Kaleidocide (11 page)

Through the other side of the glasses, which did not contain the image of Saul, I could see that Min had re-entered the room, obviously finished his reconnaissance and ready to report. So I said thanks to the ghost, and asked him if it had any last word of advice.

“Pray,” it answered. “Pay a lot and pray a lot. That about sums it up.”

I was about to hang up when Min spoke up in an amplified voice, designed to supersede any audio in my glasses: “Sir, do I hear the shower running? Is Mrs. Ares in there?”

“Yeah…?” I said, puzzled at first, but then realized why he was asking. Terrey had said not to touch any water until safety measures were in place, and neither Lynn nor I had taken it seriously enough to remember it.

I shot to my feet and held out a hand to Min, communicating that I would check on her myself. Then I moved toward the door, fast at first, but then slower because I realized that if the shower water was booby-trapped in some way, Lynn would already be dead. She would be slumped on the floor of the tub with the deadly acid or poison or whatever still spewing out from the showerhead.

I stepped through the door to our bedroom and then to the threshold of the big bathroom, the sound of the water now seeming overamplified in my ears, and my heart pounding in my chest. I was filled with dread as the shower came into view and I called Lynn's name. There was no reply, but soon I could see her pregnant shape through the semiopaque door, and I could see that she was rinsing her hair. I was so relieved that I punched the button and slid the door open without thinking how it might scare her, and sure enough she jumped and let out a little shout when she saw me. I only refrained from hugging her because I didn't want to get soaked, and I reminded her of what Terrey had said and asked her to shut off the water. She said “I'm done anyway” and obliged.

While she was replying, a voice in my ear said something also, like “Pardon me, Michael?” I was still connected to Saul's ghost, who had waited silently in the glasses for my next question or comment.

“Lynn was almost killed,” I said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs,” said the ghost with a sad expression on its face. Apparently it had misunderstood what I was saying, because of the time lapse, the background noise, or my exaggerated comment. Another glitch.

“Sorry,” I said. “I gave you the wrong impression. Lynn's fine. You were saying something about paying and praying, to save me from the kaleidocide.”

Another pause, then the ghost said, “Pay a lot and pray a lot. That about sums it up.”

I thanked it again, and hung up. Why I was thanking a computer program, I don't know, but I just shook my head and went back out to the living room to see what Min had learned about the triplets.

 

12

SAVING LIVES

“I interviewed them,” Min said about the triplets, “and they allowed me a limited look inside.”

“Inside their minds,” I said. “Their cyber whatever … not their bodies, right?”

“Right. But I could see their physical capabilities as well, which are considerable, though not at my level.” Was the big machine-man capable of pride? I supposed so, though he didn't show it. “Their mental capabilities, however, are unprecedented. The fact that they were engineered from birth by the Japanese scientists allowed their systems to accommodate the wetware more successfully than those of us who have added it later. And the fact that they share the same DNA gives them a unique ease of interaction, because they can totally avoid the translation problem that limits most other neurocybernetic communication. They are like one person with three brains, which of course they were originally.”

“They were?” I said, catching some of it. “Oh, the same DNA. They were ‘Siamese triplets.'”

“Yes, separated and augmented at some time after they were born. If they were born.” He paused and looked away, either processing more of his data or deciding whether to say something. “But I have to say that there seems to be even more to them than can be explained by their distinctive physiology.”

“What do you mean?”

“Their capabilities exceed their augmentations. In other words, they seem to have supernatural powers—and I use the term in a technical sense—or at least natural ones that I cannot see.”

“Do you think there is such a thing?” I asked, referring to supernatural powers, of course, because the ghost had just mentioned the idea. And it had become a topic of mild interest to me in the last year, since Saul Rabin was by far the most intelligent person I had ever met who believed in them. As to whether the old man was entirely sane, however, that jury was still out in my mind. So I was curious to know if Min shared his metaphysical perspective.

“My background is purely atheistic and naturalistic, as is much of China, of course. I have to admit that Mr. Rabin challenged my assumptions, but they remain basically unchanged. Perhaps I am more of an agnostic than an atheist now, but until proven otherwise, I would still say that the mysteries of life are a result of natural causes we simply have not discovered yet.”

I wondered briefly why Saul had hired and confided in Min, knowing the big cyborg didn't share the beliefs that seemed so important to him, or at least to his late wife. For that matter, I still hadn't figured out how religious the Mayor really had been, and how much was merely in deference to Mrs. Rabin.

“What are those designs on parts of their skin?” I asked about the triplets. “It looks like the decorative nanotech that I've seen, but professionals don't usually wear it at work.” Nanotechnology hadn't turned out to be the wonderware that many had predicted, because there wasn't yet a power source small enough to extend its life long enough to accomplish significant tasks. But it was big in the clothing and “new tattoo” markets.

“That's what it is,” Min said. “The metal patches underneath could be removed or covered up with cosmetic modification, but they leave them intentionally as a mark of identity, as most of us do.” He gestured to the two jackpatches clearly visible at the bottom back of his bald skull; I knew they were only necessary for emergencies, because he could do almost everything wirelessly. “The colorful ornamentation added by the triplets is, we could say, the female version of this tradition.”

This reference made me wonder whether the triplets were “sexless” like Min, but the clock in my head told me I had indulged too much curiosity already. I needed to proceed to what really mattered.

“Should we hire them?” I asked.

“From what I could tell in a brief interview, I don't see any reason not to. I asked them why they chose this line of work, while I was far enough in to confirm the truthfulness of their answers. Their special talents, combined with the fact that they enjoy money and thrills, like anybody would, leaves them with basically two options: they can either be paid to end lives, or to save lives. They chose the latter because, as they said, ‘We died many times during our creation, and we know how bad it hurts.' Also, they have no love for China and its current leader, and they seem eager to act against his interests.”

“You say
current
leader,” I said, “as if you don't expect him to rule for too long.”

“One can only hope,” he answered.

“Okay,” I said, making up my mind. “Bring Terrey in. I'll ask him a few questions, and if it looks okay, we'll go for it. Then we'll hope there
is
a God out there, and that he or she's on our side.”

“But we'll take five stones,” Min said as he turned toward the door, to unlock it for Terrey to enter.

“What?”

“Mr. Rabin used to say, ‘Trust in God, but take five stones.' From David and Goliath, I think.”

“Oh,” I said, but the reference was lost on me, and soon Terrey was back in the room.

“Tell me what I have to do to survive this,” I said to him.

“You have to do exactly what I tell you to do,” he answered.

“Which is what?”

“I can't tell you much now, because it's fluid and you haven't hired me yet.”

“Help me to hire you. Tell me some things we would do.”

“Well, the first thing is to get Lynn away from you and secure so she won't become collateral damage.”

So far so good,
I thought.

“Then the next thing we would do,” Terrey continued, “is change up your entire security force, remove anyone who's had any prior access to you.” He looked at Min. “With one exception, of course.”

“Why the changes?”

“Because one thing that happens every time Sun wants to kill someone,” he said, “is that his people manage to turn a mate against the target, or plant someone close to him. I think there's something about betrayal that turns him on.”

“You just passed Saul's hiring test with flying colors,” I said, no pun intended. “What else?”

“I'd rather get paid for the rest.”

“How much?” This was Lynn, coming through the door to the bedroom, through which she must have been listening. I was reminded of the running joke between us that she was a better detective than I.

“The bad news is that I get a million dollars a day for every day I keep you alive,” he said matter-of-factly. “The good news is that all our expenses and salaries come out of that.”

“Big bikkies,” I said.

“You can afford it,” he said. “And you have to.”

“For how long?”

“Thirty days max, then renegotiation if necessary. But it will all go down in half that time, I assure you. You'll be dead by then or the attempts will have failed or been exposed.”

“But you don't know how many attempts there will be, right? So how will you know if they're done?”

“Good question. It's never happened, because no one's ever survived that long. So we'll play it by ear, hence the thirty-day limit.”

“Why can't we just pay the Chinese guy thirty million dollars,” Lynn said, “to call off his kaleidoscope thing?”

“Good luck with that” was all Terrey said.

“I don't think money's a big priority for him, Lynn,” I added, then glanced at her and Min. “Listen, I think I've heard enough. Let's get on with this, unless anyone has an objection.”

No one said anything, so we got on with it. Terrey gave us the info on a havened bank account hidden under enough ice to sink the
Titanic,
and we transferred one million BASS dollars to it, to be repeated once a day at the same time until I was dead or free from danger, whichever came first.

Just seconds after the payment was confirmed and Terrey was officially hired, he reached out and touched Lynn's damp hair and asked her if she had taken a shower. She pulled away and said yes, and my old friend turned toward me and singed my ears with a string of military-style profanity. The gist of his rant, interspersed between vulgar references to human anatomy and maternal intimacy, was that I had better pay attention and do what he says, or I would regret it deeply.

“I didn't even think about it when she said she was taking a shower,” I said. “Sorry, Lynn.”

“You
are
sorry, you…” And Terrey let out another string, and then sent some Lynn's way because she should have known better.

“Can we still get our million dollars back?” Lynn said to me.

“No, he's right, honey,” I said. “We'll listen, Terrey. But if you don't mind, BASS has kind of an unwritten rule about bad language.”

“What's up with that?”

“In honor of Saul,” I said with an embarrassed shrug. “Who probably did it in honor of his wife.”

“I thought you were in charge here.”

“I am,” I said. “And it makes sense to me.” Not an entirely truthful answer, but one I thought both Lynn and Min would appreciate. In Mrs. Rabin's orphanage, where Lynn had been raised, such moral traditions were an important part of the curriculum, and Min valued respect and respectfulness as high as anything.

“Professionalism, intelligence, and distinctiveness,” a raspy voice suddenly rang out, and a holo of Saul Rabin's ghost was standing in the room among us, leaning on his cane. Min had obviously accessed the construct through the net room, probably because he knew it would do a better job explaining this than I could. Min's reverence for the old man was creating an awkward moment—not the first time it had happened—but out of deference to him I let the ghost talk.

“First, at least some people consider it unprofessional to use profanity on the job, and any benefit it might possibly provide is not worth the risk of potential marks on our reputation. Second, profanity is often a sign of a limited vocabulary, a lack of creativity, and a lapse in mental discipline, and if someone cannot find a way to communicate effectively without it, he or she is not capable of functioning at the level our work demands. Third, this policy sets us apart from other organizations and shows how serious we are in our pursuit of excellence. Professionalism, intelligence, and distinctiveness.”

“Sounds like something from a Middle School speech class,” Terrey said to me, and I shrugged again. “State your main points at the beginning and the end…”

“I can hear what you're saying, Mr. Thorn,” the ghost said in a gruff voice. “I am a fully interactive construct, and I heard what you said before, also, because all oral and textual data that Min receives is passed on to me.”

Silently, Terrey mouthed to me the words
Can he see me, too?
I shook my head no, and he promptly gave Saul the backward peace sign that was known in England as “the two-fingered salute” and in Australia as “the forks.”

“Fine,” Terrey said as he made the gesture, which is similar to “the finger” in America. “Look, I'll cut the shite if you'll tell these two to do what I say.” He now gestured toward Lynn and me, already forgetting that the ghost couldn't see him. “So I can save the buggers' lives.”