Kaleidocide (5 page)

“Not interested,” he said in his high voice. “I had a lot of money once. I lost it all and ended up here.”

“Maybe you could do things differently if you had it again,” the woman said, looking down. “Besides, what have you got to lose? If by some chance you win, maybe it was meant to be.”

“You think this is a game that you ‘win'?” the boy asked, then paused while he scratched his knee. “But what have I got to lose, indeed. I literally have nothing to lose.”

“Thank you,” the construct near to him said. It must have been programmed to recognize that as one of the possible “yes” answers. “Are you male, female, or bi-gender?”

“Male.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-five.”

“What is your IQ or highest level of education completed?”

“A Master's degree.”

“What is your approximate height?”

“Six foot, one half inch.”

“What is your approximate weight?”

“One-ninety.”

“What is your physical location?”

“Fresno, California.”

“Are you in good physical health?”

The little boy paused and started digging in his nose again. In the real world he was thinking,
Now we'll see if they can recognize a lie, or a half-lie at least.

“Yes,” he said.

“Besides depression and suicidal ideation, do have any other mental health issues?”

He was briefly taken aback by their apparent clairvoyance about his issues, but then remembered where he was.

“No,” he answered. Another half-lie. At this point it
was
somewhat of a game to him.

“Do you have any neural implants? And if so, what kind?”

“Yes, the Allware 33 system.” This was true, but he didn't tell them that his contract had lapsed.

“Why do you want to die?”

The boy found this question curious, but he answered: “Like I said, I lost everything.”

“Could we have some pictures of you, or better yet some holos? We can either extract them from your device or cloud, or you can send them to this link.”

“Nuh-uh,” the boy mumbled, mostly to himself. “You better not touch my stuff.”

“I'm sorry, but I'm having difficulty understanding what you're saying. Please try again.”

No way was the boy going to allow this scary software access to his own files, but
What have I got to lose?
echoed in his brain enough times that he ended up sending three holos to them.

Finally, the Asian model asked for his name, social security number, and permission to verify his answers.

“I knew that was coming,” he said, mumbling again.

“I'm sorry, but I'm having difficulty understanding what you're saying. Please try again.”

Again, despite himself, he ended up giving them what they wanted.
What have I got to lose?

Then they disappeared.

“That's it?” he asked no one in particular.

“That was interesting,” the pregnant semi-journalist said. “She went on and on.”

“Remember me if you get the million,” the Sideways Man said, then started spinning and receding until he was gone from the room.

“Those women weren't actually online, right?” the woman asked. “It's just a fancy program sent around to thousands of sights, probably.”

“It was ridiculous,” the little boy said to her. “Some kind of scheme to steal my identity—can't believe I went for it.” He leaned back on nothing again, and clasped his hands behind his head. “Fortunately I won't have an identity to steal after tonight.”

After the brief spark of interest in the mysterious ad, and the temporary flash of what might have been called hope, the hell of a life he was left with seemed even more worthless. And he was more determined than ever to end it.

“I was wondering, J.J.,” the woman said, looking down again. “Before you, uh, go, could you introduce me to some more of the people in here, help me get some interviews? I was even thinking, maybe someone would let me go with them into the private room, and be there with them when they … be with them at the end. You probably wouldn't want to do that, I'm sure, but maybe someone else would. Or would you…?”

The five-year-old began to rock back and forth on his chair of air. He did that for quite a while, in silent contemplation, while the woman's eyes alternately looked up at him and back down at whatever in the real world was drawing their attention.

“Okay,” he said at last, and reached down to scratch his knee.

 

5

THE RUINS OF OAKLAND

“Is this a net room?” Terrey asked, looking around the Sausalito house.

“Of course,” I answered.

“Can I…?” He looked at both Min and me. “I want to show you something.” I nodded to Min, and the cyborg released the blocks on the wireless access to the room without moving or speaking. Apparently Terrey was free from any cyberware in his head, as most educated and wealthy people were, because he had to do more than just think about it. From his belt he removed an earpiece and inserted it, to provide two-way audio, and a small sheath for the top of his index finger, which would allow him to mouse the display that he was apparently seeing in his eyes.

“Contacts man?” I said to him, and he nodded. “I'm a glasses man myself.”

“We can argue about that later,” he said with a smile, while moving his finger almost imperceptibly against his thigh. “But for now, check this out.”

One whole side of the room suddenly became a large screen with an aerial view of Treasure Island, the Bay Bridges extending from each side of it. Then the view zoomed in toward the flat part of the island that was originally a military base, and had been restored to that use during the Taiwan Crisis because of concern for possible Chinese retaliation from the Allies' maneuvers. Since the earthquake it belonged to BASS, with many of its best soldiers and its fleet of Firehawk helicopters commandeered for the peacer force that restored order to the devastated city. That was one of Saul Rabin's many amazing feats, co-opting American military resources for his new empire, then keeping them when the Bay Area was granted independence from the United States. None of this could have happened without the numerous economic and foreign debacles the U.S. had experienced in the decades prior, and without its utter frustration in attempting to provide relief and order to Oakland and the East Bay, which to its regret still belonged to the mainland. But the coup Rabin had accomplished was still amazing, by any standard.

As a base for the helicopter fleet and other peacer resources, Treasure Island also served to bolster the new city-state's sense of security on the East Bay side, where just across the water lay the “wild west.” Since the American government had run out of money and patience following the quake, Oakland especially was a postapocalyptic wasteland populated mostly by criminals and other malcontents, including people that BASS had exiled from the peninsula. Little did I know that we would soon be taking a virtual trip to that wasteland, as Terrey's camera view zoomed farther in to show a black SUV parked at one of the entrance gates to our base on Treasure Island.

“I'd like you to meet the rest of my team,” Terrey said, and we could see three figures emerge from the SUV and approach the gate, their long black coats flapping in the fall winds. When they reached the guard house at the gate, Terrey manipulated his controls and filled our entire room with the holo projection, so that the three figures were life-size, and we were now facing them. It was as if we were there on the tarmac at Treasure Island, except that we couldn't feel the wind coming off the bay.

The rest of Terrey's team was three Asian women, Japanese if my guess was right. They seemed taller than most women, if indeed the scale of the holo was correct, and their faces and necks, which were the only parts of their body visible above the black coats, had some randomly placed spots that at first glance seemed to be covered with metal that was reflecting colors from around it. Upon further inspection, those patches seemed to be small video displays, like living tattoos.

“This is Ni, San, and Go,” Terrey said, gesturing to the women. “Their surname is Shimomura, if you want to check them out, but that name means little to them. They are sisters, triplets actually, so I like to call them
Trois
together, but their names individually.” I noticed that they did seem to be identical, except for the varying patches. They were attractive, but in an unusual way that would take some getting used to. And when they all said “Pleased to meet you” at the exact same time, I felt even more uncomfortable.

“Maybe you shouldn't do that,” Terrey said to them, sensing my reaction. “I'm used to it, but it can be a bit disconcerting to others.
Trois,
this is Michael Ares, his wife Lynn, and his assistant Min.” Just one of the triplets said “Pleased to meet you” this time, with a smile, and we all said hello.

“And yes, you heard right when I said this is the rest of my team,” Terrey continued. “Fact is, I don't need anyone else on a permanent basis. These super-Sheilas are quite sufficient.”

“Are you Japanese?” I asked, sensing in my subconscious that this was important, given the fact that I was being threatened by the Chinese. The same one answered “Yes” (Ni, perhaps, because Terrey referred to her first?). I also made the connection because there was probably genetic experimentation and manipulation involved in their creation, for which Japan was renowned.

“The girls need access to three of your Firehawks, the files for them, and enough onboard weaponry to start a small war,” Terrey said, and both he and I immediately sensed Lynn and Min tensing again. So he explained: “One of the assassination methods is always a direct attack by an assault team. Sun's people hire mercenaries near the target's location, arm them, and embed them as sleepers until the best time for a strike. This usually happens before the other attempts, because of the preparation involved and the limited time they can stay hidden. So I took the liberty to imagine where I would place such a team, and investigated it, hoping that you would indeed hire me. This may be the easiest part of the kaleidocide to figure out, because of all the prep involved and because the Chinese are a little disadvantaged in their thinking regarding American culture, geography, etcetera. They picked a location without exercising much creativity, and I found it by simply guessing some spots that seemed workable from an outside perspective, and then hacking some of the cyberware in citizens who might live there or had passed nearby.” He looked at the triplets. “Or I should say, my associates hacked them.”

“So where is it?” I asked.

“In Oakland, of course. Like I said, not blinding creativity. The easiest place to hide vehicles and weapons within striking distance of BASS territory.” That was certainly true, and one reason why we needed the deterrent of Treasure Island to make our people feel safe. Oakland had been in a state of urban decay even before the earthquake hit; now it was mostly ruins, and outside of our jurisdiction. Our satellite surveillance system, affectionately known as the Eye, could cover the devastated area, but couldn't really see
under
the ruins, where most of the surviving denizens lived and moved.

“Why don't you give us the coordinates?” I said. “And we'll take care of it.”

“Well, frankly, no offense, but the Shimmies can do it way better. Plus as I said, I want to show you what we can do, so you can see why you need to hire us.”

I looked at Lynn, who shrugged, which was her way of telling me that this decision and the rest from now on were up to me, because I knew about this sort of thing and she didn't.

“Give him what he wants,” I said to Min.

*   *   *

Ten minutes later, three of the Firehawk helicopters were in the air over the East Bay, heading for Oakland as the sunset abated to our west. When our blocks were removed, the triplets had wirelessly downloaded the schematics and controls for those birds, and some smaller flying machines inside of them, into the cyberware in their brains. They were processing and integrating the weapons capabilities of the helos en route, and Terrey had shifted the displays in the room so that we could see from each of their perspectives.

“Isn't it a risk to use them for this?” I asked.

“Not really,” Terrey answered. “They're that good.”

“What if one of our Hawks malfunctions? Something out of their control?”

“They're good enough to overcome anything like that.”

“The Hawks are augmented with our antigravity tech,” I said, “so they'll handle differently than other helicopters.”

“They learn very fast.”

He was obviously not worried, so I changed the subject. “Why don't they use the Hawks by remote?”

“They're sharper when they're on site—broader angles, etcetera. But mostly they just love doing this kind of stuff. And any direct action against Red interests
really
appeals to them.”

There had never been any love lost between the Chinese and Japanese, I knew, and the fears and resentment on the island nation's side had increased in recent years, with the Chinese military buildup, imperialistic dictatorship, and attempt to annex Taiwan, whose proximity to the mainland mirrored Japan's.

“So who are the mercs they hired?” I asked.

“Maybe some from farther east. But probably a lot of locals, because they know where to hide and how to get around.”

“What's their exit strategy, do you think?”

“Well, I'm sure their contact told them that there would be other methods in play, so they're rolling the dice that they won't be needed, and can just go home with a fat paycheck and no action.”

“And if they do attack?”