by Lisa Mason
Another hundred thousand softbucks surely means another assignment. At first, Carly is pleased, marveling at how easy hyperlink work has turned out to be. Then she feels uneasy, more bribed than compensated. She still has no notion what the sengine’s ultimate intentions are. What it is using her for.
As soon as she woke to find that her wild lover had let himself out, she supercopied what she could of the first project, including the Carlisle specs, onto a disk. She found a clump of unreadable data in one of the unmarked directories. She supercopied that too, hoping the Arachne had archived the coordinates of their zoom to the warehouse and that she and Spinner will figure out how to read that data one day. She stores everything in a flash using Spinner’s funky little chair. Hides the flash in a dead space behind a kitchen drawer.
She feels obscurely disloyal. Does she owe any loyalty to Cognatus beyond carrying out its directives for money? She has no notion what Cognatus truly is. Who controls the sengine. Who owns it. Is Cognatus ultimately accountable to a human being? What loyalty does Cognatus or its owner owe her?
“Of course I invoked the Arachne,” she tells the sengine. With a confident tone she doesn’t feel.
A long-legged running spider instantly appears, scurrying across the sanctum from behind a far column. Its legs bristle with sharp inner claws. How does the spider manifest from a locus she can’t even see, can’t identify? The running spider gallops up to her presence in link, looming larger and larger till it stands before her, fidgeting. As big as a pickup truck.
Carly backs away slowly, cautiously, concealing her fear. The Arachne is you, you are the Arachne. Yes, but this type of spider bites. She has learned she is not immune to the spider’s temper, even if the archetype is a part of her. In a training session two days ago, an aggressive running spider had nipped both her cube and Spinner’s cone. The nip took a chunk of code out of her perimeter, which swelled with a random virus. It had taken her a whole day, and hourly infusions of black coffee, to clean out the virus and run a repair-and-restore before she had the nerve to face Cognatus again.
“Then do not lie to me,” the bearded man says. The lizard regards her with lethargic eyes. The jackal yawns, displaying its fangs.
Here it comes, Carly thinks.
The bearded man says, “You found something.”
The icon’s cold stare sends a healthy dose of fear through her presence in link, along with keen anger. Damn it, she will not be intimated by an AI entity! She is a human being. She has priority.
“All right, Cognatus,” she says casually. “We did find something.”
The running spider scrabbles around Carly, its swiveling eyestalks regarding her with hungry interest.
The icon’s three heads snap up at once. Six eyes stare at her, utterly alien. “Give it to me,” the three voice bark.
For a moment, Carly feels the enormous power of the sengine, a sharp blow to the head. And she knows, in that moment, Cognatus could, if it chooses to, shatter her telelink. Disengage her in telespace. Kill her.
Strapped into the new workstation in the hideout, her body shivers. She grinds her teeth. If Cognatus disengages her link in telespace, her body in the chair will be medcenter fodder, good only for illegal body parts. She’s never signed a consent form. Or Bin meat.
Shatter her? Yes, but then the sengine won’t have its hyperlink. Cognatus’s own secret, a functioning archetype generated from a live human being.
“It isn’t something you’d want, Cognatus,” she says, maintaining the casual tone, though she’s terrified. “Turns out to be some specs related to an old mediation case of mine. I suppose that’s what you mean by a coincidence or correspondence, huh? I didn’t think you’d have an interest.”
“Of course I’ve got an interest, Quester space C!” Cognatus thunders. The lizard hisses; the jackal howls, the bearded man glowers at her, shaking his fist. The icon’s front legs stamp, raising microdust from the floor of the sanctum. “You better upload what you’ve got to me. Now!”
But the angrier Cognatus gets, the calmer Carly feels. No, the sengine won’t shatter her. The sengine needs her.
“Look here, Cognatus,” she begins, speaking through the rants and curses the icon heaps upon her. “The softbucks are very nice, I admit. But I’m still not clear where I stand with you. I didn’t seek you out. You came looking for me.”
The icon quiets.
“I can disappear again,” Carly says, growing bolder, “I’ve lived on the streets. I can survive out there again, if I have to.” And oh, she doesn’t want to. She really doesn’t. But she must take the chance. “So I’ll give you what I collected from the first project. And I’ll do what you want for the second. But you’ve got to give me something in exchange.”
“You received your advance.”
“That’s not enough. I’m tired of you big sengines stacking all the decks in your favor, while we telelinkers—human beings—have always got to jump through your hoops.”
“What do you want Quester space C?” Cognatus’s voices shout.
Carly’s presence in link takes the onslaught, quietly humming. The running spider prances, preening its fur with its claws, then disappears. Gone! Just like that. Carly sighs. The Arachne obeys her maybe half the time. “Just one thing. Two things. Small things,” she adds when the bearded man slaps his hand on his brow.
“Name them,” Cognatus says. The icon stamps impatiently again.
She thinks of Ouija, his eyes glittering with feral intelligence and passion. Passion like any man. She pushes that recollection away. She recalls his question. His troubled eyes. His honesty. “There’s talk on the street that the City has gathered enough intelligence on the diggers to find their secret lairs,” she says. “Enough intelligence to round them up, by force. And incarcerate them in the shelters.”
“There’s always talk,” Cognatus says. The jackal grows softly, the lizard hisses, the bearded man shrugs.
She takes a chance. “Louie Zoo told me.”
“I know no Louie Zoo.”
“He’s your agent, isn’t he?”
“I know no Louie Zoo. You do not know my agents.”
“Patina was your agent, and I know her.”
“She was not, Quester space C. Patina is a freelancer. I deny any connection with her. And Louie Zoo?” The icon shakes all three of its heads. “You tell me who Louie Zoo is.”
“Just a trash person, I guess,” Carly says. “Someone I heard about.” Deny all connection. Well, that’s what the sengine would say about her, if someone asks.
The icon shifts restlessly.
What is Louie Zoo’s game, then? Why did he tell Ouija to watch her? For whom?
“My question is,” Carly says, “are the rumors true? Is the City planning to raid the diggers and force them into the shelters?”
“I have little interest in local politics,” Cognatus says, “but I will ask my contacts.” The jackal lolls its tongue, the lizard snoozes, the bearded man rubs his eyes. “And your second request, Quester space C?”
“I said the specs I’m uploading have to do with an old mediation of mine. The mediation of TeleSystems, Inc. versus Kay Carlisle.”
“I do know of that matter.”
“Good,” Carly says, though she pulses with alarm. No motions had been filed when she’d left Ava & Rice. She’d logged in no public record of the mediation. Only a few interested parties, including TeleSystems, Inc., would have reason to know the mediation had been planned. How does Cognatus know? “They’re rightfully hers, the specs for the feedback hookup. I recognize the design. My telelink memory is limited, so I was only able to copy a portion,. And I compressed the data so I could pull it out of telespace.”
“You compressed the data thinking you could hide what you found from me.” The jackal pants, the lizard rolls its eyes, the bearded man stares stonily.
Carly’s presence in link bows appeasingly. “I’ll be happy to unzip the specs when I upload to you. The real problem is I can
’t make head nor tails of Carlisle’s code. I’d really appreciate it if you decipher what I’ve got and give me a translation. Some identification I can use to find her. It’s standard glyphs, alphanumerics, stuff like that. Should be simple for a sengine, but it’s too hard for me. I don’t have access to libraries to cross-reference to.”
“And what further interest do you have in the Carlisle specs? You are no longer the mediator of record, are you, Quester space C?”
“No, I’m not.” Carly smiles bitterly. Takes another chance. “That’s why, if I can find her, I will notify Carlisle that TeleSystems is about to steal her invention. Steal her right of title legally. And maybe I can do something about it.”
* * *
Carly jacks out of link after uploading the specs to a directory Cognatus designates. She finds herself slumped in the new workstation, wrists wrapped around the armrests, hands gripping the sides of the seat.
Belly dancing music blasts in the club downstairs. The crowd is clapping to the beat, hooting wildly. Night stains the sky. She doesn’t like Broadway after sundown. She unstraps herself, unplugs the workstation, throws a sheet over the whole thing. Leaves the hideout, locking the door behind her.
Saint Download rattles down the hall, muttering to itself. The bot ignores her, swiveling its eyespots to stare at the ceiling as she passes. Mega. She has refused to let Spinner disclose that they have a new workstation in their hideout, despite Spinner’s assertions that Saint Download is harmless. She’s also refused to take the bot to the new house. “It was surviving just fine before we moved to the YinYang Club,” Carly reminded Spinner. “But Saint Download may be useful to us,” Spinner insisted. “And Saint Download may useful to other interests, too,” Carly replied. Sashi had told her stories. Early morning visits by mysterious controbots. The arrest of a well-liked hacker who had been squatting in the cold-wired flat before them. Saint Download has done nothing to persuade Carly of its usefulness. Nothing but buddy up to Spinner, which doesn’t make her sleep any easier.
Carly slips through the YinYang Club, finds her whirligig in the parking lot, takes off for Tellie Gulch. Damn! Once she only had to worry about Data Control. Now she’s all tangled up with Cognatus and still worried about Data Control. She feels trapped, enmeshed. As if struggling in the grip of a cyberweb that pulls tighter every time she turns around.
What the hell is she doing? She swore she would never do dirty work for big-money interests again. Never do something unethical, something that she can’t be proud of. Her thoughts grow darker as she flies. She has no notion what Cognatus intends. She has no control over what the sengine may do with the results of her labor. What if Cognatus takes the archetypes she finds and sells them on the black market to Silicon Supremacists?
No, she hasn’t found an archetype, not yet, she reminds herself. No trace. Nothing.
She flies over the gulch, taxies on the driveway, pulls into the garage. She lets herself into the courtyard, finds her door. Spinner is waiting in the foyer, the cat winding around her legtube.
“Well?” the prober says anxiously.
“I uploaded the Carlisle specs to Cognatus,” Carly says, stalking in.
“You did what?” the prober rattles, twisting her graspers. “Nuke it all, I should have gone with you. I should never have let you link alone.”
“Take it easy, good old Spin. I had to give the sengine something. Anyway, I asked Cagnatus to decode the specs for me.”
“Teh! I told you I’d work them out.”
“You can’t, and I can’t, and we both know it. We need access to a major research library and we haven’t got that. Listen.” She sits down cross-legged on the gleaming wood floor of the enormous empty living room. A superb heating system beneath the floor warms the wood. She strokes the cat, who rubs her knee and purrs. The cat loves her new house. “Consider this a test. A test of Cognatus.”
“Oh, indeed, let me see. How quickly will copbots show up at our door and arrest us? That’s a test!”
“Sure, the sengine could send copbots. But if Cognatus is a Silicon Supremacist, it won’t give a damn about a petty human mediation. And if Cognatus is allied with Data Control, it will be very interested in how TeleSystems has used its position to steal software from a human being.”
“And what if Cognatus is owned by TeleSystems, eh? Did you think of that, flesh-and-blood?”
Carly grins. “Then we’re up the one and only shit creek, good old Spin. Look, I also asked about the diggers. And we’ll get those glyphs decoded quick. So we gain something out of this. Plus we may get a better idea of where Cognatus’s interests lie. I’ve got to know, Spin. Whether this is a good deal for me. Whether I’m digging myself in deeper. Or whether I’m selling out. Again.”
“You should take up gambling, Carly Quester,” Spinner says sourly. “If you don’t mind taking such risks with your life, you may as well make some money.”
“Get me some dice.”
Carly laughs. Now that she’s done what she had dreaded, she feels exhilaration. Anticipation to see how her gamble plays out. She strides to her new kitchen, finds a fresh Gala apple in a blue ceramic bowl on the countertop. She bites the succulent fruit, then studies the rosy skin. Does knowledge let you in or out of the garden?
“Besides,” she says, “I want to find an archetype.”
* * *
Carly can’t sleep. She tosses and turns, finally flings off the blankets at 4:30 a.m. She dresses, straps on her holster and brand-new handgun over her jacket. Rouses Spinner downstairs, rapping her knuckles on the prober’s faceplace. “Come on, Spin. We’re going to boogie on down to Broadway. Have us some fun.”
“The flesh-and-blood ought to sleep,” the prober grumbles, waking herself out of Sleep Mode. Creaking and coughing. She reaches for an oil can, squirts synthy oil beneath her arm pieces.
“Maybe later.”
Broadway is jammed, the late-night crowd stumbling out of the clubs as the early-morning crowd stumbles in. The four o’clock rush hour on the streets is slow-and-go. A fistfight is in full swing in front of the YinYang Club.
Carly searches for a parking place in the lot across the street. No dice. She spins the whirligig down the alley in the back of the club. If no one is around, she may be able to jockey the whirligig through the stairwell door, chain it to the railing. She doesn’t expect to be long.
She hears the ultra’s half-human raspy chuckle before she sees the sleek silver woman standing beside the lockbox Bin with a man. She jams her heel on the brake, halting the whirligig.
Pr. Spinner rattles behind her in the passenger seat. “Nuke it, Carly!” the prober hisses. But has the good sense to keep her synthy voice down.
They hover in the shadows while the ultra negotiates with the man, hooks her silver arm through his, and saunters out of the alley. The man runs his hand up and down the ultra’s chrome flanks. The ultra throws back her head and guffaws.
“What is that?” Pr. Spinner asks when they’re gone. She gapes at the retreating silver woman.
Carly exhales, short and sharp. “That is Patina. The ultra who so kindly introduced me to Cognatus.” Adrenaline pounds in her blood. “Gorgeous, isn’t she?”
“What is she doing here? Is Cognatus spying on you, Carly Quester?”
“I actually don’t think so. The sengine told me she’s a freelancer whose services were retained. She’s not Cognatus’s agent.”
“You believe that?”
“Yeah, I do.” A drop of sweat trickles into Carly’s eye, stinging. “I don’t know why she is hanging around the club.”
They tilt the whirligig, squeeze the wings through the stairwell door. Lock it up. Then Carly sends Spinner through the club to the elevator while she bounds up the stairs.
She’s got to settle some business tonight before she can sleep.
* * *
“You did not need to bring the prober,” Cognatus says when Carly and Pr. Spinner enter the sanctum. Tonight, the sanctum is mis
ted with frost. Icicles hang from the marble columns. The floor is slick with ice. “She helped you little during the first project.” The three heads of the icon stare evilly at Pr. Spinner. “Perhaps she even got in your way, Quester space C. Did you ever consider that?”
The perimeter prober sputters indignantly, but Carly ignores the insults. She can bring whomever she wants to this telespace. She’s the human being. “What is the City’s decision about the diggers?” The cold slivers through her presence in link, but she refuses to cringe or shiver.
“The City intends to database the diggers, and soon.” The bearded man’s eyes pool with tears. Or perhaps he’s only reacting to the cold. “Some in the City wish not to use force.”
“And others?”
The bearded man blinks, dispelling the illusion of tears. “That’s local politics. As I’ve told you, it is not my concern, Quester space C.”
Carly copies the sengine’s reply into the sidebar on her telelink. “All right. And the glyphs on the Carlisle specs. What are they?”
“The glyphs are the bar code for an interface with a robotic prosthesis.” Cognatus displays the code in readable alphanumerics in front of their telelinks.
“Get it, Spin,” Carly commands.
“Got it,” Pr. Spinner says. The code is five hundred megabytes, tops. She supercopies the holoids, too.
Carly smiles. For all her complaining, Spinner is pretty damn good. A robotic prosthesis? Makes sense. Kay Carlisle was paralyzed by her motortrike accident. She could very well be using a robotic prosthesis. “Spin,” Carly calls to prober, “get your rusty butt out of here. I think Cognatus wants me to do this gig alone.”
Spinner’s link zooms up to her. “Rusty butt, indeed,” the prober whispers. “I’m so sure the sengine wants you alone, Carly Quester.”
“Go on, get out,” Carly says. “Trace that bar code. Find out where Kay Carlisle herself is.”
Spinner’s cone, her presence in link, twirls with doubt. “I don’t like you linking into public telespace without me. Please!”
“I appreciate your concern, Spin.”
“Concern, nothing! You’re my ticket out of trouble with Data Control. I’ve got no one else.”