The kid asked, "But I thought you guys have already used your command implanter successfully."
"We have, but I don't want to depend on it."
"Why not?"
The question irritated Mission and he didn't know why. "I don't know. What if a battery fails? What if I drop it and it breaks? It just seems foolish to say that if the device fails for any reason, then the syn kills us all."
Pierce said, "There has to be something more, Mission. Do you know something we don't know?"
Mission stared at the Major's uniform. "That's it. Just the fact that I call them combat models. It's the first thing the military worries about with an expensive weapon; a submarine, a missile, anything like that. They make sure the enemy can't transmit commands and turn their own weapon against them. That's why. I fear that when we try it on a combat model, we'll find out they’re prepared for such an attack."
Pierce started to speak but Montag beat him to the punch. "Mr. Mission is correct. Most defense and combat oriented groups employ this type of encryption as standard procedure."
Mission looked at Pierce. "He also has military strategies and tactics, command, control, and communicate, right?"
Pierce grinned, "Uh huh."
Susan said, "So, what is our next best chance of incapacitating a synthetic?"
The kid said, "Well, the professor has had some luck with ultrasonics, but within very limiting factors."
"What kind of limits?"
"Well, the device should not be close to a human. As long as the ultrasonics reach the human, they shouldn't be exposed for more than 60 seconds. And unfortunately, the synthetic is only immobilized as long as the ultrasonics are generated."
Mission smiled an I'm going to be hanged in the morning smile. "But, other than those few annoying details, I'm ready to invite one of these killers over to my place for a little exploratory surgery?"
Everyone but Montag laughed. Mission said, "It's sarcasm Montag." He looked at Pierce. "You didn't give him stand-up comedian software?"
The Major shook his head as he tried to suppress a grin. The kid said, "Uh, actually, uh, we have come up with another little device that may make the situation acceptable."
The group walked down to the lab and the kid fished through one of the cabinet drawers. He pulled out a device just a bit smaller than a mason jar lid. He held it up for the group to see. "This device generates an incredibly strong magnetic force. We got the idea after Mission showed us his battery pack. You activate by twisting the top clockwise. Now this could erase the brain unit, so we recommend that it be placed no higher than the junction of the neck to the shoulders. It will be attracted to the metallic properties of the spinal cord and stick where you place it. The magnetic force will attenuate all impulses moving through the spinal cord and paralyze the synthetic from that point on down."
Susan said, "Then why do we need the ultrasonics?"
Mission grinned. "Because they are not always obliging enough to turn around so that we can disable them. Now, how are we going to test this bag of tricks?"
Montag stepped forward. "It only makes sense that you would perform tests on me."
A flurry of debate commenced. After a few minutes, Montag raised his voice and said, "Please, please! You must understand that this is my duty. I am a protector. Either I expose myself to risk now, or the team is exposed to greater risk during our subsequent activities. I must do this."
He refused to yield and soon they stood examining a mostly empty room with a fire exit to the outdoors. Mission sat in a chair as far from the exit as possible and when Montag entered, he armed the ultrasonics and tossed it into the corner. Three seconds later, it engaged and Mission felt a most unpleasant sensation, as if his insides now wanted to be outside. He looked up to see Montag frozen in step. He moved behind him, armed the magnet and placed it even with the shoulder blades.
The 60 seconds passed and the ultrasonics died, much to everyone's relief, with Montag still glued in place. The experiment was a success, and they could proceed to their capture plans.
23
Susan tossed and turned and then finally awoke to stare without recognition at her com alarm reading 5:00 in the morning. As she regained her faculties, she realized that light from the living room maneuvered through the apartment to scratch at her eyes. She put on her robe, and went to investigate under the pretense of wanting juice. She found Mission in his classic pose, head resting on the sofa top, with a cigarette in his mouth and a glass of Jose in his hand.
She got her juice and sat down beside him. "What's on your mind?"
He looked at her and shook his head. "I'm in uncharted territory, Susan. My life has been pretty much the same for as long as I can remember. Being a bounty hunter takes most of your time. There's really not enough left to do much else."
He turned around to face her. "Did you know the professor offered me a job?"
"I suspected. He asked about you, your education, abilities, accomplishments. What did he say?"
"He offered me a position as a Senior Robotics Engineer."
Susan was delighted. "Oh Mission! That's terrific. You should ... "
He held up his hand and cut her off. "No, no, no, no, no. I am not qualified for the position. And even if I was .... " He took Susan's hand and said, "I've never had a job in my life. Showing up at the same time every day, wearing suits, having a boss that tells you what to do. I just don't know, Susan."
She started to respond, but Mission held more inside. "And it's not just starting a new life, it's leaving the old one. As bad as tracking can be, I am a tracker. I think I might be lost without it. What do you think?"
"I don't know. I think it would be good. I think that if a person really wants something, then you have to try. Succeeding or failing isn't nearly so important as making the effort and finding the answer. If you want this or even if you think you want this, then you should try."
Mission nodded his head. "That makes sense. I just don't know what I want. I always thought I wanted to be an engineer, you know. But the cards didn't fall that way. Now it's more like a daydream. And I don't know what I'll be like without tracking. I can't imagine not carrying a gun! Do you see what I mean? I'm trying to sort out the differences between what I want and what I fantasize, and what I am regardless of my desires."
"I understand what you mean. But you're the only one who can figure this out."
"Yeah, I know. I just…What I want….” Mission looked steadfastly at the floor. He said, very quietly, “What would you think of me if this didn’t work out?"
Susan laughed. "Is that what all this is about? Mission that is so sweet."
He groaned, "Don't say that. No man ever wants to do something that will be called sweet. Better you should call me stupid."
She continued to laugh. "Foolish man. Do what makes you happy. I like you now, and you’re a tracker."
"Yes."
Susan moved her face very close to his and said, "You are a very, very stupid man."
Mission grimaced and said, "Maybe calling me sweet wouldn't be so bad."
24
Mission looked around the table and asked, "Are we ready for a status on the capture?"
Montag said, "I sent the message to the teacher two hours ago. It was opened by the recipient. It states that the window of opportunity will occur between 10:00 and 12:00 tonight in our selected room. Building security is aware of our disconnecting the fire exit alarm. That door is now unlocked."
"Good. You arranged the room so that the only illumination is at the doorway, and the rest is darkened?"
Montag and Pierce nodded. Pierce said, "There seems to be little benefit in having Montag in the room since the ultrasonics will disable him. So, I’ll take position in the northwest corner. The darkness will cover me and I’ll carry a sidearm."
Pierce held up his weapon and Mission shuddered. A Stiletto. They fired ionized particles too, but about the size of thumbtacks, and with a charge that burned in a manner simil
ar to napalm. A clip carried 120 rounds and the weapon sprayed death like rain on the ocean.
Mission said, "Request that you reconsider your weapons choice. If you fire that thing in that little room, I'm going to die, too."
Pierce said, "No way, Mission. I've got it set to single fire, not automatic."
Mission said, "Montag, if you have to take one of the Major's burning BBs out of my butt, I want you to put it in his."
Montag said, "I cannot treat a human in such a manner."
Mission pointed at Elliot, the kid scientist, and said, "You've really got to install a humor program in him before we leave."
Montag said, "I will observe the capture from the adjacent room to provide assistance if required."
Mission nodded. "Good. What about post-capture?"
The Major said, "Montag and I worked with the engineers to develop an analysis program, including code on the chips. We’ll identify what is different from a standard factory synthetic and analyze. If appropriate, we will provide it to Montag. If not, we’ll make a full report so that we all know what to expect from the combat models in terms of abilities and inclinations."
"How long will the analysis take?"
Elliot looked up and said, "No more than 36 hours, and we'll work shifts to complete in the minimum time."
"How are the plans for the trip coming?"
A young man from sales said, "We were somewhat surprised, but Pioneer cooperated immediately. They are willing to schedule at our convenience. But then they called back and said that they too, need to send someone from the home office. To evaluate the synthetic performance versus cost for another year, that sort of thing. They sent us a general bio on their man, Dick Denman."
Mission muttered, "Dick? Let's hope that's not prophetic."
Susan kicked him under the table. Mission considered his options. He certainly did not intend to stop being a smartass. He would just have to sit further from Susan at these meetings.
The sales rep said, "So, should we allow Mr. Denman to join the group?"
Mission said, "We can't stop him. We're using commercial flights all the way. All he has to do is buy a ticket. Carson? Can you run a background check on this Dick?"
Carson nodded and Mission said, "Final remarks? Okay, I'll be sitting in the chair at 10:00 tonight."
25
Mission shifted in his chair again. It had to be 11:20, maybe later. His eyes had long since adjusted to the light, and he could make out most of the details of the room. The ceiling was one of those depressing drop tile types with a metal frame holding acoustic ceiling tiles in place. The exterior walls were concrete block with metal conduit slapped on to run between switches and outlets. Apparently, the room had been carpeted once, but that was ripped up to reveal an ancient linoleum tile. On the whole, a room devoid of life. No remnants of pictures, nothing to indicate real people with real lives ever occupied the space.
He looked over at Major Pierce. He sat on the edge of his seat, gun at the ready. Mission appreciated his professional approach. He took things seriously, and he gave 100% at all times. He knew all of them would be glad Pierce was with them on the trip to New Angeles.
Mission figured he was driving Carson crazy by smoking. First off, it was illegal. Secondly, it was terrible form for an ambush. But Mission was careful to keep the cigarette in the ashtray, an arm's length away. The instant he saw that door handle turn, the cigarette would be gone.
He had taken thin strips of fluorescent tape and placed them on the door knob. The first movement would show from anywhere in the room. Mission had asked the techies to place a pull ring on the ultrasonics device, like a hand grenade. He stared at his clothes like an idiot, and then finally just pushed the ring through the front of his sweatshirt with the device hanging down. He was armed to the teeth. He carried the command implanter he and Susan built, the ultrasonics grenade, the magnetic interrupter, his battery pack, and of course, the Glock.
How much longer would it be? When you ask a killer synthetic to an ambush between 10:00 and 12:00, you really expect him or her to arrive closer to 10:00. Now they were at 12:00, and he considered for the first time that this might not work. Perhaps they discovered Tanya was gone by attempting contact at her residence. Maybe they didn't have more assassins in the group. Maybe the group was charting a different course with all the recent losses in their ranks. Maybe his parents picked up the wrong baby at the hospital and his true destiny was to be the first 200 pound jockey to win the Kentucky Derby. Maybe endless and idle speculation is bad for your brain. Enough.
Mission called softly, "Carson?"
"I'm here."
"It's 12:30, what do you think?"
"I think we've been stood up."
"Yeah."
Mission already collected his gear and was halfway to the interior door. Pierce picked up his equipment and said, "I can't believe we sat here all night and ... "
The ceiling tile above Pierce disintegrated as the female dropped through it. She hit the Major like a sledgehammer. As Mission whirled around, the force of the fall took the female down into a crouch on top of Pierce. The Stiletto spun and clattered there on the floor, and she scooped it up and sprayed the whole room.
It happened like lightning and Mission had only turned around when he saw her bring the gun to bear. He tried to get to the floor when the spray caught him in the midsection. The good fortune was that the shots knocked him on the ground instantly, away from the rest of the gunfire. He could feel the charges flare into liquid fire inside him. The pain burned hotter than anything he had felt before. The fire knotted him into a fetal ball, he tried to scream but didn’t have the breath.
The interior door flew off its hinges as Montag charged through. Pierce had pulled a huge knife from under his pants leg and reached up and rammed it into the syn's abdomen, which stopped the firing for a second. Mission reached an ultrasonics grenade and rolled it in the corner. Montag took at least three hits from the Stiletto, but would not be denied, and he delivered a body block that knocked the syn to the floor. Unfortunately, his feet tangled with Pierce and he collapsed on top of him. Mission saw Montag lift his head and then freeze. The ultrasonics had kicked in and the female crouched, paralyzed. Pierce couldn't get out from under Montag, and Mission could feel the seconds ticking by. He started pulling himself across the floor, and in the far corners of his mind, he noted the crackling, the smoke, and the flames. He armed the magnetic interrupter, and slapped it between the syn's shoulder blades. He remembered rolling over and screaming, and then darkness.
He struggled to swim, swim up through molasses. So thick, so hard to make headway. He could see the surface, but it would take years to get there. He couldn't breathe and it burned him. Like a red hot poker in his stomach. And now something pulled on his arm, keeping him from surfacing. He got closer ... and closer.
"Mission? Mission?" He reached the surface, and there stood Susan.
He said, almost inaudibly, "Hi Susan."
She fought her emotions and for the most part won, but a few tears rolled across her face spoiling the illusion of control. She said, "The med tech is giving you morphine." That's what pulled on his arm. He felt the dreamy warmth spread through him and he smiled. The room moved underneath him.
He tried to pick his head up. "Where are we?"
"We're in a medivac aircar. We'll reach the hospital in three minutes."
He moved his hand and Susan took it. He tried to smile again and whispered, "You’re pretty."
The darkness called and this time he didn't fight it. He let the waters close around him. He hoped it wouldn't let go until the surgeons finished.
26
Mission woke up once to find Susan sitting beside him, her face buried in a tissue. The next time he woke up because the fire inside had returned. He screamed and let out an impressive string of expletives. When the nurse arrived, he cursed her so steadily that it almost became lyrical. From an objective standpoint, he did employ an originality and
variety not generally present in modern-day obscenity. Ten seconds after the morphine, he loved the nurse as he did all people.
When he finally felt awake, the sunlight seemed harsh, and he sensed that too many people crowded the room. Susan still sat beside him and he asked, "Whatcha doing?"
She smiled and said, "Oh, I've been taking notes. I want you to define some of these words and phrases for me."
"Did I wander into strong language?"
"Wander? No, you landed with a fleet of sailors."
"Tell me about it later so I can apologize. Okay?"
"Sure. You have lots of visitors here. You need to see Montag first."
Montag stepped to the foot of the bed and appeared nervous. "Mr. Mission, I failed to protect you, and you were injured. You should consider taking a different synthetic with you."
Mission laughed and then tried to stop. "Montag, I don't mean to laugh, but I think the blame can be spread around pretty equally. Let me ask, did you learn anything that will lead you to act differently in the future?"
"Oh yes, Mr. Mission. I have modified many resident programs on defense tactics and strategy."
"See? Now you have something that no other synthetic possesses, first-hand experience."
Mission looked over at Pierce. He was tight lipped and he focused on the floor. Mission knew what he was thinking. The syn took his gun and hurt someone else with it. Should he say something? No, anything would sound like pity. Stick to business.
“What about the fire? Did the fire department keep it from spreading?"
Susan said, "Montag put it out by himself, after he moved you and Carson outside and called for a medivac."
Mission nodded, and then addressed everyone. "She outsmarted us But we had the good sense to bring extra people, Just you two remember that next time, someone else takes a turn at getting hurt."
Living in Syn Page 12