Isellia stared at Porter defiantly, even though she knew she had crossed a line. She waited for him to react. A classic yet rare Porter blow-up — it had to be coming.
Porter said nothing for a while, his expression appearing as if he hadn’t registered the comment.
Then he stood, at full Porter stature, and walked past Isellia. He stopped before he passed her chair. She looked up at him, eyes wide with anticipation.
“In chess, when you have no apparent move, sometimes you’re better off waiting. Once you’ve seen what your opponent intends, you can better decide on a plan of attack.” He turned to look at her directly. “So right now, I’m waiting because I don’t have a course of action. Later in the game, your pawns can turn into queens. But you have to wait. What seems worthless early on can be valuable later on.”
“Wait, I think I heard of this. Don’t pawns also get killed easy?”
“Look, it’s not perfect. I’m just saying it makes sense for us to go along for the ride for awhile. After all, you’re racing, and it could bring us money. We’ll just keep alert.”
“I guess. Easy chances worry me, that’s all.”
Porter looked at her. “Yeah, you haven’t had too many easy chances, huh?”
Isellia shook her head. “Just once. And I blew that.”
“Sometimes you have to lose a piece to gain a position.”
“More riddles? Oh nevermind,” Isellia said, storming off.
The robot intercepted her before she could get to the bridge’s door. "Isellia, engaging conversation protocol— "
"Not now, metalhead!" Isellia brushed past the robot.
"Illogical," the robot said, spinning his head.
***
“Ladies and Gentlemen, good morning,” Malvers said the assembled crowd of press and other onlookers. His hands gripped the edges of a podium that had been brought into the hallway for his address. If anyone had looked, they would have seen the whites of his knuckles from his gripping the podium so hard.
“It was brought to my attention that this project was in fact connected with Company C,” Malvers said. “I can say with some consternation that this was a complete shock to me, and we at city hall are deeply disappointed that such a deception was propagated on our fine city. The folks of this town elected me as their representative, and I feel that I have let them down. I’ve let you all down.”
“I first want to ensure the residents of this great city that no Company C, holding company or no, will ever gain a foothold in Farven Point. That’s something so ingrained in this city that I didn’t need to campaign on such a promise. It’s just unspoken, and accepted.”
“But on this day, I will state it explicitly: No Company C operation will ever set foot on Farven Point’s soil. I’ll repeat it: No Company C operation will ever set foot in our fine city’s confines.
“That being said, I have indeed let down this city. Under my watch, the unthinkable nearly happened. That’s unacceptable. I don’t know if you, the residents of Farven Point, can forgive me for that. I hope that you can. But I can never forgive myself.
“Therefore, with that in mind, I will hear by be resigning my post as city administrator. That will be effective immediately. It is my hope that by resigning, I will once again bring to the city the trust in it’s elected officials. That they will do the right thing in the face of adversity. Even if that comes with a cost.
“Thank you. There will be no questions.”
***
MaBrown stood in shock at the edge of the crowd of reporters. They’d shouted questions after him as the administrator ducked back into his office, the door closing resoundingly behind him. MaBrown could only watch in disbelief. He’d known the administrator most of his time as a reporter. Malvers was shrewd, conniving, opportunistic — in other words, he was a politician. He took every advantage he could, rarely admitted mistake, and always found a way to weasel out of being caught in a lie. This was the last thing he expected.
He tried to make sense of his speech as he headed to the city clerk’s office. It’s not like he had much choice but to admit the truth, but Malvers hadn’t let that stop him in the past. Something had got to him. Was it connected with this attack? Something was up.
“Hey, MaBrown,” the city clerk said. He had sandy blonde hair and a larger build than MaBrown, but a soft gentle voice off-set that. He nodded MaBrown into his office from the hallway.
MaBrown took a seat across from him at his desk. “What’s up?” he asked. “I hear something interesting was filed today.”
“Considering the administrator’s speech this morning, I would say.”
“Did you see it?”
“Nah, we got a quick heads up over the Buzz, just a few minutes before he went on. Here,” he said, tossing a packet of info onto the desk in front of MaBrown. “Take a look at this.”
MaBrown looked over the packet for a moment, while the clerk patiently sat with his hands folded. MaBrown looked up. “But this is between Liquid and the Mayor. Company C logos are all over the Liquid’s responses. That means...”
“That means he knew,” the clerk nodded.
MaBrown looked down at the documents again, then back up at the clerk. “This my copy?”
The clerk nodded. “Guess you got some reporting to do.”
***
"Isellia," the robot called out, while Isellia alternated between reading the ship's schematics, heavy with ink from all her alteration notes, and sticking her nose in the engine bay.
"What did I tell you?" Isellia said, not bothering to look at the robot.
"'Not now,'" the robot said, repeating her earlier command.
"So what would you conclude from that?" Isellia said rhetorically.
"It is no longer 'now,' since 'now' was said then. The statement is in fact illogical, because the request is dated as soon as the speaker says it."
She put down the schematic and looked up at it. “Robot, Isellia is very busy right now.”
“Robot is aware of Isellia’s current disposition.”
“My dispo... oh for pete's sake." Isellia thrust her schematics aside wildly, brushed off her hands (more for show than anything) and hopped down from the ship. The robot regarded her cooly as she stormed over to it.
"Fine,” she said, ready to be done with this. "Fine Mr. Robot, what is it? What is so darned important? What is it you just have to say, that needs to be said before I work on TRYING to win this race? Huh? What?" She grabbed the robot's arm units, which it made no attempt to stop.
"Observe," the robot said. A light on its forehead flashed, then projected a holo image of the schematics of an XR unit, much like Isellia’s, save for a couple very important differences.
"Veda’s ship," she said, her eyes widening at the site. The glow of the blue holo image shone in her pupils. "How did you...?"
The robot didn’t answer, but the image disappeared, replaced with a perfect, translucent copy of Isellia’s XR-13, complete with the scratches she never got around to buffing out.
"Isellia's ship is insufficient. Robot searched the database for a suitable alternative. Upgrades recommended are in red."
Isellia stood with her mouth agape as the image turned and the ship split apart, showing the engine. Certain parts glowed a slow flashing red.
“I’ve been working half the night to rig — er, ahem, upgrade the XR, and you’ve had this the entire time?”
"Negative," Robot said. "Only since yesterday."
The image disappeared and the robot’s hand returned to its side. Isellia stared blankly at the robot for a moment, a bit in shock. A hint of a smile crossed her lips.
“You wonderful metal bucket of bolts you... We’ve got a chance!” she shouted, shaking the robot by its arms wildly, dancing and turning as if the robot were her dance partner.
Chapter 31
MaBrown sat on a bench on the 12th floor of the city center. It was a quiet spot he discovered on an errand during his early days, and he found its
secluded locale soothing and a good place to concentrate.
His bench sat in the corner of an open lobby, with a tree shielding his spot from view. It wasn't a real tree, of course. Those were too messy and valuable. Modern genetics allowed this synthetic version to exist in its stead, which could mimic the growth of a tree from sapling to just the right size. Feeding it the right compound would stop its growth as the owner wished.
He looked out the large-paned glass windows, the streets littered with occasional activity. MaBrown's eyes caught a person or two and followed their movements, until his mind wandered off again. He continued the practice as he slowly lost himself in thought.
He shifted in his chair, the fabric stiffening as he changed position, then softening as he relaxed into it. MaBrown often joked that he never met a flex-fabric chair that he didn't dislike; they never seemed to work like they were supposed to, either too stiff when they should be soft or vice versa. But this particular chair was his little secret, special for his location.
He had read once in Old Earth history that early newsrooms were quiet enough to hear a pin drop. They needed to be for operators to understand the messaging system of the time, which operated by a series of short and long dashes. The wire, it was called, and the term stuck around long after the system became archaic. His newsroom wasn't like that — people carrying on loud conversations, newscanners blaring accident reports and noise canceling fuzz he’d become surprisingly used to, editors constantly asking for updates and assigning more work, messages popping up on his terminal ad nausea. All in all, it was a distracting place for a job that required a great deal of concentration.
So his little spot here on the 12th floor was ideal for delving into the document he was just delivered. He sat back and read the communication printouts the clerk had handed him. After a few pages it was abundantly clear that not only did the Administrator know about Company C’s involvement in the project, but it was clear he a conspirator.
This could be the biggest story of his career.
***
Isellia looked her craft over one more time. She looked at the robot, then at the XR once again. She found a new appreciation growing for both of them — her ship would now be the fastest thing she'd ever flown, and the robot had helped her do it. She looked over the resting machine, imagining using it as her side mechanic. Why not? The thought disturbed her a bit. When had she come to trust this machine, an unstable mechanism of mysterious creation?
None of that erased the sense of excitement she felt. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. And yet part of her dreaded it.
***
MaBrown typed, and paused. Typed some more. And paused.
He stopped every so often, checking over the story, checking the facts. Sometimes he stopped because his fingers shook, and were hitting the wrong keys. Typos happened far less with virtual key software, which was somehow able to detect a typist's intended keystroke. They were ineffective, however, against the shakes.
MaBrown had them bad, because this was a big story, one that could alter lives. It was a power and a responsibility bestowed upon him, and he worked hard to make it just right. The story was what it was, and would have its effect. But one mistake could alter that effect.
Not to mention his credibility.
Once turned in, there would be the late edits, changing things and trying to search through his notes late at night to answer questions. Last minute phone calls. Last minute, panicked double checking.
He continued typing with a sense of excitement and anticipation. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. And yet part of him dreaded it.
Chapter 32
Joey looked down the line of XRs, listened with a sense of awe to the sounds of engines roaring and commotion of pilots, mechanics, spectators, gamblers and other people in the swelling crowd. The XRs' engines echoed across the wide launch pad surface, while a crowd of onlookers of multiple worlds surrounded the pad, mostly behind the lines hung to keep them at bay. They joked and chatted, talking about the prospects of their favorite racers, compared stories they'd read on the Buzz, double-checked odds sheets. The din of the crowd’s energy nearly matched the engine whine of the XRs.
An XR roared overhead, its engine scream hitting Joey deep in his gut. He couldn't help but marvel at the excitement and tension that clung in the air. He looked at Isellia’s face and could see it there too, as she searched her XR's engine one last time. She looked up at him and smiled briefly before reconnecting her wrench into an unseen bolt beneath the chassis.
There was a different air about her today. It’s race day, he thought — this is what it means to have a singular focus. It reminded him of the focus that took hold of him when he repaired anything on the robot — the rest of the world disappeared as he problem solved. Isellia must be feeling the same way right now, he thought.
Joey looked from her to some of the nearby racers; one fiddled with his navigation controls, shouting to his mechanic in a halted voice. A creature the likes of which Joey had never seen used eight tentacles to perform multiple repairs on his or her — its? — blue XR which, with a sleeker design and a less damaged chassis, was likely a newer model. Only when a woman came up to the creature did Joey realize that she/he/it must be a mechanic.
“XR-15,” Isellia said to him, referring to the other racer’s craft. She reached as far into the underside of the engine's hood as she could, grimacing as she felt for a particular bolt. “Fast, but not worth the money. The 14s were a better make, even though they weren’t as fancy. Pretty colors took people in.”
Joey nodded in earnest, though he had no choice but to take her word for it. He hadn’t ever seen an XR before he’d seen hers. Now he was standing in an airfield of them, like someone had made clones of Isellia’s ship but molded them and tweaked them into a variety of forms. They all had the basic shape: Long, thin body with double, wide, flat wings. None seemed quite like Isellia’s, with pink pin striping along its contours.
"This is a mass start, Isellia," Porter said to her, looking toward the front of the field. The look on her face as she turned toward him could suggested she was not in the mood to be lectured. "I'm just saying, take it easy at the start, OK? You don’t want to burn your fuel out.”
"I know what a mass start is, Porter," Isellia shot back, her fists on her hips. "I don't need you to tell me what a mass start is. And what do you know about racing anyway?”
"I'm just saying—"
"You think you know everything about everything, don't you?" Isellia continued relentlessly. "Maybe you might concede just once that someone knows something you don't."
"Dammit, Isellia, I'm not saying that," Porter said, voice starting to grow louder, unusual since he normally kept pretty cool in the face of an Isellia tirade. "I'm just saying be careful. You don't have to win here, just place in the top five."
"I know how qualifying works, would you just—" They both stopped to look at Joey, who was watching them intently.
"Um, what do you mean by mass start?" Joey asked.
Isellia looked at Porter, grinning sarcastically. "Go ahead, fill him in," Isellia sneered. "You know so much about racing. You can explain it to me."
"Sometimes, Isellia...” Porter said with a sigh. "I'm going to the viewing room. Good luck, OK."
"Thanks," she said.
She paused a moment, then turned to Joey. "OK, there are different kind of starts in an XR race. A mass start is the kind most people think of when they think of racing — everyone starts at the same time."
"So you all line up at the front?"
"Does it look like there's enough room for that?" Isellia said, batting him on the back of the head. "Everyone spaces themselves out in the area behind the start line."
"But don't the racers in front have an advantage? Why do some get to be in front?"
"It's based on seeding," Isellia said. "The more points you have in the standings, the closer to the front you get to be."
"So, how many points do you have?
"
Isellia didn't say anything for a while. "Well, take a look at where we’re standing. Looks like the back, right?”
“So, none?”
“Well, you need to race to earn points. Haven’t exactly been racing from our ship, right?”
“Oh, right. Well, so you start —“
"— at the back."
They said nothing for a time, while the buzz of activity continued behind them. A rear manifold flew off an XR and rattled across the field to their left. A man in a flight suit went chasing after the clanking metal piece.
"So, you think you can make the top five?"
Isellia's eyes grew large with — anger, apprehension — Joey couldn't tell.
"I'm not aiming for 'top five,'" Isellia said. "If you don't aim for first place, you got no business lining up!”
“Oh,” Joey said.
“Aiming for the ‘top five’ is something spectators say when looking at the odds. Or something race commentators say. That’s not how racers think. If you’re competing, you’re in it to win it. If you don’t think you can win, then you can’t.”
Joey nodded. “That makes sense, I guess.”
“All right, they’re waiving non-racers off the field, bucko. Better get with Porter in the viewing room.”
“OK,” Joey said, walking away. “Hey, good luck!”
Isellia looked at him, her hand on the first rung of the ladder to the cockpit. “Let’s hope I don’t need it.”
***
Porter saw the rest of the crew as he entered the viewing room — he picked them out amongst the already throngs of people watching scouting reports on small TVs that lined its walls. Kenpur and Stephen stood at the top of the wide audience area, on a leveled and carpeted floor like a movie theatre’s that provided the best possible view of the large holo projector in the center of the room. It was already turned on, and racers could be seen prepping their machines or talking with their crews about race strategy. But few paid any mind to it, or the launch area seen through the large-paned glass windows that overlooked the race’s start. That would change when the race started.
Robot Awareness: Special Edition Page 33
