He shrugged his shoulders. “Only got a ‘C’ in Physics.”
“I guess that settles the question of who does he put first, us or his girlfriend,” one of them said.
“More a practical matter than a matter of playing favorites,” he confessed. “I figured I was going to need all of my mind power focused in one incarnation, not scattered among seven, to pull off what we now have to pull off.”
“Frightened to ask,” Galina said.
“The explosion that catches Elsa up releases a biological contagion on the planet. The only reason anyone survives is the DNA-neural nano-net that Ethan managed to get inside of everyone prior to the incident. But that just keeps them hanging on. It’s not powerful enough on its own to undo the aftereffects. You will have to parallel-array your minds to come up with a solution that minimizes suffering and recovery times. I can’t have a holocaust undoing all of Ethan’s fine handiwork.”
“You forget our minds aren’t DNA-supercomputers the way Sabrina’s is,” Galina explained.
“They may not have to be,” Roman suggested. “So long as you’re in communication with one another, your triple-stranded DNA might benefit from one another’s input, evolving solutions even faster. Furthermore, if coming together is how you make a queen, I don’t see how this relatively simple problem shouldn’t yield to the extra mind power.”
“And Elsa?” Zoya said.
Roman shrugged. “The TNT that blows her apart is fairly primitive, and not powerful enough to do much but break her up into chunk meat. We have tech advanced enough to fix that problem. I’ll be collecting her body parts up while you attend to your own grim duty.”
Eva snorted. “Talk about tough love.”
“He’s one of us, all right,” Galina said. “He ain’t faking that.”
“Guess that neural net makeover is coming along just fine, boy scout,” Zoya chimed in.
“We all have our assignments,” Roman said. “That explosion happens in less than thirty seconds. I swear if so much as one person’s knees buckle anywhere across the planet before you have a solution in place, I will be very disappointed.”
They took a collective breath and glared at Roman. “How come you didn’t just come back early enough in time to rescue her?” Svena asked.
“Because I can’t come back to a time earlier than when I left. So the best I can do is find a solution that works with the situation which has arisen. In accordance with what I can forage from the other timelines. There are limits on both ends. At least that’s how my time-traveling physics works.”
They could hear as much as feel the explosion. And then they could see the mushroom cloud. “I’ve downloaded the specifics on those biological weapons to you,” Roman said. “That much I did scrounge from the other timelines. Good luck.”
Roman jumped on the hoverboard and surfed the air currents until he was back where Elsa’s body was scattered all over the ground, some parts lying in the crater after the explosion, some blown well clear of it. Despite his tough talk earlier, it was all he could do to keep the tears out of his eyes enough to see the parts of her he was collecting up. He threw the pieces on the hoverboard beside him, following like a loyal lapdog.
***
The Sexy Six, hive-mind arrayed, fought for a solution to their latest problem of the biological weapon exploding into the upper atmosphere in the form of a mushroom cloud. The explosion hadn’t been atomic, so the mushroom cloud, technically speaking, should never have formed. But with nanites in the mix, likely feeding off the energy of the blast to reproduce, it was a whole new day for physics.
“What do you make of the compound?” Svena asked, seeing it rotating before them in their shared mind’s eye view in 3D high-def.
“HIV-like, rapidly evolving in response to countermeasures,” Darya said. She’d already thrown several at it. She was the most adept of them at coding, and DNA hacks were part of her palate of skills.
Zoya had yet to have a chance to share her near-death experience with the other girls and how Roman had implicated himself in it, and she was itching to do so. That meant solving this infernal riddle so she could get back to what she really lived for, girl talk. “It’s not just a mindless virus, though,” she said.
“No, that molecule is big enough to be a computational brain onto itself,” Eva interjected. “A brain that has moving parts and functions rather well robotically.” With robotics her specialty, she ought to know.
“So, all we have to do is figure out the limits of its computational power, or rather its ability to mutate,” Galena said, “and overwhelm it.”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” Darya blurted, her frustration nearly catching her words in her throat. She’d been bombarding the thing the whole time. “It’s an ASI, so when it comes to doing this one thing, it’s far better than any DNA computer on the planet. Sorry to say. Not sure our combined mind power is going to be enough.”
“What if we were all like you?” Svena suggested. “Download your coding abilities to us, so we can help you.”
“Yeah, should have thought of that.” Darya did as much without further ado.
“There, now we’re making some headway,” Zoya said.
The girls could emulate Darya for a while, the same way a DNA computer could emulate how a silicon computer or a quantum computer worked—for a time. Burnout would ultimately follow or a growing inefficiency in their problem solving as opposed to giving themselves a temporary boost if they continued this way long enough. It was part acting job, considering it meant slipping into character as Darya.
“It’s not going to be enough to neutralize this thing,” Eva explained. “Whatever shock and awe campaign we deliver to everyone else on the planet is going to have to get past countless versions of this virus, each with its own offensive and defensive style.”
They kept at it until they thought they had not only shut down the molecule they were studying, but could do so with countless unique varieties of it.
“So we’re done then?” Svena said.
“Yeah, I think so.” Darya wiped the sweat from her forehead.
Only when she relaxed did the others do the same. They surrendered the “Darya-emulation” mode, pulling out of character.
Roman had been right; it had taken the triple-stranded DNA secretions from each of their bodies to procure an ultimate solution.
The girls held up their hands to the sky as if in prayer, releasing their own DNA-virus to the wind, encoded for them with the help of their onboard nanoswarms.
“The prevailing winds are good,” Zoya said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Eva replied. “The Trojan Horse RNA-virus has been adapted to swim like sperm, upstream of the winds, if need be. They’re lighter than air with their aerogel structure and will only force themselves down to connect with their human hosts.”
“So we’ve thought of everything,” Galena said.
“Of course,” the rest of them chimed in.
***
The girls caught up with Roman, still engrossed in his grim ritual of throwing Elsa’s body parts onto the hoverboard, angry and tearful when some of the pieces slopped back off again over the side to land on the ground. The girls just helped him to get them back on the board rather than pick on him. Though there was no denying the sight of him was as comical as it was tragic.
“Is this how you rescued me from the circle of railgun cannons?” Svena said.
“No.” Roman wiped his snivels. “Actually, you died. The you that’s asking me the question is a version of you I snagged from another timeline, where the Sexy Six are now better known as the Femme Fatale Five.”
“Does have a better ring to it,” Svena said, making a sour face.
“I just made you forget that history and remember this Svena’s history to make things easier.”
“For a useless prick who couldn’t be bothered to save my life, you can sound damn accommodating when you want to,” Svena balked.
The r
emark cut the tension and Roman managed a weak chuckle.
“What about me?” Preston asked, running up to them, panting. He bent over and rested his palms on his knees briefly as he caught his breath. His human algorithms were covering for his not needing to actually breathe. It was the first time any of them had seen him in a while.
The girls had gotten so used to blotting him out of their minds that his voice jarred them.
“You, amazingly enough,” Roman said, “just got blown clear of the hot zone. Perhaps your fluctuating magnetic fields were to blame. Since you don’t have a scratch on you, you mind lending a hand?”
Preston shook his head and held out his arms, palms up. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t sweep up dust, far less body parts. That shit clings to everything. I hire out.”
“Shit, I hope we really can put her back together,” Roman said slopping the latest bloody remnant of Elsa’s body onto the hoverboard. “What a mess.”
“Her implants are crude,” Svena said, “But her cells have evolved to claw their way back from lightning strikes, after being nearly totally fried. Her stem cell regrowth pathways are second only to our own.”
“I’ll take that as a positive sign,” Roman said.
Zoya made a pained face. “Maybe it would be easier just to 3D-print her a whole new body, use whatever’s stored on her mindchip to replace her memories up to the time of the explosion.”
“No!” Roman shouted, finally snapping under the pressure. He sobbed and fought to pull himself together, remembering he was no longer alone. “She’ll want that re-growing ability she worked so hard for. And you guys aren’t turning her into one of you just so she can get it back. That has to be her choice, not mine.”
Several of the girls sighed, but there was a collective “Fine.”
Svena said, “Just so you know, we’re better at tearing things apart than we are at putting them back together.”
Roman groaned. “Yeah, I should have factored that into my equations. My bad.”
He hiked off with the hoverboard in tow.
Pieces of Elsa kept falling off. The girls bringing up the rear just picked them up rather than draw his attention to the fact. He was in a sorry enough state as it was.
Svena stuffed a piece of Elsa’s face in her hip pouch. Darya found a place for her left breast in her purse. Zoya just stuck one of her feet in her boot, and decided to walk bare feet as she carried both boots, saving the other empty boot for whatever fell off the board next.
Preston, trying to be as helpful as he could while keeping a safe distance, kept pointing the girls to where the body parts, that would have otherwise gone unnoticed, fell to the ground.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Ethan stared out the taxi window at the high-rise penthouse in which Sabrina was ensconced. “So have you figured out how to take down this bitch yet?”
“Yes,” Alexa replied pertly. “As you know, I’m not exactly programmed for war games. But I think you’ll find my solution both elegant and in keeping with my own nature as the head of a media empire. Your media empire.”
Ethan processed the download on his mindchip from Alexa’s DNA brain in his stomach. Chuckled. “Once more around the block, James,” he said to the taxi driver. “We have a few things to pick up.”
The driver ogled the pile of hundred dollar bills that had been accruing on his front seat for incentive, then pulled away from the curb.
The more Ethan thought about the plan, the louder he laughed.
***
The proprietor of the magic shop kept bringing items out for Ethan, setting them on the counter and turning in response to the noises out back. “Sorry,” he said, “the 3D printers have been hemorrhaging since your order came in. They’re still printing. I’ll bring the stuff out as fast as I can.”
“No worries,” Ethan said. The store owner was eighty if he was a day. Ethan couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen an old person. His creaky bones made noises like wind chimes caught in the breeze. His lithe figure, despite his age, allowed him to move nimbly about the crowded aisles out back where he kept most of his orders boxed. “Maybe you should print yourself out some robot helpers first,” Ethan added, as the store-keep brought out the latest box as if he might have to add hernia to his list of physical complaints.
“My wife would kill me. She’s an Andraxian.”
“A what?”
“Some weird cult. They worship robots. For her, that would be blasphemy.”
Ethan nodded. “Better hope those guys don’t get into government, or there’ll be no one left to oppress.”
“Tell me about it. I bought out the old toy store next door, put the chipped toys to work for me. She freed them all, screaming robots rights, shooed them onto the streets, where I think they have to beg change for a living now. I mean, who wants used dolls? And what can they do exactly? If you ask me, she’s a menace. But she holds the purse strings. So unless you have tape to the contrary, I love her dearly.” He rushed to get the latest package as one of the 3D printers out back dinged that it was through making Ethan’s order.
“You made sure the instructions you beamed to the 3D printers will evaporate the minute they’re done spitting out what we need, right?” Ethan mumbled to Alexa.
“You’ve been hanging around eighty year olds too long if you think otherwise.”
Ethan’s sigh was interrupted by the door chimes. He turned to see a very theatrical lot, heavily costumed, pouring in through the door. “Someone called a flash mob?” said the midget dressed like a hobbit.
“That would be me,” Ethan replied raising his hand and looking guilty. “You’ve been recruited for a magic show. It’s a one time-gig. Pays all your debts, regardless of what they are, and leaves you with a year of living expenses in your bank account, at whatever your current standard of living is. We should be finished within the hour. Anyone not satisfied with the terms is free to leave. But, please, no questions. I’ll fill you in on the rest as we go.”
There were no questions. No one left. “Well, then, that settled…” Ethan turned to the counter and started handing out magic tricks to the most suitable-looking costumed recruits.
Ethan remarked to Alexa, this time without verbalizing aloud, “Leave the old man some helper his 3D printers can spit out that will get by his wife and give him some chance at a life free of backbreaking work.”
“Ordinarily I’d say small acts of kindness really aren’t in my repertoire, but, having run the wife through my data searches, this seems to fall more under the heading of revenge, which does fall under my new mandate.”
When the proprietor opened the lid on the last printer, a twelve-year-old boy popped out of it. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Jay. I can lift a ten ton Mack truck without trying,” he boasted, “and I can act retarded around your wife so she never suspects I’m a robot. You can tell her you gave me a pill so I don’t have to eat, and that I live in the store, so there are no upkeep costs. And I even chase down rats to save on the price of a cat.”
“You sound like you know my wife better than I do. Deal,” he said, shaking the kid’s hand zealously as he stepped out of the printer.
The proprietor turned to Ethan and shouted, “Thanks, Mister!”
Ethan waved affably to him and sauntered out the door with his entourage loaded to the gills. The flash mob late arrivals would never know what they missed out on. But they might buy some of the proprietor’s magic tricks, so even that was a win-win.
***
Ethan sauntered towards Sabrina with his entourage in tow, all carrying a piece of his magic act, some de rigueur equipment, each assistant in costume, as if about to give the show of their lives. As extras, they’d been highly paid. And so, highly motivated. Every one of them out of work, and chip-unenhanced, at least until the neuro-net came along. Now they were all too happy to be following in the path of their dreams, with this however humble first step.
The first thing Ethan noticed was Sabrina’s s
ix enforcers were nowhere in evidence. She seemed to be without a security detail of any kind. The place looked deserted.
The entourage continued up the hall like dignitaries from another country bringing the best their culture had to offer to throw at the feet of the queen.
When they burst into her office, his sidekicks took up their positions along the edges of the spacious room, awaiting for their cue to be called center stage. Sabrina looked up from her desk and her work fingering her touch screens, no doubt putting on an act for spying cameras that everything she was doing to keep the world safe and profitable for everyone was above board. With her DNA computer brain, the real processing was going on inside her head, well away from the prying eyes of cameras. Surrounding her brain would be nothing other than a Faraday cage of her own making to ensure even nanite-invaders couldn’t infiltrate her grey matter and snoop on her every thought by migrating to the neuronal gaps to catch every thought flying through her mind.
If anything, she looked mildly amused by the sudden intrusion into her office.
“I had the floor cleared,” she said. “You do realize this is going out live to the world. They’re expecting an epic battle worthy of each of us. I hope you don’t plan on letting them down.”
He smiled disingenuously. “Wouldn’t think of it.” He planted himself in the seat in front of her desk. “Could I interest you in a bit of magic?”
She laughed, not intending to; the unchecked response had just escaped her. “Very well. This is your show. Run it how you like.” Stepping around to the front of the desk, she parked her butt against the lip and regarded the deck in his hands.
He made the cards dance for her, defying gravity. Undoing all the laws of physics. His splaying of the cards as hypnotic as any top flight magician’s, only the hypnotism wasn’t on account of the sleight of hand, not entirely.
Biohackers: Cybernetic Agents Page 26
