Living in Syn (18 page)

Mission
stared at the walls of his room for more than ten minutes.  Finally he picked
up the com and called Susan.

"Hi.
This is Mission.  I need to talk to you."

Mission,
I have nothing to say to you.  Why don't we just write this off as ..."

"No
Susan.  I need to talk about business."

"We
can talk tomorrow while we set up the diagnostics room."

"No,
I don't want anyone else to hear this.  Has it ever occurred to you that you
could minimize the time spent with me by simply giving me what I need?  Then I
would have no excuse to hang around."

"Fine. 
Give me five minutes and then come over."

She
answered the door, wearing a robe.  He could see indications of a flimsy black
garment underneath, probably translucent.  He decided that he lived in a hell
of his own design.  She obviously felt no inclination to invite him to sit on
the bed, so he sat on the floor and then turned to face her.

"I've
been thinking about the psychological profile you’re working on and I'm certain
you were right when you noted that measures were only popularized when the
scores spread across the spectrum.  And that makes them useless for our purposes. 
So I started thinking about an alternate approach."

"I
remember you mentioning the emotions as a limbic system.  Does that mean the
synthetic brain also has corresponding neo-cortex and R-Complex areas?"

Susan
nodded.  "Yes.  What you call neo-cortex handles conscious thought and
other higher brain functions.  And the analogous R-Complex area handles the
most primitive activities.  Functions outside conscious control like
involuntary systems, primary movement control, those types of things. 
Why?"

"I
think we’ll find our answer there.  With the human mind, we have no way to see
the processing building blocks.  But we can pull the synthetic brain R-Complex
computer programs and examine them.  Looking at the code will be the
inspiration for a conclusive test to distinguish syns from humans.  What do you
think?"

"I
think it merits investigation.  Why do you need to discuss this with me?"

Mission
stared at her.  "You designed the brain.  Why wouldn't I want the benefit
of your expertise?"

"You
have made it clear that you see my work as fatally flawed."

He shook
his head.  "And I thought it was me who was going crazy.  On the scale of
achievements, the synthetic is so far ahead of any other work, that it's
unreasonable to even compare it to other technologies.  But that doesn't mean
it's perfect and it certainly isn’t above criticism."

He put
his hands on his forehead.  "But this is moot.  Will you help me in talking
to Elliot?  If we can explain this properly, I think he can provide us with the
answer."

She nodded
and said, "I’ll work on scheduling a call to Earth tomorrow morning."

She
stood and said stiffly, "Is there anything else?"

Mission
put a hand on his forehead and said, "Yes.  There is nothing that forces
you to be civil with me on a personal level.  But in terms of business, can't
we call a truce?  Our lives may depend on us working together.  Remember, I
work for Paradox now.  Our paths may cross every day."

She
looked toward the ceiling and said, "I never should have spoken to the
professor about you."

Mission
said, "You what? You interfered and then lied to me about it?  Why would
you do that to me?"

Susan
exploded back.  "Because I knew how much it would mean to you."

"If
I didn't earn it, it means nothing.  You know what?  At least before I let you
cloud my judgment, I was pretty much illusion free.  Okay?  I knew I would end
up like Miller someday, beaten to death and left with the garbage in the
alley.  But at least I pay my way.  I don't ask other people to solve my
problems.  That's all I had.  But you've even taken that.  And why?  I mean,
what am I?  An ornament for your dashboard?  A pet to replace your mechanical
friend?"

Mission
immediately regretted that. It hurt Susan.  "You bastard.  I just wanted
to help you."

"Don't
you get it?  If I didn't earn it, I don't want it.  I don't play the lottery. 
I don't want money unless I earn it!   And I don't want any goddamned job they
create for the doctor's pet.  When you get Paradox, tell Matlin I need to speak
with him.  If he's not available, I'll transmit a letter.  But I'll be a
tracker tomorrow.  The only way this could get any worse would be to die still
carrying this phony title."

The door
slammed shut with brutal finality.  Susan started to cry, burying her head in
her pillow.  She would never admit, even to herself how much she wanted this to
work.  But he alternated between treating her like a glass figurine and a cold
hearted bitch out to skewer his heart and roast it over a spit.  And she
betrayed her prejudices against the working class at every turn. The biggest
mystery was why she kept trying.  Best to focus on the work.  He would lose
interest soon enough and this mess would end.

The tour
added more testimony to the efficiency of Atwood and his city of New Angeles. 
He showed them the locator ID number on every room.  The first letter indicated
the hub, which could be A, B, or C.  The following digits indicated spokes and
tracks on the surrounding wheel, enabling one to easily navigate through the
station.

He had
them watch a fifteen minute safety video with an explanation of procedures in
case of a fire or a breach in the hull of the city.  He showed them the
indicators present in every room and sprinkled through the hallways that turned
red if the air quality reached unacceptable levels.  And he provided emergency
numbers  and detailed several routes to the med tech facility.

They met
the scientists (except for Dr. Mendoza who was working for the next two weeks
with a team on Titan) and glimpsed at their work.  They performed geological
surveys all over Triton, and looked at new methods of refining the mined ores.

They
talked briefly with the manufacturing team.  Early on, the team members
realized it would be foolish to use the titanium mined there to build space
station components.  It brought a much better price on earth where lightweight
materials fetched a premium.  Thus the team's first goal was to shift a small
part of the mining operation over to a focus on iron ore.  This would allow
them to refine on site and to produce high strength steel for space stations. 
They had started construction on a fourth hub with plans to dedicate most of
the space to manufacturing.  Their visions were impressive.

  Next
they visited general services.  Greg Benton was a bundle of energy as he
handled calls coming in constantly from the various areas under his control. 
His blond hair appeared to take at least an hour to sculpt into such a state of
perfection.  His clothes crackled crisp and bright with sharp creases.  He took
them to see the law enforcement section and meet the shift captain.  They
currently held two employees, both on public drunkenness charges stemming from
rowdy behavior at the bar.  They wore the miner's coveralls and hung their
heads.  This would cost them any bonus they might have earned for the
quarter.     

After
that, they visited the med tech station.  One man sat in the waiting room and a
nurse was visible behind the window.  Mission walked up to the window and
introduced himself.

"I
see you're not too busy right now.  I bet it's a welcome change from the crowds
that are usually in this place."

He
smiled back at Mission.  "Yep."

Mission
looked around the room, but couldn't find what he looked for.  Everyone else
was already waiting on him, so he left.

Atwood
took them to the last stop on the tour, the rooms set aside for diagnostics. 
Something seemed wrong.  The rooms were simply two living quarters with an
adjoining door.  They would be adequate in terms of power supply and computer
networking connections, but all this should already be in place.  Mission
started to think about what they hadn't seen on the tour.  The mining
operation, the refining plant, the manufacturing complex in progress, a
non-denominational chapel, the exercise facility, and ... and the maintenance
shop for the syns!  That's why these rooms didn't make sense to him.  They
should already have rooms to take care of ongoing care and repair.

Jeff
Taylor had told him that the syn hookers on Io stayed so busy, they had to be
serviced once a month to replace the fluids.  He couldn't remember the
maintenance schedule for mining models, but he was willing to bet it ran
something like every 300 mining hours to check fluid levels in the elbows and
knees and to realign the spine.

Maybe
that shop was too busy to deal with yearly diagnostics.  Over 1000 syns, an
average of six visits a year, meant 110 to 120 visits a week to the shop.  That
didn't sound like a killer workload.  And they had to size the facility
bigger.  A mining accident like a cave in couldn't wait for a shop geared to
take patients two or three at a time.

And what
about the mining and refining?  Why didn't Atwood show them the operation? 
Mission debated whether to ask about it.  If something was going on, it would
alert them to his suspicions.  On the other hand ...

The Dick
said, "Hey, Atwood.  You showed us the salad and the after dinner mints,
but no steak and potatoes.  You know?  Why didn't you show us the mining?"

Atwood
was a skilled manager and nothing betrayed any feelings toward Denman as a
person or an efficiency analyst.  He peered over his glasses and said,
"Well, Dick ... that's a tall order.  You see, my assignment is to first
and foremost, see to this group's safety.  The prospect of putting on
pressurized suits, going out on the surface, covering terrain at 1/6 gravity,
quite different from gravity boots I assure you, through zero visibility
methane gasses, and climbing down into the mining operation, is fraught with
danger.  But I can show you video clips of the mining process."

Denman
had his hand on the back of his neck and he shook his head vigorously. 
"No.  No good.  I coulda looked at the video from my desk back on Earth. 
I have to see the real thing.  Do we understand each other?"

Atwood's
expression took on more focus but his voice remained quite even.  "I
understand you quite clearly.  I will try to arrange a visit during our
lightest shift."

Mission
jumped in.  "I’d like to make the visit as well."  Major Pierce and
Montag echoed his sentiments.  Atwood paused for a moment and then said,
"Well, well.  A crowd of thrill seekers."  He turned and exited the
room.

Susan
said, "We can set up the rooms and be ready to begin diagnostics in two
hours.  No, we haven't had lunch.  Three hours."

Mission
looked carefully at the opposite wall and asked, "Have you set up the call
we discussed?"

"Yes,
the station will establish the connection at 2:00."

"Will
Matlin be there?"

"No,
he's at a science conference in Seattle and hasn't checked his messages in
three days."

Mission
walked over to one of their crates and punched the combination that released
the locks.  He looked at the equipment without enthusiasm.  He didn't know why
but he felt sure the diagnostics would tell them nothing.  But they had to go
through the motions.  And that's how he felt just now.  He was going through
the motions.

  The
call connected as promised.  Even with state of the art relay stations, there
was a 21 second delay.  This yielded some very positive effects.  First, no one
interrupted.  There was no point since your interjection didn't reach the other
party until their thought was finished.  Second, it forced you to organize your
thoughts before speaking.  You wasted loads of time by just blurting out
thoughts that required refinement, or greater detail.

Elliot
understood immediately what Mission and Susan looked for.  He promised to
enlist help from the other lab fanatics, and to test any possibilities on a
factory model. 

That
business concluded, Mission said, "Elliot, I understand that the professor
isn't available."

Elliot
nodded.  "Right.  He won't be back for almost two weeks."

"Who's
acting in his place?"

Elliot
looked puzzled.  "Jack.  Jack Wellborn.  He always runs the day to day
stuff."

Mission
nodded.  "Okay, I'm going to transmit a memorandum now.  Would you see
that Jack gets it?"

Susan's
knuckles turned white from gripping her chair seat.  Her lips quivered.  She
couldn't stand it anymore.  "Mission, please don't.  Please."

Mission
turned around to face her and shook his head.  "I don't have a choice,
Susan."

He
brought the memo up on the screen for a minute.

November
1

Professor
Fenwicke Matlin

Paradox
Research and Development

The
purpose of this memorandum is to submit my resignation, effective immediately. 
I wish to revert to my status as an independent working for Paradox on a task
by task basis.  As to my current work, I trust you to make an equitable
arrangement for my services.  Paradox has always treated me fairly and I am
confident that you will continue to do so.

I
hope my resignation will not inconvenience you or the company's operations.  I
will always regard the position offered me as an honor without equal.

Sincerely,

Mission

He
transmitted the file and one brief sob escaped Susan's lips.  Mission looked at
her and then spoke softly.

"Susan,
I didn't do this to hurt you.  I did it because I have to."

He held
out his hand and said, "Come on.  We've got work to do."

She
wouldn't take his hand, but she did stand up.  She wiped her face with a
tissue, and they moved over to the diagnostics area.

Five
hours of diagnostics exhausted them all except Montag.  They finally settled
into a routine and then killed themselves trying to make decent time.  They
checked the list and marked the names as each synthetic reported.  Then Susan
put on plastic gloves, opened the back of the head, and initiated diagnostics. 
This required about twenty-five minutes of dedicated brain processing.  Next
one of them would connect a datalink between the brain and the storage cell,
and download the file.  Then Montag would swab the broken skin with antiseptic,
tape the area shut, and send them on their way.

They
looked at each other thinking the same thought.  This was only five hours. 
Tomorrow they would do nine or ten.

Mission
said, "Can we make the gravity shoes workout at 7:00 tonight?"

Carson
said, "Yeah, that way I can hit the sheets early."

Susan
said, "I don't think I can make it."

Mission
never looked back as he answered, "Suit yourself."

Now even
Montag wondered what was going on between them. 

Meanwhile,
Dick Denman sat down with Arthur Atwood.  Denman put his feet up on Atwood's
desk and lit a cigar.

Atwood
was irritated.  "It is illegal to smoke anywhere in this city."

Denman
smiled.  "I think you're going to overlook it."

In the
privacy of his office, Atwood no longer felt restrained by the responsibility
of his office.  " I see no reason to drag this out. What is it you
want?"

"Right
to the chase.  You really want me out of here don'tcha?"

He swung
his feet back to the floor and leaned over the desk, resting his elbows on the
polished surface.  "To tell the truth, I got two agendas.  The company has
certain needs with regard to this operation.  And, I have some needs of my
own.  You might have heard ... I have some legal expenses to pay."  He blew
a smoke ring with the utmost confidence.

Atwood's
face was impassive.  "What does the company want?"

"I
would think you could guess that.  They want Paradox to come away with some
very typical diagnostics.  Very simple.  No publicity, no problems."

"I see. 
Fortunately, we both want the same thing.  And what of your needs?"

"Well,
I need my account enlarged.  It's funny ... the least little word to the
Paradox team could break this whole thing wide open and that would be
embarrassing to Pioneer.  But for you ... for you it would be catastrophic. 
You know, we have a group of friends that got this whole thing started.  And
before they would let their involvement become public, well ... it's pretty
frightening, isn't it?"

"I
didn't hear you mention an amount."

"How
much was your company bonus last year?  About $500,000?  Yeah, I think that's
pretty close."

Denman
got up to leave.  "I'll need to see the transfer record before we leave. 
You know, the company just loves this place.  You beat projected yield and come
in under budget, every quarter.  How do you do it?"

He
laughed and walked out.  Atwood pulled out a compact disc and contemplated it. 
"I recorded it all, you disgusting little man.  Now please do something
stupid that gives me a way to use this."

He put
away the disc and activated his com.  "Yes, we talked.  Only money,
$500,000.  If we need the time, we pay.  If not..."