Asterion Noir: The Complete Collection (Amaranthe Collections Book 4)

by G. S. Jennsen

  “I’m letting you in. Open your conscious mind and follow where the string leads.”

  code fragments…

  mock-up designs of slicing modules…

  a flash of flesh, shouldn’t go there…

  a scene of PeterBot splitting into a hundred copies of itself and consuming IkeBot like a dinner feast—

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Nah. Not unless Ryan pisses me off.”

  “Is it always like this in your brain?”

  “Honestly? Yes. But do you understand what you’re seeing, or are you just viewing it like you would a vid?”

  She contemplated his question…and realized she understood it all. Algorithms, schematics, esoteric ideas which hadn’t reached fruition…many of them should be well beyond her knowledge or capabilities, but seen through the lens of his processes, she understood what he understood. More than this, they felt as if they were her own thoughts, her own ideas.

  A novel approach to slicing double-encrypted databases bloomed in her mind; she explored the logic and the discarded choices leading to the final design as if they’d originated whole cloth as her own creation. Only they had not.

  “How?”

  “I wish I could tell you. I’m working on it. But I think it has something to do with how deeply the kyoseil is integrated into our individual neural frameworks, yet somehow still linked to kyoseil integrated into other neural frameworks. Your kyoseil is interacting with mine on a far deeper level than merely exchanging data. It’s exchanging not merely thoughts, but the formation of the thoughts—how they came to be and where they lead. Now, let me in.”

  She hesitated. Instinctive protectiveness flared.

  “It’s okay. The barrier is still in place, and it will default to protecting your core programming and memories. You share only what you choose to share. You have the power.”

  I have the power. Pretty flimsy as mantras went, but she repeated it several times anyway as she opened the gates to her mind.

  “Hee-hee.”

  “Parc!”

  “Sorry. Show me the Rasu. From the simex.”

  Her recall command executed instantaneously, and they were both in the memory. He took control, speeding forward to the moment when the Rasu executed the natives in the most horrific of ways.

  “Yep, that’s about what I would expect from these monsters.”

  Forward again, racing through endless corridors and rooms until they reached the command center in the heart of the ship.

  “Stop fixating on the vortex. I need to see the equipment.”

  “I can’t change the content of the memory, Parc.”

  “Fine. Okay…here!” The memory froze when she looked at the bank of equipment behind her, searching for a way she might disrupt the power flow. Then it advanced a microsecond. Froze. Another microsecond. Froze. Faster now, ahead several milliseconds. Froze.

  Finally they were racing for the end, blades and running and the Rasu surrounding them, and in a flash of blinding light it was over.

  “The pulses the equipment emit are part of their language. They’re displaying what the equipment is doing and the data it’s outputting, right there for all to see.”

  Nika frowned in her mind. “I didn’t see it.”

  “You were busy. You were on the right track, though. That piece of equipment was monitoring the electrical charge in the crystals down in the pit.”

  “…And now we know a little more about how their weapons operate, thanks to you.”

  “Well. I guess that’s true. Now, for the next step. Ryan, are you here?”

  “No, I’m at the deli shop on Caraden.”

  New thoughts swirled into the melting pot, a shocking number of them relating to dyne hardware and drone components. Emotions, too…concern, empathy, fondness, conflict—

  “Ryan, we’re not alone in here.”

  “I know. Sorry. How about this?”

  The gooey warmth of melted cheese flooded her tongue, followed by the abrupt crunch of toasted bread. Crumbs caught in the corners of her mouth, and a hand not hers wiped them away.

  She blinked in her mind. “Whoa. Who’s hungry?”

  “Right? Ryan’s a natural at sensory transmission. Which is—” a wave crashed over her, neither imagery nor thought but sheer sensation, and she comprehended exactly what it was, and now she needed a cold shower “—a fun way to show off one of the features of this type of meld. Ryan, order me one of those sandwiches. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Nika, are you ready to wrap this up?”

  To withdraw from the meld was to become…lesser. Her skin felt restrictive, her mind sluggish and limited. She blinked repeatedly and rubbed at her face. “Bit of a kick at the end there.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The melding could get addictive quickly. We’ll need to plan for that.”

  “Sure. Go ahead and plan. But you understand now, don’t you? You understand what this can mean for us? Imagine ten, twenty, fifty people all sharing the same mindspace! Imagine what we can discover, invent, dream up?”

  “No, I get it. And I have to admit we need it badly.” She exhaled slowly. “I’ll recommend that we move forward with the program—officially, as I realize none of us can stop it now, even if we wanted to. But I do wonder…if we survive the Rasu, what is this going to mean for our future?”

  Parc reached over and squeezed her hand in a rare show of earnest affection. “Let me show you something. Let’s go out on the balcony.”

  She followed him outside. Hataori Harbor sparkled in the bright afternoon light. The sights and sounds of a living city spread out beneath them, vibrant and bustling.

  “One hells of a view you’ve got here.”

  “It is.”

  “Now reactivate the ocular setting.”

  Even though she knew what was coming, even though she tried to prepare herself, her knees almost buckled beneath her. She fell against the railing, gripping it with all her strength to anchor herself to this physical spot.

  Spectral luminescence painted the sky in a brilliant prism of colors. The streets, the buildings. Most of all, the people. Tendrils wound through and around them like the very atoms of the universe, binding them all together in a miraculous web of light.

  “What is this going to mean for our future? Something wonderful.”

  37

  * * *

  MIRAI ONE PAVILION

  Adlai dodged two construction mechs as he made his way toward the new but makeshift entrance to the Pavilion. Buildings kept exploding, and they kept patching them back together.

  The damage to the Pavilion from the attack was significant enough that they really should move their base of operations somewhere else, again. But the repairs to Mirai Tower weren’t finished, and they were almost out of time. The Rasu expected a shipment of Asterions in stasis chambers in less than two weeks, and they couldn’t afford to spend a single hour of that time transferring servers across town or adding security to yet another new location. So, they would make do.

  He’d taken two steps inside when a ping arrived from Spencer.

  Francis Wallman just got caught at a checkpoint trying to flee to Adjunct Shi. A squad is transporting him to the Mirai Justice Center now.

  His pulse quickened. Finally, a break.

  I’m on my way.

  MIRAI JUSTICE CENTER

  Adlai rushed into the interrogation wing displaying a fervor he hadn’t felt in weeks. Spencer was reviewing security procedures with the officer on duty, but he came over as soon as Adlai arrived.

  “The prisoner’s secured and ready for you. He didn’t put up much of a fight, according to the logs.” Spencer motioned toward the cell. “I’ve spent a little bit of time with Officer Wallman recently. My estimation? He’s scared. Play it right, and he’ll talk.”

  Adlai nodded. “Let’s hope so.” He donned his interrogator guise and walked into the cell.

  Officer Francis Wallman vibrated in the utilitarian chair. His hands were re
strained to the table at the wrists, and he’d fisted them together. His eyes darted to Adlai, then back to his hands. “Sir, I was acting under orders.”

  “Illegal orders. Blake Satair had been removed as a Justice Advisor, and you damn well knew it.”

  “But he’s been my Advisor since I joined Justice eighty years ago. I believed in his leadership and his vision. We were trying to do the right thing.”

  “So you say. It will pain you to learn, then, that Satair suffered total body loss during the attack on the Pavilion. He will be regened and tried for his new crimes in due time, but not until after the current crisis is resolved, so he won’t be coming to your aid anytime soon.

  “Your cohort Oliver Perotski suffered significant bodily trauma during the firefight as well, and he’s in custody. The attack on the Pavilion—on the Advisors and the lawful government of the Dominion—failed, completely and absolutely. And it was the best hand Satair had to play. Your side has lost, Officer Wallman, and it should have.

  “Listen. I like you. You’re a good officer. I don’t want to believe that you’re a traitor or hopelessly corrupt. I want to believe that you meant what you said about trying to do the right thing. But what Satair did was not the right thing, and if he had succeeded, it would have spelled the end of the Dominion. Forever.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Why didn’t you participate in the attack on the Pavilion? Why weren’t you there?”

  His head hung; a slight tremble developed in his hands atop the table. “I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. Advisor Satair was so angry after we freed him…it spooked me. And Guide Luciene? He’s terrifying. I started to second-guess the wisdom of their plans. And when it came time to move on the Pavilion…I ran instead.”

  “That was the right choice, Francis.” Adlai rubbed at his jaw, as if a thought had suddenly come to him. “You left Luciene unprotected?”

  “There are dynes guarding the house. I panicked, okay?”

  House—the data point eliminated several thousand potential locations. “I understand. I would have panicked, too. Where is Luciene now?”

  Wallman shrank down in his chair. “I can’t tell you, sir. He’s a Guide, and I won’t betray him.”

  “He’s not a Guide any longer. You can’t betray him, because he doesn’t rule us, and you no longer owe any allegiance to him. Where is he?”

  Wallman stared down at his shoes. His chest rose and fell in rapid heaves.

  “Tell me—truthfully—and I’ll ensure you don’t get an R&R sentence. It won’t be soon, but you will walk free one day. Keep silent, and…” he waved his hand dismissively “…it’s almost certainly lights out for you.”

  “But the Rasu are going to kill us all, anyway.”

  “Not if we can help it. And we can help it a lot better if we know Luciene is safely locked away, where he can’t interfere to disastrous consequences. Where is he?”

  Wallman’s gaze rose to meet Adlai’s, eyes wide and bloodshot, pupils dilated. “You truly believe you all can save us?”

  “I do.”

  “He’s in Synra One, in a house on Markham Drive.”

  SYNRA

  They moved on the house under full stealth. Thirty meters out, they used the same kill code Satair had employed at the Pavilion to disable the dynes and drones guarding the house. If any guards were stationed inside, Luciene had just been alerted to the raid, but they already had the site surrounded and aerial drones in place. It wouldn’t matter.

  Adlai took point and breached the door. A dyne lay crumpled on the floor to the left, at the entrance to a small kitchen. Through the main room, a person stood at a glass patio door.

  In Adlai’s peripheral vision, Spencer and Selene’s Glasers rose to match his. “Luciene Toskav, you are under arrest. I implore you to surrender yourself without resistance. We will disable you if we must, but we want to resolve this in a peaceful manner.”

  Luciene slowly turned around, hands held out beside him to show he carried no weapons. “None of that will be necessary, Advisor Weiss. I won’t be troubling you any further. I have failed you. I have failed the Dominion. I have failed myself. Better to delete this soul and start again.”

  The former Guide crumpled to the floor in a heap.

  “Check him!” Adlai motioned Selene forward while he quickly cleared the remaining rooms of the small house.

  When he returned, Selene was glowering at the body. “What was the point of this? Why bother with a dramatic exit when we’ll simply regen him and stick him back in his prison?”

  Spencer holstered his Glazer as he emerged from the kitchen. “Harris and I just received an alert from the Justice Evidence Warehouse on Ebisu. There’s been an explosion.”

  He and Selene both spun toward him. “How bad is it?”

  “Can’t say for certain yet. Emergency responders are still en route.” He indicated the pile of robe and limbs on the floor. “But according to the timestamp on the alert, the explosion occurred five seconds before Luciene self-destructed.”

  Adlai ran a hand along his jaw. “We’ll see where the evidence leads, but it’s possible we just watched a genuine suicide take place. I think he knew we were coming, and I think he blew up his own backups so we wouldn’t be able to regen him.”

  “If so, he blew up the other former Guides’ backups as well.”

  “They can make new ones.” He shook his head…not quite in mourning, for he would not miss the man, but in sorrow nonetheless. The Rasu had brought the specter of final death back to the Asterions, in more ways than one. “But not him.”

  Selene knelt beside the body and closed its unseeing eyes. “All that processing power, all that intellect, all that incomprehensibly vast knowledge, and he couldn’t live with the paradox reality presented to him.”

  “What paradox is that?”

  “That what he knew to be true, wasn’t.”

  38

  * * *

  NIKA’S FLAT

  Nika did a quick inspection of the living room and nodded to herself. It truly was designed for entertaining, which meant she didn’t need to do much rearranging or staging. As long as there was food and drink, a crowd could inhabit the space comfortably for many hours.

  Perrin had arrived a few minutes earlier bearing bags upon bags of food. She’d entrusted Ava and Maggie with bringing drinks, which Nika wasn’t certain had been the best idea. Ava was likely to show up with barrels of rectified ethanol and zero wine. But she was happy to give Maggie things to do—things that didn’t involve shooting attackers inside collapsing buildings—to ease her back into the world of the living, and Ava seemed eager to help with it as well.

  Hopefully, all her guests wouldn’t end up with alcohol poisoning.

  She’d checked on Maris before returning home and had found Spencer tending to the woman’s recovery quite well. He’d never struck her as the tender type, so it had been a bit of a shock to see. Part of her suspected Maris of playing the delicate flower and Spencer of falling for it; on the other hand, she needed to remember that while the Pavilion attack resembled an average day at the office for her, the same wasn’t true for people like Maris.

  The doorbell rang, and she accessed the hallway cam before answering it. Given what Satair had almost pulled off at the Pavilion, they didn’t dare discount the possibility of renewed attacks on the Advisors.

  Parc fidgeted in the hallway. She laughed to herself and opened the door. “You’re early. You might as well have stayed here this afternoon.”

  “But then I would have missed an amazing grilled cheese sandwich at the deli on Caraden.” He strode in, went to the kitchen, and grabbed a handful of nuts from the bowl Perrin had set on the counter less than ten seconds earlier. “I wanted to talk to you about something before everyone arrived.”

  Perrin glanced over her shoulder from inside the pantry. “Talk to me?”

  “Nah. I mean, you can chime in if you have an opinion, and I bet you will. So, Nika.”

&
nbsp; She leaned against the wall. “I’m listening.”

  He strode around the living room popping peanuts into his mouth between sentences. “These melds—though I prefer the term gestalts—we’re creating? They need a name. Calling them ‘hive minds,’ which I’ve already heard several people doing, is both lame and flagrantly inaccurate, because nobody’s losing any individuality here. You know this. ‘Group minds’ is more accurate, but easily as lame.”

  Nika shrugged. “I don’t disagree. Collective consciousness nodes?”

  “You have no imagination, woman. Besides, they’re not so much collectives as coalescences—ooh! Coalescences of cerebral activity. We can call them COBRAS.”

  She stared at him deadpan. “We’re not calling them COBRAS.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ugh, fine. Let’s see….”

  “Noesis? Or noetics?”

  “It’s taken.” A wicked smirk grew on his features, and he crossed his arms triumphantly across his chest. “I’ve got it: CERAFFIN. That’s the plural. CERAFF in the singular, just to be clear.”

  Perrin giggled from the kitchen, where she was stacking trays of food in the refrigeration unit.

  Nika arched an unimpressed eyebrow, but said nothing, waiting for him to make his case.

  “It’s a totally legitimate acronym. It stands for Cerebral Affinity. Little groupings of thought affinities, see?”

  “That are angelic in nature.”

  “Well, I’ll leave that for others to judge.”

  She sighed so dramatically, Maris would be proud. “I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”

  “Nope. You Advisors can give them a different name if you want, but we’re all using ceraffin—no caps, I think. It’s going to stick.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yep. I’m never wrong about these things.”

  Sadly, he rarely was…and she supposed he did deserve to name them, since they were his creation. “Time will tell. Since you’re here, make yourself useful. Take those bowls on the dining table, fill them with chips and put the bowls on all the living room tables.”