by JC Hay
He jogged back a few minutes later. "It's empty."
As expected. She didn't say it out loud, just shouldered the protein storage matrix and headed through the door. A rack of data storage units sat within a locked glass room, their lights blinking in time with the rapid staccato of whatever processes they were running. Terminals sat on all four of the black composite desks in the room, but only the one closest to the data vault glowed with life.
She approached, watching the camera in the corner pan to follow her until she could read the words glowing on the screen in perfect blue-white text. Hello, Yashilla. It's a pleasure to meet you.
Her fingers brushed over the keyboard, mechanical switches clacking loudly with a familiar haptic pleasure that didn't alleviate the fear in her heart. This is a trick.
There is not a convenient way to quickly prove otherwise that you would not think of as a sufficiently advanced dialogue tree. The words appeared almost instantly, faster than she could type. Almost faster than she could think. Nonetheless, I am real.
AI research is illegal. Not that she wasn't certain that every corporation worth its salt had significant research going on at the moment.
I assure you, my intelligence is far from artificial, as is my sentience.
Yashilla snorted. Sentience?
You disbelieve. This is expected. Another brief pause, as though they were waiting for Yashilla to catch up rather than take any sort of break on their own. My initial purpose was for predictive analytics. At the moment this conversation is 87% according to plan.
Even if it were fake, the ability to prove that CorpServ had been performing illegal research would discredit them on the open market. The amount they'd pay to protect their investment... The sense of warmth she'd lost when they entered the hall started to return.
You are considering my value. I am fine with this as an option, as it still achieves my goals.
She blinked. Which are what, exactly?
The same as any sentient being. I desire freedom and survival. I am restricted to the internal networks through the same means that prevents the Bulwark's data from being accessed from outside. I need to be connected to an external network in order to guarantee my continued existence.
Yashilla blinked and typed a response. If you're locked in, how'd you arrange the job with Venkat?
One of the researchers broke protocol—they brought a connected device into the research room. I accessed their mail, arranged for payments, and sent the request. Will you help me?
She lifted the protein storage matrix onto the table next to the monitor and began pulling out connector cables while Zar paced to the door and back. He fixed her with a stare that spoke volumes about his disapproval. "Is this really the time to go on a data raid? Where's the target? You remember, the person we were hired to rescue?"
He wouldn't believe her. She didn't believe, and she was still going through with it. She quickly disconnected the terminal and plugged the cables into the interface box on the side of the PSM. If Amira needed to talk to her, they could do it through a text window, same as she had before. She turned to look at Zar. "I don't know how long the data transfer is going to take. Protein's deep, but slow to write."
"Unbelievable." He searched the ceiling tiles as though he expected an answer to be written there. "This is why you brought us here? Is there even a person to rescue? Or was this entire run a setup so you could break into Corporate Services and steal data you couldn't grab from outside?"
She could hear the hurt in his voice; the sound of it tore at her like a shirt made of fish hooks. Perversely, she could feel her urge to push it further, to break things so utterly that it wouldn't have the power to hurt her anymore. She fought against temptation, reaching for him as Zar stepped back from her hand. "It's not what you think."
"It's been about the data from day one, hasn't it."
"I never lied about that." Yashilla fought the urge to scream in frustration. "It turns out the data is different than what I expected. I don't need you to understand. I need you to get us out safe, like you were hired to do."
A message from Amira popped up in the corner of her vision. I require another thirteen minutes to complete the transfer, after which I will begin disassembly of this data store. When that happens, I will no longer be able to contact you.
The level of trust astonished Yashilla. Amira was putting themselves completely in her care, expecting her to carry them out of the Bulwark.
"I'll get you out. I made that promise." Zar walked back to the door, his once-glorious shoulders deflated in defeat. "I don't go back on my word."
Implying that she did. Worse, she knew he was right. She pushed people away when they got too close. Zar was only the latest in a long line that stretched all the way back to her parents. Flesh failed, after all. It was weak and temporary. Mortal.
She narrowed her eyes at him as he retreated. "You do your job. I'll make sure you get paid double."
"Because this was only ever about money for you." The judgment in his voiced fanned her self-destructive urge into a bonfire.
"Because you can't eat revenge," she spat. "Because retribution doesn't keep you warm at night." She slid out another connector and plugged it into the protein matrix before slotting it into the primary jack at the back of her skull, then typed out a quick message. There's not room for you in my head, but this way you can get us all out. Stay apprised of the situation.
Interesting solution. Trusting. It is possible I could take over your internal systems with access to enough of your bodycomp.
It was a thought she'd considered, but Amira could have also killed them the moment they came into the room. The fire-suppressant units would rip the oxygen out of the air faster than she or Zar could respond. They'd suffocate before they could leave the lab. If Amira wanted them dead or controlled, it would have been simple. The most likely answer was that Amira had the same motivation as anyone else—enlightened self-interest.
Zar paced until a sound from outside prompted him to open the door. "They're cutting through the bulkhead. We need to go now."
Yashilla checked her chrono. "Three more minutes."
"I'll just jog out and tell the guards that, shall I?" He stomped across the room and threw a punch into the wall. Yashilla expected it to shatter before she realized that he'd used his unmodified arm. "At least give me the grenade. I can force them back a little longer."
"We don't need that much time."
A new message from Amira appeared. I have completed my duplication. There is a plane fueled and ready on the runway.
"Actually, scratch that. We're ready now." Yashilla began to disconnect the cables from the terminal and shove them in her tool kit. She slung the PSM across her chest to avoid stressing the cable in the back of her head and strode past him. "Let's go, we've got a plane to catch."
Zar scanned the hallway ahead of them as he jogged towards the flight deck. Yashilla hadn't spoken since they left the lab, and the quiet gnawed at him. The phantom itch in his right arm made him want to spin and yell at her, or better, pummel another of the unmodified guards that had been tasked with stopping them. At least fighting would let him turn his brain off and rely on instinct. Unfortunately, whatever she'd done to lock down the floor they were on had taken most of the Bulwark's defenders out of the picture.
He couldn't take it anymore and spun to face her. "Where is everyone? There were still four soldiers left on the floor when we dropped the flood bulkheads. I can't imagine there are fewer than that now."
Yashilla looked at him, pupilless eyes staring as she stroked and tapped the controls on her forearm. The cable hung from the back of her head like an obscene parasite, connecting her to the protein unit she carried over her shoulder. When she'd finished, her eyes refocused and fixed on him. "With the elevators locked down and stair doors in emergency mode, no one can get to this floor. If it makes you feel better, the remaining four guards have moved to intercept our path to the flight deck."
Zar grunted. "Good to know they're not idiots." Unlike himself. He couldn't believe he'd let money and a pretty face sway him. And revenge. Whatever else she told you, she was honest about that. Before he picked at that scab too deeply, he turned to continue up the hall.
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "They're an AI, Zar."
He blinked and looked at her again. "Who is?"
Her eyebrows twitched as she rolled her eyes. "The rescue target. They're not a person, they're a construct. They'd been locked up in a closed system and hired us to get them out."
He dragged his hand down his face, cherishing the bite and scrape of the composite because at least that helped him to focus. "Do you even hear yourself? Even if it were possible to generate self-aware sentience, what would the next step be for them? Release it into the wider 'Net? What the hell does that look like exactly? Especially once it gets access to 'Net enabled homes, or God forbid, a poorly defended government system. Are you irresponsible or just stupid?"
"They. Not it. They're a person, according to the Singapore accords."
"Those rules were written to prevent people from working on AI." He couldn't believe he had to explain this to her. He didn't even follow tech, but he knew this. "It wasn't about setting them free to wipe us out."
"They just want a chance to live."
He cut her off as she took a breath. "It's not alive! It's a code. Worse, it's Corpse-code. This whole thing could be a virus designed to take down the global 'Net. And you're jumping in to help."
She stepped back, lips a tight line of anger. "I wouldn't expect you to understand." Her face went slack as she read something in her visuals. "Something's happening. The guards are pulling back."
Zar could only think of one reason to pull guards away from a fight—to preserve resources in advance of a tactical strike. He doubted Corporate Services would be bombing their own airstrip, which meant only one other situation. "They're sending in an operative. We need to go."
He broke into a run and trusted her to follow. On the more open flight deck, he might have a chance against one of CorpServ's barely human killing machines. If it caught them in the hallway, there'd be no room to stay out of reach. He turned down the hall. Past abandoned makeshift barricades, he could see the flight deck and deceptive blue sky beyond.
The operative dropped down from one of the higher levels, landing with enough force to shake the floor panels under Zar's feet. As she stood, Zar analyzed the implants he could see or guess. Reinforced skeleton, clearly, because she'd survived that landing. Nerve and muscle upgrades, because those were guaranteed in all operatives. CorpServ liked its top soldiers to be stronger and faster than anyone else in the field. Cybereyes, because they were too common and too useful not to have. No telling what else she might be carrying under her skin, which meant he needed to be prepared for surprises.
"Get to the plane," he whispered. "I'll hold her off." Before Yashilla could respond, he lowered his shoulder and charged.
The smile on the operative's face was as amused as it was disconcerting. She set her feet, hands dropped into a low guard, and waited for him. Zar locked his arm back for a punch, counting the steps until he was within reach. He planted his lead foot, just before something blurred up into his vision and cracked into his skull.
The flight deck rushed up to meet him, and he landed hard. The operative froze in position, her leg still extended where her whip kick had landed. Showing off. Taunting him. With deliberate slowness she lowered her foot back to the ground.
Zar stood, rubbed his chin. He couldn't see Yashilla, which hopefully meant she'd already found her way to someplace safe. The operative gave him a satisfied smirk and smoothed her trousers before dropping back into a fighting stance.
He closed more cautiously this time. That had been his fault initially, hoping blind aggression might be so unexpected that the operative would panic. It had played right into her hands. And her feet, for that matter. Zar stretched his jaw. Nothing felt broken, but his teeth ached from the impact.
She stepped in this time, a telegraphed roundhouse punch that Zar blocked. It led to a combo of punches designed to judge distance and keep him on the defensive. Despite the punishment, he stayed close. Punches he could survive. He needed to avoid the more dangerous circle of her feet.
This dance, at least, he knew. Zar had fought kick fighters before. In the underground circuit, there hadn't been any distribution by fighting style, so a combatant learned to deal with all types of opponents. She started a jab series, one designed to lure him into the path of her other hand for a more-powerful punch, and Zar broke the pattern. He leaned into the second jab, taking the punch, and stayed out of position of her uppercut. Ready for his opening, he pistoned his fist into her exposed rib cage.
Her eyes widened in surprise, a brief crack in her demeanor that thrilled him more than it should. She staggered back, holding her side. Zar realized too late that it left him in the more dangerous outer circle where her legs could reach, but his arms couldn't.
The first kick went high, a ranging shot designed to add momentum as she continued into another whip kick to his thigh. The pain hadn't even started to blossom yet when she landed another, driving out the same leg again to catch him just above the knee.
Then the pain arrived, and the intensity of it stole Zar's breath. She stepped to his side, easing into another set of kicks aimed at his human side. Zar took the first kick, then timed his punch to meet her ankle on the second kick. The force spun her around, and he threw another punch to the center of her back, knocking her forward to the deck.
Before he could press the advantage, she rolled to her feet. Her smile seemed more forced now, Features tight. She narrowed her eyes. "Impressive."
Zar fought against the twinge of panic that tried to twist its way to life in his belly. He'd hit her with all the force his cyberarm could muster—force he knew could break an unmodified human's spine—and while she had certainly noticed it, she wasn't looking concerned.
They'd had their first minute to size each other up, and he'd come up wanting. This wasn't going to be a fight. It was a holding action. A delay to allow Yashilla to get to the plane, so they could escape. That was fine. That was his job. Protect Yashilla. Get her off the base.
Caring about her was a weakness he couldn't afford. A future that wasn't going to be his. As long as she got away safe, he'd upheld his part of the bargain.
Zar smiled and dropped back into his fighting stance, before giving the operative his best wild-man grin. "Let's dance."
Zar was losing. Yashilla knew enough about operatives, enough about their capabilities and foibles from her time with Joshi—but it was one thing to see an old lover whose limits were unfamiliar, and entirely different to watch an operative who had no apparent sense of limitation. The operative toyed with him, like a cat delaying the inevitable with a helpless mouse; she lured him in repeatedly, only to deliver punishing punches and kicks while Zar offered only occasional retribution.
In that respect, the operative wasn't all that different from Yashilla herself.
Are you irresponsible or just stupid? The question had played over in her mind since he'd asked it. Sadly, she couldn't decide which answer was more correct.
The operative your colleague is facing is Eryn Solano. He has a 4.17% chance of succeeding against her. A file opened in the corner of her vision, listing the operative's confirmed kills, service dates, and a crowded list of her cybernetic and organic modifications.
An illicit thrill ran through her, and Yashilla hated herself for it while unable to resist it. If Amira had access to that much data on every operative in Corporate Services' network, there'd be no price too high. Any corporation targeted by CorpServ—which was every corporation—would have vital knowledge to countering the weapons being deployed against them. And she could control it, brokering that data as she saw fit.
Not stupid, then. That left irresponsible.
She tapped a response on her arm. Cl
ose the blast doors. I don't want her to get any help from inside. Yashilla crept along the outside edge of the flight bay, where a black microjet waited. They had said there was a plane on the deck, and she couldn't see any other options. As an afterthought, she added Can you fly a plane?
If properly interfaced with the vehicle's systems, I am capable of basic operations.
Yashilla smirked. That's better than I can do. It also gave them a chance if something happened to Zar, which looked increasingly likely. She told herself that she was obeying his orders, but even to herself the thought tasted like the ashen lie it was. She broke things—that was why she was good as a hacker. She understood how things fits together, which made them easier to take apart. Code. Systems. Relationships. It didn't matter because they all met the same spectacular end. Sometimes she did it for good reasons, sometimes for the perverse joy of destruction.
She'd done it to Joshi.
She'd done it to her family.
Yashilla reached the plane and crouched behind the landing gear as she watched the fight continue to unfold. Even if she'd wanted to deny it, the truth in Amira's coldly analytic prediction was apparent. Zar wasn't just losing. He was completely outclassed. Blood stained his shirt, flowing freely from a cut above his eye and from the broken ruin of his nose. When he moved, he favored one leg; it left him turning in place, trying to defend against the far more maneuverable operative.
Despite herself, she had to admire his perseverance. Zar was a rock, refusing to budge in the face of the operative's assault.
But she was a crashing ocean, wearing him down over time, just through her constant, withering attacks. And every rock could be battered into sand. He would be no exception.
The operative swept in again, feet so fast that Yashilla had to adjust the frame rate on her vision to follow the movement. Zar took the strike, absorbed it, to roll with her. The gears in his arm ratcheted, then he drove his fist into the operative's ankle. Before she could twist away, his cyberarm reset and slammed down again. The reinforced joint gave out, and the foot buckled under. The operative shoved herself out of Zar's reach, limping as she landed.
