Johnny Winger and the Great Rift Zone

by Philip Bosshardt

  ***Good morning, General Winger. It is a pleasure to see you again. We haven’t talked in some time***

  “Good morning, Doc—“ Winger got up and inspected the formation of bots with a critical eye. “Damn good, Doc, if I do say so. Very few edge effects—that’s where the likeness used to break down. Maintaining structure at the periphery…it was hard to control that.”

  Doc III made a sort of shrugging gesture. ***I am composed of many new configurations, General. I would be pleased if you would review my config manager and learn about all my new features. I think you’ll be impressed. Dr. Falkland and I have worked for months perfecting these configurations***

  “I am impressed,” Winger admitted.

  The UNSAC avatar on the nearest GENGHIS screen scowled at the scene. “I’m not. Can we get back to business here? Dr. Falkland, your memory field seems to need work, judging from the demo vids you’ve shown.” The avatar had a stern look, no doubt pulled up from some file of appropriate emotional responses.

  Falkland spread his hands. “We have some more work to do…I have to admit as much.”

  The UNSAC avatar analyzed that answer. You could tell when a verbal statement required more than usual analysis…the avatar froze in position, making no gestures at all, until the analysis was done. Then the avatar’s face unfroze and its lips curled into a sort of programmed sneer.

  “Dr. Falkland, are you really retrieving a living being that has been de-constructed? Or are you just re-creating a simulation of the original?”

  It was a question with philosophical and practical, even logistical considerations for UNIFORCE and Falkland knew that. Major Bridges had warned him about this. Nobody wanted to spend a lot of money and time re-creating simulations or angels of people who had been assimilated. ANAD technology could already do that.

  Falkland was forthright about the difficulties. “Your question, sir, if I may be so bold, is this: what makes us all unique? If your pattern can be broken down and put back together again, is the result still you? I’m not sure anybody has an answer to that.”

  Before the avatar could respond, Major Bridges spoke up. “I’m inclined to believe that, if the pattern is faithfully detailed enough, the result is you. It’s the old Ship of Theseus test again. Or maybe a kind of reverse Turing test: if the observers can’t tell the difference between the original and the re-created entity, then for all practical purposes, the result is you, as Dr. Falkland says.”

  The avatar scowled again, its favorite look today.

  “Doctor, the problem with your theory is that nanobotic technology is almost there anyway. Why do we need this new technique?”

  The avatar that represented Jurgen Steiner must have been well programmed to be a skeptical son of a bitch, Winger decided. “Sir, because the Assimilationists are growing in popularity and with this Symborg character, they’ve got an attractive and determined spokesman…or spokes-swarm. The SG himself has publicly stated that countering Assimilationism is UNIFORCE policy. If we don’t resist and find ways to combat it, we’re making Config Zero’s job a lot easier.”

  The Steiner avatar considered that, freezing in mid-gesture. Must be some kind of glitch in the stupid thing, Winger decided. Then:

  “So what, exactly, is your proposal, Dr. Falkland? Major Bridges here says the project is at a critical point. Is it more money, more time, more experimental subjects…how many Shih Tzus do you need now?”

  Falkland tried to remind himself that the avatar…the high-level cartoon, for that was what the thing was, represented the Security Commissioner himself and that everything he said and demonstrated would be recorded, dissected, parsed, analyzed and played back for the real UNSAC.

  “Sir, I don’t have an answer for your philosophical concerns as such. But Project Phoenix needs to graduate to a larger-scale effort. Major Bridges will confirm that—“ The Major nodded vigorously in agreement—“The Project needs to try something bigger. We have some new configs and a new config engine. Doc IV has helped me develop and de-bug new algorithms…some of them I’m using with Doc III himself-“ The swarm brightened at the mention of its name and also nodded in agreement.

  “To be perfectly candid, sir, I need a volunteer now. A human volunteer willing to be disassembled and re-constructed.”

  The avatar sniffed. “Just show up at any rally of Symborg’s and you’ll have thousands of them, Doctor. What’s your point?”

  Falkland wanted to be explicit. “I need a human subject for a controlled experiment, sir. Symborg’s volunteers don’t want to come back. But I want to demonstrate that we can de-construct a live subject, then using my memory field technique, we can re-assemble them good as new. And I want to show we can do that repeatedly, and accurately.”

  Johnny Winger was intrigued by Falkland’s idea. “I may have someone in mind, Doctor.”

  The Steiner avatar turned in Winger’s direction. The scowl mutated into something else…disbelief, maybe? Skepticism? It was hard to tell with a cartoon. The resolution wasn’t quite fine enough. “General, I’m not letting you volunteer for this nutty scheme. I need you here at UNIFORCE.”

  “Actually, I had someone else in mind, sir. My daughter Rene. I think most of you know what happened to her ten years ago.” Winger detailed how Config Zero had arranged to have Rene kidnapped and taken into the east African Sanctuary. He described how Rene had been rescued by a special ops team led by Dana Tallant and how it was only later that he and Dana had discovered that Rene had already been deconstructed and re-assembled into a swarm angel entity.

  “She’s been with us ever since,” Winger added. “We just couldn’t let her…or it…go. We paid for the Corps to rig up a special MOBnet around our apartment, so she would be properly contained. So far…it’s worked. But there isn’t a day goes by when I don’t wish we could get the real Rene back. I guess having an angel in the family is like having a lifelike portrait of a loved one…only this one moves and talks and sort of resembles her.”

  “How about the resemblance?” Falkland asked. “You said it was pretty lifelike…any edge effects? Pretty even density throughout…that sort of thing?”

  Winger shrugged. “We know what she is. I have a son, too…Liam. We try to do things together as a family…of course, Rene has to come in a MOBnet, so we get stares and snide remarks. I guess we sort of pretend she’s real, like a little girl having a doll. We set her a place at the table. She sims eating…she’s gotten pretty good at it but we had to teach her a lot. All in all, not a bad likeness. Dana says any good counselor would say we’re all in denial…that we haven’t dealt with Rene being gone yet. Ten years—“ Winger had a distant look in his eyes. “That’s a long time to be in denial. The counselors are probably right…but…we just can’t let go.” Winger glared at all of them, daring anyone to object to that. “I think Rene might be a good candidate for Project Phoenix, for what Dr. Falkland wants to do. Of course, I need to discuss it with Dana and the family. But if there’s even a chance—“

  Falkland was both sympathetic and intrigued. “She could be a good subject…or candidate, General. But after so many years, I’m not sure how we obtain a base configuration for the memory field to impose. Your daughter was deconstructed ten years ago, so the base has been gone, dispersed, for that long. But we may be able to work around that…I’ll need to research this—“

  The Steiner avatar wasn’t convinced. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea, General. Nobody knows bots and swarms better than you but I need a clear-headed command staff to run things here in Paris. You’re too close to this. Too invested emotionally in the outcome.”

  Winger said, “With all respects, sir, I’d like a day to discuss this with my family. If Falkland’s config driver really can re-construct Rene like new, I’d like to give it a try. I’ve always had the feeling Config Zero’s been targeting me personally…that’s why Rene was kidnapped—“<
br />
  “Hogwash,” the avatar spluttered. “Personal paranoia. Winger, you need more counseling. Schedule yourself more sessions.”

  “Yes, sir…but I can’t help feeling convinced that Config Zero sees me as a primary threat, an obstacle to fulfilling the Prime Key. There’s even a theory that says Symborg is nothing but an element of Config Zero, just with a hyper-realistic config. Of course, not everybody believes this.”

  The Steiner avatar started to reply but froze in mid-sentence. At that moment, the doors to the briefing deck swung open and Jurgen Steiner himself walked in, in person. His wristpad was active, showing the same avatar in frozen mid-sentence.

  Steiner nodded to the group and took a seat. “I was playing the vid, Winger, and I heard where this briefing was going. I thought I’d better come down here and sort this out. This is no kind of decision for my avatar to make.” To emphasize the point, he punched off the avatar program and his wristpad went dark. GENGHIS wiped the main screen and up came the Quantum Corps logo.

  Steiner folded his hands over the table and gave Winger a direct look. “You sure you want to do this? I don’t need a CINCQUANT floundering around in the weeds while Config Zero takes over the world.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, sir. I do need to discuss this with Dana. But I’d like to give it a try. I know Doc here thinks swarms and bots and multi-config entities are the wave of the future—“ he smiled as the Doc III swarm brightened at the mention of its name. The cloud of bots was just like a dog. If it had a tail, the thing would have wagged. “I used to have this same conversation with Doc II, especially during Jovian Hammer, that long ride out to Europa and back. But technology has changed since then. I’d like to see what Falkland can do. Any chance there might be to get Rene back—“ Winger returned Steiner’s stare.

  Steiner had heard enough. “Okay, General. I’ll approve it. Reluctantly and with a hell of a lot of reservations, but I’ll approve it. Project Phoenix will be authorized to go to a new phase: live human subjects. Or at least, more or less alive.”

  The briefing went on for another half an hour, as Falkland detailed the steps he would be taking to make the memory field and the new config pattern buffer and emitter work with the swarm angel that was Rene Winger. “I can’t promise anything, General. It all depends on whether we can develop a good base configuration. Off the top of my head, I’d say our best bet is to run you and your wife through the config scanner and develop a base from that…you and your daughter are genetically related and the scan may be close enough to her base atom structure to pull this off. Time will tell.”

  “What are we waiting for then?” Winger asked. “I’ll call Dana and give her a heads up.”

  Two hours later, Johnny Winger stood on the patio of their sixtieth floor apartment at La Tour St. Vincent, beer in hand, trying to explain what Falkland wanted to do.

  Dana Tallant sipped at her own wine, some kind of Burgundy. “Does this thing have even a snowball’s chance of working, Wings? Or is this just some egghead’s crackpot scheme?”

  “Falkland’s no egghead, Dana. I’ve seen the reports, the vids, talked with the man. Sure there are risks. But I’m willing to take them if there’s a chance we can get Rene back.”

  They both turned and looked through the curtains into the family room, through the faint veil of the barrier. Liam was there, earphones on and curled up on the sofa. Supposedly doing his homework, but more likely playing Black Force: Invaders of the Realm on his tablet. Rene was in the background, sitting at a console pianolo, studying a sheet of music, experimentally tapping on keys and making notes.

  In the days and weeks after Rene had been rescued from Config Zero and determined to be an angel, Quantum Corps engineers had worked with Winger and Tallant to convert their apartment into one big MOB net, a dense but barely visible mesh of bots designed to contain things like nanobotic swarms. At first, when the full horror of what had happened to her daughter became apparent to Dana, she wanted nothing to do with ‘that thing’, as she called it. But Winger had convinced her that they should keep ‘Rene’ around anyway, “like a pet” he called it, but that just upset Dana even more.

  “There’s a chance that technology will advance enough so that somehow Rene can be reconstructed into something like the original. It could happen—“ Neither of them really believed that, but ten years later, Ryne Falkland’s memory field technique made the impossible merely difficult.

  So they kept ‘Rene’ contained in their apartment.

  Dana was still unconvinced. “I suppose it’s better than living like this, pretending we still have a daughter. Wings, we lost Rene ten years ago. We’ve been living a fantasy ever since…I can see that. Why don’t we just secure her into containment and let her go. The gearheads at Table Top would love to have a crack at a swarm like this.”

  At heart, it was a philosophical question. ‘Rene’ wasn’t really Rene, only a pattern of bots configured to look like Rene. The base config was gone, only the pattern remained. How faithful was the pattern? What were humans if not an enduring pattern of atoms and molecules and cells? What was more important: the base config or the pattern? Nobody had solved that one yet and it gave Winger a headache just thinking about it.

  “I think we have to try, Dana. For Rene, for Liam, for all of us. I don’t want to live inside a MOB net any more. I’d like to have a normal family.”

  Tallant laughed at that. “You shouldn’t have married a nanotrooper, Wings. The Corps is our real family. All this…it’s just for show. Makes us look normal to the outside world.”

  “But it’s not normal. If we do what Falkland wants, at least we have a chance to get our daughter back. Isn’t that worth something?”

  Tallant turned away from her husband and bent over the patio railing, willing the tears to stay put, not dribble down her face. Nanotroopers didn’t show tears. Lachrymal ducts were a weakness…enemy bots could get into your head that way.

  “Let’s go eat. I made your favorite…burgers and fries. Vanilla milkshakes. Onion rings. It’ll be like we’re back at Table Top, back in the States. Come on—“ She led him by the hand back inside, thumbing the control stud on her MOB pack as she did so. The net momentarily dimmed and thinned, just enough for them to push through into the family room, then returned to its usual shimmering veil.

  “Kids, get washed up and get your butts to the table! Dinner in two minutes. And don’t bring that tablet with you.”

  Liam was almost sixteen now, quiet, sullen, bored, in other words a typical teenager. He had blond hair and Dana was sure he’d gotten his face and eyes from Winger. He picked at his fries, nibbled at his burger and answered questions with monosyllable grunts.

  Rene sat opposite, prim and erect at her place, methodically working her way through the meal. She was fifteen and not even human. It was by most accounts a remarkably lifelike apparition that sat at the dinner table, a technological marvel to be sure. The swarm of bots that made up ‘Rene’ had texture and even wrinkles on close inspection, though there were occasionally edge effects and smearing of structure when the thing moved about the apartment. Plus it was unnerving to see Rene drag her arms ‘through’ seat backs and sofas and table corners, sometimes just for the fun of it, watching the bots part and close up as she did so, like a river flowing around a stone. Still, if you didn’t look too closely, you could almost believe the angel was their daughter.

  Rene didn’t eat in the usual sense but Wings and Dana had trained her to fake it. Dana watched out of the corner of her eye as Rene brought the hamburger bun close to her mouth, then a faint tendril of bots drifted out to envelope the bun and begin rapid disassembly of its atoms and molecules. She opened her mouth, as she had been taught to do, while the burger faded into atom fluff in her hands, then shoved the whole affair into her mouth and began to chew, again as she had been taught to do. A smooth, well-timed proce
ss had evolved over the years and it was quite a performance for a cloud of bots.

  Dana tried not to look at it any more than necessary. She eyed her own fries and pointedly jammed one in her mouth, while studying Winger’s reaction. She saw Liam doodling in his ketchup with a fry.

  “Liam! You’re not three years old. Stop playing and eat properly.”

  That earned her a faint smirk and an exaggerated placement of said fry into his mouth, followed by a teeth-clenching chomp and audible swallow.

  Conversation was minimal during dinner, mostly school matters… did you do all your homework yet? don’t leave your clothes lying all over the floor and no you can’t stay over at Juan and Miguel’s apartment tomorrow night.

  “Can I leave now?” he asked. “My homework, you know—“

  “You may be dismissed,” Winger told him, “but I better find that tablet covered with equations in differential calculus and not episodes of Black Force. Understood?”

  Liam slinked off toward his bedroom. “Yes…sir.”

  That left Rene and her parents.

  “Rene, honey, would you help your mother with the dishes? Your dad has some reports to go over.”

  The angel brightened momentarily—not something most fifteen-year olds could do, thankfully—and replied.

  “Yes, Mother…I’d be happy to help out. Shall I clear the table…is there dessert tonight?”

  Dana had forgotten about the ice cream in the fridge. “Let’s save that for later, okay? Maybe a snack.”

  “Sure, Mom.” Rene pushed her chair back and stood up. No edge effects, no smearing.

  Dana Tallant shook her head as she got up too. Got to stop that, girl…get a hold of yourself. Once an atomgrabber, always an atomgrabber, that’s what Wings always said. This was supposed to be her daughter, not some experiment in nanobotic operations. But it was hard not to critique the configs, the visual effects, the edge resolution, the swarm tracking, like Rene were some kind of lab rat.

  Come on, stop it…just stop it!

  They gathered up the dishes and carried them to the kitchen. Winger saw what was going on. He left the table and gently squeezed Dana’s arm as he went by, heading to his study. He mouthed: Let’s put her to bed early…we need to talk…in the study….

  She nodded and went back to cleaning up the dining room table. Rene was already sorting dishes and popping them into the washer.

  Putting Rene to bed was an involved but well-practiced process. The entire apartment was one big MOBnet but Quantum Corps had installed extra containment in Rene’s bedroom, ensuring that every seam and opening was sealed and secured, so the swarm that was their daughter could not possibly escape. It was the only way the Corps would let Winger and Dana Tallant live with an enemy swarm whose full capabilities were even now not fully understood. The process involved extra safing procedures and even arming electron beam injectors around the ceiling of the room, injectors that would fire concentrated beams at any bots in danger of breaching containment.

  Not the sort of arrangement that made for pleasant bedtime stories, Winger had long ago observed.

  “Go to sleep now, honey. Good night—“

  Rene was nestled under the covers up to her neck. She smiled back at him. “Good night, Daddy. I love you very much.”

  Winger swallowed hard. “Good night, sweetie.”

  He finished arming the injectors and backed his way out of the containment field, pushing through the mesh just before it hardened to Level 1 and buzzed at his passage. Then he shut the door. He ran into Dana in the hall, two wine goblets in hand.

  “Back to the patio?”

  Winger shuddered in spite of himself. “With pleasure.” He took one of the goblets and followed her outside.

  Night time Paris lay spread out before them like a jeweled carpet. The Eiffel Tower dominated the horizon, its steel girders backlit and glowing in the twilight of an early evening mist. Sixty stories below them, lorries, turbos and jetcabs circled the Bois de Boulogne like fireflies to a light. Lifters circulated overhead, diving toward their destinations like birds of prey.

  Dana Tallant sipped at her wine. “You know Wings, even if Falkland achieves what he wants…we still don’t get Rene back. His process creates angels…better resolution swarms, but still angels. Rene’s gone. We’ve got to face that. Some days—“ she took a deep breath, “—some days, I think we should just end this. You know—just let Rene go…that’s not even Rene in that bedroom. It’s just a shadow. Let the injectors do their job and disperse that thing and get on with recovering.”

  “It’s not up to us,” Winger reminded her. “Remember what we agreed to with UNIFORCE. We keep the angel around, kind of a reminder of Rene, at least. And they send their people over to do studies and experiments. They run the lab, we feed the subject. That was the deal.”

  “I’m tired of living in a lab,” Dana said. “I want to live in a normal home…and I already know what you’re going to say about atomgrabbers. You know what I mean. We owe it to Liam at least. And to each other.”

  “We’d have to make a trip to the States, to ASL. That’s where Falkland is. You heard what he said: we’ll both be scanned. He’ll use the scans to configure his memory field. Then he’ll try to impress that new field on Rene, see if he can make the swarm a tighter entity, finer resolution, more like the real—“ he stopped, not wanting to admit he had actually said that “—the real Rene.”

  Dana put her arms around Winger’s shoulders and lay her face there. “She’s not real, honey. You know it and I know it. Liam knows it. Even Howie probably knows it, if a housebot can know anything. I think what Falkland is offering is nuts. It’s insane. Let him do his experiments on his own subjects. Leave my family alone.”

  Winger took a deep pull on the wine. It burned on the way down. “This is bigger than just us, Dana. There’s another point…the Assimilationists. Symborg. Falkland’s trying to prove that de-construction isn’t permanent…we can get those people back. If he can prove that, if his process works, it undercuts Symborg and everything he stands for. Remember what we’re fighting here. Symborg’s just a creation of Config Zero. We can fight the Bugs with HERF blasts and mag weapons. We can counter-swarm and throw every kind of nano in the arsenal at them. But it’s hard to fight an idea. That’s what Symborg is to so many people. Redemption. Heaven. Nirvana. Whatever you want to call it. Falkland’s trying to fight the idea of Symborg with proof that the whole idea behind this Assimilationist heaven is a lie.”

  “And he wants to make our family part of the battlefield…I can’t let him do that, Wings. I won’t let him do that.”

  “We’re already part of the battlefield, Dana. Doesn’t matter what we think. When you’re trying to combat crazies like the Assimilationists, the front is everywhere, it’s in everybody’s mind. It’s damned near impossible to fight an enemy who looks like you and acts like your best friend…there have even been reports of swarm angels infiltrating Boundary Patrol and Quantum Corps units and masquerading as troopers, as Normals, only to turn on their units at strategic moments…how do you fight such a foe? Can we fight such a foe and win? It’s like we’re fighting ourselves…or a mirror image of ourselves.”

  Dana squeezed her husband’s shoulders and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I guess we shouldn’t fight, huh? You could be an angel yourself.”

  “No—“ Winger turned and kissed her hard on the lips, then embraced her and hugged her as tightly as he could. “No…this is real, babe. This is as real as it gets.” He glanced toward their own bedroom and lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll prove it to you.”

  Dana smiled. “Hey, you’re on, soldier. Last one into bed cleans the dishes.”

  They raced for the bedroom, knocking Howie the housebot slightly askew as they romped down the hall.