"Then accept Charon's proposal."
Sam crossed her arms. "No."
Alpha looked bored. "Accept, or Turner is dead."
"You're bluffing. He's too valuable to destroy."
Alpha glanced at Sam's bandaged arm. "I never bluff."
They were backing her into a corner. They believed she cared enough for Turner to go along—and they were right. Even if she had just met him, she couldn't stand by while they murdered or tortured him. But Alpha didn't convince her. Maybe she didn't bluff, but Charon might. Sam didn't believe he would destroy what had taken so much to create.
"You won't kill me or Turner." Sam hoped she wasn't gambling away their lives. "We're worth too much."
"Humble, aren't you?" Alpha no longer looked smug. She turned on her booted heel and strode away, her black-clad body a jarring contrast to the blindingly white lab.
Sam watched Alpha stalk out of the lab. "Charming lady," she muttered.
Desire glinted in Hud's eyes. "I like her."
That figured. Again Sam had that eerie sense she knew him. Nothing seemed familiar about Raze or the pilot who had brought them here. Perhaps she was wrong about Hud, too. But she couldn't lose the feeling.
Disquieted, Sam turned back to the table. She hated to see Turner shackled. She wanted to fix everything, make it right. She brushed his disarrayed hair off his forehead. In sleep, his face lost the lines of character it had developed these past days, becoming unreal with his perfect skin. Or like a wax figure. But his cheek felt human. She doubted it was his natural skin, given its lack of flaws. She remembered the Hilton ad. He had looked so vibrant and alive. So happy. Then he had died.
The random nature of the hover crash angered Sam. Traffic grids in cities controlled the flow of vehicles to prevent accidents or jams. She inwardly swore at the driver who had taken his truck off the grid so he could break the law. Turner had paid the price of that judgment. No wonder Turner felt trapped in a nightmare, "waking up" to find himself enslaved to a stranger who claimed he no longer had an identity as a living human being.
"How can you do it?" Sam demanded of Hud. "How can you be part of this?"
He met her gaze without a hint of remorse. "Dr. Bryton, don't buy yourself trouble. Do what they want."
"Why would you care?"
"I don't like waste." His voice became intense. "And the loss of your life would be a great waste."
Sam agreed, though his intensity disquieted her. She touched Turner's shoulder. "Turner, I wish you could talk to me."
"I can," he said, his eyes closed.
Sam jumped back from the bench. "What?"
Hud lifted his rifle.
"No, don't." Sam spoke hurriedly to the mercenary.
Hud stepped closer, his rifle up. "Is he awake?"
"I'm not sure." An idea came to Sam. She repeated Hud's question. "Turner? Are you awake?"
Turner answered immediately. "Not exactly."
Sam glanced at Hud. "Ask him another question."
"Why?" Hud demanded.
"I want to see how he reacts."
Hud narrowed his gaze, but he said, "Are you awake, Mr. Pascal?"
When Turner didn't respond, Sam gestured at Hud to try again.
Hud's voice snapped. "Pascal, answer me."
No response.
Sam spoke. "Turner, can you talk to me?"
"Yes."
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"No. I would like to wake up."
"Will you talk to Hud?"
"No."
Hud flushed. "Don't disrespect me, android."
Interesting. It was the first time Sam had seen Hud angry. Apparently he didn't keep his cool so well in the face of what he considered contempt. It made her wonder about his psychology, if he expected human reactions from someone he considered a machine.
Turner's responses also intrigued Sam. On the yacht, he had set himself to respond only to her voice. Now he answered when he was deactivated, but only to her. If it was a manifestation of the program he had set up before, it implied Charon didn't have full control over him even now.
Hud spoke tightly. "What game is he playing?"
"It's just a malfunction."
He regarded her suspiciously. "How do you know?"
"Analyzing EIs is my job. I've seen this sort of thing before." In truth, she had never encountered such behavior. She thought fast. "It's a reflex, the way a dead person might twitch."
Hud spoke dryly. "That has a certain aptness here."
His lack of compassion made her grit her teeth. "What does Charon want me to do with Turner?"
"I don't know." He shrugged. "Develop his EI, I suppose."
Sam studied his face. She had spent her career analyzing, interpreting, and reproducing nuances of human emotion. She could interpret expressions and body language better than most anyone. Hud was good at hiding his, but he wasn't unreadable. She decided to prod him and see what came up.
"Are you a military officer?" she asked.
"No."
"Mercenary?"
He paused. "I suppose you could call me that."
"From where?"
Silence.
"Are you an android?" she asked.
For once he looked startled. "No."
So. That surprised him. Either he hadn't expected anyone to guess he was an android or else he genuinely was human.
Footsteps rang on the floor. Sam turned with a start and saw Alpha striding toward them. The mercenary stopped in front of her. "Come with me."
"What about Turner?" Sam asked.
"What about him?"
"We can't just leave him here."
"Actually, we can. Now come."
"He spoke to Dr. Bryton," Hud said. With malice, he added, "Like an android."
Well, hell. Sam had hoped he wouldn't bring it up. She supposed it was unrealistic; this was his job. Given his "just facts" attitude so far, though, his crack about androids was out of character. Could he be jealous of Turner? That could prove useful or dangerous, she wasn't certain which.
"I'll let Charon know." Alpha turned smartly and headed out of the lab.
Hud took Sam's uninjured arm and pushed her forward. When she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip until she flinched.
"Stop," Sam said. "That hurts."
"Then don't make me do it." His voice hardened. "You're done talking to the fucking android."
She stared at him. Then she turned and followed Alpha.
* * *
Sam didn't expect to sleep. Her cell had white walls and furniture. Holoscapes of the mountains glowed on the walls and a potted plant sat in the corner. She didn't realize how much she had missed such simple signs of life.
Her left arm ached. That pain, combined with her worry for Turner and her general fear, kept her tossing and turning in bed. Then she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. She left the light on, uneasy about being alone in the dark . . .
Someone was shaking her shoulder. Sam sat up fast, swinging out her arms. Her fists hit a man's chest.
"Sam, don't," he said.
"Turner!" Relief surged through her. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, very much alive and well. She grabbed him, throwing her arms around his waist.
"Hey." He pulled her close, favoring her injured arm.
Sam laughed unevenly, her head against his shoulder. "How did you get out of the lab?"
"I'm not sure. I was asleep. I woke up here."
Sam struggled for breath. He was holding her too tightly; whether he knew it or not, he had more strength than an unaugmented man. She pushed against his shoulders until he loosened his hold. Then she looked up at him. "Did you know you were in a lab before?"
"It's all recorded in my memory." He regarded her bleakly. "I think Charon wants you to 'improve' my EI. Make me more obedient, less contrary."
"I won't do it."
"It's true what they told you, that he might destroy me." The muscles in his arm had tensed, ridge
d against her back. "He can remake me, more to his liking."
"No. I won't let him." How she would stop him, she had no idea. "So you could hear us."
"Some." He hesitated. "I don't know why I could respond to you when I was supposed to be out."
"You set yourself up that way on the yacht."
"It's possible." He thought for a moment. "It's hard to judge all the results when I deliberately change my matrix rather then letting it evolve on its own." He scooted back on the bed until he was sitting against the wall, then held out his hand to her. She slid over and sat with him, her back against the wall. When he put his arms around her, she laid her head on his shoulder, grateful for this reprieve. She knew exactly what Charon was doing; he wanted her to spend time with Turner, get to like him, even love him, leaving her unable to refuse when Charon told her to work on Turner or see him die. It wasn't necessary; she would never stand by while he killed Turner. But as long as Charon didn't know that, he would let her see him. Personally, she would have liked to do some biomech work on Charon—without anesthetic.
"Sam?"
"Yes?"
"You are sitting like a board."
"That's me," she said. "The ol' board."
He laughed softly. "You've too many nice curves."
Sam smiled, making a conscious effort to relax. She wanted to feel normal with him, but the whole situation confused her. Quick question: how did she feel about embracing a biomechanical man who had died and come back to life? Quick answer: she had no clue. No, that was a lie. Admit it. You like him. She also had to admit the rest, that it scared her.
"You make a great date," she said.
He traced his fingers along her cheek. "A date with me rarely is typical."
Sam laughed. "That was humble."
"I meant, I don't go out often. I'm usually broke."
Present tense. To him, his life had no disconnect, no time when he had died and became an EI. However, she didn't believe for a moment he hadn't spent time with women. "You're too smooth to be that innocent."
"You think I'm smooth?" He sounded surprised.
Maybe it wasn't the right word. He was more relaxed than other men she had dated, the wizards, movers, and tycoons of the biotech world. Turner was less complicated.
"You're comfortable with a woman," she said. "You don't need to impress her."
He spoke dryly. "I've nothing to impress anyone with, especially someone like you."
She lifted her head so she could look him in the eyes. "You don't need degrees, wealth, or a high-powered job. I like you just the way you are. I left all that behind because I didn't like what it did to people." She brushed her finger over his lips. "And you can't tell me you don't know what to do with a woman."
He moved his head so his lips were next to her ear, his breath tickling her skin. "I didn't say I didn't know. They were always asking me out at the hotel."
"Hah! I knew it. You did go out."
"Some. Not often. Most of the women who asked were hotel guests. Rich, older, usually married." He kissed her ear. "The pretty bellboy would have been a pleasant diversion. I didn't like that. So I usually said no."
"Usually?"
He bit at her neck. "I get lonely, too."
"I'm rich and older," Sam said. "You going to say no to me, too?"
He rested his forehead against her head. "You wouldn't know how to make a pass even if you wanted to."
She bristled. "What, you think I'm not smooth?"
Mischief lightened his voice. "Am I wrong? Are you suave and sophisticated, Sam Bryton?"
She would have glared at him if he hadn't been kissing her temple. Distracted, she told the truth instead. "Hell, Turner, I have the seductive instincts of a rock."
He nuzzled her hair. "That's one reason I like you."
"Oh." That could be refreshing. Most men liked her for her money. That was another reason she hadn't dated much since Richard's death. Her first husband hadn't known his girlfriend was rich; it had been less obvious in those days. After all the articles about her, especially during the BioII hearings, most people knew she was one of the wealthiest people in California. Nor were they usually successful in hiding their interest in her money. That was the problem with dating an EI shrink: she made her living analyzing nuances of human body language.
Turner genuinely didn't care. She doubted he had any real clue about her wealth. They sat together, he with his arms round her, his head resting against hers, she holding her injured arm in front of her body. She wanted to talk escape plans with him, but they couldn't here. Charon would know.
"This is good," Turner said.
"Yes."
He hugged her close. "I've been so scared."
"Me, too." Even so, she felt safe in his embrace, though she would never admit it aloud.
"Do you think they are watching us on monitors?"
"Probably." Based on what she had so far seen and heard about Charon, he seemed obsessed with controlling people. Paranoid. She doubted he would let her and Turner interact without keeping watch.
Sam understood Charon's problem with Turner. You couldn't program EIs to obey your every command; to become sentient and self-aware, they needed the freedom to develop on their own. You either had to convince them to do what you wanted or else turn them off and alter the structure of their matrix. Changing the configuration of a sixth-generation neural network was a risky proposition; even the best architect could destroy what made the EI self-aware. It was akin to brain damage. Sam knew few people who could manage such operations, but unfortunately she was one of them. Charon probably wanted her to redesign Turner's matrix so it evolved more according to his specifications.
"Are you tired?" Turner asked.
"Exhausted. But I'm too wound up to sleep."
"Me, too." He rubbed his palm down her arm. "Perhaps we should, uh—lie down."
She felt unusually warm. "Okay."
They stretched out on top of the covers, Turner on his back with his arm around her shoulders, Sam on her right side, so she could keep her bandaged arm free. She felt no sleepier than before, but for very different reasons now. That Turner didn't seem consciously aware of his sensuality just made it more devastating. She slid her hand across his chest, savoring the feel of his muscles under the thin shirt.
"Uh, Sam." Turner caught her hand. "I didn't say this before, but—that is, I mean, it wouldn't come up in normal conversation . . ."
She waited. "Yes?"
"The thing is—" He cleared his throat. "I'm fully functional. If you keep that up, I'll want to, uh, function."
He wasn't the only one. Heat spread in her face. "I'm sure our possible audience would like that."
"Yeah." Under his breath, he added, "Damn."
"I'm too old for you."
"Oh come on. I know I look young, but I really am twenty-seven. You can't be more than thirty."
"Are you trying to flatter me?"
"No." His voice lightened. "Not that I'm adverse to the idea. You're gorgeous, Sam Bryton, and you've a body like a bunny from playb—"
"Turner!"
He laughed good-naturedly. "Sorry."
"I'm forty-one."
Silence. Then he said, "You're joking."
"No. I'm not."
"You look younger. A lot."
Sam wished she hadn't told him. "Does it bother you?"
"Good Lord, no." Wryly he added, "I'm hardly one to criticize someone for extending their youth. I wouldn't even be alive if not for my biomech construction."
"I don't have biomech in me."
"You've never had treatments to delay your aging?"
"Well, yeah." It wasn't hard to remove lines, lift and tighten skin, repair cell damage with molecular additives to one's body, and otherwise hold on to youth. Expensive, but simple if you could afford the procedures.
"It doesn't matter to me." He rolled onto his side, facing her. "Does it bother you, what I am?"
"It—startles me. But it makes you no less h
uman to me." Maybe more. Right now she was scared, tired, and lonely, and Turner felt so very fine. She cupped his cheek with her palm. Her lips quirked up. "I would show you just how much it doesn't matter, but I don't want to put on a performance for anyone watching."
He laughed. "We're probably boring them to death." He did kiss her, though. It made her tingle in places he wasn't touching but that she wished he would. They only lay together after that, managing a laudable but frustrating restraint.
Sam faced an impossible dilemma. If Charon wanted what they believed, she could never do it, not to Turner. But if she refused, Charon could start over with Turner. The man she knew, the one she was falling for, would cease to exist.
Charon would murder a man who was already dead.
VII
Hypersonic Man
"Of course I'm me," Turner said. He and Sam were sitting on the bed, drinking coffee from the tray someone had left inside the door while they slept. No one had taken Sam's wallet, though. At first it surprised her; then she realized if she escaped and used her clever-card, Charon could probably trace the transaction. It would be like a holosign over her head saying "Here I am."
Although it embarrassed Sam that someone had come in while she and Turner lay sleeping together, she warmed at the thought of his body next to hers. To distract her misbehaving thoughts, she took another bite of her muffin. The tray had four, along with butter and jam, and she was having a hard time leaving two for Turner. Although her bandaged arm still hurt, it had improved compared to yesterday.
"But how can you know you're you?" Sam asked. Talking to Turner reminded her of the debates she and Linden Polk had enjoyed so much when she had been a postdoc in his lab at MIT. "Your memories can't be complete; you were dead for several hours before Charon imaged your brain." Just saying those words unsettled her.
"I just know." He took a muffin. "If I think I'm me, how can I not be?"
Sam had no chance to answer. The door across the room opened, revealing Alpha in a skintight black jumpsuit, with Hud standing behind her in his usual fatigues.
"Aren't you two cozy," Alpha said.
Sam poured another mug of coffee, ignoring her.
Alpha strolled into the room, over to the bed. "Time to go."
Sam sipped her coffee. "Where?"
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