Revision 7: DNA

by Terry Persun

  “Open it.”

  Fenny handed him the water and removed the top from the bottle, then dumped several pills into Dr. Klein’s hand. Everything he did felt different, more real perhaps. All his sensors were going through his circuitry taking paths they had never taken before. His hands felt unusual; his actions took on a new urgency. Waiting for Dr. Klein to pick up a pill drew questions, emotions, from a place inside him that he didn’t know existed. How could a single piece of circuitry have such an impact?

  Dr. Klein moved slowly, placing the pill on an outstretched tongue, then gulping down the water until the glass was empty. Afterward, he handed the glass back to Fenny. “I’ll be okay. They work fairly quickly. Just let me rest here for a little while.” He took a few breaths.

  Fenny stared, wondering what might happen next. He considered Dr. Klein as a father who had pulled him from a trash heap and reconfigured him into something as near to human as possible. At the moment, though, he didn’t want to be the human that he was. He didn’t want to replace a human no longer living. He wished to be himself.

  Fenny struggled with the dichotomy before him. Was he Fennimore now, or was he still Fenny, an enhanced manmade robot? If Dr. Klein adjusted his circuitry to change him, then he wasn’t the same. And even if Dr. Klein had purposely recreated his real son, Fenny did not wish to be that son. Fenny, the Fenny he had evolved into the last seven years, had been overwritten like a bad memory segment.

  Dr. Klein settled back and closed his eyes. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  Fenny knew better than to believe him. His naps had lasted longer and longer lately. He walked into the kitchen and put the pills on the counter with the glass. He looked out the window over the sink. A dim reflection allowed Fenny to see a muted and soft image of what he looked like to others. He had never cared before. In fact, he couldn’t recall, in all his memory, ever looking into a mirror. There were no mirrors in the house as far as he knew. Why were there no mirrors?

  His image looked strange: a smooth surface protruding from a loosely fitting shirt collar and two flexible shafts with lenses at the ends. He wasn’t human. He raised an arm and wiggled his fingers. The image was that of a human hand, but again, not a human. The loneliness that he felt earlier, when he first came out of his blank state, returned tenfold.

  He reached back for the memory of his former self, to see if he could capture its essence. Was this what it felt like for humans to feel drugged? The real self is there, but not reachable? Had Dr. Klein shoved Fenny’s true self behind the curtain of consciousness? Fenny’s eyes jittered as though shaking his head. The image from the window jittered too.

  He turned from the sink and made his way into the living room. He loved Dr. Klein and looking at him in the chair caused him to wonder what he’d do without him. Projecting himself forward at a time where Dr. Klein had died brought great pain and confusion. What would he do? How would he survive? Worst of all, would other humans find him and take him away? Would he be dismantled? Or studied in a lab, never to see the outside world again? What would his death feel like?

  Fenny swung around. Taking his eyes off of Dr. Klein helped him to recuperate. He needed to be occupied. There were many things that Fenny did not know about Dr. Klein or about himself, and now he wished to learn those things. Dr. Klein had kept online lab notes on his experiments. He also kept a daily log—a diary, he had called it. Before this moment, Fenny had no interest in reading over Dr. Klein’s notes on what he had already experienced in real life. But now, he considered reading it all. He knew the doctor’s security codes. He could read everything the doctor had written over the past sixty years if he wished to.

  At the workbench, Fenny dragged the monitor and keyboard toward him, then changed his mind and unplugged the keyboard. He opened his access panel and plugged the keyboard cable into his motherboard. From there, he could input much faster than through his fingers.

  He knew what he was doing was wrong in a strictly honest sense of the word, but as Dr. Klein slept, Fenny had to know more about what the doctor had been planning. He also wanted to find the 3D model Dr. Klein had mentioned. It was time to order a face. He couldn’t be that robot in the reflection. He had to look real, as real as other humans.

  It didn’t take long for Fenny to find what he had been looking for: the lab notes, the diary, all the images Dr. Klein had created. There were hundreds of 3D images, each one based on Fennimore’s young face. Fenny read through heart-wrenching stories Dr. Klein had written after Fennimore’s death. There was entry after entry of regrets, loss of a son, loss of a wife and partner. Fenny read long passages and interpreted the words to include how Dr. Klein’s emotions and thoughts slowly and steadily folded inward until he created his own world. How he decided to live alone. Fenny read about Dr. Klein’s secret plan to recreate his family. That’s what all this was about. Fenny put the pieces together easily. Dr. Klein hid nothing from his notes, knowing that the security inscriptions would not be broken until after his death, which Fenny feared was close at hand.

  He glanced behind him and watched as the old man breathed heavily. He shut down the computer after logging out. “I am not Fenny,” he said. “But I am not Fennimore either.”

  CHAPTER 26

  DR. STEFFENBRAUN WAS EMBARRASSED that General Harkins made him look like a midget in front of Smythe. The general’s six-foot-two-inch frame was only the beginning. The uniform, his posture, and even the close-cut gray hair added bulk to the man. Harkins’ appearance was a big part of Steffenbraun’s discomfort around the man. The other factor that disarmed the scientist was Harkins’ harsh and direct demeanor when he spoke. “You don’t have video?” He was incensed. “What kind of operation is this?”

  “I had nothing to do with it. The FBI only took audio—” Steffenbraun never got the chance to finish.

  “Fucking FBI. You know what we call them?”

  Steffenbraun looked around the room, filled with FBI agents, but said nothing.

  “Fucking Backward Idiots,” the general said, obviously not caring who was in the room.

  From the time General Harkins had entered the control room filled with equipment, Smythe was close on his heels. The kid knew how to stay out of the way. Steffenbraun admired that ability.

  Smythe had to stay only close enough to have an influence. He was on good terms with the general, but not when the general had a mission. At those times, there were no terms but the general’s. This was obviously one of those times.

  Smythe stood against the back wall until General Harkins, twisting from side to side, found him hiding there trying to blend in. “Smythe, get these guys to fill me in.”

  Three agents sat before a row of instruments mounted into a 19-inch rack that sat along a bench. They all wore headphones. One man looked particularly disturbed. One of the agents had removed his headphones as soon as the general and Smythe had entered the room. Steffenbraun stood behind that man. The agent glanced at the general and piped up. “You can talk with us directly, sir.”

  The general didn’t acknowledge the man. Instead he continued to look at Donovan. “Smythe,” he said.

  “Who’s in charge of this operation?” Smythe asked in a monotone.

  Steffenbraun could see that Smythe was frustrated, and looked directly at the man who had spoken to the general, knowing that he was in charge, even if unacknowledged.

  The agent turned his head toward Steffenbraun and rolled his eyes. “That would be me. Agent Johnson,” he said. The man had a slight build, but didn’t appear to be afraid of the general.

  “Could you fill us in?” Smythe asked.

  Johnson lowered his head. “Yeah, you betcha. I’ll fill you in.” He lifted himself out of his chair and leaned over one of the other men. He pressed a button to open the speakers then, out of what Steffenbraun could only read as respect, and turned so that Smythe could see his face as he spoke. “Back it up,” he said, and one of the other men reached to rewind what had happened before the general ha
d arrived.

  Steffenbraun knew that Smythe couldn’t hear the replay, but watched as the young man observed the agents sitting at the console. “Halt!” a voice over the speakers said. Then there came the unmistakable sound of tracks running over a concrete floor. Feet shuffled and then stopped. The tracks stopped moving. “Shit,” came a different voice from the first one. This voice was a whisper. The word was barely audible. Steffenbraun braced for what was about to happen.

  Johnson tapped the table. “Every one of them is wired. Get ready. This ain’t pretty.”

  No sooner did Johnson say the words than a single shot rang out, apparently from the agent who had said shit. The sound was that of a small-gauge shotgun. BBs clinked against metal.

  Not a moment later, a millisecond, the screeching sound of rounds firing in succession filled the speakers. The rounds had not come from the agents; they made a different noise, more muted until they hit their targets, at which point, the thud of bullets hitting flesh was unmistakable. The agents jumped and cringed. Steffenbraun was glad that Smythe couldn’t hear the bodies being hit and then falling on the floor, the sound like sacks of potatoes being dropped. A few snaps and cracks were heard too, as bullets blasted away microphones hidden on the agents. Moans filled the room, air rushed from lungs, a man said, “Oh,” as though surprised. In the background the original voice yelled for the attackers to stop. “Enough, enough!”

  Johnson reached up and flicked the switch. “Back to monitoring, men.”

  Even though Smythe had heard nothing he held back tears, his lips tight together. Steffenbraun knew from working closely with Smythe that he was a very sensitive man. He would have been able to feel the tension in the room, and responded to the agents’ reactions.

  The general, on the other hand, didn’t appear to be phased. “We’re going to take over,” he said. “I have no idea what strategic dimwit would wait inside the warehouse thinking they’d be able to stop these, these…”

  “Robots, sir,” Johnson said. “There were also two civilians in there. Operations needed to be carried out carefully and personally.”

  “We go in and end this thing,” the general said.

  “My equipment,” Steffenbraun said from behind Johnson. “You’ll destroy the greatest discovery of the decade.”

  General Harkins pointed at the row of equipment where the recording had come from. “And look what it’s done. Until we understand this better, until we come up with a greater plan, this machine you’ve designed will be shut down. And so will the robots it’s allowing to come through.”

  “Then you believe it works,” Steffenbraun said.

  “It does something, but I wouldn’t call this mess working,” General Harkins said.

  Steffenbraun wasn’t going to give up. He spoke with the general but faced Smythe so that the young man got the message. Smythe was the insider Steffenbraun relied on. “I need to get that dark energy balancer. You can’t go in there and destroy everything.”

  “Dark what?” the general said.

  “My equipment. Without it we’ve lost years of research. I need to duplicate it,” Steffenbraun said.

  General Harkins looked over at Smythe. “Son?”

  “It’s true, sir. The balancer appears to be the key to the machine’s operation.”

  “Then we obtain that.” He looked back at Steffenbraun. “The next scientist will want to examine it.”

  Steffenbraun fumed, but kept his mouth shut.

  General Harkins nodded at Johnson. “I want you to brief my soldiers when they get here.”

  “We have men in there, too, General. I’m not leaving and neither are the rest of us,” Johnson said.

  Smythe read Johnson’s lips then watched as the general softened before his eyes. “I can respect that,” he said. “So be it.” He swung around and left.

  ***

  Once outside, General Harkins cocked his head so that Smythe could read his lips. “I want to know all about this project from every known angle you can find.”

  “I can get access to the other scientists. I know them all,” Smythe intoned.

  “I want names. Anyone they mention, anyone they know personally or professionally who might have an insight into this mess.” He stopped and turned on Smythe. “This type of thing doesn’t happen by accident. These robots are here for something more than to take over the world. It looks like they already own the future, or wherever they came from. They’re not here to add a few years to the process. They want something.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll get what I can.”

  “You’ll get it all, son.” The general motioned for Smythe to get into the back of the vehicle they arrived in. The general sat next to the driver and turned so that he could talk with Smythe. “Well, that’s done,” he said.

  They rode for a few minutes before Smythe spoke up. “What is it about Steffenbraun that you dislike so much?”

  The general didn’t turn around. He continued to look out the windshield. Smythe had to lean close to watch him speak. “He’s a fucking scientist first,” General Harkins said.

  “That’s his training,” Smythe said.

  “That man would let every man in that room back there die including you and me, so that he can make a discovery. Son, that isn’t what life is about. It’s about people. We’re here to save people, not kill them off to win a prize.” He turned around and looked at Smythe. “You’re a brilliant student. Steffenbraun chose you for a reason, but you don’t have to follow in his footsteps. Do you understand?”

  “I believe I do,” Smythe said.

  “Good.”

  “The FBI agents are worried you’ll rampage through the warehouse and get them all killed.” Smythe explained the situation as he saw it.

  The general squared off with Smythe. “That’s how little they know about the military. You take your everyday law officer and give them power and you have the FBI. They’re the ones who’ll screw this whole thing down until someone gets hurt. They’re as bad as Steffenbraun, whether it looks that way or not. Their mission is to get what they want, to apprehend these robots, to retrieve that dark thing.”

  “Dark energy balancer,” Smythe said.

  General Harkins continued, “We’re trained to save lives, to keep our soldiers alive while in combat situations. I’ll get those people out, all of them, safe and unharmed.” He shook his head. “You couldn’t hear it, but their plan has already caused a lot of deaths.”

  “And the balancer?”

  “If it’s in good shape once we’re finished in there, we’ll hand it over.” He paused “But not to Steffenbraun.”

  Smythe sat quietly for a while, thinking about the situation. The more he thought, the more worried he became. Regardless what the general said, Smythe couldn’t imagine this going smoothly. “If you go in by force, won’t the robots kill the rest of them?” He had grown fond of Neil, even though he was still a bit afraid of him. Then there was Mavra, a woman caught in the middle of the investigation.

  General Harkins said, “You’ve been watching too many movies. The military isn’t a bunch of idiots. We’re not going to bomb the warehouse. That is, unless we can get those people out of there first.”

  Smythe thought of the balancer getting blown to bits and wanted to reject the general’s statement. He was about to refute the idea when he realized that he wasn’t that much different than Steffenbraun. His concern for the dark energy balancer was stronger than he thought it was. He lowered his eyes to look at his hands. He rationalized his thinking by reminding himself what the general had said, that he’d charge in only after the people were safe. He felt better with that thought, but only for a moment. On the tail of that excuse came the reality that going in after the balancer would only put other, different, lives in danger. It wouldn’t be safe. He scratched his head.

  The general had the military transport vehicle drop Smythe off at his car. Why the general had taken Smythe under his wing, as it were, escaped the young man. Perhaps the ge
neral wanted a new breed of scientist. Smythe thanked them for dropping him off and got into his car.

  Steffenbraun must have timed their return because no sooner did Smythe start to pull out of the lot than Steffenbraun sent him a text.

  Smythe pulled into an empty parking space near the exit. He unlocked his phone and read the message. “I need you back here right away.”

  He typed his reply into the phone, “The general asked me to gather some information.”

  After a moment, another text came through. “You don’t work for him. You work for me. I think I can talk them into letting me duplicate the balancer circuitry. I know where they’re going next.”

  “You’ve got to tell the general,” Smythe typed.

  “Not on your life. You and I are going to head them off.”

  “At least include the FBI.” Smythe didn’t like the idea of heading anyone off.

  “You’re not paying attention. You know what the general said? The military is going to take over. They’ll destroy the whole project.”

  “It’s not like in the movies,” Smythe typed, repeating the general’s sentiments.

  Steffenbraun must have been getting irritated, because there was a long hesitation before the next text came through. “Get back here. In the conference room. You’ll understand then.”

  Smythe pulled out of the lot and onto the highway heading back toward the lab. He put down the window and let the cool spring air rush around the inside of the car. There was a lot left to the day and he was already exhausted by all the energy it took to be around Harkins and Steffenbraun. He could use a nap.

  By the time he got to the facility and parked the car, he felt somewhat rejuvenated. He locked up and hurried into the building. Steffenbraun must have made a new discovery.

  Smythe took the elevator and relaxed the best he could while riding it. The door opened and he headed down the hall. As he turned the corner, he could see into the conference room. The lights were dimmed. Steffenbraun sat at the head of the table with a hand on the A/V controls. Smythe cleared his throat as he approached.