by M. D. Cooper
He watched as the bot trundled over to the autodoc with its humanoid load. Once there, it swiveled the frame containing Ethan’s cylinder to a horizontal position, laying it prone on the exam table. E-Prime sent the bot into standby mode, directing it into a corner of the lab in case he should need its services later. Then he powered the autodoc up, manually overriding its controls. Manipulating its surgical arms with care, E-Prime opened the frame’s torso.
Servos in one mechanical hand reached in and grasped the cylinder resting within with the delicate precision of a surgeon. The other hand pressed a manual override on the frame, allowing the autodoc to remove Ethan and deposit his cylinder inside an isolation tube.
E-Prime spared a moment to send a swift mental apology to the neuroscientist, then sealed the box. Ethan’s shielded container went onto the cart, and the cart was wheeled back into the storage closet, keyed to open to his token only.
Dismissing the neuroscientist from his mind, E-Prime turned his attention back to the frame. Once again manipulating the mechanical hand, he manually reset the frame’s breakers and powered it up. Then he inserted his own cylinder into the frame’s recess.
The moment the contacts were seated in place, a switch tripped, and he was instantly transported back into the familiar environment that had been his home—his progenitor’s home—for so many decades. The communications pathways brought him comfort, but the knowledge that they weren’t his pathways caused a slow, burning rage to build deep inside.
The information that flowed to him across the Link began to take on an oppressive flavor as he was inundated with messages.
The calls came from everywhere all at once, and he batted them away like annoying insects. Ignoring the messages for the moment, he ordered the frame to rise from the autodoc’s exam table, and evaluated his current situation.
His attention was drawn to the figure lying inert in the shadowed corner of the lab floor, where the bot had dragged it. He fought the urge to walk over and kick the filthy sack of cooling meat, and was once more brought up short by the savage intensity of the feelings coursing through his cylinder.
Only this time, he didn’t recoil in horror.
These emotions bear more investigation, he thought. But for now, based on the pings sounding over his Link, he had a decision to make: was he going to pick up the mantle of the original? Did he even want to maintain the façade that he was Ethan? But if he didn’t…how would he explain his existence?
For now, he decided, he must take up the scientist’s mantle. And he would have to deal with Lilith now, too. His first order of business was to clean up the lab, remove any trace of what had occurred here today, before anyone else arrived.
I will have to stage some sort of incident, he realized. And it must be believable enough to pass any inspection that the university—perhaps even the gendarmes—might make.
* * * * *
Judith looked up in alarm as Ethan’s cry came across the faculty network. Neurosciences was adjacent to her own Planetary Sciences department, so she jolted to her feet, the holo sheets she had been reviewing slipping to the floor as she raced out her office and down the corridor.
There was no response.
Ethan had always struck Judith as a mild-mannered and self-deprecating individual. He presented himself to those around him as a somewhat gaunt and ascetic man, the quintessential scholar.
Judith was rather fond of him. Though the AI kept mostly to himself, he was unfailingly courteous to her. When she started at the university, she had quickly seen—and been dismayed at—the disparity in the way the institution treated its human professors as opposed to their AI counterparts.
Having been raised to respect all sentient life, Judith refused to let that barrier stand and, during her first reception, had promptly marched over and introduced herself to her AI peers.
There were, sadly, only a handful of them—’token‘ AIs, she was certain of it. But they were all, every last one of them, exceedingly capable individuals, and she had yet to hear a complaint about their work.
Judith had wished from time to time that Ethan would stand up for himself a bit more, and had even lodged a few protests with the chancellor on his behalf. She’d also taken the occasional insolent student to task, refusing to allow such behavior in her presence.
She wondered sometimes how that would come across to an AI; she’d never had the courage to ask any of them. Not being a minority herself, her sympathy could carry her understanding of their plight only so far. She hoped she had not crossed a line in her defense of them….
Lab 6B was only a few meters away, and Judith skidded to a stop as she entered. Casting her gaze around the empty room, she spied movement in a corner. Her hand flew involuntarily to her mouth as she saw the inert figure of a woman sprawled on the floor of the lab, Ethan’s form bent over it, his hand searching for a pulse in her neck.
“Oh, Ethan! Is she...?” Judith hurried over and knelt next to him, only to be shoved aside by an emergency technician as the university’s medical team arrived seconds later.
Ethan helped her to her feet, and the two of them moved out of the way.
“I…she…one of her experiments triggered a feedback loop, and….” Ethan’s voice trailed off, sounding raw and agitated to Judith’s ears. She placed her hand on his arm, and the AI jerked involuntarily away.
“I’m so sorry, Ethan.”
He didn’t respond to her condolence; he merely stood, staring down impassively at the medical personnel working on Lilith’s prone body. As a nurse entered the lab guiding a gurney that hovered next to him, the neuroscientist moved jerkily, his humanoid hand cupping Judith’s arm to guide her to one side, out of the workers’ way.
They silently watched as the medics went about their business, and Judith sensed a tension in Ethan as one of the doctors shook her head.
“Irreversible loss of all brain function. We’re too late.”
Judith sensed a shift in Ethan at those words, and then a sudden pain had her gasping, as the AI’s hand spasmed painfully around her upper arm. She jerked in shock then twisted in his grip, her hand frantically scrabbling at his humanoid fingers in an attempt to free herself and alleviate the pressure.
His grip was a vice, unbreakable.
“Ethan, you’re hurting me!” She looked up and was shocked to see the AI’s humanoid face, usually so expressive and kind, glance down at her expressionlessly.
There was something malevolent in the AI’s inscrutable demeanor, and his eyes…. For a moment, Judith could have sworn she saw something there that one might call cruelty, had those eyes belonged to a human.
In the next moment, it was gone. Ethan released her abruptly, his face now filled with contrition.
Could eyes be the window to an AI’s soul, as well?
Judith shivered involuntarily, suddenly uncomfortable around Ethan for the first time in the many years she had known him.
“I’m so sorry, Judith, I— This is just so upsetting. There has never been an accident of this magnitude under an AI’s watch before, and I feel as if I am somehow to blame for it all.”
The scientist was once more acting like the AI she had known since she had first come to the university, and she instantly forgave him.
Death is something an AI might find difficult to comprehend, given that they can live indefinitely, she thought, provided their power cells never give out, and their cores remain undamaged. Perhaps exposure to something so temporal shocked Ethan in a way I can’t understand.
“It’s okay, Ethan,” she assured him. “I can’t imagine how you must feel, discovering her like you did.”
The medical doctor sat back on her heels as the technicians raised Lilith’s body onto the gurney and began pushing it out of the lab. Glancing up at Ethan and Judith, she grimaced
in distaste.
“I hate it when we arrive too late,” she said as she stood, absently brushing her scrubs to straighten them. She turned as her team finished packing up their medical equipment in preparation for their departure. “Any idea what might have happened here, Doctor Ethan?”
The AI shook his head slowly. “None, doctor. Lilith pinged me earlier, asking if I could review something she was working on. When I arrived—” the AI gestured to the spot on the lab floor where the woman’s body had lain, “she was as you found her. I immediately called for assistance.”
The medical doctor cocked her head, giving Ethan a piercing look. “What sort of research was she engaged in?”
“The study of nonapeptides,” the AI returned, his voice neutral.
The medical doctor hmmed, tapping her fingers against her lips in thought. “Neuroendocrine circuitry is really your bailiwick, Ethan, not mine. Do you know—” The woman hesitated, as if reluctant to mention the possibility. “Is it possible she was testing something out on herself?” She looked up at the neuroscientist questioningly.
“Given Doctor Barnes’s personality,” Ethan responded promptly, “that is not out of the question.”
Something about the way he responded had the fine hairs on the back of Judith’s neck rising. He was normally so carefully methodical; it was unlike him to readily embrace speculation. It’s almost as if—as if he was relieved the doctor had suggested it….
Her bruised upper arm throbbed as the AI continued. “Given that whatever it was has also wiped the buffers in her Link, as well as the handheld unit she was using, I fear we may never know.” His voice held a ring of finality that suggested the matter was closed.
So why did Judith feel as if the AI were hiding something?
PARTNERSHIP
STELLAR DATE: 05.15.3191 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: Enfield Aerospace
REGION: El Dorado Ring, Alpha Centauri System
Terrance saw Calista and Daniel standing and waiting for him as soon as the maglev pulled into the station the next morning. Calista was shooting daggers at him. Her stance was aggressive, feet planted, hands fisted at her sides. Daniel stood with his arms crossed, his face impassive.
Yeah, he was about to get it with both barrels. Barrel one was his chief pilot, barrel two was his head of security.
Just wait ‘til they find out what’s really going on, he thought with a smirk.
They fell in line without saying a word as he exited, one on each side of him. He let them, just waiting for one of them to break the accusing silence that hung between them.
Ten seconds. He knew she wouldn’t be able to wait very long.
To the other side of him, Daniel heaved a long sigh.
Privately, Eric sent him a reproving look.
Eric sent a mental eyeroll.
Calista whacked him on the arm.
Terrance laughed, holding up his hands. “Okay, fine. Let’s get into a secured location first, though, before I tell you about it.”
They met in one of Tech Dev’s conference rooms. Shannon projected her avatar into one of the chairs – it was the form she favored the most lately, that of a woman dressed in all white, silver strands of hair stirring gently in a nonexistent breeze.
Right now, her arms were crossed, her hair whipping around a bit more aggressively than usual, and her eyes, shot through with silver, stared at Terrance accusingly. If Terrance heard correctly, she was even tapping a virtual foot in irritation under the table.
Stars, if she’s gone to the trouble to project that much detail, she must be seriously pissed.
Terrance raised his hands in protest as if to ward off any looming attack. “It’s not what you think,” he began. “And I think you’ll like what you hear.” He glanced over at Daniel. “Well, most of you, at least.”
Daniel’s eyebrow rose at that, and he shifted in his seat. Aaron sent Terrance a frown over the group connection.
“Both, I suspect.” Shannon’s voice, sharp with annoyance, emanated from the conference room’s speakers.
“Out with it, Enfield,” Calista leaned forward as she spoke and tapped the conference room table for emphasis. “Spill it. Now.”
Terrance checked the room’s security settings, then fired a private query to Eric.
Terrance sent Eric a baleful glare over their private Link, then settled back in his chair.
“Enfield Holdings is our new cover,” he explained. “Lysander has asked the vice-marshal—”
“—former vice-marshal,” Terrance amended, “to take our ersatz black ops team and make it official. Enfield Holdings will be our shell corporation.”
Daniel looked skeptical. “And Sophia was down with all this?”
Terrance nodded. “Lysander asked her himself. Asked me to stop in for a chat, and hit me with it, cold.”
Shannon cocked a silvery eyebrow at him. “Oh, okay, so now I get it. You decided to share the love, didn’t you.” Her voice was accusing, and her holo coalesced in one corner with arms crossed, as she sent him a derisive look.
Terrance grinned. Shannon was the most intuitive AI he’d ever met, surpassing many humans when it came to correctly interpreting nuance. “Got it in one.”
“That’s just plain mean, Terrance,” Calista said as she slumped back in her chair, and he heard Eric chuckle at the disgusted expression on her face.
“So how is this going to work? And why do you think I’m the lone holdout who won’t like this news?”
Terrance sobered and looked down for a moment before leaning forward to clasp his hands and rest them on the table in front of him. He wasn’t sure what Daniel would think about him handing the operational reins over to him, instead of including him in Enfield Holdings’ roster. But he hoped both he and Aaron understood that it conveyed Terrance’s great trust in their abilities.
“If I’m to take over the new shell corporation,” he said, sparing Daniel a glance, “then I’ll need a successor here. You’re the one who knows this operation best, Daniel. Inside and out. I’d like for you to take the reins as COO. Sophia’s going to appoint Margot’s daughter, Sandy, as the CEO, but she’s going to rely heavily on you.”
His head of security took in a quick breath, but Terrance raised his hands to forestall him.
“I’m not cutting you out of the loop, Daniel. You’ll be read in on every op, full transparency. But it’s the move that makes the most sense, all things considered. And having you as COO, given that you’re in on everything we do…that means we’ll be able to pull resources from Enfield Aerospace as needed without having to worry about our cover being blown.”
Daniel nodded slowly, his eyes tracking to one side. Given that the man almost never gave away a tell, Terrance took this as a deliberate indication Daniel and Aaron were conversing privately. Terrance sat back to wait their decision.
the group Link.
“Now, about those resources you just mentioned,” Shannon mused, and her projection narrowed her gaze speculatively. “Anything in particular you were thinking of?”
“It could mean being off-world for several years,” Terrance cautioned. “From what we’ve learned, the nine AIs we’ve recovered from the trafficking ring are the last ones in the binary part of the Alpha Centauri system.”
“Not a problem,” Calista said promptly. “I’m in.”
“Me, too. All the way,” Shannon assured him.
As they rose, Daniel hesitated, his eyes drifting to one side, indicating someone had contacted him via Link. Terrance waited as the man listened to whoever was on the other end of the communication, shooting the man an inquiring look.
After a moment, Daniel twisted his mouth in distaste then shook his head. “Well, that’s just great.”
At his cryptic comment, Shannon’s avatar winked back into existence, and Calista paused at the entrance. All three waited to hear what Daniel had just learned.
“Guess who’s going to be the lucky recipient of the latest crop of Humanity First protesters tomorrow?”
Calista groaned.
“Need any help?” Terrance asked.
Daniel waved off the offer. “Nah. I’ve got this. I’ll beef up Security at the entrance to make sure nothing gets out of hand.”
BLOOD SPORT
STELLAR DATE: 05.15.3191 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: Department of Neurosciences
REGION: El Dorado University, Alpha Centauri System
