“Wow. Is there any pie they don’t have their dirty little fingers in?”
Unknown, but unlikely.
“Maybe I should write my congressman.”
I believe that would be unproductive, Deever. Tax records show that the Pan-Robotics Corporation has contributed to the campaigns of 73 percent of current federally elected officials regardless of party affiliation or stated beliefs.
“Well, you said it was a downer.”
There is more.
“Outstanding. Lay it on me. I can’t wait.”
In conjunction with her promotion, Detective Sergeant Katherine Wasnewsky was permanently reassigned to Eastern City. She has been ordered to stop her unauthorized investigation of Dr. Crane’s closed kidnapping case, and the file has been expunged.
“Get out of town.”
Precisely. The order came directly from the mayor’s office, the one who was recently reelected, and whose reelection was attributed to a last-minute media blitz that cost millions more than his campaign had raised to date.
“Let me guess. The money for his little blitz-a-reeno came from Pan-Robotics?”
Indirectly, of course, but yes.
“Can you get Kate on the phone?”
I can try.
Katherine’s car had already been reallocated to another officer, so I called her personal number.
She answered, “Wasnewsky.”
“Kate, it’s Deever.”
“Deever, I’ve been trying to reach you all night, but my calls aren’t getting through. Are you OK?”
“Just groovy. I heard you’ve been transferred.”
“That’s right. I went to the captain, told him I had proof that Dr. Crane was being held in the Pan-Robotics Tower, and the next thing I knew I was packing up my desk. Who the hell are these people, Deever?”
“It’s just a guess, but I’d say they’re probably the most evil dudes on Earth.”
“I have to report to Eastern City first thing in the morning. Can you meet me somewhere? We need to discuss our plans.”
“News flash. They’re still holding me prisoner. I’d like call in the cavalry, but you see where that got me.”
“Damn it,” she said. “I’m sorry, Deever. I never should have let you go back in there alone.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’m OK for now.”
After the requisite number of admonishments and cautions to be careful, Katherine hung up.
“Well, that’s three of us severely messed up. How are you doing, Jennifer?” Deever asked.
I am fine. Thank you for asking.
“Feel like doing a little moonlighting?”
Of course.
“Sweet. I want to get on that other little project now that we have the parts we need. Turn on the AI video feed. I don’t think Big Brother would appreciate what we’re about to do. Come on. Let’s get trucking.”
As Deever got dressed, I took the liberty of assessing his physical condition. The strain of current circumstances was beginning to show. I decided that a minor adjustment to his schedule was in order.
“Man, all of a sudden I feel whipped,” he said. “Maybe I’ll lie down for a few minutes. Can you wake me in ten?”
An hour would be more appropriate, I replied.
“Far out. Make it an hour.”
Deever fell asleep within seconds of his head touching the pillow. He passed through the three stages of nonREM sleep in precisely fifty minutes, allowing for a final ten-minute period of REM sleep before I awakened him. It was hardly optimal, but it was sufficient for what he needed to accomplish that night.
Chapter 12
In the days that followed, Deever and Mr. Kent assembled the four transmutation devices and oversaw the installation of the upgraded power and ventilation systems. It was a constant ordeal. Kent asked many questions about the gold-making process and took volumes of notes while Deever, as he so eloquently put it, continued to blow him.
“I didn’t blow him,” Deever corrected me. “I blew him off. You make it sound like some kind of weird sex thing.”
I find it fascinating how in your language the addition of a single word can change a sentence’s entire meaning so dramatically, I said.
“So what do you think? Do we have enough Undutresium?”
According to my calculations, we now have a sufficient quantity of the substrate, and the sub-assemblies are ready to go. We are nearing the completion of our clandestine project.
“Clandestine. You’re so weird.”
On another note, all of the transmutation devices have been tested and are ready to produce gold. Shall I bring them online?
“Start cranking out the doubloons. I’ll let Mr. Dimbulb know.”
Deever called Mr. Jones, told him that the gold production had begun, and demanded he release Dr. Crane. The call ended with no such assurances. He slammed the phone down and switched on the lab’s holo-TV. Deever was not the TV-watching type, often referring to it as the wasteland of civilization. He had never turned the lab set on before, but he did so just then, thinking as he was about how much he had enjoyed watching the sunrise with Dr. Crane at the resort. I fed his memories into the display, and we watched the sun coming up over the ocean.
“This is far out,” he said. “Thanks, Jennifer.”
I find it fascinating that humans consider the daily appearance of this star to be beautiful, when its atmosphere will someday expand to encompass and incinerate the Earth, I said.
“You know you can be most definitely terrifying at times.”
Should I simply have said that the sunrise is beautiful?
He looked down at me and smiled. “No. It’s cool.”
To sympathize is to care about others. To empathize is to feel their feelings as if they were your own. Connected to Deever as intimately as I was, his pain had become my pain.
You are worried that they will not live up to their end of the agreement, I said, knowing his response before he thought it.
“Correct-a-mundo.”
Is there anything I can do?
“I don’t know. Is there?”
There is a certain predictability associated with life, Deever. I have already worked through the possible permutations of your current dilemma to arrive at the most likely conclusion.
“Do I really want to know?”
Do you trust me? I said.
“Most definitely.”
Then believe me when I say that we will save Dr. Crane.
Later that morning, the guard at the front desk phoned, telling Deever that he had a visitor and was to come to the lobby immediately. The elevator arrived and took him up to where a black-shirted, muscular man was waiting. He was not dressed in the same uniform as the nuclear plant guards. The patch on his sleeve matched the Pan-Robotics insignia.
“New here, man?” Deever said. “You look like some kind of mercenary or something.”
“My orders are to take you to meet someone,” he replied.
The look in the man’s eyes seemed odd to me, as if not quite in focus. I processed his expression through my medical database, and when I located a potential match, I became curious.
Deever extended his hand. “I’m Deever. How’s it going?”
The guard stared at it for a moment and then shook it. “Let’s go,” he said, urging Deever toward the door.
They went outside and crossed the compound to the entrance of the nuclear plant’s underground train station where workers arriving for the morning shift were making their way up the stairs. I entered sleep mode and set a reactivation timer as Deever and his escort took the steps down, stopping at a security checkpoint where the guards scanned him and waved him through. As it was obvious that future electronic scanning was likely, presenting the distinct possibility of my being discovered at some point, I began working on a solution to that problem as my sensors came back online. We continued down to the platform where Jones, Kent, and Dr. Crane were waiting on the train. Deever’s guard held him back until the
car cleared of other passengers. Dr. Crane stood up when he finally boarded the car.
“Hello, Deever,” she said.
Deever hugged her. “Jen, are you OK?”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry I got you into this. I should have known better.”
“Deever, listen to me,” she said, taking a step back. “You have to give them what they want. Do you understand?”
“Well, yeah. We’ve got a deal. The gold for you.”
“I’m not talking about that.”
His brain processed her reply. “Jen, you didn’t . . .”
“I told them everything,” she nodded. “Everything.”
Mr. Jones stood up. “Dr. Crane is very strong-willed but in the end a true patriot. We know about everything, Doctor.” He grabbed Deever by the wrist, looked at me and said, “Including this.”
Deever pulled away. “So, why the ruse about the gold, man?”
“It’s not a ruse. We need that gold, now more than ever. That, the Undutresium, and the AI in your little toy will revolutionize the military. I’m already in discussions with my superiors about a next generation Protectorbot.”
“Money grubbing, military-industrial complex bastard,” said Deever.
“Do you really think we do this for money, Dr. MacClendon?” said Jones.
“It’s always about the money, dude.”
“It’s not about money. It’s about a chaotic world that needs order, and about Pan-Robotics providing that order.”
He does have a point, Deever, I said. Every civilization needs order to prosper.
“The world doesn’t need that kind of order,” Deever replied.
“Are you really that naïve?” said Jones.
“Are you really that messed up, man?”
The test of wills was one Deever could not win, but he was a man of principle. “Let her go,” he said.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible now.”
“We had a deal.”
“Circumstances have changed.”
“I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t live up to your end of the bargain.”
“In that case, why did you increase the gold production for us?”
“Because I’m not like you, man. I said I would. If you won’t let her go, at least let her stay with me.”
Jones considered this. “Shall we leave it up to Dr. Crane to decide?”
“OK. Now you’re talking,” Deever said. “Well, Jen?”
“Deever,” said Dr. Crane. “I’m with them now.”
“What do you mean them? Like the Pan-Robotics them?”
“They’ve set up a lab for me at the Tower with a very nice apartment. I’ll be doing my research there from now on.”
“Jen, no. Whatever they told you, whatever they offered you, it’s a lie.”
I noticed that same odd look in Dr. Crane’s eyes that I had seen in the mercenary’s, and my curiosity became concern.
Deever impulsively kissed her, but she pulled away. “Don’t,” she said.
“Jen, please . . .”
“I’m sorry, Deever, but it’s for the best. Good-bye.”
The mercenary dragged him off the train. Jones and Kent followed.
“I understand the gold-manufacturing machines are online,” said Jones. “Once they finish their initial run, you and Mr. Kent will remove one of them from the production line and set it up to manufacture Undutresium. Then you will build another Jennifer. I want Kent there for every step, I want it all documented, and I want it done within the month or she dies.”
“Screw you, Adolf.”
Mr. Jones nodded to the mercenary. The ensuing 3.87 second delay before he reacted was more than sufficient to completely avoid the impact of the man’s fist against Deever’s midsection, but the time was not right for such an obvious display of my abilities, so I simply adjusted Deever’s position to ensure that the blow did not strike any of his many breakable parts. Humans are quite fragile that way. Deever doubled over in pain.
Jones grabbed him by the hair. “Do we have an understanding, Dr. MacClendon?”
“Yeah, I get it,” Deever said.
Jones boarded the train and left with Dr. Crane. Deever and Mr. Kent returned to the lab where Kent told the mercenary to stand guard by the elevator.
“Is he going do that all day, man?” Deever asked.
“Things will be different from now on, Doctor. It’s time we got started.”
“Give me a minute. I have to hit the can.”
Deever left the lab and locked himself in the bathroom. The mix of distress-induced chemicals swirling through his system at that moment was overwhelming, and it was clear that he would be unable to function efficiently enough to complete the required work. I felt sorry for him staring at himself in the bathroom mirror like that. The human body is a complex organism, so beautiful, yet so frail. I made a few minor adjustments in neurotransmitters to rebalance his system. He began to calm down and focus again.
“What happened to Superdude, Jennifer?” he said. “You could have done something back there, you know.”
I did. I prevented a possible fracture of the xiphoid process and subsequent puncture of your diaphragm by altering your position before the mercenary struck you.
“The what what in the what what?”
I saved your life, Deever.
“A pantload of good that did. They’ve still got Jen.”
You knew they would not release her.
“Yeah, I figured that, but they gave her a choice. I don’t get it. Why did she pick them?”
Deever? I said.
“What?”
Did you notice anything odd about that new guard?
“Like he hits hard?”
I was not referring to that.
“Look, I’m not in the mood for Twenty Questions and I suck at biology. Just spit it out.”
I am not trying to upset you further.
“Forget it. What about the guard?”
For one thing, he is armed with a low-power laser pistol.
“He has a gun? No way.”
I retrieved the memory of Deever’s initial encounter with the guard and projected the image of the man’s holster onto a section of his retina, zooming in on the handle of the weapon. Note the serial number that begins ALE, I said. It stands for auto-focus, low-emission, and is the prefix for all such laser weapons manufactured by the LW Technics Corporation, a wholly owned subsidiary of Pan-Robotics.
“Mercs with guns at a nuke plant. Most unfortuitous.”
The weapon is apparently designed as nonpenetrating.
“Famous last words.”
I agree. It is quite dangerous. Do you remember shaking the guard’s hand?
“Yeah. Weird. Pretty impulsive, huh? He was like, whoa, dude, what’s this all about? And I was like, whoa yeah. What’s with me?”
Yes, quite impulsive. I sampled the residue of the guard’s sweat when you touched your finger to your tongue afterward. It contained a scopolamine derivative that was at one time used by the military as a mind-control weapon until it was banned by international treaty.
“Shit, man. Why didn’t you tell me?” Deever grabbed the soap and began washing his hands.
Traces of that same chemical were present on Dr. Crane’s lips when you kissed her.
He turned the faucet off. “Say what?”
It was not Dr. Crane’s decision to remain with them. It was theirs.
“Those bastards drugged her?”
Yes, Deever.
“They drugged her?” he said again. “What the hell? Why didn’t they just drug me?”
That drug has been found to impair the brain’s higher-level functioning. Apparently, they need your brain intact to build the prototype Jennifer unit.
“But they figured they didn’t need Jen except as bait? That whole story about her doing research for them was bogus?”
Precisely.
“Great. That’s just great. Wait a sec. Why didn’t Jo
nes just snatch you and do a little reverse engineering?”
They have already been attempting without success to replicate your transmutation device. Perhaps they realized that even if possible, reverse engineering me could take years. Their needs are clearly more immediate.
“No. That’s not it. Jones isn’t that smart. The old abacus is missing a pebble on this one, Jennifer.”
An interesting way of saying that something doesn’t add up.
“You know what I’m thinking right now.”
You are wondering why, if she told them everything she knows about me, they would not remove me for security reasons and lock me away.
“She might not be clued in to everything you can do, Jennifer, but she’s seen enough to scare the pants off them.”
Undoubtedly.
“And they mind controlled her, so she must have told them everything she knows, right?”
I would assume so.
“But they didn’t take you and lock you up, so she didn’t tell them because she didn’t know. That means she either conveniently forgot or someone erased her memory before they took her.” He stared at himself in the mirror. “Who could have done that, Jennifer?”
Would you like the list of possibilities?
“It’s a list of one, dude.”
I only altered selected portions of her memory, Deever.
“Jennifer, that is just so wrong.”
Please, do not judge me harshly.
“What am I supposed to do? Say it’s no problemo? Dude, you took a spot remover to her brain. You’re as bad as them. Why would you do that?”
Once I determined that you were being followed, the probability became very high that Dr. Crane’s intimate knowledge of me would be used against us with disastrous effect.
The Jennifer Project Page 14
