by J. S. Morin
“Can you authorize a surrender and peaceful release of all these hostages?” Abby asked glibly. Keeping a disaffected air took a force of will when each breath came through a wet cloth in her bronchial tubes and even the movement of her jaw muscles jostled the grating vertebrae in her neck.
“Come off it, lady,” Wil replied. “If you want us to get a doctor in here, maybe I can—”
Abby held up her good hand. “No. I’m fine. Nothing a doctor could do without equipment I doubt you’d let her bring. I’m just ready to restart negotiations for Ned’s list of demands.”
“Look, you’re stuck in here,” Wil pointed out. “Nobody out there’s going to honor any agreement you make.”
“Why ever not?” Abby asked. “That’s why I’m in here. They know it out there. None of them are going to talk to you unless someone patches you through to my mother. Believe me, that’s one outcome you don’t want.”
“Why not?” Wil asked. “Eve Fourteen can move mountains. We just about need that.”
“I need you to believe me,” Abby said. “I’m your last chance. I don’t want anything but all these nice people going home safely, robots included.”
Wil grunted. “Yeah, figures you’re soft on them. Bunch of bossy freeloaders have puffed you and yours up plenty.”
“Sorry, I’ve lost track,” Abby said. “Aren’t the bossy freeloaders the ones with bombs, getting their meals delivered and making demands?”
“The robots, smart-ass,” Wil snapped.
“Manners, young man. I’d like to say we had them in my day, but this is still my day and we clearly haven’t. Not that it’s been pleasant talking to you, but I must cut our discourse short. The mind is willing to joust at windmills for the pleasure of it, but the lungs demand a brief rest. Send Ned over, but don’t rush on my account.”
The longer he took, the better. Abby could use the rest, and stalling was a more profitable use of her time than butting heads with an ox like Ned. If she pulled out a miraculous agreement, so be it, but keeping Ned occupied and not murdering innocent robots was a worthwhile end in and of itself.
“Crazy old biddy,” Wil muttered as he stalked off in the direction of the stage.
Abby didn’t let on that there was neither anything cybernetic nor faulty about her hearing. She kept her eyes shut to stave off the feeling of blindness brought on by having open lids and nothing to see. Resting her head against the low back of her chair was only possible thanks to the improvised footrest, for which she was increasingly grateful.
There were times when vandalism could be an act of kindness.
Chapter Forty-Two
Charlie7’s spacero was a piece of work. It had more custom modifications than any vehicle Kaylee had ever ridden in, let alone piloted. A spacero was really just a skyro that had come off the assembly line utterly perfect down to the microcrystalline structure of the hull. The Kanto robots then pulled it aside and fitted it for space travel instead of mere atmospheric flight.
Extreme speeds.
Extreme forces.
Vast distances with no help for millions of kilometers.
Most spacero owners didn’t mess with them at all and left even the most basic maintenance tasks to the manufacturers. But most robots didn’t possess the blinding arrogance and positively reinforced self-assurance of Charlie7. Strike that; none came close.
Kaylee had to browse unfamiliar, additional consoles with functions she dared not delve into before finding all the avionics controls she needed. The setup was altered to better fit the oversized Version 70.2 that had practically become Charlie7’s trademark—which coincidentally made it harder for the slightly undersized Madison chassis that Kaylee wore.
Still, autopilot did most of the work. No doubt, the stool pigeon machine had reported her destination to its owner. Charlie7 would have no trouble figuring out Kaylee’s plan.
It occurred to her that the wily old robot probably had a better idea what she might find there than she did. Perhaps a quick comm might…
No. Stick to the plan.
Whatever was on Rapa Nui, Grammy Abby trusted Kaylee to figure it out on her own.
With clouds shooting past the cockpit window like bullets, Kaylee relaxed and took a nap. She needed to quiet her mind and prepare herself for whatever surprise might lay ahead of her.
She jolted awake when the autopilot touched down with a rough thump.
Kaylee hadn’t meant to sleep the whole trip away. She’d wanted to plan, to maybe check the Solarwide for clues as to the significance of this location. It used to house a medical sanctuary back in the days of illegal human cloning. She shuddered to think what might still be left behind that could aid the release of hostages on another planet.
Was one of Ned’s genetic twins buried here? Impossible. He was natural born.
Could there be an old computer system, one not hooked into the Solarwide, containing incriminating evidence? Possibly, but Grammy Abby might have overestimated Kaylee’s skills with old computer systems if that were the case.
“Hello?” someone called out. “Is anyone in there?” There was a knocking at the spacero’s hull.
Scrambling to hit the cockpit release, Kaylee straightened in her seat and wiped a line of drool from her lips with the back of her hand. “Sorry. Yes. Me. Must have dozed off with the autopilot engaged.”
Climbing out of the spacero, she saw that her host was a younger woman, blonde, wearing a pale seafoam uniform and carrying a portable computer.
“I already know you don’t have an appointment,” the woman said with a nonthreatening smile that looked professionally practiced. “But do you have a referral by any chance?”
“Referral?” Kaylee echoed. She peered past the seafoam woman to a commune of whitewashed stone buildings with red clay tile roofs half a kilometer down a hillside trail. “I don’t have a… what is this place?”
The woman knit her brow and tilted her head to one side. “This is the Neurological Recovery Retreat. We provide discreet neurological diagnoses and treatment advice to a select group of patients. We comply with all Human Welfare Committee guidance. Can I ask why you’re here?”
Kaylee squirmed her outfit into a more comfortable position, but there would be no comfort under that judging gaze. “I… well… my grandmother suggested I might find what I was looking for here. My name is—”
“Kaylee Fourteen,” the woman replied with a smile. “Sorry. Must get tiresome. But there are only so many Madison clones. You’re too young to be Wendy and too old by far to be Athena.”
“Athena is natural born,” Kaylee said defensively. It didn’t help that the girl still looked just like her, but Alan had an equal share of the girl’s genetic history.
“Of course,” the woman in seafoam replied. “My mistake. If you’ll come this way, the director will see you immediately. Abby Fourteen doesn’t send many patients this way.”
Kaylee fell in behind the seafoam uniform as her guide set a brisk pace. “Wait. I’m not a patient.”
“Technically, no one is,” the woman replied without looking back. “While we do maintain the highest standards in diagnostics and advice, we don’t perform any treatments on site. Any and all follow-up will be coordinated with your regular therapist.”
“I don’t have a therapist,” Kaylee insisted.
The woman turned without slowing. “We can help you find one. If Abby Fourteen thought you needed to see us, I’m sure the director will make sure you’re not left adrift in want of follow-up treatment.”
Kaylee slowed. “What’s your name?”
The other woman stopped. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Megan Mengele, assistant neurologist at head of patient relations.”
“Well, Megan, can you explain why my grandmother might have sent me here?”
Megan appeared taken aback. “I know we’re remote here, but we still have Solarwide access. We’ve seen the news. Frankly, I’m not surprised that your grandmother’s first worry about you was making su
re you got checked out for psychological trauma.”
When Megan resumed her walk, Kaylee stayed rooted in place.
The data crystal. The harrowing ride packed up in nauseating, G-dampening goo. The mysterious errand. Was it all a ruse to get Kaylee back to Earth in time to visit with Grammy Eve one last time and get help for post-traumatic neurological harm?
Grammy Abby had gone to these incredible lengths, making Kaylee feel like the linchpin of some grand scheme, just to send her to a secret, unlicensed therapist.
Momentum and curiosity combined to carry her onward at a shuffling pace. Megan slowed to match.
When they entered the main building, the old world facades were replaced by ultra-modern styling. Everything was sleek, black or silver, glossy, and most of the walls doubled as video screens. The doors were enormous, large enough that Grampa Plato could have walked through with his arms outstretched either to his sides or overhead without touching.
Each door opened with a quiet shush upon their approach. Thick carpets quieted their footsteps. A scent of lavender carried in the air, making the cold stylings less intimidating and more elegant.
“Just have a seat. The director will be along in a moment.”
Megan swept her hand toward the room beyond the next door. Kaylee pulled up short. There were regular office chairs—with legs, not wheels or magnetic floaters—but one option for sitting caught Kaylee’s breath in her throat.
The elaborate chair at the far side of the room was padded in black leather, including the heavy armrests and leg rests. It reclined, supported on a single metallic pillar under the back. At the head, a webwork of steel bands, probes, and wires surrounded an area the size and shape of a human head. It poised above the U-shaped headrest like a spider ready to strike.
“One of the regular chairs is fine,” Megan prompted.
Kaylee stepped hesitantly inside, and the door slid shut behind her. Part of her wanted to turn around and make sure she could open it once more. Another part warned that if she wanted answers to why Grammy Abby had sent her here, knowing that answer might derail her train of thought.
Instead, Kaylee crossed the room and inspected what she could only imagine was a scanning machine. Everything Megan claimed would have been a lie if the device was a human upload rig like the one from the old documentaries.
Kaylee’s mother claimed to have viewed Evelyn11’s work, the experiments that had eventually resulted in all the Madison Maxwell-Chang clones existing. Kaylee had lived in that lab, after a fashion, as a cluster of pre-embryonic cells, but that hardly counted. At her mother’s advice, she’d never watched the damning evidence of the Eves before her great-grandmother.
But everyone knew generally that the equipment resembled a robotic upload bed.
Hearing her own breathing in the quiet confines of the medical office, Kaylee crouched beside the scanner’s chair and peered underneath.
Behind her, the door shushed open.
“If you’re looking for straps, there aren’t any,” a synthetic voice replied with the cadence and faint accent of an Evelyn-mixed robot.
Kaylee stiffened. She didn’t want to look back but felt compelled.
Gemini was a footnote, a relic of history long forgotten by polite society. Kaylee had never met her, had rarely had the name cross her mind in her life. But the instant she saw the creature in the doorway, that name sprang instantly to mind.
In the face, there was an understandable yet vague resemblance to Grampa Plato. But that face hung slack, held up by straps and clamps and screws. Even the eyelids were propped by tiny servo arms, revealing those piercing irises that focused in Kaylee’s direction. The rest of the body was a scaffolding of robotic components scattered around withered flesh that it dragged into the room as an accessory.
“I’ll allow you your moment of gawking like a pufferfish,” Gemini said, though the voice came from an emitter at her throat. “Everyone needs a certain amount of it, it seems. Best to get it out of the way all at once up front.”
Kaylee didn’t know quite what to say. This creature was a monstrosity, inside and out. She’d been the robot who tried to turn Eve clones into vessels for her robotic intellect, raising them like cattle, training their mental faculties in the hope of producing a brain complex enough to fit her vast consciousness. And now she was little more than a human mind in a robotic body. There didn’t appear to be any function at all to her flesh. Bare, naked flesh hung limp, pinioned to an exoskeleton that did all the work. Just enough of her skin was covered to pass decency monitoring for the pre-emancipated, yet she was still somehow an obscenity.
“Had enough yet?” Gemini asked.
“I’m sorry,” Kaylee said, covering her mouth. “I’m just—”
“No. Go on. Continue. Clearly not.”
Kaylee swallowed. “I… I don’t know why my grandmother sent me here.”
“Psychological shock, you’re guessing. In an Eve?” Gemini scoffed, a grating sound in artificial modulation. “Those minds of yours are made of granite.”
Kaylee spasmed a quick smile. “Yours must be too.”
“What? This body?” Gemini asked. “I suffer less than you imagine. Most of my neural inputs are blocked off. Nuisances, mainly. The greatest inconvenience I suffer is sleep. Other than that, it’s almost like being a clumsy, fool spectacle of a robot. But that’s not the point. Why are you here?”
“I was hoping you might tell me,” Kaylee countered. She couldn’t help it if her eyes strayed to Gemini’s bald scalp, where metallic spikes drove directly into her skull, connecting to what appeared to be a computer at the back of her head.
“You say Abbigail sent you?”
Kaylee nodded. “You knew her?”
“She came to me for questions the psychiatrists wouldn’t answer—couldn’t answer. I understand the brain, but I’m not allowed to treat human patients. There are a few neurologists who use my scans, though most won’t admit it in academic circles. Abby liked knowing that her brain was getting the proper attention.”
“Could there be something hidden in my brain?” Kaylee guessed.
“I’d be happy to scan you,” Gemini replied with a shrug of servo motors that lifted her limp human shoulders. “Completely non-invasive. Far more accurate than the old systems you might have seen in the archives. But I don’t imagine who’d have put a message in there.”
“Then I can’t really see why Grammy Abby would send me here.”
Gemini chuckled electronically. “Grammy Abby… my dear child, however you were raised, you’re all sisters. These honorifics get more convoluted with each generation. But why did Abbigail send you?”
“She wanted me off Mars?”
“Too facile an answer. You were safe anywhere outside that miserable theater. Why is Abbigail there in the first place? Why not anyone else?”
“She was the first choice as negotiator after Gra—after Eve.” She didn’t want the fact that the Fourteen family tree was more of a lawn interfering with her more relevant points.
“Is she a fit substitute?” Gemini asked. “Who here on Earth might have done better?”
Kaylee wracked her brain. There were brilliant minds scattered all across Earth—and Mars, too, for that matter. But there were few who could bring the sort of gravitas and air of authority that Abby carried. Any robot would have been instantly ruled out as a negotiator, being a hostile target of Ned Lund’s whole worldview.
“Short of Charlie7 arguing with a magnetic pistol? No one.”
Gemini raised a mechanical finger. Its fleshy counterpart remaining limp somewhere near the robotic wrist. “Ah. No one but Eve.”
Kaylee shook her head. “That’s a non-starter. There’s no way she could survive the trip. She’s barely surviving a hospital bed.” The mere thought of her great-grandmother’s last moments had Kaylee wiping a tear from her eye.
The flesh at Gemini’s lips pulled back a hair, showing off yellowed teeth. “Aha. There is one way she could make
the trip—make it easily and comfortably, no less.”
“Some sort of relay?” Kaylee asked, eying the scanning rig. “A robotic surrogate.”
Gemini rocked back on her heels. “Possibly, though I doubt that Neddite clod would accept such a clunky system. No. I have a portable rig. It’s slower than the one in the room with us but no less accurate.”
Kaylee scowled. “If you don’t think the relay would work, then… no. No way. Eve Fourteen would never upload to a robotic body. It would go against everything she stands for.”
“Everything?” Gemini asked. “Even saving the life of her only daughter?”
Kaylee’s mouth went dry. “Grammy Abby’s 127.”
“And I’m 145. These are no longer the Dark Ages. Life is limited in length only by the technology we wish to apply to it. Abbigail might live another hundred years or another thousand. And whether the two of them are sisters in reality, Eve still thinks of her as a daughter.”
Grammy Abby couldn’t possibly have been this cold-blooded. Could she? But Kaylee couldn’t see another solution. Then again, there was one hitch with this plan that perhaps Gemini didn’t see. “But she’d be a robot. Ned Lund wouldn’t negotiate with her.”
Gemini snorted—more of an electronic blat than a proper noise. “She’d still be Eve Fourteen. There was always something special about that one.”
The jigsaw puzzle was complete on the table before her, and Kaylee was refusing to look down to see what image it showed. Abbigail Fourteen had played the only gambit she could think of. Eve was the only one who could credibly give in to all Ned Lund’s demands. Eve’s word carried committee authority. Her grandmother had counted on a mother’s love to twist Eve’s arm into doing the unthinkable.
Kaylee gritted her teeth and held out a hand. “Give me the portable rig.”
“I’ve already dispatched Megan to fetch it. She’s loading it into your vessel.”
Gemini followed as Kaylee headed back to Charlie7’s spacero.
“This is going to open a floodgate, isn’t it?” Kaylee asked. “Eve Fourteen can’t accept this bargain without allowing others. Is that your reason for helping?”
