Living in Syn (25 page)

He wiped
his brow again.  Mission hoped he did it for dramatic effect, because his free
perspiration made it a useless gesture.

"Anyway,
they made fabulous money.  Better than we ever hoped for.  I realize now that
we were crazy, but saying nothing seemed the best alternative."

Mission
was confused.  "You keep saying they and them.  They took over.  Well
who?  What country is controlling the city and why haven't you brought in the
military?"

Now
London was mixed up.  "Country?  What are you talking about.  It's them! 
The damned synthetics!  The syns control the city."

Carson
inhaled sharply.  Mission recoiled in shock.  He shook his head, back and
forth, but it didn't help to make sense of the conversation.  He looked back up
at the screen and said, "Bennett.  Help me out.  Why do you think the
synthetics have seized the city?"

"I
don't think it.  This isn't conjecture.  They quietly started sending our key
managers home and substituting their members."

"Is
that why the population dropped so fast in the city?  They're sending the
humans back?"

London's
head hung down, but Mission could still see him nod.  "We don't even know
who's left.  They seized employee records and they handle payroll.  We don't
get anything from that city except for our percentage."

"But
wait.  This still doesn't make sense.  Why didn't you come to us the first time
you had problems with our synthetics?"

London
shook his head.  "I've told you enough to show that we don't want to go
public with this.  That we have a mess here."

Mission
was emphatic.  "No.  You've done just the opposite.  A group of synthetics
that seizes control of a settlement, evicts the humans, and then murders human
visitors, this has to be corrected, whatever the cost."

London
seemed on the verge of an explosion.  "Mission, you just don't understand,
we will all be dead ... "

He
trembled.  His lips quivered and his face was chalk white.  He shook his head
and said, "It started as a broad based test.  You know, to evaluate the
combat potential of synthetics.  We modified them.  We added programming, other
changes.  Frightening changes. Before we knew what was happening …they started
disappearing."

Mission
said,  "Okay, Bennett.  I’ll figure out how to deal with the syns. In the
meantime,  I’ll contact Pioneer legal to work the financial and legal aspects."

London
smiled weakly. Carson looked at his watch and said. "MPs will be there in
three minutes."

The
screen image dissolved to gray and Mission ejected a memory stick.  "We recorded
every word and every gesture.  I think I'll make a copy for each of us."

He
smiled.  "Good.  Now the real work begins."

Carson
joined Susan and Mission for breakfast the next morning.  Mission must have
missed it last night in all the excitement. Carson looked pale and weak, but
there was something more, actually, there was something missing. Mission would
describe Carson as determined. Now the focus in his expression was gone. 

Susan
moved her entire head quite gingerly. Apparently having a handful of hair
yanked out of your head not only hurts like hell, but keeps on hurting for days
afterward. The lines of concern in her face deepened as Mission recounted
yesterday's events.

Carson
shook his head and blurted, "Why in the hell are we even sitting here?  Do
you expect these synthetics to let us live if they think we know their secret? 
They'll butcher us without hesitation."

Mission
said, "No.  Even a mechanical entity will act in its own interests. 
Drawing attention to themselves, particularly military attention would be
fatal.  Why would the military hesitate to vaporize a colony of
synthetics?"

Susan
nodded.  "Yes, we're seeing opposing philosophies at work.  The
controlling group in the city is shrewd.  They quietly place synthetics in key
positions and then cut off data.  They sent humans home, not to the
crematorium.  And they continue to provide profits to Pioneer to make it
difficult for them to take action.  A very, very intelligent plan.  And then we
have a second group.  Their idea of a plan is to burn away the insides of a
person so they could push the rest of us out the airlock.  And less than five
minutes after they opened fire, the controlling forces arrived and obliterated
them."

Mission
smiled.  "Well put, Doctor.  So Montag continues to compile data for me. 
I think it's important to know how many humans are still here, and why they
haven't been evicted yet.  I think I shall test Elliot's
back door
on
selected subjects today.  I'll continue to search for an angle that lets us put
our cards on the table with Atwood."

Carson
looked alarmed.  "What if you don't find anything?"

"I’ll
only wait so long before Round Two with Atwood, and then we talk no matter
what.  But the more we know, the more effectively we handle him."

Carson
said, "Actually, my worries ran in the other direction.  I feared you
might hold things up indefinitely trying to improve your hand."

Mission
shook his head.  "No, there are lives at stake. We need to move. Soon."

Carson
said, "So Susan has her mathematics, Montag is correlating data, you are
preparing for your showdown with Atwood.  What have you got for me?"

"Actually,
I wondered if you could share the details of your investigation before we
crossed paths.  Obviously you developed several good leads and I wondered if we
could re-examine the file with our new knowledge in hand.  It might show
us something you didn't notice before."

"Yeah. 
I'll pull my files on Earth and put them together for us."

Mission
waited for his eyes to adjust to the very dim light in Montag's room and then
leaned over his shoulder to look at the vue screen display.   "And every
time you discover a factor that correlates roughly with population movement,
the addition of that factor in the formula decreases the human numbers and
increases the number of syns?"

Montag
winced. Mission said “Excuse me. Synthetics.”

Montag
nodded. "Yes, but not proportionately.  Resident humans are decreasing
almost three times faster than synthetics are increasing."

"And
how many factors have you added in since the initial four that comprised your
formula?"

"Eleven."

"Eleven! 
This is a definite trend.  Throw your initial formula on a graph with
x
indicating number of variables used and
y
representing population.  Then
use
green
for the line showing humans and
red
for the line
showing synthetics.  Okay?"

Montag
could make over 120 voice commands and simultaneously type 300 words per
minute.  Mission worried that smoke would pour off the computer.  Montag
completed the graph requirements and clicked on a
show me
command to
display the graph.

Mission
whistled softly.  The synthetic population line climbed gradually off the top
of the chart while the human line clearly approached the line
y = 0
as
an asymptote.

Mission
said, "I'm going
seat of my pants
here and saying here at
twenty-five factors, human population is close enough to zero so that the
addition of subsequent factors doesn't result in an appreciable change.  And if
we look at the synthetic population at twenty-five factors we see that ... that
they are almost 2000 strong."

Mission
sat down and considered what this meant.  Montag said, "We must be careful
to remember that these factors are estimates and extrapolations.  We should by
no means consider this exercise accurate."

Mission
shook his head and said, "I know we aren't 100%, but look at the graph. 
No huge gaps or sudden vertical climbs or horizontal leapfrogs.  Each of the
factors are consistent with the remainder in the relative proportions dictated
by those graphs.  As a matter of fact, if you came across a factor that didn't
fit, I would say that it invalidates the factor rather than the formula.  I'm
going to collect some first-hand information."

"How
will you do that?"

Mission
winked at him and said, "I have my ways."  

Carson
and Susan already enjoyed the delectable cafeteria fare when Mission caught up
with them.  He sat down and looked at the few diners at the other tables.

He said,
"I've been conducting my little survey, and let me tell you, nothing is
more fun than shutting down a syn's vocal function.  But I want to ask you two
a question.  Have you seen anyone yet that doesn't fit the syn profile?  You
know, mid-twenties to mid-thirties, great hair, less than 5% body fat.  I mean,
I know extra-terrestrial mining is basically a game for the young, but there
must be some exceptions.  Don't you think?"

Susan
rested her chin on her palm and said, "Hmmm.  Atwood ... But everyone else
could be on one of those dance video programs that
coincidentally
have
only beautiful people as guests."

Carson
said, "But we know Atwood is keeping most of the population away from us. 
Wouldn't you think the remaining humans would be the last ones he'd let us see?"

Mission
nodded.  "That could be.  But why is Atwood supporting this overthrow? 
What's in it for him?"

Susan
said, "Aren't the standard answers money, power, and sex?"

Carson
asked, "Does he have children?  Holding a family member hostage is a
possibility."

Mission
nodded but his eyes saw images far removed from their lunch table.  "And
Dr. Mendoza is off collaborating with scientists on Titan."

Susan
asked, "What?" and when she received no response, she grabbed his
arm.

"Eh? 
Oh, nothing.  It just seems like we have enough data, we just haven't viewed it
through the right template yet."

Carson's
look was one of inquiry, but Susan could only shrug her shoulders.  She too,
had no idea what he was thinking.

Mission
stared at his blank vue screen for more than an hour, completely motionless. 
No external stimulus existed, but he suddenly sat bolt upright.

"Connect
me with Arthur Atwood, please."

Atwood
appeared, not yet looking at the screen.  Somewhat irritably he said,
"Yes, what is it?"

Not
until Mission answered did Atwood realize who called him.

"Hello
Arthur.  How are you?"

"I
am fine, Mr. Mission.  How can I help you?"

"Well,
I hoped we could continue the conversation we started in my room the other
day."

Atwood
smiled just a bit and said, "Of course.  What is on your mind?"

Mission's
expression conveyed polite apology.  "Please excuse me, but I sometimes
find it difficult engaging in serious discussion over a com.  Could we sit down
together to talk?"

Atwood
nodded.  "Certainly.  I have a meeting scheduled for thirty minutes from
now.  Would 6:00 be convenient for you?"

Mission
smiled and said, "That would be perfect.  6:00 then."

The vue
screen displayed a
Message Ends
banner.  Mission reflected for a moment
and then said, "Space Station communication services, please ... I wish to
place a call to Earth, New York, New York, the Dakota Building, general com
services."

"Immediate
placement?"

"No,
please place the call at 6:15.  And I will be in a meeting at that time. 
Please forward the call.  Thank you."

Well, he
prepared as much as possible.  He hoped he knew what he was doing.

As he
entered the waiting room, Margaret, the electronic receptionist greeted him. 
For some reason, every time he saw her, the phrase
Marian, madam librarian
ran through his head.  He figured a shrink could make a career out of a few
sessions with him.

"Hello,
Mr. Mission.  Mr. Atwood will see you momentarily."

"Thank
you Margaret.  Has anyone ever told you how seductive your voice is, coupled
with your charming accent?"

"No,
Mr. Mission."

"Tell
me, do you find me ... attractive?"

"Your
features are quite pleasing."

"No,
no, no.  I am trying to say that I want to know you personally, that I am
attracted to you, and that I intend to seduce you."

"Mr.
Mission, what you are suggesting is not ... "

"Mission,
you derive some perverse pleasure from torturing my assistant."

"Well,
excuse me Arthur.  And my apologies to you, Margaret."

Atwood
smiled and said, "Shall we move to my office?"  

Atwood
waited serenely as Mission seated himself and then shifted to a comfortable
position.

"Now. 
How can I help you?"

"Well,
frankly I am left with nothing but questions on the incident at the refinery
bay.  Could I ask who it was that rescued us?"

"Why,
Protective Services under Mr. Benton.  Standard sensors in the modules monitor
for dramatic power or heat level fluctuations.  Their primary purpose is to
detect threats to the hull integrity, so that areas can be sealed off in case
of emergency."

"Wouldn't
that keep Protective Services out?  The automated lock down of the area?"

Atwood
smiled.  "The control center can override at the supervisor's discretion. 
In the early days, many died needlessly when programming sealed an area
irrevocably, even though the situation didn't really risk a hull breach."

Even
Mission wasn't sure where he was going.  His last encounter with Atwood left
him gun shy.  He looked up and said, "Thanks, that helps.  Now, another
thing I'm trying to figure out, and I'm going through transactions, and looking
at logs and registers ... the best I can figure is that over the last year,
4000 more people have flown out of New Angeles than have flown in."

Mission
scratched his head and let his face show just how much he wanted to
understand.  "Now, how can that be?"

Atwood's
smile only grew wider.  "A net population loss of 4000?  We would be out
of business.  No, I suspect that you are the victim of faulty data.  You see,
shuttle and space station management changed hands a number of times, always
involving a bankruptcy.  Typically, in these cases the record keeping is
questionable at best."

Mission
nodded.  "Oh, I understand the business problems with Number Eight.  That
is why I based my entries to New Angeles on your visitor entry fees.  You are
indicating that your visitor fees are understated?"

"No,
of course not.  Our records are painfully accurate and I have complete
confidence in them.  But your assumption about a large net loss must also use
an outgoing figure.  I question that number."

"Really? 
Because that calculation is also rather straightforward.  Number of guests at
the Number Seven Hotel over the year, minus passengers coming in from Number
Six, and construction workers coming from Number Nine.  The remaining numbers
can only come from New Angeles, wouldn't you agree?"

Atwood
laughed.  "No, I'm afraid I wouldn't.  Your formulas sound highly suspect
to me, and I don't intend to debate them.  It's as simple as this.  When we
petitioned for this settlement, we included a detailed concept of operations
that required a minimum of 5000 humans and 1000 synthetics to meet our
established quotas.  Now, if you would like to debate the accuracy of that
plan, I will.  The plan's projected staffing and resource requirements are
within 1% of actuals.  Now, you are aware that this settlement exceeded quota
every quarter since its inception, so why don't you explain to me how we can do
that if we are down 4000 staff years?"

Now
Mission smiled.  "How about this?  How about ... you are realizing
incredible efficiencies by evicting the human staff and making any replacement
with synthetics?  How would that work?"

Atwood's
smile gradually melted to a schoolmaster's stern disapproval.  "Mr.
Mission, I am really making every effort to accommodate you, but I draw the
line at feeding and caring for your hallucinations.  Do you have questions to
which I can provide answers?"

Mission
nodded but held his hands up.  "I understand, and I apologize.  Just give
me a few more minutes.  You see, I got together with the Paradox engineers and
we found a backdoor in the synthetic brain programs that no one ever knew
about.  Except of course for the programmer who put it there.  Anyway, it turns
out to be a surefire, easy as pie method to tell if a being is synthetic.  So,
I've been trying it on the folks here in the city and I haven't come across a
human yet.  I know that doesn't necessarily mean anything."

Mission
pointed his finger and said, "The key for me was you, Arthur.  If my
theory was correct, you would be instrumental in sending the humans home.  And
I couldn't figure out why you would do that.  Then my mind tripped over Dr. Mendoza
and his trip to Titan.  You know, I was wondering if that meant anything.  And
that got me to thinking about the science staff.  I wondered why you kept a
genetic engineer around once you developed the plant life that would grow
here.  You know what I decided?"

Atwood
shook his head.  "No, but by all means, continue.  I may submit this to
Fiction Unlimited."

Mission
smiled.  "It is a good story isn't it?  Well, I figured he stayed to
mutate the organic segment of the synthetic, to allow rapid oxidation.  You
know what that could do?  It could make a syn look older.  Say
mid-fifties."

Now
Atwood giggled.  "Me?  You think that I am synthetic?"

Mission
smiled too and said, "If I can get serious for just a second.  I'm not
bluffing about the test to separate humans from syns, but I won't do that to
you.  Regardless as to what lies under your skin, I think you deserve better
than a humiliating little test.  So, I am offering you this last chance to tell
me the truth."

Atwood's
amusement never wavered.  "Mission, I think you need some enforced rest. 
A month or two at a private hospital.  In fact, I'll be happy to make ...
"

The com
buzzed. "A call is ready for Mr. Mission.  Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes,
please."

A
standard electronic operator said, "Dakota Building, Communication
Services.  What party please?"

Mission
looked at Atwood and then replied, "Arthur Atwood, please."

"One
moment."

An angry
Arthur Atwood in a green golf shirt appeared, already speaking loudly. 
"You've got your nerve.  Throw me out of the damned city and now you call
for help.  Oh ... who the hell are you?"

"My
name is Mission, Mr. Atwood.  How long ago were you evicted from New
Angeles?"

Atwood
reached toward the screen and disconnected the call.  Mission turned toward the
synthetic Atwood.  His hands pressed together like he was praying and his eyes
closed.

Mission
stood up and said, "I grow tired of this.  I have more than enough
evidence to leave this city tomorrow and have the Army obliterate the entire
settlement.  But that’s not what I want.  I want to know the whole truth so
that you and I can figure out what should be done.  But I will not continue to
listen to lies, and be forced to uncover the truth spoonful at a time.  I'll
return tomorrow at 9:00 and I want to work with you toward a resolution.  But
this is my timeline.  When the last member of my team can travel, we will
leave, and then any further negotiations will be between you and the Army."