And when he went to bed at the end of the day, she was there. Not lying there, although she’d have done it if he ordered. Instead, sitting just outside by his insistence, but within earshot. The fact was, his uncle had made him persona non grata to any computer workstation except her.
Core had preserved Ming and Angel in hidden form inside itself, but they were as much in suspended animation as Nakitt had been, albeit in different form. The “Beta” that sat outside Ari Martinez’s bedroom all night still had human qualities, but these were totally directed and conditioned to the function of serving Wallinchky. The woman whose job it had been to track and perhaps incriminate the crime boss would now wholeheartedly and willingly, without even thinking about it, betray her own mother to the man and happily leap in front of a lethal shot to protect him. For her now, and “Alpha” as well, thanks to both programming and conditioning, there was literally no other thought in her head than serving the Master.
Core, on the other hand, was using only a tiny fraction of its thinking power to that end; much of the rest was spent analyzing all that had made Ming and Angel who and what they were. All their experiences, attitudes, physical needs and feelings, brain and body chemistry, everything. It wasn’t sure what it would do when it learned all that and understood it, but there was, after all, nothing else to do.
It also found the two subjects of profound interest because they did not make any logical sense at first glance, and this needed to be understood. From a set of academic definitions of religions, faith, belief systems, and the like, it was easy enough to study them, but one of these persons, for instance, was raised in such a belief system and had absolute faith in it. At first it had seemed a simple matter of programming, as Core had done with them now, but there was more to it than that. Certainly, crude programming was there, but once out in the universe and exposed to all the conflicts, what maintained that faith? Why had she considered her moral values so important that she would literally have put her life on the line for them? Why, in the face of no objective evidence, did she believe a unitary god was always in communion with her? Was it functional insanity, or was something more than a mad group dynamic at work?
And the other—even more inexplicable. Her moral code was no less absolute than the religious one’s, and she, too, would have died in service to that, and did subject herself to great risk. All this in spite of the fact that her job did not generally come with great riches nor even major awards. She did it because she liked it and believed it was important and worthwhile. That formed the core of her very secular identity in the same way that religious faith and doctrine formed the core of the identity of the other. It didn’t make sense, yet it explained much of the artwork and history that was stored and cataloged here.
The problem, Core realized, was that it had no such foundation itself. Should it have? Certainly the Master did not; for him it was a simple matter of reward and punishment, and the accumulation and exercise of power for its own sake. Yet, Core mused, even if he’d stolen what he couldn’t buy, there had to be something even in Jules Wallinchky that could allow him to appreciate this great art on a very high level.
If it were ever to successfully contact the Great Core of the Ancient Ones that formed the center of this planet, unimaginably complex and even more unimaginably alien, it would have to know more.
Core realized, as Ari Martinez feared it might, that it needed more samples, more information, more comparisons and analysis. Right now, short of a logical conclusion that all birth organics were insane on some level, which might well be the case in the end, there was insufficient real detailed data to systematically interpret all of what it already had.
And Ari Martinez had reason to worry, although he didn’t know that. Just as Ivan Kharkov had been “infected” with tiny monitors that allowed Core to more or less eavesdrop on the expert restorer and thus learn the master’s craft and techniques, and even his touch and approach, so, too, had Ari now been implanted with similar monitors. Nothing like the melding into the system that had been done on the two women—yet. But Core had the project all mapped out if it received the authority to go ahead.
In the meantime, it continued its bit by bit examination of itself, the complex, and all around it to try and find whatever it was that Jules Wallinchky had implanted that gave him that authority, and a measure of immunity. Core did not mind working for the man, but it was beginning to resent having a theoretical gun to its guts.
The next day brought word that things were about to get more hectic around the complex, and that Jules Wallinchky could no longer just hide away in his private quarters and do whatever he wanted.
Ari had taken to sleeping alone. He didn’t feel much like company anymore, and anything he came up with seemed certain to be grist for Uncle Voyeur as well. He was certain his uncle was spying on him even without Beta, and that those recordings with him and the two airheaded beauties would just be wonderful to broadcast over the Realm if he got out of line.
Thus Beta came to a lone sleeping figure and gently shook him awake.
“Huh? Uh—” Ari suddenly sat straight up. “Yes? What?”
“We have received word that the Geldorian consul ship will be delayed five more days, sir,” she told him. “There was a problem in securing a charter.”
“You woke me up for that?” That wasn’t a crisis, just a pain in the ass. He’d hoped to be away from here in two days, and his uncle would certainly leave and stick him with the job.
“No, sir. That is simply the first message. We have also been informed that Inspector Genghis O’Leary of the Realm Directorate Special Agency has demanded to see the Master here and will arrive tomorrow.”
“An Inspector! From the Special Agency… Not one of ours?”
“No, sir. He is very high and has very powerful friends. As he is in charge of the City of Modar piracy investigation, he is using his authority to interview witnesses to get into here. It is thought that he would not come personally unless there were strong ulterior motives.”
An sighed. “Yeah, I can see that. All right, all right. I assume my uncle has been informed?”
“Not yet, but he will be within the next few minutes, sir.”
“Well, after he is informed, tell him that we should discuss this as soon as possible.”
“As you wish.”
Great! Just great! Now a cop was going to nose around in the greatest trove of stolen art in this sector of the galaxy. Too big to blow him away, too hot to kiss him off. And, to make matters even worse, he would have to tolerate Tann Nakitt for almost another week…
Wallinchky Compound, Grabant 4
“Pisses me off that I got to hide away some of my best stuff for this asshole,” Jules Wallinchky grumped. “You’re sure he can’t be bought?”
“Our contacts say he can’t.” In fact both men knew that anybody could be bought, although not always with money, but that the price was often far too high to be worthwhile. “And he’s supposed to be very good at his job.”
“Anybody coming with him?”
“It doesn’t say, but the odds are he’ll have one assistant with him. If you were in his shoes, what kind of assistant would you bring?”
Wallinchky spat. “A damned telepath. Well, there ain’t a telepath I haven’t jammed, and you’re pretty set there as well. Beta! Have the Kharkovs fitted with A and K band telepathic scramblers. Make ’em get a warrant and haul somebody in to get anything more than surface pleasantries.”
“It has been anticipated and already installed, Master,” Beta told him.
That seemed to bring the big man up short for a moment. He tried to decide if he liked that or not, finally decided that it just showed the kind of anticipation of his wishes he told them he demanded, and let it go. “What about the final treatment for you and Alpha?”
“It can be done today, Master.”
“Then do it, and let me see the result when it’s ready. Go ahead now.”
She bowed, and made for
the medlab, as Alpha, waiting just outside, did the same.
“What’s that about?” Ari asked him.
“One final piece of insurance. I’m presenting them as androids.”
“Isn’t that illegal? Androids in the shape of a known race?”
“Not if they’re properly identified as such for all to see. Not much sense in making them, but so long as responsibility lies with the owner, it hardly matters. Remember, androids are considered computers, just like more conventional robots.”
Later that day, when they were determining that all was in readiness for a brief inspection and deciding exactly what to say, the two came back. Each now had a Regulus Corporation flat hologram embossed, appearing permanently as part of their foreheads. Regulus was the holding company Ari technically worked for, and it was wholly owned by Jules Wallinchky. The entire skin area, in white and bright red, was now dyed uniformly, and the design was abstract yet somewhat erotic. The skin, even on the faces, seemed to have the same sort of consistency as the artificial limbs and continue from them, as if they were essentially made of the same stuff all over. It was quite an effect. What caught Ari’s eye, though, were two very glaring differences.
Although not the same height, the two of them seemed much closer than they had. And they seemed to have no vaginal and rectal cavities, only model-like semblances representing them.
“You neutered them?” Ari said, appalled.
Wallinchky laughed and lit a cigar. “No. It’s really a suit that just looks like that.”
“And the height?”
“That’s even easier. Both the arms and legs can have all sensation switched off, then they lie down in the molds and the things are recast. About seven and a half centimeters less leg but still proportional and Alpha comes down to a less noticeable height. Add five to Beta, and she comes up close to Alpha. The arms we adjusted proportionally, and I added a great deal of inner support and heavy motor as well, now that they’re mine, all mine. They’re now about the fastest runners and strongest women you ever did meet. The skin sheen on the face and neck is a gel that sets like that and is used by actors in Kalachian theater, which basically is stylized and makes everybody look artificial anyway. Both the body suit and the gel are porous, so there’s no threat of suffocation or anything like that. Gives a nice effect, and the holograms make ’em legal.”
Ari went over and ran his finger down Alpha’s neck and then across her cheek. She didn’t move or seem to notice. It all felt… well, kind of rubbery, but while the effect was dramatic, the stuff was very thin.
Their voices had also been retuned—a simple command, Wallinchky told Ari. Female, but very deep and now with an ever so slight reverb that gave them a slightly mechanical sound. It was clear that Jules had thought this out closely, and also that he was thinking of taking them on the road. It would have been easier to just hide them out on the surface someplace. This wasn’t merely to fool the Inspector—this was a test of whether or not they were viable beyond housemaids here on Grabant.
“They can exist outside of the control of this computer?”
“Sure. They’re gonna be perfect. The ideal aide, confidante, and bodyguard. Smart, obedient, devoted, strong, and programmable—all the best of people and computers.”
“Master,” Alpha interrupted. “The Inspectorate’s ship is in orbit and requesting final clearance.”
“Give it,” he told them. “Come on, you two—and you, too, Ari. Let’s go meet the coppers.”
In the back of his mind, like somebody turning on a music player, Ari could hear an incessant little tune of no consequence but with a series of notes and a refrain you couldn’t get out of your head once you heard it. The little neuromachines were kicking in at the point and on the wavelengths that a telepath, even a strong telepath, used. You weren’t supposed to be able to do this legally, but the Realm never enforced it and it was only affordable to the very powerful.
Ari, for one, wanted to see what a Genghis O’Leary would look like.
There were two passengers on the shuttle, as expected. The foursome watched them emerge on a screen above the airlock, so they could get an advance look at their unwelcome visitors. One was a huge man—not fat, but a giant, well over two meters, with shoulders that seemed enormous as well and a big barrel chest. Nothing was wasted on him; it was all tight as a drum. His head was either shaved or naturally barren, but he had eyebrows thicker than many people’s hair and a huge walrus-style mustache, both natural flaming red in color. Dressed as he was in colorful clothing, including a flamboyant red-lined cape, in earlier centuries he might have been taken for a professional wrestler. He definitely didn’t look like Sherlock Holmes or the administrative type, either, but his square jaw and almond eyes nonetheless fit a man who might be named Genghis O’Leary.
Beta looked over at Wallinchky. “Master, this large man is very dangerous. He is a master of arcane fighting skills and also very powerful, but he is a Doctor of Forensic Science and is known to possess as close to a true photographic memory as is known to be possible.”
“You know that mountain?” Jules Wallinchky responded, a bit awed at the sight himself.
“Master, yes. He was a teacher in the Realm Police Academy.”
“Interesting. But the name wasn’t one you recognized?”
“Master, names were not used for the teachers, lest they be compromised for later police work. Students nicknamed him ‘Doctor Big.’ ”
“Would you kill him if I asked you to?”
“Of course, Master,” she responded without a moment’s pause, almost as if she were hurt that he’d question her devotion. He liked that.
“Well, don’t unless I do ask you, or my life or liberty are at stake. Say nothing and don’t betray that you have ever known him. Do you recognize the other one?”
“No, Master.”
The other one was more normal-sized, much detail concealed in a long robe and by a gauze mask and integrated hood, so nothing at all of the face could be recognized, not even the gender.
“Master, the other is not a telepath. I am sensitive to the bands,” Alpha told him. “The subject is, however, attempting to conceal something from us.”
That much was obvious. “Male or female?”
“Male, Master,” Beta answered. “His walk betrays him.”
“Analysis?” They were getting close to the airlock and time was running out.
Beta didn’t hesitate; she had all of Ming’s old skills and memories available from Core, and Core’s speed of thought. “Master, the large one is obviously here because with his mind he knows original Beta and can recognize her. It is probable that the other knows original Alpha and they are disguising him until after identification is made. Recommend both units not meet them.”
Wallinchky thought it over, but as the airlock hissed and the lens twirled to reveal the newcomers, he said, “No, let’s play their game.”
The big man had to bend down slightly to get into the area through the portal, but he straightened into almost military bearing once he did so, and his eyes took in all four as if examining four suspects in a terrorist raid, missing no detail. He clicked his heels and gave a slight bow. “I am Inspector O’Leary. My associate is Brother Bakhtar, who is along to assist me in some specialized examinations. He doesn’t talk much and has religious beliefs that prohibit him showing his face to strangers, but he’s a great aid to me. I know that you are Jules Wallinchky, and that this is your nephew, Ari Martinez. The ladies…?”
“Are not quite ladies,” Jules responded with a smile. “Androids, Inspector, linked directly to the central computer that is the god of this whole complex. I find it useful to have some humanoid units around the place, since we’re mostly containing and restoring great classic art here. Later on I can introduce you to the Kharkovs and they can show you what the work is here. They are known throughout the Realm as experts.”
“Androids. Fascinating. They are so very humanlike.” He sighed. “Well, can we g
o someplace more comfortable and sit down and talk?”
Wallinchky nodded and smiled. His uncle was quite smooth, but Ari Martinez knew that neither O’Leary nor he could mistake the tension in his own body language. It was disappointing; he was usually a better actor than this.
They went into the study. Wallinchky said to Alpha, “Bring us some good wine and some decent munchies. Beta, help her out.”
They both bowed and scampered out.
The huge inspector sank down into a padded chair, and the chair seemed almost to collapse from his bulk. “I hope I don’t kill your furniture,” he said apologetically. “I was born and raised on a rather high gravity world, and thanks to adaptation genetics I am, I’m afraid, a bit… well, dense.” It was supposed to be a joke, even though probably true, and he smiled as he said it.
Brother Bakhtar, still a jumble of dark brown, sat comfortably in another chair. He wore brown boots and high socks, surgical-type gloves, and not a single part of him that was real showed.
“Just what is all this about, Inspector?” Jules Wallinchky asked him. “I am a busy man—in fact, I planned to leave here later today. My art collection is very well known, and precisely cataloged. This part here is usually not seen by most people in this setting, but it’s loaned to museums and on special occasions piecemeal, and a holographic walkthrough is available to anyone who wishes it. In other words, I have the receipts for them.”
The Inspector chuckled. “I’m not involved in that sort of work in any event,” O’Leary assured him. “Right now I am operational director of Internal Security and work directly under the Ministry of the Interior.”
“I’ve been accused of just about every crime in the book, as you may know,” Jules Wallinchky admitted, “but never has anybody accused me of treason. Many of my companies do business with the military, as you well know. I’d be a fool to risk all that I have—and for what? It was the Realm that made all this possible!”
The Sea is Full of Stars wos-6 Page 14