Vendetta Protocol

by Kevin Ikenberry

  “You bastard.” Neige smiled. The computer in Roark’s mind would not have been enough on its own. Without a soul, it would not be followed or understood by the humans around it. Leadership was a very human, and very scarce, skill. When push came to shove, actual interaction with a human being said more than any computer could ever understand.

  This isn’t about Roark at all.

  She leaned her head back against the plush cushion and chuckled. Crawley had anticipated having the Terran Council intervene with their advanced protocol technologies. The prostitute, Chastity, surrendered the data left over when the protocol, Mally, had abruptly disconnected, which confirmed that Roark’s protocol had been preparing to save itself and sacrifice Roark in the process. The protocol had seen it as a simple decision to save its own life. Yet Mally’s upload should have killed Roark.

  That was where Berkeley came in. Crawley would have ordered her to perform a risky direct download of Roark’s information as well. In either case, the subject would have immediately entered a persistent vegetative state, based on the trauma.

  With another sip of her wine, she opened a research window in her neurals and closed her eyes. The answer took only two minutes to find, but it was barely more than a hypothesis from a Styrahi medical journal. There had been rare cases where a subject could be induced into a type of stasis by a release of chemical compounds across the blood-brain barrier. The resulting pause in brain activity would allow for termination of neural communications—including protocols—for traumatic situations. It was untested in Styrahi medicine.

  That son of a bitch! Neige grinned. Adam Crawley had been sorely underestimated for years. Not only was he light-years ahead of her staff’s predictions with regard to the sleeper program, but he had managed to outmaneuver her as well. What am I missing? She tapped the ash off her cigarette and drew on it one last time. The perfumed smoke hung above her head in the cathedral ceiling as she strode quickly to her desk and keyed the secure landline telephone.

  “Operations.”

  Neige took a breath. “Have Miss Ngiri cover my evening meetings, and direct all communications to my staff. I am not to be disturbed.”

  She disconnected the line and quickly activated the most secure comms set in her office. The connection squawked as a hexadecimal encryption sequence ran for ten seconds. The earpiece beeped twice, and a male voice answered. “Yes, Madame Chairman?”

  Neige took a small breath and held it for a moment. The rush of pleasure through her body was something to treasure for the brief moments when she could exercise the full measure of her power. The council’s collective fear of her was not enough. She wanted them to know what real power was, but the time was not right. She was confident that either driving or forcing Dannir out of office would be possible within one year, two at most. There would be a special election from the council, and she would win handily. Until then, her clandestine moments of satisfied rage would have to do.

  “Immediate deployment to Sydney. Find and terminate Adam Crawley, and render the Integration Center inoperative. Terminate any secondary subjects found.” He was in Sydney—of that she was certain. The Integration Center itself was too important for him to just leave the program, and his precious people, behind.

  “And the missing subject?”

  “If she shows up, kill her. If you find Bennett, terminate her as well. If she’s not there, I want to know.”

  “A full clean, then? The entire program?”

  “Yes.”

  The line terminated with an announcement that the conversation was secure, and the decryption sequence ran. Wineglass in hand, Neige drew a lavender-scented bath and planned an evening of relaxation as she waited for confirmation. When all was said and done, she could review and initiate the next phase of her plan for the prelate.

  Until then, she’d relish this rare, if short, time alone in her cavernous apartment.

  Ayumi landed the Enforcer at the far end of the Sydney spaceport’s actual runway complex. Programming the Enforcer to taxi automatically to the Terran Council holding area had been easy. While the Enforcer glided silently down the wide taxiway, she collected her things and moved to the rear of the plane. There were two hatches. The one on the right side was an airlock for emergency docking procedures in orbit. Once inside the airlock, she initiated a final command sequence to the Enforcer’s main computer. The onboard temperature-control unit began to heat without any safety response. After three minutes, the unit burst into flames. A little adjustment to the atmosphere in the aircraft to add oxygen made the fire spread. With that done, Ayumi opened the airlock, dropped down to the tarmac effortlessly, and ran seventy meters to the fence. The two-meter-tall steel mesh was electrified at the top, so climbing over was out of the question, but the wire cutters in her hands would do nicely on the unprotected lower sections. The Enforcer exploded as she worked. She was through the fence in seconds and stood watching the burning Enforcer plod forward and smack into the ground as its repulsors failed. She could hear emergency sirens converging from a distance. A secondary explosion rang out behind her as she ran away from the airport faster than any human who’d ever lived.

  Moving south, away from downtown Sydney, took more time than she wanted. Where the outer fence turned to the north, she followed at a sprint. At her present speed, she could make the Integration Center in thirty-two minutes. Returning there had once been a paralyzing fear to the girl she’d overtaken. Instead of fear, Ayumi could barely wait to get there and find what she was looking for. Maybe Kieran is there. The thought made her smile. She was barely breathing hard as she ran through the darkness. Data-filtering programs in her optic nerves maximized the rods and cones in her pupils for unparalleled night vision. The light from the city in the distance grew closer as she accelerated. The estimated time of arrival dipped below twenty minutes, but caution would slow her down. She considered catching a public transport into the city. Running at nearly thirty kilometers per hour would make her stand out from the crowd.

  At least Kieran had nothing around when he’d sprinted toward Mountain Home, she mused. Like him, she ran for a purpose. He’d wanted his identity and had found it. She, in turn, wanted him. Any of the staff at the Integration Center would get her to Crawley, and Crawley would give her a way to Kieran. If they did not cooperate, she would kill them one by one until someone did.

  They would pay.

  Overhead, a shuttlecraft climbed toward orbit under repulsor power. Glancing at it as she ran, Ayumi hoped to see its boost engines ignite and bathe the landscape ahead with a fiery light, but her pace was too fast. The cut grass of the spaceport’s easement from the rest of the city gave way. Down a small berm, she found herself on the sidewalk of a solar highway grid. Data packets pinged at her with advertisements for everything from beer to escort services. In the cacophony, she found the autobus packet information and dispatched one to her location as she walked north toward the Royal Botanical Gardens. Silhouetted trees stood out against the glass façade of the cityscape to mark her destination more clearly than a dot on a map.

  The Sydney Opera House sat bathed in white light with the Harbour Bridge behind it, like a quintessential postcard. The tremendous skyline rose to the low clouds and continued upward. The sixteen million residents of Sydney were equally spread between the core of the city and the numerous suburbs and communities along the eastern coast. The later hour meant fewer autocars and vehicles moved through the sky, but it was still busy overhead. For the first time, she noticed that Sydney and New York were vastly different. The Sydney air was cleaner, the streets were nicer, and the people—the people were amazing in their sheer differences and simple outlook on life.

  Ahead, the streets were increasingly full of pedestrian traffic. Sensors active, Ayumi moved effortlessly through the crowd. Snippets of conversations came and went from those she passed, leaving her wondering what the subject matter had been.

&nbs
p; Like a game. In New York, she’d never stopped to sample life as a human being would. Yes, there was food and drink to be had, as well as the simple pleasure of sleeping in a comfortable bed on clean linens, but the rest of it had passed her by.

  Signs read “King’s Cross Block Party,” and young men and women danced with each other in wild abandon. She tried to shake off the multitude of sensations as she entered the party. A young man with wild black hair and chocolate-brown skin grabbed her by the hands and twirled her around for a second before she found herself on the edge of the dancing mass again. Shock turned to happiness as she fell into the crowd.

  Everyone had a scent, though some were harder to find than others. She took them in as research, noting what she liked and what she didn’t. Colognes came tinged with advertisements that either turned her stomach or made her want to giggle at their stupidity. She sensed the presence of marijuana in the air and wrinkled her nose at the strange, pungent odor. Vendors pushed food and drink at her, which she dismissed until a cart with steaming bowls of yakisoba came into view. As if on autopilot, she wandered over and picked up a warm bowl. The beef and noodles were delicious. The flush of joy could only be explained as memory. This was a comfort food to Amy, and she recognized it was such for the new version as well. Ayumi, the girl of two identities, slurped down the yakisoba with chopsticks and made peace with herself.

  The music took on a fresh rhythm, one like a rapidly beating heart. The Integration Center could wait a few more minutes. Her business thwarted momentarily by pleasure, she danced and sang with the crowd until sweat beaded on her forehead. A cute African girl in tribal-colored garb carried a tray of various liquors. Ayumi took one and tossed back the bourbon with a flick of her wrist. The liquor burned and surprised her. She stopped dancing for a moment, and the crowd moved on around her and left her standing alone.

  All of it was wonderful. Being human. The sights and smells were heaven, even the noxious ones. Her body free and her mind at ease, doubt surfaced. Were Berkeley and Crawley any different from these carefree young people? Their manipulation of Kieran steered him away from something like this hedonistic life, did it not?

  <>

  What do you mean?

  <>

  Kieran would not follow a bohemian life, despite his love of surfing with friends and late-night bonfires. There was a time and place for seriousness.

  The time was well past when she’d planned to reach the Integration Center. The late shift there would have started already. While that would make catching Crawley or the key staff more difficult, she could easily slip inside and wait, but only if she moved quickly.

  Ayumi walked back to the small yakisoba cart to grab her bag. The small Japanese woman pushed another bowl into her hands along with beautifully carved chopsticks. Ayumi gaped in surprise.

  “Take them,” the woman said in Japanese. “A beautiful flower needs sunshine and water to blossom.”

  Ayumi felt tears come to her eyes. She bowed to the woman. “Thank you, honored one. Peace be with you.” The Japanese words flowed across her tongue like water. She wondered if Amy was watching and listening in her mind as she herself had once done with Kieran.

  Amy’s voice was smug. <>

  What do you want?

  <>

  If Kieran were indeed alive and she could find him, maybe she could be at peace. Maybe she could be more than his companion.

  Maybe.

  <>

  I’m doing what I have to do.

  <>

  Humanity was defined by its chronic uncertainty. Ayumi pushed the uncertainty away for the moment. It was time for answers that would generate more data to alleviate the uncertainty. Error probability was not something she was prepared to assume. Eliminate doubt through answers. Obtain answers in any way possible. She could do that from inside the Integration Center.

  Along the edge of the Botanical Gardens, down the hill from the rough cut of natural stone known as Mrs. McQuarrie’s Chair, where Kieran had first awakened, she turned inland toward the wall-like structures of downtown. The curved buildings stood like glass sails in the middle of the night. The stark white clamshells of the Sydney Opera House were lit like a beacon along the harbor’s edge. Behind it, just out of sight, was the ancient colonial landing site, the Rocks, but it would not be something to see in the dead of night. As she turned west out of the Gardens, the Integration Center sat disguised as a medical facility along a prominent, quiet boulevard. The giant building lacked the curving, wind-capturing design of the skyscrapers farther away from the water but had a thicker, more robust rooftop garden than most of the other structures at its level. Rectangular with awkward lines, the building was an anachronism not unlike the rest of the buildings along Circular Quay and south toward the warehouse districts. Kieran would have called it hiding in plain sight. For once, Ayumi understood exactly what he’d meant. She was closer than ever to really being with him.

  There are answers—

  Flashes of light appeared all over the fourth floor of the Integration Center, followed by small thuds of explosives. More explosions spread across the ground floor and up through the center of the building. Within seconds, the building caved in toward the central elevator shafts. Dust rose in a growing cloud, swallowing up the falling structure like a giant, gaping maw. Mouth open, she watched in horror as the cloud swelled and engulfed everything around her. Dust and bits of concrete rained against her skin, and she closed her eyes and covered her face for protection.

  Information flew across her neurals. Two hundred eight people were in the building, according to the door entry-exit logs. She scanned the names, finding Crawley and Garrett in the litany of the victims. There were life-support alerts from protocols through the settling rubble, but there were too many to break out individually. No reports for Crawley or Garrett: they were likely dead. Rescue forces were marshaling. Straining to the limit of her ability, Ayumi thought she could hear sirens whining to life throughout the labyrinthine city.

  Four figures dashed down a side street toward her. They were armed and spreading out as they approached her. Standard combat formation, she thought as they continued to spread, encircling her. There were two possible choices to maximize her chance of escape: run, or fight.

  The leader directed the other three with furious hand signals as they approached. Two fanned out to her left and the other to her right, behind the leader. Ayumi squared her shoulders and walked forward.

  “Halt!” the leader yelled. Her infrared vision sensors picked up a spotlight mounted on the front of the barrel as it swung toward her face.

  Ayumi took two quick steps, pushed the barrel aside, and struck the leader in the opening between his chest plate and helmet. His throat came apart as she tore her hand away, spun the assault rifle from his dead hands, and fired three rounds into the man on the right.

  The other two men brought their rifles up to fire. Identifying and isolating their neural frequencies took hardly a nanosecond. Turning up the sensitivity settings in their systems took a picosecond. Both men crumpled to the ground, mouths open, as they reached for their ears. With the butt of the assault rifle, she struck them each hard in the temple. Their life signs fluctuated, but she was satisfied they would not awaken. A surge of pride rippled through her—she hadn’t killed them. Erasing all of their imaging systems took only a moment. While she ran the programs to empty their neural sets,
she got the confirmation she expected, though it made her feel physically worse, not better. They were Terran Council-directed—from the chairman’s office, no less. She committed the information to her batch file and froze as sirens roared to life around the city. Fearing being questioned or incarcerated when there was still work to do, Ayumi ran. The Integration Center was a bright-orange blaze behind her that stretched her shadow into the night ahead. Dust covered her clothing, and she brushed at it and her hair until she realized that others looked the same. Blending in meant more time for her.

  She circled toward the Rocks, slowing to mix into the crowd gathering on the periphery of the ancient establishments to view the raging fire. In the crowd, she tapped a few neural connections very softly to check her covert queries. A search for Bennett had turned up a Perth address. Ayumi shook her head.

  There was a home in Esperance under Crawley’s name. She’ll be there.

  An anonymous message window attached to a dormant frequency set Mally had catalogued in her time with Kieran winked to life:

  [We should talk.]

  Hello, Dr. Bennett. What makes you think I want to talk?

  [Kieran is alive on Mars, and he’s in trouble.]

  Is that really my problem?

  [You’re the one trying to get answers and killing people who get in your way. You tell me.]

  What do you care?

  [I can give you what you want, Mally. Kieran needs your help.]

  You’re just saying that because you need my help.

  [Then you’d better hurry.]

  Ayumi grinned as she moved toward a line of private autocars. Hacking the reservation system took a heartbeat, and soon, she was moving to the spaceport. Kieran was indeed alive. Her heart soared, but Bennett’s warning of trouble meant that the experiment had gotten out of control.