Perion Synthetics (40 page)

Turning into 8910 Park was a snap decision
brought on by the sudden lack of synthetics, a rare chance to get off the
street without being seen or followed. Now Cam, Cyn, and Joe sat around a low
table in a break room, eating snacks from a busted vending machine and tending
to their injuries.

“Too fast for word of mouth,” said Cyn.
“It’s been what, only a few hours since we left the Spire? To reach that many
synthetics in that short of time would take something more.” Her voice was
slightly muffled by the gauze she held to her cheek.

Beside her, a still-silent Joe played with the
contents of a First Aid kit.

“A hundred and fifty thousand synthetics
reprogrammed in less than three hours.” Cam crunched a chip. “Maybe it’s not
really word of mouth, but more like peer to peer transmission. If a synthetic
comes within a certain distance of the infected, it downloads the directives
and becomes a mindless drone.”

Outside, two dock workers in brown jumpers
walked shoulder to shoulder down the middle of Park Avenue. They were last
year’s models, Libras perhaps. At the time, Perion had christened them free
thinkers, with three times the autonomy of the previous generation of warehouse
worker, able to complete multi-stage assembly jobs without constant oversight.
Gantz hadn’t heard how the trial ended up, but the idea of a synthetic being in
charge of anything had not sat well with him at the time and seemed even more
dangerous now.

The two synnies stopped at the end of the
street; their heads turned on immobile shoulders as they scanned the area.

“Or maybe, your synthetics can phone home.
Someone with the keys to that kind of system could reprogram an army of
synthetics from the comfort of their office in the Spire.” Cam leaned back and
threw his feet up on a nearby chair. “What of it, Mr. Perion, recently promoted
CEO of Perion Synthetics? Are you aware of any centralized system that can push
new configs to your synthetics and if so, will this be a standard feature once
you go into production?”

“Leave him alone,” said Cyn.

“If there’s a security failsafe,” said
Gantz, “it was never mentioned to me. The non-human population was never really
considered a threat by my boss or Perion himself, perhaps because they knew how
to shut them down if necessary.”

“Well and good,” said Cam, “but I was asking
Mr. Perion.”

Joe shrugged and handed fresh gauze to Cyn.

“A CEO with no comment,” said Cam. “There’s
a surprise.”

“Cut him a break, Gray.” Gantz left his post
by the window and sat down in the chair opposite Cam. “It’s only his first
day.”

Cyn tried to laugh but hissed instead.

“It is interesting to note,” said Cam, “that
my LC counterpart has received a majority of the organic damage, even though
our missions in Perion City were more or less the same. It makes one wonder if
Mr. Perion’s synthetics have been imbued with some good, old-fashioned American
sexism. Although I have the CEO in my presence, I feel it would be pointless to
even ask him for his opinion.”

“Cut it out, Cam,” said Gantz, folding his
arms.

Cam lifted his wrist to show his glowing
sliver. “Just keeping a record of everything that happens here. This kind of
insight separates us from the likes of Lincoln Continental and The White Line.”

Cyn snorted.

“It’s only a matter of time before Banks
Media becomes the dominant feed in the country. And I’m not talking about simple
number one; I mean total coverage, a majority share to end all majority
shares.”

“Keep dreaming,” said Cyn. “Banks thinks
he’s at the center of the world because he happens to live in Los Angeles, a
city that hasn’t been relevant in decades. The future is in tech, and the tech
is in Umbra.”

“The
future
is in media saturation,
covering all facets, not just the latest Vinestead transgression or
breakthrough in fuck-sims. The tech is in Umbra? Ha! Ha, I say! Umbra is a
wasteland of tech-worship and depravity, a slag upon which the misguided youth
sacrifice their humanity for a chance at symbiosis with a machine world that
cares nothing for them.”

Cyn stared back, unblinking.

“I mean, that’s what I’ve heard.”

Gantz watched one of Cyn’s arteries throb in
her slender neck. It beat a rapid tempo before disappearing beneath her skin.

“Don’t hate,” she said through a thin smile.

Cam fished another chip out of his bag. “The
future is in tech and the tech is in you, right?”

“James Perion said he was the future too,”
said Gantz.

The aggregators stared at each other until
Cam winked and Cyn rolled her eyes.

Joe stood up and made for the door. When
Gantz asked him where he was going, he rasped the word
piss
in return.

“I think you hurt the prince’s feelings,” said
Cam.

“No time to worry about that now,” said
Gantz. “We need to focus on getting out of the city. If the road is blocked
from here to the PNR, then we’re going to have a tough time even under the
cover of night.” He looked at the windows; the tint made the hour seem later.

“I thought Kessler said there was another
way out,” said Cam. “Like a back door to the city?”

“Yeah, but it involves a route through the
mountains, and those tunnels are only opened in an emergency. I doubt the gates
will be up.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be running.” Cyn flexed
her arm and admired the bulging muscles. She looked to Gantz. “I’ll be more
than happy to get out of this shit-hole, and Cam probably has some ambulances
to chase back home, but if Joe is the new CEO, why does he have to run? Why are
you trying to get him out of the city?”

Cam sat up and pointed a finger at Cyn.
“Good call,” he said. The finger swung around to Gantz. “Plus, you left Gil in
the Spire this morning like it was nothing. And he didn’t seem eager to come
with you anyway. The way you talked him up the other night, I thought you were
good friends.”

“So did I,” said Gantz. “Now stop looking at
me like that.”

The aggregator stare—Gantz had first experienced
it with Cam at Chez Cosimo and later with Cyn in the warehouse. Their cold eyes
latched onto something just beneath the surface and the questions didn’t stop
until a story—any story—finally came out. When those questions were directed at
Chuck Huber or Sava Kessler, Gantz couldn’t have cared less. But now they were
both looking at him, trying to pick him apart.

Let he who is without sin cast the first
stone.

It was backwards, all of it. Neither of them
knew what Gil meant to Gantz, nor did they know the depths of Gantz’ desire to
protect Joe Perion from all enemies, human and synthetic.

“Well, he did stop big Perion from killing
little Perion, so obviously he’s not meant to terminate the prince,” said Cam.
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

“That could have been misdirection staged
for our benefit,” said Cyn. “He
did
shoot James Perion in the head, but
evidently, that was just a synthetic. We don’t know for sure if the real James
Perion is dead or not.”

“I told you he was,” said Gantz.

Cam nodded, narrowed his eyes. “Of course
you say that, but you also abandoned me and Cyn at the warehouse. Then you left
Gil in the hands of the enemy. It seems you’re only willing to stick your neck
out when it’s convenient for you.”

“Or safe,” said Cyn.

Gantz shook his head. How could they compare
the lives of three gutter-dredging aggregators to that of one Joseph Perion?

“I give a shit what you people think,” he
said, standing up. He made a show of pulling his 9mm and checking the mag and
chamber. “My job is to defend the Perions, not the Grays, and not the
Mesquinas. I don’t really need either of you as burdens or council. You want to
come along? Fine. I’ll get you out of the city, but you’ll do it on my terms, and
preferably with your mouths shut.”

A crash sounded from the hallway, followed
by a pained grunt.

Joe.

Gantz pushed his way through the chairs and
rushed into the hallway. After turning two corners, he came face to face with
one of the dock workers he had seen in the street.

It considered the chief of police with wide
eyes. Behind him, the other synthetic had Joe in an arm lock.

“Let him go,” said Gantz, raising the 9mm.

The laser sight bobbed in small arcs on the
synthetic’s forehead. Gantz pulled it left, made it flash in the eyes of the other
synny holding Joe.

“I’m not going to say it again,” he warned.

The synthetic rushed forward. Gantz barely
had time to put a bullet through the synny holding Joe before powerful hands
gripped his arms and pulled the weapon down. He got a round off in the synny’s
abdomen and then they were on the floor wrestling for the gun.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gantz saw the
other synthetic falling backwards, hands grabbing at the empty space in its
head. Black sludge glinted under the fluorescent lights as it poured out of the
hole and through its fingers.

So strong, thought Gantz, as the synthetic
wrapped its arms around him. Human muscles were no match for the pulleys and
levers inside the dock worker. Visions of high school physics classes flashed
in Gantz’ head and he almost laughed. The truth was he had no idea what was
inside the average synny chassis. For all he knew, they all had hamsters
running themselves to death on a wheel inside their chests. The only thing he
was sure of was that they had the capacity to kill.

As Chuck Huber had once told him, synthetics
were compatible with the Three Laws, but they weren’t constrained by them.

Gantz groaned as his legs took on additional
weight; Joe had jumped onto the back of the dock worker and had his arm around
its neck.

Though the tactic had no hope of killing the
synthetic through oxygen deprivation, it did serve as a distraction, giving
Gantz enough time to jam the barrel of the 9mm into the mesh under the synny’s
chin. He fired twice, sending a mushroom cloud of obsidian blood towards the ceiling.
Some of it landed on Gantz’ lips, making him spit at the bitter taste.

Joe drew himself up to a seated position
against the wall and panted.

“Fucking synnies are going to be the death
of me,” said Gantz. He rolled onto his side and came up on one knee. He smiled
when he heard Joe laughing. “Yeah, you keep it up, JP. But when this is all
over, I’m getting a raise.”

Joe flashed a thumbs-up.

“Where the fuck was Cyn?” asked Gantz,
nursing his arm. “We could have used her.”

The answer came in the form of a
high-pitched scream from the break room. Gantz was up and running before the
echo died out. The oil on the soles of his boots made traction difficult; he
almost hit the floor coming around the corner. He stumbled into the break room
and immediately raised his 9mm.

Chairs and tables had been tossed aside. In
the cleared space, six synthetics struggled with the aggregators. Four of them
had Cam pinned; they fought for leverage on his arms and legs. To the right,
Cyn was doing her best to fend off two assembly techs. They attacked her in
perfect unison, seemingly unaffected by her counters.

“I’ve got this,” yelled Cyn. “Help
him
!”

Gantz swung around to Cam, but it was too
late. One of the synnies had moved from the aggregator’s leg to wrap a thin but
powerful arm around his neck. Cam’s screaming cut out, but it was all there in
his eyes. The synny twisted, producing a crunching sound that almost emptied
Gantz’ stomach.

The head of Cameron Gray rolled across the
break room floor.

Gantz opened fire, pushing the
semi-automatic to its limits. The four synthetics released their grip on Cam’s
body when the mechanical damage became too much. Making holes in their chests
was not enough; Gantz needed headshots to drop the mindless bastards into four
quivering piles of bolts.

He swung around to Cyn, who had put one of
her synnies on the ground. Gantz dispatched a fair-haired woman with a single
discharge. Cyn planted a foot into the neck of the downed synthetic and
twisted.

Stepping forward, Gantz prepared to put
another bullet into its skull if it so much as twitched. His foot hit something
solid, causing him to look down.

Cam’s frozen eyes looked up at him from the
floor.

Around the torn flesh of his neck,
luminescent wires writhed in the black sludge.

The GT-R sped along the wide streets of The Fringe away from
8910 Park Avenue. The few synthetics they saw in the road were little match for
the car’s bumper; they flew away like pinballs, the females giving shrill
shrieks before rolling over the hood. In the back seat, Joe held his head,
occasionally poking at the rivulet of blood oozing from his ear. Beside Gantz,
Cyn sat upright in the passenger seat, shaking her head every few seconds as if
arguing with herself.

Gantz’ foot tapped nervously next to the
clutch.

It was no longer safe for anyone in the
city, least of all outlander aggregators and fugitive scions. The exits were
all blocked, and no matter where they hid, the synthetics were sure to follow.
Gantz only knew one thing for sure: they had to get to the other side of the
Point of No Return.

Perion City only had a few roads venturing
that far.

“Not me,” said Cyn, her lips barely moving.

“What’s that?” asked Gantz.

“Not me,” she repeated. “No one is pulling
my goddamn head off.”

“I won’t let that happen,” said Gantz,
patting his jacket.

At least, so long as the bullets lasted.

“Why?” Cyn turned in her seat to look at
Joe. “Why would your father do this?”

Gantz answered for him. “It wasn’t James
Perion. I mean, it was, but not the James Perion the world knows and loves.
That man really did pass away last week.”