Perion Synthetics (10 page)

Cam stepped into the room and smiled when
Roberta’s eyes lit up. She was sitting next to Chuck Huber, who was doing his
best to appear aloof to her presence. To her right was Dr. Langley Bhenderu,
who had brought his wife, a stout woman in her late forties or early fifties
with muddled Indian features like her husband. Also at the table was a
square-jawed suit with a signature bulge under his jacket and a very official
security laminate around his neck that read
GANTZ
.

No doubt the law man had been called to
dinner at Sava’s insistence.

“What’d I miss?” asked Cam, taking his seat
between Gantz and the empty chair reserved for the absent Joseph Perion. On the
table, a refreshed 7&7 beckoned him.

“Ms. Kessler was just telling us about your
feat of heroism this evening,” said Bhenderu. He had a habit of speaking into
his glass of water, making his voice reverberate. “Tell me, Mr. Gray. What
possessed you to come to the aid of a machine?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Sava scoffed; Roberta smiled.

“And yet you were aware the synthetic was not
in danger? Mr. Galvan could not have hurt it.”

“That’s not really the point,” said Cam,
feeling his words beginning to slide into each other as they rolled off his
tongue. “Pardon my language, but that guy was an asshole. Synthetic or not, you
don’t let people act like that. There’s this subtle elitist vibe oozing from
every pore of this city, but I haven’t really seen any action to back that up.
You’ve given your synthetics a sense of humanity, yeah, but if Mr. Galvan is an
example of the source material… I mean, you don’t want people returning their
synthetics because they’re total dicks, right?”

Bhenderu dismissed the idea with a shake of
his head.

Chuck gestured to his colleague. “Dr.
Bhenderu is a leader in the field of synthetic psychology. There is no one on
the planet more qualified to select the source material than he.”

“Is that so?” Cam’s straw made a slurping
noise as he emptied his drink. “What happens when your synthetics recognize the
class war already building here? Not just between humans and synnies, but
amongst themselves. You keep last year’s models in circulation and pretty soon
they’ll start feeling better than each other.”

“How can you know that?” asked Bhenderu.

“It’s human nature,” said Cam.

“Obviously we have different definitions of
human nature,” said Sava.

“
Ob
viously.”

“Yes,” said Sava.

“Yes,” repeated Cam.

Finally, she looked him in the eye. “Real
mature.”

“Real mature,” said Roberta from across the
table. She giggled and mouthed the word
fun
at Cam.

“Roberta, directive—”

“No,” barked Cam, slapping the table with
his hand. “No more directives. No more orders.” Then to Roberta, “You don’t
have to listen to her.”

“In fact, she does. It’s part of her
programmed psychology, a hardcoded directive to obey. Isn’t that right, Dr.
Bhenderu?” Chuck’s arm moved to the side, perhaps slipping a discreet hand onto
Sava’s leg.

“It should be, but then I’m not overly
familiar with the Virgo line,” said the doctor. “Completely different
department.”

Cam felt his eyebrows smack together. “I
thought you were the psych lead for all synthetics.”

“I don’t have a hand in every single one,”
he admitted. “Mr. Perion has multiple departments running concurrently, each
with their own teams of engineers. I oversee the standard build and mission
critical synthetics like the Scorpio-class guards you’ve met. I do not remember
being involved with the Virgo prototyping; I’m assuming it uses a significantly
different—and likely inferior— psychological model.”

“She’s sitting right there, you know.”

Bhenderu turned to Chuck. “This is what I’m
talking about. See how
he
has imprinted on
her
? We have gone past
the valley of the uncanny. It is too soon.”

Chuck nodded, but said nothing.

“Am I missing something?” asked Cam.

“Just your AA meeting,” said Sava.

“How is everyone this evening?”

“Cosimo!” yelled Cam.

The chef had entered the room at some point
and was now standing with his hands folded behind his back. A young waiter at
his side stood in a similar stance.

At Cam’s outburst, Cosimo bowed his head
minutely.

“I’ve prepared a special meal tonight in
honor of our guest, Mr. Cameron Gray. I trust everyone brought their
appetites?”

“Am I drunk or is he talking funny?” asked
Cam of no one in particular.

Cosimo locked eyes and shared a terse wink.
Evidently, the chef with rough but genuine edges Cam had met at the cafeteria
was not good enough to work at Chez Cosimo.

“Let’s start with two bottles of Iron Cactus
for the table and our guest,” said Cosimo to the waiter. “On the house, of
course.”

A clinking of silverware against glasses
filled the small dining room.

“Please enjoy a drink and I’ll have the
servers bring in the first course shortly.” He made another awkward bow and
left the room.

“Curious,” said Bhenderu. “He didn’t even
tell us what we’ll be having.”

“Something Italian, I’d wager,” said Cam,
reaching for his empty glass. “Or French.” He sucked at the straw without
effect and set it back down on the table. “Anyone seen a waiter?”

“Couldn’t even stay sober for one night,”
said Sava.

“I could,” said Cam. “I
choose
not
to.”

“Then by all means, keep drinking.”

“I will, thank you.” Cam turned to the
doctor. “So what’s wrong with me
imprinting
on Roberta? Don’t you want
people forming bonds with their synthetics?”

“Where appropriate,” said Bhenderu.

Chuck coughed into his napkin. “And where
practical.” He took inventory of Roberta and then caught Sava’s glare.

“Yes,” said the doctor, “where practical.
Mr. Gray, there is a limit to all human bonding, a point at which it interferes
with logical thought. This happens mostly between two emotional beings, but
occasionally, and sometimes quite famously, this is extended to inanimate
objects. Your altercation with Mr. Galvan is a prime example of that. You admit
you knew the man on the bike was a synthetic. You knew he could not be harmed.
And yet you got involved anyway.
You
could have been seriously injured.”

“I think Cameron’s actions speak to his
bravery and compassion,” said Roberta. “If he is willing to sacrifice himself
for a stranger, what does that imply for those he loves?”

There was silence at the table until Cam
said, “Perceptive, isn’t she?”

“It sounds to me as if the young lady is
smitten with you.” Bhenderu’s wife smiled as she spoke.

A collective groan filled the room as
Roberta blushed.

Before anyone could put words to their skepticism,
the waiter reappeared with the promised bottles of wine. He presented Sava with
a fresh glass and poured for her, then Bhenderu’s wife. When he turned to
Chuck, Cam cleared his throat.

“Aren’t you forgetting someone?”

The waiter stopped and looked around the
table. After following Cam’s gaze to Roberta, he approached her uncertainly.

“Please,” said Roberta, handing him her wine
glass. “I usually don’t, but this
is
a special occasion.”

Cam waited for someone to object, but no one
spoke.

“So where have they put you up, Mr. Gray?”
asked Bhenderu. “Or will you be staying with Ms. Kessler for the duration?”

Sava spit wine back into her glass.
“Holzgraf,” she sputtered. “He’s staying at the Holzgraf.”

“Question,” said Cam. “Does anyone know
where that is?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Cam saw Gantz
crack a smile.

“We’ll have someone drive you,” said Sava.
“Only the best for Banks Media.” She lifted her glass in an empty salute, realized
she had spit in it, and set it back down.

Cam raised his glass anyway and took a long
pull of the wine.

“Follow-up question, Doc. How did you come
to meet the charming Mrs. Bhenderu?

“An interesting story, that,” said the
doctor. He sat up straight in his chair and began rambling about a medical
conference in Calcutta.

The red glow of his sliver told Cam it was
safe to let his mind wander. And with Roberta sitting across the table, staring
at him through the distortion of her wine glass, he found himself lost in a
sudden synthetic fantasy.

The automatic blinds rose at seven, drowning the Holzgraf suite
in a headache-inducing glare. Cam was already up, sitting on the edge of the
bed with his arms on his knees, trying to decide if he really needed to throw
up or if he could hold it in with some mental toughness. He really wanted to
avoid rushing to the bathroom if possible, but every movement made the contents
of his stomach slosh around. Now with the room illuminated, Cam could see
himself in the mirror on the low dresser.

His hair was standing straight up, set that
way by a night spent with his head buried in a pillow. Combined with the
stubble on his face and the harsh sun, he looked less like a smooth-talking
aggregator at Banks Media and more like the synth junkies who sat outside the
tower begging for money or a code fix. Staring into his own bloodshot eyes, Cam
realized his appearance was the least of his problems.

The most pressing issue was lying in the bed
behind him, half covered in a jumble of sheets and pillows, her perfect
synthetic breasts bathed in a golden hue. Cam had barely glanced at her when he
awoke, yet he could close his eyes and recall every inch of her body. Roberta
had pulled back her hair before putting her head on the pillow, revealing a
high and smooth forehead. Her eyes were closed, but there was movement beneath
her skin, as well as a flaring of her nostrils with each simulated breath. A
tiny pulse beat from the artery—if that was the right word—in her neck.

Cam wondered first why Roberta even needed a
pulse, then how it was being generated, and finally, whether she had actual
blood circulating through her body, or some kind of artificial equivalent, or
worse, a black sludge mixture of oil and grease, something to lubricate what
must have been a million or more moving parts. He saw her stripped of her outer
layer to reveal tiny gears and wiry tendons, all dripping in the same oily
goop.

Cam tightened up as another swell built in
his stomach.

He needed some air, and the voice-actuated
room was more than happy to open the balcony doors for him. The resulting
breeze made goose bumps stand out on his skin.

“Narrative,” he said to his sliver. “Private
entry.”

The sliver blinked red twice and settled
into a steady green.

“Someone folded my clothes and put them in a
neat pile on the dresser. My socks are balled up in my shoes, which have been
pushed
under
the dresser. The question remains: how did my clothes come
off in the first place?”

Behind him, Roberta stirred, moaned quietly.

“There is a possibility I shed my clothes on
my own and they were collected and sorted by a prototype synthetic who is now
sleeping in my bed. Then again, for all I know, she undressed me and tucked me
in with a good night kiss. It doesn’t explain why she’s naked though, or why my
boxers are on backwards.”

Cam pushed his boxers down his legs, turned
them around, and pulled them back on. When his stomach didn’t lurch in
response, he stood on wobbly feet and leaned towards the balcony. The closer he
got to the open door, the colder the breeze felt, as if a front had moved in
overnight.

“Good morning, Perion City,” he said, placing
both hands on the balcony railing.

At street level, PC residents were making
their way to work, pedaling their bicycles or walking briskly on the sidewalk.
Occasionally, one of the humans looked up to gawk at the disheveled man
standing on the balcony in his boxers. Cam assumed the synthetics knew of his
presence, but seeing how he had no impact on their operating radius, they
ignored him. Perhaps the humans thought he was going to jump. Or maybe he was
inadvertently exposing himself through his thin boxers.

As if sensing the general distress of the
citizenry, Roberta appeared behind him.

“I brought you a robe,” she said, holding
open the white terry cloth emblazoned with the Holzgraf’s double eagle emblem.
“It’s cold this morning.”

Only after stepping into the robe and away
from Roberta did Cam realize she was completely nude. Where
her
clothes
had ended up was only one of the many questions that popped into his head,
following right behind the mystery of why Roberta didn’t have tan lines or if
her synthetic chassis even supported them. Her skin held the same even tone
from her neck to her chest to her stomach, varying only when it was obscured by
a thin patch of pubic hair.

Cam tried to focus on the job, on the questions
he was sent to Perion City to ask.

Dr. Bhenderu, he thought, why would a
synthetic need to get undressed to sleep?

And to Chuck, why would a synthetic need to
sleep at all?

“Thanks,” said Cam, as he pulled the robe
tighter. The warmth made him feel better and the thick cloth helped conceal his
excitement when Roberta stepped forward and slipped her arms around his waist.

So it’s like that, he thought.

“What happened last night?” he asking,
swiping his wrist behind Roberta’s back. The green light flickered to red.

“A lot,” said Roberta, giggling.

“How good is your memory?”

“I remember everything,” she said. Her eyes
drifted away, as if surveying the street below. “You were…” Her eye twitched. “I
mean, it was so…” She stepped out of the embrace and approached the railing.
“Something’s different.”