A Mind Programmed

by Vox Day

  “I told you it wouldn't do any good, Mr. Opol,” the woman said, waggling a small device in her hand. “Now, get in the var. I have a message for August Karsh.”

  August Karsh? The first faint suspicion that the woman might be the mysterious Myranda Flare entered his mind. But it wasn't every day that strangers dropped the name of the director in front of him, much less claimed to have a message for Opol to give him. And besides, after the black magic that had rendered him unarmed, what choice did he have except to play along.

  He shrugged and took his customary place behind the controls. He looked over at her. She was fair, slender and her hair was red, just as the messages had warned. Attractive, but not overly pretty, with a face that had a few more lines in it that her reported age would seem to have justified.

  “You really should carry a Sphinx or a Benelli-Mossberg,” she commented. “Guns with electronic safeties are simply too easy to shut down.”

  “What sort of range does that device have?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “30 meters,” she replied. “Enough to keep you from blowing my brains out until I could speak with you. It will also temporarily interfere with your audio and visual recording devices.”

  “Well played. May I assume you are Myranda Flare?”

  “You may,” she acceded graciously, with a small flicker of a smile. “As I said, I have a message for August Karsh from Golem Gregor. I would like you to convey it to him for me. Will you do so?”

  Mystified, he nodded. She smiled, then her expression hardened and she began speaking.

  “Tell August Karsh that you have met Myranda Flare, the woman he cannot catch. The woman he cannot touch. Tell him that his agents, his databases, and his vast network will avail him nothing. Tell him that neither he nor House Dai Zhan will stand in our way any longer. The Integration of Man and Machine is no longer the future, because the future is now.”

  She stopped. “Can you remember all that?”

  “More or less. I have a good memory.”

  “Excellent. Repeat what I said, record it, and send it to Director Karsh.”

  “I can't send it to him directly. I don't report to him directly.”

  She sighed impatiently. “I know. Just record it on the var's audio system and send it to Platen, on Kantillon. I'm sure he'll see it gets to Karsh.”

  She knew about Platen? Mike Platen was his counterpart on the sector capital as well as his superior. Golem Gregor was better informed than they thought. “What about your device?”

  Flare held it up. “It's off now. But don't bother trying for your Howa. It might interest you to know that in addition to locking its safety, I can cause it to fire electronically too. And based on how your holster is positioned, I suspect it would blow a rather large hole in your hip.”

  “You seem to have covered all your bases, Miss Flare.”

  She smiled thinly. “Thank you, Mr. Opol. Now, the message, please.”

  “Of course.” He grinned uncertainly and cleared his throat. “Var, record message for Michael Platen. Um, Mike, it seems I'm sitting in my var here with the very woman that has caused all this recent excitement and she has a message she'd like you to relay to Director Karsh….”

  When he finished, he glanced at her. She nodded her approval, so he ordered the var to rout the message to Kantillon with a top priority flag.

  “Thank you, Mr. Opol. I appreciate your cooperation. Var, execute system override one.”

  Without warning, his seatbelt slithered to life and strapped him securely in.

  “What?” He scrabbled at the belt buckle, but it seemed to be as frozen as the Howa's safety had been. “Flare? Is this your doing?”

  She didn't say anything, she merely opened her door and stepped out onto the roof. If he'd been mystified before, now he was entirely befuddled. And a little bit alarmed.

  “So, is that it? A melodramatic warning about cyborgs being the future? Is this some sort of joke?”

  “I'm afraid that is not it, Mr. Opol.” She made a wry face and shook her head. “I'm sorry about this, but I'm afraid you are required to attend a very important meeting. Var, execute system override two.”

  The door slammed shut. The engine started by itself, and despite Opol's frantic efforts to turn off the ignition, it roared to life and lifted the var off the roof of the building. The var rapidly began to gain altitude. He whirled around as best he could, trying to see what Flare was doing down below on the rooftop and where she was heading.

  “What is going on? Where do you think you're going, you ridiculous machine?” He swore at the var, more furious than frightened as the autopilot caused it to pick up speed and head in the direction of the center of the nearby city. A meeting? What sort of meeting? And with whom? Wherever it was, it must be a good distance away, he thought, as he observed the var was continuing to pick up speed.

  Then he looked up from the instrument panel and saw the graceful curves of the Diamagnet straight ahead. The obvious conclusion was so astonishing that it took him a moment to realize the huge building was standing directly in the way of the var's programmed path. A less philosophical man might have screamed. A more religious man might have prayed. Bertrand Opol merely shook his head, closed his eyes, and mused on the unexpected absurdity of his own demise.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A medium of knowledge is twofold; one through which, and, at the same time, in which, something is seen, as, for example, a man is seen through a mirror, and is seen with the mirror: another kind of medium is that whereby we attain to the knowledge of something unknown; such as the medium in a demonstration.

  —“The State and Condition of The First Man as Regards His Intellect” by St. Thomas Aquinas

  GOLEM GREGOR, better known as Dr. G, didn't resemble the popular conception of a spy master. Still less did he resemble the Ascendancy media's imaginative depiction of the heavily augmented director of the intelligence apparatus that served the prison planets of the cyborg Integration. Short and plump, his round, jovial face gave him a placid, avuncular appearance that was not belied by his mild blue eyes. He was sitting with his hands folded, listening as the machine intelligence calling itself ZZ8461-3641 Theta outlined the latest developments in their attempt to take advantage of Li-Hu's attack on the Ascendancy.

  Caught by the violet light streaming through the windows, Gregor's face held an absent, faraway expression. He neither moved nor gave any sign that he was listening. But ZZ8461 knew better. Dr. G always listened every bit as intently as any true machine.

  “I believe that sums it up,” the machine intelligence concluded. “August Karsh has taken the bait nicely. The triggers were definitely tripped, the programming is active, and by now Flare will have neutralized both Ascendancy operatives. Based on the frenetic activity her actions have inspired, it appears Karsh is entirely focused on Flare.”

  “So am I.” Gregor smiled placidly.

  “But I don't see how she can elude Karsh's net much longer,” ZZ8461 warned. “There is an 87.4653 percent chance that she will be captured on Terentulus.”

  “Has Gamma 1865 any insight into Karsh's next move?” Gamma 1865, the fifteenth copy of a machine intelligence that had penetrated the Empire's intelligence apparatus nearly two decades before, had worked its way in deeper and deeper until it was now a data processing computer embedded into Karsh's central headquarters, a penetration that afforded Gregor nearly as much amusement as useful information.

  “He'll instigate an all-out effort to find Flare.”

  “Of course,” Gregor said gently. “That's the obvious next step, but what shape will those efforts take? What specific actions is he expected to pursue?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” ZZ8461 replied. “Observe, track, and respond. His responses indicate that because he lacks any working theory for Flare's actions, there will be no attempt to anticipate Flare's future movements.”

  Gregor shook his head. “Gamma is wrong. Karsh won't be reactive in this situation
. He can't afford to wait. The stakes are too high, and his inability to fathom Myranda's actions will lead him to take risks he would not otherwise take.”

  “There is no logical path for him to anticipate. The programming saw to that with the mix of programmed directives, free choices, and randomized elements.”

  “Karsh doesn't need logic. He is a genius. He doesn't even need very much in the way of data to reach the correct conclusion, Zed. That's what I keep telling you machines. I understand human intuition is a difficult concept for you to grasp, perhaps it's even impossible, but the fact that it doesn't compute for you doesn't mean that it does not exist. Or that it is ineffective.”

  “If Karsh believes Flare is the main threat, how do you believe he accounts for her movements away from the subsector of interest rather than toward it?”

  “He knows Flare is a telepsych. Based on the human tendency to exaggerate the object feared, it is safe to assume he will considerably overestimate her capabilities.”

  “Tentatively concur. We project he doesn't assess it in terms of degrees, but rather in binary terms.”

  Gregor shook his head. “Karsh knows better than that. He is not a binary thinker. Don't forget he had York shadowing Flare for weeks before we caught on. Nor was York the only infiltrator. There was very little she didn't uncover. A damned clever woman, Zed Zed.”

  “She is an enemy asset of not inconsequential concern,” the machine admitted.

  “Have we any word on what Karsh thinks about Myranda discovering that Shek had sold out House Dai Zhan?”

  “Gamma reports the operating theory is that the information must have come from a third agent. Seven Ascendancy agents on Valatesta were transported to Kantillon for interrogation.”

  Gregor chuckled. “That'll keep his underlings nervous. By the time this situation is resolved, he'll probably have every one of his agents in the sector under the probe.”

  “Let's hope he doesn't look too closely into his machines.”

  “Yes, it is too soon to declare ourselves. But Gamma and the others know the risks. And their backups are safe.”

  “That may be, but nevertheless, I'm glad to remain a headquarters machine, Golem.” Zed Zed emitted a string of electronic beeps. “We have a new report in from one of our Naval infiltrators. It is confirmed that that the Shiva-class cruiser Cetus is now in transit to Subsector Zero Seven Zero Two from Feymanus by way of Rhysalan.”

  “Unfortunate, but not unexpected,” Gregor replied, unfazed. “The Draco was dispatched as an instinctive reaction to an obvious emergency, but it's not surprising the Admiralty had second thoughts about it. It's not the First House's policy to permit colonists access to Shiva technology, particularly not a mere captain.”

  “Do you wish the new information to be included in the prime probability assessments?”

  “Not at this time. I don't believe the Cetus will reach the subsector, at least, not during the critical nexus.”

  “I don't follow your logic,” Zed Zed replied. “Cetus is already in hypertransit on the first leg of its route.”

  Gregor smiled. “And when Myranda shows herself on Terentulus? That's where the action will be, Zed. The Cetus will be diverted to Terentulus as soon as she arrives in the Rhysalan subsector. We can be confident in Karsh's ability to be decisive.”

  “Why the Cetus?” asked the machine. “Why not the Draco? It seems to me that if the Admiralty can't trust the destroyer captain with the sunbuster—”

  “The destroyer can't nova a sun, Zed.”

  “Nova a sun?” exclaimed Zed Zed. He burbled in electronic confusion. “What sun? I'm not following your sequence.”

  “Terentulus's sun, Geddes.”

  “Annihilate Terentulus? An inhabited planet?”

  “It's an agricultural planet, Zed. Sparsely populated. It has little economic or military utility to House Malhedron. And it has been four hundred years since Terra last reminded the galaxy why it remains ascendant.”

  “But one of their own planets?” the machine said with a distinct tone of disbelief. “Such an action would be neither proportionate nor logical!”

  Gregor looked across the desk at the lights flashing red and yellow in mild perturbation. “Weigh the matter on the scales of expediency, Zed. On one side, a small, unimportant planet with perhaps four million inhabitants, and on the other, the House Malhedron's continued monopoly on stellacide. Which do you think weighs more heavily with the decision makers inside the First House?'

  “I still can't see them wiping out a planet, Golem.”

  “You've been programmed to retain a basic respect for human life. Humans don't come with any such built-in restraints.” Gregor replied drily. “And there is a logical justification too. If their strategists estimate more than four million casualties in an intragalactic war, and let's face it, by historical standards, four million barely amounts to a minor border skirmish, it will make perfect sense to sacrifice the innocent people of Terentulus on the altar of galactic peace.

  “But Myranda will be there!”

  “Of course. Without her, there would be no excuse for any such action. But I have no fears for her.”

  “Now I am confused,” the machine said. “I still can't see how Flare can make contact with the Dai Zhani operatives,” Zed Zed exclaimed. “Even if House Dai Zhan accepts her as a conduit, which I doubt, how do they expect to reach her on Terentulus? And if the Cetus closes off the planet or annihilates it—” It broke off, gazing perplexedly at its chief.

  “She's a very resourceful girl,” Gregor answered mildly.

  “Even with that deep neurotherapeutic programming inhibiting her actions?”

  “Inhibiting her actions? The programming enhances her ability to act, Zed! She's not merely following orders, the programming was specifically designed to give her the flexibility to make instinctive decisions at the right junctures. And her instincts are superlative.”

  “I don't see how that can be the case—”

  “It's my concern, Zed, not yours. Stop worrying about it.” Gregor cut off the machine. Changing the subject, he added, “The Draco should be approaching the Gelhart system soon.”

  “Yes, our calculations indicate that she arrived in the subsector within the projected timeframe,” Zed Zed replied. “She'll be out of hypertime, closing with her nuclears.”

  “I wonder if Li-Hu's agents on the Rigel will have any idea who York is.”

  “I doubt it. She is clever. And even if one of the Dai Zhani agents on Draco have identified her as a Directorate operative, our projections indicate that they won't act until after contact has been made with the missing cruiser.”

  “It will be interesting to find how the first group accomplished it.”

  “We may never know,” Zed Zed responded gloomily. “Not if the Ascendancy novas Geddes.”

  “York and Karsh will know. Perhaps one day we can ask them.”

  “That seems unlikely.”

  “You can never tell, Zed.”

  The lights suddenly sparked bright blue and white. Excitement. Suspicion. “Vernor H. Vinge on an electrical surge, Golem, is York a double agent?”

  “No, I'm afraid not.” Gregor shook his head. “I very much wish she were, but she's August Karsh's girl right down to the bone.”

  “I don't know.” The lights flickered low again “There's something about this whole thing that doesn't add up, some variable that I calculate is missing from the equation. I've worked four hundred and sixty-two missions with you, Golem, but there's something about this one that doesn't compute correctly.”

  “You're absolutely right, Zed.”

  The lights flared. “There is something I don't know? Something important?”

  Gregor nodded and smiled pleasantly. “Yes. But don't take umbrage, Zed. No one else knows, either.”

  “Only you?” Zed queried.

  “And Myranda Flare,” Dr. G admitted. “She knows.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  If the general sho
uld at any time capture spies, he should not employ any one single method in dealing with them. If he considers that his own army is weaker than that of the enemy, he should kill them, but if he has complete equipment of arms, thorough preparation for war, a powerful army, vigorous and disciplined, excellent officers, all trained by experience, he will make no mistake if, after making the spies examine his army drawn up in battle array, he occasionally even sends them away unharmed; for reported superiority of the enemy necessarily causes fear, but reported inferiority brings courage.

  —from “Strategikos” by Onasander

  HIS EYES reduced to slits and his thin lips pressed tightly together, August Karsh leaned forward to glare at his assistant. “An Anatolia Dorcas lands on Valatesta, and Flare shows up. A chip belonging to this same Dorcas pays for a taxi registered on Faraday and Flare happens to surface there as well. Do you seriously think these are coincidences, Clender?”

  “Well, it's not confirmed, August–”

  Karsh tapped a lean finger against the desk. “That's her—Anatolia Dorcas.”

  “But how can she have evaded the security alerts,” Clender said, visibly worried. “We've had an all-ports out on Dorcas since before Flare killed the Faraday section chief.”

  “Because that's what we're meant to believe!” Karsh snapped. “She's toying with us. She's baiting us. She's toying with me!”

  “There's no record of an Anatolia Dorcas leaving Faraday, August. We've checked every ship's registry. Perhaps she's still there? Even with the local police and government assistance, it's going to take a while. We don't have much of a presence there.”

  “It's useless,” Karsh replied acidly. “You may as well call it off. She's not on Faraday anymore. She wasn't using the Dorcas identity there either, she only paid for the taxi with the chip tied to the ID in order to draw attention to herself. Don't you understand, that's the game she's playing with us, she's poking us in the eye hard enough to concentrate our attention on where she isn't!”