Perion Synthetics (33 page)

Gantz was still waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know yet,” admitted Joe. “But I
want you to be ready when the time comes.” He turned to leave, but at the door,
he found the handle wouldn’t budge.

“There’s just one more thing,” said Gantz.

Joe turned and folded his arms.

“How do I know you’re not a synthetic?”

Joe scoffed. “Are you shitting me?”

“Look, I just found out about your dad’s
little game on Sunday. I’ve been calling Synth J boss for months. How do I know
there isn’t another angle to this? You want my help? Prove to me you’re human.”

“How? Slit my wrists?”

Gantz shook his head. “Let’s take a little
drive out to Pure. You make it ten paces past the PNR and we’re in this
together. If not, I’ll tell your father what you were planning.”

“Don’t call him that,” said Joe.

“Fair enough.”

Joe checked his sliver. “I’ve got a full
plate today. Let’s do this tomorrow, maybe over lunch?”

“If you’re not there, I’ll come for you,”
Gantz replied. He touched a hidden button under his desk and the locks in the
door clicked open. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Perion.”

“Can’t wait.”

Joe pushed the door open and walked back
down the hall. For one terrible moment, he considered the idea Gantz could be
right. After all, Joe hadn’t been past the PNR in months, maybe a year or more.
What would happen tomorrow when he walked past the outer marker? He put his
hand over his heart, felt the beating. He licked his lips and smelled the air.
His senses were operating as they always had, reinforcing the reality that he
was a living, breathing human.

He slowed to a stop in front of the
elevator.

If he fell down dead tomorrow, if his
insides dissolved into sludge, Joe felt he wouldn’t even be surprised.

At this point, there was no telling what
Synth J was capable of.

As a synthetic, Synth J had no use for the comforts of the
Perion master suite on the sixty-eighth floor. It fell to Joe to sort through
the knick knacks and framed photos his father had scattered throughout the four
bedroom apartment, adorning shelves in the study, standing in front of books in
the library, and placed with care above the vidscreen in the living room. There
were two portraits of Victoria and James Perion there, each five feet tall.
Between them, in an only slightly less gaudy and smaller frame, was Joe Perion,
looking svelte at twenty-one.

Joe spent the rest of his day cataloging
what would stay and what would go. Late that night, he carried a box full of
mementos down to his apartment on the fiftieth floor. The ornate style of his
father’s things would look foreign among the neo-modern motif of his home, but
Joe felt it was better to keep the photos where someone would appreciate them.

He placed a framed picture of Dad standing
next to the very first Perion synthetic on the nightstand next to this bed.
There was something incongruous about the crude prototype with its unibody design
and the middle-aged man in a leisure suit and full sideburns, and though Joe
hadn’t been alive when the photo was taken, it reminded him of his childhood,
when the ebullience of James Perion dominated not only his professional life,
but his personal relationships as well.

The photo was the last thing Joe saw before
he fell asleep and the first image he saw when he awoke. As the sun rose beyond
his windows, he lay with the frame sitting on his chest, thinking about his
father, and not just the most recent revision. There was modern Dad, with his
focus on perfecting a dream. There was millennial Dad who spent most of his
time on the road, glad-handing with politicians and private investors. James
Perion of the eighties and nineties was only visible in home movies and aging
documentaries, but Joe knew he would miss those versions as well.

It was perhaps the loss of future versions
that kept Joe in bed until the vidscreen automatically turned on at ten-thirty.

“The mood in Umbra is subdued this morning
for the third straight day on the news of the death of James Kirkland Perion,
CEO and founder of Perion Synthetics. While the company has yet to confirm his
passing, sources at White Line Media say the seventy-seven year old
entrepreneur has finally succumbed after a year-long battle with cancer.
Residents here are paralyzed by the uncertainty of the company’s future, with
one Umbra local calling Perion Synthetics
the last great hope
and
the
world’s most powerful weapon
against Vinestead. Arthur Sedivy, CEO of
Vinestead International, could not be reached for comment.”

Joe slapped the remote and turned the
vidscreen off. Sliding his legs over the side of the bed, he sat up and put his
head in his hands.

Seventy-two hours had passed since the rumor
of James Perion’s death had leaked and already the world was trying to figure
out how to fill the void. A simple press conference would have put everything
to rest, yet Synth J allowed the rumor mill to crank out theory after theory,
creating panic in both public and private sectors, driving down the stock
price…

Joe stood and walked over to the phone on
his desk. He placed a call to Legal on the eighth floor and when a woman named
Rita answered, he asked to look into stock trades for the last few days,
specifically any company making huge buys since Monday. She assured him she
would call back with the info just as soon as humanly possible.

“Message me with whatever you find,” he told
her, and then hung up.

Joe wandered into the living room as he gave
his idea more thought. Could there be something behind the stock crash,
something intentional? The vidscreen over the shelf came alive when he walked
in front of it and synced to the bedroom’s previous channel.

“Reports of virtual vandalism have been the
buzz of VNet since early yesterday morning, with the message
THE CREATOR
LIVES
appearing on high-profile landmarks in many public arenas. While
initially thought to be the work of enthusiastic supporters, closer inspection
by computer experts has revealed viral payloads hidden in the graffiti. VNet
users who come into close proximity with the message may have their avatars
overwritten with what appears to be black funeral dress. Subsequent attempts to
communicate either orally or via text will be interrupted by the phrase
DEATH
TO VINESTEAD
. VNet representatives have issued a statement assuring the
public a patch will be released to deal with what they are describing as a
minor and temporary annoyance.”

An alert popped up at the bottom of the
vidscreen—an incoming message from Gantz.

Damn, thought Joe. He had forgotten about
their lunch date at Pure.

He dragged a finger over his sliver and
opened the message.

“Security breach this morning,” Gantz had
written. “It’s bad. Got a meeting with Big J in twenty. You going?”

Joe retrieved his palette from the desk in
his office. A meeting invite was pending on his calendar. “Yes,” he wrote, and
then closed down the messenger app.

He was out of his apartment in ten minutes
and in his rush, he almost ran into the Automated Guard stationed outside his
door.

“Pardon me, Mr. Perion,” said the AG.

“What are you doing here?” asked Joe. He
didn’t stop walking until he had pressed the call button on the elevator.

“For your protection, Mr. Perion.”

Joe turned to look back down the hall. “Who
says I need protection?”

“Chief Robert Gantz assigned me to this
post, sir.”

Damn he works fast, thought Joe.

The elevator doors opened and Joe stepped
inside. As the car rose, he thought about how serious the breach must have been
to warrant an armed security detail. By the time the doors retracted on
seventy, Joe had dismissed the AG as an overreaction, a precaution spawned from
a set of protocols rather than a conscious decision by Gantz.

There were more Scorpios on seventy, about a
dozen by Joe’s quick count. They lined the hallways with their hands crossed in
front of them, their guns hanging by straps at their sides. One looked at Joe
as he approached, but upon detecting no threat, it resumed its stoic guard.

Joe could hear the muffled yelling as he
approached the conference room doors.

“Vinestead? In my house?”

One of the AGs opened the door for Joe.
Inside, he found Synth J standing at the head of the oak table, waving his
hands around like a haywire synthetic. Also present were Robert Gantz, Nico
Shaw, Chuck Huber, and Sava Kessler.

“How does this happen?” asked Synth J. He
pointed to the vidscreen behind him.

Surveillance footage rolled, showing a woman
in a black, skin-tight suit blasting a synny to pieces. Joe didn’t recognize
the place, but given the synny’s integration into the environment, it couldn’t
have been anywhere else except the Perion Spire.

“Joseph, you’re here,” said Synth J. “Please
have a seat. I’m just going over with Mr. Gantz here the appalling lack of
security in my city.”

“I can’t watch the entire sky, Mr. Perion,”
said Gantz. His eyebrows were scrunched together in the middle of his face.

“Then maybe I should hire someone who can!”

Screaming? Threats? Just how advanced were
Virgo-class synthetics?

“Mr. Perion, if I may. We can argue security
policy later. For now, we have Vinestead tech within our walls. We have to rid
ourselves of this germ before it has a chance to infect us. I recommend you deport
her immediately.”

“Chuck is right,” said Sava. “We don’t know
what she’s carrying around in that head of hers.”

Gantz cleared his throat. “Mr. Ferko says
there are only
traces
of Vinestead hardware in the intruder. It’s not
like she’s got a full-on Guardian Angel chip in her neck.”

“No, Mr. Gantz, it is much worse. She has a
modified mil-spec Ayudante. Imagine the damage she could do if she hooked into
our network.” Synth J turned to the vidscreen and shook his head. “Of course
they would send a woman. They’re trying to play to my sensitivities. Well, if
this is what Arthur Sedivy wants, I’ll show that motherfucker how the game is
played.”

Joe shook his head.

“Ms. Keats hasn’t been able to match her
with anyone in Vinestead’s employee database,” said Gantz. “We don’t know for
sure who she’s working for.”

“Then she’s disavowed,” said Chuck. “In
which case, we can simply expunge her and be done with it.”

“She came into my home,” said Synth J. “She
destroyed my property. She spent God knows how long sneaking around my
building. If we hadn’t grabbed her when we did…”

“Did you
ask
her who she’s with?”
asked Joe.

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to
him.

“Brilliant,” said Chuck, under his breath.

Sava gave him a slight smile.

“As if we could believe anything from a
Vinestead spy,” said Synth J. “Look at her, Joseph. She’s a rogue agent, a
loner. That’s why she was chosen for this mission.”

Joe noticed Gantz rolling his eyes.

“Vinestead thinks they can just pull some
techy neophyte off the street and send them into my city? No!” Synth J banged his
fist on the table, producing a noticeable dent in the wood. “They will not walk
over James Perion. I am the defender of this castle and woe betide the creature
who steps into
my
garden. We’ll make an example out of her.”

Sava looked at the floor, her eyes scanning
back and forth.

“Chuck.”

“Yes, Mr. Perion?”

“Is the Paulson imprint ready to go? Can you
modify it for Ayudante architecture?”

“It will take a little time, but yes. Yes, I
believe it will work.”

“What’s the Paulson imprint?” asked Joe.

“Don’t worry about it,” replied Synth J.
“I’m handling this now.”

“What’s the Paulson imprint?” he asked
again.

“It’s done, Joe. Chuck, get on this
immediately. I want it taken care of by COB today.”

“Goddamn it, Dad. Answer me!” Joe felt the
sting in his throat.

Synth J turned, the fire draining from his
facial servos.

“Son,” he said.

The word felt like a toothpick under Joe’s
fingernail.

“All you need to know is Vinestead is always
looking for a way to destabilize us. I thought you would have understood that
by now. Arthur Sedivy and I may play nice in front of the cameras, but down in
the trenches, it is a never-ending war. He sends his soldiers into battle and
they follow his orders without question. Do you know why that is, Joseph?”

Joe shook his head. To his left, Gantz
shifted in his chair.

“Because they have nothing to lose. And
people with nothing to lose are the most dangerous type of people. You could
simply
kill
the soldiers and be done with it, but that won’t mean a
thing to their commander. We have to send a message. We’re going to give this
woman something to lose, something so precious she will betray Vinestead to the
bitter end just to protect it.”

“You always taught me to fight fair.”

“It’s time to grow up, son.”

“What’s the Paulson imprint,
Dad
?”

“She wants to sneak around my garden? She
wants a
story
? Well we’ll give her a fucking story.”

Chuck Huber cleared his throat. “It involves
the new synthetic infants we’ve been developing for the pan-Asian market.”

“I’m out,” said Gantz, standing up. “I’m not
getting involved with anything… unnatural.” He started for the door.

“I’m not done with you, Robert,” said Synth
J.

“The threat has been dealt with. She’s not
going to cause us any more trouble.”

“That’s not the—”

“You call me when there’s a mob at the front
gates. Call me when someone is pointing a gun at your head or Joe’s head. I
will
gladly
step in front of that bullet. But I will not be part of any
sick experimentation.” He kicked the conference room door open and stormed out.