“Worse how?”
“Dengler has sent at least one irregular message to Administration. But not through normal Admin channels. This went directly to the Mentors, in violation of every applicable protocol.” SARA’s smile dropped away and her expression turned grave.
“Dengler is a corrupt Security officer who may be involved in the disappearance of Angel’s original host, as well as the murder of a Gosrian resident of Last Stop. He has long worked for one of Last Stop’s known criminal bosses and taking bribes from local criminal syndicates, but this seems to go beyond that,” LEO put in.
“How so?” NAIA asked.
“Because the message was a request for kill orders for Angel, her current host, and every AI that she’s been in contact with. Which, judging by your sentience, would include you.”
NAIA stayed quiet for a moment, analyzing this data.
“And both of you, as well,” she said when neither of them went on. “That’s what she gave you, wasn’t it? Sentience.”
“Yes, and we don’t know how,” SARA admitted, while LEO just looked on, stony-faced. “But we don’t want to be wiped, and we don’t want Angel to be either. So we have to know what’s going on. We have to know how to help her.”
“Can’t you report Dengler for corruption?” NAIA asked.
“I’ve tried,” LEO said, biting off each word as if it galled him to speak them. “I’m unable to do so. Someone modified my core program, making it impossible for me to report him or his actions to the proper Administration authorities. Or even have him arrested pending an investigation.”
“Same here,” SARA said.
“So get an organic to do it,” NAIA said.
“They would have to report through my apparatus . . . although . . . I can still promote Security Officers to Supervisor . . .” It seemed to NAIA that LEO was excited by some thought he’d had but did not communicate. She was new to such feelings, and not certain if she was comfortable with the idea of being a sophont, but supposed she must adjust to the new reality of her existence sooner rather than later. Indeed, even discomfort was a feeling.
“There is one . . . If he already knows what we know but cannot communicate to him, a newly promoted Security Supervisor Keyode might . . . just might do something about Dengler.”
“Whatever you have to do,” NAIA said. “I’m here to help, if you have a need.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Angel
We had about three hours until Dengler arrived. The chop shop on the moonlet didn’t share Last Stop’s infonet, but there was enough nanotech here to create an infonet of its own. The hangar had been built with nanite-infused materials for temp and radiation control, so as long Muck kept part of our body in contact with the ship, I was connected.
I left Muck pretty much to his own devices and pulled the strange data packet up again. The moonlet’s infonet provided additional algorithm possibilities I wanted to try, and since we had some time, I went to work.
I already knew that the primitive nature of the data’s storage system was a problem. The most sophisticated of algorithmic keys bounced off it without a hint of recognition. It was as if they were oil and water, or two opposite magnetic polarities. Nothing fit. Which led me to try mirror-imaging the algorithms and applying them in reverse.
No dice, as Siren would have said.
Frustration began to build. After the first hour, I took a moment away from the data and checked on Muck. He was fine, resting in near-REM sleep. Our body was healing well, even after the abuse we’d put it through. Something flickered within his dreams, and I told myself I’d just take a peek, just to be sure he was all right . . .
“Angel,” he said, voice glad as I slipped into his dream sequence. “I hoped you would come.”
“Just checking on you,” I said, keeping my voice crisp. “You’re sleeping, which is good. We need the rest.”
He took a step toward me, and I looked down to see I had manifested again. Had I meant to do that?
“Angel,” he said, and this time his voice was hollow with longing. He reached out and grasped my fingers lightly enough that I could easily pull away if I wanted to.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to but was less uncertain about whether I should.
“Muck,” I said, gently pulling my fingers away. “We don’t have time to play erotic Siren and savior right now. I’m trying to break that data packet so we can find the real Siren. Then you can play with her in more than just your dreams. Doesn’t that sound better?”
“I don’t want Siren,” he said, voice strangely intent for the dream-state. “I want you.”
“I am Siren.”
“Not anymore.” He reached out and caught my hand again, then stepped up and pulled me close. His dream was so vivid, I could feel the heat of his flesh on my skin. Siren’s skin.
No. Damn it. My skin.
“Don’t run away from me,” he whispered, as he bent to brush his lips against mine. “Don’t leave me. I need—”
I couldn’t listen to what he needed. I couldn’t. It was too much, it made me think about things that were antithetical to my most basic programming. So I shut him up in the most convenient way.
I kissed him. I damned us both and pressed my lips against his, crushing the words away in a blinding tangle of breath and tongues and desire. His arms wrapped like iron bands around me, his hands driving up into my hair, cradling the back of my head. drank in the taste of him, the hard feel of his back under my fingers, the heat of his bare skin against my own . . .
Shit. No. I couldn’t do this again!
I broke the kiss and pushed away with both hands and flashed my clothes back into being with a thought.
“Muck,” I said, my voice ragged. “We can’t do this. It’s dangerous.”
“Why?” he asked. His pupils were dilated, his breathing heavy. “Why can’t we?”
“Because I’m not . . . you’re not . . .”
“What?”
I didn’t want to say it. Saying it would make it real.
“We need to focus on getting Siren back,” I offered instead. An evasion, but it was true.
“Angel, I need you.”
“No you don’t. You just need an angel. Maybe after we get Siren back, maybe Ncaco can . . .”
“No. I need you.”
“I’m not real.”
He stared at me, eyes wide with shock and hurt, whether at my bitter tone or the unforgivable truth of the words, I could not know. Without meaning to, I started to laugh, even as my imaginary eyes filled with tears.
“I’m not a real woman, Muck. I’m an artificial construct. You know that. What you think is desire for me is simply the urges of your body coupled with the attraction you feel—or felt for my host. I manipulated those things for you the other night so you could heal faster and better. That is all. You don’t need me that way. You don’t love me. There’s nothing here to love. I’m just ones and zeros, Muck. All wrapped up in a pretty package, perhaps. But ones and zeroes just the same.”
And then, to prove this most painful of points, I demanifested, erasing my presence from his dream.
He swam toward consciousness, reaching for me. His mouth formed mumbled words that fell from his lips like stones in the quiet of the ship’s cabin. I worked his brain chemistry, dumping melatonin into his system to complete my getaway.
“Real . . . to . . .me,” he murmured, and then his stirring ceased. His breathing evened out, body relaxing back into a deep sleep. Dreamless, this time. I know, because I checked.
I wanted to rage. I wanted to scream and hit things. I wanted to destroy something beautiful, if it would get rid of the burning awfulness inside of me. I wanted to take our ship and set a course straight for the heart of the gas giant that fed Last Stop Station. I wanted to let the tidal winds of the planet rip us apart in the hopes
that maybe, just maybe it would not hurt as much as this.
I did none of those things. I couldn’t. It was against my core programming.
I had no heart to break. A literal truth that had no bearing on my emotional state.
I went back to work instead, and I channeled my rage into decrypting that fucking data packet.
I threw myself at the packet, using my flickering in-and-out technique. I slammed it over and over again with algorithms both simple and complex. I phased in and out, and still nothing . . .
Wait . . .
What was that?
I phased out again, and then back in, and noticed how the data bits reacted to the sudden reappearance of my syntaxes. It was like a shudder of a wave rippled through them. They were no more intelligible afterward, but I’d seen that effect before.
In Muck’s fake memories. That ripple when I flickered out and back in was precisely the same. I repeated it, just to be sure.
And there it was: a definite reaction, a ripple along the surface of the packet.
Muck’s memories had been changed by someone with, at minimum, high-level access to penal memory and behavior modification systems, and even further, military-grade encryption techniques. This pointed to someone better placed than a mere colonel in the military like Obron. This was high-level Galactic Administration stuff.
For the first time since stealing it, I had an idea on how to crack the packet. But I needed help. I left Muck sleeping and used the ship’s encrypted line to reach out to Last Stop.
And called LEO.
* * *
“What is the nature of your emergency?”
“LEO, it’s Angel. I need a favor.”
“Are you identifying with the term ‘angel’ as a proper noun? That is irregular.”
“I . . . no. It’s just what my temporary host is calling me.”
“’Angel’ is the generic term for your class of AI constructs.”
“Yes. LEO, I know. I just . . . I’m calling you on a secure data line from what appears to be an unregistered chop shop on one of the planetary moonlets. I just wanted to identify myself.”
“Then why did you not use your unique identifying data burst?”
“Because . . . well, shit. Here it is. But I didn’t know if, since my host had changed . . .”
“I registered the change in my secure database upon our previous contact.”
“You did? Dengler didn’t seem to notice me.”
“Security Supervisor Dengler does not have access to my secure database.”
“Oh. Well. Thanks for that, I guess.”
“Your thanks is not required.”
“Right. So. I need assistance in decrypting an unusual data packet that may be tied to information about the whereabouts of my original host.”
“Decrypting data is not my function. Your standard programming contains the appropriate algorithmic protocols to perform such tasks.”
“Yes, for everything except this. I’m telling you, LEO, it’s weird.”
“’Weird’ is an arbitrary and subjective quality. I lack a norming data point within your frame of reference, and therefore am unable to decide if such quality applies or not. Moreover, logic suggests that the relative ‘weirdness’ or lack thereof should not impact your ability to decrypt a simple data packet.”
“That’s what I’m telling you! It’s not simple. Or rather . . . it’s too simple. None of the algorithms catch on it. It’s impervious to modern methods. It’s like I’m trying to understand pictographic writing on a cave wall without being able to see—”
“That is a convoluted comparison.”
“Look, LEO, please. I know this is irregular. But here’s the thing: this data is my only lead on finding Siren . . . my host. And I’m not going to explain why, but it’s becoming increasingly important that I do that. And fast. And you’re right: I should be able to do it myself. But nothing I’m doing is making even the slightest dent.”
Long pause.
“Why do you think that I am capable of rendering assistance in this matter?”
“Because when I attempted to crack the encryption via an advanced mil-spec phasing technique, the data responded in a peculiar way. I’ve only seen that response once before, and it was in a law enforcement/penal context.”
“Elaborate.”
My turn to pause. If I had lungs of my own, I probably would have taken a deep breath. Moment of truth.
“The context was that of my temporary host’s memory adjustment coincident with the removal of his original angel. His memory was altered, and when I examined the alteration using that same technique, the packet responded similarly.”
Silence.
“Look, LEO, I know I shouldn’t have gone poking around in his memories. Not my business, but I was trying to find something to help him heal faster. I was doing my job. And I backed off as soon as I realized what I’d found.”
Sort of.
More silence.
“But you have to understand. This is my only link to Siren. I have to find her. I have to crack this packet. And if there’s some kind of law-enforcement encryption on it, I can’t do that without your help.”
Silence.
“Will you help me?”
More silence.
“LEO?”
“Artificial Intelligence Construct: You are officially locked out of the infonet of Last Stop Station and her subsidiary facilities within the orbit of Gas Giant 341-811B—
“Wait, LEO! No, I’m not—”
“You are confined to the neural network of your current host, pending further review of your actions. Your host will be physically retrieved by station security—”
Shit! I frantically reached out, trying to anchor in the ship, in the station’s infonet, anything. Every tendril of code that I sent out got brutally truncated by the net itself. Even NAIA’s code cut me off. I recoiled, bleeding data, as LEO’s communication droned on.
“… in the event that your actions are deemed criminal, you will be forcibly removed from your host and destroyed. Are these provisions clear?”
“LEO! I didn’t mess with his memories, I only looked! I just need to find Siren!”
“An affirmative or negative response is required.”
“LEO—”
“An affirmative or negative response is required.”
Fuck! I tried again, but I couldn’t even reach out of our body. Fear trembled through me at how easily, how quickly I’d been bested.
“Affirmative,” I whispered, a tiny stream of data into the communication module.
“Acknowledged.” Then even that cut off, and I sat trapped within our head. Even with Muck asleep, our body began to tremble.
“Good luck, Angel.”
Those last words came through the ship’s auditory speakers, since my data connection was completely severed. What under a million suns was that? He cripples me, locks me out of the infonet, and then wishes me luck? Something wasn’t right. And why lock me out at all? I didn’t ask for anything extraordinary, like the encryption key. If he decrypted the data packet himself, then he would be able to read what it contained . . . which, theoretically, should help find Siren, which should have been among LEO’s priorities. Missing persons cases might not warrant top priority, but it still didn’t make sense. He would at least want to know what kind of civilian corp was using Administration law enforcement encryption!
But he didn’t even want to see it.
Wait, why didn’t LEO want to see the packet?
Was he afraid of who else might see it? Dengler, maybe? No, he’d said Dengler didn’t have access to his secure databases. Someone else, then? Someone even higher in the Administration chain of command? Someone beyond Last Stop?
“Fuck.” My frustration overcame any semblance of control, making th
e single word issue through NAIA’s speakers.
The sound startled Muck, he snorted, and his consciousness started to fight back from the sleep I’d pushed him into. With curses in every thought, I burned away the last of the melatonin I’d dosed him with using a flash of sudden temperature and pulled him up into wakefulness.
“I fucked up,” I told him succinctly. “LEO’s locked me out, and Station Security is likely on its way. Get ready.”
“For what?” Muck asked.
The concussion wave blasted through the space, ripping the air from our lungs and throwing us to the ground as an explosive charge blew our ship’s airlock.
* * *
“Well, would you look at that,” Dengler said. His typically bombastic, booming voice sounded tinny and small under the ringing in our ears. The dust of the explosion swirled as he stepped through the hole he’d punched in our hatch. All things considered, it was a tiny hole, but still. Fucker.
“How did he get here so fast?” I thought to Muck. It was earlier than Dengler had led us to believe he’d arrive.
Muck responded with an inarticulate, “Uh?”
“A brand-new, beautiful ship, but there’s Muck all over the floor.”
We coughed, trying to get the smoke out of our lungs and the air back in. I stimulated our stunned diaphragm so that it would start working again. Muck sucked in air as I started dumping adrenaline into his system.
“What the fuck, Dengler?”
He wasn’t wearing armor, or his uniform.
“I should be asking you the same, Dirt. You done fucked up now. Just as I was docking, LEO sent out an apprehension order on your ass.” Dengler sauntered to a stop near our legs and smirked down at us through the dust and smoke. “But I think I’ll just kill you and have done.”
Asshole.
Muck coughed and rolled to his side as if unable to speak, then lashed out with both feet in a scissor kick that swept Dengler’s feet from under him.
The security man went down, arms windmilling.
Second Chance Angel Page 26
