“For a coup of this kind,” Cronos said, “with so much at stake… Well, I can hardly fault the man’s strategic reasoning any more than I can fault yours.”
“Enough, Cronos,” Jane said. “You’re giving me indigestion.”
“I’m afraid this conversation got entirely off topic,” Cronos confessed. “I was really just trying to drive a wedge between you and Michael with refusing to let sleeping dogs lie with Gunther.”
“Well, you succeeded, if that makes you feel any better,” Michael said. “I don’t much like hearing that I’m not just second fiddle, I can’t even get into the same band as that guy.”
“My love for you is different entirely, Michael,” Jane said.
“I’m sure it is,” he replied bitterly. “Specimen number one isn’t your champion, he’s your pet. You love me like you love a dog.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I may have had a hand in molding you, but if I could have taken all of the credit, then I’d be looking to fall in love with myself, which I’m not. You did most of the work, Michael, which is why I’m so proud of you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not your pet, I’m your child. Well, at least it’s a promotion.”
“I see that went better than expected,” Cronos mumbled, burying his face in his coffee mug.
One of the Chinese assassins made it past the weakening shield whose intensity was diminishing as the nano started detoxing in the waning of their favorite drug, love. Cronos reacted faster than either of the two stunned paramours, still dazed by the blows they’d delivered to one another. He lifted his “staff” and skewered the charging attacker. To the surprised and dying man, he said, “Can’t you see they’re trying to have a moment here? Some people, I tell you.” The assassin’s body remained angled over the fire. His clothes quickly went up in flames, his body still waiting to hit the temperature threshold that would cause it to burn or melt. Jane and Michael stared at the body unable to feel anything for him as the absentminded looks belied what truly occupied their minds—the latest misstep with one another. This was one more totally inappropriate reaction to death and dying to add to the list of their growingly questionable humanity in the face of all this super-evolving. Once again the Nano Man threatened to eclipse the human.
“Why?” Michael said, turning to Cronos. “Why pick now to come between us when the only outcome is rubbing us out?”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Michael,” Cronos said, setting down his cup. “You’ll be just fine. You might have to work a little harder to stay alive, but better that than having to contend with a virtual god. I have to admit, I’m very much going against character right now. It has always been my position to prop up my adversaries as much as possible before coming at them, sort of fattening up the turkey before the slaughter.”
“Coming at us?” Michael said, that sick feeling he’d gotten when he first met Cronos resurfacing.
“I’m David and you’re Goliath, the both of you. I live for this particular drama. I think I said as much earlier, if not in so many words. I thought you in particular, Michael, could use a little cuing, being the one who is decidedly not the strategic thinker. But I doubt even Jane saw this one coming.”
“No I didn’t,” she said.
“Well, it’s all academic for now, anyway. First we have to live through this appalling situation of the Chinese super-strike. And correct me if I’m wrong, Finelli, but isn’t there yet another wave after that?” Cronos sighed. “And me tired of this particular drama already. Maybe you two have nothing to worry about. I may well die of boredom before I get a chance to come after either of you.”
“Well, thanks for distracting me from the pain of falling out of love with Jane yet again with my seething anger towards you,” he said.
“Don’t mention it. It was the least I could do under the circumstances.”
“Come on,” Michael said, grabbing Jane’s hand. “We have pawns to remove on this chessboard before going after the queen back there.” He threw a glance back at Cronos.
“If that’s any suggestion I hold homoerotic desires towards you, Michael, I assure you that’s not the case. Besides, I fancy myself more the knight on this chessboard. The black queen has yet to be determined. Though, Gunther gets my vote.”
THIRTY-ONE
Gunther rolled off of Laptos. He never tired of contrasting his own lithe, sculpted naked body with just three percent body fat—the standard for competitive bodybuilders—against Laptos’s muscular frame, which bordered on being thick enough for actual competitive body building. They were both bronzed gods by anyone’s reckoning. He traced his finger along Laptos’s contours. “I love how you worship me. I live to be the subject of adoration,” Laptos said.
Gunther couldn’t help but smile. Laptos’s self-evolving algorithms had developed quite the penchant for humor, something that was exceedingly difficult for robots, and the final straw in Gunther’s bid to take over the world. It was a singular piece of proof that he was more than ready. Gunther leapt off the bed. He needed a shower. They’d worked up quite a sweat, and while Laptos’s sweat was antiseptic, his wasn’t.
At least a robot lover had gotten Gunther past the twinge factor of contemplating penetration into Laptos’s body with his tongue, far less his phallus, and vice versa. He shivered just thinking about what that would mean with a real human body, the exposure to countless bacteria and viruses and, even absent that, human excreta… dear God. If he was going to leave an heir, it would be one he’d make, not one he’d inseminate. Even the thought of artificial insemination made him twinge; that would just mean a real son or daughter he’d have to touch and hold… No, robots were the only way out of his personal hell. Now they would be the only way out of everybody’s hell. They would hail him as the second coming once they realized all he and his robots could do for them.
He stepped into the shower knowing that Laptos would see to sanitizing the bedroom while he was in the master bathroom, and to procuring his power drink in the kitchen thereafter. The thought of his own hands touching food and imparting his own bacteria to it, to intermingle with whatever bacteria was already on the food, the countless species of bacterium intermingling, crossbreeding, and possibly creating something that could do him in, sent another shiver up his spine.
A half hour later he joined Laptos at the breakfast table. Laptos wouldn’t partake because he knew it made Gunther uncomfortable. He could eat and drink like normal people, and his stomach would ensure complete atomization of all contents. Nothing would make it any further along his alimentary canal, other than his quietly passing wind. His farts were programmed by the rest of his alimentary tract to smell like any number of household fresheners without any of the cloying artificial scents.
“How do you survive out there in the real world?” Laptos asked. “It never fails to amaze me you can even make it beyond the door of this hermitically sealed apartment.”
Gunther took a deep breath and let it out. He didn’t mind Laptos’s weak attempt to give him some distance on himself. It was part of his programming to help Gunther evolve within limits, by pointing out his more annoying attributes. It also made the relationship that much more real. “It’s not terribly different than an actor taking on a role when walking on stage. That alter allows me to function. And the hot shower at the end of the evening allows me to wash him off me. As to scrubbing my mind, I don’t sleep anymore. I rather meditate to sanitize my mind; far more effective than dreams.”
“I had wondered what was behind the not sleeping. Always assumed you worked twenty-four-seven in your bid to take over the world.”
“That is also true. Insight meditation for four hours a day allows me to capitalize on intuitions I couldn’t otherwise from the beta state in which rational thinking takes place. Show me someone who wants to take over the world, and I’ll show you a common man. Show me someone who can actually do it, and I’ll show you someone who’s mastered his mind.”
“I’m not sure I’d say ‘mas
tered’.”
It was a clever retort and dig in one, Gunther thought. There was no doubt of late Laptos had reached a new level with his companionship algorithms. They would soon be fighting and carrying on like real couples, perhaps even going through trial separations. It was all grist for the mill. Just part of the simulations Gunther was running with him to ensure everything went okay out there in the real world with his robots.
After finishing breakfast in the nude, as per their ritual, Gunther stepped up to the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse suite overlooking the city just before dawn, still lit up. By night, the metropolis was a vast cave of jewels, by day, a sordid soup of scheming, suffering, grime and soot.
A short while later, Gunther started donning his costume and getting ready to step into the real world, without all the filtering. This was the most trying part of his day. It often took him a good hour or so to get into character in front of the mirror, to psych himself up enough. Even after all this time. The generic “successful man of the world in a finely pressed suit” was, in his case, the ultimate in one-of-a-kind craftsmanship.
***
Gunther’s helicopter, taking him straight from the roof of his penthouse to his New Silicon corporate headquarters at the outskirts of his home city of Chicago, arrived without incident. The business district, in which New Silicon was ensconced, with its college campus atmosphere, like his home address, had been selected because both did as much to keep the ugliness of the world away from him as was earthly possible.
Someone with Gunther’s nature would undoubtedly do far better as virtual life in the digital realm, where germs could never get to him. But then he would be the created, not the creator. He would have no chance of playing God in such a world, except of course as a simulated illusion. His earlier psychotic breaks with reality had left him fearing living out his entire life in this mode. So virtual reality was out for him.
Time would be his real salvation. In time, nanobots would come into their own, infesting every pore of the biosphere, and ensuring that no microbes that belonged in the soil or on other forms of living matter ever migrated to him.
He glanced at his watch, realized he was late because it had taken him longer to get into character today than usual. There would be no time to check in at his office. He signaled the pilot to land them on the roof of VouchSafe instead, an affiliate enterprise, just a few buildings over in the same corporate park.
The instant the helicopter’s rails were on the tarmac, he made his way across the roof of VouchSafe, noting the ever-present security cameras. The cameras adorning the building on all sides and all levels, kept the need for more obvious security forces to a minimum, and thus the company’s mission here somewhat incognito. The minute anyone tried to stray onto the grounds, however, even before they got to the building, someone from the security team would be greeting them with more information on the trespasser than his mother had a right to know. The interloper would be politely but firmly redirected back to the perimeter of VouchSafe’s boundaries. New Silicon used the same setup; they all did.
Gunther entered the building and took the elevator down to reach those waiting for him. Once on the ground floor, he shook Bateman’s hand. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Nonsense. Just gave us more time to plot and scheme against you behind your back. Honestly, if you could have just given us another five minutes, we’d have had you out of business already.” Bateman’s jibe elicited nervous chuckles from the group gathered around him, all business leaders from around the world, all looking to buy in to whatever he was selling. Bateman continued his breezy tour of the factory now that Gunther was in tow with the rest of them. “After the president’s speech last night…”
“He’s not president yet,” said the Japanese exec who’d furnished the believable-face technology supplying Bateman’s assembly line. To his left was the Chinese exec who’d furnished the customizable human body types, also featured on the assembly line.
“There’s a very narrow corridor you have to walk down to become President, and a fixed set of gauntlets you have to get through,” Bateman explained. “We have people positioned at each of those staging areas. We’re confident he will be in office in time for our big kickoff. But it hardly matters, as we own and control the other candidate as well, including most of the senate and congress, and now that the marketing campaign has begun, the public mind trust.”
The various robots were hanging like pressed suits at a dry cleaner’s. The “ice hooks” supporting them by the necks. The computer arranged them, spitting them out neatly by sex and size and alleged “age” for easy comparison. The most noticeable stand out feature was that not only was each one entirely unique and human looking but they surpassed most humans in the looks department, as well as being decidedly smarter. Both were “problems” to be sorted out.
“Maybe we should tone it down a bit,” the English exec said eying the assembly line. “They’re all a little too perfect. Won’t that hurt with acceptance? People feel intimidated enough by the beleaguered economy and having to compete with folks in absolutely every job category that can not only do what they do better, but are willing to do it for half the wage and speak multiple languages to boot, on top of having one or more relevant advanced degrees.”
“Here at VouchSafe,” Bateman said without missing a beat, evidently having rehearsed all his responses to the most likely objections well in advance and catered them to his specific clientele, “we’re taking a different approach. We feel the more enviable they are, the sooner the human customers will want a robot body of their very own.”
“But we have to be able to deliver on that promise, no?” said the French exec with perfect English, his accent barely showing. Most of these guys had been schooled not just in English, but American English, down to the slang.
“With our recent acquisitions of the top scanning technology firms, and their latest breakthroughs to add to the lineup, we’re confident we’ll be able to do just that inside of another couple years. Plenty of time for these prototypes to create such envy the clamor to have a one-of-a-kind robo-suit all your own will be deafening.”
Even the Japanese and Chinese delegates had to gasp at the latest presentations. Hugh Jackman, Rob Lowe, Angelina Jolie, Leonardo DiCaprio, Nicole Kidman, and a host of other movie stars in their prime drifted by on hooks. Each opened their eyes on cue and said “Hello,” sounding just like the movie stars themselves. “Of course, not everyone will want one-of-a-kind bodies,” Bateman said, “you’ll find we’ve anticipated these needs as well.”
“Just what can these things do, exactly?” the Russian exec asked, his accent not so well hidden, but that may have been for political reasons.
“You want to field that one?” Bateman said, turning to the American chip manufacturer.
The American cleared his throat and said, “The customer is free to buy EQ and IQ along a rather elongated spectrum from an IQ of 150 up to 250 and beyond. The models featuring quantum computing are hard to put an IQ label on. Again they’re meant to be right-fitted to the tasks at hand. In some cases a DNA-matrix brain is adequate to the task, in others, superconducting gallium-arsenide chips. If the customer changes their minds, the brains can of course be swapped out without any loss of personality. Memories, experiences, everything that personalizes them transports platform to platform.”
“Maybe we should have some prototypes that look, you know, like robots?” the Hungarian said, his accent showing a little more than most. The remark solicited some chuckles from the Japanese and Chinese execs.
“You’re right, of course,” Bateman said. “Not everyone is ready for this right now. Some might be in a few months, many more in a few years. But some will never be ready for this. Follow me, please.” He led the group down the adjoining wing of the factory where robots were featured that no one could mistake for human. Gunther noticed a few of the execs relaxed immediately, most noticeably the Hungarian and Russian company heads, which made se
nse. Their constituencies hadn’t been bred to be quite so open-minded to nexgen ideas as Americans, whose manufacturers wanted very open-minded and very ready to adopt out-with-the-old-and-in-with-the-new thinking to keep the assembly lines of progress and profit moving. “The prototypes you see here,” Bateman said, “have been supplied by several subsidiary firms that we recently bought. It wasn’t worth our while to spend precious mind share on these primitive models. Though we feel there may well be profit to be made selling to children who fancy them over human babysitters during that time in their lives when their imaginations are a little more unencumbered by reality.”
Now that most of the objections were out of the way, the execs were jumping on their cell phones and conversing in their native languages, which Bateman could follow perfectly. Even talking over one another didn’t foil him, as he could sort out the various channels in his head effortlessly. They weren’t just speaking “in tongues,” of course, they were speaking in a shorthand meant to foil anyone trying to make sense of what they were saying, saving their unabridged thoughts for when they got home or their private plane flights abroad. It hardly mattered; Bateman could untangle most any cipher in real time. What’s more, he could read the EMF waves given off by their brains from this close to them, so he was getting the unexpressed ideas as well. And, of course, everything was being holographically recorded for playback so Gunther and the other powers that be could add their own assessments later.
Bateman shook the hands of the foreign execs and issued some parting remarks in their native languages. Careful, not too smooth, Gunther thought for Bateman’s benefit, realizing he could read his mind. Christ, the early models, it was all anyone could do to hide their imperfections. These later models, it was all he could do to hide just how ridiculously over the top they were with putting the smartest humans to shame. Gunther took a deep breath and sighed. Two steps forward, one step back.
Nano Man Page 28
