It did not surprise Jason. Vance was at war, on behalf of the Unification. At war with the rebels and the SpaceFarers; with the deadly replicant AIs, with the Players. Not many years ago he had even been at war with the Ministry of Population Control, and Space Force, within his own government. That was no longer true: after the ’76 rebellion Vance had nearly broken Space Force, had gutted the Ministry of any intelligence gathering functions that he wanted for the PKF. Today it was an open question who the most powerful man on Earth was – Vance or the Secretary General, Charles Eddore.
All of those wars were important; all of them absorbed Vance’s time. But Jason knew for a fact that they were not Vance’s chief war, not the one that had brought Vance to call him with questions, at all hours of the day and night, for close to a decade now.
Vance seated himself in Jason’s office, only a meter separating them. He seated himself a touch awkwardly; his right leg was artificial from the knee down.
A young Elite took up guard just outside the door.
“Good morning, Commissioner.”
Vance wore grimness like a shroud. He had a voice, amazingly deep, rough as stone, that had been known to cause people nightmares; it had featured in some of Jason’s. “A good morning, Trent? So it appears to be. Work has resumed on Monitor.”
“I am aware myself of the progress being made with Monitor. I’m not worried about it, though.”
“Why not?”
Jason shrugged. “I’m at Halfway. I’m prepared to take action.”
“We suspect you are. And you know that we suspect it.”
“Damn SpaceFarers can’t keep their mouths shut. The Board of Directors asks me to go take care of the Unity, and I agree. And then I vanish, knowing perfectly well that news of my agreement will reach that son of a bitch Vance, soon or late. There they are, with their attention focused on the Unity. It would be a good time to sneak around behind them and push them off-balance.”
“That is one scenario. We are aware of it.”
“And I know that, too. Possibly I’ve even learned of the existence of your modeling tools, that silly bastard who’s wasted the last decade of his life trying to learn to think like me. Not a chance, of course. There’s nobody out there as good as I am.”
“Spare me the boasts.”
“It would be amusing if I were to impersonate a Peaceforcer,” Jason offered. “I’ve done it before, and you’re on guard for it now – which makes it that much better if I get away with it. It would be a … clever … thing to do. A Space Force officer would be nearly as good. A civilian is my third choice, ideally a computerist working aboard the Unity.”
Vance shook his head. “You would not get away with impersonating a PKF officer for any length of time. Nor Space Force. You know it.”
“Perhaps I don’t need a great length of time. Perhaps I only need to pull it off for a short while, long enough to get on board the Unity.”
“You must stop the ship,” Vance said quietly. “You know that, too. Without the Unity the situation stays as is. If the Unity is gone I can’t beat you, not any time soon. With the Unity I can’t fail to beat you.”
Jason stared into the glassy black eyes, taking note of Vance’s use of first person – the man was angry, which was dangerous; but unfortunately nothing would anger Vance worse than Jason slipping out of character. He forged ahead with something that would not please Vance: “I’m smarter than you are, Mohammed. I’ve out-thought you. I took one look at Melissa du Bois and I said to myself, Vance planted her. An early warning system. She knows I’m coming, and she’s on the lookout. Does this deter me or does it entice me? I think it entices me. It’s a challenge, to me personally, and I know it. Du Bois is conflicted about the Unification. She’s a decent individual, by both my standards and yours, Mohammed, who is troubled by the loss of personal freedoms on Earth following the ’76 uprising, by the mass executions, by the millions of children orphaned into Public Labor across Occupied America.”
“Who are you?”
“I would love to be Gene Yovia. Even with that face, silly as it would make me feel. People would look at Adam Selstrom and wouldn’t see beneath it.”
“Virtually impossible,” said Vance. “Yovia’s got his own conflicts; many do, these days. But the man who left Earth was Eugene James Yovia. A loyal PKF Elite escorted him to Halfway, and directly into the presence of Melissa du Bois. You’ve seen his psychometric from that session. No human being, and no genie either, could have faked his responses during that session. That was Yovia then; it was Yovia who was escorted to his hotel.”
“Yes, but Yovia’s been out at Halfway since then. If –”
Vance abruptly shook his head no. “Perhaps. But by this measure there are nearly fifty Space Force officers, and several dozen civilians, who you might be impersonating. Yovia is less likely than most, despite his position among the computerists. He is working with nine individuals who knew him during his last tour of duty; the only way you could have assumed his role is with Yovia’s direct aid, with extensive debriefing. The debriefing would have had to occur ...” Vance considered. “Yovia went to Luna in June of last year, and again in October. At that time, of course, we did not know that Chief Yohannsen would need to be replaced. Are you prescient, Trent? Did you corrupt the officer who interrogated Yovia before sending him upside?”
Jason sighed. “No. I’m not prescient. And I don’t have anybody inside the PKF, though I’d sure love to.”
“Did you plant the bomb?”
Jason stiffened with anger, anger that felt real, and might have been, to the man who had spent the last decade learning to be Trent. “No. No, damn you, I did not plant any fucking bomb. I don’t take lives. This is one of the many things that makes me better than you.”
“So you could not have known that Eugene Yovia’s services would be needed by the Unification.”
“Perhaps,” said Jason slowly, “I had something else planned, some other way to get Yovia aboard the Unity – to remove Chief Yohannsen. Yovia and I are nearly the same height, close enough to the same age, with many of the same skills – it’s a close enough match that I know you’ve thought about it, taken measures. You’re nowhere to be found, I know you’re downside rather than here with me at Halfway, and yet you’re all around me, Mohammed. Everywhere I turn, there you are, waiting and watching.”
“What about Elite Sergeant du Bois?”
Jason stared into the black eyes. “I think I approach her.”
15
ON WEDNESDAY, MARCH 20, 2080, a week and five days after Trent’s arrival at Halfway, Melissa du Bois appeared without warning in the open doorway of Trent’s office aboard the Unity. “Chief Yovia.”
Sitting at his workstation, Trent had to turn his head slightly to see his door. He hadn’t recognized the voice, the flat newdancer’s accent spoken across half the System, but there was no mistaking the shape – an exquisitely fit woman poured into the magslips, black shorts, and the buttoned black and silver short-sleeved shirt that constituted casual station and ship wear for PKF.
She looked like a beach bunny. “Chief du Bois.” As though she were preparing for a serious volleyball game. Trent turned in his chair to face her. “Can I help you?”
She smiled at him. “Certainly. If you’re free for lunch, I’ve been going over your daily reports. I’ll be starting my end-of-week report tomorrow, and it all looks quite good; but if you have time, I’d like to sit down with you and go over some items I don’t quite understand.”
Trent smiled back at her. It was a real effort, and he hoped it didn’t show. “Sure. I’d love to. Noon?”
“How about one o’clock? I’m supposed to sit down with the Space Force forward bridge security detail at eleven o’clock. It won’t take long to put the fear of God into them, I don’t think, but twelve o’clock is a bit tight. Conference room 22? It’s at 18,940,4. I’ll have lunch served there.”
“I’ll be there.”
She grinned
at him, a flash of white teeth against tanned brown skin. “Wonderful.”
THE UNITY’S INTERNAL transportation system was one of the first pieces of support equipment to come online; it had been put in place along with the hull and the ship’s spine, and had been used to ferry materials and people even before the ship’s interior had been pressurized. The nearest access was just aft of Trent’s office; at 12:40 he got in line behind four waiting Space Forcers and one Peaceforcer, none of whom Trent recognized, and waited about three minutes before the line had emptied and an open capsule appeared for him. He got inside and said, “Command, 18,940,4.”
The capsule accelerated to sixty kph and stayed there for several minutes before beginning to gently decelerate.
At just after 12:50 the capsule deposited Trent at the station nearest 18,940,4, about two hundred meters aft and port of conference room 22. Trent got slightly lost finding the conference room; he got turned around on the capsule and ended up heading starboard before catching his error. He turned around and headed the other direction, and reached C22 at 01:00 exactly.
Melissa du Bois glanced at the clock holo against the wall when he came in. “Just on time, Chief. I much admire punctuality.”
Trent smiled at her, tried to hide a flash of absurd pride in himself. He hadn’t been late once yet while being Eugene Yovia, not once. He barely recognized himself – certainly no one else was going to. “Yes indeed,” said Trent cheerfully. “Promptness is next to ... next to ... well, I’m sure it’s next to something. How did your chat with the Space Forcer boys go?”
She sat at the empty conference table, intended for eight or ten persons, with only her handheld in front of her. She gestured to Trent to sit next to her, and turned on her handheld. “One of them’s a woman.”
“In Space Force security?” It actually surprised Trent. “When did they break the gender line?”
“During the TriCentennial, Chief, men were subverted by Rebs and Claw more than four times as frequently as women.”
Trent had known that; his post-rebellion analysis had been thorough. He was mildly surprised that the Unification had caught it, though, and genuinely surprised it had acted upon the knowledge.
He let himself looked suitably impressed by her statistic. “So how did your chat with the Space Force people go?”
Her smile wasn’t the least forced. “Quite well, Chief. Gene. We have problems at times, procedural questions between our services, but they get settled. In the final analysis, we all want the same thing.”
It was not out of character for Yovia – but even so it was nothing that Trent had intended to say. It popped out of his mouth. “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?”
The dryness, and the words, caught her attention. She glanced at him sharply. “Peace. Peace in the service of the Unification.”
A smile touched Trent’s lips. He couldn’t stop it. “Of course.”
Her lips tightened noticeably. “You find that amusing?”
Trent wiped the smile off his face and gave her the most thoroughly blank look he could manage. “Me? Not at all. No. No,” he reassured her. “I think that building the largest weapon in human history is a great way to have peace.”
She leaned back in her seat as Trent sat in the seat beside her, putting distance between them, regarding him with a thoroughly professional demeanor, with gleaming black Elite holocam eyes. “You know, Gene, I had this problem with you during your security check, too. At times you remind me of – someone else.”
In his best Eugene Yovia accent, Trent said, “Dare I guess Adam Selstrom?”
She nodded, but Trent didn’t make the mistake of thinking she was saying yes to his question. “I don’t spend much time on entertainments, and I concede, I did not recognize your sculpture.” She grinned abruptly. “Your file refers to ‘that godawful biosculpture;’ I suppose the person writing it thought anyone meeting you would know what he meant by that. But your face isn’t what I was referring to, Gene. It’s your manner, your attitude. You’re a very arrogant man, Gene.”
Yovia was arrogant; it was one of the few things Trent completely admired about the man. So it was not out of character for Trent to say, “I have reason to be.”
“Why did you agree to come upside, Gene? The goals or the process?”
Trent understood her perfectly. He gave her Yovia’s answer. “The process, Melissa. I love my work. I wouldn’t be any good at it if I didn’t, would I. I don’t necessarily agree with what you’re going to do with my work once I’m through with it, but ...” He smiled at her. “You know this is the classic argument between military and scientists.”
Melissa nodded. “Of course,” she said, then continued with a noticeable reluctance, “Well, shall we discuss the process? I’m happy with your approach to the rework, and to the evident response of your teams to that approach. I’ve gone through your dailies, and theirs as well, and so far there has been nothing but mutual praise.”
“We do good work.”
“Apparently,” said Melissa pensively. “Based on your dailies, to the degree that I understand them, you’re well ahead of schedule. Your current estimate to completion –”
“Twenty-five days,” Trent said instantly.
“Yes.” She studied her handheld. “For a total, to completion, of thirty-five days from the moment you took over this project.” She looked up at him. “Ship Security was originally Sub-Chief Wilson’s responsibility. You took it away from him. Why?”
She’d had that cop voice down ten years earlier, when she was only twenty-three. Today –
Trent had to shake himself. “Why do I feel like I’ve just been accused of a crime?”
She gazed steadily at him. “Answer the question, Gene.”
“Well, you intimidate me, luv.” At the familiarity she quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s true,” he assured her. “I knew you’d be asking about Ship Security, didn’t I. So I took it over so that I could answer your questions.”
“There was a memo in my mail this morning,” said Melissa, “from Mohammed Vance.”
Trent’s heart stopped beating.
He said politely, “The Elite Commander? Really.”
“The Elite Commander wants to know how a hundred twenty day rework – Chief Yohannsen's estimate – has turned into a thirty-five day rework. At this rate you’re going to be done by April 15.”
Trent said, “New people.” He tried to listen to his heart – surely it had started beating again by now –
“Chief!”
Trent looked up. “What?”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Did you say something?”
“Yes.”
“What was it?”
“I asked if ‘new people’ was your entire answer.”
“I didn’t hear that question,” Trent admitted. “I may have been listening, but I wasn’t hearing.”
A disturbed look crossed Melissa’s features. She looked off to the side and her lips worked silently. Listening, but I wasn’t –
“I got sidetracked,” Trent told her quickly.
She shook her head and refocused on him. “Really.”
“I think my heart stopped for a moment. But it’s all right now.”
“I see.” That damn cop voice again. “Perhaps you should see the medic.”
“No,” Trent assured her. “No, no, I’m fine. I’ll probably play some dropball tonight before I go to bed, that’s how good I feel right now, I might even beat Ken. Listen,” he said in a confidential voice, “you tell the Elite Commander everything is under control, and he’s not to worry.”
“ ‘Everything’s under control, and he’s not to worry.’ ”
“Exactly. We like the hardware, and the hardware likes us. We have mutual respect and admiration.”
She stared at him. “You have mutual respect and admiration. With the hardware. And this has trimmed seventy-seven days off your completion estimates.”
“Plus new people.�
�
“New people.”
“And over-time. We work late. Every night.”
“I know,” she said, “I’ve audited your dailies. I don’t understand them, but I’ve sure audited them. Gene?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you have biosculpture?”
“My wife wanted me to.”
Melissa du Bois sat back in her chair, hands clasped behind her head, looking him over thoughtfully. Trent had the strangest impression that she knew – knew who he was, knew what he was thinking. And that was impossible. “Don’t you feel a little stupid?”
Trent said, “Well. Not often.”
“HOW ABOUT SOME midnight chess?”
Trent looked up from his workstation, from the library listings he was wading through, and stretched. The vertebrae in his neck cracked audibly.
Ken floated in his doorway.
Trent said, “Don’t you ever sleep?”
“Plenty of time to sleep when I’m dead,” said Ken. “You and me need to talk.”
IT WAS ALMOST one o’clock by the time Trent and Ken reached Highland Grounds. The place was quiet. Guido sat behind the counter, wearing a sensible traceset and goggles. Aside from Ken and Trent the only other occupant was an elderly woman who was also wearing a sensible traceset, and knitting at the same time.
Trent and Ken sat together in the corner, playing chess.
“I was thinking we might go over to the InfoNet Relay Station tomorrow,” said Ken.
Trent had made Ken put the clock away. They played without hurry and Trent took his time answering. “What for?”
Ken shrugged. “Traffic analysis asked for me. I thought you might enjoy coming with me. After the Rebellion” – Ken was an American; you could hear the capitalization of the word – “they had me over to supervise the installation of the new security routines. Trent the Uncatchable had his hands on that station for most of three days during the Rebellion.”
The A.I. War, Book One: The Big Boost (Tales of the Continuing Time) Page 14