Weaponized Human (Robot Geneticists Book 3)

by J. S. Morin

  “Unwise. That’s a dangerous shortcut.”

  Charlie smiled in Eve’s goggles. “Exactly.”

  The image winked out, and the connection was closed.

  With a non-overlay view of the room around her, Eve noticed Phoebe standing in the doorway, taking a bite from an apple—peel and all.

  “That was Charlie7, not Plato,” Phoebe noted with a faint edge of accusation.

  Eve wasn’t going to be called to task for doing her job. “I talked to Plato first.”

  “And?” Phoebe prompted, taking another bite. Eve cringed and kept from staring, knowing that her sister was chewing a leathery, plasticky piece of the fruit that would have best been discarded.

  Phoebe chewed slowly as she waited for an answer.

  Unwilling to sit there and be taunted with disgusting eating habits, Eve swept out of the room. Phoebe leaned aside to allow her through the doorway but called after her. “Where are you going? I’m going to cook quiche for dinner.”

  Eve was already quick stepping down the stairs. She would have to talk to Paul208 about an office-level landing pad for her skyroamer. For now, she was on her way to the vehicle, Phoebe trailing behind in consternation.

  “I’ve got a job to do. Sorry about dinner. I’ll find something along the way.”

  One way Eve had discovered to test her welcome was whether robots kept any food on hand. Those that did were eager for visits, still basking in the novelty of Eve and her kind. Those that didn’t were either rude or oblivious—and in roughly even numbers.

  Eve hoped that Arthur19 might keep a plate of snacks out.

  She suspected he didn’t.

  Chapter Five

  The headquarters of the Privacy and Surveillance Oversight Committee was a serene white building with prominent columns and a many-windowed dome. The cupola atop the dome sported a bronze statue of a woman wearing a robe and military helmet and holding a sword and wreath.

  There were times when Eve wondered how many metaphors a sculptor could squeeze into a single piece of artwork.

  After swooping close for a better view of the statue, Eve set her skyroamer down in a neat row with several others parked on the headquarters’ lawn.

  As Eve headed on foot for the main building, another robot was coming her way. Hands clasped at her back, Eve’s fingers fluttered and navigated through her personal computer interface. She quickly identified the robot as Eddie204, one of the Privacy Committee members.

  “Good day, Eddie,” Eve greeted him in passing.

  “Good day, Madame Chairman,” Eddie204 replied in kind, nodding his greeting but not pausing on his way to a skyroamer parked in the middle of the row.

  Eve breathed a sigh of relief at getting through the encounter with minimal interaction. It was easier pretending to know who someone was when recalling their name was all she had to do. An extended conversation would have strained her ability to talk and access her computer at the same time.

  A pair of drones flanked the building’s entrance, menacing in their mechanical nudity. Eve tried not to look at them directly. The more she interacted with robots, the more the mindless, shameless, opinionless automatons bothered her.

  She imagined the idea of flesh-and-blood door guards, mindless and obedient. Painless, fearless, and heedless of their own well-being, they would be perfect slaves. Part of her job as Human Welfare chairwoman was to ensure that scenario remained a dark daydream.

  No human should ever be reduced to such a state.

  “Miss Fourteen, good of you to come,” Arthur19’s voice came from a panel on the wall near the door. “I’ve unlocked the security protocols. Second lift on the right will take you to my office.”

  The screen went black before Eve had a chance to respond.

  Following Arthur19’s instructions, Eve stepped aboard the designated lift and the doors closed behind her.

  Being trapped in a box wasn’t a concern; Eve wasn’t claustrophobic in the least. But she was mildly surprised that the lift took her down instead of up. Chiding herself, Eve knew it was silly to expect an old robot like Arthur19 to make use of the wonderful aboveground space in the headquarters when there was a nice, safe, impenetrable underground bunker.

  One day, Eve was going to dig deeper into the mystery of why older robots were so afraid of the surface.

  The doors opened after an estimated eight-story downward ride. What a single committee needed with all this office space, Eve could scarcely imagine. If there were a Recreational Mining Committee or a Warehousing Everything We Can Find Committee, she might understand the need for an underground skyscraper.

  Then again, for the sake of privacy, what could be better than a subterranean hideaway of unknown content?

  Arthur19’s office was a suite of offices. Doors lined a long hallway. Eve’s footsteps echoed on a tile floor not so different from the one in her house. The air was stale and thick. Someone hadn’t properly ventilated this building for human occupancy.

  If Eve were to look for evidence of unwelcome, she didn’t need to look for fruit bowls and pastry trays. Sewer-grade air quality was all the clue she needed to know Arthur19 would rather she stayed away.

  There was a desk tucked beside the double doors at the end of the hallway. A lone robot sat at a terminal whose screen faced away from Eve. The robot looked up as Eve ran a chassis recognition algorithm and cross-referenced to known Privacy Committee members.

  She identified him as Dale16 just before he spoke. “Arthur19 will see you in just a moment. He’s on an important teleconference.”

  There was no place to sit. The smooth walls were barely suitable for leaning. Eve kept her hands behind her back and shielded them from Dale16 as she ran some searches on the Earthwide.

  From all she’d learned, Dales were the rarest of robotic personalities, the only ones less populous than Charlies. Both shortages stemmed from the same reason: Charlies didn’t get along with them. But while one Charlie rankled the next, any two of them would agree that a Dale was a waste of a chassis. With Charlie7 and Charlie13 responsible for mixing every robot alive, it took committee action to get a new Dale mixed.

  “I haven’t met a Dale before,” Eve said conversationally. She swallowed and waited nervously for a reply.

  Dale16 kept tapping at his console.

  Eve realized her mistaken attempt to engage Dale16 was her closed-ended statement. “How do you like working on the Privacy Committee?”

  He looked up. “Arthur19 will be available in approximately twenty-five minutes. I trust you can find some amusement to fill the interim. I have work to do.”

  With a sigh, Eve abandoned hope of honing her interpersonal skills. Mixes were unpredictable things, Charlie7 had said to her once. But from her history lessons, the Dale Chalmers she envisioned ought to have resulted in a robot who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  Of course, with Charlie13 doing the mixing, he could have intentionally designed a quieter Dale. Eve shuddered a little at the idea of someone picking and choosing the part of you they wanted. What if Evelyn11 had decide to make Eve like apple peels instead of Phoebe? She could find herself chewing through that filmy fruit coating that felt like an adhesive bandage and actually enjoying it.

  But Eve and Phoebe were genetically identical. The difference was in post-natal conditioning. One of Evelyn11’s sick and twisted experiments had been denying Phoebe solid food her whole life. Phoebe chewed things for the novelty value and to strengthen her jaw muscles.

  Eve’s daydreams were cut short when Arthur19’s double doors slid open.

  “Come in,” Arthur19 called out as Dale16 continued to ignore her.

  Eve stepped through the office doors, which snapped shut behind her like the jaws of a trap.

  The office was spacious and empty. Three-meter-high walls were display screens showing vistas from across the Earth and some from deep space. The floors were silver, not steel, as best Eve could tell at a glance.

  Arthur19 waited quietly at a desk
composed of data terminals, not saying a word as Eve took in the assault of visual imagery from every part of the globe.

  “Impressive,” Eve remarked as she neared the desk.

  “Indeed,” Arthur19 replied. He wore a dark suit and a short-brimmed cap. His glossy black necktie contrasted against the white of his shirt. The orange of his eyes was the only non-neutral color about him. “If you notice, not a single thinking creature under surveillance in any of them.”

  “So you know why I’ve come,” Eve reasoned.

  A smile twitched the corners of Arthur19’s mouth. “I wouldn’t presume. Your business is none of mine.”

  “That’s your committee motto,” Eve observed.

  Arthur19 laughed. It sounded genuine. “It might as well be. See? This is what we’ve been missing all these years with no humans. All the old jokes went stale centuries ago. Have a seat.”

  A section of Arthur19’s desk separated and slid toward Eve. The extended chair was metallic and unpadded, but Eve accepted the seat for the sake of politeness.

  “Thank you for seeing me on short notice,” Eve said as she settled in. The chair wasn’t the least bit comfortable, but neither was it uncomfortable. “I want to talk to you about the Human Protection Agency.”

  “Yes,” Arthur19 sounded serious once more. “Have to give it to Charlie7 and his meat hooligans. Didn’t think they’d make it this long without me having to file a formal complaint. My congratulations on that.”

  “That’s the thing,” Eve said. “They’re not stepping on anyone’s toes.”

  “Plato, in particular, worried me on that account,” Arthur19 admitted.

  Eve tapped into the local image feeds and brought up the cavern Plato had discovered, displaying it on a sidewall. “Plato discovered this today. It’s an abandoned lab. Recently vacated. Possibly an illegal geneticist.”

  Arthur19 cast Eve a sidelong glance as he studied the cavern complex from Plato’s investigation. If he objected to Eve using his wall screens, he kept quiet about it. “If you’re looking for help tracking who built or operated there, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “Genetics criminals are out there, and they’re getting away because their investigative methods aren’t hampered by privacy rules,” Eve argued.

  “If someone’s leaking your agents’ plans, maybe you should be asking for my help in closing the privacy invasions your people are suffering, rather than asking to open Pandora’s box.”

  Hiding her hands under the edge of the desk, Eve’s fingers twitched frantically as she accessed her computer.

  Pandora: mythical figure. Unknowingly unleashed evil into the world through carelessness.

  Eve scowled. “I’m not Pandora.”

  “Of course,” Arthur19 said, bridging his fingers and tapping the tips together. “The second Human Era will call it Eve’s Box. The evil you will unleash will be the constant monitoring of every thinking being for possible wrongdoing. Questionable in even its noblest incarnation, at its worst, it is the very embodiment of oppression.”

  “We just need some leeway in communications monitoring. The upload conspiracy that Gemini told us about is—”

  “Is entitled to their privacy, same as everyone,” Arthur19 cut in. He stood and paced along the wall still showing Plato’s cavern. “It’s not that I’m indifferent to your plight. I admire the goals you’ve outlined. Free humanity. Ethical cloning. Committee representation. But you can’t just run roughshod over everything we’ve built. There hasn’t been a war on Earth in a thousand years. Or an inquisition. Or a coup. We mind our own business and chastise those who can’t.”

  “But Charlie7—”

  “Is my biggest concern,” Arthur19 didn’t finish that sentence the way Eve had intended to. “He’s a maverick. Mavericks are fine when the status quo is unacceptable. After all, he fought alongside the Original Six. Lone survivor of the Eradication War. Hero of the planet. That’s why we let him retire instead of putting him on a one-way rocket out of the solar system.”

  It was Eve’s turn to stand. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  It was an outrage to think Charlie7 deserved to be exiled from Earth, doomed to a lonely death in the cold, uncaring dark of interstellar space when his power supply finally died.

  “Plenty of us would have,” Arthur19 said with a scowl. “He’s the whole reason the Privacy and Surveillance Oversight Committee exists in the first place. He thinks because he saved the planet, he owns it. You, me, everyone… all ants in his private ant farm. If you want to save humanity from exploitation and cruel experiments, my hat’s off to you.” Arthur19 made good on his word immediately, doffing his cap to Eve. “But if you intend to make use of Charlie7 in the endeavor, I will put this committee’s entire weight behind ensuring that he does so with every consideration for privacy rights.”

  “I think we’re done here,” Eve said, turning on her heel.

  The doors slid open at her approach. Just as she passed through, Arthur19 called after her. “He’s one robot you’re best off cutting loose. He’ll cause you more trouble than he’ll save.”

  The door snapped shut behind Eve before she could answer. Not that she was going to.

  Chapter Six

  Eve returned home, defeated. Not even watching The Sound of Music on the return trip was enough to cheer her up.

  Charlie, Plato, and Zeus were scouring the planet looking for dangerous robots performing illicit human cloning experiments. If they didn’t find the geneticists in time, someone might make another Gemini. After Eve’s failure in convincing Arthur19 to allow more invasive digital searches, those lost minds would haunt her conscience.

  It was after dark. Starlight peeked down from distant suns. Photons that had traveled hundreds or even thousands of years ended their trek in Eve’s retinas. Those enormous balls of nuclear fusion, dwarfing Earth’s sun, cared nothing for the circumstances of mankind. Sometimes, Eve wondered how many on Earth even cared.

  Her house was lit from outside. Soft white light played in the vibrant grasses and marked the footpath to the front door.

  Phoebe’s skyroamer was gone.

  For a girl working on a tram system, Eve’s sister took her skyroamer on trips even halfway across Paris. Eve suspected that the finished transit system would have stations at or near both their houses.

  Dragging her weary feet through the door, Eve headed for the kitchen. Arthur19’s lack of hospitality hadn’t been unexpected, but Eve had also neglected to stop by an agricultural depot on her way back across the Atlantic. The North Atlantic Topographic Organization would have something on hand to offer her, even if it had to be caught and cooked to order.

  On the counter, Eve saw half a quiche through the glass of a miniature cryogenic chamber. The inside of the glass was frosted over, and the temperature gauge read 12°K. A small scrap of paper had handwritten instructions on how to safely reheat it, along with a brief description of the flavor and edibility.

  Phoebe had rated her quiche a seven out of ten.

  “Better than the soufflé,” Eve muttered.

  Despite the kind gesture of food from her sister, Eve wasn’t in the mood for reverse cryogenics prior to eating. Instead, she peeled a banana—one of Phoebe’s staples, given its ease in chewing—and sat down on her sofa to eat.

  As she mushed up the already-mostly-mush fruit in her mouth, Eve browsed news feeds.

  Ore shipment numbers, an archaeological find in Kenya, a shakeup in the membership of the Martian Seed Committee… Eve devoured them all. It was fuel into the fire of her mind. Every fact drew Earth one step closer to making sense.

  Earth was a multi-dimensional, massively multi-variable, ever-shifting puzzle, and Eve wouldn’t even know the solution if she saw it. But the more she learned, the closer Eve felt to an answer. Even knowing that a hundred of Charlie7’s lifetimes couldn’t bring her complete knowledge of the planet, the more she understood, the less alone, adrift, and helpless she felt.

  Light flashed t
hrough the front windows of Eve’s house.

  Bolting upright, Eve rushed for the window.

  With a slump of her shoulders, she discovered that it was just a skyroamer landing. Its headlamps blazed floodlights through the glassed-in front of the house.

  “Another item for Paul208 to install,” Eve muttered to herself, shielding her data-viewing goggles from the glare. “Auto-dark windows.”

  The skyroamer’s engines were still whining when Phoebe hopped down and sprinted for the house.

  Eve quickly discarded the peel of her banana as she waited to find out what brought her sister in such a state.

  “Olivia,” Phoebe blurted, panting for breath. “She’s gone.”

  Chapter Seven

  The jungle echoed with the crows of exotic birds, unseen in the canopy high above. At ground level, there were no paths, and the way forward was choked with vegetation. Ferns and fronds, vines and roots—the jungle seemed determined to keep out the two humans who attempted to cross its inhospitable terrain.

  For a young jungle, it was learning fast.

  “Let the Rainforest Development Committee come down here,” Plato snarled as he stomped through clinging greenery that halted him every step of the way. The servos of his robotic exoskeleton whirred and protested beneath his jungle attire. “Love to give those circuit brains a piece of my mind.”

  “You’ve got one circuit brain right here,” Zeus reminded him. Though similar in appearance, Plato was larger and malformed from an overzealous attempt at improving on nature’s design. Physically, Zeus might have been the base model of their shared genome, but his brain had been replaced by the same kind used by the robots.

  “You’re different,” Plato insisted, blazing a trail for the two of them. “You still think like a human. You just have one of their brains in you.”

  “You sure this was a good idea?” Zeus asked as a giant fern snapped back and hit him in the face. “The manifests weren’t conclusive.”