by J. S. Morin
“No, I don’t have a video of Phoebe worrying about you. Finish your… whatever that is, and let’s get out of here.”
“It’s snow hare,” Olivia said proudly, holding it up and turning it this way and that for Charlie7 to inspect. “They taste awful, but I caught it myself.”
“Maybe you should cook it a little… less,” Charlie7 pointed out diplomatically. The bit of meat had passed “well done” and was in danger of turning into charcoal.
“Bacteria,” Olivia replied. “Can’t be too careful. All the guides say to cook meat thoroughly.”
Guides…
It wasn’t how she’d meant it, but the word reminded Charlie7 that Olivia wasn’t alone out here. “Do you have a guide? Someone who might have shown you how to get way up here?”
“No,” Olivia replied. “Atlas and I talked about the details of the trip, like what I should bring and where would be the best place to get away from all the people for a while. But he or she didn’t accompany me.”
“Atlas?” Charlie7 asked. It was either an alias or yet another undiscovered human, possibly another vigilante like Plato.
“Not his real name. I know,” Olivia said with a huff, as if it were a burden explaining these simple matters to a senile old robot. “It’s both the name of a titan and a book of maps. I thought it was a clever pseudonym. We’re not friends, since we’ve never met, but Atlas was helpful in planning this adventure. It was working out wonderfully until you showed up.”
The “get out of my camp and let me finish incinerating this rabbit meat” was implicit in her last words. It was amazing how quickly human lab rats could turn into teenagers when they were allowed access to one another. Olivia had a keener grasp of sarcasm than most teenage girls Charles Truman had known. Phoebe was a lover of fashion and culture. Eve was the archetypical overachieving class president. A few months ago, all were performing tricks to get fed.
“Pack up. We’re going. I won’t leave you stranded out here.” Charlie7 stood and headed for the tent Olivia had erected a few meters from the fire.
“Hey,” Olivia shouted, scrambling to her feet to head him off. “I’m not stranded. I’m camping. This is normal human behavior. You can’t make me leave.”
“Per Human Welfare Committee guidelines, I’m probably on shaky grounds,” Charlie7 admitted. “But don’t pretend I couldn’t make you leave. I’m far stronger and faster than you. James187 managed to capture Eve, once; he’s not half the robot I am, and you’re not quite as full grown as Eve. However,” Charlie7 held up a hand to forestall the argument he could see boiling just beneath the surface of Olivia’s scowling face. “I can give you a reason why you want to leave.”
“But I don’t,” Olivia stated, crossing her arms and dangling her twig-skewered hare.
“Look at my clothes,” Charlie7 said, waving his hands down the length of his body and turning like a fashion model. “Do you think I got like this from a simple hike?”
Olivia shrugged. “I assumed you weren’t good at it.”
“Your skyroamer exploded,” Charlie7 said, throwing his hands in the air. Olivia shrank back at his sudden outburst.
“Why would you do that?”
Charlie7 tried to remain calm, but some portion of this constant objection was sheer obstinacy on Olivia’s part. “I didn’t. Someone rigged it to explode. If I weren’t in an advanced chassis, I likely would have been destroyed along with it. Fortunately, Charlie13 is a paranoid bastard, God bless him, and this chassis was originally meant for him.”
“Why would someone want to make a skyroamer explode?” Olivia asked.
“Probably to destroy whoever came looking for you,” Charlie7 reasoned. “And they didn’t want anyone reporting your location, because this whole region is blanketed with some kind of jamming technology that I can’t break through.”
Olivia cocked her head. “Really?”
“Didn’t you bring any tech with you? Not even so much as a beacon in case you got in trouble?”
By her cowed expression and unwillingness to look him in the eye, Charlie7 knew the answer before she said it. “No.” Then she looked up with renewed determination. “I wanted to do this on my own, like my ancestors.”
“Your ancestors all died,” Charlie7 pointed out. “Try to be better than them.”
Olivia swallowed and nodded. She tossed her twig and the probably-too-burnt-to-be-eaten rabbit into the fire. Without another word, she was at the tent, levering out the stakes with the aid of a knife she pulled from her pocket.
“Wait. Just like that?” Charlie7 asked. “Now we’re leaving?”
Olivia looked up from her work and rolled her eyes. “Clearly either Atlas has lured me out here for nefarious purposes or someone intercepted our communications and enacted a scheme to the same effect. The jamming and rigged explosive suggest someone who wants to keep me isolated to use as bait. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”
“Just leave the tent, then,” Charlie7 suggested.
Olivia paused, looked down at the tent, and folded up her knife. “Right. Priorities. Escape crazy bomber robot first—or maybe crazy bomber human,” she added quickly. “Maybe come back for the tent later. Or just send a cleanup drone and Cloth-o-Matic a new one.” She kicked dirt over her campfire and poured out her water bottle over the smoldering spot.
Charlie7 didn’t know if that was proper fire safety or not. He didn’t have thermal scanners. But if he remembered correctly, occasional fires were good for the long-term health of forests. Besides, putting it out would give the local Toby something to do.
“Good. Let’s move.”
Olivia fell into step behind him as Charlie7 led the way back to the one working skyroamer they had left. The girl’s sudden change of attitude in the face of cold logic was one indication that humanity really had evolved, at least a little, in the transition to the Second Human Age—though not by any natural means.
“Oh,” Olivia added. “And I’m not getting anywhere near your skyroamer until you’ve checked it for explosives.”
“Good call,” Charlie7 agreed.
Yes. Humans weren’t the idiots they’d been before the invasion.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Plato’s hands shook. This was delicate work, not the sort his thick, meaty fingers were designed for. The access panel to Evelyn44’s secret database server was still open, and now Plato was probing inside with his emergency repair kit.
The gloves Plato had worn during his “leave no DNA” search of the lab were on the floor, discarded as a hindrance to his already limited fine motor skills. He regularly had to wipe sweat on his pants to keep his grip on the tweezers from slipping.
“Come on,” he encouraged the wire. If he did this right, he would be able to take a clumsy reading of the data being transmitted over one of the fibers. The effect would be nothing like plugging into the system directly, but best he could tell, there were no sensors to detect a passive photon sniffer on the line.
Heisenberg said you couldn’t measure something without changing it. Plato’s corollary was that if you changed it little enough, no one would notice. His modified reflector and re-transmitter counted on that.
Eve had sent replies to his mayday, but Plato had bitten his tongue and refused to reply. One broadcast from Evelyn44’s basement might already have gotten him in hot water, but so far she hadn’t come down to the sub-basement to look for him. Another signal from her own house and maybe she would.
But while Plato waited for rescue, he couldn’t stand the idleness.
Nobody would accuse him of surrendering to the enemy or not giving his all to avoid capture. That’s what a good soldier—or secret agent—was supposed to do.
Plato’s fingers slipped. The tweezers fell. There was a quiet, muffled ring as the tweezers landed inside the cabinet of the server, resonating like a small tuning fork.
“Wonderful,” Plato grumbled. “Et tu, tweezers?”
It wasn’t bad enough that Evelyn44 was out to get him.
It wasn’t even enough that the Privacy Committee bozos wanted to shut down the HPA and replace Eve. It wasn’t even enough for one stupid day that he had to call Eve for help, possibly getting her in even hotter water. Now he’d lost his tweezers.
Plato stared into the server. All the evidence he needed was in there, somewhere. Some movie hero would jack in, hook up his wrist computer, and start broadcasting. The movie hero would get the info out just before Evelyn44 arrived to stop him; she’d fall to her knees and explain how horrible life as an immortal robot was and spare Plato out of guilt.
The non-movie version would have Plato set off a silent alarm before he knew it, and by the time he’s started uploading to the Earthwide, Evelyn44 would be standing over him with some bio-engineered sedative. He’d wake up strapped to an upload rig before watching the final seconds of his life pass by, getting scanned and replaced by the mind of some James or Charlie with dreams of being a human with chronic arthritis at the age of twelve.
Plato chose not to be the idiot hero. He tried to avoid combining the two.
He had two options. Either he had to sit back, wait for Eve to send help, and give up on being any use in his own rescue effort, or he needed to get those tweezers back.
The first option was no option at all.
Plato rummaged through his pockets, looking for anything that might help him get the tweezers out of the server cabinet, or perhaps to stand in for the tweezers in setting up his fiber tap.
Soldering iron, adhesive bandages, gauze, iodine, protein bar, 22-gauge fiber spool, 28-gauge fiber spool, silver solder, folding knife, chocolate bar, 2mm hollow koptylene tubing, spare computer battery, miniature plasma torch, water bottle (half full), paracetamol tablets, and wireless earbuds.
Plato studied the open access panel and wondered how any of that junk would help.
“I need bigger pockets,” he muttered, taking a bite of the protein bar.
As he slowly chewed the sticky, resilient brick of flour, peanut butter, and almonds, an idea formed in his mind.
Spitting out the bite in his mouth, he squished the mush between his fingers. “Worth a try.”
The koptylene tubing was stiff, intent on maintaining its coiled shape as Plato straightened it. But stiff was good. It would hug the inside of the cabinet if he angled it just right.
Mashing the wad of slimy, half-chewed protein bar over the end, Plato removed his wrist computer and angled it over the edge of the opening to get a look at where the tweezers had fallen.
His first attempt ended when he missed the tweezers and got the wad of protein bar stuck to the cabinet bottom. The tubing had come back up with just a gummy residue stuck to the end.
With a frustrated sigh, Plato chewed up another piece and stuck it to the end. This time, he worked the tubing one-handed while he watched in the computer’s camera. It was awkward holding everything in the correct orientation all at once, but holding his breath and taking it oh-so-slowly, he was able to jab the tweezers with the wad.
There was a clink as he pulled the tubing out.
Plato cursed up a storm, using every word Eve had included on the list of “words not to use around Eve.” When he finally calmed down, he checked inside and found the tweezers resting at the bottom of the server cabinet once more. He also spotted the terminal he’d snagged them on while attempting to pull up the tweezers.
“Third time’s the charm,” Plato told himself as he set out to try again.
It wasn’t.
The tweezers clanged to the bottom halfway up.
“Who designs these things?” he asked no one in particular.
The fifth attempt ended in the wad caught against an internal support and the tweezers tumbling back to the bottom.
By the eighth attempt, Plato had nailed down the process of chewing up protein bar until it was ready to adhere to the tubing.
On the twelfth, the tweezers came out.
Plato tossed aside the tubing with its sticky wad of goo at the end and hugged the tweezers. After all he’d gone through to retrieve them, he could hardly bear to risk them again.
But Plato had a job to do. He quickly dropped a blob of solder on the end of the tweezers and stuck the end of his 28-gauge fiber into it before the solder solidified. It was shoddy workmanship, but he just wanted an easy way to fish the tiny tool back out if he lost it again.
With renewed focus and appreciation, he set back to work, connecting the photon reader in Evelyn44’s data line.
It must have taken him half an hour, but eventually he fiddled the reflector and re-transmitter into place.
With a sigh of released tension, Plato slumped back and connected the other end to his wrist computer. The hard part was over.
Access to the data lines didn’t give him complete control of Evleyn44’s systems. Actually, it didn’t give him any. He couldn’t even choose what data he was looking at. Fortunately, Plato had analyzed the system architecture and tapped into the correct feed for the internal security system.
Plato settled in and selected from the dozens of internal cameras to see what was going on upstairs.
“No!” Plato shouted. “No. Don’t! You leave her alone!”
On the screen, he saw Eve reclining in an upload rig that looked eerily identical to the one from Evelyn11’s lab. Eve was lying there, head hooked up to a million cables, with some contraption covering her eyes and ears. She was limp, probably drugged. There was no time to waste.
Plato grabbed his EMP rifle and cursed himself for a coward. If anything happened to Eve before he could get there, it was on him. He bolted from the hidden server room and headed for the main level of the house.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Eve stood staring at Evelyn44’s scanning rig. So many probes. So many cables. So many memories. Close inspection revealed key differences between this machine and the one Eve had spent so much time in while under Evelyn11’s control. It had external sensors instead of clip-on terminals to connect to trans-cranial probes. There was no sign of feeding or urinary tubes for long-term testing. Eve didn’t see any indication of a secondary rig linked to this one to perform direct mind-to-mind overwrite.
“I’m so glad you’re reconsidering,” Evelyn44 said, bustling around the machine, tapping at keypads, and making adjustments. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was the reason behind your change of heart?”
“Well,” Eve said, struggling with the logic herself. Admitting that she was hoping to distract Evelyn44 wasn’t going to help matters. And the truth was that she hadn’t changed her mind at all. “Since my committee is going to be sanctioning the use of this machine along with all your other equipment, it seemed like a good idea for a test run. It’s not as if I can subsist on nutrient gel in an incubator, or take another pass through the process of birth, but I can see what it’s like having a diagnostic brain scan.”
“Excellent,” Evelyn44 said, beaming. “Let me just get it set for you.”
With a whirr, the footrest at the bottom of the inclined table slid toward the head, shortening to what Eve had to imagine was her exact height. Eve’s genome and synaptic maps were public domain knowledge; it wasn’t any trick to know her height down to the millimeter.
Evelyn44 patted the table. “Hop on up, and we’ll get started. Unless you need an excretory facility first. I have one by the irrigation control room—brand new, never been used.” She sounded proud to have installed one.
Eve held up a hand. “Thank you. My excretory functions are in check right now. But I was hoping to get a better look into the workings of the machine before we began.”
“Oh,” Evelyn44 said, unable to hide her disappointment that the amenity wasn’t required. But she brightened again immediately. “Well, let me show you around.”
Evelyn44 removed access panels, pulled out circuit cards, and sat with Eve reviewing a dizzying amount of computer code. For her part, Eve was genuinely interested but couldn’t keep up with the influx of new information as fast as it was pres
ented to her. She filed it away in the computer strapped to her lower back, hoping that it wouldn’t be used later as part of a post-mortem investigation.
Seconds marched along, plummeting into the void of immediate history.
Come on, Eve chided Plato silently. Send a message that you just snuck out.
But Eve’s diversion had a lifespan. Once they were finished going through all the scanner’s systems, Evelyn44 shut down the code viewer, closed up the access panels, and put the machine back into standby mode, waiting for a scanning subject.
“First things first, now,” Evelyn44 said in the manner of a strict nanny. “Let’s get you out of that computer equipment. At worst, I imagine that the processing unit would be uncomfortable pressing against the small of your back. But I can’t have those goggles on you.”
Eve actually liked sitting with the processor pressed against her lower back. The case was formed for ideal lumbar support while seated in an office chair or her skyroamer. But when she wore it to bed, Eve couldn’t sleep on her back.
When she didn’t move to take off her gear, Evelyn44 tapped her foot. “Madame Chairman, if you’re reconsidering your decision after reviewing the machine’s protocols, hardware, and software, that’s your choice. But if we’re just going to stand here gawking like puffer fish at the scanner, I’ve other work I can be doing. I imagine the same applies to you.”
Eve froze. The words were Evelyn Mengele’s, echoes of Gemini’s unguarded moment. Her manner, her delivery, all reminded Eve of Creator.
One last time, Eve checked her goggles. There was no update from Plato.
She had to buy more time.
“Sorry,” Eve said, slipping her goggles off and unplugging them. “I was hoping to get an update on the search for Olivia before the scan. I’ll just have to hope I have good news waiting for me when we’re done.”
“Yes,” Evelyn44 replied. “Poor dear. I hope she comes home all right.”
Eve stripped off her shirt to untangle herself from the bands that kept her fiber cables running along her arms and down her spine. She pulled off her fingerless interface gloves. Unclasping the belt around her stomach that held the computer to her back, she let that slip to the floor as well. Once more a creature of flesh and blood alone, Eve pulled on a shirt that felt too loose, brushing against skin in places normally covered by technology.