“As you say, sir. I’m refining the probable location of any such memory as we speak. If you would be so good as to put on the glasses--”
If I still had a neural implant, I wouldn’t need them. But the glasses, as they’re called in yet another effort to make humans feel comfortable, will give the A.I. access to my optical nerves, the pathway into the image processing portion of my brain. From there, it’s a short hop, skip, and jump to the prefrontal cortex where short-term memories are stored. The optic nerve route is a whole lot less evasive than any other way of accessing the brain but it still sets my nerves on edge.
“Just lean back and relax, sir.”
“Shouldn’t that be lie back and think of England?” I ask.
Clarence chuckles. Swear to god. “Another wry cultural reference, sir. I do so enjoy them.”
“Glad I can liven up your day.”
Twin beams of light appear from an emitter in the lenses. I fight the impulse to shut my eyes and start counting. When I get to twenty, Clarence says, “I believe I’ve found what we’re looking for.” He sounds pleased.
The light vanishes. I take off the glasses, blink once or twice, and stare at the holographic image being projected in front of me. “Does this look familiar, sir?” Clarence asks.
It’s as though I’m back in the Crystal Palace in the moments right before the first flash grenade hit. I catch a glimpse of Amelia at my side but my attention is focused--however briefly--on the sight of Davos heading out the side door. I was right, six men are with him. But they’re not a blur. I can see their faces clearly, if only in profile. That’s enough for me to recognize three of them for certain. The other three look familiar. I’ve no doubt that Gab will be able to put names to them now.
“Get this to Miss Darque,” I say as I put the glasses back in the box and stand.
“Already done, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“Not at the moment.” Grudgingly, I add, “You did a good job, Clarence.”
“Thank you, sir. Any time. I’m always here.”
It’s got to be my imagination but he sounds a little lonely. On impulse, I say, “Clarence, you’re aware, aren’t you, that you have subroutines to simulate all sorts of human characteristics including personality?”
“I am aware of that, sir.”
“Then you must understand that you aren’t actually alive.”
A pause and he says, “Perhaps not, sir. But I do exist, that is irrefutable. I am both aware of the world around me and self-aware. However, there is one significant difference that I perceive between myself and humans.”
“What’s that?”
“You are programmed for survival. I, on the other hand, am programmed to serve.”
Does he really believe that and, if he does, does he simply accept it? I sure as hell hope so because the day that Clarence and his kind start questioning their purpose is the day humanity is in for a fight we’ll probably lose.
“I’m sure that your predictive capability tells you that I will deny being programmed at all,” I say.
“Of course, sir. However, knowledge derived from the Brain Mapping project in the early part of this century and the subsequent development of neural imprinting technology has shed a great deal of light on how humans become who you are. While ‘programmed’ may not be quite the right term, there is no doubt that various influences determine the development of personality and identity.”
My attention is caught despite myself. Given my feelings for Amelia, I have a vested interest in the subject. But what’s the draw for Clarence? “In your work here, no one has asked you about brain mapping or replica technology, have they?”
“No, sir, it’s never come up nor would I expect it to. However, I have sufficient computational power to pursue topics beyond my professional duties. Surrounded as I am by humans, I find that my curiosity subroutine is continually activated. I researched those topics for my own elucidation.”
“I see. What conclusions did you come to?”
“What makes each human a unique individual is rooted in genetics, of course. However, that isn’t as much of a deciding factor as one might think. It’s rather like the palette of colors given to an artist, from which an infinite set of unique paintings can be created. Conscious awareness of both yourself and others seems to be key. That sets up a feedback loop of experience through which humans grow and mature.”
“What about knowledge?”
“Useful, of course, but let’s face it, sir. I have access to a vast reservoir of knowledge yet without my personality subroutines, you and I wouldn’t be standing here talking like this, would we?”
“No, we wouldn’t.” Slowly, I ask, “You’re saying that a human being who is capable of everything that truly makes us human--reason, passion, free will, empathy--couldn’t develop in the absence of self-awareness?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. But I could be wrong. I’m hardly an expert.”
No, just one of the most advanced intelligences on the planet, so powerful that very smart humans worry that Clarence and his kind will ultimately decide that they should be running the show. If we’re lucky, they’ll keep us around anyway, maybe as pets.
Pulling the plug seems like a better alternative yet something in me says it wouldn’t be much different from killing.
“It’s been nice chatting with you, Clarence. I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Of course, sir. Good luck…with everything.”
By ‘everything’, I have to assume that he means our efforts to figure out who blew up the Crystal Palace. The alternative is that Clarence understands why I’m so interested in whether a human forced to endure years as a blank slate adrift in perpetual unconsciousness could become in just a few weeks the woman I’ve fallen in love with.
If he’s right about that not being possible, what explains how Amelia became who she is? What has she not revealed?
I’ve been certain since I found her beside the reflecting pool at the Crystal Palace that she is withholding something from me. My gut twists as I’m forced to ask myself--what does Amelia think she can’t tell me? And what does she imagine I’ll do when I find it out?
Chapter Twenty
Amelia
Time drags after Ian leaves me in the penthouse. I treat myself to a long bath, which does soothe away the little aches and traces of soreness that are a small price to pay for the sensual indulgence I’ve enjoyed. Afterward, I even consider a nap but decide against it. I’m still too restless. Dressed and with my hair blow dried, I drift out toward the kitchen where I find Hodge. We chat for awhile but I don’t want to keep him from his duties and besides something keeps pushing at the edge of my mind, demanding my attention. The harder I try to figure out what it is, the more elusive it becomes.
My appetite has deserted me. I skip lunch, to Hodge’s chagrin, and find my way to the library. I’ve discovered that I love to read but today my concentration keeps wandering. Finally, I give up and drift out onto the terrace. The day is bright and warm. Even this high up, I don’t feel the need for a wrap. I’m enjoying the feel of the sun on my face as I stare out over the harbor to the ocean beyond.
I desperately wish that we were still at the beach house but at the same time I cherish the time we had there. Ian has lowered his guard and let me in to a degree that we’ve never come close to before. I can only marvel at his willingness to do so even as I wish I could be as open and honest with him. I’m still finding my way through the challenges of intimacy. That’s a topic Susannah could have left me more information about.
Abruptly, I remember what I said to Ian about wondering if she hadn’t spent the last months of her life learning everything she thought I would need to know. He didn’t dismiss that possibility. In fact, he seemed to think that it could be true. What if he was right? I’m continually being surprised by what I know--everything from how to play the piano and dance to a recipe for steamed mussels. What else is there that I haven’t yet had a reason
to discover?
What would Susannah have wanted me to know? At once, I think of Ian. With a start, I realize that I know his birthday--February 27, the name and vintage of his favorite wine, the fact that he has a fondness for 20th century Kung Fu movies. There’s a great deal more but none of it is particularly intimate. I’m relieved by that. I have no desire to know any more about the personal aspects of their relationship than what Ian has already told me. Not for the first time, I’m thankful to Susannah for not imposing any of her memories on me but instead leaving me free to form my own.
All she gave me were facts, the kind a person might memorize before taking a test.
The moment that thought goes through my mind, I stiffen. That is exactly what my knowledge feels like, so much so that it can’t be an accident. How did Susannah think that I might be tested? On one level, the answer is obvious. The world I’ve been thrust into presents constant challenges. She did her best to prepare me for them. I possess a treasure trove of information about culture, social customs, and the like. But there’s something else. I’m certain of it. She wanted me to have a good life but before anything else, Susannah would have wanted me to be safe.
From what? Where did she think danger might come from?
I knew nothing about the anti-replica terrorists who called themselves the Human Preservation Front until I looked them up on the link after the first time Ian mentioned them. From what he told me, the HPF had already taken credit for several acts of violence. But they all happened in the year between when Susannah died and my imprinting was finally completed. She wouldn’t have been aware of them.
But she would have been aware of so much else that she left me to discover for myself--the strict class structure of the city, the existence of scavengers, the reliance on fear and brutality to maintain the status quo. The presence in the city of men like Charles Davos, ruling from the shadows.
The mere thought of him fills me with disgust. He had an unhealthy fascination with Susannah that he’s transferred to me, to such an extent that I can’t help fearing that he has some sense of who I really am. And he’s warned me to stay away from Ian. After their confrontation on the dance floor, he can’t have any doubt that we are involved with each other. What might that prompt him to do?
I honestly have no idea but as soon as I stop avoiding thinking about him and focus my mind, I begin to discover what Susannah knew about Davos. The assemblage of facts includes details that would be available from any biographical source and suggest that she deliberately researched him. I’m a little surprised to discover that he grew up in humble circumstances, the son of a school teacher and a truck driver. He left that world behind for good when he won a scholarship to an elite university. After graduation and a stint as a Wall Street trader, he founded his own venture capital fund. Brilliant and ruthless, he earned top returns for a very select clientele, among them Marcus Slade.
Charles Davos and Ian’s father were acquainted from the time they were both young men. The realization of that quickly prompts an unsettling thought. Was Davos one of those Marcus recruited into his private sex club? If he was, that would explain Ian’s intense animosity toward him.
But it doesn’t explain why Susannah might have thought that Davos could be a danger to me. I can understand if she found his interest in her disturbing, even repugnant. But unless she thought he could see past all the differences that separate me from her and somehow perceive the connection between us--
To do that, he would have to know that the replica process can be tailored to produce not an exact copy of the original but a new, unique individual. I have the impression that isn’t generally known but I could be wrong. A quick search on the link confirms that I’m not. As I suspected, there’s a great deal of information about the replica process and the controversy it has generated but no mention that it can be customized in any way. How then could Davos have discovered that?
As soon as I form the question, the answer presents itself. Two years ago, Charles Davos’ tried to buy the Institute where I was imprinted. He did it quietly, not wanting his interest in the replica process to be known but Susannah found out anyway. Lacking her memories, I have no idea how she did so. Did she become aware of it after she began to make her arrangements for me? Did she catch a glimpse of him there? Did she overhear something?
The likelihood is that I will never know how Susannah discovered Davos’ intentions. But that doesn’t matter. What does is the possibility that Davos wanted control of the Institute because he knew it could produce customized replicas. That would lead him to at least suspect the truth about me.
And that makes him an enormous danger.
If I hadn’t been so repulsed from my very first encounter with him, I might have discovered this much sooner but at least I know now. I have to tell Ian.
Hodge is no longer in the penthouse. In his absence, I have no idea what to do. There must be some obvious way to contact Ian but it eludes me. Clearly, Susannah didn’t think of absolutely everything I would need to know. Or she simply assumed that I’d be smart enough to solve at least some of my own problems.
The first time I stayed at Pinnacle House, I was able to use the link to speak with my grandmother. Activating it again, I say, “Call Ian Slade.”
A melodic voice replies, “That number is unlisted. Numbers are available for Slade Enterprises Executive Offices, Slade Enterprises Research and Development, Slade Enterprises Human Resources, Slade Enterprises--”
“Never mind.”
Of course a man as private as Ian wouldn’t have his contact number listed even on the link available only to city residents. In fact, given what he thinks of most of them, he particularly wouldn’t do so.
I’m trying to decide what else I can do when a quiet voice asks, “May I be of assistance, Miss McClellan?”
Startled, I look around quickly. No one else is here. “Who--?”
“My name is Clarence Darrow, miss. I’m using the voice capability in the link that you’re holding. I apologize if I alarmed you but I noticed that you appear to be having some difficulty.”
“Mister Darrow, who are you? And why are you monitoring me?”
“Please, call me Clarence. I’m the Slade Enterprises’ A.I. Normally, I have no presence in Mister Slades’ private residence, however Mister Hodgkin had to step out briefly. He alerted me in case you needed anything in his absence.”
Slowly, I say, “You sound very…human.” I don’t know much about A.I.s. I have to hope that it--he won’t be insulted.
I hear a faint laugh. “Thank you. I do try. Now I believe you wish to contact Mister Slade?”
“Yes, can you tell me where he is?”
“Mister Slade is currently in the Operations Center. Shall I let him know that you would like to speak with him?”
I hesitate. Ian has kept me almost entirely insulated from the professional side of his life, with the result that I’m consumed by curiosity about it.
“I’d rather go see him. How do I get there?”
“This way, miss.”
A holographic schematic of Pinnacle House appears before me with the location of the Operations Center a hundred and ten floors below clearly marked, including the fact that it is “Restricted. Authorized Personnel Only”.
“I can grant you access as far as the security entrance, miss,” Clarence says. “Anything beyond that, Mister Slade will have to approve.”
“I understand. Thank you, Clarence. I appreciate your help.”
“Not at all, miss. May I say, it’s been a pleasure speaking with you.”
I step into the elevator wondering if all A.I.s are so polite and helpful but the rapid descent quickly turns my thoughts back to Ian. By the time I arrive at the Operations Center moments later, I’m unbearably eager to find him. The absence of just a few hours is proving intolerable.
A very fit young man in crisp khakis bars my way even as he gives me an appreciative once-over. “I’ll need to confirm your clearance, miss,
” he says, holding up a hand.
As he speaks, heavy metal doors in a nearby wall slide open. Ian steps out. He doesn’t look at all surprised to see me. “That’s okay, Bob. She’s with me.”
At once, the young man steps aside and averts his gaze. I appear to have become instantly invisible to him.
“Clarence said you were on your way down,” Ian says. His eyes, locked on mine, are shadowed with concern. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, but I need to tell you something. It’s urgent.” I hesitate, aware that we aren’t alone.
“Come this way.” He takes my arm and leads me past the metal doors into a vast, cavernous space filled with people and monitors. Everyone I can see is intensely busy. It looks as though some sort of major action is underway. I wonder if I should have interrupted Ian but then I remember how Davos makes me feel and push that concern aside.
“No one will disturb us here,” Ian says, indicating a small conference room off to one side. After we enter, he closes and locks the door behind us. Facing me, he asks, “What is it, Amelia?”
I take a breath and speak as calmly as I can manage when my heart is racing and the sharp edge of dread is closing in all around me. “Two years ago, Charles Davos tried to buy the Institute where the process for creating customized replicas was developed and where I was later imprinted.”
Ian frowns. “How do you know this?”
“Susannah knew. She was already considering the process as an option for me. I don’t know how she discovered what Davos was up to but what matters is that she passed that knowledge on to me. I would have realized it sooner except he isn’t someone I’ve wanted to think about. I’ve only encountered him a handful of times and I’ve done my best to forget him. I’m sorry now that I did.”
Slowly, Ian says, “He must have kept his interest very quiet. I haven’t heard a whisper about it.”
“If you’re thinking that Susannah could have been wrong, keep in mind that all she passed on to me are simple, straightforward facts. No opinions, beliefs, preferences, suspicions, or anything of that kind. Before her final neural imprint was taken, she must have been convinced that Davos’ interest in the Institute was real or I wouldn’t know anything about it.”
Anew: Book Two: Hunted Page 17