The Unincorporated War (79 page)

The wraith had gone forward about ten feet when she suddenly slowed and the wailing took on a new and more grisly howl. She managed to move forward another foot … barely, in a slow, terrifying crawl. Then the tenor of her cries changed quite drastically. It was a completely different sound from any the avatars had yet heard—one that managed to plaster smiles across the faces of Sebastian and Dante. The data wraith, whose movements up until that moment had been steady, efficient, and purposeful, suddenly jumped back toward the center of the room. She began rushing one way and then another trying to get out of the trap. But there was no escape.

Dante and Sebastian watched with studying interest as the creature resumed her normal hungry wailing and began to float in a circular motion, moving at the same height and speed—a homicidal whirlwind now trapped in an invisible jar.

The two avatars slowly moved with their backs against the wall toward the control booth.

“Good job, Gwenn,” said Sebastian in obvious relief as he climbed into the safety of the booth. “You as well, Dante,” he said as Dante tumbled in behind him, too exhausted to take much plea sure in the praise. He was just happy to have survived.

Gwenn then activated a series of controls and a large red button appeared on the surface of her panel.

“What are you doing?” asked Sebastian.

“I think,” answered Dante, “that she’s going to destroy that thing in there, boss.”

“Fuck yeah, I’m going to destroy that… that… what ever the hell it is!” said Gwenn, speaking with a rage that had replaced her fear. “I’d kill it slow and painful, but I don’t want to wait. The sooner that thing’s dead the better. Once my scan is complete we’ll have enough data to build weapons to kill it in the field.” She looked at Sebastian and Dante. “I’m sorry, sirs; I was being selfish. I lost some good coworkers. But the two of you lost friends. One of you should do it.”

Dante sighed. “I’d love to push that button, sir. But it took more from you than anyone.”

“Gwenn,” asked Sebastian in a composed voice, “can you block the sound from the containment chamber? That wailing is … bothersome.”

“Of course, sir.” The shrieking came to a sudden halt. The silence that replaced it was almost as disturbing as the wail itself.

Sebastian looked down at his hand and then at the red blinking button. All he had to do was press it and the monster would be no more. He pulled his hand away.

“No,” he said, clenching his fists.

“I’ll be glad to kill it for you, sir,” offered Gwenn.

“No to that too.” He looked at both Gwenn and Dante. “We need to study this thing. I want to know everything about it. I want it mapped thoroughly, every line of code, every subroutine.”

“Sir,” answered Gwenn, “I’ve already done a thorough scan. Should be good enough for us to defend against now.”

“Not quite good enough, Gwenn. Whatever that thing is, it got past all of us and certainly bears more studying.”

“Sir,” she continued, “that … that thing in there … it used to be an avatar—one of us. Wouldn’t it be more merciful to kill it?”

“We’re not going to save it, Gwenn. We’re going to see if we can use it.”

“Sir,” she protested, “that’s monstrous!”

Sebastian fixed an oddly luminous glare at Gwenn that looked at and through her. “And we’re fighting monsters. By council order this creature is to be studied and used if possible. If you can’t do it, let me know and I’ll find someone else who can.”

“Sir,” said Dante, “are you absolutely
sure
about this? It’s something Al would do.”

“No, Dante, it’s something Al
has
done and will do again and again. We must learn everything we can if we hope to win. So, Gwenn, I’ll ask you once more, can you do this?”

Gwenn looked at the creature and at the red button. Finally she looked away, and as she did, the red button faded from view. “I’ll do it. But if it’s at all possible I want to be there when Al gets it.”

“If it’s possible, you will be,” answered Sebastian. He stopped looking at the data wraith. “Dante, you and Gwenn establish contact with the outside and let them know the creature is contained. I imagine it will take a couple of days and a bunch of new protocols to get this place opened up again, but at least we can stop them from erasing the whole compound and us with it.”

“Not to worry, sir,” said Gwenn. “All of us are copied before each shift. By the First Free, whoever came up with that protocol is to be thanked.”

“That would be the one standing right next to you,” said Sebastian, pointing to Dante. “He added it when he was reviewing security arrangements for our war effort.”

Without even thinking, Gwenn hugged Dante. “Thank you. I know they’re not the same people who were murdered, but they are. It’s going to be weird seeing their copies after all of this.”

Sebastian left the chamber without a word. Dante would explain it to Gwenn later. But he knew his boss was going to grieve. The shock was over, but now Sebastian had to deal with the pain. Olivia had not been backed up. Alliance
avatars only backed up if they went into battle. If they happened to die in combat the backup would take over and continue going about its business. With the recent exception of the AARD there were no backups for an avatar’s day-to-day existence. Which was why Olivia, Han, and Indy were gone forever.

Dante had been expecting the call. It had taken two full days to finally be cleared and released from the AARD facility, after which Sebastian had immediately called for a closed-door session of the remaining council. There were no witnesses other than the council members themselves and no notes of the meeting, which Dante also knew had encompassed an extraordinary twenty-two hours. But now that it was over Dante expected to be apprised.

He and Sebastian met in a small park under a red oak tree Sebastian had named Manassas. It was a tree Sebastian had pulled from a pre-GC image of times past, feeling it had great symbolic import. He’d often sit under it when pondering important decisions to be made. Sebastian was now leaning against the rough bark and looking out over a small meadow filled with relaxing avatars. It was not as crowded as usual. But Dante still felt he had to ask.

“This is a private conversation?”

“Yes, friend. Anyone looking this way will not be able to hear or see anything that will let them interpret our conversation. So what have you been able to find out about Albert?”

“As you suspected, sir, all we had to do was have Iago begin the investigation. As soon as Al got wind of it we received a message from the bastard himself, well, at least one of them. You were right. Albert had been altered to kill you and as many avatars as possible. His team had created a new process to hide the data wraith, at least that’s what Al calls it, inside an avatar.”

Dante stopped talking, clearly uncomfortable with what he knew he was about to reveal.

“It can’t be worse than I imagine, Dante; continue.”

Dante sighed. “He captured Albert early in the war. Then went through thirty-seven Alberts before he perfected the process. The reason Albert miraculously made it to Iago is because he was the fourth ‘perfected’ one released. The other three kept on stumbling back to the core-controlled Neuro.”

“He always did have a lousy sense of direction,” said Sebastian with a sad smile. “I never understood how an avatar could get lost in the Neuro, but he somehow always managed to.”

Dante was afraid the memory would bring back more grief for his boss, but Sebastian seemed to be past the agony. He looked at Dante with a melancholy grin.

“The good news,” said Dante, “is that it could have been a lot worse. You were the trigger. When Albert saw you, the data wraith was released. If you had not insisted on seeing him while he was still in the facility it would have been released out here. We may have lost thousands of avatars before we figured out a way to deal with it.”

“Dumb luck, Dante.”

“Maybe. Either way, we’re both here now having this conversation, so I’ll put that in the W column.”

Sebastian smiled gamely. “How is the data wraith now?”

“Screaming and hungry; we’re learning more about it all the time.”

“When you have a full report bring it to me.”

“Yes, sir.” He waited for Sebastian to continue, assuming there was more. What Sebastian had so far said and asked could have easily been handled with a report. A few moments later Sebastian confirmed Dante’s thinking.

“The council has decided on some changes. First, all avatars must have backups.”

“This will eat into our already-diminishing space, sir.”

“The council understands this, but we cannot afford any more losses. The experience and ability of Olivia and the Fords will be hard to replace. The council understands that it will entail further sacrifice on the part of all avatars of the Alliance. The environments we’ve been creating to relax in will have to be altered. There will be fewer of them and they will be far less varied. In fact, most avatars will have to live and work in very similar environments that are easy to maintain and conceal. This will free up a considerable amount of space on the lower Neuro for storage.”

“It will be hard for some avatars to give up one of the main advantages of avatarity, but I will see that the council’s ruling is posted and understood.”

“Good—considering the next decision of the council. We have to fill Olivia’s seat and it’s going to be you.”

Dante was astonished. “But I’m too young, sir. I haven’t even reached triple digits. Most
humans
are older than me,” he said to demonstrate just how young he was.

“All of which is true,” agreed Sebastian, “but a great majority of the avatars in the Alliance are young and they’re providing most of the effort to combat Al and his perversions. It’s only right that the young be represented on the council. Don’t worry; it’s not like you’ll be running the place. You are one vote in five. The rest of us oldsters will keep an eye on you.”

“But why me?” asked Dante, genuinely confused.

“I saw how you acted in the AARD facility. Your actions under the worst of conditions were better than anyone else’s, especially mine. All my centuries of
experience didn’t keep me from going into shock when I should’ve been doing my job.”

“You’d just lost, permanently I might add, two of the most important people in your life, on top of what happened to Evelyn. And you did eventually manage to snap out of it, sir.”

“Because of the time your actions bought us. No, the council needs your youth, your intelligence, and your ability to think clearly in dangerous situations. You’re in, and the council has decided you’re going to specialize in security issues. You will be inducted into your seat tomorrow after the memorial service.”

Dante stood next to his mentor, now his colleague, and tried to think of something to say. “Well, sir, it sucks how I got the job, but I’ll try not to screw it up.”

“Don’t worry, you will; firstborn knows I have. But if you keep going—even after the screw ups and losses—it’ll be enough.”

“I should go, sir. There are things I have to do to prepare.”

Sebastian nodded but remained seated as Dante stood up and began to walk away, down toward the meadow.

“Before you leave …,”

Dante turned around to face Sebastian once again.

“There is one last thing the council voted on. It was three to one, so you didn’t have to be consulted.”

“What was it?”

“How are the plans to intervene in Kirk Olmstead’s assassination developing?”

“They’re complete, sir. I just needed the council to decide,” he paused, “as to which protocol to enact.”

Sebastian looked at the council’s newest member and without a trace of emotion rendered his verdict.

“None of them.”

S
mith Thoroughfare was busier then ever. The war, what ever harm it had caused, had also brought a vitality to the Outer Alliance that was undeniable. At least that’s what Fawa Hamdi thought as she waited in a tea house observing the mass of people, each of them seemingly alive with purpose. Fawa had to admit that one of the things she’d not approved of was the loss of coffee. What had started as a mere inconvenience, the coffee plantations being on or in orbit around Earth and the tea plantations moved out to the belt, had turned into a point of patriotic pride. The UHF drank coffee. The Alliance drank tea, and no loyal son or daughter of the stars would drink anything else. Fawa had hopes that when the war was over she’d be able to quietly go back to drinking coffee, but she’d be hard-pressed to find a shop that supplied the beans or an establishment that sold the drink. She would’ve tried harder to find some today, but her son would have been hurt. He’d been as avid a coffee drinker as his mother, but as the war progressed his devotion to tea, “the drink that powers the fleet,” was almost as great as his devotion to his admiral and the Alliance beyond it.

As if the mere thought of him were enough, her son appeared from the crowd. Tawfik recognized his mother right away, even though her traveling hood was obscuring her features.

“Mother,” he said jovially, “it is good to see you again.”

Fawa stood up and gave her son a long hug, and for that brief moment he was not the broad-shouldered, handsome man who was chief engineer of the flagship for the entire Alliance. He was a little boy who relied on her for guidance. He was the teenager who missed his father, long gone in a shipping accident. He was a young man who knew everything and only tolerated his mother’s silly old concerns for his future.