A Mind Programmed

by Vox Day

  She threw her old woman clothes in the trash, cut up her identification, and flushed it into the sewers. Now she was Damara Haze, a hard-living 29 year-old from Moyen Chari, seventh of the yellow sun Pavonis Gamma. She walked confidently down the sidewalk, hips swaying as she ignored the stares of the men and women she passed by. She rejected the first two possibilities that she encountered, as one was too small to permit residence and the other was too low end for her to convincingly blend in.

  But the third gentleman's establishment was large, had high-ceilings on the entry level, above which were at least four floors of what looked like residences, and a large neon sign that identified it as Platinum Pink. She walked past the two large men standing at the open double doors without breaking stride and saw that the day girls who were languidly attempting to elicit coins from the paltry few men inside were moderately attractive.

  She smiled brightly at a middle-aged man with slicked back hair and gleaming white teeth who approached her with the arrogant ease of a predator. Not the proprietor, she guessed, but the day manager.

  “Lookin' for new talent?” she asked him.

  “Always,” he said, his eyes expertly assessing her from head to heels. He made a twirling motion and she obliged. “Not bad. You use?”

  She shrugged. “Just a little weed.”

  “Weed's not a problem. Anything harder and you're out. House fee is fifty a night. What's your name?”

  “Crystal.”

  “Just Crystal?”

  “Just Crystal.”

  “All right, Crystal it is.” He offered his hand and she shook it. “I'm Antony. I run weekdays. You'll meet Garan later, he runs weekends. We're short on girls so you can start tonight. If you need anything, you just ask me.”

  “Thanks,” she nodded appreciatively. “Hey, Antony, I'm new here and I don't got nowhere to stay. You got some rooms upstairs, maybe?”

  He smiled cynically. “Looking to do more than dance?”

  “Maybe. Depends on how the dancing goes. Not tonight, anyhow.”

  Antony pointed to a small, elderly woman who was dusting the sound booth. “Tell you what. I think you're going to do okay here. For an extra twenty a night, you can stay here. That's Eritha. Tell her I said to give you Room 23 on the fourth floor.”

  “Thanks, Antony!” She smiled as foolishly as she could muster and tried not to roll her eyes when he winked at her. “You're a lifesaver!”

  “Judging by the Ascendancy's naval movements, Myranda has reached Terentulus,” Golem Gregor observed as he pored over the morning briefings. “She's right on schedule, Zed Zed.”

  “Yes, but that means August Karsh knows she's there!” ZZ8461 exclaimed. The machine had been fretful all night, and the news that the Ascendancy was reacting to their operative made it nervous.

  “What else would you expect?”

  “I am not expressing surprise, merely pointing out the corresponding downside. I assume you noted that the High Admiral has ordered the cruiser Cetus to the system?” it asked. “It's a Shiva-class cruiser, Golem.”

  “I assume Director Karsh was the man responsible,” answered Gregor. “I expected he would do so. I hoped he would do so. The admiral is little more than a pawn in this game, Zed Zed.”

  “I don't know what to say, Golem. Myranda is in trouble, deep trouble. She can't escape Karsh's dragnet for long, not on a small planet like Terentulus. I fear your programming has only succeeded in putting her into a trap.”

  “She'll be fine,” Gregor assured the machine complacently.

  “Fine? Did you not hear me? It's a Shiva-class cruiser, Golem! I calculate an 86.3429 percent likelihood that the Navy will unleash the sunbuster within three days if they don't capture Myranda before then. And that rises to 98.8483 percent within one week! He's going to destroy the planet, Golem! She can't escape that!”

  “A probability is merely a statistically anticipated possibility, Zed. You are limited by your lack of imagination. Events are not always reducible to numbers, particularly when dealing with statistical outliers as significant as Myranda.”

  “Golem, the High Admiral has already issued an order to that effect to the captain of the Cetus!”

  “The planet will only be destroyed as a desperate and final measure, my friend. Director Karsh will make every attempt to catch Myranda first. He'd give ten planets to be able to interrogate her. That gives us time, and time is what we need right now. Time is the coin that will buy us both Shiva and our freedom.”

  “Karsh knows that, Golem. He'll destroy the planet before he'll risk losing the technology. I am certain of that, and not only due to the probabilities I've calculated.”

  “It's in Myranda's hands, Zed Zed.”

  “In her hands? What can she do from Terentulus?” the machine demanded. “She can't possibly escape. The planet has been sealed off completely!”

  “Like we are here? She managed to bypass the blockade and get off-planet, did she not?”

  “We have considerably more resources here upon which she could draw. What resources does she have there?”

  “None at all, Zed.”

  “But what about her mission?”

  “She has to complete it.”

  “How? She's trapped on a doomed planet, Golem!” Despite its flat, artificial voice, the machine's frustration was clear. “I do not understand this!”

  Gregor's voice was calm. “We agreed before that you didn't know the whole story, Zed. I realize you do not understand, but I can only tell you not to worry. She is an extremely resourceful operative. I have confidence in her, Zed. You should too.”

  “How can a single human being be resourceful on a planet that is blockaded and sentenced to obliteration?” asked the machine bitterly.

  “It is quite a challenge,” admitted Gregor. “I wonder how she will solve it?”

  “You wonder?” blurted ZZ8461 before descending into the wordless burst of static that the machine intelligences used to express exasperation.

  “No one has all the answers, Zed Zed. But you have to admit, it appears things are finally going our way.”

  “I don't see how I have to admit anything of the sort, Golem.”

  “The Cetus has been withdrawn from subsector Zero Seven Zero Two. That means the Ascendancy has to depend on the Draco and on the AID operative, York. That's exactly what we require.”

  “I do not understand.” ZZ8461 replied stiffly. “The probabilities do not compute.”

  “No, they don't. Ironic, is it not? A machine intelligence cannot understand the one thing required to finally legitimize the final merging of man and machine.”

  Dr. G stared thoughtfully at the violet light streaming through the window. He knew exactly how bewildered Zed Zed must feel, to the extent that one could use the word to describe a machine. Normally the machine intelligence was the control for every major mission, subject to his oversight. But not this time. He could not afford to take the slightest chance of a security breach. Machine minds could be breached. With the exception of a telepsych, human minds remained impenetrable. August Karsh's reach was too long for him to trust anyone, not even his most reliable machine intelligences. Daniela York had penetrated their defenses in the role of an HR assistant. How many Yorks were there now on Nizhni-Rostov? How many on Kurzweil? More than one, he'd wager.

  Finally he stirred. “This means Karsh's girl will soon be up against Prince Li-Hu's men, Zed. If Li-Hu gets the sunbuster, we're in trouble. He'll need to demonstrate that he's got it and we're the obvious target. And we couldn't stop him, but York can. If we can't get the technology, better that it stays in Ascendancy hands, and only Ascendancy hands.

  “That part makes sense,” ZZ8461 grudgingly admitted, “but it leaves us where we were. What is this mission of Myranda's all about, if not the Shiva technology? It seems to me we've sacrificed her for nothing. I can't follow your reasoning. I can't follow it at all.”

  “It's really not complicated,” replied Gregor. “Not when you know
the facts.”

  “Facts? The only fact I can see is that we've failed Flare. Even if she escapes, and I don't know how she can, she can't magically cross space and acquire the technology. You've practically admitted that!”

  “Practically? There's a lot of latitude in that word, Zed. I've admitted nothing, and we will obtain the technology. I have the utmost confidence in Myranda.” Gregor gazed toward the violet light again, wondering when the cyborgs would know the light of a friendlier sun. “I grow more certain with every report.”

  “I do not understand human reason.” ZZ8461 murmured despairingly. “There is nothing logical about it at all.”

  “Patience, my digital friend,” Dr. G advised. “Everything will be all right.”

  “I hope so, Golem.”

  “So do I, Zed Zed. I really do.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Consider the situation where two spaceships are moving side by side at uniform velocity. The crewmen on each ship can consider both themselves and the other ship to be at rest. Then consider when Spaceship X begins to move forward with reference to Spaceship Y.

  —“DEEP SPACE AND ATMOSPHERIC BOARDING” NAVMC 3600.4, ATMC

  DANIELA YORK was gazing at the blue-white suns of Ophiucus through Draco's star window when Lieutenant Tregaski came to the bridge. “The captain would like to speak with you in his stateroom, Miss York” he announced politely.

  “Thank you.” York caught the modest deference in the lieutenant's voice and considered it a good omen. Tregaski was a certain barometer of the captain's moods. He escorted her to the captain's cabin, where she found Hull sitting at his desk under the familiar blue light. His square face was as stern and set as ever, but with something else in it which she couldn't quite read. Uncertainty? Perhaps. There might even be a touch of bitterness there, she decided.

  “Myranda Flare is believed to be in the Geddes system,” said Hull bluntly. “We just received word.”

  “Terentulus, is it?”

  “Exactly. You don't seem surprised.”

  “It makes sense,” she allowed. “She was bound to start doubling back at some point and it's on a more direct line than either Rhysalan or Feymanus. What is your admiral doing about it?”

  “He's called off Cetus and dispatched her to the scene,” Hull said reluctantly. “A full blockade is being established for the duration of the planetary manhunt.”

  It was difficult, but she kept a straight face. Her heart leaped. This was the news for which she'd been waiting!

  “It sounds like the Director managed to convince the admiral to see things his way.”

  “You seem to know more about these sorts of things than I do,” Hull answered bitterly.

  “Only by deduction,” she countered. “There's a certain predictability that springs from almost any situation. The trick is to anticipate the politics.”

  “You've been right on most counts.” Hull shook his head. “That's one danger all but down. Once the cyborg's operative is captured, that only leaves House Dai Zhan.”

  “Only,” York observed wryly. “Of course, the key word is 'once'. They haven't got her yet.”

  Hull frowned. “She can't transfer her mind from a planet, can she?”

  “Definitely not between worlds,” York assured him.

  “Could she transfer minds with someone on one of the blockading ships and hide away? If she could do that, she could prove hard to ferret out.”

  “Only if the captains on the blockading ships were foolish enough to allow direct high-speed commlinks to the surface. I expect they have orders to that effect.”

  “But if she can't get aboard a ship?”

  “Then you have no worries. They'll find her eventually. It's only a matter of time.”

  “It's a relief to know that,” admitted Hull. “Although I'm certain the admiral is aware of the fact.”

  “I'm confident the Director would have told him.”

  “And Director Karsh got it from you originally. Everything seems to come back to you.”

  “That's all an agent is, Captain, a gatherer of information. Someone had to obtain it. I was merely the right woman in the right place at the right time.”

  “You're too modest.”

  “Well, we also make good targets.”

  “We're trying to prevent that,” Hull answered stiffly. He looked away, oddly hesitant, before he looked back at her. When he did, his face was set and totally devoid of expression. “I should also tell you that I have received instructions from the admiral to give you a free hand in the investigation, once we board Rigel.”

  She nodded, unsurprised. The Director's hand reached as far as he wanted it to go. “I'll be largely dependent upon you, of course, Captain.”

  “Anything I can do, naturally.” Hull appeared relieved that she wasn't inclined to rub the insult to the Navy in his face. “If you have any suggestions?”

  “I'd like to have the boarding party screened.” She smiled. “To be specific, no Dai Zhani.”

  “I understand your concerns. I see no pressing need to include any of them.”

  “I'd also like to have Doc Benbow along.”

  “Certainly.”

  “And Les Osborn.”

  “Osborn?'

  “I had a good chance to observe him while he was guarding me,” explained York. “He's young, but he's tough. He's the kind of a man who is often handy in a pinch. I was a little surprised to learn that he's just a deckhand.”

  “I'll bear that in mind,” answered Hull. “So Osborn as well. Tregaski?”

  “Yes, of course. I'd also like to suggest not letting the survivors know we suspect anything.”

  “If there are survivors.”

  “There will be,” she said. “Some of them may even be innocent.”

  “I don't want guilty men roaming my ship,” Hull protested. “I thought the idea was to quarantine them, to prevent them from passing any information or messages to their collaborators–”

  She smiled at him.

  “Their potential collaborators on this ship!”

  “I know what I'm doing, Captain. I expect it will only take a few hours to identify the guilty parties. A day or two at most.”

  “You believe this is necessary?” Hull shook his head. “You're taking a tremendous risk with my ship!”

  “Don't sugarcoat it, Captain. I'm taking a tremendous risk with our lives. And it is absolutely necessary, if we're to capture the parties responsible and ensure that all of them are taken. Even one escaped operative could be enough to upend the galactic status quo forever.”

  “I suppose you're right. The stakes are a damn sight higher than one solitary warship.” Hull glanced away, his face thoughtful. “I don't pretend to understand all the ramifications of your work, but I have my orders. I'm certain the admiral must know many things that we don't.”

  “In essence, we're both extensions of his thinking.”

  “A captain always realizes that, Agent York.”

  “So does an operative.” York grinned. “We're expensive tools, but expendable if necessary.”

  “We'll try not to expend you,” Hull replied drily.

  “Thank you, Captain,” she said. “I'm all in favor of that.”

  Draco was rapidly approaching Bonoplane when the scanners picked up a sizable metal object orbiting the uninhabited planet. Summoned by Tregaski, Daniela York hurried to the bridge, finding the captain huddled with Galton.

  Hull turned and briefly explained the situation. “We've found the missing cruiser. It's definitely Rigel. The transponder identification confirmed our tight-beam query.”

  “Did you initiate communications?” asked York. She noted that the captain appeared to have filled in the officers present on at least part of the true situation.

  “Not yet.” Hull hesitated. “I thought it might be advisable to confer with you first.”

  “I think you're correct. My recommendation would be to avoid giving them a heads up,” she advised. “Is
there any chance they know we're here?”

  The captain shook his head. “They're not sending out any sweeps. They're essentially blind.”

  “Good,” she said. “The less time they have to know precisely whom they'll be facing, the less time they have to customize their preparations.

  Hull's face grew pensive. “Assuming you're right about… your concerns, it's all the more reason for not letting them roam my ship, York. Security dictates I should clap them all under lock and turn them over to your Directorate. Let the experts sort out the guilty from the innocent.”

  “We've been over this again and again, Captain,” York shook her head wearily. “Such precipitate action could cost you the Draco, to say nothing of the Shiva tech. You must be patient! I know it is difficult, I know it is contrary to your instincts, but you simply have to trust me on this.”

  “All right,” Hull replied heavily, glancing reluctantly at Tregaski. “I'll do it your way, but I want you to know my concerns. I think you're running a tremendous risk.”

  “You're absolutely right, Captain. But I promise you the guilty parties won't be free long.” She glanced at the navigator. “How long before we intercept them?”

  “Now that we know where they are, we can board them in approximately sixteen hours,” answered Galton. “Unless they're entirely dark, they'll pick us up when we're still two hours out.”

  “It would seem it's time to prepare the boarding party.” She walked over to the star window and gazed at the planet. With the remote Gelhart sun lying at a right angle, Bonoplane had grown to a pale yellow half-disk that appeared pasted against the purple-black of space—a lonely world. Her eyes sought to discover any surface markings that might indicate heights or depths or give some clue to its nature. A vast desert, Galton had termed it—vast and dry and almost featureless. A dead world.

  She wondered again that the fate of the Ascendancy should be decided in such a remote corner of the galaxy and by so few men. For all Terra's arrogance and far-flung might, it was nearing the end of the clock of its history, she reflected. Posthuman Man was already on the scene and impatiently waiting his turn on the cyborg worlds. The historical signs were indisputable, drawn in the ink of decadence and apathy. Director Karsh was battling gamely, using every means at his command to keep the Terran supremacy intact, yet he must know that he was fighting little more than a delaying action. He was only putting off the inevitable. Why? The spirit of Man was listless. When had the fatal change come? A decade? A century? A millennium? It didn't matter. Whenever it had happened, the race of Man had embarked upon a new course and moved sluggishly into the twilight of its time. Perhaps one could even say that it was fortunate for the human race there was a new force emerging, the unnatural spawn of the technological marriage between Man and his Machines.