Perion Synthetics

by Verastiqui, Daniel

  “We can’t,” said Chuck. “The download we got from the source wasn’t a full imprint.”

  “How did that happen?” asked Joe.

  “There was an incident with subject acquisition,” Chuck replied. “By the time she was brought in, she was already expired.”

  Nico’s finger paused on his palette. The flippant mention of death had made his ears perk up.

  “We expect saturation to increase with a proper imprint,” said Dr. Bhenderu. “A viable brain will provide more than enough data; my tests confirm it. The algorithm needs more effort, but it will be ready when the new Katsumi chips arrive. We will swap out Roberta’s cortex and try again.”

  Perion put his hands to his face and rubbed away his frustration. A sigh escaped between his fingers.

  “And when do we expect the chips to arrive?” he asked, hanging his head.

  Chuck Huber consulted his palette. “There’s a nine month lead time, and that’s with us at the top of the list.”

  Joe shifted in his seat, uncrossing and recrossing his legs.

  “Well,” said Perion. “That’s disappointing.”

  “How so?” asked Chuck.

  Perion didn’t look up. “Because,” he said, trailing off.

  The synth haze retreated; silence filled the void.

  “Because he’ll be dead in six,” said Joe. “So yes, if it takes nine months for Katsumi to deliver the chips, you might as well cancel the order, because Dad won’t be around to sign for them.”

  Nico thought for a moment he had misheard his boss, that the words had been rearranged by some lingering rush effects, but there was no mistaking the reaction in the room. Both Chuck and Bhenderu sat slack-jawed, looking from Joe to Perion and back. Roberta seemed unfazed by the announcement.

  Perion looked up and tried to smile at his son.

  “Is this true, Mr. Perion?” Nico’s throat felt dry, and the words came out uncertain.

  For the first time since Nico walked in, the titan looked in his direction.

  “Joey didn’t tell you?” he asked.

  Joe shook his head. “I kept hoping you would change your mind.”

  “Change your mind about what?” asked Nico.

  The founder of Perion Synthetics sighed and sat further back in his chair. His eyes rose to the ceiling. At the odd angle, his face looked more worn, the lines a little deeper.

  “Do you know why half of the people who are diagnosed with cancer die as a result?” he asked.

  Nico shook his head.

  Perion’s eyes came back down as he tapped on the table. “Thirty percent of this country lives below the poverty line. That means no health insurance and no way to pay for medical treatment. Surviving cancer is no longer about finding a cure; now it’s about finding a way to pay for that cure.”

  “So poor people can’t afford it,” said Nico. “What does that mean to you? You could have footed the bill for everyone who needed it last year.”

  “Dad could throw every dollar he has at it,” said Joe, “but it wouldn’t solve the real problem.”

  “Surely no problem is unsolvable,” said Chuck.

  “The therapy only runs on Guardian Angel chips,” said Joe.

  Nico felt the words like a punch in the chest. Guardian Angel—pretty much the only tech outlawed in the City of Perion.

  Perion would rather die than have Arthur Sedivy’s endotech in his city, let alone his body.

  “They hold the patents,” said Joe. “There’s…”

  “What my boy is trying to say, Mr. Shaw, is there’s no other way to do this.” He turned his attention to Chuck and Bhenderu. “So now you see why I commissioned this project. This isn’t just some theoretical exercise for you to sit and ponder; this is life and death. My life and my death. If I don’t get out of this meat suit by the end of the year, then that’s it, game over, everyone goes home.”

  Nico thought he saw Joe wince.

  “Why didn’t you mention this before?” asked Chuck. “Had we known what was at stake, we would have… moved faster, put in more hours. You withheld critical information and this… this is no mere shipping deadline we’re up against.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? I’ve worked my entire life in pursuit of a dream and I’m sure as hell not going out before I see a synthetic in every home. I need you two to make sure I live long enough to make it happen. You do this, and generations of Hubers and Bhenderus will never want for anything. I guarantee it.”

  “This is not about compensation,” said Bhenderu.

  “Then what?” asked Perion. “What do I have to promise you to make you find me a goddamn solution?”

  “Nothing, Mr. Perion. You need only ask. My team will redouble their efforts and perfect the imprint process by the end of the month.”

  Perion nodded as if he had expected no other answer. “And what about you, Chuck?”

  The architect shook his head. “We can try going with another manufacturer, but synaptic density has a finite ceiling, and no other system exists for converting an energy-based storage system to a digital one. I’ll lean on Katsumi and scrape their R&D department. We should have prototypes by this time next month, if not sooner.”

  “We’ll need to imprint before the end of August, while I can still think straight. I’d like to be in a new body as soon as possible after that. I’m not going to make any public appearances once my looks start to go.”

  If he had meant it as a joke, no one laughed.

  “Then we have work to do,” said Chuck. “And zero time.” He stood and looked down at Bhenderu, waiting for him to follow.

  “I will send you daily updates,” said the doctor. “I promise results soon.”

  “Would you bet my life on it?” asked Perion.

  Neither of the men answered. They paused to look upon the titan and then shuffled out of the room together, already discussing their plan of attack.

  “Roberta, directive,” said Chuck, from the hallway. “Come.”

  The synthetic closed the door behind her, and then it was just father, son, and Nico.

  Silence rose; the energy drained from James Perion’s face as he looked to the window.

  “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” he asked.

  Joe was too caught up in the buttons of his shirt to respond.

  “What does?” asked Nico.

  “That,” said Perion, nodding to the horizon. “You have to wonder how it will look with synthetic eyes, how the whole world will feel.”

  “Does it scare you?”

  Joe gave Nico a stern look, but couldn’t hold it.

  “No, Mr. Shaw. I’m not scared. Just curious.” He drifted away for a moment. “You’ll keep this between us, won’t you? This is a delicate situation and will need to be handled as such. Not everyone will be privy to what you’ve heard here today. Not even Mrs. Shaw.”

  Nico thought about his wife, about how they rarely shared anything anymore. Usually it was Katherine sitting in on the big meetings, holding privileged information over his head. This time, Nico would know the big plan, a plan that if executed correctly, would never come to light.

  The moment of pride ended with an abrupt realization.

  The old man was dying. The titan was falling.

  “Of course,” said Nico. “Strictly between us.”

  “That’s a good man,” said Perion.

  Nico scribbled a final note on his palette.

  The only man worthy of succeeding James Kirkland Perion is James Kirkland Perion.

  33

  Dad was all but gone by November.

  Joe watched his father labor for breath from a chair by the window.

  In just a few short months, the cancer had thinned James Perion’s gray hair, hollowed out his cheeks, and relegated him to his bed for the remainder of his life. The morning strolls through the halls of the Spire were a thing of the past, as were the lengthy moments spent at the window in his study, staring out over the empire he had created, visualizi
ng the people and cars as cogs in his massive machine. Dad was like that, able to macro and micro simultaneously, to stay involved where others would call in subject matter experts. His hands-on approach at every level of the business was what most people agreed had given him the edge over the already established Vinestead International.

  All he needed were a few more years, more time to unseat Vinestead through sheer determination and market reach.

  The synthetics program was going to be the catalyst.

  “How am I doing?” asked Synth J, as he entered from the living room.

  Joe looked up from his palette and shrugged at the facsimile of his father. The synthetic James Perion had been running the company for three months, and so far the only person not sold on the imprint was Joe. For all matters business, Synth J seemed to have everything under control. He made decisions like Dad and evangelized like Dad, but when it came to interacting with his son, the artificiality always bubbled to the surface.

  Sometimes the real James Perion appeared like a ripple on the synthetic’s face, but those moments had become more infrequent as the months wore on. Those brief flashes of Dad only highlighted his replacement’s artificiality.

  “He can’t be rushed anymore,” said Joe, motioning to the code cards on the table beside the bed. He had tried several variants, from Margate sewer synth to the high-class Euphony couriered direct from Umbra. “The nurse started him on a morphine drip. It won’t be very long now.”

  Synth J put his hands in his pockets. “I can imagine myself in his position, but I can’t feel what it would be like. Is that strange?”

  “You downloaded your brain into a synthetic. What did you expect?”

  “Wait until you’re on this side. Then you’ll see.” He took the chair by the door and pulled out his palette. His fingers moved faster than the touch tracking could keep up with, making him curse under his breath.

  “What makes you think I’ll ever cross over?”

  Synth J appeared not to be listening. Some of the finer points of courtesy had been lost in the transition from human to synthetic.

  “That will be your choice, of course,” said Synth J, rejoining the conversation. “But by the time the choice becomes necessary, I think you’ll find yourself more receptive to the idea.”

  “Right,” said Joe. “As if people are going to accept the idea of immortality through synthetics. Do you have any idea how Vinestead is going to spin this?”

  “Vinestead will be knocking down our door trying to get the spec. We have to be ready for them.” He looked to the side, as if pondering something. “At any rate, you should probably start making regular backups so Mr. Huber can perfect his imprint process. I won’t lose you to a random accident, Joseph.”

  Dad stirred in his bed, seemed to come to for a moment, but then closed his eyes again.

  Joe shook his head. “If anyone finds out what we’re doing here, it’ll be the lawyers knocking the door down. It won’t matter how close you are with Governor Howard; even he won’t be able to stop the government from seizing your assets. Or transferring them to me.”

  “I would not bat an eye if they did,” said Synth J. “My legacy is yours, but there is power in me yet. I can still contribute. As for property law, of course there is no provision for inheritance by a synthetic replacement; the same used to be true for women and minorities. But how can they not accept me as an equal? Look at me.”

  He stood with an ease Dad would never know again.

  “They did it! Those crazy bastards actually found a solution to a no-win situation. Vinestead thinks they get to choose who lives and dies in this country, but that changed with me.”

  “Yeah, so you’re golden, but what about him?”

  Synth J turned to his ailing counterpart, his enthusiasm fading. “I can’t even see myself in him anymore. I’m not entirely convinced I’m still in there. Regardless, we all die. Your mother passed, I will pass. It used to be we lived on in memory or in the fruits of our labor. I’ve simply found another way to persevere.”

  Joe stood and approached the bed. His father’s hand had been reduced to bone and sinewy tendons that stood in relief under translucent skin. How many times had he felt that hand on his shoulder, in comfort and in anger? Now, the frail fingers could provide neither. Joe placed his hand on his father’s.

  Dad’s eyes fluttered.

  “He’s still in there,” said Joe. “He’s still Dad. You’re a recording he left behind, a notebook we found stashed in his desk. This is James Perion.”

  Dad was the only true ruler of this empire.

  “Maybe you’ll feel differently after he’s gone. If I could bring your mother back, even for a day, would you want me to?”

  “That’s different. It wasn’t her choice to die. You could have saved yourself, saved him.”

  “And let Vinestead into the city at the same time?” The synthetic’s voice didn’t pitch like a human’s when it got angry. It sounded more like a recording of someone screaming played back at a low volume. “I’ve told you before how dangerous that would be. They’re the only company in the world that brazenly sells one thing and delivers another. All they want to do is exploit people. I’m trying to help people.”

  “So was Dad. And I admire him for that. “

  “What about me?”

  Joe shook his head. “I don’t know yet.”

  The bedroom doors opened before Synth J could respond. Nico Shaw entered, followed by Robert Gantz. Joe noticed the trembling at the edges of Nico’s mouth. His assistant was rushing more and more these days.

  “Chief Gantz is here to see you, Mr. Perion,” said Nico.

  “And you brought him here?” asked Joe.

  Nico returned a plaintive smile. “Your father asked me to.”

  Joe looked to the bed. There was too much morphine in Dad’s system to get any kind of confirmation.

  “He means me,” said Synth J. “I asked him to bring in Chief Gantz because it’s time he understood what we’re up against.”

  Gantz stood just inside the threshold of the door and stared at the bed and the dying man in it. “What am I looking at, Joe?”

  “James Kirkland Perion, the original,” said Synth J. “I am his replacement, James Kirkland Perion, the Second.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Gantz.

  Synth J put his palette down on the bed. “All you need to know is that the human James Perion is dying and that I, his synthetic replacement, have assumed control of the company. And it’s because of that look on your face right now that I’ve called you in today. When he dies, and yes, he is going to die, I expect some people will have a hard time accepting my assumption of his life, on both legal and moral grounds. I intend to change that.”

  Gantz moved to the foot of the bed; he had yet to blink.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, making the sign of the cross.

  “For what?” asked Synth J.

  “Joe, I’m sorry.”

  Gantz held his hand out; Joe shook it.

  “Your father is a good man.”

  Joe had never known Robert Gantz to get emotional, and yet the chief of police’s eyes showed hints of watering.

  “Thank you. Dad always liked your style. He had nothing but respect for you.”

  Synth J gave a nervous laugh. “Guys, come on, I’m still here. I still like your style, Mr. Gantz. That’s why I want you in on this, to give you a heads up.”

  The chief turned to Synth J and sized him up. After another glance at Dad, he said, “You made the switch months ago, didn’t you? All this time, you’ve been pretending to be him.”

  “I am him.”

  “And nobody knows besides us?”

  “A few people, but you should assume everyone is in the dark,” said Synth J. “For all the world knows, I’m alive and well. That is the current reality. In time, that may change, which is why I’ve decided to call in a favor with an old friend. An aggregator will be arriving tomorrow.”

 
; “Will I be babysitting this aggregator?”

  “No. He will require a softer touch. Ms. Kessler will be handling it. She will keep the aggregator on task during his visit. I just wanted you to be aware in case anything gets out of hand.”

  “Why?”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Gantz?”

  “Why bring an aggregator into the city? We’ve got corporate secrets walking the streets and you just want to put it all up on the feed for the world to see?”

  Synth J smiled what it considered Dad’s friendly smile. “I’m sorry you’ve mistaken this for a discussion, Mr. Gantz. My decision is final. Your job is to maintain order in my city, so I think you can handle one little aggregator.”

  “Which house?” asked Nico. His neck was covered in red gashes from the constant scratching.

  “Banks Media, obviously,” said Synth J. “We have no contacts within Lincoln Continental and I wouldn’t trust this task to a hick like Benny Coker.”

  Dad never would have talked like that. Joe wondered if his father could hear the conversation beneath the blanket of morphine.

  Gantz crossed his arms. “Ms. Kessler is just a flack. I don’t know if that’s a good—”

  “No one is more dedicated to the success of Perion Synthetics than Ms. Kessler, immediate company excluded. For this particular job, that is exactly what I need.”

  Synth J grabbed his palette and started for the door. “You just keep an eye on the both of them and make sure the aggregator stays on the primrose path. Any deviation and you shut the whole thing down.”

  “Meaning what?” asked Gantz.

  Synth J didn’t even pause at the door as he left.

  Gantz stared after the synthetic with his hands on his hips. Finally, he threw them up and cursed.

  “Your father has lost some of his touch,” he grumbled.

  “My father is too much changed,” said Joe.

  “Right, well, don’t worry. He’ll be going to a better place soon. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on whoever Banks Media sends over. If he even thinks of feeding something unflattering, I’ll boot him so hard he’ll have a shoeprint on his ass for a week.” He checked his sliver and must have seen something he didn’t like. “Fuck all. I’ve got to run. Drinks later?” He glanced at the bed again.