The more he thought about the problem, the more convinced he became that they should jump into the syn brain programs. That would serve as the inspiration for a means to develop a question that syns are compelled to answer in a certain way.
The captain announced that docking procedures would begin in a few minutes. Mission knew that this would take some time. Triton was the only moon besides Titan to have an atmosphere, and the swirling methane gasses generally reduced visibility to zero.
Eventually the captain welcomed them to Triton and the city of New Angeles. Mission smiled grim reservation. His gut instinct told him that nothing about this visit would be easy or cheap.
34
The cabin attendants moved through the shuttle, dispensing gravity shoes while broadcasting instructions on their use. Swell. Up to this point, they avoided the nuisance of learning this reportedly difficult art. They were always strapped in during shuttle flights, and the space stations generated their own gravity through centrifugal force created by rotating the entire structure.
Mission examined the shoes. They weren't even as bulky as goulashes. They were very thin, clear plastic with a self-adjusting collar at the top of what was a high top tennis shoe design. A small control panel just underneath the collar on the side facing the other shoe allowed the wearer to make adjustments in the responsiveness. A conductive metal element ran around the sole with a power supply encased in the heel.
One engaged/released the switch through the action of the foot moving the ankle as its hinge. As the foot moved to point the toe, the switch released and the magnetic current shut down. As the foot pivoted and moved the big toe towards the shin, the switch engaged and the magnetic field pulled the shoe back toward the metal floor. The control panel allowed the wearer to determine the range and sensitivity of the switching mechanism and the strength of the magnetic current.
Mission had seen video clips of athletes using the shoes on the Earth's moon to long jump 150 feet. The sprinting events seemed an art unto themselves. The trick seemed to be to get your feet back on the floor as quickly as possible. If you allowed yourself to go free flight, those who expertly slapped one foot down just an instant after the back foot pushed off, left you far behind. The length of stride proved crucial and slow motion studies of the sprinters showed each stride taking the runner's legs to almost a 180o angle. Of course, some of the most exciting exhibitions were those feats not possible on Earth. Acrobats would run up the walls and onto the ceiling and others would jump fifty feet in the air while somersaulting eighteen times.
Mission's natural state of pessimism rejoined him, and he wondered if all the group would be killed while pathetically glued to a section of the floor, trying to make the shoes work. He looked at the brand. These were the best, G-Force Dominators. Mission wondered what the reaction would be in the afterlife, once they were slaughtered.
He decided he would look St. Peter in the eye and say, "It must have been the shoes."
Probably his humor would not be well received up there, any more than it was in the here and now. He pictured himself in eternal agony, burning in a lake of fire, but curiously unable to light his cigarette. He considered these thoughts and decided it might be time to end this introspective self-flagellation.
Pioneer sent a gravity sled to load their baggage and to transport them as well. As they fumbled toward the sled's handrails, they all focused on what had always been the simple task of walking.
Mission literally ripped a foot off the floor without cutting the magnetic field. As he started toward the ceiling, he allowed the heel of his other foot to leave the floor, switching off the current in that shoe and shooting him upwards unchecked. He put his hands up and absorbed the blow of striking the ceiling, which threw him back at the floor. He hit the ground with frightening force and stayed there, glued.
Mission had a vision of his first time at a skating rink, floundering and falling. But a kid doesn't mind taking a shot or two, while even a bounty hunter finds it rather quickly tiring.
The gravity sled pulled away and they drifted into their private thoughts. He looked at Susan. She threw herself into her shoes, in observing the facility, and in a dozen other little details. He shook his head at what had obviously been so delicate a balance. Forget about it. Focus on the job. You can make up with Susan when you get home. But if you focus on your little tiff instead, then she can put your ashes in a vase next to the flowers in her office.
After a few more turns, they came to a section that obviously held office space. They made a clumsy and halting process through the hatchway and into a tiny, but attractively furnished waiting room. A vue screen came to life and a computer image of an attractive and prim woman greeted them with a soft, British accent.
"Good evening, and welcome to the New Angeles Administration Offices. How may I be of service?"
Mission said, "Hi. We are the group from Paradox, here to perform diagnostics on the synthetics in this settlement. We were instructed to ask for Mr. Arthur Atwood upon arrival."
"Yes. Mr. Atwood is expecting you. I will notify him that you are here, and I expect that he will personally attend to your group. In the meantime, please relax. Information on New Angeles and its many services and opportunities is available through this vue screen by asking for New Angeles general information. If you have other questions or needs, please ask for me. My name is Margaret."
The screen went blank. Mission could not control himself. He said, "Margaret?"
Instantly she reappeared saying, "Yes?"
Mission looked at her thoughtfully and said, "Do you think a girl should kiss on the first date? And if she does, will her friends think less of her?"
Susan was disgusted. "For God's sake, you are doggedly puerile and adolescent."
Meanwhile, Margaret said, "I am unable to answer your questions. Perhaps the city psychologist would be a better source of information."
Susan said triumphantly, "See?"
Mission, undaunted, turned to the group. "So what do you guys want to know next? How about the principal exports from Chile in the past five years?"
Carson jumped in and said, "Dr. St. Jean, is this an example of the professionalism of Paradox?"
"No. It's an example of testosterone at its worst."
Mission poised to throw more fuel on the flame when a keen eyed and calm gentleman in his fifties stepped into the room. He peered through his round wire rimmed glasses and said, "Good evening. I am Arthur Atwood. Welcome to New Angeles."
35
Mission stepped forward and said, "Mr. Atwood, it’s a pleasure to meet you." Atwood gave him a firm handshake as he continued. "My name is Mission, I'm a robotics engineer with Paradox. This is Dr. St. Jean, a synthetic psychologist and scientist."
Mission turned to glare at Major Pierce and said, "I’m afraid that the armed forces no longer feel comfortable with our ability to provide safe and reliable synthetics to our customers. Thus we have Major Carson Pierce with us as an observer. Let me add that we were happy to invite the Major with us on this trip, right after we were threatened with IRS audits, export restrictions, and a host of other forms of harassment."
As Carson shook hands, he said, "Mr. Atwood, pleased to meet you. Obviously Mr. Mission has an active imagination."
Atwood smiled pleasantly and said, "Absolutely no need to explain the differences that sometimes emerge between business and government. It's as natural as can be. You two should stop treating this as a personal matter. It's the way it's supposed to be. Government pulls one way and business pulls the other. Somewhere in the middle is the answer that best serves the community."
Mission nodded. "I can't argue with that. Paradox has provided a liaison to the Army in the form of Montag here."
"And I don't know if you two are acquainted. This is Dick Denman of Pioneer."
They shook hands and Atwood said, "Perhaps you and I can find some time for a corporate discussion."
Denman said, "Yeah, that would be good. As so
on as possible."
Atwood nodded and then said, "Have you had dinner?" They had not.
"Well, then let me escort you to your rooms and then show your our dining area. For tomorrow morning, I thought we could start at 8:00 with a tour of the facility. Then I can show you the space we have reserved for your diagnostics and schedule the synthetics you wish to examine. Does this sound satisfactory?"
Susan said, "Most efficient. We appreciate your attention to our needs."
Then they trudged clumsily back to the gravity sled and moved back through the city.
Their quarters turned out to be better than the space station hotels. Although the rooms measured only slightly bigger, the beds sat on the floor with storage space overhead. A small sink was positioned at the end of the bed with a pull out shelf that extended over the bed, providing space for desk work or elegant dining.
Atwood led them to the dining room which was an exact replica of the space station setups. The place looked deserted.
Mission asked, "Is there more than one place to eat? It seems strange that this facility is almost empty."
Atwood smiled. "I'm afraid that is the nature of the beast. Shift work makes a cafeteria a feast or famine proposition. We do try to stagger shifts and dining periods, but these efforts will never level out the peak demand periods."
They picked up their trays and moved into the serving line. The facility ran quite efficiently. The individual servings of jello, fruits like peaches, pears, and pineapples, rolls and biscuits and breads, and deserts like apple cobbler and devil’s food cake were all displayed in precise formations across the beds of ice and the self-serve counters. Unfortunately, no amount of efficiency could change the sameness of the food. It tasted exactly like the bland offerings of the last two weeks.
As they sat down, Mission said, "Arthur, I'm trying to get a feel for the rhythms of the city. When will the next rush of people hit the dining room?"
Atwood extended his arm and then looked at his watch. "Oh, not until the second shift ends around midnight, so ... not for another three hours."
Susan said, "How long have you been here in New Angeles?"
Atwood said, "Sometimes it feels like I just arrived yesterday. Other times I think I've been here forever. The truth is I just celebrated two years."
"Celebrated? Does that mean you like it here or that you are looking forward to tour's end?"
"Well, this is important work and it occupies every waking moment.” He paused for a few seconds. “ I expect I will stay as long as Pioneer is willing to keep me on."
Atwood stood up and said, "I ask your forgiveness, but I have a dispute to mediate between the maintenance crews and some less than tidy tenants. Would you like for me to send a gravity sled for you in the morning?"
Mission said, "Actually, I would like to find my own way. Are maps of the settlement available?"
Atwood put his hand to his head. "Forgive me. Simply dock your coms with the databay in your rooms and look under New Angeles - maps."
Mission said, "Thanks, we appreciate your help."
Atwood bowed and said, "As I appreciate your patience with me. Have a pleasant evening and I will see you tomorrow morning at 8:00."
An hour after dinner, Mission called Carson, Montag, and finally Susan. She answered and he said, "Susan, this is Mission."
"Oh."
"I called to tell you we’re getting together in about thirty minutes. We'll use the maps to find an unused stretch of hall to practice using the gravity shoes. Can you be ready?"
"I don't think I can come. I need to examine more research materials."
Mission paused. Damn. "Look Susan. This is critical. Our safety could easily come down to how mobile we are. And it is important for Montag to see what each us will be able to do. That way he can protect more effectively."
"My research is at least as important as my mobility."
"Okay. Would you do this as a favor to me? I know you are mad, but I don't want your safety compromised because there are angry feelings between us. Come for an hour, and if you don't see any benefit, you can leave without a single word of protest from me."
"Fine. Thirty minutes." Click. Dial tone.
Mission nodded. "Yeah, there's no doubt. She's crazy about me."
Mission slammed into the metal wall and bounced almost two feet. He felt around gingerly. There. Definitely a bruise tomorrow the size of a saucer. He picked himself up and moved back to his starting position.
Montag called, "Slow down a notch, Mr. Mission. When learning new movement patterns, you must practice slowly to become fast."
Mission put his hands on his hips and stared. "That makes no sense at all."
Montag turned away from his work with Susan. "Yes it does. What you want to do is to force your muscles to perform new movements until they become part of your movement memory. At that point, you can perform without thought. So it is more important to move correctly at a slow pace, than to move as fast as possible with erratic motions."
As Mission assumed his starting position, he asked, "Is there a reason you insist on approaching this logically?"
Carson trotted back up and said, "To place your approach into sharp contrast."
He smiled as he took a starting position and then burst into a run. He and Mission had competed all evening without a clear winner. Mission took off and in less than thirty yards caught Carson and passed him. Suddenly Carson lost his rhythm and stumbled, rolling more than twenty feet before crashing into a wall. Mission completed his sprint and circled back to offer a hand.
The session proved to be very helpful. Montag with his nine in agility could perform miracles with the shoes. Susan, Carson, and Mission now walked around the station like pros and Mission and Carson strived for high performance moves.
Susan announced she was tired and sat on the floor, knees pulled up to her chin. She found herself watching two grown men competing like six year olds, each refusing to give up or give in. Mission slammed into a wall and tried to bounce up and keep going. Montag said, "Perhaps we have done enough this evening."
Mission didn't think so. He motioned to Carson. "Hey soldier boy. Top this one." He jumped up and started a somersault. As he rotated to an upside down position, he activated the shoes and he stuck to the ceiling. Upside down he held out his arms and said, "Ta dah!"
It was impossible not to laugh and Mission, finally content to stop for the night, flexed, jumped, and landed upright. Montag said, "You show signs of athletic prowess. Did you play any sports in college?"
Mission said, "Well, you might say I wrestled synthetics."
Montag was puzzled and decided not to pursue the conversation. They reached their rooms and exchanged goodnights. Susan had no words for Mission and he decided that pain must be a woman.
36
Mission stared at the walls of his room for more than ten minutes. Finally he picked up the com and called Susan.
"Hi. This is Mission. I need to talk to you."
Mission, I have nothing to say to you. Why don't we just write this off as ..."
"No Susan. I need to talk about business."
"We can talk tomorrow while we set up the diagnostics room."
"No, I don't want anyone else to hear this. Has it ever occurred to you that you could minimize the time spent with me by simply giving me what I need? Then I would have no excuse to hang around."
"Fine. Give me five minutes and then come over."
She answered the door, wearing a robe. He could see indications of a flimsy black garment underneath, probably translucent. He decided that he lived in a hell of his own design. She obviously felt no inclination to invite him to sit on the bed, so he sat on the floor and then turned to face her.
"I've been thinking about the psychological profile you’re working on and I'm certain you were right when you noted that measures were only popularized when the scores spread across the spectrum. And that makes them useless for our purposes. So I started thinking about an alt
ernate approach."
"I remember you mentioning the emotions as a limbic system. Does that mean the synthetic brain also has corresponding neo-cortex and R-Complex areas?"
Susan nodded. "Yes. What you call neo-cortex handles conscious thought and other higher brain functions. And the analogous R-Complex area handles the most primitive activities. Functions outside conscious control like involuntary systems, primary movement control, those types of things. Why?"
"I think we’ll find our answer there. With the human mind, we have no way to see the processing building blocks. But we can pull the synthetic brain R-Complex computer programs and examine them. Looking at the code will be the inspiration for a conclusive test to distinguish syns from humans. What do you think?"
"I think it merits investigation. Why do you need to discuss this with me?"
Mission stared at her. "You designed the brain. Why wouldn't I want the benefit of your expertise?"
"You have made it clear that you see my work as fatally flawed."
He shook his head. "And I thought it was me who was going crazy. On the scale of achievements, the synthetic is so far ahead of any other work, that it's unreasonable to even compare it to other technologies. But that doesn't mean it's perfect and it certainly isn’t above criticism."
He put his hands on his forehead. "But this is moot. Will you help me in talking to Elliot? If we can explain this properly, I think he can provide us with the answer."
She nodded and said, "I’ll work on scheduling a call to Earth tomorrow morning."
She stood and said stiffly, "Is there anything else?"
Mission put a hand on his forehead and said, "Yes. There is nothing that forces you to be civil with me on a personal level. But in terms of business, can't we call a truce? Our lives may depend on us working together. Remember, I work for Paradox now. Our paths may cross every day."
Living in Syn Page 16