by Greg Rucka
“Grim cracked the CMO communications relay, sir. He’s been using it to track ThroatLink communications. The ThroatLink they put in Jo, it was still active as of this morning. If she was dead, it would be, too.”
“Has he been able to pick up anything from it?”
“No, sir. The link she’s on, it’s reserved for their upper echelon operations, and heavily encrypted. We can track the signal, but the intercept comes through as garbage.” He glanced at Velez, then decided that what he would say next was an open secret, if it was a secret at all. “Grim thinks that he could probably crack it if he could use the optical to break the encryption, but given the current situation, he didn’t want to risk stealing any cycle time from the machine.”
“I see,” Carrington said, and he began to turn his attention back to Velez, then stopped and returned it to Steinberg. Mildly, almost sweetly, he asked, “You wouldn’t know for how long Grim’s had access to their communications, would you, Jon? When he might have decided, by himself and without my authorization or permission, to go joy-hacking an enemy hypercorp?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that, sir.”
Carrington grunted, turning back to Velez. “Interesting that Colonel Shaw would want Cassandra to believe he had succeeded where you failed.”
She nodded slightly, her brow creasing. “But it’s yet more evidence of what I have suspected. And it makes me believe all the more that not only is dataDyne’s life in danger, but Doctor DeVries’s is as well.”
“You’re not going to find many people sympathetic to the future of dataDyne in this room, Ms. Velez,” Steinberg said.
“Don’t be an ass,” she retorted. “Hate us to your heart’s content, envy us as you must, but don’t for a moment attempt to convince me that you do not understand what dataDyne means to the world. We employ over half a billion people in almost every country. We are the global economy. DataDyne’s demise would be the demise of civilization as we know it, and that is no overstatement.”
“Unless Core-Mantis OmniGlobal steps in to take your place,” Carrington said.
“I have considered that,” Velez said. “Certainly, that appears to be one way things could turn out. But it brings me to my point. Eight days ago, CMO was barely a threat worthy of our notice. Since then, they have toppled both Zentek and Beck-Yama, and they appear to have done so with your help.”
“And that would be why Cassandra wanted Joanna dead?” Carrington asked.
“I urged her to authorize your assassination, as well,” Velez responded. “If that makes you feel any better.”
“My ego appreciates the attention, even if my heart feels otherwise. And if I tell you, Miss Velez, that the Institute had nothing to do with CMO’s recent successes, what then? Would you accept that?”
“Possibly. It comes down to one question. It comes down to Arthur.”
“Who’s Arthur?” Steinberg asked.
Velez didn’t answer, watching Carrington closely and making no secret of the fact that she was doing it. Whatever the question meant, apparently its weight was enormous, and Steinberg had the definite impression that how Carrington answered would either make or break the direction of the conversation that followed.
“Arthur,” Carrington said. “Arthur is the name of Cassandra’s brother. He died when she was eight, in an automobile accident. He was six years old, and, as you might imagine, his passing had a profound impact on her life.”
“She told you,” Velez said.
“We shared many things during the brief time we were together,” Carrington said. “AirFlow.Net rose out of Arthur’s death, a way to make certain that what she endured no one else would ever have to.”
“That’s Arthur?” Steinberg asked.
Carrington nodded.
“You’re wrong,” Velez said, and Steinberg was certain there was both relief and disappointment in her voice when she spoke. “Arthur is the name of AirFlow.Net version 2.0, Mr. Carrington. Arthur is what will be unveiled tomorrow at noon in Paris, and, within minutes of being introduced to the public, Arthur will take over the traffic control of all null-g vehicles fitted with dataDyne transponders, everywhere in the world.”
“It’s a software code name?” Steinberg said. “She named the software after her dead brother?”
Velez ignored him, staring at Carrington. “Do you see, Mr. Carrington? Of all the names, why she would give that one to AirFlow 2. Not to AirFlow 1, but the second generation, the next generation.”
Carrington sat forward as if shocked. “No. No, Miss Velez, it’s not possible, not yet. Even at its most advanced, we’re at least two years away from harnessing the processing power required, and that’s optimistic. Cassandra knows that, we discussed the problem inherent in artificial cognition many times. There are still literally thousands of problems to be solved. Even with her genius, it’s simply not possible.”
“You underestimate both her intellect and her passion, Mr. Carrington. I’ve seen it at work. The only thing Arthur lacks is a sense of self.”
“What are we talking about?” Steinberg asked, now certain that he had, once again, missed the important part of the conversation, yet remaining just as certain that he’d been present for the whole thing. “What the hell’s Arthur?”
“It’s—” Carrington said, and then corrected himself, “—he’s an AI, Jon. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it, Miss Velez? She’s created an artificial intelligence to run AirFlow 2.”
“That is precisely what I am saying.” Velez seemed to relax slightly, though only in her posture. The worry remained on her brow. “That you apparently knew nothing of it confirms what I have feared. There’s another force at work, still hidden to me. The same force that has aided CMO. The same force that provided Shaw with the evidence required to remove me, and place him beside Dr. DeVries.”
Carrington said nothing, sinking back against his couch and closing his eyes, diving deep into his thoughts. Velez’s scowl returned, and since Carrington obviously couldn’t see it, she pointed it at Steinberg, who shrugged.
“He’s thinking.”
“Then he should do it quickly. Dr. DeVries’s life is in danger, I’m sure of it. And if he still feels anything for her at all, then I am asking him to forget about his hatred of dataDyne. I’m asking for his help to save her life.”
“Not her life,” Carrington murmured. “No. No, it’s much bigger than that.”
“What do you mean? Damn you, man, open your eyes!”
“You say he’s not fully sentient. What does that mean?”
“There’s no sense of self.”
“Then there’s no sense of conscience.” Carrington sighed, almost sadly. “And now it all makes sense, Jon. All of it. The Continuity. Zentek. Beck-Yama. CMO. We wanted to know why the Continuity would help CMO instead of helping dataDyne, and here’s your answer. They don’t care, because none of them will survive.”
Velez looked from Steinberg to Carrington, the frustration and confusion on her face almost painful to behold. “What are you talking about? What is the Continuity?”
Carrington sat up, used his stick to rise from the couch. “It doesn’t matter. Jon, she’s going to need some clothes.”
“We going somewhere?”
“To Paris. You’ll need to bring troops. Miss Velez, can you muster any support on the ground there?”
“I would want to know why.”
“Can you do it?”
“Shaw took over from me yesterday, I’m certain he hasn’t had time to purge the division. There will be several deputy directors still loyal to me, yes. If you tell me why you need them.”
“To stop Arthur,” Carrington said. “He’s going to destroy the world.”
DataFlow Corporate Headquarters
12th Floor, Secured Wing, Arthur Lab I
17 Rue de la Baume
Paris, France
January 30th, 2021
Dr. Edward Ventura was waiting for Cassandra in the lab, as she had aske
d him to be, when she arrived at twenty minutes to six in the morning with Colonel Shaw and Director of Media Relations Shephard in tow. Of the four of them, Cassandra hazarded that it was Shephard who looked the most rested, and she suspected that was due either to a judicious application of makeup, or a similarly judicious application of stimulants. For both their sakes, Cassandra hoped it was the former.
Ventura himself looked tired, bags heavy beneath his eyes, but he made a valiant effort to rally when he saw her enter, and she appreciated that. He’d already changed for the noon unveiling, and instead of his lab clothes was wearing a three-piece suit that was both elegantly tailored and apparently making him violently uncomfortable.
“Edward, thank you for being here,” Cassandra said, offering him her hand. “I know it’s an ungodly hour, but the schedule’s so tight today that this was the only window I could find.”
He smiled weakly, taking the offered hand, then releasing it as if even that might prove too taxing an effort. “It’s fine, ma’am.”
“You look positively done in. I hope you’re taking a vacation as soon as this is over.”
The smile brightened for a moment. “I’m thinking of taking a cruise.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea.” Cassandra turned, indicating Shaw and Shephard. “This is Colonel Shaw, he’s the new Director of CORPSEC, and this is Director Shephard, she’s taken over for Mr. Long. She has your schedule for the day. I’ll want you onstage with me at noon, as we discussed, and then you’ll need to make yourself available for a couple hours after, for Q and A with the approved media outlets.”
“I understand.”
“Everything’s ready?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ve configured the interface so you’ll actually have the box with you on the stage.” Ventura turned, reached for one of the memory cubes on his desk. “It’s not technically the control surface, you know, but it’ll be a good visual, or at least that’s what they tell me. Everything’s been preestablished from here to tie Arthur into the air-traffic control network. All you have to do is give him the word.”
He offered the cube to Cassandra, and she took it, as always momentarily surprised by its deceptive lack of weight. She turned it in her hand, then passed it back to Shephard.
“What’s the procedure?” Cassandra asked Shephard, watching as Ventura stifled a yawn.
“We’ve taken the liberty of rigging an actual switch onstage,” Shephard said, smiling with slight embarrassment. “Old-fashioned, but I think it’s a nice visual. When you step onstage to give your presentation, we’ll put a live image of the datacore up on the plasma behind you, so the audience can see it, and Arthur’s voice will be piped through the speakers in the hall. It’s up to you how to introduce him, what you want him to say. I suppose you can have him talk about anything.”
“Just don’t ask him to compose a poem,” Ventura said.
Cassandra smiled. “No, I’m not sure his brand of doggerel will engender confidence.”
Shephard continued. “I’d suggest you talk to him about AirFlow 2, obviously. Explain his parameters, let the audience hear exactly what he’s designed to do and how he’s going to do it. We have a countdown graphic prepared, and when you’re ready to synchronize, just say so. We’ll put it up on the screen. Count down, throw the switch, and AirFlow 2 will go online. We’re trying to make it as easy as possible for the audience to follow.”
“Simplicity is the goal.” Cassandra peered closer at Ventura. “You really do look awful, Edward. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“My stomach’s giving me some trouble, ma’am,” he admitted. “Stress, I think.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Cassandra turned to Shephard. “Gabi, is Edward needed for anything this morning?”
Shephard consulted her d-PAL briskly. “No, Madame Director. Dr. Ventura’s free until half past eleven, when he’s to meet you backstage in Hall A.”
“There you go, Edward,” Cassandra said. “Head home, lie down for a few hours. I’ll have Colonel Shaw send one of his men to collect you before you’re needed here.”
“Maybe I’ll do that, ma’am.”
“Not maybe.”
“No, ma’am.”
She smiled at him, and he returned it weakly. Then she turned to Shaw and Shephard and said, “Right, all of you, out. I want to be alone in here for a few minutes.”
“You’ve breakfast shortly with Directors Waterberg, Hesch, and Kollinsky, ma’am,” Shephard reminded her.
“Thank you, Gabi, I do recall. Now out, all of you.”
Shephard headed for the door, and after a second, Ventura followed her, casting a glance back over his shoulder as if trying to determine if he had forgotten anything. Shaw remained exactly where he was.
“You, too,” Cassandra told him.
“As your personal bodyguard, ma’am, I’m uncomfortable with the thought of leaving you alone.”
“You’re as bad as Anita was, Colonel. I’m perfectly safe here. Now, please, I’d like a moment or two by myself.”
Shaw hemmed, then turned and followed in the direction of Shephard and Ventura. Cassandra watched him go, waited until the door had slid closed, until she was certain she was alone in the lab. Then she crossed to the observation glass that ringed the view of the datacore. As she had before, she rested her forehead against the wall, felt the glass cool against her skin, the press of the light from below visible even behind her closed eyes.
To her surprise, she began to weep, felt the tears beginning to spill out, felt her heart beginning to race and her pulse beginning to pound. For almost a minute she resisted, fought against the sudden intensity of the sorrow, and then she surrendered to it and began to sob.
It had been a long time in coming, she realized, especially after the events of the past nine days. It had been as hard and as bitter a time as she could ever remember, as bad as the days that had followed the death of her brother, and when she thought of that, she knew why, exactly, she was crying.
Grief, Cassandra thought. Grief and mourning, the death of everything that I was.
Because she knew she had changed, and she didn’t know if she liked who she had become. But the woman Anita Velez had pulled from her bed nine days ago, the woman who had been wrapped in body armor and bustled all the way to New Zealand, that woman hadn’t been the CEO of dataDyne, only a pretender. That woman had thought that Daniel Carrington still loved her, and that there was right and that there was wrong. That woman had believed that some prices were too high to pay, even for dataDyne and its survival. That woman, in the end, had believed in the value of friendship, and loyalty, and merit.
Since then, Cassandra DeVries had changed, and as she wiped her tears away with her fingers and fought to compose herself once more, she knew it more than ever. She had killed Friedrich Murray, but she understood now that it had been an act of self-defense. Killing Murray had spared dataDyne, and, as Anita Velez had said, Cassandra DeVries was dataDyne. She no longer felt guilt or even sorrow for what she had done.
The way she felt no guilt or sorrow over the death of Joanna Dark.
She was dataDyne, and anyone who threatened the corporation threatened her. Anyone who threatened her threatened the corporation.
Nine days ago, she had been a pretender to the throne.
Now she was the queen. For the first time since her appointment by the board, Cassandra DeVries believed and accepted it.
And she mourned for what she had lost.
She wiped her eyes once more and looked through the glass at the spinning white column that was the quantum optical datacore. Her cathedral and her god.
“Forgive me,” Cassandra said. “For all my sins.”
“Parsing error.”
Cassandra turned, searching the lab. Several of the monitors at the various workstations were still on, dataDyne screensavers endlessly repeating the company motto, “Your life, our hands.” She stepped away from the core, looking about.
“Arthur?”
she asked. “Is that you?”
“Systems online.”
She turned, following the direction of his voice, found herself heading in the direction of Ventura’s desk. She came around, pulling out the chair, and saw the monitor was live, that Arthur’s code was cascading past with the frightening speed she’d witnessed in New Zealand. His voice seemed to be emanating from the speakers on the desk.
“Do you know who I am, Arthur?”
“You are Dr. Cassandra DeVries, chief executive officer and director of dataDyne. You are my parent.”
“That’s right,” she said softly. “It’s nice to talk to you again.”
Arthur didn’t respond.
“It’s customary to respond with the same sentiment,” Cassandra said. “I say that it’s nice to see you again, and you say that it’s nice to see me, too.”
“It’s nice to see you, too,” Arthur said.
“Are you ready for today, Arthur? Are you ready to go online?”
“All systems nominal set minus one.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Repeating. All systems nominal set minus one.”
“Define minus one, please.”
“Parsing error.”
Cassandra frowned, then reached out and pulled Ventura’s keyboard drawer forward, so it was positioned over her lap. “Set diagnostic, Arthur.”
“Setting. Query module.”
“Outland interface. Run diagnostic.”
“Outland interface, diagnostic initiated. Completed. Outland interface nominal.”
“Arthur, define ‘set minus one,’ please.”
There was a brief pause, barely noticeable, and Cassandra supposed that in every other situation, she would not have noticed it at all. But Arthur was, effectively, a quantum-optical computer, and with his processing speed there should have been no delay at all—at least, none that she could perceive.
“Parsing error.”
She tried the same command, this time with the keyboard.
“Parsing error.”
She tried again, still with the keyboard, issuing the command from the root structure.
