Perion Synthetics

by Verastiqui, Daniel

  “Good luck feeding that. I’m gonna head back to the condo and lay low for a bit, figure out how to move forward. It just feels like something has started, Benny, like we’ve reached some kind of critical mass. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to stay in the PC.”

  “That’s completely up to you.”

  “I may not be able to call again for a while.”

  “Upload when you can, and only when it’s safe.”

  “Will do, Benny.”

  “Take care of yourself, Gilbert.”

  Eileen stood in the darkness of her room for several minutes, first listening to her husband’s retreating footsteps and then to the ringing in her ears as the silence took over. She sat down on the bed and grasped at the echoes of Benny’s words. Would he really want multiple copies of her? Did he really miss her that much?

  She waited for an answer that never came. Instead, a soft knocking sounded from the door.

  “Yes?” she asked, her tears not far off.

  “Mrs. Coker, a waiter is here with the drinks you ordered,” said Daryl.

  “Come in,” she replied, turning away from the door.

  Rubber soles against hardwood floors; a tray sliding across her dresser; the tinkling of ice in glasses.

  She didn’t turn around until she heard the door close.

  The waiter was still standing there.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked, his fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt.

  Eileen put up her hand. “Not tonight, Tyler. Not tonight.”

  23

  Friday turned to Saturday, and Gilbert Reyes sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the loading dock behind the warehouse, trying to beat back the sudden cold with a warm cigarette. He didn’t normally smoke—synth alternatives were safer and more satisfying—but he needed an excuse to go out back and make a phone call. It was risky calling Benny on an unsecured line, but the news couldn’t wait. He tried to minimize the danger by pulling the SIM card as soon as the call ended, snapping it in two before throwing the pieces in opposite directions. And since the phone would still give off an exploratory signal without it, he pulled the battery and tossed it at the gate on the far side of the parking lot. Now the phone sat on the evercrete beside him, disassembled and useless.

  Gil understood the feeling. Seeing Jackie in the synthetic flesh had hollowed out something inside of him, a space he thought he had long since filled with acceptance.

  He took a long drag of the cigarette and heard Jackie’s voice saying, “Those things will kill you.” As if he had anything to fear from cancer. At the first sign, Benny Coker would have shelled out the money for the VTech—anything to preserve the life of his deep cover aggregator. But he couldn’t tell Jackie that, couldn’t let slip his true employer. To her, he was just a handyman with a penchant for trite Zen aphorisms, someone she called when her terminal froze up or when the copier broke down. He was one of the few commoners allowed in the Spire, though only when summoned by some brainiac who could synthesize human emotion but couldn’t figure out how to read their email without downloading every virus known to man.

  That damn copier.

  Gil hadn’t shown up at the Spire that morning expecting to meet the woman of his dreams, but he was blown away by her presence all the same. She had met him in the lobby, signed him in through the security checkpoints, and rode with him in awkward silence to the eleventh floor. And even though Gil found the problem immediately, he stalled for time, using the interim to ask Jackie about her life, what she did, and who she was seeing.

  Only after working up the nerve to ask her out did Gil finally toggle the power switch, sparking the hulking machine into operation again. He took the time to show her how to do it herself, enjoying the closeness of her body as they leaned over the copier.

  That was all it took, one little service call.

  The rest was a memory Gil thought he had buried. There was a foggy, damp part of his life he never looked into anymore, a place full of Jackie’s smiling face, infectious laugh, and biting wit. Those memories often tried to draw him closer, but he knew he would never find her there.

  The cig wore to the filter. Gil stubbed it out on the evercrete.

  “Who were you talking to?” asked Gantz. The door banged shut behind him, pulled abruptly by the coiled spring above its frame.

  “No one,” replied Gil. “Just checking my messages.”

  “You talk to your messages?”

  “What’s it to you, Copper?”

  Gantz chuckled. “So, I thought you said you’d done this kind of work before.”

  “I said I’ve read the ReTread spec. There’s a big difference between wiping out someone’s identity and undoing whatever your people did to that girl. Emotional attachment to a synthetic baby? What’d she do to deserve that?”

  Gantz dropped into place at the edge of the loading dock, brushing the dismantled phone aside.

  “She broke into the Spire, into one of the sub-levels. An Automated Guard got ahold of her, put her out before we even knew what was going on. They called me in, but by that time, the decision had already been made. It came from the top.”

  “From Perion?”

  The chief hesitated. “Yeah, from Perion. I didn’t want any part of it, Gil. I’ve seen things over the last few days that have made my skin crawl, but nothing as fucked up as this.”

  “And she’s not a native.”

  “Not only is she an outlander, she’s Lincoln Tate’s main squeeze, and probably his favorite aggregator at the moment. Just look at the story she’ll be taking home.”

  “If she gets out of here at all,” said Gil, wondering for a second if Benny might actually suggest giving Tate a little setback by taking out his only aggregator on the inside.

  “She’ll get out. Soon as she wakes up, I’m taking her and Cam to the border myself. Hopefully I can get them past the PNR before anyone knows what’s up.”

  Gil looked at the chief of police through a narrow eye. “You having a crisis of conscience, Gantz?”

  He scoffed in response. “You think I give a fuck whether these two live or die?”

  “Then why help them?”

  Gantz looked up at the stars. “Because a shift is coming, Gil. The rules are breaking down; right and wrong depends on who’s in charge. And when it all falls apart, the only authority left is the higher one.” He paused for a moment before bringing his eyes back down to Gil. “Things are about to get real complicated and the less players on the field, the better. Look at those two in there—shit-stirrers, both of them. It’s bad enough corporations are collecting and selling our personal info, but now we’ve got these rodents picking through our garbage, trying to find something juicy to feed to the masses?”

  Gil faked a laugh and looked away to a flashing traffic light at a nearby intersection. “So that’s why you don’t feed?”

  “Perion discourages it. He says there’s enough corruption through conventional means already. He’s always telling me about the time—”

  “You’ve talked to him?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  Gil shrugged. “He always struck me as a bit of a recluse, not counting his occasional public appearances. I didn’t think he spoke to anyone.”

  “He has an inner circle, and I’ve sat in on a few important dinners. This one time, he had a little too much to drink and someone brought up the feeds. He said ninety-nine percent of it was crap. Said the only way to make sure you came out looking good on the feed was to give them your version of the story. Don’t let them figure it out for themselves. Control your own destiny and whatnot.”

  “How pragmatic,” said Gil, turning his face to the breeze.

  Across the street, little red lights danced in the shadows—access card readers or perhaps the eyes of primitive synthetics working the graveyard shift.

  “What did you think of the old man?” asked Gil.

  Gantz hunched forward.
“Just a regular guy, I guess. No different from you or me. He’s got charisma, I’ll give him that. I wasn’t much for his ideas or visions, but he’s always been good to me. Sitting with him, talking with him… you can’t help but want to follow, even if it’s not in the right direction sometimes.”

  “And yet you’ve worked with him for how many years?”

  “Ha,” said Gantz, slapping his knee. “I’ve always worked for Mr. Perion, and I always will.”

  “Sounds like something a synthetic would say.”

  “Damn straight,” said Gantz. “That’s why I get myself checked out every month. A little trip out to the PNR answers that question quick, fast, and in a hurry.”

  “Seriously?” Gil shook his head.

  “I wouldn’t put it past him. The man does what he wants. For the longest time, that was limited to what is socially acceptable in this country. But as time goes on… well, that’s why we don’t let aggregators in here. They may only see the horror and not the reasoning.”

  “Hold on,” said Gil, raising his hand. “How can you claim there are special projects Perion didn’t want anyone to know about while two aggregators who showed up got assigned personal prototypes that have never been announced, talked about, or even acknowledged? Cam’s feed has been active for days and it’s just going out there for the world to absorb. You don’t think Cyn is going to start feeding about the daughter she never had as soon as she wakes up?”

  “Cyn won’t be feeding a goddamn thing if she knows what’s good for her. Cam, on the other hand, I can’t put a stop to. The order from on high is to let him feed whatever the hell he wants. Why he hasn’t put out more than a single photo of Roberta or mentioned the Collapse at all, I don’t know. All I know is I asked about putting the squeeze on him while we regrouped and got denied.” Gantz laughed. “Arrogant little prick’s been walking around like he owns the place, but he’s got charisma like Big J and some of the shit he says… he kind of grows on you.”

  “Like Big J had,” said Gil.

  “What?”

  “You said Cam has charisma like Big J has, like he’s still alive. All week I’ve been expecting a parade or something, a final tribute to the great Creator. But I haven’t seen anything and no indication from anyone in the company that James Perion is actually dead.”

  “Probably more legal than anything else,” said Gantz. “The board has to figure out how to keep the company running, who should be in charge—that kind of stuff.”

  “They couldn’t send a memo after what happened Tuesday?” Gil shivered at the memory of the rolling tide of whispers announcing the death of the Creator as it washed over the city.

  Every synny in town had dropped dead in the street, but eventually they regained their footing, resumed business as usual. The humans had followed their lead—with everyone expecting the company to make an announcement of some kind. When none came, perhaps people assumed the whispers had been lies, that their fearless leader wasn’t really dead.

  But then why had Gantz gotten choked up that day? Why did he tell Gil that James Perion had passed on?

  Gil suspected turmoil in the Spire, but there were precious few copiers breaking down these days, and he hadn’t been inside in months. In a way, it was a blessing. The Spire reminded him of Jackie, and every time the elevator doors opened in the lobby, he hoped to see her face appear. She’d be wearing her hair up during business hours, with a few intentional strands hanging loosely over her black glasses.

  The memory shriveled in the cold.

  “You alright there? Kinda drifted away for a minute.”

  Looking over his shoulder at the warehouse, Gil said, “Roberta gives me the creeps.”

  “Really? Cam seems to be into her, way into her, if you know what I mean.”

  A fist shot out and caught Gantz in the meaty part of his arm.

  “What the fuck was that for?” he asked.

  Gil reached for the remains of his cell phone. He paused. “Well, I can’t show you, but I had a picture of Jackie on my phone.”

  “Yeah, I was going to ask you about that. Who is she? I’ve never heard you mention her name before.”

  Who was she, thought Gil, for like James Perion, she could no longer be referred to in the present tense. Perhaps if he and Gantz were better friends, Gil would have told him about the woman who—

  The screen door behind them screeched.

  “Gilbert,” said Cam, slightly out of breath. “Cyn is waking up.”

  Gantz nodded approvingly and tagged Gil on the arm. “Looks like I won’t have to take you in for murder after all.”

  “You punch like a synthetic bitch,” said Gil, standing up. He paused at the door. “You coming in?”

  Gantz nodded. “In a minute. I need to check my messages.”

  24

  The warehouse was home to rows upon rows of synthetic women splayed out for provisioning and Gil couldn’t keep his eyes from studying the details of their faces, wondering if there might be another Jackie lookalike laying on her back with her legs spread and a gaping hole where her synthetic vagina should have been. Gil wanted to ask the question of why. Why did synthetics need working sex organs?

  He looked up at the wall of frosted bags.

  Was there another warehouse down the block with a wall full of bagged dicks? Couldn’t both male and female synnies get by with superficial detail? Why did they need to be functional and replaceable?

  The answer, of course, was standing guard over a groggy Cyn, holding a screaming synthetic baby in her arms, and looking more and more like Jackie, with whom Gil had spent a few wonderful years of his life. Someone must have seen in her the same beauty Gil did and decided to make more copies—more Jackies running around town breaking the foolish hearts of brilliant men, tricking them into loving her only to die suddenly and tragically, leaving the men alone with their hearts so full of fear that even the idea of love caused them a mild panic.

  We seek in others what we are missing in ourselves.

  Jackie, more than any woman before, had filled some void in Gil he hadn’t even known was there. Maybe Perion thought every man carried around a similar emptiness and that was why Jackie clones were being built as sex dolls for the American masses. One day, Roberta would be on sale at synthetic dealerships all across the country and some overweight, trust-fund sleaze bag would purchase her, take her home, and treat her like shit, even by synthetic standards. He’d have his fun with her, oh yes, he would. And Jackie, the real Jackie, would have no say in it.

  Someone would have to speak up on her behalf.

  Gil avoided Roberta’s gaze and focused on Cyn, who was now rolling her head back and forth like a drunk who couldn’t figure out which way was up. He pulled at her eyelids to check her pupil response.

  Cyn forced his hand away with an angry swat.

  “Will someone shut that goddamn baby up?”

  Roberta pulled Candice closer to her chest and turned away. She walked down a few tables to try to quiet the baby.

  “There’s a break room back there,” said Gil, motioning to the far wall.

  Roberta nodded and whispered soothing sounds to Candice that were drowned out by Cyn’s cries.

  “Can you tell me your name?” asked Gil, taking Cyn’s hand.

  She jerked it away. For a moment, there was anger in her eyes, but recognition finally took hold. “Gilbert Reyes,” she said.

  “Fuck,” said Cam. “She thinks she’s you.”

  “Yes, I’m Gilbert Reyes. I helped reset you. But now we’ve got to make sure you’re still you.”

  Cyn sat up and tugged at her shirt, pulling it down over her exposed belly button. “Whose clothes…”

  “You can get some new ones once you guys are safely outside of the city,” said Gil.

  “I’m not leaving,” said Cam.

  Gil took a step back and put his hands on his hips. “You think being forced to love a synthetic baby was bad? How much longer do you think they’ll let you walk a
round their city with impunity before they trigger whatever secondary protocol they have looping around in that thing’s subsystems?”

  “Roberta?” asked Cam. “She’s harmless.”

  Gil raised an eyebrow.

  “To me,” he clarified. “If anything, she’s protected me from every major threat I’ve experienced since I got here.”

  “Yeah,” said Gil, “like she was designed for it, right? You just happened to be paired up with a prototype who A, wants to protect you, B, seems to almost love you, and C, is walking around with the face of my dead girlfriend.”

  Cyn stopped groaning as silence took hold of the warehouse.

  With heat rising in his cheeks, Gil began packing his equipment into his tool bag. The laptop scraped against wires and metal clasps, until finally the zipper whined as he closed up the bag. Walking towards the door, he felt their eyes on his back.

  “Gil, wait,” said Cam. “I didn’t know.”

  “Of course not,” replied Gil, spinning on his heels. He spread his arms. “How could you have known you were lusting after a synthetic woman based off of my very real Jackie? That’s your problem, Cam. You roll into the PC like you’re above us all and you make a fucking mess. This is my town and my—”

  Story was the word he wanted to say.

  “So, what?” asked Cyn. “You’re jealous? Is that what this is about?” She had swung her legs over the side of the table and was regarding the floor with uncertainty.

  The urge to hit her made Gil’s arm tremble, but he knew what she was capable of, had seen traces of augments in her system. Still, that didn’t give her license to be ignorant.

  “No,” he answered, his voice low and calm. “I’d feel jealousy if Cam were actually dating Jackie, if Jackie actually loved and protected him. But he’s started some sick relationship with a thing and it’ll be a sunny day in Margate before I’m caught in bed with a fucking machine.”

  “She’s more than that,” said Cam. He crossed his arms and leaned against the table next to Cyn.

  “Sure, if you say so, but consider the possibility that it only appears that way, that the humanity you see in her is only there because it was stolen from a very real human, from my Jackie.”