Living in Syn (7 page)

Susan's
face revealed her horror.  She turned from the keyboard and said,
"Mission, I swear that I don't ... "

Mission
held up his hand.  "There's no need to explain.  Other than theory on the
individual rights of synthetics, he told us nothing.  Not the name of their
leader, nor the origin of the combat models, and now a false trail on the
Paradox insider.  Whoever this
teacher
is, he anticipated this possibility. 
Very clever."

"But
where do we go from here?  I was counting on some answers here."

"We
got answers, just not the ones we wanted.  We know this group is organized and
professional.  We know that the syns, synthetics are controlled through a
combination of dogma, and for certain models, modified processor
configurations.  And I'm positive that you have an insider at Paradox."

"But
how will ... ?"

The door
chime sounded and Mission jumped up to grab his holster.  As he pulled his
Glock out he directed, "Computer, display security cam 1." 

The
camera showed a man who appeared to be just under 30, wearing a U.S. Army
Major's uniform.  He held himself with the erect posture of a military man. 
Mission wasn't about to take any chances.

"Computer. 
Intercom on.  Can I help you?"

"Major
Carson Pierce, United States Army.  I am here to see Mr. D. Mission." 

Mission
reached over to the keyboard and turned the intercom off.  He motioned Susan
into the bedroom and flattened himself against the wall next to the door.  He
disabled the locks and let the door swing open as he moved away from it. 
Mission called, "Come in."

The
Major entered and his eyes widened when he saw the Glock.  Mission invited him
to close the door and then called for Susan.  She entered the room and Mission
said, "I do apologize, but we must take precautions.  Susan, would you
frisk the Major?"

Pierce
was six feet tall and about 200 pounds, a bit shorter and definitely more
muscular than Mission. He looked like a reformed surfer, good looking with a
tan that contrasted nicely with his straw colored hair and mustache. Reformed
because the hair was closely cropped and his posture was perfect, as was his
uniform, with  razor sharp creases and impossibly shined shoes. Mission nodded,
he knew the type. He was willing to bet that he had to “take lessons” from the
racquet ball pro at his health club, because he was so ultra-competitive that
none of the other members would get on the court with him again. A driven type
A personality with a capital A.

Mission
asked, "Could you show us some identification?"

After a
quick inspection of credentials, Mission smiled a humorless smile and said,
"Now Major, why are you looking for me?"

The
Major looked over at Susan and then back to Mission and said, "I need to
take precautions myself.  Could I ask who your companion is?"

"Already
you've assumed too much.  Susan?"

"I'm
Susan St. Jean."

Pierce
reacted quickly.  "Dr. Susan St. Jean, designer of the synthetic
brain?"

"I
served on that team."

"Well,
this works out well."  He lowered his voice and said, "I need to
discuss matters of some sensitivity.  Could I ask to see your
identification?"

Mission
looked at Susan and she shrugged.  They produced pilot's permits.  Satisfied,
the Major said, "I work in Army Intelligence.  Right now, I'm
investigating a situation that involves the security of the United States and
its colonies and operations in our solar system.  As you know,  colonies and
mining operations are traditionally established under the auspices of our armed
forces.  Once the settlement stabilizes, federal law officers and judicial
systems assume control until the people are ready for local government.  But
this changed recently when several large multi-national concerns successfully
petitioned for the rights to establish and govern their own colonies."

The
lines in his face deepened as he continued.  "Even though this was a
nightmare in terms of defense, political pressures forced us to approve the
requests.  Obviously, it's in our interests to stay abreast of developments
outside the U.S. colonies.  And the information we gathered shows an alarming
trend."

Mission
asked, "How so?"

"I’m
worried that one or more of the corporations is serving as a front for a
national interest here on Earth.  I also see indications that they're
stockpiling munitions, resources, and synthetics overqualified for mining or
domestic activities.  In short, I see the potential assembly of a synthetic
army."

Mission
leaned forward and said, "Major, this is fascinating.  Why the hell are
you telling us this?"

"Because
you are in the middle of a personal war with these syns.  A kid saw you
blasting a synthetic on that fire escape and took pictures.  Out of seven violent
incidents we uncovered, you are the only person to survive.  I need your help
in assessing the situation and your expert advice on how to resolve this
matter."

Mission
looked at Susan and said, "Well, let me give you a qualified answer.  We're
interested because you can help us with our little situation.  But I don't
trust you under current circumstances.  We would discuss terms and conditions
if we could meet you and your boss in ... oh ... say the Pentagon."

The Major
looked at Mission for several moments.  He nodded and said, "I'm not aware
of all your circumstances, but I understand caution.  This Wednesday?"

Susan
and Mission looked at each other and nodded.  "Good, I'll schedule a
sit-down for Wednesday in the Pentagon, and I'll call to confirm a time this
evening.  Alright?"

Mission
smiled and said, "Great."  They watched him leave over the security
camera and Susan asked, "What do you think?"

"I
think the odds are that he's legit."

He
turned to Susan grinning and said, "If this works out, we can get them to
nail the principals here, and you’ll be safe again."

Her face
never changed.  "Great.  That'll be great."

They sat
in the living room for more than an hour, lost in their own thoughts.  Suddenly
Mission jumped up and shouted, "That's it!  That's what's been bugging
me!"

Susan
asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Your
search.  We never bothered to check the results."

"What
are you talking about?  The search for sobriety in this apartment?"

He
scowled.  "No.  The search for large purchases of synthetics.  It has to
be the reason they tried to kill you.  So we must be close.  There's a chance
your output file is intact.  It's password protected, isn't it?"

Susan
nodded and Mission continued his frenzied deliberation.  "So ... we can't
go back to your place, or risk you going to the office.  Accessing from here
would be like posting your new address.  We'll write a script to log you in,
access the file, provide a password, and download the results to us.  With the
script, we'll grab less than a second of connect time.  So we find a com and
access from there.  What do you think?"

Susan
grinned and said, "I think I need subtitles when you talk that fast. 
Let's go."

Mission
moved at full throttle.  He grabbed the keyboard and turned to Susan.

"Okay. 
What kind of computer system do you use at Paradox?"

She
looked unsure.  "I don't know, we have several different types."

"Yes,
but what type did you submit your query through?"

Now the
conversation bothered her.  He only asked questions she couldn't answer. 
"I don't know."

"Okay
... what kind of computer do you have on your desk?"

"A
Virtual ... model 30."

"And
you wouldn't know what protocol stacks it uses or query language or Network
Interface Card?"

"No."

"Okay,
I'll have the script run a configuration check when we get connected, and we'll
use the results to populate the remainder of the script.  What's your data
number at Paradox?  And your user ID?  And your password?"

Susan
hesitated.  Mission looked up and saw the indecision.  "Oh, you're right. 
Absolutely right."

He
pulled down a table and quickly filled it out.  "Okay, how about this? 
I've made this an encrypt field.  You type in the password and no one else can
access it.  As soon as we get back, I'll destroy the file and you can change
the password when you go back to work."

Susan
nodded and then typed in her password.  Mission took the keyboard back and
jumped into the script again. 

"Okay
... No.  Wait.  I want a time out specified.  One way to track you is to slow
the processing rate down enough to keep you on the line for a trace.  No more
than ... five seconds?"

He
looked up at Susan.

She
said, "I don't have a clue Mission.  That file you call a script looks
like ancient Greek."

Mission
loaded the file in his com and smiled.  "This will work.  This’ll be
good."

An hour
later they returned victorious.  Mission pulled up the file and as it displayed
on the vue screen, he saw a message waiting.  He told the computer to retrieve
it, and saw the Major saying he scheduled the meeting for 1:00 on Wednesday and
that they should ask for him at the security station.  He even gave his com
number.

Mission
rubbed his hands with glee and even Susan seemed optimistic.  He knew a
thorough analysis would tell them all they needed to know about these combat
models.  And if he and Susan orchestrated this meeting properly, the Army would
handle their difficulties for them.

General
Jeremy Snowden's rank appeared to be genetically determined.  Although he
recently celebrated his fifty-ninth birthday, he looked more like mid-forties. 
Both big and tall, he moved with the grace of a natural athlete and carried not
an ounce of fat.  He cut his salt and pepper hair short and his voice boomed
over all the others.  Mission pictured him giving the inspiring speech to thousands
of soldiers before moving into battle.

The
General also understood the often forgotten art of public relations.  He shook
hands all around and from that point on, called everyone by name.  The lights
dimmed and Major Pierce stepped to the vue screen with his pointer. 

He
smiled and said, "Good morning.  I thought it would be helpful to start
out with a discussion of our current settlements, with particular emphasis on
their contribution to our economy as well as their strategic importance in
terms of travel routes and defensive capabilities.  Now if you will look ...
"

Snowden's
voice boomed out.  "Carson!  This is right off the stable floor, son. 
Manure!  Now look, what I want to tell these folks is that we’re pretty
concerned about the buildup of synthetics at one of these corporate bases. 
They seem overqualified for the standard settlement work, and corporations
don't generally spend more than needed.  Too much of that and you're filing
Chapter 11.  Right?  So, I want to hear your opinions.  Right?"

He
looked expectantly toward Mission and Susan.  Finally Susan cleared her throat
and asked, "What type of synthetics work at this settlement?"

The
General said simply, "Carson?"

Pierce
brought up a graphic on the vue screen.  The inventory included over 350 mining
models with the reinforced chassis and nines in intelligence and agility, plus
another 200 syns with factory oriented skills and double-nines.  Twenty
synthetics with organizational/accounting and double nines completed the
roster.  Mission whistled softly.  He looked at that list and saw a massacre
waiting to happen.

Mission
said, "This helps, but you still haven't told us what settlement.  Until
we can understand the principle activities, we can't say if these models are
overkill."  Mission almost grabbed his mouth.  He hoped no one picked up
on his Freudian slip.

The
General frowned and said, "And there's no reason
to
tell you son,
until we are much further down the road.  If I tell you that their objective is
to mine and refine titanium and other lightweight/high tensile strength ores,
would you know enough?"

Susan
and Mission exchanged glances and Susan said, "Yes.  If this is a standard
mining operation, you need mining models with the reinforced chassis, but
threes in agility and intelligence are adequate.  The factory workers need a
four or five in agility to handle precision work, but that's all.  This group
of twenty is the admin people.  One human to set up the accounting systems, and
then those twenty need accounting software plus double threes."

The
General looked at Major Pierce and the other members of his staff. 
"That's all it took.  We've been screwing around for months and she gave
it to us in ten minutes."

He
looked thoroughly disgusted.  Finally, he said, "Well, at least now we
know.  Carson.  What's next on the agenda?"

"Well
... well next we need to talk about proof.  I mean, we all accept Dr. St.
Jean's word that this is too much synthetic for the job.  But I think before we
ask the President to mobilize troops or take some equally dramatic step, we
need to show some documentation, not to mention some supportable theory as to
why they are building this army."

Susan
leaned forward and said, "Why not capture the data during the one year
diagnostics?"

The
General looked confused, "I'm afraid I'm not following you, Doctor.  What
do you mean?"

"It's
a mandatory checkup after twelve months.  We don't sell our synthetics, we
lease them.  And if you don't bring them in for the diagnostics, we have the
right to recover our products.  Now with the synthetics bound for the
settlements, we include in the lease price the cost of our people conducting
on-site inspections.  We can look at the contract and find out when they're
due."

The
General looked quite pleased.  "Carson, I want you to make this happen.  I
want these two plus whoever else they need on the diagnostics team, headed for
this settlement."

Pierce
said, "But General you have to ... "

Meanwhile
Susan said, "If you think I'm going onto one of those space station shuttles,
you are crazy."

But
finally it was Mission who put up his hands and yelled, "Major!  General! 
We need to slow down.  We definitely want to help, but Susan and I have this
little problem we have to clear this up first.  Now, you obviously need a
meeting with the Paradox corporate officers, so this is what I suggest ...
"