Exin Ex Machina

by G. S. Jennsen

  The crowd here wasn’t his type of crowd—not that he had a type of crowd—but for the most part they didn’t seem to mind if some poshly dressed executive from downtown took up a stool. So long as he didn’t bother them, they didn’t bother him. Sanctity of the motherfucking individual: the Dominion’s most oft-quoted credo was alive and well in its seedy underbelly, if nowhere else.

  The bar drone had just delivered his fourth sake and second chaser when the woman caught his attention.

  She lounged against the opposite side of the ring from him, sipping on an iced drink and studying the dance floor with a bored expression. And if he squinted until his vision blurred, the illusion almost worked.

  Midnight black hair draped over one shoulder, and cherry red lips were set in what might be a perpetual pout. He knew her eyes were going to be too blue up close, but from here they were a match.

  He downed the contents of his glass and stood to make his way halfway around the ring.

  She saw him coming a few meters away; her gaze scanned him up, then down. She smiled. He blinked until it wasn’t wrong.

  “You look far too well-put-together to be slumming here.”

  He shrugged and dropped a forearm on the table. “Maybe I enjoy slumming.”

  “Oh? How much do you enjoy it?”

  Dashiel slammed the woman against the wall in one of the small private rooms that dotted the periphery of Riyuki’s upper level for reasons exactly like this one. His lips missed her mouth on the first try, veered and found their mark.

  She tasted of salt and lime, which wasn’t right—

  Silence all comparative processes.

  He withdrew from the kiss to find the seam in her shirt, and his eyes wavered upwards to briefly meet hers—

  Just as he’d thought. Too blue. Not right.

  Godsdammit, for ten fucking minutes pretend—

  Her hand found his ass and dragged him closer. “What’s your pleasure, pretty boy?”

  Her voice grated on his aural receptors. He blinked, and the illusion shattered into tiny little shards of kyoseil. She was too short. Her curves were in the wrong places. Her skin was too pale. All wrong.

  He jerked away. His hands fumbled to fasten his pants, which she had somehow managed to get unfastened without him realizing it.

  “Where are you going?”

  He threw a dismissive hand in her direction and stumbled for the door. “Fuck if I know. Have a good night.”

  She’s gone—gone to us, anyway.

  That doesn’t make any sense. It has never made any sense.

  And yet.

  And yet.

  5

  * * *

  The minds of the Guides joined together across the stars. Separate but one, they inhabited a nex web brought into existence purely through the force of their collective will.

  Guide Luciene (Synra): “NOIR’s continued escalation in activity is unacceptable. It cannot continue. Their actions threaten to erode the veneer of benevolent leadership we have worked tirelessly to create.”

  Guide Delacrai (Kiyora): “It is not a veneer. We do act benevolently and in the best interests of all Asterions.”

  Guide Anavosa (Mirai): “NOIR disagrees, it seems. Necessary changes to our governance policies we hoped would be accepted without conflict did not go unnoticed by the group, and now it seeks to draw the attention of the populace to these stricter measures. However much they succeed or fail going forward, a threshold has been crossed. There will be consequences.”

  Luciene: “They are terrorists. Criminal delinquents, likely with defective fundamental programming corrupting their kernels. Do not legitimize them by ascribing them honorable motives.”

  Anavosa: “But their professed motives are honorable. Naive and uninformed, but in a perfect world, honorable. The uncomfortable truth is that NOIR’s actions align quite closely with the values we once claimed as our own. There is nothing to be done for it, of course. We have acted as we must, and the citizens can never know the reasons for our actions. Our course is set. We will protect the heart of our society, and by doing so preserve its very existence.

  “NOIR threatens our ability to do this, thus the group must be silenced—but do not turn a blind eye to the reality of what we are doing and why we must do it. This is a lesser evil in service of a greater good, and we each shall bear the burden of our actions upon our own consciences.”

  Luciene: “So long as we agree in our intent, I will not quibble over pedantic ethical minutiae. Now, how to accomplish it? Advisor Weiss is no closer to rooting out NOIR’s members than when he began his investigation. I fear he is not up to the task.”

  Guide Iovimer (Namino): “He is the best agent serving in Justice at present. We can experiment with genetic and algorithmic improvements in an attempt to produce a more skilled agent if we wish, but such an effort takes time to deliver results. For now, we need to apply both pressure and resources to him in equal measure, in the hope they will improve his ability to deliver.”

  Luciene: “Emphasizing that NOIR needs to be his highest priority will have the additional benefit of discouraging him from properly investigating the theft of Advisor Ridani’s augments—an investigation that risks leading him down a dangerous path.”

  Anavosa: “Unless Advisor Weiss believes NOIR is behind the theft—or is made to believe it.”

  Guide Selyshok (Ebisu): “An interesting proposition, but one fraught with peril. Analyzing the variables, I posit that allowing Advisor Weiss to focus on the augment theft brings with it greater risks than tying it to NOIR brings potential benefits. We should instead see to it that he is dissuaded from a belief they are connected.”

  Iovimer: “An easy enough task, as they are not in fact connected.”

  Delacrai: “And what of Advisor Ridani? He will want the perpetrators of the theft caught. He will press Advisor Weiss.”

  Selyshok: “He will have to live with disappointment. He has done so before.”

  Delacrai: “Anavosa, do you think he suspects this is anything other than an ordinary theft?”

  Anavosa: “The scale and complexity of the theft means he cannot consider it ‘ordinary,’ but he has no reason to suspect our involvement in it, nor should he. Multiple safeguards separate the theft and the eventual impact of the stolen augments.”

  Delacrai: “He has one reason.”

  Luciene: “I still maintain that we should have mitigated his level of power five years ago. We lack insight into how much he knew, but he knew something. He continues to know it today, and this will influence how he views the theft.”

  Anavosa: “Advisor Ridani remains an intelligent and driven man, but he is a shadow of the man he once was. If he did not uncover our actions then, he will not do so now.”

  Luciene: “You speak too complacently, Anavosa. He is a risk.”

  Anavosa: “We will watch him, as we have watched him for years. If he begins to draw too close to the truth, we will act. But we will not make it a habit to erase every citizen who causes us a moment of grief. If we descend so low in our actions toward our own people, we might as well surrender to the enemy now, as we will no longer possess anything worth preserving.”

  Luciene: “But the risk is not that he causes us grief. The risk may well be that he causes the loss of everything: our people, our worlds, our lives and our memories, whether we surrender them or not.”

  Delacrai: “Perhaps we are wrong. Perhaps, if the people knew the truth, they would understand. They could even assist us. Our citizens are wise and caring, not to mention inventive and industrious, and we underestimate them at our peril.”

  Selyshok: “They are also fiercely independent and quite selfish when it comes to such matters as their own lives. The notion that some must be sacrificed so others can live will not sit well with those sacrificed. No. The path we’ve chosen is the only way, and we cannot deviate from it now. We must continue to buy ourselves time. Time to devise a way out of this chthonian trap we find ourselves snar
ed in.”

  RANDOM

  ACCESS

  MEMORY

  6

  * * *

  The door to Joaquim’s room was open, but Nika knocked on the frame all the same.

  He sat hunched over his workbench, etching visual identifiers into a row of data weaves. His workspace was, as usual, immaculate. Though stacks of data storage lined an entire wall and a variety of semi-dismantled equipment another, the room didn’t feel cluttered or messy. Every item bore a label and occupied its proper place. A grid display of lists and diagrams took up much of the third wall, and a shoji screen stretched across half of the fourth to shield his bed and personals from sight.

  She’d offered a while back to allocate space elsewhere for him to use as a workroom—she didn’t know where she’d find that space, but she’d figure something out. He’d declined, though, saying he preferred having everything within easy reach. Relieved to not have to conjure space out of its absence, she hadn’t pushed.

  “One second.” A faint scraping sound filled the air as he began etching the last weave.

  When he finished, he placed the etching tool on a hook and stacked the weaves in a bin on a shelf of the storage rack, then leaned against the rack and gave her an unexpectedly enthusiastic smile. He’d ditched the stubble that had been veering toward a beard by the Dominion Transit operation, and his copper hair was both trimmed short and combed. “Thanks for coming by.”

  She arched an eyebrow and stepped through the doorway. “I always come by if we haven’t talked in a day or so.”

  “True. I suppose I meant thank you for doing that, then.”

  “You’re in a better mood.”

  “Than the other night? Yeah. Sorry if I was overly harsh.”

  “I can handle your harshness. I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

  “Perrin? We’re fine. If she ever actually gets upset with me, she will not be shy about letting me know.” He motioned to one of the chairs squeezed perfectly between two equipment stands. “Sit. We have things to talk about.”

  She crossed to the chair and sat down. “We always do. That’s why I always come by.”

  He scooted his workbench stool closer to her. “Everything from the Dominion Transit operation still looks positive. The simmed IDs are holding up, and none of the early warning tripwires Parc left behind have gone off. I think we’re in the clear. You can take a look if you like, but I’m signing off on the use of the IDs. Perrin will screen the individual requests, as usual.”

  “I trust your analysis. Approved. But now we need some additional masks as well. I know I’m being paranoid, but two layers of protection are, by definition, more secure than one.”

  He nodded. “I agree. When you live off the grid, your persona is your second-most valuable possession, so they’re good to have around, if only for when everything goes wrong.”

  He didn’t need to give words to the first-most valuable possession, since she appreciated the value of one’s psyche far more than most.

  Identity-alteration tech of all kinds was highly illegal. It hindered criminal investigations and prosecutions. It introduced doubt into memories and historical records, which most Asterions treated as sacred.

  This, of course, made it expensive. They constructed the simmed IDs and morphs themselves, but masks had to be bought. She had decided not to spend valuable credits on them until the Dominion Transit operation was completed, since if it failed the credits would likely be needed elsewhere for things like body repairs and replacement equipment.

  Thankfully, that hadn’t turned out to be the case. “I’ll grab some credits and go to Namino this afternoon.”

  “Say hi to Grant for me.”

  She glanced behind her to find Perrin leaning on the door frame looking smug. Today, her hair was a bright carnation hue and bound into pigtails draped down her chest. A capri jumper—and the teasing commentary—completed the playful mien.

  Nika gave her an innocent, questioning expression. “Grant doesn’t have masks for sale—why would I see him?”

  “Because you always see Grant when you go to Namino. You think we don’t know, but we do.” Perrin checked Joaquim for confirmation.

  He shrugged. “We do.”

  “Well.” She scratched at her nose, burying a sheepish chuckle behind her hand. “If I see him, I will tell him you said hello. The timing may not cooperate, though. A Taiyok meets with you precisely when a Taiyok wants to meet with you, after all, so my schedule will be at Xyche’s mercy.”

  “We don’t have anything big planned for a few days. Take your time.”

  “I’ll be sure to remember that.” She rolled her eyes and shifted back to face Joaquim. “Anything else, or are we good?”

  “We’re good. Perrin’s here, I suspect, to give me shit about my suggested changes to the combat training regimen for new recruits.”

  “Oh, that’s at least the third or fourth item on the list of things I’m here to give you shit about.”

  Joaquim sighed. “See? I told you she’d let me know.”

  Nika stood and headed for the door. “This is my cue to vacate. Ping me if anything troublesome or awesome arises while I’m gone.”

  “Hey, Nika—over here!”

  She scanned around for the source of the summons to discover Parc gesturing wildly in her direction from his command center. Fewer spectators hovered around him this time—only three of his cohorts—but the Floor as a whole was less crowded. It was late morning, and people were out on the streets, taking care of matters personal and professional. Living a semblance of a life outside the protection of these walls.

  She picked her way through the scattered activity to reach him. “What do you have to impress me with today?”

  “Oh, this goes well beyond impressing. We are in awe-inducing territory here.”

  She smirked and crossed her arms loosely over her chest. “All right. Awe me.”

  Parc plopped down in his customized seat, adjusted his shoulders and activated all the panes arrayed in front of him. His left hand reached out and touched the center pane, altering the display—then a virtual limb flared to life around his hand, and ten additional ‘fingers’ stretched out beyond his physical ones. They extended to the various panes, each one interacting with multiple GUIs, entering data and responding to prompts. Two fingers even spent the time drawing a tree by a stream in Parc’s trademark over-swirly style.

  The performance continued for twenty or so seconds before the virtual appendages faded away. Parc clasped his real hands behind his head and spun around. “Well?”

  She grinned and touched a corner of her mouth. “This is me ‘awed,’ trust me. Where did you get the augment? Dare I ask how you afforded it? I mean, your personal finances are none of my business, but….”

  “My personal finances are pretty much a null set. Roqe passed it to me under the table at a deep discount yesterday. It’s a new model, and they wanted someone to field test it and clue them in on what the customer sales pitch should be. See, it’s far more complex than simply additional digits. They work independently of one another. The augment wires directly into the arm’s somatic peripheral nerve pathways in a parallel setup, leading to a multitasking bonanza delivered straight from my brain.”

  Someone behind Nika snorted. “It hasn’t improved your artistic skill.”

  “Shut up, Maggie. I think it’s a great tree. I’m still fiddling with the setup, and I think I can squeeze some higher efficiencies out of it. Hopefully faster response times as well. But if you want to start sending everything my way from now on—” he held up his hand, and the virtual encasement sprung to life, complete with two extra sets of wiggling fingers “—I’ve got you covered.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. For now, you just keep entertaining everyone with your shiny toys and swirly trees.”

  “You know I will.”

  Yes. Yes, she did.

  7

  * * *

  A glittering arch fram
ed the sleek exterior of the transit hub, capping its apex then sloping down into the quarter-orb walls that bounded the structure. The hub bustled with activity at the local midday hour, as it always did.

  Nika slipped quietly into the throng of people entering the hub. When traveling, crowds were her friend. If she were a lone or scattered entrant, every sensor, drone and dyne would turn their attention to her, if solely for the lack of anything else to focus upon. Crowds, however, must be moved through the hub quickly and efficiently, so she would receive the minimum required scrutiny.

  The simmed ID/morph loaded into her OS cloaked her in the guise of someone other than herself. It provided the all-important digital signature as well as a residential address and a clean Justice record. It also projected an altered physical appearance and voice print to all scanning and recording devices, which included the eyes and ears of other Asterions. It didn’t actually change her physical appearance, but here there was no practicable difference.

  A mask, on the other hand, was a true criminal’s instrument. It acted as a perception filter, distorting one’s appearance to the point where a viewer could not acquire a clear visual or recording of it. Since a person for certain and sometimes a well-programmed dyne was apt to realize when their perception sensors were being screwed with, its usefulness was limited to certain types of situations.

  But in a world where every official interaction was recorded and stored, where official freedoms were many but personal accountability was rigorously ‘enforced,’ masks were an indispensable tool for a person in her chosen profession. To be someone else was one thing—but to not be there at all? This was something else altogether.

  Admittedly, she found a touch of ironic amusement in using one. She had been a chameleon for five years now, a distorted imitation of someone she did not know, an echo of a persona erased and unidentifiable. Fitting that projecting a chameleon of the chameleon forward into the watching world should now be a regular aspect of her life.