Artificial Evolution

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “Wait,” he said. “You said she has a photogenic memory.”

  “Incorrect. I said she has a photographic memory. Though the data construct it produces when archived does have a certain aesthetic appeal when visualized.”

  “… Whatever. And you have a copy of her memory.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Squee has been in the room when Michella and I…”

  “Yes. I am aware.”

  Lex was silent for a few moments as he considered the ramifications of that fact. With a defeated sigh, he let it go. “Thanks for the call, Ma. I’ll try to get Squee to you in a few weeks. And, uh, if Michella asks, let’s just keep this photographic memory thing our little secret.”

  “I shall be discreet. I hope your fortune improves in the coming days.”

  “Me too. See you later.”

  The two hours were nearly up now, and knowing how eager folks like Julie tended to be when asked to tack on some extra time, he headed quickly to the daycare. He found her in the same state everyone eventually did if they hung around Squee long enough—with the black-and-white rascal laying across her shoulders. When Julie spotted Lex, she shot him another bright smile.

  “You weren’t kidding about her being a jumper, sir. I’ve never seen a dog with such a vertical leap. You should enter her in agility competitions.”

  “Nah, her obedience is sort of hit or miss.”

  “Well, she was a delight.” Julie carefully plucked Squee from her shoulders and handed her over the wall. The funk allowed herself to be passed without fuss. Having had her fill of socialization, she reverted to her more typical laid-back attitude. “And such beautiful markings! What kind of dog is she?”

  “She’s a mix,” he said, meaning it more literally than most.

  He tossed Julie a five-hundred-credit chip as a tip, clicked the leash on to Squee as a formality, and headed back to the ship. Just before he reached the nearest lift that would take him to the lower gravity parts of the station, he passed a store display featuring retro-style palm-sized video cameras hooked to displays mocked up to look like the boxy televisions of old. Lex wasn’t certain that palm recorders were around in the era the theme was meant to evoke, but historical accuracy usually got a margin of error of a few decades once it was that far back. What concerned him more was the image on the TV screen.

  Lex reached into his pocket almost desperately, knocking some of the contents to the floor while in search of his slidepad. With it in hand, he brought up an image of the final first-place finish he’d had before he was drummed out of the sport of hoversled racing. He had been a mess back then. His hair was wild, medium length more out of laziness than fashion. His face was scruffy, his expression manic with joy and enthusiasm. Michella was with him, and both of them were drenched with champagne. He had one hand around her waist and the other triumphantly raising the trophy. He looked back to the video screen. There stood a man with short, almost primped, brown hair and a baby-smooth face. He was carrying a foil swan and had a downright adorable ball of fluff sitting on his shoulder, its massive tail looking like a fur boa around his neck. Behind him was a sanitized corporate approximation of the tamest version of humanity in recent memory.

  “Squee. I think I’m losing my edge.”

  The funk considered his statement with her usual thoughtful silence, then sagely began chewing her back. He sighed and gathered up the dislodged belongings: a few poker chips, an unopened pack of gum, and Ms. Misra’s card for the racing league. The card earned a long, thoughtful look before he returned it to his pocket.

  Chapter 4

  Silo yawned and continued working on the scarf she’d started while awaiting the arrival of the Neo-Luddites.

  After making their escape, Garotte had decided that they needed to identify exactly what the mysterious scanner the terrorists were carrying had been used for. He would have been content doing so while drifting in deep space inside their trusty ship, but while it had the absolute bare essentials for multiday trips, it wasn’t what anyone would call luxurious. Silo had firmly requested someplace with its own atmosphere and gravity to spend their downtime. He’d selected the planet Lark II, the most populous planet in its corner of the galaxy. Like most of the galactic neighborhood, it was in the process of being terraformed but was much further along than the yak-and-lichen stage. The patch of the planet that was colonized was home to a thriving pine forest and featured long stretches of low, snow-covered mountains. It was as though the planet’s designers had modeled half a continent after a ski resort. Silo and Garotte rented a small rustic cabin near the outskirts of the population center. Its porch faced the ragged fringe of the pine forest, giving way to a gray-green landscape that had no doubt been home to yaks during earlier stages of terraforming.

  “This is a nice place. You picked a good one this time, hon,” Silo said. She placed a boot on the rough timber rail of the porch and pushed her chair back onto its back two legs, breathing the crisp air and releasing it in a contented sigh.

  “I can occasionally be trusted to make a sound decision,” Garotte called out from inside the cabin.

  He’d unloaded an assortment of communications apparatus as soon as they’d arrived and laid it out on the bed. He’d then grabbed the stolen scanner and a few items confiscated from the Neo-Luddite ship and threw himself into the task of identifying them. That had been several hours ago.

  A few final stitches completed the scarf. Silo held it up to admire it, then stood and knocked on the door.

  “Are you decent?” she asked.

  “That’s a matter of some debate.”

  She opened the door to find him still hard at work. A total of six slidepads, three larger datapads, and an assortment of older and larger computers and communicators were scatted along the near edge of the bed, and his eyes and hands darted across them as though he was in the midst of a piano concerto. She draped the strip of fabric across his neck and tied it from behind.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  He glanced down to the scarf. “My apologies, but I shall not wear a pink scarf, my lamb.”

  “It isn’t pink, it’s carnation.”

  “Naming a shade of pink after a pink flower does not in any way diminish its essential pinkness. If anything, it compounds it. I don’t recall you doing any knitting back during your tour of duty in the legitimate armed forces, nor do I recall any mittens and booties being manufactured during our mercenary associations. Is this a hobby you picked up in prison?”

  “Knitting? In prison? Maybe in that resort they sent you to, but in Millbrook Supermax they wouldn’t let something as dangerous as a knitting needle into the building. My grandma made me learn it when I was a little girl. She said ‘any decent lady ought to know how to knit.’ She never did approve of me taking after my brothers. I decided to pick it up again.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “My counselor in prison said a big part of my problem was that I fixated too much on the job. He said that it was dangerous to devote too much of my time and energy to a single pursuit. Particularly a violent one. ‘An individual must seek balance.’ It makes a lot of sense.”

  “It makes a lot of sense if you are trying to deprogram someone you believe is a habitual criminal. Would they have said the same to da Vinci? I say give the artist his brush.”

  “Leonardo da Vinci didn’t use a bazooka.”

  “Have you seen some of his war machines? He would have jumped at the chance to use a bazooka. I get the feeling if he’d been born today, he would have turned out like Karter.”

  “… That’s a worrying thought.” She slipped the scarf back over his head. “You should really consider letting me make a scarf for you. In nippy weather like this, they can be a real lifesaver.” She glanced at the bed and its assortment of equipment. “So what have you found out?”

  “About the scanner?”

  “Yes.”

  “That it is a scanner.”

  “Productive fe
w hours, then.”

  “Well, I’ve also been able to determine that the largish metal box in the corner there, which you loaded from their ship, is a long-range version of the same scanner and detects ‘quantum sync pulses’ as well. I’ve not, however, determined what that means at all. Also, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, each and every piece of weaponry you took from their ship was anti-electronic in nature. Even that big empty crate we found was studded with internal EM emitters. Practically a microwave.”

  “Well, that’s their agenda, right? End technology to save technology or whatever nonsense.”

  “Certainly, but look how much of it there is. And no doubt there was more in the ship. Despite our best efforts, the Neo-Luddites still have a few bases and stations scattered about. There is no reason for them to carry so much of it unless they were planning an all-out assault on a foe they were absolutely certain would not have any standard firearms or other weaponry that is immune to an EMP.”

  “And meanwhile, all they encountered was that scrawny Sasquatch we found.”

  “Another curiosity, that. The law enforcement channels have been positively chatty about it.”

  “What was it?”

  “No idea, but there’s a contingent of scientists eager to find out. They moved the thing to the nearest planet with a laboratory. Rumors are flying that it is an alien or some other cryptozoological absurdity. Meanwhile the stolen radio has been conspicuously silent. I imagine they’ve changed encryption keys.”

  “We both knew that would happen sooner or later.”

  “I was counting on it, but pity it didn’t take a bit longer. I’ll have to keep getting my hands on the new key until they’re forced to abandon the new radio entirely.” He rolled his neck, conjuring snaps and crackles, and rubbed his eyes.

  “Maybe you should take a few minutes to gather your wits.”

  “I make it a point not to let my wits become disorderly.”

  Silo folded the scarf, eyes distant with recollection. “You know. I’ve worked with you off and on for a few years now, and I don’t think we’ve ever discussed what you do when you aren’t working.”

  “I sleep, for the most part.”

  “How do you relax?”

  “Preferably gin. Whiskey or scotch in a pinch.”

  “That’s not the healthiest way to unwind.”

  “Hence my preference to remain wound. You and I are in a profession that requires vigilance. It has its prices.”

  “Do you ever think about what’s next?”

  “Next? I’ve arranged a meeting in a few days to pass on some key information. Then I imagine we’ll follow that creature they found. I doubt it is what they were after, but it was the only thing worthy of note on that whole planet. It is reasonable that they probably thought it was what they were after, so they’ll be after it again.”

  “I mean after that.”

  “Assuming we manage to scatter this cell, we find out where their next one is, until they no longer have the unity, numbers, or resources to keep themselves from being mopped up by the conventional authorities.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I mean after the missions are done. All of the missions. Did you ever think about what you would do after?”

  “Retirement?” His tone was incredulous. “Thinking about that isn’t just pointless, it is morbid. You should know by now that in this line of work the retirement options are a jail cell or a casket. But if you must know, of the two, I prefer the casket.”

  “Maybe you’re willing to fight the good fight to the bloody end, but it has always been my plan to settle down once I put in my years.”

  “Well, that’s refreshing. I seem to remember you were dead set on returning to prison once the deed at hand was complete. Something about serving your debt?”

  Her eyes lowered. “Yeah… it’s been on my mind a lot lately.”

  “It shouldn’t be. I’ve said it before. People like us need to be in the wild. We need to be filling in the gaps between what the law allows and what needs to be done.”

  Silo shook her head. “Listen. I spent three years in a maximum security prison because our squad brought a device that was two crossed wires away from being a fusion bomb into a civilian population center. If an army or a paramilitary group had done that, I would want them locked up. It would be hypocritical to expect to be treated differently just because I believe I’m doing it for the right reasons. The bad guys think they are doing it for the right reasons, too.”

  “If the forces of evil will take every advantage and opportunity, then it is the obligation of the forces of good to do the same, otherwise we are allowing chaos to have home-field advantage.”

  “You can’t just…” She sighed. “We’ve been through this enough times, Garotte.”

  “It would seem not, as you’ve not yet come to the proper conclusion.”

  Before the debate could progress any further, the slidepads in their pockets gave the same subtle chirp. They reacted immediately. Garotte’s hand went to his sidearm, a small energy weapon clipped to his belt that was made to resemble a utility tool. Silo took two smooth steps back to the door, sweeping her eyes across first one side, then the other. She kicked open a small case by the door and pulled a significantly more intimidating pistol from it, a good old-fashioned high-caliber ballistic weapon. Garotte pulled his slidepad free and checked the alert.

  “Ship sensors indicate a single person inbound, lightly armed and piloting a light vehicle,” he said. “Scanning for broadcast credentials.” His posture relaxed somewhat. “It’s an intrasystem police officer. Put the gun away.”

  Silo nodded, securing the weapon and slipping it back into the case. “See? This is the sort of thing I wouldn’t mind putting behind me.”

  The sound of a digital siren began to ring out in intermittent bursts. They stepped outside to find a man in a crisp khaki uniform, spherical helmet, and boots. He piloted a vehicle that was high on efficiency and low on dignity. A hoverbike, sleek and blue with a pair of faintly glowing hover modules in front and back. The vehicle was no doubt extremely fast and maneuverable, but aside from the paint job, it was identical to the sort of thing a teenager would be forced to ride until he was able to get his learner’s permit. Despite this, the officer brought the glorified toy in with a flourish, angling it and juicing the throttle just as he neared the ground to bring it to a short and impressive pinpoint landing just beside the path leading up to the cabin. He dismounted the bike and removed a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

  “It looks like bribes don’t go as far as they used to,” Garotte muttered under his breath.

  “Are you a Mr. Smith?”

  “That’s me, Officer. John Smith,” Garotte said, his posh British accent suddenly replaced by an affable Midwestern one. “Is there a problem?”

  “Nothing major, sir. Probably just a minor oversight,” the police officer said. He removed his helmet. He was a young black man with short dark hair and a neat goatee. “My name is Officer Wilson. It seems the clerk who rented this cabin to you didn’t follow procedure. Is it true that you paid for this cabin entirely in chips?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “I’m afraid renting a cabin is a transaction that requires an identification record on file, and must be done with a traceable commerce account.”

  “Ah, er… yes. Tricia, pumpkin, go inside for a moment while I talk to the officer. And, uh,” he lowered his voice and flashed a devilish grin, “clear the bed.”

  Silo slipped back inside and began to gather away the items on the bed. Garotte put an arm across the shoulders of the officer and walked him away from the cabin. As he did, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

  “You see that lovely lady in there?” he asked.

  Wilson glanced back over his shoulder. “I do.”

  He chuckled nervously. “See, my fiancé is back on Tessera. We have a few kids together already, and a few days ago I decided to make it official, you know? Now, don’t get me wrong
, she’s a wonderful mother to my children, but she’s a little tame in the ol’ sack. You know what I mean? And while we’re on the subject, she’s a little thin. I like some meat on them, you know? I wanted to take this last opportunity to sow the ol’ wild oats, which we were just about to do. I think you’ll understand if I’d rather not have this little getaway show up on my bank statement. So you wouldn’t mind if we let this one slip by, would you?”

  “I’m afraid I would, sir. Infidelity is in no way an excuse for breaking the law.”

  “You’re putting me in a bind here, Officer.”

  “Would you rather I put you in handcuffs?”

  Garotte looked back to the cabin. “But, Officer, look at her.”

  Silo was visible through the doorway, leaning forward to smooth the sheets of the bed that was now cleared of the electronics that might have piqued the police officer’s curiosity if he’d seen them. The position put a rather notable part of her body in very clear view. Garotte bit his lip and released an extremely convincing lustful growl. Officer Wilson’s vision lingered for a moment as well. It was a sight enough to weaken the boy-scout-level dedication to the rules he’d displayed thus far.

  “Look, sir. If you’ve already paid for the cabin, all the law requires is that you put an account on file. As long as there aren’t any additional expenses, there won’t be any charges on the account.”

  “I’d rather not take that chance.”

  “This is as far as I’m willing to bend the law for you, sir. And I’ll need to see you do it.”

  Garotte sighed. “Fine, fine. Just a second while I enter my PIN.”

  The spy turned away from the officer and hastily pulled up a list of dummy accounts he’d set up. He selected one with the appropriate background and activated it, then turned back.