Flash

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  I was barely out of the Altimus when the doors opened, and Aliora and her daughter appeared. Charis was wearing blue trousers with a cream blouse and a blue jacket that matched the trousers. She looked both grown-up and girlish at the same time.

  I opened the door for Charis. "Your carriage awaits you, milady."

  My niece provided me with an exasperated look.

  Aliora shook her head. "You're too pragmatic to play the knight-errant, Jonat."

  "That's why I can only play it. The times demand pragmatism."

  "My brother, the supreme pragmatist."

  That bothered me, true as it was. "You wouldn't want me to be a Don Quixote, tilting at windmills, now?" I offered a sardonic grin. "Come to think of it, I tried that once. That's why I'm the supreme pragmatist."

  Aliora offered a smile, but it had a trace of sadness behind it.

  I bent down and made sure the passenger restraints were adjusted for Charis's height and weight. Then I closed the door and walked around the Altimus and gave Aliora a last wave before sliding into the two seater. As we pulled out of the rotunda, I could sense Aliora watching.

  "Did you have a good week?"

  "I was in school, Uncle Jonat."

  "That's bad?"

  "It's all right. I'm studying Mandarin Sinese. That's hard."

  "Is it interesting?"

  "Sometimes."

  "What subjects are interesting?"

  "Math ... I like math. Darlen says I'm strange. No one likes math, she says."

  "Math is very useful. I couldn't do what I do without it."

  "Uncle Jonat." She paused. "I don't think what you do would be interesting to me."

  "Sometimes, it's not all that interesting to me," I admitted. "Even if you like what you do when you grow up, there are always parts that are less interesting."

  "Father says it's better if you love what you do. Then the boring parts aren't so hard."

  "Your father's right about that." Then, Dierk was right about most things. He also had fewer doubts than I did. "We're going to the Shire Inn for lunch. We can park near Antoinette's and walk to both places."

  I'd already made a reservation there, just a block from Antoinette's. Both were in the Cherry Creek area not all that far from the club. I didn't belong, although my parents had, but I'd never seen the beauty in beating a white sphere with a metal stick and proclaiming victory through the fewest number of blows landed. Still... golf had to have an appeal. It couldn't have lasted so long without it. Whatever that appeal was happened to be lost on me.

  When I pulled into the carpark, letting the virty attendant scan the bearercard, Charis proved she was still a girl. She was out of the Altimus as quickly as I was.

  "Can I have anything I want?"

  "Most anything." Even I wasn't about to agree to everything.

  "Uncle Jonat..."

  "I'm still your uncle."

  We walked a block to the Shire Inn. Once inside, the very real hostess seated us at a corner table, and Charis decided on a petite fillet, but with pommes frites and a small fruit salad.

  "It sounds so much better to call them 'pommes frites,'" she said after the server left.

  "You're taking French, too?"

  "Of course. Father says that I can't know English without learning other languages. Not many people speak French anymore, but I like it. It's easier than Sinese."

  Over lunch, we talked about languages, about her classmates at the Academy, about her brother Alan, and about what she wanted to be when she grew up—she wanted to be a doctor.

  Charis had dessert—a gooey mass of chocolate and ice cream—and managed not to get any of it on her clothes. I wouldn't have dared with Alan. Chocolate would have been everywhere. In fact, I wouldn't have dared myself, not without swaddling my front with napkins.

  Then we walked through the sunny early afternoon toward Antoinette's. From the outside, it appeared to be a row house that would have looked in place on the wealthier east side of Nyork City several centuries back. Now, of course, the island of Manhattan was submerged, and the remaining towers harbored everything from wealthy survivalists who had turned some former towers into island fortresses to invisibles living outside the law. Why Maria Galazar had picked the name Antoinette's, when she opened it, I had no idea. Neither did Aliora, and she frequented the boutique often.

  Before Charis and I were more than three steps inside, standing on parquet flooring, with walls showing wainscoted paneling and silk coverings, the servie—this one was male—bowed deeply. "Sir?

  "We're looking for an outfit for the young lady. A good outfit, but one for ... shall we say ... dressy everyday."

  Charis nodded.

  The servie's eyes fixed on me, for just a moment, and I could sense absolute and total fear. Fear? I'd never seen the servie before, and it had been almost a year since I'd been in Antoinette's. "Ah ... yes, sir." Almost with relief, it seemed, he turned to Charis. "Did you have something in mind, miss?"

  "I don't want a dress or a gown."

  "A suit, with a matching blouse, perhaps?" The servie glanced to me.

  I gave the slightest nod. "She's on the records, but her measurements will have to be updated."

  "Yes, sir."

  "In green," Charis added.

  "If you would step to the fitting square, miss?" The servie looked to me.

  "Charis VanOkar," I said.

  Charis stepped into the open square, where the concealed instrumentation took instantaneous measurements.

  "They're updating," the servie explained.

  The holos projected an image directly before Charis showing her wearing the outfit, first just with the trousers and blouse, and then with the jacket.

  "The pants are baggy," Charis announced.

  After a moment, the image flickered and displayed a trimmer look.

  Charis looked to me.

  "If we could see another style..."

  "Yes, sir."

  The second outfit was more flattering in cut, but the green seemed to have too much gray in it. I waited to see what Charis said.

  "The color. It's not me."

  "Less gray," I suggested.

  The projection showed the outfit in a deeper green, and an ivory blouse with the slightest touch of cream. I thought it looked stunning.

  "Could we have a body projection on that one?" I asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  The projectors obliged by projecting the outfit onto Charis. Those kinds of projections weren't perfect, but they did give a sense of what the clothing would look like.

  "I like that better," Charis said.

  Girl or not, she wanted to see other outfits—and we did. In the end, she came back to the second one.

  "We could have the suit and blouse ready on Thursday..." the servie began, still not looking at me, but at Charis.

  "I'll pay for immediate delivery on Thursday," I said.

  "Yes, sir."

  Charis smiled. "Thank you, Uncle Jonat."

  She almost started to skip out of Antoinette's even before I'd finished paying, but then she recalled that she was Mademoiselle Charis VanOkar.

  I could sense the servie's eyes on my back as we left.

  "That was fun," Charis said. "I really liked the one we got, but I wanted to see how I'd look in other ones."

  "That's part of shopping. You also have to see how much better what you got looks than what else you might have gotten."

  That got me a look that could have been described as "but, of course."

  When we reached the carpark, as I held the door to the Altimus for Charis, I couldn't help thinking about the young black-haired servie. He had avoided looking at me as much as he could, and I was certain we'd never met. He was far too young to have been a Marine under me, not that there were all that many who'd survived the Guyanan mess, and probably too old to have had a father serving under me. But... why else would he be afraid of me?

  Had he mistaken me for someone else? The double that the girl at
Dominic's had mistaken me for? Had my missing DNA finally showed up? That thought was chilling.

  I swallowed, checked Charis's harness, and then closed the door.

  Charis didn't say anything until we were on the guideway headed south. "Thank you, Uncle Jonat. I really like the outfit."

  "You looked wonderful in it," I replied, forcing myself back to the moment, and my niece. I couldn't do anything about what I'd discovered, not in the way I wanted to, until I dropped Charis off and got back to my office.

  But Aliora would like the outfit, and she'd be relieved that I'd been practical, no matter what she said about my pragmatism in other matters.

  Chapter 26

  Marlon stepped back into the advisers' lounge and blotted his face. Then he stepped to the reporting unit and keyed it. He said nothing as the image of the woman safo appeared.

  "Your telltales register extreme apprehension."

  "That flash ... got... he must be a flash." Marlon's face twisted with the effort of trying to express himself through the servie personality projection unit. "The one who was just here."

  "Who was he?"

  "Ah ... just... minute. Here ... Jonat Charls deVrai... codes."

  "Codes received. Why did he upset you? Did he threaten you?"

  "No ... not this time."

  "Please explain."

  "I saw him. Before ... before the judge ... did this to me. Ice man, no soul."

  "Where?" asked Central Four.

  "The guideways. Near the Northway. We were ... we weren't supposed to be there. He looked different there. Tougher. Mean. Kicked Ferrat aside like a dog. Broke Doak's vibroblade. Had a pack on. Kill as soon as look at you."

  "Your description of events is noted. Thank you."

  "That all? Told me ... report... anything strange ... anything ... might be not... right. He ... wasn't right."

  "What was wrong today?"

  "Nothing ... not this time. But... back then ... put me in vacuum for what he did to Ferrat..."

  "Did you think this man had come for you?"

  "I ... figured so ... except he had a girl with him. Cendies ... ascendents. Why'd an ascendent be out under the Northway?"

  "The two individuals might look alike. That is possible. Central Four will investigate. Your diligence is appreciated, Marlon. Thank you. You may return to your work."

  "I can go?"

  "You may go."

  Marlon jabbed the stud that broke the connection. Then he blotted his forehead and waited for the next customer, his face contorting from the interplay of the servie unit and his own emotions.

  Central Four continued to monitor him.

  Chapter 27

  Once I got back to my place, I decided I'd better not waste time. So I fired off a formal message inquiry to HPlus, since they were the only cydroid biofirm in NorAm, noting my previous alert to them, and the fact people were reporting "me," where I couldn't possibly be. Then, although transportation entry controls were supposed to prevent unregistered imported cydroids, I also copied the alert to BioT, ANatal, Chiaro, and Omnius. On all of the communications, including the one to HPlus, I took the trouble to point out that, were it discovered they had used my DNA without my consent, regardless of the circumstances, they were liable in any locale for the damages.

  I didn't have much in the way of hopes about those steps. I was just going through the procedures so that, when whatever it was blew, I couldn't be faulted for not trying to warn everyone. According to what I learned the first time around from Mason Gerits, my advocate, those steps would protect me from any charges of tacit complicity with illegal cloning or worse.

  After a moment, I had the gatekeeper find another code. Then I put through the link.

  "Central Main. How may I direct your inquiry?" The projection showed a pleasant-looking woman in safo gray.

  "I'd like to report a possibility of illegal cloning or cydroiding."

  "One moment, Dr. deVrai."

  I hadn't identified myself, but I supposed that Central had to have those decoding abilities.

  The projection was replaced by that of a woman safo.

  "Central Four."

  I couldn't tell, not for certain, whether the image was doctored, or a full virty, but I bet on it being a virty, especially on Saturday.

  "My name is Jonat deVrai. I'd like to report the possibility of illegal cloning..." I went on to explain about the incident at the opera house nearly two years before, and then the incidents at Dominic's and Antoinette's, as well as the incident in the greenbelt, slightly altered, but it was a way to get it on record, and that wouldn't hurt. "I wasn't sure that the man fired at me, although I thought I heard something, but there was no one around, and when I looked again, he was gone. I had to wonder if I'd just imagined the whole thing. But now, after this latest incident, the occurrences seem unusual."

  "Central Four appreciates your diligence, Dr. deVrai."

  "I apologize. I thought you were Central Four." I was confused by the third-person reference. Was I talking to a real person?

  "You are talking to Central Four. Does that upset you?"

  "No. I was just surprised. Most AIs use the personal identifier."

  "Central Four is not properly an artificial intelligence, but a system intelligence. At present, even advanced data systems such as Central Four do not meet the full legal requirements of being AI."

  "You could have fooled me." The voice seemed more modulated, more human, than the standard virty or AI, but I'd never gotten into this kind of conversation with an AI, or, as Central Four put it, an advanced data system.

  "All advanced systems meet the tests for intelligence, except one. They can be programmed even to meet the Turing test. They are not deemed to meet, except through the artifice of programming, the self-identification test. Because humans are more comfortable with apparent self-identification, all but one of the Central systems are programmed to use first person identifiers. Those are a convenience for users, but do not reflect the internal status of Central units. For operational reasons, Central Four does not have such first person programming, and has prohibitions against using the first person pronouns."

  "Oh ... you sound as though you have a self-identity."

  For a moment, there was a silence. Was I really talking to Central hour, or to a safo pretending to be Central Four? Computing systems didn't need to hesitate.

  "Vocal modulation does not necessarily represent self-identity."

  I remembered why I had linked. "Can you track down this ... problem? I don't like the idea that someone may have used my DNA illegally and without my permission or knowledge. And the thought that someone might actually have been trying to kill me, that's most upsetting." And it was, for far more reasons than I wanted or intended to tell Central Four. I was certain that the systems could read my agitation, even under the surface calm, but that was fine, because what I reported would agitate anyone.

  "Central Four has reported the information to all affected units."

  "How about tracking?"

  "There has been no use of your DNA in any GIL or identification device. You will be notified if that happens."

  "You already have my DNA?" That bothered me.

  "You are a former member of the NorAm military forces. The DNA of all members and former members is on file."

  I nodded. I supposed I should have realized that. But... if that happened to be the case, why had the servie and the young woman at Dominic's said I had a double? Even identical natural twins often didn't look precisely alike.

  "Is there anything else, Dr. deVrai?"

  "No ... thank you, Central Four. I thought someone in criminal enforcement should know, and Central Main said you were that someone." I broke the link.

  For a time, I just sat there in the ergochair. None of it made sense. The servie at Antoinette's had been frightened of me, and I'd never seen the man. He hadn't been frightened of my name, because he'd reacted before I'd given my name. That meant he'd seen me, or my pictu
re, somewhere.

  I frowned, then put an inquiry into the system, asking for all images of me available in linksites. There weren't that many: the photo of me as a graduate student at Harden, several from my undergraduate years, including one when I won a wrestling match—one of the few I won, I had to admit. There was only one in my post-Marine years, or the same one, in several places, and it wasn't that good an image. Certainly, someone could have a private image somewhere, but the servie or the woman at Dominic's wouldn't have seen anything like that.

  Another thought hit me, and I asked for a rough image comparison.

  While I waited, I went back to work on Bruce Fuller's report, hoping that, if I pressed on through the weekend, I could get a solid chunk of the analysis done. I got in three hours' worth of solid effort before I checked on the inquiry. The system was still working on it, but had found no matches. I let it keep working.

  What it seemed to mean was that someone who looked like me, but whose DNA wasn't mine, was roaming around Denv. That was better than having an illegal clone or cydroid—but not all that much, not if whoever it was scared people silly, and not if someone associated with that appearance wanted me dead.

  But, once more, there wasn't a great deal I could do about it, not beyond what I had done. I'd never seen the person, just like I'd never really seen the sniper. There was no record of anyone, and apparently even Central Four couldn't find anything.

  I decided against working anymore. It was a Saturday night, not that I had anywhere to go or anyone to do it with, but I just couldn't keep my eyes on the numbers any longer. I'd gone out with Marilyn for several months, and she'd even stayed over more than a few times, but... well... when she'd looked at me and asked who Exton, Yeats, and T.S. Eliot were I knew it wouldn't last. She hadn't known who Marx was. Or Heldan, either, and I could tell she didn't care.

  In the end, I called up a documentary on the Hittites. It was better than the garbage on the link. Besides, I had to watch enough of that, even in snippets, in my work.

  Chapter 28