Standing up, Diana walked briskly towards her own car. Not too quickly. She didn’t want to look guilty. On the other hand, she didn’t want him to see her. Not yet.
She tossed the heavy bag onto the passenger seat as she slid behind the steering wheel. There was no danger that the precious contents would have been damaged, encased as they were in a protective sleeve of thick padding.
How long would she have to wait? Would he notice her sat here? Why should he pay any particular heed to anyone sat in their car at the end of this working day? She drew a resolute breath as she pretended to adjust the settings on the radio, all the while covertly watching his building’s main door.
There he was, striding confidently across the paved expanse between the lab buildings towards the chained cycles. He quickly unlocked his own bike, swung a foot across the saddle and pedalled away on two tyres as firm as his well-honed thighs, his gym bag riding high on his shoulders.
Diana breathed a sigh of relief. If he’d noticed the flat tyre on the bike next to his own, all her plans would have been put on hold. Now she could proceed with her next steps. Turning the key in the ignition, she pulled carefully out of the parking space and drove as quickly as she could to the university sports centre.
Thanks to the cycle paths cutting straight across the loop of the medieval road following the river, he was locking up his bike as she arrived. Shrugging his gym bag’s handles off his broad shoulders, he headed for the entrance. She watched him pause by the drinks machine, dropping coins into the slot before stooping to retrieve his preferred choice of isotonic drink from the basket below. Tugging at his bag’s zip, he dropped the bottle on top of his sports gear.
Diana did so love a man with a regular, unchanging routine. Slipping her own bottle out of its protective sleeve, she tucked it into the netting pocket on the side of her own kit bag before she got out of the car. Now her timing would be crucial. She followed him as closely as she dared. Luck was on her side. As he arrived at the double glass doors, opaque with the sheen of the sinking sun, someone pushed their way out. He halted and she was able to feign being caught unawares by the backward swing of his bag bumping against her knee.
‘Sorry.’ She retreated a pace, her hands raised.
‘No, sorry, my fault. Are you all right?’ He seemed genuinely apologetic.
Why shouldn’t he be? Sam had told her he was a nice enough guy. Except that he had been one of the most visibly startled when she’d transferred from the London office and Neil’s whole team had belatedly realised Sam was short for Samantha, not Samuel. The question had never come up before, with everyone focused on solving programming problems.
That was when the two of them had first got talking; Diana had seen Sam glowering into a latte in the coffee shop across the road from the Science Park. She always made a point of talking to new female arrivals, taking a personal stand against the Old Boys Networks.
‘I’m fine, really.’ Diana tucked the bottle into the netting pocket on the side of her bag. Swapping the one Neil had just purchased for the one which she’d prepared had been the work of a moment. She smiled cheerily at him as he politely held the door so she could go in first.
Once in the women’s changing room, her nerves returned. She fumbled with the buttons on her tennis skirt and shirt. Her shoe laces were intent on tangling into knots. She cursed under her breath as she snagged a fingernail tugging them apart. She couldn’t afford to delay.
There. Her shoes were tied. She grabbed her racquet and bag from the bench. Outside the changing rooms, she tried not to look too obvious as she scanned the hallway. Where was he?
Over there, on his mobile phone. Diana walked towards him, now doing her best to seem as though she was waiting for someone herself.
‘It’ll be a thorn from those blasted berberis hedges,’ he said exasperated. ‘It’s all very well saying they’re a security measure— oh, okay, right, see you when you get here.’
Lowering his phone, he glared at the screen.
‘Oh, come on,’ Diana muttered under her breath, peering through the glass doors into the car park.
He looked up from dropping his phone into his gym bag. ‘Waiting for someone?’
‘My tennis partner.’ Diana shrugged. ‘She said she might be ten minutes late.’
‘Mine’s got a flat tyre on his bike so now he’s walking here.’ He grimaced.
‘Where from?’ Diana asked casually.
He answered readily enough. ‘The Science Park.’
‘Oh? I work at Lowson & Hodgson.’ She offered a smile just on the friendly side of neutral.
‘IshyamaTech.’ He grinned. ‘I never could get on with biology and chemistry. Too messy.’
‘I like the hands-on approach,’ Diana countered amiably. ‘Days of maths and coding would send me cross-eyed.’
‘Each to their own.’ He shrugged and held out a hand. ‘Neil Gill.’
‘Diana Williams.’ She shook, firmly, before nodding towards the closest empty court. ‘Well, if we’re both waiting for our partners, why don’t we play a quick game to get ourselves warmed up?’
He looked at her, askance.
She raised her eyebrows, her expression on the cusp of bemusement and amusement. ‘Unless you won’t play against a woman?’
‘No, that’s—’ The faintest blush coloured his cheekbones. ‘Okay, a quick game makes more sense than standing around.’
Diana let him stride on ahead, hiding her satisfaction. Sam was right. He didn’t like to think of himself as any sort of sexist but he still defaulted to the assumptions he had evidently been reared with. In the six months since Sam had left London, she’d gone from being the first person to get an email when Neil needed to bounce ideas off someone, to the fourth or fifth.
Good. That made him just the sort of test subject Diana needed. Better yet, he was already taking a long drink from his bottle, thirsty after cycling here.
She set her bag down by the back netting and unzipped her racquet cover. Turning, she saw Neil uncap a tube of tennis balls. He tossed a couple towards her and walked back to stand ready behind his own base line.
‘You can serve. Fifteen love.’
She walked towards the net. ‘We’ll toss for serve and we’ll start love all, thanks.’ She flipped the coin she held ready high into the air, catching it to slap it deftly on her racquet’s strings. ‘Heads or tails?’
‘Heads,’ he said curtly.
She looked at the coin and shrugged. ‘Heads it is. Your serve.’ She walked back, slipping the trick coin into the pocket inside her waistband. Now that she had him exactly where she wanted him, there was no more need for sabotage and subterfuge. Her experiment could really begin.
Neil was frowning as he tossed the ball high into the air. He hit it so hard that it landed out by a racquet length.
Had she made him angry by refusing his gentlemanly offer of a free point? That wasn’t what she wanted. That wasn’t the impulse which the drug she was working so hard to perfect would counter.
‘Second serve.’ He bounced the ball once, twice, three times.
Diana hid her apprehension. Would he deliberately double fault, to force that free point on her, whether she wanted it or not? If he did, would that be the drug getting the better of him already? If so, her experiment had already failed.
The serve came down the court like a bullet. She got her racquet to it but the return went hopelessly wide.
‘Fifteen love.’ Neil grinned with ill-concealed triumph.
Diana smiled in return. Excellent. His competitiveness was going to outweigh any chivalrous instincts. Over their coffee shop lunchtime sandwiches, Sam had told her a handful of stories about Neil’s dealings with anyone who could conceivably be a rival. Then he was utterly ruthless, doubly so with women. Being beaten by another man was intolerable. Being beaten by a girl was unthinkable.
So Diana would concentrate on testing him as far as she could, to see how he handled being challenged by a woman.
>
As she guessed, his next serve didn’t risk the venom of the first, landing safely inside the line. Diana hit it back with all the power she could muster. Taken a little by surprise, Neil sent the ball back with an instinctive volley. Diana was ready, turning her body before using every muscle from her heel to her head to drive the ball past him and down the side line.
‘Fifteen all.’ Now it was her turn to grin, reflecting Neil’s earlier triumph back at him.
‘Good point,’ he acknowledged, pausing to take another swig from his bottle. ‘Right.’
She got another of those hard serves, kicking out wide. Diana was ready for it. She’d spent long enough studying his game, safely anonymous among all these white-clad tennis players.
As her return bounced on his side of the net, Neil swept a backhand across the court. Diana darted sideways and deftly took all the pace off the ball, sending it back to plummet to the ground after barely crossing the tape, leaving Neil utterly flat-footed.
‘Fifteen thirty,’ he said curtly.
Now he was scowling and Diana’s heart sank. The dose should be working by now. Unless she had got it hopelessly wrong in which case all this experiment would do was send her back to the drawing board, or more precisely, back to refining the drug which Lawson & Hodgson Pharmaceuticals had no idea she was developing alongside their latest antidepressant research.
This time Neil’s serve was aimed straight into her body, a tactic she’d seen him use time and again in doubles. All Diana could do was dodge out of the way to save herself from a punishing bruise.
‘Thirty all.’ She acknowledged the point with a cheery wave and a smile.
He smiled back, lifting her spirits. Perhaps that scowl had been concentration rather than aggression. Then he sent down another rocketing serve which she missed returning by a hair’s breadth. Damn it.
Still, that proved he was as competitive as ever which was a good thing. She certainly didn’t want the drug to blunt his edge.
‘Forty thirty.’
‘Good shot.’
Neil turned round to wave to the man standing behind the netting. ‘Thanks. We’ll be done in a moment.’ He took the opportunity to take a quick swig from his bottle.
Diana thumped the bottom of her shoe with her racquet as though to dislodge some grit. She was careful not to look in the newcomer’s direction. Not that there was any reason he should suspect her of disabling his bike.
She shifted her feet, testing the hard court’s surface as she prepared to receive Neil’s next serve. She had to make a game of this if her experiment was to offer any worthwhile results. A slip or a skid throwing away months of work didn’t bear thinking about. She took a deep breath, every muscle and bone in her body poised and balanced.
He served. She returned it. He sent a forehand zipping across the net. She was ready with a searing backhand powered by her thighs, hips and shoulders. The ball’s speed took him completely unawares. It bounced once before careering into the rear fencing. On the line.
In or out? It was a close call. Neil should have seen it clearly whereas her view could have been obscured by the net. How would he call it? This would be a real test, particularly with the other man watching.
‘Out!’
‘No, it was in.’ Neil contradicted his friend before looking back to Diana with an appreciative nod. ‘Good placement,’ he called as he took another swift drink. ‘Deuce.’
‘Thanks.’ Hope warmed her. His congratulation sounded genuine. Better yet, he hadn’t yielded to his friend’s encouragement to give himself the benefit of any possible doubt.
But this wasn’t over yet. Diana readied herself to receive Neil’s next serve. Too fast and too long. Was her dose too strong? Was he going to throw the game away now that the drug was kicking in? She drew a steadying breath.
‘Second serve.’
This one was in and well placed. She returned it deftly. This time Neil was ready for her and volleyed the ball straight back. She returned and darted forwards to claim the net. He scurried backwards to foil her attempt at a passing shot, hitting a lob to catch her out.
Diana was already retreating, tracking the ball against the summer evening sky. She tried for an overhead smash to win the point. The ball bounced high and awkward but Neil got a racket to it thanks to his greater height.
She flung out her arm more in hope than expectation. The ball struck the strings and bounced back to clip the top of the net and fall dead on Neil’s side. Diana raised a hand to acknowledge her stroke of luck.
‘Fluke.’ Neil’s waiting partner shook his head, disdainful.
A couple of other men now standing with him nodded agreement, their expressions similarly dismissive.
Neil looked at Diana and shrugged. ‘Your advantage.’
She searched his face for any signs of resentment, of bruised ego. Could he stand to lose face in front of a whole group of other men? How would he respond to a little provocation?
‘Game point,’ she said gleefully.
He grinned amiably. ‘Let’s see.’
Diana was ready for his body serve this time. She moved, swung and struck the ball to pass him with a clean winner thudding down on the court to land a finger width inside the base line.
Neil froze for an instant of astonishment before laughing out loud and clapping his hand against his racket strings. ‘Game. Well played.’
‘Thank you.’ Diana advanced to the net to shake his hand. She took the opportunity to look as closely at him as she dared.
Neil’s brow was unfurrowed, his eyes warm, his congratulation genuine without a hint of gritted teeth. ‘That was a really good game, thanks.’
She held out her hand, bracing herself for some knuckle-cracking show of manliness, to make sure she knew her place even if she had just beaten him. No. He shook her hand firmly but politely.
‘Thanks again.’ She nodded towards his waiting, glowering partner. ‘I’ll let you two get on. I’ll just get my bag.’
As she headed for the far side of the court, she strained her ears to catch the conversation between the two men and the three onlookers. Crouching low, she pretended to struggle with her racket cover zip as she waited to hear Neil’s excuses. He’d been taking it easy so as not to humiliate her. He had some lingering stiffness from the day’s work or perhaps a sore muscle which he’d been protecting. He wasn’t taking it seriously, so why should he bother playing his best? Diana could imagine all manner of self-justification on the tip of his tongue.
His friend was certainly ready to explain away her win. ‘You should have replayed that net cord point.’
‘Why?’ Neil drained his bottle of drink. ‘It’s all part of the game.’
His friend scoffed. ‘She wouldn’t have won without it.’
Neil shrugged, untroubled. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’
He broke off as Diana zipped up her bag, stood up and turned to walk back past the pair of them to leave the court.
‘Good game,’ he said again. ‘Thanks.’
‘Thank you.’ She did her best to moderate her grin. Since he couldn’t possibly know what she was so pleased about, that would just look like gloating and he didn’t deserve that.
Back in the changing rooms, she showered and dressed, barely paying heed to the women coming and going around her. The formula filled her thoughts. She ran through it time and again, mentally checking and double checking every molecule.
Had she finally got it right? After all her endless theorising, the stealthy synthesis, filching what she needed from the lab, hiding her first test subjects among all the racked cages of mice. Not that mice were particularly known for their chauvinistic tendencies but Diana wasn’t about to risk dosing some unsuspecting man with any formulation without checking for unexpected side-effects.
Now it really seemed that all her hard work had paid off. She had it in her hands. The means to make men see women as their equals in competition. To tolerate being beaten without having to disparag
e a female victor to salvage their own wounded pride. To curb any darker impulses to resentment or aggression when they came second. To enable them to offer unsullied congratulations.
Which was all very well but what next? Diana’s euphoria faded as she pulled on jeans and t-shirt and shoved her tennis kit into her bag. She could hardly market a new wonder drug for women to slip to their boyfriends and husbands, to perfect their partnership, to secure perfect companionship.
She sighed as she left the changing room, deep in thought. A draft of cold air struck her in the face. Caught unawares, she flinched. Then she looked up. Diana studied the vent with renewed interest. All manner of things could spread through air conditioning systems, couldn’t they?
In Memoriam
Rob Haines
Excerpt from the abstract of ‘One-to-One Mentoring for the Development of Compassionate Artificial Intelligence’, Miriam D’Ascenzo, Harry Womer, Felicia Camburg[1]. Journal of Interstellar Astrophysics. Received 2nd February 2060, accepted for publication 28th May 2060.
If more than a century of science fiction has taught us anything, it is this: logic alone is not sufficient to guide the decision-making process of a modern artificial intelligence. Any personality designed to monitor a space-going vessel over extended periods - especially where human lives are at stake - must reliably react to unexpected events in a net-positive manner, supplementing logic with both context and compassion to perform optimal cost-benefit analyses in the best interests of the physical and mental wellbeing of the crew, even under conflicting circumstances in which the favoured course of action would seem illogical.
[...]
A custom-designed Quanta-177 series AI precursor was seeded into the neural network of the Hawkins automated orbital shipyard on 2nd March, 2056 [Day 1], along with a curated subset of data (~800TB) retrieved from the Internet Data Archive to provide a sufficient foundation for accelerated learning. Progress was recorded for the project archive with a full suite of internal sensors, enhanced with cultural / emotional analysis from a context engine independent of the Hawkins neural network. After a short initialisation period, the project’s Lead Exo-psychologist joined the precursor in low-earth orbit to guide its development towards Odyssey’s projected 2058 launch window.
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