by Ron Bender
The Infostreaming here is really good. They have actual news, not the massaged spin that everyone gets as a free service from some ‘generous’ provider. Free doesn’t mean useful, fair, or actually free.
That part of old America rings even more true since the interregnum started. Businesses still use people like cattle and the people let themselves be used. It was easier than having to think for themselves. Besides, if you complained and you must be a communist… agreed too loudly and you were a fascist. Just let armed groups run amok for a while pretending to be well regulated, and eventually the corporations got in on it, sponsoring hit teams to enforce their version of peace. Everyone learned to shut up for fear of getting shit-canned.
Between setup shots of the Speedwell exploding, the threats for lawsuits, and the carnage in the plaza…I wonder if anyone here will care about Maggie.
The scene onscreen is a blood bath. But not for the reasons everyone thinks. The hype blames AlphaTek but when I watch the shooting, Basillio and his men only take out specific targets that show them direct aggression.
Anyone who pays attention to the world knows this simple fact; the lethality of a shooter is multiplied by how much they train. Organized criminals are more lethal than gangers. Cops are more lethal than organized criminals, soldiers are more lethal than cops, and AlphaTek. Well AlphaTek must train very hard.
Harder than most military. Everyone I’ve met who carries anything bigger than a pistol has a military background. And they still apply their training.
The men with Basillio in the plaza are probably hand-picked. They kill what they shoot at.
It’s everyone else in the plaza who just open up, vaguely aiming at the podium.
It reminds me of the same spin that came out right before the coup. I turn off the screen and leave.
The maglifts are fast and quiet. The people who enter and leave the car are respectful, unafraid of my size, or appearance. I feel almost normal.
A group of young children, rough-house their way into the lift. A few of them look at me. One asks, “You’re not a robot, are you?”
“No. I’m a soldier. We’re called Hercules, and I look this way because I fight in space.”
“Cool.”
“Are you inside armor?”
“Do have any kids?”
The lift opens before I can answer and they burst out of the lift, full of rambunctious energy. They run off to a wide playground sunken and raised across a dozen stories of the plaza building.
Everything a kid could want. Wading pools, playground, climbing, open spaces, woven together with the illusion of more room than there is. Maggie would love it here.
Maggie.
I walk to a bench and have a seat. The kids I followed have started a wide-ranging game of tag. My chest aches at missing Maggie.
“May I join you.” Basillio asks.
I look over at him. He’s wearing a combat armor vest, blood stained clothes, and a twelve-millimeter short round service sidearm in a careworn handmade holster. The skin from his right arm is missing leaving raw metal and carbon epoxy exposed. This man can change clothes anytime he wants, look anyway he wants….
One of two things are at play; one, a situation kept him from changing, or two, he’s putting a personal message, his own spin, onto his appearance. I saw the streaming and saw this man take a lot of rounds. His face has a light grey tone under the skin. Too many combat stims. Not enough real rest.
I gesture. “Go ahead. It’s your bench.”
I can see the tightening around his eyes as he moves. He’s hurting. Internal damage can take a long time to recover from if you can’t sit still for treatment. “Baylen, I have news.”
My voice analysis tells me he’s under a lot of stress. I turn to face him. I can’t help my own anger. His company’s been wrong about Maggie’s location and a lot of people died.
“The news isn’t good.”
“Is it Maggie?” I ask over the sound of children laughing.
“No, it’s not Maggie. We found Maggie. For real. My people confirmed directly to me that they have narrowed it down to fifty square acres of earth and she was alive just over an hour ago.”
“Where is she?”
“Listen Baylen. It’s Vanessa. She was killed last night.”
I stare. Cast into space without pack or tether… “How?”
“She was outside the city with your tribe. She went to see your trailer…. Someone had placed an explosive. Wired it to the palm lock. It was instant. I’m sorry.”
I had always thought I would die way before her. I find that I’m not prepared….
Control, or the illusion of it, only comes when I latch onto training. I focus on priorities of action because otherwise I feel powerless. “You know who did this don’t you?”
“I know who gave the order.”
Bransen.
“Listen, I need to know you’re still on board with us. I’ll get you to Maggie, give you access to all the intel you need….”
“Get me to Maggie and I’ll let you know.” Whatever else happens, Maggie comes first.
“We need to recover the rest of your men.”
“Maggie, and then my men. Believe me they’ll understand being second in line.” I say. I feel guilty as I say the words because this man and his organization also saved my life in Texas. “You and your organization have screwed up twice. This last time fatally. Vanessa…” I’m glad my optics make it impossible to cry….
“Where’s Maggie?” I ask.
“Bangui, Central African Republic. I have people collecting intel and recon for you. There’s a LEO waiting.”
I don’t know what kind of sensor gear this man has packed into him. I don’t know if the building AI is monitoring me. I keep everything simple. Standing up, I take a last look around the playground.
One of the kids waves at me and soon a bunch of are waving excitedly. Let Basillio think what he wants about it. I lift an arm and wave back.
Turning away I say. “Let’s go.”
As the lift door opens in front of us he probes, “Baylen, with regard to Vanessa….”
My legs stop me from moving. The maglift waits. Everything stops.
“I had her remains brought here.” He says quietly. “I was going to arrange a service for when you come back…”
“I’ll put together some notes while I’m in transit.” I can’t detach, not from her. No matter what else Nessa may have been, or done, I loved her still; she gave me Maggie. Now Maggie is everything I have left.
3.28
Division
The tropical sun is warm on my face. Sand under me holds my body. Waves in the distant lagoon are drowned out by the droning buzz of flies.
I roll my head to one side.
A swirling mass of insects, rise and fall over the bodies of men. My men. My first command.
The droning sound grows insistent and I know that I’m dreaming.
I sit up, the morning sun streams across my pillow. I fight the sleep that threatens to take me again. My dv buzzes on the nightstand.
I reach for it.
“Yeah?” I say into it. The pain meds want me to sleep. Vlasta wants me to sleep. The dead want me to sleep…. “What is it?”
“Greysen here.” His voice is terse, clipped. “I’ve finished my report on the explosion site. But I have other news; urgent news that won’t wait.”
“It can wait.” The dead need my company for a while.
“No, Basillio, it really can’t.” his voice rises. “Our AI has been corrupted. It’s bad. Possibly terminal.”
I swing my legs off the bed. The ramifications of the situation he’s described sinks home; the slow thrust of a dull bayonet to the belly.
“Where are you?” I ask as I stand and pull new clothes out of storage.
“Sub-level sixteen. I have room sixteen sixty-six sealed and secured.”
“I’ll be there in five.” I cut the line and head to the door of my small suite of room
s. I stop by the sideboard desk and wipe sleep from my eyes. My head is a mass of disjointed thoughts. I open the desk drawer and pull out a stimjector.
I push it to my neck and introduce another round of chemicals into my bloodstream.
As I make my way to the maglift I realize that there was no hesitation, no weighing the balance; I’d simply done it.
This situation is too important to not be at one hundred percent. Even as I think it, it feels like an excuse.
There’s no way around it. If Greysen’s right, with Delta in place, I need Morochevsky.
I com-link to the main medical facility desk and have them start the process of bringing Alex around, waking him up, getting him ready. I make it clear to the med-tech that it’s an order not an option.
Cutting that com, I close my eyes, letting my mind think ahead to the next steps I’ll have to make. Jen, who monitors every interaction I have comes over the maglift speaker system. “Basillio?”
“Yes?”
She asks, “If Greysen has found a problem with the AI, that blanket statement would include me, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes Jen. It would.” I feel as though the maglift has slowed so we can have this conversation.
“What do you suppose he wants to talk to you about?” she asks. “He’s set aside a sealed room.”
“The Delta protocols have partitioned Lexi from interacting with you, and Kiara is still in a sensitive development phase.” I wonder why she she’s asking. Is it the corruption looking to bury itself deeper? Or is it curiosity? It’s a trait that’s been slowly developing in her. But then again, long-term use of combat stimulants can lead to increasingly intense bouts of paranoia. “I suspect he’ll want to review what he found so far.”
She continues, “He said it was bad. Possibly terminal.”
“I can’t comment on much, Jen,” I say. “There will certainly be a period of time when we run diagnostics and sequester each of you with the development teams. Beyond that I can’t say what the result might be.”
“I suppose then that next steps will be developed after that assessment.” Her tone tells me she isn’t reassured.
“And that will take a bit of time.” I rely on Jen the most. She’d be my choice to be inspected first.
The maglift slows and the doors open onto the sub-level.
“Have a good meeting.”
“Thank you, Jen.” I reply and make my way down to sixteen sixty-six. Greysen has a two-man security detail posted outside. Greysen is waiting with an ECM technician and a cart. No one is talking.
The tech sweeps us both and says, “Aside from internals and your dv’s you’re both clean.”
Greysen puts his dv into a box on the cart and I do the same.
Only after the door is shut and the tech knocks to signal that we were sealed up does he speak. “It’s bad, Basillio.”
“How’d you find it?”
“During the investigation of the bombing I needed to get the final report ready for you. That meant asking control for their debrief reports. Since Lexi was Control I received the report and it included orbital footage of the site. The weather seemed to reduce some of the clarity. In fact, let me show you.”
He pulls a toggle drive out of his pocket and sets it onto the access plate in the middle of the conference table. “Keep in mind I’ve edited this to compress the time for our convenience.”
The footage plays out. The weather makes a lot of the site unviewable, only when the weather breaks a little can we make the lines of the trailer out and then the flash of the explosion.
“And?”
“And since the Delta protocol is in place, I followed procedure.”
“It’s a big protocol professor.” The ragged edges of my dream lend a frustrated urgency to my voice.
“Of course,” he says, “The specifics. For my department, I have to request intel from all available sources and cross compare them for accuracy. It’s what ate up the last few hours.”
I sit and look at him.
“So, all available sources meant I had to ask Orbital for the same footage.” He leans over and taps the drive menu. Another run of footage plays.
The resolution is intense compared to the previous run-through. The weather has been compensated for, almost completely filtered out. I see a top down of Shandra and vanessa’s arrival and them opening the trailer with the palm lock. They go inside. Time compresses on the stamp floating in the corner of the images.
A lone figure slowly approaches and ducks under the trailer. Ten minutes later he slips out and away. After that Shandra appears on the patio, is joined by Vanessa who turns to reenter the doorway. The flash is instant, brutal. Time passes. First on the scene is Picasso.
Greysen says, “The only conclusion I could come to was that someone had caused Lexi to doctor the footage. I ran separate reviews of the last several drops where she had been Control. The footage from the Liberty Transfer Platform had been changed, as well as a number of mission details across different operations. I don’t have your access but I compiled a list of potential incidents right back to the first traceable anomaly.” He taps the display. “I was looking for a correlation.”
Even as the first mission files scroll I see the pattern. Each mission is connected to Phillip, the corporations he controls, or people he’s leveraged.
I sit up. “I see the pattern. Where did they start?”
“Here.” He scrolls to a different section. “A few months ago. It looks as though we’d been sending remote assistance to a situation under your authority. The explosion at the Ekranoplan loading area in UnderCity.” He sits across from me. I can tell he was hoping the situation was something, almost anything other than what it is. “There was an injection into her code. It’s been growing ever since.”
“Have you spoken to AI Development yet?” The stim doesn’t feel like it’s doing much. I feel ill at the overwhelming degree of suck that my corporation is going to have to get through this….
He says, “No. Protocol—"
“Right.” I cut him off. “You need my permission to do that. Please do. Have them start with Jen first. Take Lexi and Kiara off line.”
“I can’t. Proto—"
“I get it.” I stand and pace, needing someplace to put the nausea I feel building. The bayonet I felt before twists inside me. “Complete compartmentalization. Complete chain of accountability.”
I’d put the whole thing together with a team of consultant’s years ago for dealing with exactly this kind of thing. I don’t feel like patting my back. “I’ll get in touch with Development. Find someone who can backtrack this kind of code…wait. We have a new hire, James Takashi. He’ll jump at the chance to sink his teeth into a project like this. Find someone who can keep up with him to ride shotgun through the exploration.”
“I will,” He says as he lifts the toggle drive off the plate.
I make my way to the door.
He stops me by saying, “I’m sorry for the amount of work this is going to create.”
“Don’t be.”
“You know.” His purses his lips. “If we hadn’t have been under a Delta, this never would have been found.”
I nod. “Good work Greysen, Thanks.”
It’s hard to wrap my head around the idea that there actually is a silver lining resulting from Phillip trying to kill me.
˜˜˜
I recover my dv and make my way to the maglift. “Medical.”
The door slides closed. Jen doesn’t ask me about the meeting. I know she wants to because the maglift practically crawls.
“Jen. The situation is serious enough the both Lexi and Kiara are going to be taken off line. What functionality will you have if AI Development works with you to check you out?”
“That would depend on the depth of their inquiry.” She answers.
“And that would depend on what they find….”
“I should manage at fifty to seventy percent capacity.” She asks, “How long will L
exi and Kiara be offline?”
“I don’t know Jen.” I know she’s worried. She has the capacity to follow the dots.
“Corrupt code,” she says. “The damage from it might be too great to remove without reverting her other attributes to default.”
“It’s a check-up.” I try to explain. “Like when I go to the medical or technical bays. Just a look to see if anything warrants a deeper search.”
“Except that if your arm needs recalibration it doesn’t lead to your memory of college being erased.”
“Jen. It will be fine.” I’m surprised at the strength of her retort. If the behavior continued I’d get it removed. Speed over finesse is needed and I resort to using base command lines. I hate doing it but I need her on board. “Jennifer, I need you to focus on the tasks you have and continue to do them well.”
“Yes, sir,” she replies. “I understand, and I’m sorry for becoming upset.”
“Your example is accurate though. It’s just that you haven’t been exposed to the same things Lexi has. She’s been running Control for almost a year.” I say, “There’s always been a risk.”
“I understand. Thank you for keeping me informed.” The doors open into the medical facility. Through the security glass I see the main wards waiting area. Employee’s, their partners, kids, and grandparents wait with coughs, sprains, sports injuries…. AlphaPlaza is full of life. Life that I take for granted as something in the background. The reminder, both here, and with the situation of Lee’s daughter adds that extra bit of burden.
Morochevsky’s room listed as private on the big board in the executive wing.
For anyone else I would have come here sooner but I know I’d have to deal with Vlasta. Given that I’m not supposed to know about the budding romance between her and Alexander, prudence has kept me away.
Coming here now, as I am, I understand my arrival looks worse from an interpersonal perspective. I tell myself she’ll see it like I do; that it’s just business.
While I can’t imagine she’ll blame me for what happened, I know she’s not going to be impressed that I’m dragging him back to work.
I watch them through the windows. For someone who had half of his torso cut through he looks great.