamed, he pulled back the fingers of his left hand and pushed with his palm. 20,000 volts hit her and she went limp. Their momentum tangled them up and smashed them partially through a desk.

  Mission lost it. He tried to get out from under Tanya, and it seemed to make no difference to him that she was dead. He struggled, screaming, "Get this goddamned thing off of me! Get it off! Get it off!"

  General Snowden reached him first and spoke soothingly. "Easy Son. You're okay. We're going to get her off you. Just take it easy. Okay?"

  As other people reached them, they helped pull Mission out. Susan ran over, chalk white and trembling. "Thank God you're alright."

  Mission tried to smile. "Thank God you're alright. I thought she’d kill you."

  He turned to look at the crowd. "How about Pierce and Westin?"

  Snowden said, "Shaken, but undamaged. That table would have crushed all of you. You moved fast son."

  The MPs approached the General and he barked, "Well, what is it?"

  The senior MP said, "Your orders sir. Tuna on whole wheat for you, corned beef on rye for the Major."

  Chandler Hunt was incredulous. "That was what the com call was for? To bring you your lunch?"

  The General blushed and said, "Well ... yes. We didn't have any idea who to arrest, and I was hungry, so ... "

  Hunt stared at the General and started to laugh. Soon everyone laughed, and most of them had no idea why.

  17

  Before they could leave, Mission reminded General Snowden that several issues still required attention. The General acted immediately and secured agreement from Chandler Hunt that Pierce would remain at Paradox with Paul Baker to comb through the records to find out who leased the combat syns and where they were now located. He also scheduled another meeting in one week to discuss findings and follow up recommendations.

  An hour later, Mission and Susan dragged themselves into his apartment. Susan sat down and exclaimed, "Ouch!"

  Mission asked, "Bruised?"

  Susan nodded and he said, "Me too, all over. You know, I'm a real idiot."

  Susan said, "Yes, that occurs to me quite often. But what makes you say it?"

  "Well, I made this promise to never leave my arsenal at home, right? So I bring my battery pack and my Glock and leave our little gadget which puts synthetics to sleep, so a killer syn can drag me through fifty feet of office space before I can fry her. Now is that stupid or is it only moronic?"

  "It's a mistake, Mission. I myself hardly ever carry an command implanter to a business meeting."

  She looked at Mission for several seconds and finally said, "Thank you. You offered your life in trade for mine….why did you….why?"

  Mission looked across the room silently. Then he slowly turned toward her and shrugged. “That wasn’t what I was thinking…I would’ve been in a better position to neutralize her if we traded places."

  He turned and hobbled toward the kitchen, effectively telling Susan that the conversation was over. And that, as much as anything, told her she was getting nowhere near the entire story. She saw that even the act of explaining would bother him, and she hadn't noticed this side of him before. It showed a paternal sort of sacrifice oneself for the others philosophy. She shook her head and wondered if she would ever figure him out. Certainly not today.

  They tended to their aches and then reflected quietly as one tends to do after life threatening situations. After almost two hours, Susan said, "So ... do you think it's safe for me to go back to my place?"

  Mission looked up at Susan rather sharply and said, "How do you mean? To get some things or to move back in?”

  The question caught Susan off guard and as she hesitated, Mission continued. “Because if you need things from your place, I’ll ask Carson if he would tag along. I would feel better about protecting you with me and another pro."

  Susan looked at Mission, trying to comprehend. “I don’t get it. Tanya is gone. And the secret being guarded is out in the open. We know about the chips for the combat models. Why should anyone hurt me now?”

  “That’s what bothers me Susan, I don’t know. But consider this, this scheme requires deep pockets, and people who are willing to murder to protect their secrets. If I’m in their camp, the thing that worries me most is Dr. Susan St. Jean, devoting her full attention to figuring out what the hell is going on.”

  Mission shook his head. "We’ve solved far and away the easiest piece of the puzzle. We still have a mystery teacher leading who knows how many renegade syns in the Free Zone. We have an unnamed corporation assembling a syn arm
y and I worry about the point man on that. And if they front for a foreign power, the country's point man is a threat. So no, I don't think you’re safe."

  Susan shook her head. "Mission, Mission, Mission. Must you sugar-coat everything?” She nodded her head. “What you say makes sense." And that conversation was effectively ended.

  Eventually, they ordered Chinese, and for the most part, ate in silence. And then Mission started to dig into his pockets. “That reminds me." He pulled out several scraps of paper and examined them. "Here it is. My good friend, Jeff Taylor comes home on rotation soon. He's just finishing an eighteen month mining stint on Io, and his kid sister Julie is throwing a party to welcome him back. It's a week from today.” He looked at her quizzically as he tilted his head to the side. “Would you like to go?"

  Susan looked at the floor. Very slowly she started, “Mission, I…"

  He interrupted, “If you don’t want to, I can arrange for your protection. I just need to know that you’ll be safe.”

  Susan was thoughtful. “A party?”

  Mission smiled. “Yeah. A party.”

  18

  Mission looked around the conference room. The table showed no sign of last week's battle, nor did any part of the room. The cast remained the same with the exception of Tanya Ricci. The Acting Vice President of Sales/Marketing, Nita Harmon sat in her place. Susan told Mission that Nita had actually been the favorite for the position last time around, and the choice of Tanya sent some shock through the office. Nita never said a word. In fact she delivered many of the sales increases that made Tanya look so good. Now she enjoyed the rewards for her accomplishments and her loyalty. Her fair skin and very red hair combined with a pleasant expression to yield an agreeable and hardworking image. But her eyes conveyed an intensity that said she could be tough.