Living in Syn (19 page)

Mission
tried to achieve oblivion through exhaustion.  He pounded as hard as possible
through every exercise.  He pushed to the limit at every turn and jumped up
after a crash like nothing had happened.  Finally he wore Carson out, and then
he forced Montag to race him.  The final hour turned into an all-out blur,
trying desperately to keep up with the synthetic.

Dripping
with sweat, he took a fast shower and shuffled back to his room.  He turned on
the vue screen and found a Fine Arts Presentation on the life of Ravel.  Good. 
The first piece they played was his Piano Concerto for the Left Hand.  His mood
was perfect for the dark maelstrom of violins against the churning arpeggios on
the low end of the piano.

He
searched through his luggage and found his contraband.  Jose Cuervo and
cigarettes.  He drank.  His head swayed appreciatively to Ravel's ballet, Chloe
and Daphne.  He drank some more.  Now his piano sonata began.  Its rippling
rhythmic textures blended to form an entirely separate melodic thread.  It
always reminded him strongly of the seashore.  He drank some more.

There
was a knock at his door.  He picked the Glock up and then put it back down. 
Screw it.  "Come in."

Susan
came in, her eyes tired and red.  She wore black slacks and a white cotton top
that made it obvious she wore nothing underneath.  It was true.  She was trying
to kill him.  She stood inside, waiting.

Mission
said, "Want a drink?"

She
didn't answer, but walked over and poured a shot in the only other glass.  She
downed it without comment.  Mission lit another cigarette.  She didn't even
remind him it was illegal.  She sat down on the bed as far away from Mission as
she could. 

Mission
motioned to the screen.  "You like Ravel?  He's my favorite 20th century
composer."

She had
no answer.  The first pianissimo strains of Bolero wafted through the room like
the first rays of sunrise through the clouds.  Mission said, "Why are you
here?  I've resigned.  You've stepped out of the relationship before it even
started.  I won't try to force it.  You're free.  No loose ends."

The
tears in Susan's eyes were the only sign that emotion struggled to break free
of her control.  She said, "You are so goddamned stupid and stubborn.  You
don't understand what I want at all."

"And
you understand what I want?  If you did, you never would have intervened with
the professor."

Susan's
eyes flashed.  "I understood that you wanted that job.  And I tried to
make it happen.  I know helping someone you care for is way out of line."

Mission
exploded.  "You don't know me.  You have no idea what it's like for people
without an education, without a professional life.  I've never taken a handout
in my life, and I'm proud of that.  Sometimes I feel like it's the only thing I
have."

Susan
nodded.  "Fine.  As a matter of fact, that's just like my father.  The
kind that finds it easy to give but impossible to receive.  Well, this may come
as a shock, but it's just as important to be able to accept help.  But you know
why you don't want it?  Because you're afraid it may obligate you to someone,
that you might become part of a real relationship, instead of playing the part
of a disapproving parent doling out an allowance."

Mission
stared at her in amazement.  "Do you really believe that garbage?  You're
the one that can't handle a relationship.  Do you really think I'm buying your
one
criticism of Paradox and we're through
routine?  You had doubts all the
time and that comment was your ticket out."

Now
Susan screamed.  "And I suppose you think there's not a problem when you
make me so furious?"

Mission
trembled with anger.  "Exactly.  You are exactly right.  You treat this
like some mathematical equation where everything has to add up.  Well this
isn't math!  And the fact that you make me mad as hell at the same time I'm in
love with you is perfectly okay.  That's the
human
paradox.  Rich and
complex relationships are built on dozens of emotions, many of them in conflict
with each other."

He put
out his hands, spread them apart and then dropped them.  "I don't worry
about the conflict, because I know how I feel about you."

Mission
trembled from the adrenaline rush of his anger and Susan's eyes still flashed. 
Impulsively, he kissed her, and she responded.  Before they quite knew what
happened, their clothes fell scattered around the room.  Afterwards, Susan
rested her head on Mission's chest as he stroked her back.

"Mission,
could I please get you to reconsider your resignation?"

"Look,
Susan.  I heard what you said about not accepting help, and a lot of it is
true.  But I can't change what I am overnight.  I can keep working on a
contract basis, and if it becomes clear that I can do an engineer's job, I'll
reconsider.  That's the best I can do."

She kissed
his neck and then whispered in his ear, "I know one thing you can do
better."

At
breakfast the next morning, Mission and Susan arrived together, holding hands. 
Even Montag said, "Ohhhh."

Mission
sat down and said, "I think today we should do some reconnoitering."

Carson
said, "Thank God.  Send me anywhere but back to the diagnostics pit."

Montag
said, "What do you plan to look for?"

Mission
looked at Susan.  "Any reports from the diagnostics?"

"Just
the high level summaries, but they’re enough.  All of them contain 100% Paradox
recommended configurations.  Nothing unusual about the reports at all, except
for the high degree of use, the wear and tear factors.  And actually ... that's
not unusual either.  Not in a mining settlement."

Mission
nodded.  "Well, I think we all called that one.  So!  I want to see the
setup where they maintain and repair the synthetics.  I'll bet that's where
they’re modifying these guys before they get to our rooms."

Montag
said, "That is a job best suited to me.  A pair of mining coveralls and
they can't tell me from a New Angeles synthetic."

Mission
looked at Carson who nodded.  "Okay, Montag.  The repair facility is
yours.  Next we need someone to check out the med tech station."

He
looked directly at Susan.  "I probably missed it, but I didn't see a way
to sign in.  No numbers, no sign-in book, no keypad, nothing.  I just need to
know if everything is okay."

Susan
put the back of her hand to her forehead and said, "Suddenly I feel
faint.  It's just the strangest thing."

Mission
said, "That's wonderful Scarlett.  Next is the manufacturing complex in
Hub D.  Wouldn't you like to know what’s really going on in there?"

Carson
said, "That sounds like mine."

Mission
said, "Good.  And that leaves me to check out the mining and refining
operation.  Now ... shall we devote an hour to these tasks, and then meet at
the work rooms to continue with diagnostics?"

Everyone
agreed and stood to leave.  Mission said, "Hold on a minute!  Safety. 
Think safety.  They waited until Carson and I felt the possibility of danger
was past and then came right out of the ceiling for us.  Take no chances.  I
have these for you."

Mission
pulled his com and rapidly punched the keys, "This displays all our com extensions. 
Remember to use the station module numbers to specify your location.  We are
significantly outnumbered here.  If you’re in doubt, a good bet is to retreat. 
Questions?  Fears?  Childhood traumas?  Okay, let's do it."

Susan's
mind raced furiously as she made her way to the med tech station.  She needed a
supportable medical problem that would get her into the examining rooms.  Then
it hit her.  Those gravity boot lessons were paying off.  She came to the
doorway and almost passed it. She opened it carefully and stepped in.  The
waiting room was dark.  Not pitch black.  More like late evening.

From the
corner of her eye she saw a blink of red light.  As she turned, it winked
again.  It was a sensor over the door.  Some light threaded in from the window
between the waiting room and the nurse's station.

"Hello?  
....   Is anyone here?" 

By
leaning in through the window, she could peer down the short darkened hallway. 
As her pupils dilated, she could make out the form of a man sitting in a
chair. 

She
tried again.  "Hello!  Can someone help me?"

Slowly
the figure stood and walked towards her, silently.  Even if Mission hadn't just
given the
death on every corner
speech, she would be scared.  The
darkness and the silence.  She realized she had to get out. 

The door
burst open and the nurse came through it, snarling, "Why are you
here?"

"Well
I'm ... I'm hurt. I ... rammed into the ... the doorjamb trying ... trying to
use these ... uh, gravity boots.  I ... hit my shoulder."

He
looked at her with a sour expression.  "Come on back and I'll take a
look."

As he
turned, Susan said, "I thought maybe you were closed, it was so dark in
here."

He
turned to look at her.  "No, we're never very busy this time of day, so I
turn down the lights and snooze."

The med
tech looked at her shoulder and probed with his fingers.  "That one's a
beaut.  Your body'll be happy to repair it in the next couple of weeks.  In the
meantime, I'll give you something to relieve the pain.  And if the bruised area
should become irritated or begin to drain, call me immediately. Okay?"

"Sure. 
Thanks.  What kind of pain reliever is this?"

"High-dose
acetaminophen.  You make sure you take no more than one every four hours."

"Alright. 
Oh! And the sign in log.  I didn't see it anywhere."

He
tilted his head the way a cat would look at her.  "Stopped using it, since
data records capture every visit anyway."

"But
you didn't make a data record of me."

He
laughed.  "Well the instant you leave I will.  I have to record dispensing
the medication."

Susan
said, "Oh, okay.  Well, thanks again.  Bye."

She
closed the door behind her and breathed a sigh of relief.  She wondered how he
would make that record when he never even asked her name.

Montag
approached his assignment ... well, as expected.  Logically and methodically. 
None of the names on the floor plans suggested synthetic repair.  So he
downloaded power and cable schematics and searched for good candidates.  He
developed a power estimate that he felt confident came within 10%. 

Accuracy
was important, because much bigger power drains dotted a mining settlement. 
The refining and manufacturing operations gobbled power.  There would be
several recharging stations in or near the ready rooms for the miners.  Most of
the individual equipment for the pressurized suits, for handheld instruments,
and for individual lighting ran from rechargeable batteries.  Of course, they
had massive diesel generators with their own oxygen supply for most of the big
tools.

Then he
correlated power requirement matches to data feeds throughout the city and
produced four possibilities.  He decided to investigate them in alphabetical
order.  He noted the time and estimated he could visit only one site before
returning to the diagnostics room. 

He was
acutely aware of the vulnerabilities of the strategy they were employing.  The
advantage was to cover many possibilities in a single day.  The flaw was that
each of the three humans he was charged with protecting was operating in what
could be a very hostile environment, without the benefit of his protector
skills.  He would bring this matter to the attention of Mr. Mission at the
first opportunity.

Major Carson
Pierce felt good for the first time since docking in New Angeles.  Preparation
was important and could even be fun, but it could never compare to the real
thing.  The trouble was, he couldn't be sure what he wanted.  The idea of
battling killer syns seemed great.  Real action with none of the mind numbing
consequences of engaging and killing humans.  He experienced it during the Chinese
Pirate Containment and didn't want to repeat it.  He felt like his emotions,
his very life drained from him until just enough remained to keep him hanging
on.  But in his estimation, the worst part was that he got over it.  The only
way he could explain it was to say the memory of the event remained, but
without any emotional content.  Time simply excised the horror and the sadness
from his mind.  As bad as it felt, he remembered wanting to keep those horrible
feelings alive, to make sure he never forgot how it really felt to kill.

Nevertheless,
he did crave action and synthetics would be a good source.  Unfortunately, the
odds stacked up as a thousand to three.  This would indicate that getting the
appropriate information and getting the hell out was the only sane
alternative.  But perhaps he could lock into a controlled skirmish with two or
three syns.  In truth, the encounter with the female back at Paradox
embarrassed him.  She knocked him down and took his gun.  And while Mission and
Montag both took slugs bringing her down, he did nothing.  Not that he blamed
himself.  He knew that life takes strange bounces sometimes.  But he wanted the
opportunity to balance the books. 

Pierce
looked back down at his com.  One more turn would bring him to the intersection
of the C and D modules.  He turned left and moved rapidly to the hatch.  He
started to open the door and then stopped.  He put his face up to the
translucent portal, trying to see what waited for him.  Something didn't feel
right ... there it was.  The environmental indicators showed red.  He supposed
they weren't ready to pressurize yet.  Still, there should be something to keep
him from opening the door.

He heard
footsteps and realized he didn't want to be found here at the hatch.  He ducked
inside the first door he could open and then closed it and looked through the
portal.  Pierce ignored the light switches, he didn't want lights on when the
pedestrians passed.  They walked by and he noted two men in their twenties
wearing the standard issue coveralls.  They went to the hatch and opened the
door.  As they turned the wheel, a second hatch door slid out of the wall
behind them and produced an airlock.  Once the original door closed again, the
second door disappeared again.  Now that he understood, he was ready for a
visit with a pressure suit.  It occurred to him that the two men were
synthetics since they didn't carry an oxygen supply. 

He
didn't know why, but his hair stood on end.  He sensed someone in the darkened
room with him.  He stayed calm and started to move his hand inside his jacket. 
A hand slapped down on his shoulder, firmly enough to hold him right there.  Pierce
neared panic, trying to get his Stiletto out and pointed at the enemy.  He
tried to reach out with his other arm and push his opponent away.

"Major. 
Major!" the voice whispered.  "It's me.  Montag."

"If
you want to kill me, just rip my heart out, don't scare me to death!"

"I
apologize Major.  I was checking this location as a site for synthetic repair. 
No good."

The Major
nodded.  "Come on.  Let's head toward the diagnostics room.  You know what
you need to do?  You need to sneak up on Mission like that."