"Four years." Michael managed a smile. It felt stiff on his face. Like a swelling undercurrent the knowledge rose: this wasn't his face at all, only synflesh molecules polarized to respond to electrical signals from his neuroimage.
He shoved the thought back down. Only rookies deintegrated.
"Four years. Major." Anna raised her eyebrows. "Where are you now? One of my territories?"
"Yes, Singapore. I'm at a company called CelebriSee." Michael hesitated. "I was wondering if you could help me out with something."
"Anything for my favorite Texican. What's happening?"
"You know clients don't always trust the resource selection."
Anna rolled her eyes. "Do I ever."
"I have them rebuild their order, to show them my selection wasn't a fluke."
"That's smart."
"Except this time, the order selected Renner."
"Renner?" Anna frowned. "That's strange. He's Hero class."
"I know. And, frankly, at this point he looks like a better fit. So why did the database pick me first?"
"Maybe Renner just got back from another order?" Anna focused away to the left. "I'll check." Her pupils shuttled back and forth as she accessed the database. "No, he's been on archive for two weeks."
Two weeks. As opposed to four years. Must be nice to be a Hero.
Anna glanced around and lowered her voice. "Do you think we need to recall you?"
"No." Michael clenched his fingers on the arms of the office chair.
"But if Renner is the best selection—"
"No. I can do this." The plastic creaked under Michael's grip. "I can investigate. I'm not socially inept."
"Of course not. But…" Anna bit her lip. "Your prosopagnosia."
"I have an app for that. And it's in my resource profile. The algorithms know about it, and chose me anyway. The first time. The algorithms don't make mistakes." His speech had accelerated to a rapid-fire jumble of syllables. He forced himself to slow down, to sound calm. "Could you please take another look at the order? I'd like to figure out why resource selection picked me for this job."
Anna nodded. "I can check the order breakdown."
"Thanks." Michael felt some of the pressure in his skull ease. "Let me know what you find."
****
"Lots of spreadsheets." Zhāng Xiùlán, CelebriSee's accountant, had a soft voice and a strong Chinese accent. "Important to…have good record."
Michael guessed she meant the plural records, but didn't correct her. He found it condescending when native speakers parroted back the words of speakers with accents. "Do you work closely with the clients, then?"
"No, no." Xiùlán waved her hands as if embarrassed. "Only to sign contract. Other time, I work with assistant."
"Right; I guess celebrities have no time for billing." Michael wiped a bead of sweat from his nose and checked his notes. "So, uh, why do you enjoy working at CelebriSee?"
"CelebriSee is good benefits, good work atmosphere." Xiùlán nodded. "Very friendly."
"Cut," Gina snapped.
Xiùlán jumped, and Michael felt his shoulders stiffen. He'd been trying to forget Gina was behind him with the camera, though the glare and heat from the studio lights made that difficult.
"Xiùlán, I told you not to run over the end of the question. We need clean audio. Try it again."
The accountant blinked at Gina, confused, and Gina switched to Chinese. Michael's translation app fired in time to caption only the last few words: bad audio.
Xiùlán had a pained expression on her face, but she obediently repeated, "CelebriSee is good benefits, good—"
"Not yet! We're not rolling."
Michael shoved back his chair. "Gina, can I talk to you for a moment?"
Gina's expression darkened, but she followed him out of the conference room into the hallway.
Michael shut the door firmly behind them and kept his voice low. "Maybe video interviews aren't the best idea for this. The camera makes people self-conscious."
Gina's jaw jutted out. "This is why we needed a Hero. A Hero could put them at ease."
Michael's irritation spiked. "Under thousand-degree lights? I don't think so." He scrubbed a hand across his face. "Look. Give me ten minutes, and we can restart the interview."
Gina whirled and headed down the corridor, stomping her combat boots.
Michael took that as a yes and let himself back into the conference room. The heat wave that struck him as soon as he opened the door gave him an inspiration, and he rounded the room, switching off studio lights as he went. "We're going to take a break to let the lights cool off."
"Good idea." Xiùlán helped to switch off the nearest lights. Her nails were manicured and painted a conservative pale pink. In fact, everything about her was conservative, from her sleek haircut to her black loafers. Without a singular feature to make her pop, he was going to have a hard time recognizing her.
"Gina seems to have a strong creative vision," he said. "What is she doing with the video, do you know?"
"She puts it on her myTV channel." Xiùlán shook her head. "Good thing interviews are English. My English is not very good, but her Chinese is very bad."
So Gina wasn't fluent in Mandarin, even as a Singaporean resident. Maybe Michael wasn't at so much of a disadvantage. "Does she interview celebrities on her myTV channel?"
"Yes. Sometimes."
"Clients?"
"After." Xiùlán frowned in concentration. "She gets clients with the interviews."
"Oh. So the channel is a marketing tactic for CelebriSee." Michael hesitated. He was close to the subject of Jonny Milq, but didn't have a cue to ask about Milq in particular. Xiùlán was his age, mid-30s, past the late-tween-to-early-20s range of Milq's fan demographic.
Then he remembered another factoid from his night-long research binge: Milq was scheduled for a New Year's Eve performance tonight on the Floating Platform at Marina Bay. "Is today a half-day for you for New Year?"
Xiùlán brightened. "Yes. One more hour."
"Are you going to Marina Bay to watch the fireworks?"
"Alex, Hafizah, and I go to watch the parade near Esplanade." Xiùlán cocked her head. "You want to come with us?"
Michael had met Hafizah from legal in an earlier interview. Have a conversation with the lawyer, the accountant, and the twins' personal assistant without Gina hovering over their shoulders? Yes please. "I'd love to. Are you going straight from work to the Esplanade?"
"We visit Chinatown first."
"Sounds good."
A sharp rap sounded on the door, and Lee stuck his spiky head inside. "Ah, Michael. You're still here." He gave Xiùlán a glance, and the accountant muttered something about billing and scurried off. Lee held the door for her politely, then stepped inside the conference room. Gina followed right on his heels, a sulky look on her face.
Michael eyed them. Funny how twins could be so different.
"We're a bit concerned," Lee said. His M-eyebrows quirked in an apologetic frown. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but we're not seeing a lot of visible progress on this case."
"With respect," Michael said, "I'm using your methods. This interview approach doesn't seem to be very effective."
"I agree," said Lee. "I think we need to go in a new direction. I want to be upfront: we plan to contact our Ozumi client representative. To discuss our options."
Even though this was no surprise, Michael felt a stab of panic. "That's your prerogative," he said. "But in an hour I'm heading out to spend time with three of your employees. No one is going to say much to their bosses' face, but in a casual environment, during holiday celebrations?" Michael spread his hands. "They'll let down their guard."
Lee looked skeptical. "And if those three don't know anything?"
"Milq is performing at the Float tonight. We'll stop by and see what shakes loose."
"Let's hope something does," Lee said, not unkindly. "Milq sent us complimentary tickets to the VIP seats. I don't want to have to t
ell him that we still haven't resolved our issue."
Michael met Lee's gaze squarely. He didn't have trouble communicating with faces, only recognizing them. "It'll be resolved."
****
Emerging from the Chinatown MRT metro station into Pagoda Street on Hafizah's heels, Michael's first impression of the Chinese New Year street markets was of red. Red tasseled lanterns strung overhead between the pastel shutters of colonial-era shophouses. Red paper cuttings of lucky characters and spring greetings. Piles of red-and-gold ang bao packets for gifting new dollar bills to friends and children. Even the bright green pomelos hung in red netting from stall rafters.
Crowds packed the corridor between the stalls, moving in turbulent jerks. The smell and smoke of barbequed meat filled the air, rising from the sheets of bakkwa sizzling on stall grills. Music chimed gōng xǐ gong xǐ gōng xǐ nǐ from hidden speakers, punctuating the dull roar of human voices. Michael's Façade scope spun wildly from face to face, flashing IDs too fast for him to read.
He tapped his fingertip against his palm to increase the latency of the scope and dial down its sensitivity. The scope readouts slowed, clearing his vision. He'd fallen behind the others, but could see Hafizah's headscarf—white, not red, thankfully—bobbing through the crowd just ahead. He dodged past a cluster of schoolgirls and rejoined Alex, Hafizah, and Xiùlán at a display of stuffed zodiac animals.
Alex picked a shiny, spiky ball off a hook on the rack. As Michael watched, the ball uncurled. Triangular facets rotated and clicked, and the ball reformed into a tiny dragon. It crawled up over Alex's hand to his arm and stretched fluttering wings.
"Aluminum nanopaper." Alex brushed a finger over the dragon's back, and it snapped at him with needle-thin teeth. "Year of the Metal Dragon."
"The centerpiece at New Bridge and Eu Tong Sen is similar, but made of steel," said Hafizah. To Michael she explained, "Students from SUTD design a light-up centerpiece of the zodiac animal. Their Metal Dragon is ten meters tall, made of steel nanoblocs."
"Like the big brother of this guy." Michael nodded to the tiny nanopaper dragon.
"Very big brother," Xiùlán said dryly, and they all chuckled.
"You want bigger nanodragons?" The stall vendor popped her head around the display. "Come this way." She waved them over to a plastic playpen. Inside, ten-inch long dragons prowled back and forth, their tiny claws clicking.
Michael admired the snaky undulation of the dragons' metallic scales. Sam had gone through a dragon obsession. He wondered if the vendor offered international shipping for nanodragons. Or should he send home Sam's zodiac animal? "What year was 2051?"
"Metal goat!" answered the vendor. "You want a goat?" With a deft twist, she snagged a nanodragon and flipped it upside down, revealing a chip on its underbelly. The dragon squirmed as the vendor pulled a laser pointer from her pocket and clicked it at the chip. The dragon disintegrated into a flurry of metal shards. The shards spun up again into a twister and reformed into a goat.
The vendor set the nanogoat into the pen. It shied back from the dragons, tossing its horns and stamping its cloven feet. "Transformer," the vendor explained. "You can load the algorithms for any animal, any shape."
"Any shape?" Michael pursed his lips. Sam would definitely prefer a dragon to a goat, even a metal goat. "Do you ship internationally?"
"Yes, place an order here and our online store ships." The vendor cocked her head and studied Michael. "Rénzào rén, yes?"
Michael blinked. "Pardon?"
The vendor beckoned him. "I have LAG modules for rénzào rén." Michael's translation app kicked in belatedly, captioning the word as man-made man.
Seeing his frown, Xiùlán leaned in and murmured, "She recognize the chassis." She indicated his body.
"Ah." Michael rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "What's an LAG module?"
"It sounds familiar," Hafizah said, "but I don't remember why."
They trailed after the vendor to a glass display case near the back of the stall. The case held thin silver rods that looked like smaller versions of a neuroprinter spindle. The vendor gestured to the far left. "Math modules, yes? Good for arithmetic." Another section of spindles. "Reading and writing skills. This one? Speech writing. Popular with parliamentary aides. Here? Poetry. Helps with the metaphors."
Michael fought the urge to step back. "These are neuromodules?"
The vendor bobbed her head. "Enhancements."
"What about languages?" Hafizah asked.
The vendor shook her head. "Languages are not LAG. Not centralized, the brain architecture is different for bilingual, multilingual, secondary language. Too dangerous."
LAG had to stand for left angular gyrus, Michael realized. The world had changed a lot in four years, if street vendors were neuroscientists now. He pointed to the spindles. "These aren't dangerous?"
The vendor shrugged. "SSF have lots of free space."
"I know where I heard of these." Hafizah leaned across Michael's shoulder. "The school board banned chassis in class because students would send in an enhanced SSF to take their tests."
"I'm not an SSF," Michael told the vendor. "I'm an Ozumi image."
"Ozumi?" The vendor's eyes widened. "Even better! Permanent enhancement!"
"Permanent brain damage, more like," Alex muttered.
Michael agreed. He couldn't reconcile the idea of plugging a neuroprinter bought off the street into his only brain image. But he couldn't help wondering: if they had an angular gyrus module, could they program a fusiform gyrus module? Overwrite the abnormalities and eradicate his prosopagnosia?
A buzzing sound in his ear alerted him to an incoming call. The notification scrolled across his contact lens: Anna Chen.
"Excuse me, I should take this call." He stepped away, leaving his three companions to argue over the LAG modules, and activated the call as voice-only. "Anna, hello."
A pause. "Where are you, Cienega? I can barely hear you."
"Chinatown street market. I'm hanging out with three CelebriSee employees, getting the inside scoop." Except they'd been talking about nanodragons and neuroimages, not CelebriSee. He pushed down guilt. "Did you find out anything from the resource selection?"
"I can't figure it out," Anna admitted. "Renner has more matches for localization. He lived in Singapore for a few years before contracting with Ozumi, so he's proficient in Mandarin and knows a smattering of Malay. Your technological skills far surpass his, of course, but the order generated more social engineering than technical requirements." She hesitated. "Lee sent me an email about discussing our options."
"Did he." Michael felt a surge of anger. "He was on board with my plan when I talked to him."
"I guess he had second thoughts." Anna hesitated. "Cienega, look, I don't want to do this to you, but we have to consider a recall."
"I have it under control. Milq is performing here at Marina Bay tonight. Something will break."
"And if the clients don't want to wait that long?"
"Too bad. Make them wait."
Anna's silence was faintly disapproving.
Michael softened his voice. "Anna, if I'm recalled, it might be another four years before I see my kid again. Sam will be thirteen. A teenager." His voice choked in his throat, and he coughed to clear it. "Give me a chance. Stall the Ngô twins."
Anna sighed. "I'll try. I can get you tonight. I can't promise tomorrow."
"That, no one can." Michael ended the call. Noise from the street market rushed back in. The New Year song, on infinite loop, had returned to the chorus:Gōng xǐ gong xǐ gōng xǐ ni ya, gōng xǐ gong xǐ gōng xǐ ni.
****
The Milq performance was scheduled after sunset on the Floating Platform. Xiùlán, Hafizah, and Alex wanted to get good spots to watch the Chingay parade, so they descended back down into the MRT to head to the waterfront. The volume of people on the MRT had doubled; Michael found himself squashed up with someone's elbow in the small of his back, someone's hair brushing his chin. He f
ound himself wishing he could deintegrate brain from body at will, retreat from the physical sensation of the chassis.
When the door slid open at Promenade, Michael flushed out with the crowd onto the platform. He had a moment of vertigo when he realized he'd lost his companions. So many faces, indistinguishable, in the mass of people. He dialed up the Façade app's sensitivity, but the scope was unhelpful, picking up the corner of an eye, the shape of a nose, pinging false positives.
"Are you okay, Michael?" Xiùlán's voice came from the woman in front of him.
He blinked. Had she been in front of him the whole time? "Uh, yes. Just…a lot of people."
"Yes, crowded. Don't get lost." Xiùlán linked arms with him and moved toward the exit. Gratefully, Michael fell into step.
Damp heat and the salty smell of the marina struck him when they emerged into open air. The crowd thinned slightly, enough for Alex and Hafizah to rejoin them. "Think of the business applications," Hafizah was saying.
"We're discussing language learning neuromodules," Alex explained.
"Aren't Singaporeans already bilingual?" Michael asked as they walked towards Raffles Avenue. "Don't you know English in addition to your native language?"
"Sure," Hafizah said. "I'm fluent in Malay and English, Alex in Mandarin and English. But that only works if you're doing business with English-speaking countries. Xiùlán emigrated from Hong Kong and didn't know any English till she got here."
"Two years ago." Xiùlán held up two fingers. "Two years I learn English."
Michael blinked. "Wow. That's impressive."
The Chingay Parade barricades came in sight, dotted with clusters of spectators. They found a gap wide enough for Hafizah and Xiùlán to squeeze up against the rails and the taller Michael and Alex to hover over their shoulders. Even as they settled into place, more spectators crowded up behind them.
"What about the Ngô twins?" Michael had to raise his voice slightly over the noise of the crowd. "Not bilingual in Mandarin, I'm guessing."
"Vietnamese and English," Alex said. "They took Mandarin at university, but aren't fluent."
"Gina seems to think she is," Michael said, and was rewarded by sudden grins from Alex and Xiùlán.
Grantville Gazette, Volume 68 Page 18
