Company Town (26 page)

He pushed her away, hard. She stumbled back. Almost fell. Corrected herself. “No,” Beaudry said, “I don't. You're a crazy bitch. I shouldn't have helped you.”

Hwa watched him making his way back to the trail. When he was a good three paces ahead, the adrenaline trickled in. It had been a long time since anybody put hands on her like that. She forced the air from her lungs. Made fists. Pictured the master control room. All the buttons. All the switches. Big convex screens with her problem on them, walking away, getting smaller, turning into mere pixels.

She'd given the whole game away. She'd let their whole theory slip right past her lips. But there was nothing for it. It was done, now. And it was time to attend Joel's press conference.

*   *   *

The press conference was more like a briefing. Only a couple of local journalists came, and the rest was done by telepresence. The questions—or at least, their focus and tone—had all been approved by stratcomm the day before. That was how each telepresence journalist earned the right to their log-in. They'd tag in to the conversation as it unfolded, their avatars briefly lighting up the same spot of floor positioned so that Joel and the folks who'd handed out the scholarships could talk. Hwa spent most of her time just scanning the crowd and not really listening. The pain that she'd managed to keep at bay had redoubled its efforts, and now it felt like someone was excavating her uterus with a rusty garden trowel. It was hard to stand up straight. She had to pretend that her chin was balanced on a shelf in order to maintain her posture. She kept her hands behind her back so she could knuckle it once in a while, when she thought no one was looking.

“Joel, your father's company has come under fire for using self-replicating nano-scale machines to build this new reactor, and not human crews.”

Hwa snapped to attention. She focused on the reporter asking the question. She was a round-faced blonde from the PST. Her avatar moved its lips at a slight lag behind her voice. It made her look like an old cartoon. The extra eyelashes she'd tattooed onto her cheekbones didn't help matters, either.

“My father believes in the power of innovative technology to accomplish large-scale projects that help people.”

The reporter smiled winningly. Dimples appeared in her cheeks. “And do you share those beliefs?”

“Yes,” Joel said. “I think mankind has always used tools to improve basic standards of living. In this case, we're using these machines to do dangerous work that would put human crews at serious risk.”

“Do you share your father's beliefs about the Singularity?”

Joel blinked, the way he did when he heard something he couldn't quite comprehend. “Pardon me?”

“Your father has gone on record stating that he believes super-advanced artificial intelligence will eventually take over our planet. Is that why he trusted the reactor to the Krebs machines? Because he believes that only so-called strong AI can do the job?”

Joel's mouth opened. Nothing came out. Hwa cleared her throat. Instantly, Joel stood up straight. “My father…” His voice cracked. Hwa couldn't keep the wince off her face. “My father almost died of neo-polio,” Joel said, finally. “He was born on an anti-science commune in Northern California, and it was the site of a major outbreak. Until he got his augments, he was in constant pain. He had to relearn how to walk, how to type, all of those things. But even so, he's always told me that he felt luckier than the other kids. Because he didn't get measles, and that's the reason he's still alive today.”

Joel licked his lips. “My father's beliefs about the future aren't the reason I'm here. I'm here so that I can talk to my peers about
our
future. And I don't think that's what you're interested in. So I think I'm done talking to you. All of you.”

A cacophony of questions and a sparkling array of flies rose up as he descended the podium. Hwa got between them and him as he went through the doors. “Nice work,” she said, as the doors closed behind them.

“I think I'm going to throw up.” Joel bolted for the fire stairs. He charged up the first flight so fast Hwa almost had to chase him. “I want to go to my room.”

“Hey, slow down!” Hwa put a hand on his shoulder and he whirled on her, eyes dilated, sweat dotting his hairline. “Calm down,” she said. “It's just adrenaline. It's not real.”

“I think I need a new implant,” Joel said. “I'm not supposed to get stage fright. I'm not supposed to get frightened at all.”

Hwa snorted. “You did
not
look frightened up there. You looked great. You
did
great.” She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him a little. “That feeling that you're feeling? That's not fear. That's exhilaration. You're excited, because you totally nailed it back there, and that's okay. Okay?”

One corner of his mouth curled up. “Okay.”

Then he threw his arms around her. For a minute, Hwa didn't know where to put her arms. When she did, she felt both firm new muscle stretching across his back and shoulders, and sprig of pride blooming up in her. The boy was already stronger. It was time to level up his training.

“Is this weird?” Joel asked.

“Only a little,” Hwa said. “People don't really hug me.”

“I can't hug my dad.” Joel backed away. A pink blush blossomed in his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“No, it's cool. We should, uh … feel the love. Or something.”

Joel's head tilted. “Just so you know, I don't want to have sex with you.”

“That's okay. People don't. Generally. Want to have sex with me.”

Joel smiled. “It's too bad Daniel isn't here. We should buy him a present. Let's go to the gift shop.”

*   *   *

Finally they were allowed to leave the state dinner, and Hwa could go back to her room check up on any news about Layne's death. To her surprise, the NAPS had rushed Layne's toxicology report. Maybe Rivaudais had pulled some strings—he wanted to clear that food safety inspection, after all. Prove that it wasn't his liquor that had killed an innocent member of USWC 314's tech support. That it was an allergy, or an accident, something he could fire somebody over and be done with it. And that's exactly what the report ruled: Layne's throat had closed suddenly due probably to an anaphylactic reaction, and she'd asphyxiated. There was no explanation for the foam in her mouth.

Hwa flopped back on the bed. The images followed her gaze, strobing across the ceiling. Calliope. The Aviation. Layne. Layne on the floor of the Aviation, pink oozing out of her mouth and onto her hair, her eyes wide.

“Go Jung-hwa.”

Layne was talking. Her eyes didn't move, but her mouth did. She spoke through the bloody foam, but it sounded like she had no trouble. Like she was just chewing on some gum, or some candy. Like the bubbles in her mouth were sweet.

“You should get your eyes checked, Hwa.”

“I just had them checked,” Hwa told her. “Dr. Mantis checked them.”

“Check them again.”

“I'm fine. My eyes are fine. My brain is fine.”

“You're not fine. You're really fucked up.”

“Yeah. Well. I'm not dead. That's something.”

“You have a blind spot. A big one.”

“No, I don't. Dr. Mantis said I don't.”

“It's a big black hole in your vision, Go Jung-hwa. And you're going to fall into it.”
Layne's mouth opened. Hwa saw down inside it. It wasn't pink, or even red. It was black and huge and deep and cold. Like the ocean.
“You're going to fall into it, just like the rest of us, Hwa. Hwa. Hwa. HWA!”

She sat up. Joel had both his arms up, forearms out, blocking the sweeping blade of her arm. Sweat rolled down her neck. Slowly, stiffly, she lowered her arm.

“Your lights were still on,” Joel said. “And you were shouting.”

The adjoining rooms were to help her protect him, not the other way around. So much for that idea. She ran a hand over her face. “Sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“I had a bad dream. That's all.”

Joel turned around. The images from Layne's and Calliope's files were still projected up on the ceiling. “Well, no wonder.”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry.” She raised her arm to wave the pictures away, but again Joel blocked her movement.

“Are those your friends?”

“Aye.” Hwa nodded. “They are. Were. They
were
my friends.”

Joel sat down on the bed. He tucked one leg under him and leaned back. “Two USWC 314 members, both with Krebs machines in their bodies, a month apart.” He raised his voice slightly. “Prefect, does time of death for each of these women match the same phase of the moon?”

“No.”

Joel shrugged. “Just a guess. Sometimes these things are lunar.”

“These things?”

“Serial killers.”

Hwa shook her head. “No. It's not that. Layne died when she was at the bar with me. Not like Calliope.”

Joel turned to look at her. “Your friend died right in front of you?”

Hwa's lips went hot. She looked at her knees. It occurred to her that her arms and legs were bare—she was just in a singlet and her underwear—and Joel hadn't even mentioned her stain. Jesus, the kid was so good. Great, even. Zachariah Lynch was right. His youngest really was the best of the line.

“Yeah,” she said. “She died right in front of me. I couldn't…” She clamped her lips shut for a moment. “It happened really fast.”

Joel grabbed another pillow and placed it behind his head. Then he lay down perpendicular to her along the foot of the bed. “Prefect?”

“Ready.”

“Confirm Joel Lynch.”

A pause.
“Confirmed.”

“Execute override code Juliett Lima Oscar, 080378.”

Slowly, the mosaics over the redacted forensics reports dissolved away to reveal complete documents. More images appeared. So did other documents—and they looked to be internal memos, with the Lynch letterhead over all of them.

“What did you just do?”

“I have a backdoor to the Prefect system.” Hwa watched Joel pull up Calliope's and Layne's reports. He blew past all the personal data and opened up the designs of the Krebs machines. “Requesting profile data on all team members related to Krebs development, including classified material.” A series of folders with headshots and employee ID numbers appeared. Joel turned to her. “Anything in particular you think we should look for?”

Hwa stretched out alongside him to stare at the ceiling. “Filter out all developers not living in New Arcadia.”

A significant number of employees faded from view.

“Fifteen men and five women,” Joel said. “We really have to work on that ratio.”

Hwa checked her watch. “Prefect, if I gave you my old password to the Belle de Jour system, could you try to match these names against client and appointment data? They'll be encrypted.”

Another long pause.
“That will not be a problem.”

“User G-O space J-U-N-G hyphen H-W-A; password G-zero-F-C-K-Y-R-dollar sign-L-F.”

“Nice,” Joel said. “Subtle.”

Prefect showed them four files: three men, and one woman. The woman and one of the men were a married couple. Two weeks ago, they'd visited a nice Russian girl named Maria together. It wasn't their first meeting with her; they'd met earlier in September, and from Maria's review of the encounter, it looked like it was going to be a regular thing. Maria mentioned no feelings of doubt or weirdness about the arrangement—they had not asked her to do anything that wasn't previously outlined in their initial conversation, and had not tried to overstay their time or undercharge for fees. They paid on time and made new appointments the same day. In other words, perfect clients. Hwa screened them out.

The two profiles that were left looked eerily similar. Two white guys with programmer tans and the same deer-in-the-headlights expression that everyone wore while being issued an ID badge. Their names were Smith and Mueller. Mueller was a relatively new hire from Arizona. He'd written his dissertation on sustainable methods of extracting energy from experimental matter. Before that, he'd served in the JROTC. Technically, he was still a member of the National Guard, even if he was working in Canada on a visa. By contrast, Smith was Canadian. His doctorate came from Waterloo. He had been with the company for fifteen years.

His profile was covered in redactions.

Hwa pointed at the profile. “What are all those logos, at the top of the page? Above all the black parts, I mean.”

“Those are project logos. They're so you can see at a glance what people have worked on. See, there's the logo for Project Poseidon.” He pointed. Hwa recognized the image from the sign indicating the experimental reactor. But there were others: a single drop of blue on a white ground, a red dragon rampant, a circle of white dots on a green square. That last one reminded her of something, but she couldn't remember what.

“Prefect, what other projects beside Poseidon has Smith worked on?”

“Project Clearwater, Project Blake, Project Changeling.”

Changeling. How did that image and that word match up? How were fairy babies switched with human ones at all reminiscent of a ring of white on grass green? She'd read the Irish folk tales in Mrs. Cavanaugh's class, just like everyone else in New Arcadia. And changelings were switched in the cradle. They didn't come from fairy rings.

And just like that, she knew. She knew exactly where she'd seen that image before.

“Hwa? Is something wrong?”

For a kid with an anti-feeling chip, he was still pretty damn good at reading her. She turned to Joel. She forced some sheepishness. Faked embarrassment. “Just realizing I forgot to report to Síofra,” she said.