Sunrise Alley

by Catherine Asaro

  She didn't like the way he watched her. "Here?"

  With no warning, the walls melted around them. Then they were standing in another corridor, one with similar walls—except this one curved to the right until it disappeared from sight.

  "Well, look at that," Sam said. "What a surprise."

  Turner turned in a circle, looking around. "How did you know it was fake?"

  "It's a cheap trick," Sam said.

  "Hardly cheap, I assure you," the steward said.

  Sam raised her eyebrows at him. "Maybe you're an illusion, too. Or maybe you're Charon."

  "You flatter me." Dryly he added, "And insult Charon." Then he motioned her forward.

  They followed the corridor only for a short distance before the steward stopped. Although Sam didn't see him do anything, the wall in front of him faded away into a rectangular archway. Beyond it, an office gleamed with white walls and carpet, and glass furniture. Glow-tiles on the ceiling filled the room with light. Despite Sam's intent to remain cool and collected, the sight rattled her. Someone had gone to a great deal of expense to create this strange hallway and imposing office.

  As they entered the office, she memorized details. A white Luminex console stretched the length of the opposite wall. No one sat behind it. The room had a lot of empty space. The rounded white couch and armchairs glimmered with indistinct holo patterns that shifted as she moved, creating an ethereal quality as if they were scintillating clouds. The tables sparkled and their edges broke light into colors. She would have bet diamonds were embedded in those edges; a prism wouldn't split this diffuse light so well.

  "How gaudy," Sam said. It wasn't; the gorgeous room with its subtle display of wealth impressed the hell out of her, which made it all the more intimidating. Trying to cover her apprehension, she said, "So where is our host?"

  Turner stood next to her with his jaw clenched. Raze and the steward flanked him, both taller and more muscular, pulse rifles in hand. They menaced without saying a word. Turner looked terrified. Sam wanted to reach for his hand, to offer support, but the steward stood between them, deliberately, she thought.

  The pilot went to the console across the room and leaned over a comm there, his lips moving, though Sam couldn't hear him. She looked back the way they had come in time to see a door slide across the entrance, its surface matching the walls so well that no seams showed when it finished closing. Their prison was complete.

  "Is this Charon's office?" Sam asked Turner.

  "I don't know." He folded his arms and rubbed his palms along them. "I've never been here before."

  "What happens now?" she asked.

  The steward motioned at the pilot across the room. "He's talking with Charon. We wait until he's done." He indicated a couch against the wall to their left. The long table before it was glass, with chrome legs and prismatic edges. "Please be comfortable."

  Sam kept her thoughts about Charon's "comfort" to herself. The mercenaries pushed Sam and Turner forward, so they all went to the couch. Sam sank onto it, and the cushions responded to her tension far more adeptly than her own semi-smart furniture. It still didn't help, though.

  An armchair stood at the end of the couch, facing in. Turner sat down in it, his body so taut that Sam doubted the chair could make him comfortable, either. Seeing his haunted expression, she felt like a fraud. She had promised him refuge. But she didn't see what else they could have done. Contacting the NIA may have led Charon to them, but they would have been even more exposed had they spent hours on an unprotected highway driving the Lost Coast of northern California, with its plunging gorges, dense forests, and lonely cliffs.

  "I'm sorry this happened," Sam said to him.

  "It's not your fault," he said. "We're facing an expert. Maybe no one can outwit him."

  Sam had no intention of giving up. "We'll see."

  Raze and the steward took up positions on either side of the couch. Then the pilot came back and stood behind Turner's chair. All three guards waited in silence, imposing and solid, with no expression. Sam wished they didn't look so blasted effective.

  With no warning, the wall behind the console shimmered and faded into a doorway. It was dark beyond, making it hard to see the person entering the room—until she stepped into the light. Black hair brushed her shoulders and her dark eyes slanted upward. She wore a form-fitting black jumpsuit that did nothing to hide her devastatingly well-toned figure. Her black knee-boots added several more inches to her six-foot height. The belt around her narrow waist glimmered with silver mesh-threads, and a pulse gun rode snug in a holster at her hip.

  "Good Lord," Turner muttered.

  "You know her?" Sam asked.

  "Never seen her before." He looked alarmed. "Believe me, I would remember."

  The surge of jealousy that hit Sam startled her; she hadn't realized she had begun to think about Turner as hers. More than anything else, that convinced her he was a man; she couldn't imagine any machine evoking such a powerful response in her.

  The woman stalked over to them, cool and menacing. Sam stood up, feeling puny in comparison to this new phenomenon. As Turner rose to his feet, the woman looked them up, down, and over. She stopped on the other side of the coffee table and considered them with her hands on her hips. Her unusual height made Sam excruciatingly aware of her slight build and wild hair. She had nothing on this sleek, perfect person. She felt as if she were being judged and discarded.

  "Are you Charon?" Sam asked.

  The woman gave a husky laugh. "Not even close."

  Sam wished she didn't feel so cold. "So when is he showing up?"

  The woman shrugged. "If he wishes to come, he will. For now I am your host."

  Sam looked her up and down the same way the woman had done to them, though she doubted she intimidated anyone, let alone this mercenary goddess. "Who are you?"

  "You may call me Alpha."

  "Alpha?" Personally, Sam thought someone this unique deserved a more original nickname than the first letter of the Greek alphabet. Maybe Alpha was an android, first of a series, followed by Beta, Gamma, Delta, ad nauseum. Sam had never heard of anyone building such a magnificent forma, though.

  Alpha spoke to the steward. "I'll take the android with me. You stay here with Dr. Bryton."

  "I'm not a goddamned android," Turner said.

  Sam wished she wasn't so far from Turner. She felt small as they stood facing all these large, muscular people. No doubt the effect was intentional. Mental games had never worked well on Sam, but this was reaching even her limit. She was terrified they would end up dead. Or worse.

  "Turner and I stay together," she said.

  "Is that so?" Alpha smiled, her teeth glittering—literally. They had the same prismatic quality as the table. "Turner, don't be difficult. Charon could take you apart and put you together however he wants."

  His gaze darkened. "I know."

  "Then behave yourself and come with me."

  He clenched one fist at his side. "No."

  With surreal calm, Alpha drew her gun—and fired.

  The bullet shattered the table in front of Sam and sent glass flying. She whipped her arm in front of her face, staggering as shards rained over her. The back of her calves hit the couch and her legs buckled, collapsing her onto the cushions. Alpha must have intended to hit the table; she couldn't have missed at this range.

  Turner lunged toward Sam. "Get her a doctor!"

  Alpha pointed her gun at him. When he froze, she said, "Stay put."

  "A doctor?" Sam asked. Baffled, her heart racing, she rose to her feet. "Why?"

  For some reason, the steward came over and put his hand under her elbow. She pulled away from him.

  "She is a doctor," Alpha said, obviously amused. "An EI shrink, no less. You need therapy, Turner?"

  He looked ready to strangle her. "Get help, damn it."

  "What are you talking about?" Sam asked. She meant to say more, but an unexpected dizziness stopped her. The steward tried to make her sit down
and Turner gave him a murderous look.

  "Everyone, stop." Sam's left arm had begun to hurt. She peered down—

  Blood covered her forearm.

  "Oh." Sam dropped onto the couch. Gashes covered her arm and she felt blood running over the skin. She suddenly thought she would lose her rushed dinner of hot dogs.

  Carefully, with no sudden movements, Turner stepped over and knelt at her side on the couch. He took her hand. "Don't protest anymore. I'll go with them."

  "Turner—" She stopped when he laid two fingers over her lips.

  "I thank you for standing by me," he said. "But I refuse to be responsible for your death."

  "They won't kill me." She meant to sound confident, but her voice wobbled.

  He squeezed her hand, his gaze caressing her face, as if he would memorize it now, in case he never saw it again. "You've guts, Sam, but courage won't stop bullets. Promise me you won't challenge them."

  Sam started to answer, but a wave of dizziness stopped her. She closed her eyes and sat very still, fending off the nausea.

  When feet rustled on the carpet, she looked to see Alpha and Raze taking away Turner.

  VI

  Rendezvous

  The medic finished bandaging Sam's arm. "It should heal quickly. But go easy for a few days." He pressed the bio-gauze more securely into place. It molded to her skin, matching it in color. The mesh-threads woven through it would tell it when to dispense medicine. Slumped on the couch, she was all too aware now of the pain she hadn't felt before. Alpha had shredded her forearm.

  The doctor resembled the other mercenaries in that he wore the ubiquitous fatigues, but he had a more responsive demeanor. He made no attempt to hide his concern.

  "Will I regain full use of my arm?" she asked.

  "You should. But take care around Alpha. Next time you won't get off so easy."

  Sam winced. "I'll remember."

  "You sure you don't want anything for the pain?"

  "I'm sure." She needed to keep a sharp mind. "Do you know what happened to Turner?"

  He stood up. "Would you like some dinner?"

  So he wasn't answering questions, either. "No thanks." The last thing she needed right now was food in her stomach.

  He spoke to the steward, who was standing by the couch. "Make sure no one bothers Dr. Bryton."

  "Affirmative."

  Affirmative, indeed. Maybe he was a forma after all. Except he didn't really act like a machine. Beneath his impassive exterior, he showed a good deal of emotion. She supposed he could be an EI as advanced as Turner, but her intuition said no.

  The doctor left via the exit behind the console across the room. It appeared and vanished for him just as it had done for Alpha.

  Sam glowered at the steward. " 'Affirmative'? Can't you say 'yes'?"

  He grinned, showing straight white teeth. It made him look like a completely different person; a father who coached Little League, a lieutenant who brought his girl roses, a brother teasing his sister. Then he said, "Yes."

  Flustered, Sam said, "Well. Good."

  He made no response. His momentary lapse ended and his expression hardened again.

  Sam stretched out along the sofa on her back and pushed a cushion behind her head so she was half sitting. Then she spoke firmly to the steward. "I need a name to call you. I can't keep saying 'hey, you.' "

  "How about Hud?"

  "Is that your real name?"

  "No."

  "Oh, well. You can call me Harriet."

  "Why Harriet?"

  "Well, why not?"

  To her surprise, Hud laughed. "Fair enough."

  She frowned at him. "You aren't allowed to have a sense of humor."

  "Why not?"

  "Because you're a henchman of the villain."

  "Do you really want me to call you Harriet?"

  She couldn't help but smile. "I suppose not."

  After that, they fell silent again. Sam tried to rest, but she couldn't relax. She kept worrying about Turner. Hud might show flashes of sympathy, but she had no doubt he could kill without hesitation if given the order. She wanted to think her way through this mess to some sort of escape, but she had trouble concentrating. She hadn't slept in two days. Couldn't hold her lashes up . . .

  Muffled footsteps brought Sam awake. She opened her eyes to see Alpha standing over her like a panther ready to strike. With a grunt, Sam tried to sit up. Her head swam and she flopped back, hating herself for showing weakness in front of this person who had shot her without remorse.

  "Hello, Dr. Bryton," Alpha said.

  Taking it slower this time, Sam sat up again. Her queasiness surged, but she stayed upright. She didn't want to try anything more, but she slowly stood up so Alpha wouldn't loom over her so much. It didn't help; Sam felt miserably outclassed.

  Alpha smirked. "Feeling better?"

  Sam made an effort not to grit her teeth. "Fine."

  "Good." Alpha indicated the wall behind the console. "Let's go."

  Sam would rather have walked through flaming oil than have gone with her. However, she wanted even less to be shot. So she followed Alpha, escorted by Hud. Just crossing the room was an ordeal. After so little sleep, she felt ready to collapse, especially given her injury. With each step, her queasiness surged. Pride kept her going; the prospect of passing out in front of Alpha and Hud was too humiliating to contemplate.

  They exited out onto the landing of a spiral stairwell paneled in Luminex. It was like being trapped in a bright, sterile cloud. Alpha led the way down, around and around and around. It didn't help Sam's dizziness. But she was determined to find out what she could about this place.

  "So, Alpha," Sam said. "What country are we in?"

  Silence.

  "Somewhere at a high altitude," Sam added.

  Silence.

  She tried again. "It wasn't freezing outside. Cold, though. That leaves a lot of possible latitudes."

  Silence.

  Sam gave up. These people were too well trained. She had been lucky to drag those few smiles out of Hud.

  Mercifully, they only went down a few levels. At the bottom, Alpha pressed her thumb onto a panel and stood while a light scanned her eyes. Seams split along the wall and a door swung open with surprising ease, given that it was at least two feet thick.

  Alpha stalked through the doorway, sleek and alarming. Hud took Sam's arm and followed. Although Sam drew away from him, she took care not to move too fast, lest it evoke who-knew-what defensive reflexes on his part. They entered a Luminex corridor suffused with light. Unlike other hallways she had seen here, this one had doors, some open. As they passed the open ones, she looked inside.

  Whoa.

  Biomech labs. Good labs. Spectacular. Within moments she was practically salivating. These people had better facilities even than BioII.

  Alpha turned into a doorway. Sam followed her into a lab that made the others she had seen pale in comparison, including her own. This one stretched for many meters, gleaming in Luminex and chrome, filled with biomech tables, consoles of the latest design, robot arms, and mechbots of many sizes. Burt-walls curved around, alive with lights, packed with equipment. Scooter-bots hummed through the lab, carrying supplies, and biomech chairs waited, white and glossy.

  Sam couldn't help but gape. "This is awesome."

  "Like it?" Alpha asked.

  "Yeah. I do." Sam's appreciation withered as she turned to Alpha. "But I won't work here."

  "Suit yourself." Alpha went on, deeper into the lab.

  Sam followed, unable to deny her curiosity. She wished Giles could see this place; more than most anyone else, he would appreciate it. He had thought Charon meant Sunrise Alley. If this was the Alley, she could see why it had become a legend. Even if Charon were phenomenally wealthy, he had to have backing to fund this installation, probably from the government of whatever country they were in now. She hated what it might imply about Thomas, that she had ended up here after seeking his help.

  Up ahead,
Alpha stopped by a biomech table. Something was on its flat surface, but Sam couldn't see with Alpha in the way. She went past the mercenary—and froze. Turner lay there with his eyes closed, his wrists and ankles manacled to the table.

  Sam's pulse jumped. "Turner? Are you all right?"

  His chest rose and fell in a slow, even rhythm.

  Sam swung around to Alpha. "What did you do to him?"

  She shrugged. "Nothing. I'm a soldier. Not a scientist."

  Sam gritted her teeth. She wanted to use her fists to show Alpha what she thought of her "soldiering," but she restrained the impulse. Instead she leaned over Turner, shook his shoulder, just barely at first, then harder.

  No response.

  "Turner, wake up," she said.

  "He can't answer," Alpha said.

  "Why not?" Sam was aware of Hud listening, and of the pain in her bandaged left arm.

  Alpha gave her a long, considering look, as if she had stripped away Sam's defenses and found her lacking. "Charon has a proposition for you."

  "No," Sam said.

  "You haven't heard it yet."

  "I'm not working on Turner."

  "Nevertheless. Charon has an offer." Alpha jerked her chin at the table. "Work on the android and Charon will let you live."

  The idea revolted Sam, a violation of so many principles she valued, she couldn't count them all. She spoke tightly. "Turner isn't an android."

  Alpha waved her hand. "Whatever he is, he has become a liability. Charon can strip him for parts."

  "Parts?" Sam stared at her. "This man isn't a car. He's a sentient being with awareness of his self."

  "How do you know he wasn't programmed to behave that way?" Her cold smile curved. "Maybe he was programmed to fall in love with you."

  If Alpha intended to rattle her, this time she had chosen the wrong approach. "Don't play Turing games with me. I invented the best of them." Part of her job had been testing whether or not an EI had convincing emotions, including the ability to love. "If Charon kills Turner, he is committing murder."