Perion Synthetics

by Verastiqui, Daniel

  “Is that her name? Cynthia?”

  “If it wasn’t before, it is now, according to my script. It’s been difficult to get confirmation; Umbra is a black hole of surveillance, even for Vinestead.”

  “I thought that was true for my dad’s conference rooms.”

  That made Gantz chuckle a little. “Someone’s always watching, Joe. For the right price, you can watch too. You don’t want to know what I had to promise Deborah to get access to that feed.”

  On the screen, Sava perked up. She smiled like a synthetic as she rose to greet her guests.

  “They’re starting,” said Joe, turning up the volume.

  “Ping me if you find out anything. I’m gonna see what I can do for Cynthia.”

  Joe tossed his phone onto the bed as the line cut out.

  “Governor Howard? I’m Savannah Kessler, pleased to meet you.”

  The governor was a tall man, like Dad, with a politician’s haircut right down to the slight graying on the sides. He wore a navy blue suit with a broad tie decked out in the red and white of California’s state flag. When he extended his hand to Sava, the sunlight caught the gaudy chrome of his sliver.

  “I assure you the pleasure is all mine, Savannah. And please, call me Martin.”

  Sava nodded and blinked away the glare from his wrist.

  “You like that?” asked Martin, pulling back his sleeve. “That’s a Raymond Weil original. Only eighty were made in the entire world. This is number twenty-seven.”

  “It’s impressive,” said Sava. She looked to his assistant.

  “Ah yes, allow me to introduce my associate, Lee Winborn. Lee, say hello to the pretty lady.”

  “Pleasure,” said Winborn, bowing slightly. He was a foot shorter than the governor, and though his suit was well-tailored, he hunched over, as if under the pressure of some invisible weight.

  Sava pulled her fake smile even tighter. “Would you gentlemen like something to drink? I have coffee and water, but I can have some fresh tea brought up if you prefer.”

  “Lee, how about a cup of coffee?”

  The assistant nodded and started for the French press at the back of the room.

  Joe downed another painkiller.

  “Savannah, dear,” said Martin. “You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

  Sava took a step back. “I’m head of public relations. I’m usually present at Mr. Perion’s press conferences and publicity events.”

  Martin cocked his head. “Yes, that must be it. Strange I don’t recall…”

  “Mr. Howard!” called a booming voice from off camera.

  The governor turned and shook hands with Synth J.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” said Synth J. “I trust Ms. Kessler has kept you entertained in my absence?”

  “Absolutely,” said Martin. “Savannah’s been a real peach.”

  “Glad to hear it. Now, I know we had a sizable agenda planned for this morning, but I’m afraid other business has come up.”

  “That’s fine. I’m here for the day. Maybe we can meet up later for dinner?”

  “Great, great,” said Synth J, looking around the room. He caught eyes with Sava. “Thank you, Ms. Kessler. That will be all for today.”

  She had just taken out her palette; her fingers stopped mid-keystroke.

  Joe watched as her face flushed with anger.

  “Fine,” said Sava, standing. She nodded to her guests and then walked out of the room as fast as her heels would carry her.

  “Lee, will you wait for me outside?” asked Martin.

  There was no look of reproach on his assistant’s face, just steadfast compliance. Joe assumed it wasn’t the first time he’d been ordered out of the room.

  “You’re looking well,” said Martin, as he sat down.

  Synth J settled into the chair next to him. “I feel well, thanks for noticing.”

  The two men regarded each other with fake smiles and expectant nods.

  “Your intel on Calle Cinco,” said Synth J. “How well do you trust it?”

  “Not a hundred percent,” said Martin. “But nothing is. You put your ear to the ground and hope for the best. Right now, it’s quiet.”

  “Nothing about an operative infiltrating Perion City?”

  “It would have shown up in the report, especially if you were involved. As far as we know, Calle Cinco is laying low, waiting for their next opportunity to hit Vinestead, not you. What interest would they have in a synthetics company anyway?”

  “I don’t know, but nothing else makes sense. Vinestead wouldn’t dare send an augment inside my walls, not without a fully functional Guardian Angel chip to send back whatever they discovered. So I started thinking, where does a woman with former V-tech line up in all of this?”

  “Are we talking about a real person here? Has there been a breach?”

  Synth J nodded. “Yesterday, but it’s being dealt with. My concern is Calle Cinco’s motivations. As you said, we’re not their typical target.”

  “I’d hate to speculate and be wrong.” Martin rubbed his sliver with his sleeve. “Did you run her face against the national DB?”

  “We did a full run, domestic and international, and so far we’ve come up empty. There’s no trace of her in the system—total grid-wipe. Meanwhile, she’s got augments throughout her body and a scar the size of my dick on the back of her neck. She didn’t simply have her GA chip removed; it was torn out of her, grow-wire and all.”

  “Sounds like something Kaili Zabora would do.”

  “I don’t think anyone really knows what Crazy Kai is capable of, and that’s what has me worried. If Calle Cinco is shifting their focus away from Vinestead and onto synthetics, then both of us are going to have a problem.”

  “How do you figure?” asked Martin, grinning. “I’m still human.”

  It felt like someone had shoved a hot spike into Joe’s ear; he pressed it to his shoulder to stem the pain.

  “For now,” said Synth J. “But once you get my bill passed, you’ll be on your way to synthetic immortality just like me.”

  “If I get your bill passed. Convincing the world a synthetic can own property and run a company is a tall order. Hell, even getting California to ratify is no small task, and we lead the nation in tech-acceptance.”

  “If you want to live forever,” said Synth J, “if you want your family to live forever, you’ll get the damn thing passed. And once that is done, you’ll turn the full force of the state government on Calle Cinco. Because if Crazy Kai disrupts my business, that means you and your family will die just as I did.”

  Joe tried to swallow, but choked instead.

  “What choice do I have?” asked Martin. “You’re the only game in town, but I know I’m not your only contingency. What other horses are you running, James? This new version of you seems to have a knack for covering every angle. Could any of those be taken as an affront to Calle Cinco?”

  “Not on purpose,” said Synth J, looking away. “I have no choice but to approach this from every possible angle; the stakes are just too high. Politics are important, but the media sets the tone of the nation. I’ve got an aggregator in town and if I can convince him synthetics are people too, then he’ll convince everyone else. I’ll have that story fed to every whisperer on the planet. And when you start raising support for my bill, Banks Media will be there to back you up, because they will have shown the world how real synthetics can be.”

  Martin tapped his fingers on the table. “I’m with you, James. I look at you even now and can’t believe what you’ve done. You’ve changed the world, and in time, people will understand just how important that is. But until then, they’re going to be suspicious. Aggregators will be the worst of them all. They will absolutely see through the bullshit. That’s their job.”

  “I agree,” said Synth J. “The average aggregator is objective and insightful, but what about when they’re not thinking straight? What if they’re emotionally involved or, if you can believe i
t, in love with their subject?”

  “Don’t tell me…”

  “With a Virgo-class synthetic, same as me,” said Synth J, laughing that hollow, digitized laugh.

  “I hope she’s better looking than you.”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.” Synth J tapped his phone and handed it to Martin.

  The governor let out a low whistle. “You don’t have any more of these, do you? I wouldn’t mind taking one home.”

  “Pass my bill, and I’ll deliver her myself.”

  Martin slid the phone back. “Right. And what about the Point of No Return?”

  “What about it?” Synth J leaned forward and folded his hands. “Do you really think you’ll have to govern California from here? Or that I would be stuck in Perion City for the rest of eternity? The PNR is not carved in stone, Martin. It’s just a song on the air.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” said Martin. “But I trust that you do.”

  “Then we’re agreed.” Synth J stood and shook the governor’s hand.

  They walked to the door as their conversation turned banal.

  “Ms. Kessler here is going to show you around until the press conference this afternoon. How does that sound?”

  Joe could only see the top of the governor’s head. “Works for me,” he replied. “I’d very much like to meet this… Roberta, was it?”

  “I’m afraid she’s with another guest at the moment,” said Kessler, off camera. “But I can try to locate her and set up a meeting.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Martin. His voice dropped, “Bring her to me!”

  Laughter carried them out of the room. When they were gone, a hiss ramped up as the microphones responded to the silence.

  Joe hit the mute button and picked up his phone.

  Gantz didn’t answer.

  Joe crawled off of his bed and began dressing in the clothes he had discarded the night before. Synth J’s conversation with Governor Howard replayed in his mind, causing an ache to push through the pain meds. He needed to find Gantz.

  He was walking into the foyer when a knock sounded from the door. The vidscreen showed Nico standing in the hallway, flanked by two Scorpios.

  Joe opened the door to greet his assistant.

  “Your father wants to see you, Joe,” said Nico.

  “He could have just called and asked,” replied Joe.

  Nico looked down at the floor. Beside him, the AGs stood impassive.

  “He’s not asking,” said Nico. “Just come with me, please.”

  “Sure,” said Joe, pulling the door closed behind him. He smiled at the synthetics. “Better not keep the old man waiting, right?”

  Nico nodded and turned for the elevator, revealing fresh scratches wrapping around the back of his neck.

  41

  The elevator sank to the bottom of the Spire.

  Joe watched the numbers on the vidscreen by the door decrement at a steady clip, only slowing as they passed B15. At B19, the car came to a stop and the doors opened. In all of his years in the Spire, Joe had never been to this floor, but he recognized the décor from childhood, the way Mom had kept the house before she died. The walls were two-tone with a bright silver stripe running along dark gray walls. Sconces dotted the hallway every ten feet, radiating soft, yellow light from their bases. Framed photos showed the Perion scientists and engineers of old, gray-haired men who had come to the PC, worked the remaining years of their lives, and died in the service of a dream—a dream that had been lost, defiled.

  “I thought we were going to see Synth J,” said Joe.

  Nico looked over his shoulder as they walked. “We are. He’s waiting for you in the bunker.”

  “But I just saw him up on seventy with Governor Howard.”

  “I don’t know his schedule,” said Nico. “All I know is he asked me to bring you here so I did that.”

  They turned a corner and came upon a large, obsidian door. Two AGs stood guard on either side of it, their fingers extended just above the triggers of their weapons. They scanned the hallway, waiting for threats.

  Nico touched the call button beside the door and moments later, Synth J’s face appeared on the screen.

  “Thank God you’re here,” he said, his sentence punctuated by the buzzing of locks and sighing of pistons.

  The black square swung inward, revealing an expansive foyer that resembled an apartment complex lobby. Two walls held doors with brass numbers; leather couches filled in the space between them. A bank of vidscreens covered the third wall, each one showing a security feed from somewhere in the building, including the driveway in front of the Spire and Mom’s plaza in the back.

  Synth J grabbed Joe’s shoulders as soon as he stepped inside.

  “My boy,” said the synthetic. “You’re alright. I just heard about what happened in The Fringe yesterday. Are you sure you weren’t hurt?”

  Joe thought about the rhythmic ache pounding in the back of his head. “I’m fine,” he replied. “Just a little bump.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this when it happened?”

  Because you already knew, thought Joe. He tried to read the synthetic’s face, but there was no emotion to be found in the lines of its artificial skin. “Gantz told me he filed a report.”

  “Filed a report? Like it was some minor fender bender? Someone tried to kill my son!” Synth J stepped away, put his hand to the side of his face the way Dad used to do in moments of deep concentration. He began to mutter quietly. “Yesterday… multiple agents… not all detected.”

  “What is this?” asked Joe. “Why are you acting like you care about me? Do I even mean anything to you anymore or is all this just programming?”

  Synth J frowned. “I’m still in here, Joey. Whether you want to believe it or not. We may have done things you don’t agree with, but they were always for the good of the company.”

  “You mean yourself.”

  “Semantics, son. I am the company, and so are you. Good for the company, good for us. But this…” He sat down on the couch and covered his mouth with his hand. “This means someone is in our house. They’re in and they’re in deep. They know our system, know how to reprogram our synthetics. This is too complex for a drop-in Calle Cinco agent; this can only be Vinestead’s doing.” He looked past Joe. “Nico, get me Chief Gantz on the line. We need to call a strategy meeting. And bring down a dozen uniforms for the main entryway.”

  “I want to help,” said Joe. “If someone is gunning for me, I want to find out why.” He tried not to stare too intently at Synth J.

  “Absolutely not. No, you stay here, where it’s safe. I won’t have any more attempts on your life. This bunker has everything you need for an extended stay and the synnies will keep anyone from getting close to you.”

  “Chief Gantz isn’t answering his phone, Mr. Perion.”

  “Then go find him,” barked Synth J. “How am I supposed to protect my son without my chief of police? What about the uniforms?”

  “On their way,” said Nico. “I spoke to the desk sergeant. He said he’s sending down their most reliable Scorpios.”

  Joe scoffed. “Really? A synthetic tries to kill me and your plan is to surround me with more?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” said Synth J. “There’s a world of difference between Scorpios and the Capricorn that attacked you. The whole control paradigm was rewritten in the newer model. If Vinestead figured out how to reprogram our Scorpios…” He trailed off, as if considering the possibility for the first time. “Maybe it’s only a matter of when they learn how to reverse engineer Chuck’s architecture. They’ve already broken the encryption on at least one model.”

  Silence hung in the room as the circuits in Synth J’s head heated up. His eyes scanned back and forth in rapid bursts while his fingers dug into his cheeks.

  “You’re worried they’ll be able to reprogram you,” said Joe.

  “No,” said Synth J. “V-Primes have no networked connections. We’re missing al
l of the voice-actuated commands present in the first Virgos.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Synth J considered the question for a moment, and then walked quickly towards the door. He snapped at the AGs standing guard. “No one goes in or out without my authorization. Come, Mr. Shaw. We need to locate Chief Gantz and Dr. Bhenderu.”

  “The doctor is working on the Paulson project right now,” said Nico.

  “Pull him off. Calle Cinco is the least of our worries right now.”

  “What about me?” asked Joe.

  Synth J answered without breaking stride. “You’ll stay here until I say it’s safe.”

  “Fuck that,” said Joe, approaching the door.

  An Automated Guard stepped forward and put his hand on Joe’s chest.

  “Take your hand off me,” said Joe.

  “Please remain in this room, Mr. Perion.” Scorpios weren’t built with the best voice enhancements; its words came out digitized and menacing.

  “Or what?” Joe pushed the AG’s hand away and tried to leave.

  A firm grip on his arm stopped him.

  It didn’t hurt to have the synthetic’s fingers wrapped around his bicep, but there was no struggling against it. The AG held tight until the bunker door slammed shut. Behind the plexiglass, thick metal cylinders extended into the evercrete doorframe. On the final click, the AG released its grip. It took up position next to the door, checked the safety on its gun, and then placed the weapon at rest by his leg.

  “Asshole,” said Joe, rubbing his arm. He sat down in the chair in front of the vidscreens and scanned the security feeds.

  After an hour of watching random people come and go, Joe grew restless and set about exploring his jail cell. As prisons went, it had all the comforts he expected billionaires would receive when they were caught insider trading or draining the pension funds of their employees. Detention with class, thought Joe. Locked away from the world on a leather couch with all the booze and entertainment anyone could want—a staycation with only a hint of punishment.

  Of the three doors in the foyer, only one opened at Joe’s touch. Inside, he found a recently refreshed room, like a swanky hotel suite waiting for its next guest. To the left of the king size bed was a small table with three chairs. To the right, a dormant palette sat atop a desk of metal and glass. At the foot of the bed was an area filled with a black loveseat flanked on both sides by recliners. A seventy-inch vidscreen hung on the wall in front of them.