"How will you do that?"
Mission winked at him and said, "I have my ways."
Carson and Susan already enjoyed the delectable cafeteria fare when Mission caught up with them. He sat down and looked at the few diners at the other tables.
He said, "I've been conducting my little survey, and let me tell you, nothing is more fun than shutting down a syn's vocal function. But I want to ask you two a question. Have you seen anyone yet that doesn't fit the syn profile? You know, mid-twenties to mid-thirties, great hair, less than 5% body fat. I mean, I know extra-terrestrial mining is basically a game for the young, but there must be some exceptions. Don't you think?"
Susan rested her chin on her palm and said, "Hmmm. Atwood ... But everyone else could be on one of those dance video programs that coincidentally have only beautiful people as guests."
Carson said, "But we know Atwood is keeping most of the population away from us. Wouldn't you think the remaining humans would be the last ones he'd let us see?"
Mission nodded. "That could be. But why is Atwood supporting this overthrow? What's in it for him?"
Susan said, "Aren't the standard answers money, power, and sex?"
Carson asked, "Does he have children? Holding a family member hostage is a possibility."
Mission nodded but his eyes saw images far removed from their lunch table. "And Dr. Mendoza is off collaborating with scientists on Titan."
Susan asked, "What?" and when she received no response, she grabbed his arm.
"Eh? Oh, nothing. It just seems like we have enough data, we just haven't viewed it through the right template yet."
Carson's look was one of inquiry, but Susan could only shrug her shoulders. She too, had no idea what he was thinking.
52
Mission stared at his blank vue screen for more than an hour, completely motionless. No external stimulus existed, but he suddenly sat bolt upright.
"Connect me with Arthur Atwood, please."
Atwood appeared, not yet looking at the screen. Somewhat irritably he said, "Yes, what is it?"
Not until Mission answered did Atwood realize who called him.
"Hello Arthur. How are you?"
"I am fine, Mr. Mission. How can I help you?"
"Well, I hoped we could continue the conversation we started in my room the other day."
Atwood smiled just a bit and said, "Of course. What is on your mind?"
Mission's expression conveyed polite apology. "Please excuse me, but I sometimes find it difficult engaging in serious discussion over a com. Could we sit down together to talk?"
Atwood nodded. "Certainly. I have a meeting scheduled for thirty minutes from now. Would 6:00 be convenient for you?"
Mission smiled and said, "That would be perfect. 6:00 then."
The vue screen displayed a Message Ends banner. Mission reflected for a moment and then said, "Space Station communication services, please ... I wish to place a call to Earth, New York, New York, the Dakota Building, general com services."
"Immediate placement?"
"No, please place the call at 6:15. And I will be in a meeting at that time. Please forward the call. Thank you."
Well, he prepared as much as possible. He hoped he knew what he was doing.
As he entered the waiting room, Margaret, the electronic receptionist greeted him. For some reason, every time he saw her, the phrase Marian, madam librarian ran through his head. He figured a shrink could make a career out of a few sessions with him.
"Hello, Mr. Mission. Mr. Atwood will see you momentarily."
"Thank you Margaret. Has anyone ever told you how seductive your voice is, coupled with your charming accent?"
"No, Mr. Mission."
"Tell me, do you find me ... attractive?"
"Your features are quite pleasing."
"No, no, no. I am trying to say that I want to know you personally, that I am attracted to you, and that I intend to seduce you."
"Mr. Mission, what you are suggesting is not ... "
"Mission, you derive some perverse pleasure from torturing my assistant."
"Well, excuse me Arthur. And my apologies to you, Margaret."
Atwood smiled and said, "Shall we move to my office?"
Atwood waited serenely as Mission seated himself and then shifted to a comfortable position.
"Now. How can I help you?"
"Well, frankly I am left with nothing but questions on the incident at the refinery bay. Could I ask who it was that rescued us?"
"Why, Protective Services under Mr. Benton. Standard sensors in the modules monitor for dramatic power or heat level fluctuations. Their primary purpose is to detect threats to the hull integrity, so that areas can be sealed off in case of emergency."
"Wouldn't that keep Protective Services out? The automated lock down of the area?"
Atwood smiled. "The control center can override at the supervisor's discretion. In the early days, many died needlessly when programming sealed an area irrevocably, even though the situation didn't really risk a hull breach."
Even Mission wasn't sure where he was going. His last encounter with Atwood left him gun shy. He looked up and said, "Thanks, that helps. Now, another thing I'm trying to figure out, and I'm going through transactions, and looking at logs and registers ... the best I can figure is that over the last year, 4000 more people have flown out of New Angeles than have flown in."
Mission scratched his head and let his face show just how much he wanted to understand. "Now, how can that be?"
Atwood's smile only grew wider. "A net population loss of 4000? We would be out of business. No, I suspect that you are the victim of faulty data. You see, shuttle and space station management changed hands a number of times, always involving a bankruptcy. Typically, in these cases the record keeping is questionable at best."
Mission nodded. "Oh, I understand the business problems with Number Eight. That is why I based my entries to New Angeles on your visitor entry fees. You are indicating that your visitor fees are understated?"
"No, of course not. Our records are painfully accurate and I have complete confidence in them. But your assumption about a large net loss must also use an outgoing figure. I question that number."
"Really? Because that calculation is also rather straightforward. Number of guests at the Number Seven Hotel over the year, minus passengers coming in from Number Six, and construction workers coming from Number Nine. The remaining numbers can only come from New Angeles, wouldn't you agree?"
Atwood laughed. "No, I'm afraid I wouldn't. Your formulas sound highly suspect to me, and I don't intend to debate them. It's as simple as this. When we petitioned for this settlement, we included a detailed concept of operations that required a minimum of 5000 humans and 1000 synthetics to meet our established quotas. Now, if you would like to debate the accuracy of that plan, I will. The plan's projected staffing and resource requirements are within 1% of actuals. Now, you are aware that this settlement exceeded quota every quarter since its inception, so why don't you explain to me how we can do that if we are down 4000 staff years?"
Now Mission smiled. "How about this? How about ... you are realizing incredible efficiencies by evicting the human staff and making any replacement with synthetics? How would that work?"
Atwood's smile gradually melted to a schoolmaster's stern disapproval. "Mr. Mission, I am really making every effort to accommodate you, but I draw the line at feeding and caring for your hallucinations. Do you have questions to which I can provide answers?"
Mission nodded but held his hands up. "I understand, and I apologize. Just give me a few more minutes. You see, I got together with the Paradox engineers and we found a backdoor in the synthetic brain programs that no one ever knew about. Except of course for the programmer who put it there. Anyway, it turns out to be a surefire, easy as pie method to tell if a being is synthetic. So, I've been trying it on the folks here in the city and I haven't come across a human yet. I know that doesn't necessarily mean an
ything."
Mission pointed his finger and said, "The key for me was you, Arthur. If my theory was correct, you would be instrumental in sending the humans home. And I couldn't figure out why you would do that. Then my mind tripped over Dr. Mendoza and his trip to Titan. You know, I was wondering if that meant anything. And that got me to thinking about the science staff. I wondered why you kept a genetic engineer around once you developed the plant life that would grow here. You know what I decided?"
Atwood shook his head. "No, but by all means, continue. I may submit this to Fiction Unlimited."
Mission smiled. "It is a good story isn't it? Well, I figured he stayed to mutate the organic segment of the synthetic, to allow rapid oxidation. You know what that could do? It could make a syn look older. Say mid-fifties."
Now Atwood giggled. "Me? You think that I am synthetic?"
Mission smiled too and said, "If I can get serious for just a second. I'm not bluffing about the test to separate humans from syns, but I won't do that to you. Regardless as to what lies under your skin, I think you deserve better than a humiliating little test. So, I am offering you this last chance to tell me the truth."
Atwood's amusement never wavered. "Mission, I think you need some enforced rest. A month or two at a private hospital. In fact, I'll be happy to make ... "
The com buzzed. "A call is ready for Mr. Mission. Are you ready to begin?"
"Yes, please."
A standard electronic operator said, "Dakota Building, Communication Services. What party please?"
Mission looked at Atwood and then replied, "Arthur Atwood, please."
"One moment."
An angry Arthur Atwood in a green golf shirt appeared, already speaking loudly. "You've got your nerve. Throw me out of the damned city and now you call for help. Oh ... who the hell are you?"
"My name is Mission, Mr. Atwood. How long ago were you evicted from New Angeles?"
Atwood reached toward the screen and disconnected the call. Mission turned toward the synthetic Atwood. His hands pressed together like he was praying and his eyes closed.
Mission stood up and said, "I grow tired of this. I have more than enough evidence to leave this city tomorrow and have the Army obliterate the entire settlement. But that’s not what I want. I want to know the whole truth so that you and I can figure out what should be done. But I will not continue to listen to lies, and be forced to uncover the truth spoonful at a time. I'll return tomorrow at 9:00 and I want to work with you toward a resolution. But this is my timeline. When the last member of my team can travel, we will leave, and then any further negotiations will be between you and the Army."
53
Mission explained the situation to Carson and Susan that evening. Carson was very concerned and as Mission finished his summary, he said, "I need to get in touch with General Snowden and brief him. This is much worse than we thought."
Mission said, "Worse? Man, I can give you ten times worse. They peacefully sent the humans back, they send a percentage back to the company, and I'm pretty sure they’re not aligned with a foreign nation. And they don't eat anything."
"This is serious. A new kind of threat. This endangers all of Planet's Row and that translates to space travel as we know it."
"Look, Carson, I don't think 24 or 48 hours will prove to be critical. And I think during that time, we can obtain enough information to make an accurate assessment of the situation. I need to understand what they want. And we need to come to agreement on what the groups we represent want. Paradox and Pioneer are fairly easy. They're businesses and they want profit. Fortunately for the public, Paradox can't make a profit without putting safety first."
"What the Army wants is more complicated. The military always seeks the situation with the greatest defensive capabilities and with the least risk. Sometimes they get hung up with the rest of the world because the rest of the world wants that defense, but not at any cost. The point is, this isn't an optimum situation, but it never was. Even with humans, the idea of a corporation controlling a settlement drove the Army crazy. Right?"
Carson frowned and worried his com, pulling up page after page. "Yeah, yes. You make several valid points. But I won't wait much longer."
Mission nodded. "Thank you. Let's say 48 hours. Okay? Thanks."
That night, Susan and Mission leaned on each other, resting in each other's arms. The vue screen delivered the most recent installment of a weekly series. The show revolved around a large family inheriting a small apartment building. One by one, the family members moved in until all ten apartments were occupied by relatives. Mission thought it looked claustrophobic and incestuous. Susan thought it was brilliant cutting edge comedy.
The show ended and Mission said, "You are very quiet this evening. What's your reaction to an entire city of synthetics?"
"Concern. When we started, this exercise was no different than building a new computer. Granted it was much more sophisticated, but we were still just making a new machine. We tested to exhaustion to eliminate safety concerns. And now ... now the world has shifted under me. I never imagined a situation like this. Frankly, I never anticipated synthetics behaving like this. I feel like Paradox is in over its head."
Mission considered her thoughts as he stared into space. "Yeah, it's funny. Back in the twentieth century, people raised holy hell about the potential impacts of genetic engineering. They brought absolutely legitimate concerns to the debate, saying there was no way to project the impact of the changes they planned to make. Meanwhile, Paradox gambled with far more than the genetics boys and girls without realizing it. As you said, no one conceived that synthetics could be built with a complexity that rivals organic life itself."
She looked back at Mission and said, "Where do you see all this going?"
"I don't know. We are standing at an historic juncture, without a clue as to where we should steer this issue."
He turned to look at her and said, "But I don't think more discussion will help. Actually…."
And then Susan kissed him.
Mission headed toward his room and saw Carson waiting in the hall for him.
"Hey, Car. Come on in and have a drink."
Mission poured two glasses of Jose and handed one to Carson. Mission studied every line in Carson's face and said, "You think this is too great a risk to stay on."
"Damned straight. These killer syns ripped you open, smashed a mirror over your head, shot you three times, and beat the hell out of you every time you showed your face. You are good, but you're good and lucky. How long will your luck hold out? How long before one of us dies like Denman?"
Carson hesitated. “Too much death already.”
The seconds passed and Mission said, "How do expect me to argue with that? You're right. But I'm positive we're dealing with two groups here. One ultra-violent faction that caused all our trouble and another group that seems to control this city. Don't you think we should try to make some distinction before we simply obliterate the place?"
"For God's sake, they're machines. Would we discuss this if the subject was washing machines? No! We'd destroy the lot and go home. So let's get out of here and destroy this place from orbit."
Mission nodded. "You're probably right. But what if Vivienne had survived? Would you still say nuke the place?”
Carson’s face tuned purple. He trembled with anger and his fists were clenched tightly. “Fuck you Mission! … You’ve got no…you…you don’t know what you’re talking about. You piece of shit! You’ll say anything to win, won’t you?”
Pierce was on his feet. Mission was certain that Carson was going to hit him, and he was prepared to take it. He deserved it. But Pierce stayed still, towering over Mission, waiting.
Mission held up his hands, and then he nodded. “You’re right, I’m out of line. But destroying thousands of synthetics to ease our fears would be senseless. I think there are hundreds of decent, hardworking syns in this city. And we …humans are diminished when we destroy something just because w
e don’t understand it. I'm just asking for some time to see if we can sort out the good from the bad."
Carson's lower jaw jutted out. "You piss me off. I thought I partnered with a soldier of fortune and woke up with a diplomat instead." He rubbed his hands through his crew cut and looked back up. "I can't accept the risk as the situation stands."
"You wanted to make a report this afternoon. What if we write one up and transmit it to our respective attorneys with instructions to circulate them if anything happens to us?"
Carson considered. "That satisfies me for the big picture. But it does nothing to protect us, to protect Susan. How can you live with that?"
"Because we'll take a copy of the report and the transmissions to the meeting. If things look bad, we can play that trump card and they won't dare touch us."
Carson shook his head and said, "You make it difficult to separate logic from bullshit."
“But you’ll give me the 24 hours?”
Carson nodded very slowly. “Twenty-four hours and then I don’t care how you argue it. Then it’s my turn.”
54
Mission woke that night with reservations. Perhaps he made a mistake giving Atwood time to think. He could take Mission apart with the preparation the day's grace afforded him. But as he sat down with Susan and Carson at Atwood's conference table, he knew his worries wouldn't be realized. An assistant served coffee and rolls. Mission allowed himself the slightest smile. The refreshments told him all he needed to know. The meeting belonged to him.
Atwood, or whoever he was, entered the room, the epitome of serenity and confidence. He sat down opposite the other three, folded his hands, and smiled a peaceful smile. "I would say that this is perhaps the most unusual meeting ever held. Wouldn't you agree?"
Carson boiled over. "Listen, if you think you can sidetrack us with commentary on the remarkable, you are sorely mistaken ... "
Mission put his hand up and said, "Carson, it's okay. We have as much time as we need this morning to sort this all out." Training his eyes on Atwood, he continued, "I'm sure you appreciate that feelings run high on both sides of this issue. Why don't we start again?"
Living in Syn Page 24