Living in Syn

by Bobby Draughon

  "Major Pierce can leave in seven to ten days, depending on the progress of his injury in repairing itself."

  "And what purpose will it serve for him to stay here? Once you switch from IV to injection or ingestion, why can't he stay in his own room and come in for a checkpoint every morning?"

  "Major Pierce suffered a serious injury and he cannot simply ... "

  "Are you the Senior Technician?"

  "Well, ... no, I am not."

  "Well, you do this. You tell the Senior Tech that Major Pierce is checking out tomorrow morning and will be back each morning at 8:00 for an examination. Okay?"

  "Mr. Mission, that simply is not possible."

  "Well, maybe you should sell tickets to all your friends, because the impossible will happen tomorrow morning. Now get the hell out of here."

  She scurried out and Mission looked at Carson and said, "See? I feel much better."

  Carson smiled a weak, perfunctory smile and said, "Thanks for coming by."

  Susan patted his hand and said, "We'll be back this afternoon, Carson. Okay?"

  But he was already asleep. They left as quietly as possible and asked the gravity sled driver to take them to synthetic repair.

  Mission watched the route carefully. They moved through the connector to the B Hub and through a twisted trail, finally entering a triple-sized room. Technicians wearing sterilized garments inside a controlled environment made repairs, adjustments, and enhancements to the synthetics.

  Mission made mental calculations and decided these rooms nestled just inside the far end of the refinery, a strange place to put a repair shop. Mission tapped on the glass and mouthed, "Who?" The technician pointed them down the hall. He and Susan found a door bearing a Repair and Restoration sign. They knocked and walked in.

  A smiling young man with reports and data plates all over his desk said, "Hi. Can I help you?"

  "Well I hope so. Our friend Montag was injured in the skirmish in the refinery bay last night. We wanted to check on him, see how he's doing."

  "Terrible business, that whole incident. If Paradox can't build a safer synthetic, they should get out of the business."

  Susan started to respond, but Mission squeezed her arm. "Quite right. So ... Montag?"

  "Ah yes! Oh no. He's not here. Discharged this morning."

  "But he's alright?"

  "Well, yes. I mean we repaired what we could, but he suffered extensive skin damage. That will take a while to heal, you know."

  "Thank you very much, you've been most helpful."

  As they walked out the door, the young man said, "You know, he was really quite lucky. Every other synthetic was completely destroyed."

  Susan and Mission stepped back on the sled and it dropped them at Montag's door, They knocked. From inside they heard, "Go away. I do not wish to see anyone."

  Susan and Mission looked at each other. Susan said, "Montag, it's Susan and Mission. Please let us visit for a minute or two."

  "No! I am not fit to be seen. Please leave me."

  Susan said, "Montag. You’re part of our team and you were hurt saving the lives of your teammates. Please let me understand the problem so that we can help."

  "Only Mr. Mission. Not you, Dr. Susan."

  Mission said, "It's okay Montag, it's just me."

  Mission opened the door and then quickly closed it behind him. It was dark and as he adjusted the dimmer, he could understand why Montag wanted no visitors. Mission had never seen a leper, but he didn't believe one looked as bad as this. Much of his skin was burned or rotted off. The remaining patches of skin looked infected and drained a disgusting white substance.

  Mission said, "Montag, what is this?"

  The light was still very faint, but as Mission turned his head slightly, he saw enough of Montag’s face to realize tears were streaming down his face. Montag tried to speak and failed, then tried again. “Please? Please don’t.”

  Mission was so very confused. He didn’t understand the technical and organic issues that caused this condition, but that was the least of it. He was bewildered by this machine, albeit an excellent and loyal machine, acting like such a….person. And suddenly Mission moved from confused to absolutely bewildered, because he realized that, like any other friend, he would do anything he could to make the pain stop.

  Quietly, Mission said, “Tell me about it. I’ll help.”

  Montag looked up and finally, gave a single nod of his head. "This is a rampant infection that sometimes takes hold when too great a percentage of the organic segment of a synthetic is damaged."

  "What is the prognosis?"

  "The medication and supplement infusion are reversing the process, but it will be more than a week before I am able to appear in public."

  Mission nodded and said, "I understand. Is there anything that Susan or I can get for you?"

  "I would like an assignment that I can complete here in my room, to occupy my mind."

  Mission smiled. "Boy, do I have one for you. I'll drop by with details later today. Anything else?"

  "How is the Major?"

  "He's going to be all right. It'll take a while for the shoulder to heal, but he'll be okay. Listen, Montag. You really came through for us at the refinery. We might be dead without your assistance. Thank you."

  Montag looked like he had just received the Medal of Honor. "You are very kind to say that, Mr. Mission. Very kind."

  As Mission reached the door, he said, "Hey, you should call Carson. He asked about you, and he's probably going stir crazy too. See you this afternoon."

  As Mission walked Susan to her room, he explained Montag's situation. She invited Mission in and they both sat cross legged on the bed. The more Mission looked at her, the more she tried to hide behind her hair. Finally she said, "Stop looking at me. I look like the day after a boxing match."

  "Everyone else seems to be viewing this very negatively. I am delighted we’re still alive."

  She took his hand. "I am too."

  "What do you plan to do these next few days while we all recuperate?"

  "I hadn't really given it any thought, but I do recognize a leading question when I hear one. What do you have in mind for me?"

  Mission smiled at her. "Already you know me too well. I've been wondering about the other half of this equation. We've been focusing so desperately on New Angeles, that we haven't paid enough attention to the Teacher and his flock down in the Free Zone."

  Susan's eyes darted from side to side. "What aspect of the group are you talking about?"

  "The whole notion of an evangelist, if you will, who is able to persuade synthetics to countermand very fundamental programming and abandon their owner to live independent lives. More and more, my mind is telling me that this philosophy is integral to what is happening here."

  Susan said, "Keep going Mission. You're bound to hit something I can understand."

  "Susan, I think it has to be the learning. Whether Paradox intended it or not, the learning mechanism is permitting even the most fundamental programming to be altered. Just like a human can overcome the fear of falling and jump from an airplane. Or a sword swallower can suppress the gag reflex, the most primary reflex we have. Just like a human can overcome any hardwired programs, so can the syn."

  "And this Teacher has discovered the secret, and is converting syns as fast as he can call them on the com. Does any of this sound feasible?"

  Susan nodded. "It is possible. I need to work through some of the math with a dozen or so values to see how deeply the changes would penetrate the neural network."

  "Then you could get Elliot on one of your super computers to plot a representative sample and give us a probability graph?"

  "Yes, that would be the next step."

  "Okay, as long as you two have that perspective opened up, you may as well consider any alternatives that can seal off certain rules that Paradox deems immutable. It may be your only chance of saving the company."

  Susan looked horrified. "What are you talkin
g about?"

  "I'm saying that if Paradox synthetics desert the first time they hear two paragraphs on Jefferson's Rights of the Individual, the company is bankrupt. Would you recommend producing another synthetic knowing what we know?"

  She tried to hide it, but the thought frightened her. Mission said, "It's going to be okay. People aren't running to Paradox screaming about problems. You're ahead of the game, and I think you have a very good chance of making changes to production without skipping a beat. Are you going to be okay?"

  She nodded. "Yes, I ... I'm just a little unnerved. Once I wade into the middle of the assignment, I'll be okay."

  She looked up at Mission and smiled, "You know, you have this really slick method of asking leading questions until you've created an assignment for a person, without them even realizing it. Now that I know, I'll be watching you."

  Mission feigned hurt. "Me?" Mission looked imploringly to the heavens. "Has a man ever been more misunderstood?"

  Then he winked at her and said, "I have to go ask Montag some leading questions. Think about something two cripples can do tonight that is mindlessly entertaining."

  She smiled and said, "Go see Montag."

  49

  Mission knocked on Montag's door and then walked in. He threw him a hooded sweatshirt and said, "Here. Once my kid brother got poison ivy all over his face and neck and head. He felt better when he wore one of these because it covered so much of him."

  Montag said, “Thank you Mr. Mission."

  As he slipped it on, Mission said, "Montag, is there any way I can get you to drop the Mister and just call me Mission?"

  "An informal title conveys a lack of respect and ... "

  "No! No it wouldn't. You know what it would convey? Friendship. I consider you a friend and my friends call me Mission. Do you consider me a friend?"

  "You are an owner, a master."

  "No! I am no one's master. We worked as equals, we traveled as equals, and we fought for our lives as equals. I am not your master, I am your teammate."

  Montag looked pained. Mission said, "Look. Think about what I've said. But in the meantime, call me Mission, because it hurts me when you don't. It hurts that you can't treat me as a friend. You don't want to hurt me, do you?"

  "Oh no, no I do not."

  "Then it's settled. Let's talk about research on New Angeles."

  Mission looked at him with anticipation. Obviously Montag didn't understand how to play this game. He would have to coax him.

  "What do you have so far?"

  "I am afraid we are destined for failure. All the records we desire are frozen along with the assets of the companies in the middle of bankruptcy proceedings. Attorneys estimate a disposition in the next twelve to eighteen months."

  Mission's mind raced like violent footage through the cable news system. "Okay, we've got to come at this from a different angle. Let's think about transactions or records occurring on either side of a shuttle flight."

  "I am sorry Mr. Mission ... Mission, but I don't understand your objective."

  "Well, for instance, the shuttle system itself is a very structured and sequential operation. You don't fly from Number Three to Number Six, you have to move from Three to Four, from Four to Five and then Five to Six. So there are only three ways to get to Number Eight; from Number Seven, from Number Nine, and from Triton. And I'll bet that more than 90% of the passengers shuttling from Seven to Eight take a room at the Number Eight Hotel. From there they can go to Number Nine or to Triton and now we have a decent figure on the incoming. Same thing in reverse. Folks leaving Triton have to stop at Number Eight and probably take a room for the night. Then their choices are Number Seven or Number Nine and we have a fair outgoing number. Do you see where I'm going with this line of reasoning?"

  "Yes, I do. But it will not be accurate."

  "Not 100%, but that was never my need in the first place. In fact the shuttle records are never 100% accurate. People cancel and amend and do all kinds of crazy things at the last minute, and the records don't always keep up. I just need data accurate enough to give me a feel for what's happening here in New Angeles."

  "I understand. I can provide a profile that is accurate in general."

  "Good. If transactions are fairly easy to obtain, get everything you can. It's amazing how some least considered, trivial little tangent turns out to be the most direct correlation."

  Montag smiled. "Thank you, Mission. This should occupy an entire day at a minimum. Feel free to visit and view my progress."

  "I will. Thank you, Montag."

  Susan knocked on Mission's door. She hobbled in and said, "So what have you been up to?"

  Mission smiled at her. "I am looking at the different angles. This situation is like a ball of knotted yarn with ends hanging out all over the place. I'm looking for a thread that will unravel almost everything."

  "And where does this train of thought take you?"

  Mission tilted his head and asked, "Our briefing on New Angeles. Did you give us everything, or do you have more data, especially on Pioneer as an organization and as a business?"

  "Actually, I bet I have more data than even you want. If you'll walk me back to my room later, I'll load it into your com."

  Mission beamed. "That's great!"

  Susan looked suspicious and asked, "What do you have in mind?"

  "Well, sending Denman in the first place interests me. Given what appeared to be an adversarial relationship between Denman and Atwood, I wonder what is happening between Pioneer and this settlement. I'm wondering if I can pull a thread at Pioneer headquarters and get them to tell me what's going on. Then I don't have to wrestle with Atwood."

  Susan nodded and smiled approvingly. "You approach everything like this, don't you?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Cerebrally. You don't approach a problem like I do, I'm more methodical and rigorous. But your methods require just as much consideration, and planning. You organize just enough to stimulate a creative, associative process. It's fascinating to watch."

  She slowly raised her head to look at him. "You educate me against my will and show me that there are many ways to solve problems."

  "I think we’re both learning. It happens every time you see things through someone else's eyes."

  Then Mission went in another direction and asked, "Do you have a call to Elliot scheduled?"

  She nodded. "8:00 tonight."

  "Would you mind if I talked to him once you finish? Good. Let's go back to your room. I can't wait another minute for that data."

  An hour later, Mission sat on his bed, watching the different reports he specified, being created. He suddenly picked up his com, and scheduled a call to Earth for 6:00 that evening. The operator buzzed him and asked for the specific location, number, and party being called.

  He picked up one of the reports and said, "New York, New York. Pioneer Incorporated Headquarters, Vice-President, Natural Resources Division, Mr. Bennett London. I'm afraid I don't know the number. Thank you very much."

  Perhaps he was pushing this too fast, but he couldn't wait. If they couldn't make something happen while this ambush was fresh in their minds, any leverage they held would slip through their fingers. He would see Montag, and go with whatever he had compiled to date. 6:00 tonight. This might be it.

  50

  Mission devoured the raw data compiled by Montag. His suggestions to Montag had been decent, but other indicators showed far more promise. As part of each settlement petition, every visitor was assessed a chemical treatment fee for cleaning water and creating and purifying air. As a percentage of these fees were turned over to the government to administer safety regulation and inspection of these procedures, the accounting was much more accurate.

  On the other side of the equation, the records were sealed with the bankruptcy proceedings for shuttle flights between Station Eight and New Angeles. But the shuttle flights between Station Seven and Station Eight were accounted for. And there were few options after t
raveling to Number Eight. You could stay to work in the station, but there were no business opportunities there. You could move out to the construction work on Station Nine, but that traffic could be easily estimated. Or you could travel down to New Angeles.

  Mission looked at the partial data available and made some rough extrapolations. Something very strange was happening in this settlement.

  He looked at the time and realized he had less than thirty minutes. He ran down the hall as fast as possible and burst into Montag's room, huffing and puffing.

  "Montag ... do you have a coat and tie I could borrow?"

  "Yes, but I think it will be too long for you."

  "That's not a problem. This is for the vue screen and they'll only see me from the chest up."

  Montag held up a navy suit coat with a chalk pinstripe and a red and white tie. "Will this do?"

  "Will it do? It's perfect." As he raced through the door, he said, "Thanks, Montag."

  Mission struggled hopelessly and then called Susan for help. She tied his necktie and then slipped the suit coat on over his cast. Mission tuned the entertainer to Mozart's String Quartet # 17, playing softly, checked himself in the mirror and sat down in front of the vue screen. The indicator signaled an incoming call and Mission turned on the receiver.

  A gentleman in his fifties with a handsome smile, a neatly trimmed gray mustache, and a $6000 suit nodded and said, "I am Bennett London."

  "Mr. London, how do you do? My name is Mission with Paradox Incorporated. I lead a science and engineering team conducting diagnostics on synthetics here in New Angeles. Dick Denman with Pioneer accompanied us here to make efficiency evaluations. Are you familiar with the team's activities?"

  London swallowed and said, "Yes, I approved Dick's itinerary."

  "I see. I am afraid I have bad news. Night before last, my team along with Mr. Denman toured the refinery bay where we were attacked by a group of approximately twenty. I am sorry to say that Mr. Denman was killed, and that my team and I were injured quite seriously."

  London put his hand to his mouth. "Oh my God. He was killed?"