Again, Chandler Hunt reached the table last. He looked rushed, and papers stuck out of his notebook at several odd angles.
"I'm sorry I'm late. General, did you want to make some remarks?"
"No, I'm not much on ceremony. What if we start with a report from Major Pierce on his findings to date?"
Pierce stood and said, "Paul Baker here, worked with me through each and every step in combing through this data. This worked well as we provided a sanity check for each other. Paul, please speak up if you don't agree with any of the findings I present."
Paul nodded and Pierce continued. "First of all, there is no doubt that Pioneer Inc. is the lessor of these systems. We had to trace the lease arrangement and the monies through several holding companies and wholly owned subsidiaries, but we eventually reached Pioneer."
"But I have to tell you that this trail proved so circuitous, that I would not be willing to name the company on the basis of the financial trail alone. But we also traced the physical movements of the synthetics and they led us through the shuttle to Space Station #8, to the New Angeles mining settlement on Triton."
Snowden looked around the room, frustrated. "Alright Major. Where is Triton?"
"Triton is the only moon of Neptune large enough to support a settlement. Now, we ran searches through the Paradox database to determine the total number by models of the synthetics at New Angeles. If you want to see a breakdown of the searches, and the financial and physical trails we followed, we can provide that. But for simplicity's sake, I'll show you the summary page."
New Angeles Synthetic Inventory
Model MM995 210 Mining
Model MF995 204 Mining
Model PM594 38 Protector
Model PF594 22 Protector
Model FM995 117 Factory (Mass production)
Model FF995 174 Factory (Mass production)
Model AM995 16 Accounting/Administrative
Model AF995 20 Accounting/Administrative
Model CM995 71 Construction
Model CF995 62 Construction
Total 934
A collective gasp circled the table as they comprehended the tally sheet. Almost a thousand synthetics with state of the art intelligence and agility. Mission looked over at Pierce and he said, "I know what's on your mind Mission. In some instances, we found records of the bogus ROK chips, indicating they were modified, so we’re assuming first strike ability. Others were warehoused for long periods, and that could indicate in-house modifications took place."
Pierce looked at the group and said, "These are our significant findings. Our report contains several miscellaneous items. You may want to look at them later. General?"
The General looked over at Hunt and said, "Well, Chandler, what do you intend to do about this?"
He shocked Chandler. "Me? You're asking me? What do you intend to do about this?"
The General shook his head. "This isn't a political or military situation. Yet. This appears to me to be a business situation. I would think Paradox would want to handle this thing before your company and your product are sullied."
The shock froze Chandler solid. "But how can you ...? What can you possibly ...? I ... I ... I just ... "
General Snowden was growing impatient. "Snap out of it, Hunt! What do you think the Army could possibly do?"
"Why, go in there. In the settlement. And seize those killer synthetics."
"I see. You have to understand something, Chandler. When the Army lands some place and secures property with weapons, people have this crazy habit of labeling those actions a war. Everyone gets upset. Congress wants to know why the decision to use military resources wasn't debated on the floor. People who immigrated from the invaded country give every politician they can name, an earful of shit. Pacifists stage a sit-in at the nearest Army base and sing Give Peace a Chance. Now can you give me one piece of evidence that would support an Army invasion?"
Hunt still couldn't believe this was happening. "Well, you could show the records for a non-existent chip."
The General nodded. "I could. But that supports seizing the Paradox factories, not an innocent customer like Pioneer."
"You know they are guilty! You know it!"
"Let's understand one another. We are not talking about what I know. We are talking about what I can prove ... or hell, even plausibly support to the President and ten or twelve different oversight committees. Now what should I tell them?"
Chandler looked as if he might faint. "Tell them that they've accumulated a thousand synthetics with far too much intelligence and agility for mining work."
"If I were Pioneer, I'd say, We plan to use our synthetics for scientific experimentation, in an effort to develop new products from our settlement. The answer is as simple as that. Now doesn't that seem logical? I don't have a reason in the world to set foot in New Angeles."
At this point, Hunt only wanted the General to leave. He rapidly approached the point where he would say or do anything to get him to walk out the Paradox double doors. "Obviously, you have some ideas General. What do you recommend?"
The General looked at the Major and said, "Carson. What did the database show in terms of maintenance on these synthetics?"
"More than 400 are past due for one year diagnostics, and another 400 come due in the next three months."
The General smiled. "You see? There's your answer. Your contract requires that you perform diagnostics. You should send a team to New Angeles. And if they should discover that the synthetics don’t have appropriate processors, you can require Pioneer to relinquish their synthetics or to compensate you for undoing the changes. If they fail to allow corrective action, you could call in the Army because you fear for your safety."
Hunt shook his head. "It's too dangerous. I won't knowingly send an employee into that situation."
The General pointed with his chin. "You could hire Mission. His profession assumes a high degree of risk."
Hunt seemed to be shrinking. His head sunk into his shoulders. "But Mission can't administer the diagnostics."
The General shifted gears and now talked like a father giving advice. "Look Chandler. There will be risks. But we’ll work with you to minimize them. And I would recommend that Major Pierce accompany the team. Dr. St. Jean has been invaluable, and we think her presence is a real plus. I think a team like I'm describing can be successful."
Mission snapped to attention. "No! Not Susan…not Dr. St. Jean. She’s too valuable to this effort, too big a target for any opposition.”
Hell broke loose as everyone talked at once. Snowden taunted Mission with intimations that he was sweet on Susan. This locked him and Mission into a little boy’s insult and stare down session. Chandler came out on Mission’s side. He wasn’t about to risk the creator of the synthetic brain on some security detail. But it was finally Susan’s calm but focused voice that took control.
“Excuse me. EXCUSE ME!” She stared menacingly at everyone at the table. “I WILL make my own decisions about my own life.”
“Now. I am frightened. No one in their right mind could have lived through the scene in this room last week, and not be frightened. There were thousands of collaborators, but I led the development of the synthetic brain, and I have been more than happy to accept the rewards of that work. Money, professional success, I took it all and was certain I deserved it.”
She looked up and down the room to make eye contact with every single person. “And now that things have gone wrong, now that my work is being used to kill, I will not walk away and let someone else take the risk of cleaning up my mess. I will be on that team, and the team needs me to be successful.”
Hell broke loose again and this time Mission dominated. “No, it’s simply not safe. You can’t!”
Susan grew very calm yet incredibly forceful. “This is not up for debate. I am going.”
Mission’s mind raced. If he accepted that Susan was going, and it appeared he had no choice, then he had to change the equation. “Wait! We need a synt
hetic on our side. A synthetic with a primary assignment to protect Susan. Carson and I accept the risks. But Susan must have a bodyguard."
Mission looked at Susan and she shrugged her shoulders. It was her okay. The General grinned and poked Chandler's arm. "See? Mission has already made things safer. This operation will run like pantyhose."
Chandler seemed to regain his grip on the day. "Alright, I'm giving conditional approval pending my review of the plans for this trip. What follow-up items do we have and who's responsible for delivering them?"
The General pointed at Hunt and said, "You and I need to make a call to Pioneer to schedule this trip."
Susan said, "No! Chandler wouldn't do that. The Pioneer account manager at Paradox would contact them. We don't want to tip our hand, do we?"
Chandler finally smiled. "You're right. Nita?"
"We'll have them on the com before the General reaches his aircar."
Pierce said, "The response to the call will drive our timeline for the trip. Who will make that plan?"
Susan volunteered. "I'll use a standard plan for a diagnostics trip outside the earth, and tailor it around our needs."
Mission chimed in with, "And Carson and I will handle preparations for those areas outside the normal diagnostics trip."
Carson nodded and Chandler asked, "What areas?"
Mission smiled and said, "Oh ... weapons, precautions in terms of tactics, security, and at least two others."
He looked around the room and said, "We need to specify requirements for our synthetic, and we need to capture a combat model, without damaging the brain. Without a specimen to study, we can only guess at what we will face."
19
Susan felt overwhelmed. She didn't go to many parties, and the few she had attended favored chamber music or light jazz, with catered food and a three or four person staff tending bar and passing out hors d'oeuvres. Now she found herself in a small home jammed considerably past full, with high volume rock that vibrated through her bones. Chips and dips lined the kitchen table, and beer and wine coolers filled Styrofoam containers on the floor. She met at least forty different people and remembered exactly three names.
She noticed that four or five couples managed to dance. They moved in angry rhythms, erotic but frustrated. They seemed to say that their only outlet for expression was sex, and thus it had to show anger and fear, lust and greed. Apparently, his friends hadn't seen Mission recently, and the crowd took him off the way the tide grabs a beach ball. Susan found a couch and plopped down, exhausted. Then she noticed Mission trying to make his way over to her.
A woman intercepted him, of course. A beautiful blonde that appeared to have served as inspiration for the Barbie doll, wrapped her arms around his neck and gushed, "Oh Miss, it's been too, too long. You don't know how much I've missed you. In fact ... "
She put her lips on his ear and whispered and then giggled. "You don't think I'm a terrible person, do you Miss?"
Mission smiled. "No Amber. Hey, you look great."
She smiled and said, "You have always been a charmer, Miss. Bye."
He made a move toward Susan and three men literally picked him up while one of them said, "Okay Miss. If you want the arm wrestling title back, you've gotta go through me."
Suddenly, Jeff Taylor plopped down beside Susan. He looked at her for a moment and said, "So ... Suze. How did you and the Mission meet?"
"At work. Our paths cross quite often."
He looked at her strangely. "Suze, you ain't no bounty hunter."
"Oh no, no. I work for Paradox."
"Okay, that explains it. I figured you get paid for your brains."
Now Susan was puzzled. "Why is that?"
Jeff pointed his thumb in the general direction of the crowd. "Miss. He was always the brain and he always ended up hanging with girls that were smart, too."
"Mission was the brain?"
"Yeah, he won like a $10,000 stipend from that electronics company, uh, oh I don’t remember the name. But he was in ninth grade. He wrote something for an auto pilot for cars, using navigation beacons, all kinds of stuff. Brainiac stuff. Yeah, it was tough. You know? I mean, you, me, most people got so many choices, we can't keep track. And Miss, well he didn't have any choices at all." He shook his head. “You need proof that life ain’t fair, look no further.”
Susan leaned closer to Jeff. "What do you mean, no choices?"
Jeff's mouth dropped open. "He didn't tell you? Shit, I need to keep my mouth shut.” As he started to get up, he murmured, “Really nice to meet you Susan”, but she was already pulling him back down onto the couch.
“Wait Jeff, tell me.”
He shook his head. “No, Susan. Miss is my good friend, and he wouldn’t appreciate me telling his personal stuff. He wants you to know, he’ll tell you.”
“And to how many people has he told this story?”
Jeff stood up and gave Susan a big smile. “You’ll be the first. Hey, have another drink, have a great time here tonight!” And he disappeared into the crowd.
She had been on the sofa long enough. Time to make another circuit of the house, do some more people watching, have another drink. Eventually, she found herself in line for the bathroom. Amber saw her and motioned for Susan to come forward. Susan moved up with a bit of trepidation. Amber noticed and waved her hand dismissively. “There’s a separate water closet.” She motioned toward the back of the room. Then she pointed toward several women jockeying for position in front of the mirror over the two-sink vanity. "We’re just touching up makeup, talking about the men.” She and the other girls giggled. Amber pointed from left to right. “This is Sophie, Laurie, and Sharon.” They nodded except for Sharon who was carefully reapplying lip gloss. She asked, in that interesting dialect that women assume while pursing their lips for makeup application. “So, Susan. Are you with Mission?”
Susan didn’t understand for an instant, and then she did. “Oh. No, no, we’re just friends.”
Sharon smiled shrewdly. “Good…maybe tonight.”
Amber laughed. “Right.” She pointed with her eyes toward Susan and said, “So you believe her? Mission shows up with Miss Thing here, and you think nothing’s simmering on the stove. Sweetie, you believe what you want.”
Laurie was at the mirror now and examined her lips as she mumbled, “He was always so serious.”
Now Sharon piped in. “God, you’re stupid, Laurie. Senior year, we were drunk, cutting class, gettin high, and he has to drop out to raise his brother and sister. How much fun would you be?”
“I know, I’m just saying…”
Amber watched Susan’s face closely during the entire exchange between Laurie and Sharon. Susan asked, “Why did Mission have to raise…?”
Amber already had Laurie by the arm, but things came to Laurie on a slow train. She was impatient at Susan’s apparent stupidity. “Because his parents were killed when…Ow!”
Amber had tightened her grip considerably and now had her posse out the door and back into the party mainstream. She called over her shoulder, “Lovely to meet you. Y’all have a nice time.”
Susan now made a circuit of the house with a purpose, but she was confused. It didn’t make sense, why hadn’t he told her? But a few things were clear. Mission had friends who understood that he wished to keep his private life private, and they respected those wishes. And that Mission was not the man she had assumed him to be.
She finally found him in a group where two of the men had burning cigarettes on their arms as a buxom woman called out the time in fifteen second intervals. When she reached the edge of the crowd, Mission saw her and he moved in her direction. He looked straight into her eyes for what seemed like several minutes. Then he stepped closer. Susan didn't recognize the song being played, but she knew a slow dance when she heard one.
As Mission reached her, she whispered in his ear, "Dance with me."
He looked at her for a second and then took her hand to lead her to the section of the house that
seemed to be the dance floor. He looked at Susan again.
It's funny how you notice different things. Mission had seen her in the outfit, she made him give her an okay, before she would wear it to the party. But now he looked at her, in this simple, short black dress with black stockings, her hair so perfect, falling over her shoulders, and that face. Just a trace of makeup to define and emphasize her intelligence and humor, her passion. She was beautiful.
Mission extended his right arm for the classic slow dance position and Susan folded it around her waist. They pressed against each other and the energy between them was palpable. As they circled the dance space, they moved to their own internal music, and the rest of the world disappeared. They glided slowly across the floor.
20
Mission looked over to see what Susan was doing. He located her, deep in the sofa cushions, eyes glued to the vue screen, whispering at an auctioneer's pace into the WI (wireless interface) and typing on her keyboard simultaneously. Olympic athletes would stop and stare at the balletic interplay of body and mind at work. Mission considered the pathetic two fingered typing he performed on his laptop. Pathetic, indeed.
"Susan. Are you still working on the diagnostics programming?"
"Yes, I only have about three more days of solid work to go."
"And would those be the standard eight hour days or the St. Jean eighteen hour workaholic days?"
"Well, I could do it all in one Mission thirty-two hour obsessive day. Why do you ask?"
Mission looked at the ceiling. "I think it's time we sat down with your best and brightest technical minds. I want their help in building the specs on our yet to be created synthetic companion. And I have some other questions. I want another means to disable a syn. And I at least want to discuss some possibilities for detecting a syn. Other than x-rays or dissection."
Susan tilted her head. "Why do you want another way to disable them?"
"I don't know. But it's lurking somewhere in the recesses of my mind. I'm sure we're going to need it."
Living in Syn Page 10