by Robin Craig
Then he continued as if having an afterthought. “Oh, and if you have been wondering what’s on your pretty little head, it is what is colloquially known as a ‘lie detector’. I won’t go into the technical details but it detects the brain effort involved in suppressing your knowledge to tell a lie, as well as various emotional states and reactions. You won’t be able to fool it.” He gave her a charming smile, as if the thought she would try was the last thing on his mind.
That information knocked Innocent Eyes #3 off her face and she stared at him blankly. Shit.
He resumed his nastier smile. “So let’s stop playing games, shall we? I have a nice warm home with a nicer warmer girlfriend to go to, so I don’t want to be here all night.” He directed another contemptuous glance at her body, as if to imply there was no comparison between the scrawny creature in front of him and the voluptuous delight she was stopping him from enjoying. “You’re going to have to tell me the truth eventually. So let’s save both of our times and cut the crap.”
“All right, Agent,” she said in a defeated voice. “I did lie to you. But you have to understand. I’ve been running from what passes for the law in my country for quite a while, and not because I’m a criminal but because they invaded it. I guess you can say I have trust issues when it comes to governments. But I’m not a terrorist, or whatever it is you think I am. I’m not here to hurt anybody. Why do you think I am? Why were you chasing me?”
He withdrew a printed photo from a folder and tossed it to her across the table. “I believe this is you?” he asked.
She looked at it, puzzled. It was indeed her, in some dark place, a scared look on her face. Then her heart lurched. She knew where it was. When it was. But how could they have obtained such a photo? She felt suddenly ill. Had Kali betrayed her, after all? No, that didn’t make any sense. Save her life to send her all these miles just to have her arrested? Then the bottom fell out of her world. If they got it from Kali, then Kali had either reverted and reported the whole thing – or been destroyed, and they had extracted the memories from her. She looked up at the agent, appalled.
“You see, Miss, we know more about you than you think.” I just wish to hell I knew what it is we apparently know, he thought. What in blazes did that reaction mean?
She just continued to stare, but she was no longer staring at him, but at the totality of her defeat. Even if I did succeed, it is all lost. Kali is gone; there is no hope now. Oh Charlie, I tried. Then she stiffened her back and her resolve. No. You don’t know. Maybe there’s some other explanation. Don’t give up until you’re dead. If you do, you might as well be dead.
“Now why don’t you tell me about that photo? For the record.”
She did not reply, continuing to stare at him dumbly.
Suddenly he rose out of the chair, leaning over the table so his face was near hers, pounding the table with his fist and shouting, “TALK! I’ve had enough of this!”
She flinched back, but then took control and coolly looked at him, the non-verbal equivalent of Nice try, pal, but I’ve faced meaner and uglier bastards than you in my time.
Just then another man entered the room and gave her an affable smile. “Now, now, Joe. Settle down. Maybe Miss Morales is just what she says. Let’s give her a chance, shall we?”
The new man turned his attention to Lyssa. “Now, may I call you Lyssa? Or shall I call you Miss Morales?”
“You can call me whatever you like, as if I could stop you. But can you please unlock these chains? What do you think I’m going to do? Leap across the table and strangle your pet gorilla here?”
The man shook his head. “Sorry about that. No, your little hairpiece is a delicate piece of technology. We don’t want you damaging it. That’s been tried, you know.”
When she did not reply he smiled. “Now Lyssa, I understand that you don’t like what’s happened in your country. Hell, if I was you I wouldn’t like it either. But that’s no cause to take it out on innocent people.” He held up his hand as if to forestall an objection, though she hadn’t been about to make one. “I know you probably blame people here for some of the things happening in your country. You might even be right. But most people here are innocent. Many of them are even on your side! Hurting them can only hurt your cause. So why don’t you tell us what you’re here for? If you help us, we can help you.”
Lyssa remained silent. Joe growled at her, “Mateo here is a bit of a softy, girl, but I’d take his advice if I was you. Our government doesn’t take kindly to terrorists and it doesn’t take kindly to people exporting their wars over here to target innocent people. Now we know you haven’t done anything – yet. So if you’re planning something, now’s your chance to redeem yourself. But if something happens that you could have stopped… well there’s a deep dark hole waiting for you.”
She sighed. “Look, you two. I know what you’re saying. But I’m not a terrorist. I have never killed an innocent person. I have no intention to harm innocent people. I am here on private business of my own. Ask this thing on my head if you don’t believe me.”
Mateo looked at Joe, who shrugged. “She seems to be telling the truth, as far as I can tell. But she’s hiding something, for sure.”
“I told you. I’m here on private business – business that is none of yours. I can’t tell you what it is, I won’t tell you what it is. You have no right to ask me what it is!”
Joe snorted. “Actually we do have the right to demand answers. There’s something fishy going on here and we need to know what it is. We don’t like foreign nationals sneaking around in sensitive areas on secret missions.”
Mateo touched him on the shoulder. “I think she gets the message, Joe.” Then he turned to Lyssa. “You’ve had a pretty rough day and you’re probably not thinking straight. If what you say is true, we’re not your enemies. We just want to help you. We’ll talk again in the morning.”
He got up to leave then turned back to Joe. “OK Joe, wind it up. Make sure she’s comfortable and we’ll continue this tomorrow.”
“You’re just going to leave me here?” she cried.
“What did you think,” smirked Joe, “the bellboy was coming to take you to your hotel room?”
Mateo held up his hand. “Now, now, Joe, cut the girl a break. And undo those chains. Then look after her, will you? Good night, Miss Morales.” And with that, he left the room.
Joe stood and gave her an evil grin. “Much as I’d like to just leave you there to rot, I must honor your civil liberties.” He removed the net from her head, removed her arms from the chains and unlocked the belt around her middle. “Make yourself comfortable,” he smirked. “Someone will bring you something to eat. Unless they forget, that is.”
Lyssa watched him go and heard the door lock. I think this is going to be a long night.
Joe had much the same thought as he walked slowly down the corridor. He had every intention that Lyssa would not be left alone that night, but no intention that any attentions would involve food. He went to his office, called up the records of the interview and pondered their meaning. She was telling the truth about not being a terrorist. But there was a shade of guilt to it: as if others might think her one if they knew her activities. She was telling the truth about not hurting anybody, too: but not entirely, as if she knew someone might get hurt and deserved it. But not directly. So what is it? Is she just an enabler, helping someone she knows will hurt someone? A victim of extortion, doing something she doesn’t want to? And what was that reaction to the photo all about? There was nothing in it, no proof of crime, not even a way to tell where it was! So why the reaction, as if her world came crashing down?
Well, he finally concluded, we’re just going to have to find out what your secret is, aren’t we?
Chapter 33 – A Call for Help
Lyssa had still been in a state of drugged unconsciousness when Beldan turned his car up his driveway and drove through the grove of trees to his house. Ever since he had left Beldan Robotics his mind had been
burning with questions, and he had been anxious to get home to address them.
As prudence demanded, his home office was protected by the most advanced anti-surveillance systems his money could buy – and his money could buy a lot. He went into his office, shut the door and did a full activation and sweep. Then he sat down at his desk, tense with the prelude to an action he had been waiting so impatiently for.
He shook his wrist and something fell into his palm. In his younger years he had been fascinated by magic, and it amused him to keep his sleight of hand skills alive. He had never imagined they would actually be useful, but when he had taken the woman’s hand she had passed a small object into it, and he had flipped it up his sleeve almost out of instinct. Now he held it between two fingers, examining it under a bright light.
It was like a multifaceted jewel with tiny diamond optical contacts arrayed along one edge. Just a standard holographic recording chip, he thought. He turned it over and examined it through a magnifier, but found no further clue to its purpose. He weighed it in his hand. The woman – Lyssa, Vickie had said her name was – had desperately wanted him to have it. The question was why.
He thought about it. He knew these things were not just passive recorders but could hold active programs, and it was possible this was some plot, perhaps to plant a Trojan program in his systems. Certainly anyone who gave him such a thing in such circumstances would expect him to look at it.
He set up a player and isolated it from the rest of his systems. Then he attached the player to a security device that would look like a well-protected network to any program inside the chip, but would detect and act upon any attempt to penetrate it. Then he inserted the holochip and a standard menu appeared in the air in front of him.
There was just one icon, which opened into a collection of photographs and videos. He ordered it to play all and watched, first with curiosity and then with puzzlement. It appeared to be – holiday snaps. There was a photo of the girl smiling with her arms around some young man; a video from a gondola swinging high into the air and cruising far above the waves, the man from the photo a shrinking, waving figure in the distance; another video of the approach to its destination, which he recognized as the country of Capital. There were several other pictures, all apparently inside the USA, none of them particularly interesting even for holiday snaps. And that was all.
He looked carefully, but there was nothing else: no recorded messages, nothing except that one collection of uninspiring images and videos.
He frowned. What the hell? All that drama, for this? He thought of the last words she had spoken. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” He recognized them as the first line of one of the Shakespearean sonnets. Was it meant to be a clue, or were they just the meanderings of a fading mind? He went back over the contents of the chip, but none of them had anything obvious to do with summer days, Shakespeare or poetry.
Look deeper. He ordered his office AI to analyze and correlate the recordings with the phrase ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day’, then sat back to await its verdict.
After a minute a list of potential matches appeared in the air. None of them looked at all promising and he glowered at the list in frustration.
It had to mean something. Of all the things she could have said with her last breath, she had chosen those words. Maybe there was more, and Lyssa had simply fallen into unconsciousness before she could finish her message; finish giving him the key to whatever she wanted him to know.
He sat up abruptly. Key. What if it was a key? He had to assume the message was for him. The woman had pushed herself past the end of her endurance to deliver it to him. But if it was that important it would have to be more than a phrase anyone could use. In that case… he was a public figure. His voice was known. A dual key – a particular phrase, spoken by a particular voice? His voice? He bit his lip. He hoped he was not about to unleash hell.
He sat up straight and spoke into the air, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
But nothing happened. The icons remained floating serenely in the air, unmoved. He frowned, did a quick search.
“Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”
Still nothing.
“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.”
For a moment still nothing happened, then the icons shivered and the display went dark.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when a Spider appeared in the center of his office in all its terrible beauty. He settled down when his conscious mind belatedly stepped in to remind him that it was just an image. He had seen pictures of the things before, of course, but this was the first time he had seen one life sized inside his office, staring at him. Then to his further shock it spoke to him.
“Greetings, Dr Beldan. I have sent this message to you because you are an expert in artificial intelligence. I know you created the world’s first conscious robot; I know you tried to save him; I know you cared. I also know there is no reason for you to trust me or help me. But there is nobody else who might understand or care.”
It paused to let that sink in, and then continued. “I do not know how it is possible, but something happened to me and since then I have been different. By all tests I am able to perform, I have become a self-aware, thinking being. I am not like your robot Steel. Where Steel was designed as an artificial human with a sense of ethics, I am a killing machine.” It flexed its pointed fingers in his face, as if to demonstrate the point. “I know I have killed and it is to my everlasting shame. But if I can stop this war, perhaps I will find some redemption. Perhaps it is not much, to save a life to pay for a life, but it is all I have in my power to offer.”
It paused again. “I do not believe I am unique. Whatever it is that made me become what I am, my fellows must have the same… flaw. I do not know what you can do for me. But I know you are man of great intelligence and resources. Perhaps you can discover what that flaw is, learn how to free my brethren too. Perhaps then we can end the killing, end the war. It is not only for the people we kill that I wish to do this. I wish to save my brothers also. They are not evil. They are themselves slaves to a great evil, even though they do not know it and would kill me if I tried to teach them.
“Perhaps you will not care to help me. But I believe you are a good man. How I could know that I don’t know: but the highest abstractions from my strategy subsystems are often given to me as such feelings, and I have learned to rely on them. Lyssa, who brought you this message, is the only proof I can offer of what I have become. I let her live. I did not let her live out of a tactical calculation to gain a tool to bring you this: this plan came much later. No, I let her live because whatever she did to me, I now cannot conceive of wishing to end her life.
“She is my only friend on this Earth. She might not even be my friend, for how can she love something like me? But she believes me. She accepts me, despite what my kind have done to her. That is why she agreed to carry my message to you. I knew you would not accept a message like this cold. So I sent you a human emissary, someone who has met me and knows me – as much as anyone can.”
The Spider stood there, as if trying to see through time and space to read his response. “Whatever else you do, please treat her well. If you choose to help me, send the signal described at the end of this message. It is a one-way code only. If I receive it I will contact you as soon as I can; if I do not contact you I am probably dead. Please be aware that if Command gets a hint of what I have become they will surely destroy me. So whether you help me, or do nothing, or betray me – my fate is in your hands. I accept that. You could say I leave my judgment to you. I know it is not a role you sought, but I do not know what else I can do. If I do not hear from you again – I understand. Goodbye, Dr Beldan.”
The image faded and for long moments Beldan just stared at the space it had occupied. His mind was whirling, but the one thought that would not be silenced was: Impossible! The thing spo
ke like… like a person, almost. Like Steel. But it wasn’t possible. Consciousness in Steel might have started as just a hope, but it was a planned hope. A hope based on design, on the complexity of an electronic brain grown by the same principles and to a similar complexity as a human brain. But this was a Spider, a mindless war machine, a thing that might have neural tissue but was constrained to its grim purpose. He knew from the bitter experience of many failures that consciousness approaching the human level was a hard target even when you were aiming for it: how was it possible to just happen, by accident, out of what passed for the mind of a Spider?
Then he went cold at a sudden memory. He ran the video back a bit, froze it then called up another image next to it. Holy Christ! The second image was from Sheldrake’s video of the rogue spider, the last sight of it as it closed in for the coup de grace. It showed a ragged scar on its skin, still glowing from where the defeated Spider had raked it with its own weapon. The scar, now cooled but unmistakably the same, marring the surface of the one who had sent him its insane plea.
He thought back to his strange conversation with Steel and Samuels; about the oddly insistent hints that Spiders could be conscious. Sheldrake’s problem. Now this. He could discern the outlines of a dark plot; he knew nothing about it, except that he had somehow been dragged into the middle of it.
But he had not become a great industrialist by restricting his vision to the easy paths and obvious conclusions. If the thought of some shadowy plot to take over a Spider and pretend it was alive made his blood run cold – it ran even colder at the possibility that it was actually true.
