"Yes sir. The aftermath revealed that the attackers were all synthetic. Did you know that the Army insisted on sending a representative with my team? Well, hindsight indicates that they suspected something. Why else would they send a soldier?"
Mission spread his hands and said, "So I find myself in a quandary. I can't put my hands on the proper information here in New Angeles to pinpoint a cause. And with the potential danger to any lessor of Paradox synthetics, I find myself forced into a rather severe course of action."
"What do you mean, severe course of action?"
"Well, unless we can pinpoint the problem immediately, I have to notify the Army and ask for assistance in recovering all the synthetics in the settlement. Anything less would put more humans at risk."
London was definitely shaken, not stirred. "I ... I ... that sounds like a poor ... poor business decision ... to me. But ... but it's yours to make. Why are you ... telling me this?"
Mission became the epitome of business protocol. "Well, first of all, I did want to contact you personally to convey our condolences on the death of Mr. Denman. But, I also thought it only fair to tell you about this before it becomes a headline in the news."
Now London registered shock. "News? Why do you? What do? ... "
"Look, I've talked this over with our President, Chandler Hunt, and he agrees that this is the way to go, even though it will hurt us. Trying to cover it up will only make things worse. And I know that your stock, just like ours, will take a temporary hit tomorrow. Then the financial analysts will tear apart both our operations, looking for anything that indicates the prices should be higher or lower. First they start with the Stockholder's Quarterly Report, and then move on to the detailed accounting, and on and on."
Mission looked very contrite. "I just didn't want all this to catch you by surprise tomorrow."
London said, "Look. There must be some other way we can handle this situation. Don't you think?"
Mission scratched his head. "I am at a loss. Unfortunately all the synthetic attacker's brains were destroyed. And our scheduled diagnostics so far reveals nothing unusual. So unless I can explain to Mr. Hunt's satisfaction what caused the violence, and how we can guarantee it won't happen again, he is determined to come clean in a public forum. Our reputation is built upon absolute honesty. Anything less would erode our credibility and thus our customer base."
"Mr. Mission. Mr. Mission. The New Angeles settlement is one of a kind, most unusual. I am certain that this problem is ... is limited to this one location."
Mission frowned. "I'm afraid I don't follow. How could any differences in the city affect the tendency toward violence?"
London fumbled for something. Then he swallowed a number of pills and chased them with water. "This is too much. ... I need to talk with some of the principals here before you proceed. May I call you back in three hours?"
Mission nodded. "You may, but I must be honest. Mr. Hunt expects me to make a public announcement at 9:00 tomorrow morning. And I doubt that there is anything that you or your peers can say that will affect that decision. I understand that you'll suffer some unpleasant consequences in the short term, and I do apologize, but we can’t ignore our responsibility to the public at large."
London spoke in hushed tones. "I understand. We will talk again in three hours."
The screen went blank and Mission turned to Susan, who was sitting in the corner. "Well, what do you think?"
She smiled. "I think he swallowed the bait. But if he calls Chandler to appeal directly, or if he calls Atwood, you're sunk."
"If he trusted Atwood, he never would have sent Denman in the first place. And he's dirty. Or at least he’s complicit. He'll be too busy trying to save his hide to call Chandler. He's going to call back and tell us what he knows."
At 8:00, he and Susan switched seats while she and Elliot delved deeply into the applied mathematics of polychromadrine processing models, as well as the object language residing in the command central unit. Finally satisfied with their progress and the notion that each of them faced at least four solid days of work, they brought Mission into the discussion.
He grinned at Elliot and said, "Tell me you found a secret in the R-complex."
He didn't need to. His smile told Mission that the search was a success. "You think you've controlled all the code that's allowed to go live."
He shook his head. "This guy used messages from the diagnostics routine, to translate other messages into code. And why did he do this? He couldn't stand hearing syns talk during testing. So he buried a few lines of code deep in the programs so that the syn brain listens for a specific verbal command and upon detection, shuts down the ability to speak. If you happen to have the skull open, you find that output is rerouted to the universal adapter, compatible for screen display. Once a second command is detected, verbal ability is restored. Neat, huh?"
Mission shook his head. "Amazing. Is this back door resident in all models?"
"Every damn one."
"And what are the commands?"
Elliot told him and he said, "No. You’re kidding me. Tell me you're kidding."
"Nope. That's what he coded."
Mission sometimes found it impossible to believe these little unknowns could sneak into a product so thoroughly tested. "Thanks Elliot. You've given us great support through this whole thing. Better than we have a right to expect."
"Hey, no problem. I'm amazed someone will pay me to do this."
At precisely 9:00, London's call came through. This time, his tie hung loose and his hair was less than perfect.
"Hello Mission. You wanted to talk again."
"No, I wanted to talk three hours ago. You asked for time to confer before we continued."
London was pointedly without expression. “As you wish. I just don’t know anything that help.”
Mission was clearly exasperated. “No, I told you about the ambush, and you indicated that the violence was limited to New Angeles. It was clear that you knew something about the cause of the behavior.”
“No, you misinterpreted. I was shocked by the death of Dick. It sounds like you and Paradox have a problem with violent syns, and clearly, we are victims in this incident. A press conference by Paradox which mentions Pioneer as anything but victims would be…actionable."
Mission was silent for a moment. “So this is how you want to play it? Are you that frightened?”
London smiled. “It seems that the substantive discussion has ended. So on that note.”
There was urgency in Mission’s voice. “Wait London. Don’t you see that you’re being set up?”
“You’re not making sense.”
“Really, then why didn’t any of the folks you conferred with join the call? And why isn’t legal there with you to warn me of actionable statements? Because it leaves me with you and no one else. And you know what happens to people that could shed light on this deal? They sent a murder squad to deal with my team. A Paradox scientist ran searches on the database for violent syns and a combat model showed up to kill her that very night. How do you think they’ll deal with you?"
London was visibly shaken. “You’re crazy! And I’m not talking to you anymore!”
Mission rushed his words before the vue screen dimmed. “Don’t go home London, they’ll kill you!”
“Shit!” Mission stared at the disconnect screen. That was his best chance at finding out what was going on and it had fallen apart.
Maybe. Mission walked rapidly down the hallway, to talk to Pierce in person.
Mission was dreaming of alarms. They wouldn’t leave him alone. They wouldn’t stop buzzing, they… It was his com. “Hello?”
“I have a priority call from London Bennett to Mr. Mission.”
Mission blinked. “Three minutes.” He dialed his com and rousted Carson. “My room! Right now.”
Sixty second later, Carson appeared and Mission motioned him to the only corner in his room that was off-camera for a video call. Mission said, “If this
goes as expected, I’ll invite you to join in the call in a few minutes.”
Carson nodded and Mission patched in the video. This time he could be cool. “Hello Mr. Bennett.”
London mopped his forehead and leaned in toward the camera. “They tried to kill me. They …”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I pulled into my building’s garage, and I got to thinking about what you said. And I was afraid to go to my apartment, so I sat there. And while I’m trying to figure out what to do, someone rings my doorbell. The building routes visitor queries through to my car and my com. So I looked at my security cam and…she was a syn. I know it.”
Mission was casual. “There could be a dozen reasons for a girl to ring your doorbell.”
Bennett shook his head. “No, If I’d been home and answered that door, I’d be dead.”
“So what can I do for you?”
“You got me into this mess, Mission. If you hadn’t called me, none of this happens. You have to help me.”
Mission waited. And then finally. “Tell me what’s going on in New Angeles.”
“No. You tell me how you’re going to protect me, then we talk about NA.”
Mission nodded. “Give me everything and I’ll clean up this mess. The Army can have you in protective custody in less than ten minutes. No one will be able to touch you.”
“Prove it.”
Mission motioned and Carson stepped into view. He was cryptic. “I’m Major Pierce. You already know I’m on the team that was assaulted here. I can have MPs at your car in ten minutes. I can have you inside secure facilities at Quantico in less than an hour.”
Bennett deliberated. Finally he nodded. As he started to speak, he looked like he was telling his wife he had herpes. "The truth is ... we lost control of the city over a year ago."
Now Mission leaned forward as far as his cast would allow. "What do you mean, you lost control?"
"I mean they're goddamned clever. They assumed control of key duties and positions. All of the sudden, we couldn't get our management reports, payroll records, employee records, nothing. They cut deals directly with the firms that transport the ores to the final buyers. Arranged for the payments to go directly back to them, instead of through us. Oh, they send us a percentage. That and instructions for us to create the administrivia if we want to maintain the pretense that we run things. It embarrassed the hell out of the company. Can you imagine what would happen to stock prices if anyone knew we lost a city?"
He wiped his brow again. Mission hoped he did it for dramatic effect, because his free perspiration made it a useless gesture.
"Anyway, they made fabulous money. Better than we ever hoped for. I realize now that we were crazy, but saying nothing seemed the best alternative."
Mission was confused. "You keep saying they and them. They took over. Well who? What country is controlling the city and why haven't you brought in the military?"
Now London was mixed up. "Country? What are you talking about. It's them! The damned synthetics! The syns control the city."
Carson inhaled sharply. Mission recoiled in shock. He shook his head, back and forth, but it didn't help to make sense of the conversation. He looked back up at the screen and said, "Bennett. Help me out. Why do you think the synthetics have seized the city?"
"I don't think it. This isn't conjecture. They quietly started sending our key managers home and substituting their members."
"Is that why the population dropped so fast in the city? They're sending the humans back?"
London's head hung down, but Mission could still see him nod. "We don't even know who's left. They seized employee records and they handle payroll. We don't get anything from that city except for our percentage."
"But wait. This still doesn't make sense. Why didn't you come to us the first time you had problems with our synthetics?"
London shook his head. "I've told you enough to show that we don't want to go public with this. That we have a mess here."
Mission was emphatic. "No. You've done just the opposite. A group of synthetics that seizes control of a settlement, evicts the humans, and then murders human visitors, this has to be corrected, whatever the cost."
London seemed on the verge of an explosion. "Mission, you just don't understand, we will all be dead ... "
He trembled. His lips quivered and his face was chalk white. He shook his head and said, "It started as a broad based test. You know, to evaluate the combat potential of synthetics. We modified them. We added programming, other changes. Frightening changes. Before we knew what was happening …they started disappearing."
Mission said, "Okay, Bennett. I’ll figure out how to deal with the syns. In the meantime, I’ll contact Pioneer legal to work the financial and legal aspects."
London smiled weakly. Carson looked at his watch and said. "MPs will be there in three minutes."
The screen image dissolved to gray and Mission ejected a memory stick. "We recorded every word and every gesture. I think I'll make a copy for each of us."
He smiled. "Good. Now the real work begins."
51
Carson joined Susan and Mission for breakfast the next morning. Mission must have missed it last night in all the excitement. Carson looked pale and weak, but there was something more, actually, there was something missing. Mission would describe Carson as determined. Now the focus in his expression was gone.
Susan moved her entire head quite gingerly. Apparently having a handful of hair yanked out of your head not only hurts like hell, but keeps on hurting for days afterward. The lines of concern in her face deepened as Mission recounted yesterday's events.
Carson shook his head and blurted, "Why in the hell are we even sitting here? Do you expect these synthetics to let us live if they think we know their secret? They'll butcher us without hesitation."
Mission said, "No. Even a mechanical entity will act in its own interests. Drawing attention to themselves, particularly military attention would be fatal. Why would the military hesitate to vaporize a colony of synthetics?"
Susan nodded. "Yes, we're seeing opposing philosophies at work. The controlling group in the city is shrewd. They quietly place synthetics in key positions and then cut off data. They sent humans home, not to the crematorium. And they continue to provide profits to Pioneer to make it difficult for them to take action. A very, very intelligent plan. And then we have a second group. Their idea of a plan is to burn away the insides of a person so they could push the rest of us out the airlock. And less than five minutes after they opened fire, the controlling forces arrived and obliterated them."
Mission smiled. "Well put, Doctor. So Montag continues to compile data for me. I think it's important to know how many humans are still here, and why they haven't been evicted yet. I think I shall test Elliot's back door on selected subjects today. I'll continue to search for an angle that lets us put our cards on the table with Atwood."
Carson looked alarmed. "What if you don't find anything?"
"I’ll only wait so long before Round Two with Atwood, and then we talk no matter what. But the more we know, the more effectively we handle him."
Carson said, "Actually, my worries ran in the other direction. I feared you might hold things up indefinitely trying to improve your hand."
Mission shook his head. "No, there are lives at stake. We need to move. Soon."
Carson said, "So Susan has her mathematics, Montag is correlating data, you are preparing for your showdown with Atwood. What have you got for me?"
"Actually, I wondered if you could share the details of your investigation before we crossed paths. Obviously you developed several good leads and I wondered if we could re-examine the file with our new knowledge in hand. It might show us something you didn't notice before."
"Yeah. I'll pull my files on Earth and put them together for us."
Mission waited for his eyes to adjust to the very dim light in Montag's room and then leaned over his shoulder to look at the vue screen
display. "And every time you discover a factor that correlates roughly with population movement, the addition of that factor in the formula decreases the human numbers and increases the number of syns?"
Montag winced. Mission said “Excuse me. Synthetics.”
Montag nodded. "Yes, but not proportionately. Resident humans are decreasing almost three times faster than synthetics are increasing."
"And how many factors have you added in since the initial four that comprised your formula?"
"Eleven."
"Eleven! This is a definite trend. Throw your initial formula on a graph with x indicating number of variables used and y representing population. Then use green for the line showing humans and red for the line showing synthetics. Okay?"
Montag could make over 120 voice commands and simultaneously type 300 words per minute. Mission worried that smoke would pour off the computer. Montag completed the graph requirements and clicked on a show me command to display the graph.
Mission whistled softly. The synthetic population line climbed gradually off the top of the chart while the human line clearly approached the line y = 0 as an asymptote.
Mission said, "I'm going seat of my pants here and saying here at twenty-five factors, human population is close enough to zero so that the addition of subsequent factors doesn't result in an appreciable change. And if we look at the synthetic population at twenty-five factors we see that ... that they are almost 2000 strong."
Mission sat down and considered what this meant. Montag said, "We must be careful to remember that these factors are estimates and extrapolations. We should by no means consider this exercise accurate."
Mission shook his head and said, "I know we aren't 100%, but look at the graph. No huge gaps or sudden vertical climbs or horizontal leapfrogs. Each of the factors are consistent with the remainder in the relative proportions dictated by those graphs. As a matter of fact, if you came across a factor that didn't fit, I would say that it invalidates the factor rather than the formula. I'm going to collect some first-hand information."
Living in Syn Page 23