by Lance Erlick
He closed the panel and smoothed her skin and hair stubble. “This contains information for our outing.”
The memory chip interacted with her mind, altering some of her programming. She felt some memories slip away, but couldn’t be sure which, since they were gone. Don’t trust Machten remained.
He held her head in his hands and kissed her forehead. Then he handed her the blond wig. “Go change. You’ll wear a bland brown wig to minimize people noticing you. Adjust your facial hydraulics to do two things. We need to confuse facial recognition in case cameras compare today’s visit with you in the past or future. You’ll also reduce your attractiveness to plain, so people won’t remember you.”
“Like this?” Using hydraulics, she adjusted her brow to a man’s stern look, softened her cheekbones, and jutted out her jaw. The image in the suite’s cameras was like a bulldog. She thickened her ears for the full effect.
His distorted facial muscles registered displeasure before he spoke. “I’m not looking for Frankenstein’s monster. You know what I mean.” He pointed to the holographic image and words beneath it. “The system suggests facial profile ZG217 would do the trick.”
She softened her face to match the specifications and backed up the settings to recall this model for later.
“Much better,” he said. “I’d still take you out on a hot date, but it’s a forgettable face. Put on a dull brown wig.”
Synthia excused herself into the bathroom and replaced her golden blond curls with a windblown brown wig that, according to her programming, dropped her to a four out of ten on Machten’s attractiveness scale. She changed into a plain student-style pantsuit, put on glasses for effect, and returned to the bedroom.
“That’s the look,” he said, showing surprise that she could follow orders. It was in those moments of astonishment that he treated her as human, even if only for an instant.
She hunched her shoulders ever so slightly and slid across the room as if she’d become her own shadow. There was an entire science to appearing unremarkable that he had programmed into her for such occasions: the anonymous look. Nevertheless, downgrading her appearance violated his ego’s need to have the most beautiful woman on his arm, or so her social-psychology module told her.
Unless she did something to change his mind, he was granting her a chance to go outside. She considered how best to handle her pending freedom, even if it promised to be fleeting.
She sent a message to Zachary:
* * * *
Machten brushed his hand across Synthia’s cheek in what might have been a sensual gesture. His behavior indicated conflict between his wanting to keep her to himself, his desire to parade her in public for all to see what a catch he had, and his need to dig into his rival’s company.
“Even with the bland wig, plain face, and simple clothes you’re gorgeous,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?” It came across as another apology, this time for making her dress down.
“Take your backpack,” he said, handing it to her. He also handed her an old thumb drive. “You’ll need this. Keep it safe.”
He took her by the hand, led her to the door, and placed his eye next to the scanner. A single LED turned green. He placed his other hand on an electronic pad and a second green light switched on. “Open says me,” he said in his weak attempt at humor. The sound analyzer picked up his tonal qualities and kicked on the third green light.
The door opened.
Machten led her down a faded, well-lit corridor with cameras at both ends, the same ones that had allowed her to watch him approach her door. “This is exciting, isn’t it?” he said.
Indeed, she sensed his respiration picking up more than from walking, along with an elevated heart rate. Humans got excited for reasons that she could objectively identify and yet couldn’t experience.
He led her down several hallways of the inner facility and through a door that sealed behind a movable set of shelves that concealed the door from a room in the outer facility. They reached a different entryway with no lobby and a back door that avoided visitors blindsiding him again. He repeated his door security procedure, and they stepped into an empty storage room, beyond which stood the garage. He checked video footage on a small screen and opened the door.
Her infrared vision revealed no other humans in the garage. There was only one car, Machten’s. The ramp above them held an Under Construction sign at the entrance. Whenever uninvited guests entered this area, his system would automatically call 911 in a simulated voice to have them removed. The system was set up to recognize and permit Synthia and Machten.
She climbed into the passenger seat of a battered sedan that wouldn’t have been beat-up if she’d been driving, though she had no data to show she’d ever driven before or where that conclusion came from. Downloaded recordings showed Machten in the past getting distracted, mostly minor fender-benders. She belted herself in as he drove up the ramp into daylight, what the weather report said would be a cloudless April day, unseasonably warm. She’d missed the winter snows.
Squinting, Machten put on sunglasses. Synthia adjusted her lens aperture and took in the depth of a sky thousands of times farther away than the ceiling of her cell. The buildings reached skyward, though none as tall as those in downtown Chicago. Unlike the videos she’d accessed, she now had a 3-D perspective of the world aboveground, trees with texture, people sporting angles in all sizes and shapes. As Machten drove through intersections, she studied roads that weaved off in every direction and the noise of horns, car stereos, and people shuffling along beside them. That gave her an idea.
“The fastest Wi-Fi connections would be in the university data hub,” Synthia said. The speed would reduce the time they needed to be there. The university setting would also allow her to observe human behavior, experience people interacting, and explore freedom outside the bunker.
“Access is limited,” Machten said, “and the connection to the university would draw unwanted attention.” He drove south of campus.
“What about Deluxe Brew?” she asked, observing students and others walking along the sidewalk. Her direct experience with humans was limited; she needed more in order to improve her interaction skills, and not just on social media. Contact beyond Machten could help her learn about the trust warning, meet up with Zachary, and find out what happened to Fran Rogers.
Synthia took in the subtle variations of facial expressions and walking gait of passersby that diminished when presented in 2-D videos. “Speeds at Deluxe Brew are high enough,” she added.
“Too busy and not ideal for what I have in mind. We’ll try Constant Connection. They offer secure anonymous links for a price. It seems plenty of students are willing to pay for secrecy despite the university providing free access to social media.”
For illegal activities, she could have added. “Good third choice, but they’re busy and they attract business types. Won’t they get suspicious?”
“Leave that to me.” Machten parked two blocks from their intended network place. He held up a tiny earbud that he placed in his ear. “You’ll walk ahead of me so we aren’t seen together. Enter Constant Connection. We’ll communicate through this secure wireless line. At any sign of danger, return to the storage shed in the garage and wait.”
She experienced his slow-com, human-voice explanation as irritating. With fifty tracks, she could have solved his problem in the time it took him to explain it.
“To remain anonymous, you’ll pay cash,” he said. He handed her a wad of bills.
“It isn’t this expensive.”
“No, but we want them to see you can pay. If they get nosy, say you don’t want your boyfriend tracking your spending. They’re discreet. Now go. Let me know when you’ve hacked into Goradine’s server. If you encounter any problems, place a bill on the counter and leave.”
; He was acting paranoid, but perhaps with good reason.
* * * *
Synthia climbed out of the car, slung the backpack over her shoulder, and blended into a group of young women heading toward campus. It took a few steps to adjust to the uneven pavement after living with the level floors of the facility.
An odd thought surfaced of her going to school as the girl whose memory she’d experienced. With her access to information, she could ace every class. Despite the ease of doing so, the experience would be a microcosm of human interactions. Something urgent attached to these memories. She filed that away and kept moving.
Through a camera in what appeared as a mole in the back of her neck, she watched Machten follow her. His gait was awkward; he tried too hard to blend into a group of students with whom he didn’t belong. He was old enough to be a professor and had some of the rumpled look of a stereotyped academic. However, he was too purposed and paranoid in his manner. Hopefully, any humans who did notice him would lack her skill at social observation.
Synthia, on the other hand, was programmed to fit in. A girl heading the other way smiled as if recognizing the plain-Jane android. Synthia nodded back. She passed Deluxe Brew, overflowing with students between classes, and was tempted to step inside. Conversations bounced off each other, at least a dozen threads. Inside, she could have broken down the soundtracks and followed each separately. There was so much to learn. She spotted boys on the prowl and girls toying with them, as in a game Machten had equipped her to play. She moved on.
She sent another message to Zachary:
Gazing up, she had to focus and refocus her lens to take in the depth of clouds and buildings. That this amazed her was disquieting. It made her wonder what tinkering Machten had done to her core to make her this way. Was he trying to get her to feel, to experience emergent behavior? She should talk to him about this, yet something caused him to shut her down and she didn’t want to provoke that.
There were so many faces to watch that were not images in a database. Her virtual tour of the town hadn’t done justice to seeing it for herself. The sentiment of wonder was something she shouldn’t have had. She smiled.
Synthia spotted the sidewalk café where Machten planned to wait next to the network shop. She entered the Connection and approached the counter. Along both walls and through the middle of the room were cubicles where several students were working. She spotted empty cubes toward the left that provided some privacy.
Machten had constructed her to seek direct access through her wireless network connection, though he was afraid that risked someone tracing the link back to her. He was obsessed with doing things the slow, cumbersome way as being safer. It wasn’t.
“Easy does it,” he warned her. “You’re a student looking for an hour of anonymous network time.”
She smiled at the slender young man behind the counter with a tuft of dark hair hanging over his left eye. She recognized his face from his social network profiles; he was a full-time student supplementing his income, a bit of a romantic with an off-and-on girlfriend. He seemed distracted, his blue eyes darting between a device in his hand and two screens before him. He was texting his sweetheart, trying to arrange a date for later in the day.
Synthia smiled and waited for him to look up.
“Don’t flirt,” Machten said. “You don’t want him to remember you.”
She placed a twenty on the counter. “I’d like to purchase time.”
“Wouldn’t we all,” he said. He looked up and smiled at her. “Ah. Haven’t seen you here before.”
Of course, since her projected image was a new composite. She even softened her profile a little, adding a vulnerability that appealed to boys and acted as a contrast to the plain, geek look Machten had given her. The man fumbled with his phone and dropped it on the counter.
“My boyfriend’s been stalking me,” Synthia said. “I need a quiet booth.”
“This buys you two hours. Will that be enough?”
She nodded, gave him a sad face, and headed toward the most secluded cubicle along the left side. Machten sat at an outside café table, where he could watch her and make sure she didn’t flee. Evidently, she’d tried that before, which was perhaps one reason he limited her memories. She didn’t want him doing it again.
Chapter 7
Intrigued by her meeting with Marvin Quigley and Special Agent Victoria Thale, NSA Director Emily Zephirelli flew up to Boston. She reached the faculty offices for MIT’s Technology Group and Professor Tessa Chevalier. Now in their mid-forties, the women had met years earlier in college, where Zephirelli was a year behind Chevalier. They became roommates and close friends, going their separate ways after graduation.
“What brings you up our way?” Chevalier asked. Her voice had a hard edge to it, but the face relaxed in welcoming an old friend. She set a cup of Della-brew tea on the table and a mug of coffee for herself.
In school, the NSA director had been the more attractive of the two, but had aged harder, wearing the marks of a high-stress job. She’d acquired significant power, though mostly behind the scenes.
“Hank Goradine, Jeremiah Machten, and Ralph McNeil,” Zephirelli said. She sat across from her old friend, took a drink of the tea, and smiled. The men had all left school before Zephirelli arrived.
“Really? After all this time? What’s that lot gotten into this time?”
“Sorry to dig at a scab. I’m guessing there were things you couldn’t talk about back then, about Machten in particular.”
“I should have pressed charges,” Chevalier said.
“Against Machten?”
“Against all three. Maybe not McNeil. He was a follower who idolized Machten despite how that bastard treated him. The real show was Goradine versus Machten. They egged each other on like a couple of frat boys.”
“I won’t pry the unsavory details,” Zephirelli said, cradling the tea in her hands. “I’m interested in what you can tell me about them as people and engineers.”
“I’m guessing you can’t tell me what this is about.”
“National security. You understand.”
“Well, then,” Chevalier said. She sipped her coffee and smiled. “Goradine was a womanizer. He charmed his way into many a bed, only to disappoint. Despite being taller, stronger, and some said more handsome, he felt inferior to Machten. In fact, faculty caught him cheating off Machten’s work and kicked him out.”
“Anything else about them personally?”
“Goradine was full of bluster, trying to show he was the better man. Instead of blazing his own trail, he insisted on trying to best Machten at his own game.”
Zephirelli pushed the tea to the center of the table. “What about Machten?”
“Ah, Jeremiah. Smart women attracted him.”
“But, according to his file, they rarely stuck around.”
Chevalier smiled. “Goradine tried to possess anything Machten had. He seduced every woman Machten fancied in part because Jeremiah showed more interest in his work than in people.”
Zephirelli nodded. “I know the type.”
“Jeremiah formed attachments that bordered on obsession until Goradine stepped in. Then Jeremiah backed off. A woman could never make him jealous to the point of striving to keep her.”
“So he was a traditionalist,” Zephirelli said. “Or maybe a dreamer tilting at windmills.”
Chevalier laughed. “That’s a good way to describe him. In schoolwork he was obsessed with the idea that he could create the perfect android. Wait, you mean he did it?” She tossed her hands out in surprise, sloshing her coffee onto the table. She let the brown liquid spread toward a stack of papers.
“You know I can’t—”
“Son of a … I wouldn’t be surprised if he took his creation to a deserted island where Goradine couldn’t find them.”
> Zephirelli took a tissue from her purse and mopped up the coffee. “How would you describe Machten as a person and as an engineer?”
“Thanks.” Chevalier added her tissues to the mop-up effort. “Machten was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. He had moments of inspiration that baffled professors. Then he would chase an idea down a rabbit hole. He was erratic, as prone to flights of fancy and going on tangents as of useful insights. The most single-minded guy I’ve met.”
“So quite determined.”
“If you’re asking if he could develop a humaniform android, I’d say if it’s doable, he could, as long as he can do it on his own. He doesn’t work well with others. He’s very secretive, which is what baffled me when I heard he’d partnered with Goradine.”
Zephirelli folded her hands on the desk. “What about ethics?”
“Important to McNeil, a real Boy Scout. A nuisance to Goradine.”
“And Machten?”
“A complex man,” Chevalier said. “He would consider himself quite ethical, but he also wouldn’t let anything get in the way of his personal ambition. I would say it depends.”
Zephirelli finished her tea and set the cup aside. “You can’t tell anyone of your suspicions. I must insist you remain quiet about this.”
“Understood.”
The women hugged and Zephirelli left.
* * * *
From the moment Synthia sat down, she had Machten in her ear, guiding her like a distracted child. “Insert the thumb drive I gave you into the port,” he said. “On your left.”
With all of her backup systems, she was unable to forget his instructions. Besides, his directives guided her to follow his orders.
The thumb drive was redundant to the chip he’d inserted in her head. It provided an index of new hacking programs for her. She copied files from the chip in her head to a distributed database in her abdomen. Using the wired system, she created eleven anonymous identities for herself and another dozen for her boss. Then she used her wireless connection to link to her new identities with a triple barrier firewall bounced off foreign dark-web servers in case anything attempted to crawl back. She only let him see the dozen identities on the screen through her eyes, blinking when she created and used the others for herself.