“Hello, Mac,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.
“You didn’t forget, did you?” Ross joked, knowing from personal experience that mindguards had flawless memory. Without being invited, he sat down on one of the deceptively comfortable vintage armchairs. It squeaked in protest of the giant’s weight.
“Pinot?” Sheldon asked.
“Sure, why not?”
As Sheldon poured, Ross took a few moments to look around the office. Huge paper map of Terra Antiqua, check. Dusty leather-bound books, check. Oil paintings, check. Violin, check. Everything looks exactly the same, he thought. He wasn’t in the least bit surprised. Every item in the room looked out of place in this century. For those who didn’t know Sheldon, his office might suggest the lair of a homesick time-traveler from the past. Those who did know him were surprised he didn’t use ink-dipped reeds to write on papyrus rolls.
Without a word, Sheldon handed his friend the glass of wine and took a seat behind his desk, an expensive piece of furniture made from Carpathian elm and imported directly from Terra Antiqua. Sheldon had always shown a deep love for everything related to Old Earth, from its history and culture, to its scenery, its furniture and especially its wines. He was also one of the very few people who could afford a vacation home on the Planet of Origin.
Seeing that his friend was characteristically quiet, Ross decided to break the ice. “You need to get out more,” he said.
“I just got back from Ancient Rome,” Sheldon answered, taking a sip of Pinot. Ross looked at the hologoggles resting on the desk beside a book titled The Ghosts That Haunt Old Earth. “I meant the kind of ‘out’ that implies social interaction.”
“I’m a mindguard, Mac, I get more ‘social interaction’ than I desire.”
Lately, Sheldon rarely left his home, other than to travel to the Ancient Destinations. Tourism was steadily increasing on Terra Antiqua. The ruins left behind by civilizations from the dawn of mankind had become veritable hotspots for heritage expeditions. Holosense technology could reproduce the surroundings as they had looked millennia ago. Neural insertions would transmit very convincing stimuli to all senses, replicating sights, sounds, smells and tactile sensations. The experience felt very real. Travelers could walk along the ruins and admire the buildings as they had once been. They could watch the people and hear the sounds of their long-dead languages. They could taste their food, drink their wine and smell their sweat. It was as close to time-travel as humanity had ever come.
The hologoggles, though, were extremely outdated; technological relics from decades ago, before neuroinsertions and genome upgrades became available to the mass market. The only people who still used them were those with genetic incompatibility to neuroinsertions, those with phobias of such technology and the small number of prototechs, people whose personal philosophy rejected any genetic modifications to the human body. Sheldon belonged to the third category.
“So how was Ancient Rome?” Ross asked.
“Same as always.”
“Did you send my regards to Emperor Nero?”
Sheldon almost never laughed or smiled. Ross could tell that his friend was amused only because his gaze remained fixed on him for a few seconds, rather than wandering around the room and resting on some random object, as was usually the case. Those who didn’t know that Sheldon was a prototech assumed he was interacting with the visual transmitters on his retina. The empty gaze associated with visual neuroinsertions was typical of people receiving optic feedback. That wasn’t Sheldon’s case. He was, in fact, just avoiding eye-contact. It was a personal quirk, even when talking with his best friend.
This time, Sheldon looked at Mac for a full three seconds; a sign of great affection. The giant tasted the wine. Exquisite, he thought.
“Exquisite, right?” Sheldon said.
Ross’ heart skipped a beat. For a fraction of a second he believed that his friend had just read his mind. Then he remembered that he was in the habit of saying ‘exquisite’ whenever he thought something was really good, a verbal tick of which Sheldon was aware. His old friend was teasing him; that meant he was in a good mood. Ross handed Sheldon the holobook and rolled his eyes when the mindguard printed out the file on paper.
“Should I have written it by hand?” he joked, but Sheldon didn’t react. He was already studying the mission file, his legendary brain absorbing the data with lightning speed.
“Horatio Miller?” he asked.
“The very same.”
“The businessman?”
“…and Educator.”
Sheldon raised his right eyebrow, which was about as close as he ever got to rolling his eyes and sighing emphatically. Ross knew that the reclusive mindguard had little regard for the title of Educator. He considered it a pompous designation created by elitist politicians only so they could grant it to themselves. Ross partially agreed, but he did have great respect for Miller, who was one of the few credibly accomplished men of the recent era.
“Not interested,” Sheldon said.
“Bullshit!”
“Not interested!”
“Sheldon… it’s Horatio Miller.”
The mindguard cleared his throat as if to say ‘You know me better than that’. He handed Ross the holobook.
“You turn down more and more jobs nowadays,” Ross said.
“I’m otherwise engaged.”
“Right… with your research…”
“Among other things.”
“You know I’ve always respected your academic endeavors. But that’s a hobby, this is work. You are the most brilliant mindguard in the world, why waste your God-given talent?”
Sheldon sighed almost imperceptibly. “Why me, Mac?”
“You’re the best.”
“At the level we conduct our work, the difference between best and next best becomes insignificant.”
“Not to me.”
“Isabel is an outstanding mindguard.”
“She’s exquisite.”
“And I hear the new kid is more than capable.”
“More than capable,” Ross echoed.
“So you’ve got your team.”
“So I still want you.”
Ross smiled and took the glass of wine off its coaster. He emptied it in one big swig, put it back on the desk and leaned back in his armchair. “Isabel has experience,” he said. “Alex has raw talent.” He paused for dramatic effect, then grinned. “You have both. After all, the company is called Ayers-Ross.”
“What bothers me,” Sheldon said, “is that if it were anyone other than Horatio Miller, you wouldn’t even have gone through the trouble of contacting me.”
“Well -”
“Miller gets special treatment and I don’t like that,” Sheldon cut him off.
Ross rolled his eyes. “I figured you wouldn’t. Look, what’s the big deal Sheldon? You get out of the house for a little while. The pay is one of the best we’ve ever gotten -” He raised his hand just as Sheldon was about to object. “I know it’s not about the money, it’s not about money for me either and you know that. It’s about respect. One of the most respected men in the free world asks for your services, you damn well deliver and prove you are every bit as good as he assumes.”
“Isn’t arrogance considered a sin in your religion?”
“Don’t be an asshole, Sheldon!”
“Why does he even want vintages in the first place?”
“Because he’s smart. You think he hasn’t done his homework?”
For the last few generations, artificial mindguards like androids and bots of all types had increasingly replaced their human counterparts, the so-called ‘vintages’. Still, even though the AI mindguards were regarded as more consistently dependable, excellence in the field of neurological data protection - or ‘thought protection’ - belonged solely to human beings. Some knowledgeable people were still aware of that.
“I’m not asking as a business partner, I’m asking as a friend,” Ross said. “And you o
we me.”
Nothing else needed to be said. Years ago, Ross had pulled some strings to get Sheldon’s grandfather, Kinsey Ayers, declared a hero of the IFCO after his death. Due to his status as a hero, Kinsey’s mind had been digitally encoded and uploaded to the Human Knowledge Archives, a sort of Noah’s Ark of the most important intellects born in the era of space colonization. Kinsey was one of only four mindguards to have ever had their memories preserved. Ross knew that his friend would feel bound to return the favor.
Sheldon glimpsed at the half empty bottle of Pinot Noir. “Knowing you, I assume you told Miller to expect us right away. No time, then, for another glass?!”
Ross chuckled and checked the time on his retinal insertion. “Well, I told him it would take me less than fifteen minutes to convince you, so he’s expecting us in about twenty minutes. A man like Horatio Miller is not accustomed to being left waiting.” Sheldon remained silent for a few seconds, anticipating a punch line. “… which is exactly why I think he could use a little lesson in modesty. Screw Miller! Feel free to pour.”
Sheldon Ayers must have suddenly been reminded exactly why he loved his old friend, because he rewarded him with a rare smile.
Chapter 2
When you are guarding somebody’s mind, you are at the same time guarding their soul.
Samuel Weixman, Strengths and Limitations of the Mindguard
Two minutes had passed from the moment they threw the empty bottle of wine in the trash bin, to the moment they set foot on Horatio Miller’s property on the planet Terra Nova. Those two minutes had mostly been spent walking from the office to the Departure Chamber. From there, travel was instantaneous. Had they journeyed the same distance by spacecraft, their great-great-grandchildren might have had just enough time to land the ship on the planet, before dying of old age.
“Smooth ride, eh?” Ross said as they stepped out of the portal and onto the reception platform. In front of them, a cobblestone walkway lead straight to Horatio Miller’s mansion.
“A minor modification to a major invention,” Sheldon said drily.
“I’d like to see how you’d have enjoyed spending hours on a ship just to take a two second trip.”
Like Horatio Miller, Sheldon and Ross were two of the few people who could afford to own a personal transporter. Most had to go to a spaceport, then wait for a flight that would take them outside the planet’s atmosphere. There, the entire spacecraft had to pass through the wormhole, which brought the vessel close to the destination planet.
When the Muench-Henriksen space-time bridges - or ‘gateways’ - had initially been discovered a few centuries earlier, they could only be stabilized in the vacuum of outer space. Horatio Miller and Nikolaos Apostolos were the two scientists who managed to create the first stable Muench-Henriksen Bridge on the surface of a planet, allowing for individual transportation through personal Departure Chambers. The technology was still very recent and thus restrictively expensive. Miller’s gateway generator was integrated into a platform that resembled a heliport.
Near the platform, waiting to greet them, stood a portly middle-aged man whose expression made him look like he had just been woken from a very comfortable nap. He extended his hand to Ross, then to Sheldon.
“Welcome gentlemen, I’m Marcus Miller,” he said with a muffled voice that completed his sleepy mien.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Maclaine Ross, this is Sheldon Ayers.” Sheldon just shook the man’s hand saying nothing.
“Mmhmm,” Marcus murmured. “My brother had prepared to greet you in person but seeing as how you are late, he had to turn his attention to other matters. I trust you will make yourselves comfortable until he is ready to see you. I will show you to the lobby.”
We made him wait and now he’s making us wait, Ross thought. Competitive guy. He was not surprised. He expected no less from one of the world’s most influential businessmen.
Ross had dressed the way he always did when meeting a man like Miller. He was surprised that Sheldon hadn’t yet made a sarcastic comment about his outfit. He was wearing a black, skin-tight t-shirt that showed off his very muscular physique. Ross found that dressing this way almost always guaranteed that the other person underestimated his intelligence. They probably figured that a man who dedicated so much time to training his body must undoubtedly have neglected training his mind. They couldn’t be more wrong. Whenever he met someone he didn’t entirely trust, he preferred to be underestimated.
Sheldon’s clothes had not been chosen with the same attention to psychology. They gave away more about his partner’s character than Ross would have liked. Nevertheless, he knew that there was no point in arguing with him. Sheldon rarely left the house in anything other than his customary black shirt and light brown leather jacket. The shirt, an outdated design, no longer fashionable anywhere other than Old Earth, disclosed the man’s affection for the Planet of Origin. It revealed a melancholy spirit, perpetually stuck in some idealized version of the past. Since leather had been outlawed for decades, and wearing leather clothing was penalized with a hefty fine, Sheldon’s jacket suggested a man with a reckless nature and disregard for authority. For an intelligent client like Miller, these shortcomings made for a less than favorable first impression.
Usually, Ross avoided bringing Sheldon to business meetings and his partner generally had little desire to tag along. But Miller had requested Sheldon’s presence.
Marcus Miller was guiding them towards the enormous modern mansion which, as he explained, was designed by the foremost architect in all of Terra Nova. They were led to a spacious waiting room and invited to have a seat. “To be honest, I have no idea how long my brother will be,” he said. “I also have other matters to attend to. I will send refreshments. Feel free to use our holosense chamber in the meantime.” He made the floor plan available to Ross’ retinal insertions. The giant flirted with the idea of telling him that Sheldon was a prototech and thus had no use for the holosense room, just to spook him a little. He ultimately decided against it.
A few minutes later, a maid appeared, pushing a portable bar. Ross could tell that she was human; she lacked the distinctive tattoo on the right side or her face, an obligatory mark of all androids. He grabbed a Scholan beer but was surprised to see Sheldon take nothing. “I see they’ve got some imported India Pale Ale from Old Earth,” he said. “I can see that,” Sheldon answered, but he didn’t help himself.
They were left waiting for two and a half hours. Ross was certain this had been done specifically to punish them for being a half hour late. He didn’t get angry. This behavior helped him understand more about Horatio Miller as a person. He always wanted to learn as much as he could about his clients. If Sheldon was irritated by the long wait, he didn’t show it. Ross used the time to read a mission report on his retinal insertions. It had been sent by Isabel, one of the mindguards he employed. In his absence, the woman was the field captain, while Kriss White served as Head of Operations at the base. Isabel informed him of the mission’s success but made a comment about what she called the ‘recklessness’ of her mindguard partner, Alex.
“Copy that Iz, thanks,” Ross replied. “Kid will come around. Bringing Sheldon.” He was sure the mention of Sheldon Ayers would put a smile on Isabel’s face. The two seemed very fond of each other. In the field they had perfect chemistry and in private they seemed to genuinely enjoy each other’s company. Isabel was also, to Mac’s knowledge, the only person in the world whom Sheldon greeted with a smile.
He turned to look at his partner, who had produced a small, leather-bound book and was reading from it to pass the time. More than two hours had gone by and still there was no sign of Horatio Miller. Bored and looking to make conversation, Ross glanced at the book’s title. “Wolfmen: A History of the Dacian Population,” he read out loud. Sheldon took his eyes off the page. “They lived in a region of what is now Western Asia on Terra Antiqua,” he said. “The name of the book is a reference to their worship of the wolf, an extinct membe
r of the Canidae.”
“Formerly extinct,” declared a confident voice. Horatio Miller had finally appeared, with his brother following him. He was approaching with a slow, condescending walk, which suggested he was not at all worried that he may have offended them by making them wait so long. Ross wondered if the man had really been busy, or if he had just watched them from his office through the holosense cams, getting a chuckle out of wasting their time.
“Wolves are among the most recent species brought to life through deextinction. A few thousand creatures have been produced and set free on the planet Wrangel. Mylonas, my company, funded and controlled the operation. We would have done it a lot sooner but the wolf is just not a very popular animal.” He laughed and extended his hand presenting a friendly smile. “Horatio Miller,” he said shaking the two men’s hands.
Horatio looked younger than Ross had expected. He did not present a single wrinkle or gray hair, no bags under his eyes, as you would expect from a man who allegedly worked round-the-clock. He also seemed to be in excellent shape, in striking contrast with his overweight brother. The only thing which gave away the fact that this man was really in his fifties was his very expensive tailor-made suit, a tasteful but conservative design which was not in tone with the usual flamboyant fashion of the modern youth.
“I see you have an interest in ancient history,” Horatio said, pointing to the book in Sheldon’s hands. Sheldon looked at the object as if he had seen it for the first time. “Any chance you have an interest in art history as well? It is a topic about which I am most passionate.” Ross looked around the sleek, modern reception area, furnished with high-end neuroreceptive accessories. He took note of the fact that there wasn’t a single piece of art on display anywhere.
“I have an interest in everything,” Sheldon answered. As he spoke his eyes met those of his host. He held the man’s gaze for what felt to Ross like an uncomfortably long period of time. “Mr. Miller,” he added. The charming businessman did not seem offended, though Ross was sure that the man was aware Sheldon had intentionally not used the title ‘Educator’. He wondered if it was his partner’s way of getting back at their client for letting them wait for so long. You just never knew with Sheldon.
Mindguard Page 2