A Mind Programmed

by Vox Day

  The voice was kinder, less intimidating now. For all his frightful intelligence, Dr. G was a good and gentle man. Pushing herself up on her elbows, Myranda looked at the bluish-white light streaming through the latticed windows, momentarily perplexed at its color.

  Sivorno! The name formed gradually in her mind. She was in a second-rate chain hotel in the city of Sivorno. The planet was Valatesta, a rich border world that marked the present limits of the Greater Terran Ascendancy. It was only yesterday that she arrived. She remembered the rapid trip from Astarkhan aboard a ghosted blockade runner, the terrifying descent, and the surreptitious landing that took place well outside the city's suburbs. Then there was the meeting with the short, shifty-eyed Valatestan who drove her into the city and whose loyalties would only last as long as the payments were promptly made. She had won her one-in-five bet. What were the odds against her now?

  Let them try to catch her. They would fail. She was Myranda Flare and she was better than anything the Ascendancy had to throw against her. Memories were coming back to her, falling into place as neatly as the tumblers of a time lock.

  No, not everything. Far from everything. Very far. But she knew where she was now. Sivorno. She was to meet someone here. Someone important. Someone who was vital to her mission. But what was that mission? Her mind shied away from the question. Ignorance was her shield. The less she knew, the better. It was always better to genuinely be innocent than to act innocent. She rolled off the bed and looked in the mirror. A snub-nosed face framed by long waves of newly blond hair stared back at her. It was a modestly pretty face, a face that no one would ever suspect of hiding the Integration's most feared intelligence operative behind it.

  Not that she felt dangerous. She felt lost and alone, abandoned to the cruel vagaries of space. My mind, my mind, why have you abandoned me? Something itched behind her left ear. Ah yes, the interface. She remembered consenting to having the other one installed, the special one, the one in her left ring finger. And whatever the objective was, she knew that she would never have permitted Dr. G to erase her memories and modify her mind if it was not worth it.

  She walked to the window and looked out upon the city. The sun, blue-white and larger than the one to which she was accustomed, was high. She guessed it was nearing noon. She must have slept away the morning, exhausted by the stress of the interstellar flight and the terrifyingly rapid descent from orbit. She felt a strange sense of lassitude, no doubt inspired by the physical reaction the dream had stirred in her body.

  She sighed and smiled faintly. Better pleasure than pain. Both worked equally well in reprogramming the human mind, but Dr. G was a kind man by nature.

  The scene below was strange, yet vaguely familiar to her. People, animals, machines, vehicles—every world was fundamentally the same as another, she concluded. All worlds, all governments, all people. They were all simply variations on a theme. The only variables were those of emotion, custom, gullibility, and belief. What she needed to do now was to stay within those patterns, to ensure that her actions only disturbed the status quo when her mission required it.

  And what it required next was that she contact the agents of Prince Li-Hu. The thought came to her without warning. It confused her. Prince Li-Who? Ah yes, House Dai Zhan. Then run! Run, run, run…. The word echoed through the vast, forgotten chambers of her mind. For a moment, she sensed a deeper thought, a primal voice that hearkened back to some remote corner of her mind. It whispered at her not to heed the voice, and then, like a fleeting shadow, it was gone.

  Run, run, run….

  But why? As the word pounded repetitively in her mind, she watched the ground cars driving slowly below, their linear dance choreographed by lights. Above them, the aerovars soared past, moving much faster in animated, vertically stacked lines. She realized she was hungry. How long was it since she'd last eaten? She couldn't remember. So much of her past was lost to her in that glaring light that had purified her, sanctified her, burned her to the core.

  Fiat lux! On the first day, there was light. But before the light came the voice. Before the light came the words.

  “Avoid being seen in public until it is necessary.” The admonition came to her unbidden, just as all her thoughts came unbidden to her now.

  Looking around the room, she spotted a comm unit and ordered breakfast. When it came, she ate heartily, all the perturbations and strange feelings she had known earlier vanishing. She was Myranda Flare—the Myranda Flare—and there was no one in the galaxy, man or machine, who could do what she could do. Now she was on a mission of the utmost importance, of such extreme gravity, that she was, for the moment, depersonalized, dehumanized, concealed, and programmed to react to preordained events. It was necessary, that much she knew beyond any shadow of a doubt.

  Still, it left her in a strange, inhuman state. She felt empty, as if some vital part of her was missing. Like a body without a soul, she thought. This is how such a body would surely feel.

  Once she finished eating, she showered and dressed, slipping into a simple white sheath dress and the bright multi-colored sandals that were apparently in fashion here. Her bag also contained a wide-brimmed, floppy straw hat which she would wear once she went outside. The clothes had been carefully selected for her by one of Dr. G's lieutenants, as they would protect her from Valatesta's blue-white sun as it poured down its summer heat. They would also hide her face from the ubiquitous public visicams.

  She searched the bag, found a piece of thick black tape and placed it over the screen's visicam. Then she called the screen to life and began perusing the list of hotels in Forpania, a large city on the other side of the planet. As she looked over them, she waited for a name to appear in her mind, but nothing came to her. She shrugged. Apparently it didn't really matter which hotel she chose.

  It occurred to her that this occasional freedom made her actions much harder to analyze and predict. Two or more minds making the decisions, alternating as if at random, meant that there would be no pattern that the hunters could detect and then anticipate.

  She examined the list of hotels. There were thirty-four from which she could choose. She immediately eliminated the four most expensive and the twenty least-expensive. Nothing too ostentatious, and nothing that would risk the sort of police oversight that always haunted the cheapest accommodations.

  There was one that caught her eye on the city's outskirts. It overlooked a shimmering blue sea called the Sea of Arala and suited her specifications exactly. Rising more than a thousand feet above the shore, it was called L'Albergo sul Mare, a large vacation resort that was, based on the reviews, very popular with various industry conferences. It was a vast, sprawling complex, complete with a golf course, and absolutely full of nooks and crannies capable of concealing a body.

  She booked a room for three nights through the automated system under a burner ID, beginning the following night. After that, she booked passage at the interstellar gateway for one Anatolia Dorcas to the planet Weksler, third from the giant sun Urctaran. Dorcas was, according to the identity card, a citizen of the agricultural planet Ulixis. Although she'd never been to Ulixis, she found that after seeing the name Dorcas, she knew enough about the planet to answer any questions that were likely to be asked. It was odd to know and yet not know. It gave her an uncertain sense of mental dislocation. The ground shuttle would leave for the orbital station in just under three kilosecs, which gave her plenty of time to take a taxi to the shuttle launch and perform the task for which she had come.

  She didn't even need to speak to anyone human to reserve the taxi; the hotel's AI concierge was bright enough to reserve it for her through the screen. She waited patiently at the launch station, flipping idly through a colorful book of various places deemed to be of interest to tourists. Then, when the first boarding was called, she walked over to a public communicator. Glancing around to make certain she wasn't under observation, she slipped another piece of tape over the comm unit's small visicam and punched in a code that would blo
ck the caller identification. Then she entered the contact number of a man named Mather Shek.

  Shek, she knew, was a Dai Zhani agent. Or so it seemed. Unlike Prince Li-Hu, Myranda also knew that Shek was a double agent who had been suborned three years ago by Ascendancy Intelligence. She idly wondered who the man would decide to contact first.

  Shek answered, his voice showing no surprise that his screen provided no visual image of the caller. Nor did he identify himself by name.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Is this Mather Shek?”

  “Who is this, please?” Shek's voice was sharp and decisive.

  “My name is Myranda Flare. I work for Golem Gregor,” she replied. She heard an inadvertent exclamation and suppressed the urge to laugh. Telling Shek she worked for Golem Gregor was tantamount to an open declaration that she was an Integration operative. As the entire galaxy of intelligence agents and covert operatives knew, Golem Gregor—called Dr. G by friends and enemies alike—directed the intelligence network for the cyborg worlds.

  Of course, it wasn't necessary to spell it out for him. Shek was sharp, being one of the very few intelligence operatives on Valatesta who had a direct connection to the Directorate's sectoral headquarters on Kantillon. That, she presumed, was why she was calling him.

  “Did you just say Gregor?” Shek spoke sharply, as if he couldn't believe his ears. “As in the good doctor?”

  “I did. Are you Mather Shek?”

  “Yes, this is Shek,” he hurriedly acknowledged.

  “I'm new to town. Would you care to show me around? I think we might find that we have much to discuss, in light of certain rumors I'm sure are of interest to your employer.”

  Which employer that might be, she didn't say.

  “I'd be delighted, Miss Flare. How would a late afternoon apéritif suit you? I know some excellent restaurants in the old city that might appeal to a woman of discerning tastes. Serving proper Valatestan cuisine, not the tourist versions.”

  “How very kind of you,” she breathed flirtatiously. “That sounds splendid, Mr. Shek.”

  “I am free this evening,” Shek suggested eagerly. “If it suits you.”

  “Tomorrow,” she said firmly. “Shall we say sixteen hundred?”

  “Yes, of course.” She smiled at the restrained frustration in Shek's voice. So close, he was, and yet so very far. “Where are you staying, Miss Flare?”

  “I haven't decided yet. But tomorrow I will be at L'Albergo sul Mare,” she told him. “In the lobby.”

  “You're in Forpania?”

  “I will be,” she said ambiguously.

  She smiled, knowing Shek was finding it difficult not to press her any harder, and closed the connection on him without saying anything more. As she did so, a number appeared in her mind, but without a name to accompany it. She shrugged and dialed it.

  “So good to hear from you, Seenoreen Dorcas” she heard an unfamiliar voice say. “Have you spoken with our mutual friend?”

  “We have arranged the meet at L'Albergo sul Mare in Forpania tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I'm pleased to hear it. Time and place?”

  “In the lobby. Sixteen hundred.”

  “Very good. I wish you a nice day, Seenoreen.”

  “Likewise.”

  After closing the connection, Myranda stepped to the side, removed the tape from the visicam, and rolled it into a tiny ball between her thumb and index finger. Humming softly to herself, she flicked it into a garbage receptacle as she joined the line of the travellers boarding the orbital shuttle.

  Exactly sixty decasecs later she was rising rapidly through the atmosphere, on her way to the Weksler system.

  Mather Shek was a disciplined man who seldom openly expressed his emotions, not even to himself. But upon hearing the cyborg operative go offline, he murmured a prayer that was half an expletive and rapidly began considering his options. For a moment he was thankful that Flare hadn't agreed to an immediate appointment. He had until tomorrow to figure out his next move, and whatever he decided, it would take time to summon the resources he would require to prepare a snare for the woman.

  The Ascendancy would pay handsomely to know the cyborgs were making contact with House Dai Zhan. And they would pay even more handsomely if he could arrange to hand her over to them. A captured Integration operative was worth a small fortune.

  But perhaps there was another way. Once he had Flare in his possession, could he not hold her, set up an auction, and tell the Ascendancy and House Dai Zhan to bid against each other? No! He rejected the greedy thought with a shudder. No one played that game with August Karsh, the saturnine genius at the heart of Ascendancy Intelligence, and survived for long. Karsh was as ruthless as Prince Li-Hu was ambitious, and the AID director was the considerably more dangerous man. Between his intelligence network and the influence he had with the Navy, Karsh's reach extended to the very ends of the galaxy.

  No, he would simply have to be content with whatever Karsh saw fit to pay him, Shek decided. But, he reminded himself, whatever it was, the amount wouldn't be inconsiderable. August Karsh wasn't niggardly when it came to spending the Directorate's sizable discretionary funds.

  After activating his comm unit, he made arrangements for tomorrow with two members of the Sivorno police with whom he had what was delicately described on Valatesta as “an understanding”. With those in place, he decrypted a secret file containing dossiers on various operatives he maintained and called it up on his screen. It only took a moment to find the one he wanted.

  He studied the picture, etching the woman's face in his mind. She was attractive. Slender, with a rather smallish nose and red hair, twenty-nine years of age, a graduate of the School of Data Analysis in Yuni, a city on the cyborg planet of Kurzweil. Data analysis, he knew, was a euphemism for intelligence; the university was a breeding ground for larval agents. Then he blinked and re-read the final line of the dossier.

  It was in code. A simple combination of letters and numbers. And it indicated, for no reason that Shek could see, that any information about her was to be given the absolute highest priority.

  Flare's record was unimpressive. A few minor operations here and there, none of them particularly remarkable. She hadn't been known to have been active on any of the Dai Zhani worlds or to have come into contact with any Dai Zhani agents before today. There was absolutely nothing in it to indicate that she was anything out of the ordinary run of intelligence operatives. She didn't even appear to be heavily cyborged. He wondered what was missing from the dossier, what made her so dangerous that she had drawn the particular attention of Ascendancy Intelligence. Whatever it was, it wasn't in her dossier.

  That led him to his next question. Why had she contacted him and what was her purpose? She had referred to his employer. It was such an ambiguous choice of words. Was that intentional on her part? Was it possible that she knew of his secret relationship with AID? Or was she simply contacting him in his capacity as House Dai Zhan's agent on Valatesta?

  He pursed his lips. Highest priority. That meant no risks and no surprises. First, he would send a message to Director Karsh. Even by x-boat courier, it would take two weeks to get a reply from Terra, but at least Karsh would not be given any reason to question his loyalties. And then, he would see about hiring a team of armed private security to back up the two policemen. Such teams did not come cheaply, but then, highest priority also meant highest value.

  For a moment, he toyed with the notion of attempting to take Flare off guard and flying to Forpania tonight in order to intercept her upon arrival at the hotel. But on further reflection, he dismissed it as too risky. Her record might be mediocre, but she was trained and she might well notice something amiss before the trap closed upon her. She might even be there now, outside the hotel, watching it to see if he would take any such action. And then, there was the intriguing question of what might be missing from her dossier. No, it would be wise to play the meeting precisely as arranged. His men would take their
places beforehand, he would meet her at the appointed time, and then, on his signal, the police would arrest her.

  It occurred to him that he would need to find a map of the hotel in order to determine where to place the hired men. But first, there was the small matter of a message to Director Karsh to which he must attend.

  At precisely fifteen fifty five, Shek walked past the armored police aerovar parked outside the entrance and strode confidently into the marble-floored lobby of L'Albergo sul Mare. Men, women, children, he quickly surveyed them all, seeking a face to match the one now engraved in his memory. Flare's red hair should make her easy to spot, particularly on this predominantly dark-haired planet, but the only red head he saw belonged to a wealthy old woman whose hair was dyed an absurd shade of scarlet. It made him wonder if perhaps Flare might have changed her hair color.

  As he scanned the lobby, he registered the two security guards he'd stationed near the stairs and elevator. To his educated eye, they were as obvious as foxes in a henhouse. For a moment, he was convinced they would be equally obvious to Flare and frighten her into running. Shek took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm. After all, why wouldn't a hotel have private security? It had a casino, it had a jewelry store, nothing would be more natural than a few guards in plainclothes. Even if she made them, Flare would have no reason to assume the men were connected with him. Trained or not, once she entered the lobby she was as good as caught. He might be unarmed, but all six of the hired men he'd stationed on the premises carried a MiniNova ZZ4 set to stun. And even if she somehow managed to elude the seven of them and get outside, she wouldn't escape the police waiting in their var.