"Are you crying?"
"Fuck you. No."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just hold me."
He turned the program off. They moved together. Not to merge, this time. Just to hold each other. He listened to the seashell hiss of the ventilator bleeding recycled air through the wall of her cubicle, a hiss that became in his mind the rush of wind across dry empty hills softened with sage the color of dusk.
The next day they stood in the half-sphere of Lab D, looking at a spidery workbench. Five of its eight square meters were covered by a seething assemblage of 1C cards, wires, infinite-variable power supplies, and the smelly fluid-bathed trays of bioelectronics and life support.
"This whole thing is the sensor?" said Derein.
"No." Terhune sliced the word short with his teeth. He pointed to one of the trays. "This is the heart of it. The rest is just engineering. Power, support, and tuning."
The Party Member bent over the table. "And that?"
"That's a single-throw relay," said Terhune, staring at him. Again he wondered: ignorance, or a trap?
"Tell me how it works."
"How detailed do you want to get?"
"Just tell me."
"The read function is a modified Fisher psitelechiric regeneration circuit. Field densities of down to two times ten to the minus eight nookies—neural interactions, SI—can be read before noise limit of amplification degrades past the ability of the spectrum analyzer to—"
"Maybe a little more basic, Doctor," suggested Derein quietly.
"You try it, Lo, it's your baby anyway," said Terhune to the short man who stood beside them in nothing but khaki cutoffs, scratching his hairless chest. "This is Dr. Hong."
"You know how lie detectors used to work, Party Member?" said Hong.
"They read heartbeat, skin moisture?"
"That's right. The operator had to infer an internal condition—guilt—from external, physiological manifestations. Sometimes it worked. Kind of. But a man who knew how, or who believed that what he had done was right, often read as innocent."
"I get that."
"Good. Back in the mid-eighties they started to access actual neurological information. Electronically. They learned to read premuscular signals. Speech, before it was transmitted to the mouth and larynx muscles. That's how the embedded transceivers work. You have one?"
"Everyone does now."
"Oh. I haven't been downside for a while. Well, this apparatus—the telechiric-psionic scan, or TLCH-PSI—takes that process further in two ways. First, it reads remotely, by means of an artificial PSI field we generate in this section. The resonance of a living brain repeating, or affirming, a broadcast pattern can be detected by means of the very slight increase in signal strength from that direction. I've got it up to three meters, about ten feet old measure, and I may be able to tweak it up further with a critically-tuned antenna. Twenty feet's the theoretical limit before power output marginalizes against return from other people near the focus. Follow?"
"So far, I think."
"Good. Now the interesting part. There's a delay, if you will, in the repetition of the pattern by a brain, or a mind if you will, if it doesn't agree with the signal. If it agrees, the echo is almost instantaneous, on the order of a hundredth of a second or less. If the brain disagrees with the signal, if there's mental resistance, the return is almost as strong as it CFIs—cycles for interpretation—but the delay increases about fourfold. It's a slight difference, but we've shown it to be readily detectable, reproducible, and most important, the effect is non-conscious—you can't lie to it."
"Praise the Leader!"
"Uh, exactly." Hong pointed with his chin, Chinese-fashion. "The expert system circuitry here—pretty standard programming, will go well into VHSIC—basically just times it, evaluates and corrects for some other variables, such as sickness or low alertness, by querying with a signal that the brain agrees with—I use "I hope there's some speedmail for me today," which seems to go down smooth with everybody at the Center. The output is a binary decision, go or no-go, that pops this relay. After that, what you do with it is up to you."
"Can I see it work?"
Hong looked at Terhune, who nodded briefly. "Okay," he said. "We'll use you. Stand over here."
The Party Member, looking fascinated despite himself, moved a few feet to the right. Looking down, he found himself in the center of a square chalked on the mooncrete base of the dome.
"Now," said Lo Hong, perching himself in front of a rather archaic-looking keyboard, "Let's see. You're a Party Member, right? What's the current Slogan?"
Derein glanced up. "You don't know, Dr. Hong?"
"I forgot," said Hong, straight-faced.
"The foolish man Leads himself to Doom; the wise man Follows us to Paradise."
"Oh yeah," said Hong, typing busily. "Let's see, better change the bumper, 'cause you probably aren't expecting mail here. You like beer?"
"Party Members do not take alcohol," said Derein frostily.
"Oh yeah. Ice cream?"
"Chocolate chip."
"Got it." Hong typed busily for quite a while. "Got to use hexadecimal, haven't smoothed the front end LISP out yet. Okay." He slid off the stool and stared at Derein.
There was a tiny click.
"Any time you're ready," said the Party Member, his eyes closed.
"That's it."
Derein opened his eyes. "What?"
"Hear the relay close?"
"I . . . thought something, too quick to catch . . . then I heard a click."
"That was it. You believe the slogan."
The Party Member looked confused. "Yes. I do. But then what?"
"As I envisioned the use of this device," said Terhune, his voice controlled, "the query would have been in the enemy language, oriented toward the military; for example, 'It is my mission to destroy American battle robots.' This would have enabled the robot to screen out civilians, even enemy civilians, and attack only enemy soldiers, even if ununiformed."
"Would it work on enemy battle robots?"
"They are rather easily identified visually," said Hong, smiling.
"But this is a wonderful device," said Derein. "Let's try it with something I disagree with."
"No problem," said Hong, typing again. After a moment he slid off the stool. "Try that?"
The relay did not click. "What did you ask me?" said Derein.
"The test statement was," said Hong, looking blank," 'Human beings who oppose the Party have a right to live.' "
He had gone to her cubicle without calling on the intercom. He found her in the cleaner. She was nude. The soap spray clung to her body like lace.
"Done soon?"
"Done now," she said. "Rinse!"
When the shower was finished with her she came to him wet and naked. He sat on the chair by her cot and stared at the wall.
"No roundup?"
"What?"
"I said, no roundup? The dogies are restless tonight."
He moved to the bunk and held her close to him. She felt damp and hard and strong, hugging him back so tight he found it hard to breathe. He closed his eyes.
"Problem?"
"What?"
"You have a problem, cowboy? Tell me about it."
"I can't do this, Kathryn."
He felt her begin to rock him. She said nothing. He held her as close as he could, feeling tears bite into his eyelids.
"What's the matter? Tell me. You can trust me."
"I know . . . that's the only thing that keeps me going sometimes. Kathryn, I can't go through with this."
She turned, reached automatically now. The evening Party Program surged into the room. "We discussed it, Mike. There's nothing else you can do."
"You know what this thing we're building will mean? It'll destroy any hope of a counterrevolution. They can use it to guard government buildings, to stop the Resistance walking in with bombs. Then it'll be in the airports, the sidewalks. And you can't trick it o
r lie to it!"
"You're destroying yourself over this, Mike. We're out of it, here. We're safe."
"That's not enough. I can't let this loose, not in their hands." He bent closer still, whispering into her ear. "I'm going to change the statement."
"The what?"
"The test statement. I don't care what they do to me. Or my family. Or even to us. There are too many others involved. I've got to change it."
"You can't, Mike. They'll find it."
"I can't do anything else."
"Why? Because of your family? Mike. Forget them." He felt her breathing slow, deepen. "You have me. Don't you?"
"I love you."
"That's right."
"I haven't seen my family for years."
"They'll get along. I think children do that. It's selfish of me. But I don't want you to do it, Mike. Please don't."
"We could stay here together."
"That's right."
"Do you love me?"
"More than anything. More than anything. Christ, Michael. I'm sorry for your kids. But sometimes, oh, Jesus, sometimes I think you don't understand how much a woman can love you."
"I love you too. A lot."
But she did not answer him.
Fourteen days later Lab D looked the same. The scientists gathered around the table, however, looked worn. Derein had driven them all eighteen hours, twentyurs a diurn. He had received orders to build and test a complete working model.
The finished prototype was considerably smaller than the square meters of ammonia-smelling bioelectronics that had covered the work table. Hong and Terhune had used the Center's Produktor line to design it, and it had discovered several production shortcuts. Dr. Hogue, pressed into service, had found ways to combine several functions within modules, and had miniaturized the power sources. The five of them stood now looking up at the completed device. The size of an old transistor-model television, it hung shabbily braced from the laboratory overhead, pointing down at a shallow angle. The chalked square was now a rectangle four feet by two.
"Here's the concept of operation," said Dr. Hong, resting himself against the bench, which now gave off the rankness of decay; he had let the breadboard go, and, unshielded, it had caught some random germ and started to rot. "Party Member Derein, you wanted something that could screen in real time. This unit can do it, if people don't come through too fast. You could set it up above an escalator, for example."
"That's ideal," said Derein. Of them all, he looked the best rested, though there were circles under his eyes as well. "The Secretary intends to use the initial installations to screen people going into offices in New Washington."
"Government offices?" said Terhune.
"And Party offices."
"A demonstration, Party Member?"
"Just a minute. Tell me again what happens when they fail."
"When the screeners fail?"
"No, no. I have confidence in your team's technical abilities. I mean, what will happen when the people going through fail."
"We incorporated a wiper," said Terhune. He looked dead. Not dead physically. He looked like a man who had lost his soul.
"Wiping? How does that work?"
"Uh. Dr. Levinson worked that out—he's the psychoradiomanipulator."
A heavyset, balding man stood up slowly. "Well, it's not unlike the wipes your courts order sometimes when somebody gets a death sentence. You know how those operate?"
"Just that they come out without a brain."
"Overstatement, Party Member Derein. It's a traumatic overload, a burnout on the subneural level, where memory and learned patterns are matrixed. The brain is operational, but as far as learning and life experience, identity, it's a tabula rasa." Derein looked blank. "A clean slate. Essentially they're no longer a human being, but a newborn. Of course, without the newborn's potential, entirely. Learning is considerably more limited the second time around."
"And this would be better than just firing a laser at them when the disloyalty circuit trips?"
"I believe so, Party Member."
"Why?"
"Because it preserves, at some level, a life." They stared at each other. Before Derein could respond, Levinson added heavily, "Or a soul. The Party would see it as another chance to, uh, save that soul, once it had been purged of—antisocial habits and thoughts."
"Of the devil, you mean to say."
"I guess that's the terminology, yes." Levinson sighed.
"That's good reasoning. That's defensible. Yet you seem unhappy about it, Dr. Levinson."
"Do I? How penetrating."
"Are you with the Party, Dr. Levinson?"
Levinson straightened. "Have I said something out of order? I didn't mean to."
"Answer me, Doctor."
Levinson looked at him. At last he turned the collar of his coveralls to show the yellow star. "I think this answers your question."
Derein stared at him. After a moment he turned to Terhune. "Let's get on with it."
"Sure. Step right up," said Terhune bitterly.
"Me?"
"I think you'll agree that you're the best choice for a test"
"Perhaps you'll precede me, Doctor."
"I don't think so, Party Member. You see, this prototype is fully operational."
Derein looked around the circle. "Refusal? That's practically an admission of disloyalty."
"So is yours," said Terhune. "Are you refusing the test, Party Member? It will be difficult. You'll have to terminate all of us to prevent your superiors from finding out you did. And if you do, you won't have the device, will you? The design is in the Produktor. But you can't operate it, can you? If it isn't quite right you can't fix it, can you?"
Derein stared at him. He looked at the overhead. "This is disloyal. This is all recorded."
"I jammed it," said Hong modestly. "Very simple."
"And even if you have a traitor on your side," said Terhune, not looking at Hong or Levinson, "he could produce this model—it's all on the tape—but he couldn't tune or improve it. Not without some months of study. And you don't have some months, do you? You've already notified them the shuttle will instation tomorrow."
Derein stared around once more. He was sweating, visibly.
"I know," he said.
"What?"
"I know what you plan to do to the device."
"I have no idea what you mean," said Terhune.
"Let me tell you, then." Derein looked around at them, all of them. He took a small pistol from the pocket of his coveralls.
"You changed the question."
Terhune's head came up. He felt dazed. Then he saw her eyes. They were wide, but steady on his. Green, with a touch of hazel. He felt his legs begin to tremble.
She was the one person he had never suspected.
After a moment Hong said, "That's absurd."
"Is it? You think he's on the Party's side, fully? Then you step forward, Dr. Hong. Take your place on your chalked-in square. Do it."
Hong looked at Terhune, weighing something in his mind. After a moment he said, "I'm afraid to. I think he is, but—I guess I'm just risk-averse."
"Dr. Levinson?"
"I'd rather not," said Levinson.
"Dr. Terhune?"
Terhune looked at the square. He looked at Hogue.
"No," he said.
"So," said Derein, looking around at them. "You won't do it. Not even if I threaten to shoot you. You know, I believe you. I believe you don't trust each other. And I can see you don't trust yourselves. Do you know how that makes me feel? That makes me feel that everything is right, that I have an operating device. But I'd rather be sure. Dr. Terhune. Step up."
"No."
"Move, Terhune. I'm out of forgiveness. You will prove yourself now. Step up, or your usefulness to the Party ends now." He raised the gun and aimed.
Terhune hesitated. He started to step forward.
Hogue pushed him back.
She positioned herself squarely in the
center of the chalked outline. "Turn it on," she said.
Imperial Stars 2-Republic and Empire Page 36
