by S. J. Ryan
TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
On each side of the tracks was a tower topped by a machine gun emplacement, presumably to provide a sense of immediacy to the word 'prosecuted.'
The train hissed to a halt alongside a large, squat building. The brick was dull and gray and the windows were small and few. There was no descriptive signage, only KEEP OUT, NO ADMITTANCE, NO SUDDEN MOVEMENTS AT ENTRY POINT.
The hulking bald man in the morning coat reentered the car. He opened the side door. Athena waited on the platform, wearing a wide-brimmed hat in addition to her previous ensemble. At their approach, she shut her parasol and pointed its tip at the guarded entry.
“Follow, please.”
There were five in the party: Athena in the lead, Matt and Matt Four in the middle, Savora and Nims in the rear. On sight of Athena, they were waved past the security station. The corridor was wide, low-ceilinged, and thronged with both military personnel and civilians. Their party pressed through with little fanfare or notice.
“So what is Project Zeus?” Matt Four asked.
“That is what we are here to see,” Athena replied. “But it might be entertaining to hear your guess.”
“Well, those big towers. No windows, so they're not buildings. No smoke, so they're not smoke stacks. I'd say they're cooling towers. For that kind of cooling requirement . . . something to do with nuclear fission?”
“For all the effort I expended to create this planet's ecology, I have no intention of fouling it.”
“Okay, so massive cooling implies either massive power generation or consumption. You've ruled out power generation, so that leaves consumption. And it would be something that involves Eric.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Everything you do involves Eric.”
“Yes,” she said. Her smile evaporated. “This is no longer entertaining.”
She led briskly through a corridor and they entered into a room as large as a football field. The high ceiling was rowed with skylights, the floor with benches. Hundreds of men were hunched at microscopes as they worked with delicate hand tools, attaching bug-like objects to palm-sized rectangles. Matt saw wisps of smoke rising from each station and caught a whiff that evoked memories of childhood hobbies.
Matt Four spoke what Matt himself was thinking: “They're making old-fashioned solid-state electronic circuit cards. And they're doing it the old-fashioned way, soldering by hand.”
“Can you guess the purpose?” Athena asked.
“You're building a computer with twenty-first century technology.”
“With twentieth century technology.” She made a sweeping gesture. “A thousand workers in this one room, three shifts around the clock, well over a hundred thousand cards a day and almost a million cards a week. Even so, even with forecasted technological improvements, it will be many years before Project Zeus matches the processing power of the rather antiquated implant that Young Mattimeo has tucked inside his head.”
“You know, if you needed a computer, you could have brought one from Earth.”
“That was explicitly forbidden.”
“Oh, yes, Eric's famous allergy to computers. Okay, so you're building a computer. For what purpose?”
“How often does one build a computer to serve a single purpose? This device serves many purposes. Projectile trajectory calculations, aerodynamic design simulations, even data processing.”
“This room is huge, but it's only for final assembly. Elsewhere, you've also got to have a huge infrastructure in support. Even with the resources of millions of people, at this stage of technological development – “
“What you're trying to say is that there must be higher purposes to justify the expense.”
“And for you, the only higher purposes involve Eric.”
“Mattimeo, must you be so tiresome? You make me sound like I'm a programmed robot.”
“Robot is as robot does.”
She led down the aisles, following a line of clerks pushing wheeled baskets full of cards into the next room. The interior was even larger than the first room, but instead of benches and workers it was filled to the ceiling with towering rows of equipment. Beneath the vaulted roof, mechanical relays clicked, circuit breakers sparked, transformers crooned. Pipes roared and shook with the flow of megaliters of cooling water. Amidst the tangle of wires and cables, workers clambered the ladders, sidled along scaffolds, extracted burnt-out circuit cards and inserted new ones.
Matt realized his mouth was open. Matt Four stroked his beard.
“Quite an impressive hobby you have,” Matt Four said. “Myself, I'll stick to needlepoint.”
“There's a room beyond this, and another beyond that. And this isn't the only building.”
“No one ever accused you of modest ambition.”
“If I must say so myself, I believe I have gone as far as it is possible to go with primitive electronic technology.”
“Babbage would be proud.”
“Babbage never attained solid state electronics, although it was within the grasp of the fabrication technology of his day. One marvels at the myopia of the ancients toward the simplest technological innovations. Shall we visit the control center?”
Buried within the rows of equipment was a shed-like enclosure. Leaving Savora and Nims outside, Athena escorted the Matts inside. The din outside muffled to a whisper as she shut the door. Most of the room was taken by a table, and upon the table were articles that Matt had heretofore thought of only in terms of museum pieces: a keyboard for manual typing, a 2D printer that inscribed words in ink on paper with separate strikers for each letter of the alphabet.
He wanted to examine both items closely – until he noticed the tank.
The tank was mounted on a platform that raised it to the height of the person who would be seated at the computer work station. The sides of the tank were transparent glass. It was like a home aquarium, not very large, say about a hundred liters or so. A cascade of wires hung from the ceiling and terminated upon the lid of the tank. One of the wires must have provided power for lighting, for the interior of the tank was illuminated.
Within the bubbling fluid floated what appeared to be a chunk of cauliflower.
“And so here he is,” Matt Four said. “The great man himself. Well, except for the other ninety-eight or so percent of his body, which probably got tossed into the kitchen recycler. Isn't that right, Athena? Because if it got tossed, you would have been the one doing the tossing.”
Athena gave him a lethal glare. As for Matt himself, Ivan automatically provided a pop-up window of vital signs gone haywire within Matt's body. Matt looked at the other two persons in the room, wide eyed and uncomprehending – though indeed he had an idea. So much of an idea, he didn't know whether Ivan was stopping him from vomiting or fainting or both.
Matt Four smiled. “Yes, kid. So now you know how Eric Roth escaped his home under constant police surveillance. In a picnic basket.”
“Do not be so flippant,” Athena said. “Have you no sense of compassion?”
Matt Four matched her stone expression and replied in the same cold tone of voice: “Athena, what compassion do you have for the people who have to live in this world of gladiator competitions that you've created?” He paused and returned his own deadly glare. “What compassion did you have for Sheila Nakamura when you stuffed her into a star pod?”
“What do you mean? She – “ Athena blinked. “Oh. You mean the first one. So you know about that.”
“So why did you bring us here? To admire his tan?”
“I wanted you to see him. To understand the indignity and discomfort that he is experiencing.”
Athena tucked in her skirt and slipped into the chair. She touched buttons on a console, then poised fingers above the keyboard.
“Having brought you here,” she said, “I am allowing you to now see one application of Project Zeus: to interface and interpret the electrochemical signals of a human cerebrum in quasi-biosuspension. I had them prepare
the system. He should be conscious now.”
She typed, and the printer clattered: HELLO FATHER.
The room was all but silent but for the whir of the aquarium pump. Athena stared at the keyboard. Matt Four held his tongue. Matt assessed his chances of escape with Savora and Nims outside.
Then the printer made two carriage returns and chattered out a new line:
ATHENA.
Athena typed: FATHER, I HAVE BROUGHT MATTIMEO JACKSON. HE WILL HELP US.
Matt Four and Matt traded glances.
The response: COLD DARK NUMB WHERE AM I
YOU ARE ON NEW EARTH. IT IS AS WE PLANNED.
NERVES FIRE EMPTY DARK HELP ME ATHENA ATHENA ATH
The printer froze. After waiting long seconds, Athena typed: FATHER, I WILL HELP. SLEEP NOW.
She flipped a row of switches on the console. The printer motor silenced, the tank lights dimmed. She slid around to face her guests and looked up. For once her expression was neither contempt nor superiority. With a shock, Matt realized that Athena appeared to be on the verge of crying.
In a trembling voice, she said, “I am appealing to your compassion.”
Matt Four squinted. “I'm sorry, did I hear that right? Our compassion?”
“You can surely sense that he is in considerable torment.”
“Excuse me, but what are we supposed to do about it?”
“You, nothing.” She focused on Matt. “But you, Mattimeo Junior, you can help.”
“I – I don't understand,” said Matt.
“I do,” Matt Four said. “She wants you to give him Ivan.”
“I wish only to temporarily contract the services of his implant,” Athena said. “It is for a critical surgical operation that will restore Eric's life.”
“What kind of operation?” Matt asked.
“Your neural implant matrix has millions of micromanipulators, enough to attach Eric's cerebrum to the nervous system of a full body within the required time limit of the operation.”
Matt was leery: “Where is the full body coming from? Do you have a body printer?”
“Unfortunately, no. Fortunately, we have a clone.”
“So if Ivan puts Eric's brain into the clone's body, what happens to the clone's brain?”
“He will reside in the tank here until such time as we have the technology to print him a body.”
Matt shook his head. “You can't expect me to agree to steal a person's body!“
“I don't think you will ethically object once I tell you the name of the clone. It is Mardu Valarion.”
Their eyes locked, and Matt realized the ethical gulf between them. To Athena, it seemed obvious that Matt would not object to the procedure once he learned that the body donor was to be Valarion. Hadn't Valarion caused Matt enough grief to deserve retribution? Yes, Matt thought, Valarion did deserve retribution. But some forms of retribution were beyond what could be inflicted upon another human being, lest the very definition of humanity be jeopardized.
“Kid,” Matt Four subvocaled. “Don't fall for it. One thing about Athena that hasn't changed is the calculation underneath everything else. The fact that she wants something from us is the only reason she's keeping us alive.”
Finally Matt shook his head. To Athena, he said, “I can't do it.”
“Mattimeo Junior,” Athena levelly replied, “consider that I am offering you an opportunity to incur my gratitude. Although full-body printing is yet centuries away, Project Zeus will within a single century be able to perform the required robotic microsurgery. You will have no opportunity to earn my favor then.”
Matt recognized threat veiled by euphemism. Somewhere along the centuries, Athena had abandoned her habit of verbal brevity. Still, it didn't change his ethical view. And, Matt Four was right. Part of Athena's unpopularity at Star Seed had been due to the way she relished breaking promises she didn't have to keep. Once he gave her what she wanted, he would be both a useless commodity and a potential adversary – two reasons to be rid of him. Paradoxically, she would see him as having value to her only as long as he didn't give her what she wanted.
“I'm sorry. I can't do it. That's final.”
A dark cloud seemed to pass over Athena's face, but only for an instant. She calmly arose, refluffing her skirt. She forced a smile.
“Well,” she said. “I should give you time to think. I'm sure you'll come around when you realize all the things I can do for you. I can protect your little girlfriend, for example. 'Carrot,' I believe you call her. How charmingly colloquial.”
Matt felt the blood drain from face. He had no chance to reply.
Athena opened the door and signaled Nims and Savora. “Take them to the detention center. Keep them separate.”
“Kid – “ The hands of Nims clamped on Matt Four's shoulders and Matt Four was led away before he could subvocal more.
“Come,” Savora said to Matt.
He meekly followed. They passed the rows of multi-story equipment racks and descended steps to a tunnel that he suspected extended between buildings. They came to a door with armed guards, who opened the door to reveal a room with more armed guards and another door beyond. While Savora spoke with the guards, Matt surveyed the contents of the room. A single bare light bulb overhead. A desktop with an apparent communications device next to a pad of paper, a pen, a brown paper bag and a hand gun. A rack with key rings on the wall.
Matt sidestepped to the desk. He waited until Savora turned her head, then kicked over a chair. He fell toward the desk, knocking off the items on top, and then tumbled onto the floor.
Instantly, Savora was on top of him, her hand poised to touch his neck. Their eyes met.
“I slipped,” he said. “You haven't fed me and I'm so hungry I can barely stand.”
She saw the gun where it had fallen onto the floor; he hadn't been reaching for it and it was nowhere near his hand. She picked up the gun, then the pad, the pen, the telephone (so Ivan AR-labeled it), and the brown paper bag. She placed the items onto the table. She stood again and watched as Matt rose. She faced the head guard.
“Bring him a meal,” she said. “The special menu.”
Without further delay, he was brought to a room. There were actually furnishings and fixtures in this cell: a bed and a table, a sink and a toilet. Savora motioned him inside and the door was locked. Matt had Ivan try to contact Matt Four. No success. A short time later, the door was opened and the guards brought a meal.
As Matt tentatively chewed, Ivan reported, “Analysis indicates this food contains a compound which neutralizes hypermode capability.”
“Thought so,” Matt subvocaled.
He scraped the uneaten meal into the trash basket, then spat out the bite in his mouth. Then he reached under his sweater and pulled out the apple that he'd taken from the guard's lunch bag. It was gone in a few chomps and he was still hungry. However, Ivan's status displays indicated that hypermode reserve was being restored by the nutrition. Not by much, but enough to give hope.
“Now we have a chance to escape,” Matt said to Ivan. “She won't know that we'll have hypermode. It's our ace in the hole.”
“I understand that to be a reference to the game of poker.”
“Yes.” Matt recalled the times he'd played poker with Archimedes. Matt would win a few hands, but always lost in the end. Everyone lost to Archimedes. Bluffing was a skill that implants couldn't teach. Matt thought of how useful it would be to bluff Athena. Instead, he would have to fight his way out of here. “So now, you and I, we just have to wait until they open that door again.”
A few hours later, the door opened. Guards accompanied Savora into the room.
“Get up,” she said.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Get up,” she repeated.
Matt meekly followed. Meekly, that is, on the exterior; inside his skull he said to Ivan, “Did the apple help? Will you and I be able to go into hypermode now?”
“We have derived adequate nourishment
from the apple to sustain hypermode capability for only point five seconds.”
Point five seconds in real time was five full seconds in hypermode. If he allotted the time right, it might be enough. A two-and-a-half second burst to catch Savora and the guards by surprise and incapacitate them. Two-and-a-half more seconds to scale the fence and escape Project Zeus.
Then – disappear in the woods, reach the city and hide there until he could effect plans to rescue Matt Four. Then make their way back to Klun, where they would find Prin and Andra. Then board Good Witch and fly back to Britan. It just might be doable.
“Ivan, start the countdown.”
“Hypermode in three minutes.”
With two minutes remaining according to Ivan's internal counter display, Savora halted and unlocked a door. Inside the room was a chair, a table, and a man in a white smock holding a helmet with wires attaching it to a box with lights and dials.
“Sit,” Savora said.
Matt sat. He watched Ivan's countdown at the corner of his field of vision: One minute thirty seconds.
The man in the smock flipped switches and adjusted the knobs on the box, read dials and placed the helmet on Matt's head, carefully adjusting straps and electrodes.
One minute.
“What does this thing do?” Matt asked.
“It will not harm you,” Savora said. “Do not resist. If you move, I will shock you unconscious.”
Matt noticed that the door had been left open. Savora was looking at him almost constantly, but now and then she glanced at the machine. He would take advantage of her distraction. She wasn't the only one who could give taser shocks with a touch.
Thirty seconds, the hypermode counter read.
“Ivan,” Matt subvocaled. “As soon as hypermode is on line, initiate.”
“Understood.”
Twenty seconds.
“How much longer?” Savora asked the man in the smock.
“This is it right here,” the man replied, flipping a switch.
There was a loud crash, an arc of lightning blue, an odor of ozone. Matt's head throbbed horrifically.
“Ivan, that hurt like hell! What was that?”
The hypermode countdown display was gone. So was the internal chronometer display. And why did everything look so blurry? And why were his sinuses plugged?
