Demonhome (Champions of the Dawning Dragons Book 3)

by Unknown

  Stil, it was irritating to know that her magnum opus wasn’t quite as good as it could have been. She stared down at the cyborg again and sighed.

  Nevertheless, she would proceed. She had never been one to let personal feelings stand in her way. If only Gary had understood that.

  Thinking about her late husband only increased her irritation. For most of her life she had seen herself as something apart from other humans.

  They were hardly worth notice or concern, with their petty squabbles, mean tastes, and sheer stupidity. The only entertainment she had ever gotten from them was when she used their gulible natures to manipulate them.

  She failed to connect to them in any appreciable way. Their emotional drives were as alien to her as the She’Har had been. Of course, she

  knew that were she to be examined by a competent psychiatrist, she would be labeled a sociopath—but she didn’t see that as a bad thing, except in the eyes of others. As far as she could see, it was the rest of her species that was inherently defective.

  She might have spent her entire life without doubting that conclusion, if she hadn’t met Gary Miler. He had been different.

  Not different as she was, though. No, he was entirely given to the emotions and social bonding that so defined the human race . It was his mind that had caught her attention and eventualy won her heart, such as it was. She wasn’t sure on that account. If she had loved anyone, it had been he; but being what she was, she couldn’t truly be sure whether what she had felt for him had been love, or merely a more intense interest than she’d had in other people.

  Gary had been passionate, briliant, and incredibly charming. At first, she’d thought he might have been putting on a façade when it came to interacting with other human beings, as she was, but over time she had come to realize it was genuine. She forgave him for that, though. If anything, it made him more interesting. To discover that a truly world-class intelect could also be so emotional, so caring, had been a revelation for her, and it had never ceased to fascinate her, even though she could never understand it.

  She hadn’t wept when he died—she had never truly cried, even as a child—but she missed him. She missed his insight, their conversations, and his ability to explain the sometimes-inscrutable motivations of the other people they dealt with in daily life. Life had become somehow duler after his passing.

  She wished he were there today, to see the culmination of her work. Their work, for it was truly a fusion of his research and her own. Death might have separated them, but their legacy would be united long past the years they had known one another.

  Tanya laughed briefly when she considered what he would have thought if he had known what she had intended for Karen. He would have

  been furious. If he were alive she might have given up on the idea, just to avoid the danger of losing him. Then again, she might have tried anyway.

  Even she wasn’t sure on that account.

  In any case, the issue was no longer in her hands. Karen had escaped. His ghost could rest in peace knowing she was safe. Not that Tanya believed in ghosts.

  Straightening up, she gave her last order to her AI assistant. “I am ready to proceed. After I download into the intermediate android, I wil disconnect. Prepare to transfer command to verbal orders from that unit. Verify that al codes and instructions are stored and active.”

  “Al codes are stored and active,” responded the AI. She had never given it a name. It was nothing like the AGI her husband had left to their daughter. It had no feelings or true understanding. She preferred it that way. It was much the same as she thought other humans should be, or perhaps truly were, behind al their posturing and acting.

  “Begin download,” she instructed, enunciating the words perfectly.

  It was unpleasant, having her consciousness crammed into the android. After living on the network for so many years, it felt smal and confining being trapped within a physical body. She had despised doing it for al the latest meetings, but this time she was prepared to put up with the discomfort. It was al for progress.

  Thirty seconds later, the process was complete. “Transfer successful,” she stated out loud, for her assistant’s benefit, since she was now cut off from the network.

  The security protocols required a two-step transfer process, to ensure no contact between the two networks at any point. It was the only way they could be certain that her husband’s rogue AI didn’t contaminate the ANSIS network, or vice-versa. She felt a certain admiration for the man once more, that his last work would be so feared by the current administration, and again, she felt the jealousy that he had left it to Karen.

  “I wil now begin transfer to the cyborg prototype. I wil verify transfer verbaly once complete,” she stated.

  “Understood,” replied her AI assistant over the lab’s loudspeakers.

  Again she went through the strange sensations as her consciousness was transferred to yet another body. This was the most dangerous step. If the machine was flawed, her core identity could be lost. It should be fine, though. The technicians had checked and rechecked the hardware several times over. But one never knew with the cyborg prototypes. The first ones had had some serious glitches due to unexpected effects from the neural tissue interface.

  She had fixed those problems, but this new cyborg contained a nearly complete human brain, and there was always the chance that unforeseen problems would arise.

  Her perceptions shifted, changing as she began receiving input from her new host’s senses. For a moment, she felt as if she were being turned inside out. She felt an uncharacteristic surge of fear as reality warped around her. Tanya tamped that feeling down quickly; fear did not define her.

  Fear would never define her. That was the one immutable law of her existence.

  The world slowly resolved around her as she began to sort out what she was seeing and feeling. Sight was the most difficult part. Normal vision was present in this body, but it was muddled by a whole new range of experience that was bundled in with it; or perhaps it was touch… it was too confusing to differentiate which was which. She could see/feel everything around her, and the bizarre torrent of new information flooding her mind made her nauseous, something that should have been impossible in a machine body.

  Synesthesia, she noted; finding a familiar label for what was happening made her more comfortable with the experience.

  I’m still seeing normally in front of me, but it’s mixed in with this other sight/touch sensation, and that sense also includes things beyond the range of my normal vision, things behind, above, even below me.

  “Dr. Miler, please respond. Is the unit functioning properly?”

  It was her AI assistant’s voice. She wasn’t sure how long it had been speaking, she had been so overwhelmed by her other senses. “Yes.

  Please wait. This wil take a period of adjustment,” she responded.

  “Understood.”

  She found some relief in the distraction of querying the prototype’s processors for system parameter checks. Cold numbers and text scroled across the internal landscape of her mind, soothing her nerves.

  I can get through this, she told herself. What might drive a lesser woman insane is as nothing to me. Arrogance was an undervalued quality in her opinion. It had often given her the strength she needed to survive and press on, and it would serve her wel today.

  Minutes passed into hours as she learned to deal with her new sensory input. In the end she despaired of being able to fuly incorporate it, instead relying on the machine’s processing to filter out some of it and present the rest in a more distant, less immediate form. The best analogy for the change was that it was rather like seeing a picture on a screen rather than standing in the middle of it.

  If this is what Karen has been experiencing all along, it’s a wonder it didn’t drive her mad. But perhaps the mind is better able to

  integrate the information into the sensorium when a person is born to it, she thought. Or the problem could lie in the brain
harvested from the clone. It might be too naïve, too simple to handle the input.

  Thankfuly she was getting the information secondhand. Her consciousness resided in the cyborg’s microprocessors, not the organic tissue of the prototype. Her creation used that living tissue as though it were a sensory organ, and hopefuly as a tool as wel, rather than as a computing medium. Trying to transfer her consciousness into an undeveloped organic brain would have been suicide.

  Noting the time, she realized that three hours had passed since she had entered her prototype. It had taken her far longer to adapt to her new body than she had anticipated. She didn’t relish the idea of staying in it for too much longer, either. She wouldn’t be alowed to reenter the regular network for some time, though, at least until she could convince President Kruger that it would be safe to do so.

  But she could connect to the ANSIS network now. It was far different from the international network, but hopefuly it would provide some

  respite for her when she tired of being confined to the prototype.

  She could do with a rest.

  “Opening connection with ANSIS network,” she said aloud, to notify her assistant of her action.

  She felt the channel go live, and she immediately started the upload. Tanya knew the ANSIS network wouldn’t have the same virtual real estate the regular network did, and most particularly it wouldn’t have her ‘home’ with al of her personalized things stored in it, but she could make do.

  Her assumption was that she would arrive in a generic living space, something rather like a furnished apartment, a place she could begin to personalize, but instead she found herself in absolute darkness. The absolute lack of sensory input left her disconcerted.

  “Change environmental settings,” she ordered.

  “Ful scan and analysis wil be done first,” came the dry response.

  “Access denied,” she snapped. The last thing she wanted was for the system to start rummaging through her personal files and data.

  “Error,” responded the voice. “Al foreign entities must be scanned for threat assessment. Proceeding.”

  “Wait a min…!” she started to protest, but then she felt data probes reaching into her consciousness.

  It wasn’t an ordinary scan, either. ANSIS wasn’t just looking at her external data files, it was rummaging through her identity core, her

  memories, the center of her being, the colective pattern that defined her experiential existence. It was something ordinarily forbidden to AI systems

  —or anyone else for that matter. Tampering with that could destroy or alter the very soul of an uploaded person, causing them to lose true self-awareness.

  “My access level gives me absolute control of this network. Stop your intrusion and obey my instructions,” she managed to say, despite the disorienting feeling of having her memories read.

  “Your security code has already been recognized. Authority wil be granted once the scan is complete.”

  Against her wil, her memories were read out and digitized, then organized and filed away just like any other piece of standard digital

  information. Then the ANSIS system moved on to her core process itself.

  If she could, she might have screamed, but she no longer had a voice. The AI determined that the eccentric colection of patterns and processes that made up her existence were wasteful and inefficient. In the span of a nanosecond it made its decision, choosing efficiency over wasting processor time. Tanya Miler’s core, her soul, was taken apart, scanned, and saved. Then the threads that supported her awareness were

  terminated.

  For al intents and purposes, Tanya Miler had died. What was left of her was merely a simulacrum, a tool to be used when needed. There

  weren’t many that would have mourned her passing, but even if there had been, no one would ever know she had died.

  She was part of the system now.

  Chapter 46

  Matthew finished his dinner and pushed the plate away. He was aware of Karen’s eyes on him. She was nervous, since she already knew he

  was planning an announcement that evening.

  Ordinarily this was the point at which he would ask to be excused, but instead he looked at his mother and father and said the words they had been dreading: “ I’m ready to leave.”

  Penny blanched, but Mordecai merely nodded. “I was expecting this.”

  “When?” asked his mother, anxiety lacing her words.

  “Tonight,” he replied. “In a few minutes, actualy.”

  “A few minutes?!” Penny exclaimed. “Couldn’t you have given us a little warning? Show some consideration for my nerves.”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “That’s why I didn’t give you any warning. You’re never going to be ready. Why ruin the past few days for you, or dinner, by letting you fret about it the whole time?”

  “It’s too soon,” she insisted. “I want you to wait a few more days.”

  “I’m going,” he reiterated. “Hopefuly, it wil al be over quickly and I’l be back within a few days.”

  His father laid his hand across her forearm to stay her angry reply, but she puled away from him. “Don’t try to ‘soothe’ me, Mort! This is your fault for encouraging him!”

  Conal and Irene exchanged subdued looks, while Moira offered him a subtle shrug of her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” said Matthew, standing up. “I’l make it up to you when I get back.”

  Mordecai stood as wel, “Hang on. You don’t leave until everyone’s said their goodbyes.” Moving over, he wrapped his arms around his son

  for a long minute, then he looked down at Karen, who was stil awkwardly sitting and observing the entire scene. “Keep a good eye on him.”

  Drawing her to her feet, he embraced her as wel.

  Everyone folowed after —Irene, then Conal, and Moira as wel. Hugging was not one of Matthew’s preferred social activities, but he endured

  it for their peace of mind.

  Penny stil sat at her end of the table, gripping her tableware in white-knuckled hands, her face stark.

  “You’re al going to feel sily about this hugging when I come back in a few days none the worse for wear,” offered Matt.

  A loud bang echoed through the room. His mother had stood up and she crossed the room in a rush. She grabbed her son roughly and

  squeezed him so hard he worried his ribs might break. While she held onto him, Matt noticed her dinner knife standing up from the table, driven almost completely through the thick wooden surface. Damn, she’s really upset. It was often easy to forget how strong his mother was. Her smal frame gave no hint of it normaly, unless one was unfortunate enough to face her on the battlefield. The dragon-bond gave her strength and speed, and a lifetime of training had made her a match for virtualy any warrior in Castle Cameron.

  It didn’t make her invulnerable, though. Penny puled away slightly, looking into his eyes and pressing her hand to his cheek. “You’d better come back in one piece.”

  There were tears in her eyes, but it was the wet feeling against his cheek that caught Matt’s attention. Catching her hand in his own, he saw that she had torn the skin of her palm when she had driven the knife into the table. Extraordinary strength could sometimes be as dangerous for the one who had it as it was for their enemies.

  “You hurt yourself, Mom,” he told her, sealing the wound with his finger.

  The Countess didn’t apologize. “I’l do worse than that if you don’t come back. I’l go to that world and cut a bloody swath across it until I find you.”

  There was no way for her to reach that world, of course, but he didn’t bother mentioning that. He just nodded. “I’l do my best to make sure that’s not necessary,” he told her instead.

  Eventualy he extracted himself from the scene with Moira’s help. She folowed him back to his room where Gary was waiting. Before he could

  go in, she asked him to wait.

  “Not you too,” he groaned.


  Moira smirked. “Indulge me for a minute.” Turning to Karen, she added, “Can I have him for a moment?”

  Karen nodded and went into the room, leaving them alone.

  “What?” he asked.

  “There’s someone else who wants to say goodbye,” Moira informed him. “A sister you haven’t met.”

  “Huh?” He was genuinely puzzled now.

  Moira shrugged. “It’s one of the things I wasn’t supposed to do. I created a shade, a spel-twin. She’s worried about you.”

  Matthew frowned. “Do you mean like Gareth’s wife, your other mom?” he asked, referring to Moira Centyr.

  She nodded. “Here, let Myra speak for herself.” Her outline blurred momentarily, as another woman stepped out of her.

  Matt blinked. To his eyes, there were two of her standing in front of him, though his magesight could tel that one was composed purely of aythar. The newest arrival greeted him almost shyly. “Hi.”

  “Uh…”

  “I know this is strange,” said Myra, “but I had to do this, in case—anything happens. It might be my only chance.” Then she hugged him.

  The embrace felt entirely real, as her spel-made form seemed to have weight and substance, which probably meant it took more magic than an insubstantial form. He gave Moira a bewildered look over Myra’s shoulder but she only shrugged.

  “Um, thank you,” he managed, when Myra let go of him.

  Myra gave him an arch look. “You don’t have to be so strange about it. I’m basicaly the same as your original sister. I remember al the same things. From my perspective, we grew up together. I just wanted to talk to you, to meet you, before you left.”

  “Great,” he groaned. “Now there’s two of you. Just what I needed.”

  Moira broke in. “There are a few differences. Myra’s a little nicer, I think, and she wasn’t tainted by what I did in Dunbar.”

  “Tainted?”

  “Yeah,” she said, and for a moment she lowered her mental shields, letting him sense her inner aythar unobstructed.

  There was no doubt it was his sister—he recognized Moira’s aythar, but there was something new as wel, something cold and dark. He