The Path

by Peter Riva

  I altered the names; the annex protect-all commands now had different names: Fred’s and Cramer’s.

  I knew my way out of this mess, but Cramer was the dupe, my dupe I hoped. When the truth was learned, Control could come down heavy, and yet I owed him a second life-saving if only to see that rare smile again. If I protected myself, Control would know and destroy the System to eradicate me. Further, I needed my son Fred to be protected because he was my escape path and the only way I could get to Apollo again.

  Besides, he was my real kid.

  Maybe I could have added my name, but having me as public enemy number one also served a different purpose. It allowed Apollo more time to get established somewhere else. He was transferring files slowly so as not to attract too much attention, he had told me that. If they watched me, Apollo stood a better chance. Also, they had to keep me alive anyway since I was the only one who knew how and what had happened down here.

  I gave the out sequence command and immediately lifted off the dome and shouted to the door to open just as Mary was approaching from the other side with Cramer, weapon drawn, at her side.

  I held up my palms, “Stop Cramer, the System was well programmed, you fumbled the FAT alteration and it popped you off to protect Makerman.”

  “My ass Bank, you did that.”

  “What? You want to deny you touched the FAT before we got to one Mississippi? I saw you.”

  He hesitated, I had him. “No way, I’m sure I didn’t touch it.”

  Mary suggested we check the trace recording on her desk. “I wasn’t watching while you were in there as instructed, but I had it on record all the time.”

  As we peered over her shoulder at her desk at the records, all I could see was the red flag, no flag, red flag no flag and then moving about coming to rest at the URL and FAT, two entities moving back and forth. No changes made to either and yet, the FAT seemed to wobble just as Kramer left suddenly. Between us, the FAT would wobble as I was changing the size of the other file, dumping Makerman and substituting Fred and Cramer. But even to me, the recording, played back in real time, looked like Cramer had touched something and, poof, he was gone.

  “Control get this?” Cramer’s voice had lost a little of its edge.

  “Yes, direct feed, I had to, otherwise I would be arrested.”

  “I know, that’s okay. I guess I made a mistake. We can go back in.”

  That was when I needed to drop the bomb on these two: “No you can’t. No one ever can. It was a warning, precipitated by your actions Cramer. The system is coded to respond in advance of any such attack on Makerman. It’s a Makerman only thing. The rest of his life he needs to be protected by us or else the System will do it. Maybe if he’s walking down the street and a bird shits, WeatherGood might cause a brief tornado to remove the pigeon and turd. If he’s angry because he’s had too much work, his work schedule will be re-arranged. If he wants to jump out a window to kill himself the System will stop him to protect him, full Asimov rules on steroids. If he wants to euthanize in old age, medical resources will be made to work to prolong and save his life. In fact, if the System thinks he may have developing cancer of the big toe, all medical resources will be applied to toe cancer. As I said, he’s omnipotent and all because I made a momentary order, meant only while I was going to be away (as the record shows). But you, you Cramer, you are seeing proof that the creature you had or wanted to erase, this new being who then deleted himself to thwart your plans . . . all this is to prove to you Cramer, that you are a murderer of a new life form, a sentient being.” I was shouting at him now, smiling, “He tagged you Cramer, tagged you as the one responsible. You’re it.”

  That’s when he hit me, hard. I went down, out cold. Brother was he angry. I needed him to be, blind with it.

  CHAPTER 13

  MY FAULT BECOMES HIS FAULT

  There is no way to express my pleasure, sitting there on my rear. Cramer’s ass was in a sling, his sleeve recorder working normally, no doubt, Mary’s desk report circulating around Control. Me? I was finally in the clear. The creature was dead, everyone would accept that, but this little tiny doomsday device had been left as a tombstone, all to protect little Makerman who was, now I am sure, being carefully taken care of, regardless of what Control would like to do with him.

  They couldn’t help it. If he wanted a rabbit to make him happy and they refused, a million of the little buggers would be cultured and delivered before they could say Harry Potter, or whoever was the owner of all those owls in a classic movie my kid had loved. Whatever, I was sure Makerman was actually being protected by Control, thinking it was doing so to protect the System and America from the wrath of the System.

  As long as Fred and Cramer didn’t do anything stupid, their protection would seem an accident, like the skycrane suddenly swerving away from Makerman and only killing the driver. Who would have known the truth? It was simple, as long as Cramer didn’t get in too much trouble for the FAT screw-up. If Control tried to sanction him, any orders at Control would be thwarted, I was sure of that.

  So I needed to put him out of his misery, a little. “Cramer, how unlike you to lose your temper . . . okay, calm down, I understand. I don’t actually think you touched the FAT. I think the System heard us counting, you were the one counting to me, remember, the System heard your voice only, anticipated what you were about to do and, without killing you I may add, followed the Asimov Commands and simply, merely, gently, removed you from the area of possible interaction it was now programmed to avoid. Me? I was the one who got the jolt, thank you very much. When I came to I just gave the command to exit and soon found myself smacked about by you. Fine thanks I get.” I had sneaked in the reason for any delay with that jolt stuff. I knew and was expecting it, so it hadn’t jolted me too hard—but they didn’t know that. How could they know I had been busy in those few nanoseconds? Passed out is completely plausible, unless someone was monitoring my body functions, but the door was closed and the System and I were alone.

  Cramer lifted his sleeve, read. Nodded. “You two, shut up here and now. We’re going to debriefing at Control and no question or escape this time or I’ll drop you on the spot.”

  Mary was shocked “Me, what have I got to do with it?”

  “You could have given the door command and cut me off.”

  “No way, the recorders . . .” then she remembered that they were all smashed with a chair by Cramer hours before. No alibi.

  I had to help her. “Cramer, listen to me. Do you accept that the System is functioning perfectly, except for the Makerman thing?”

  “Yes, Control agrees. The creature is deleted.”

  “Then watch this and record.” I opened my door and spoke to the room: “System, report any voice in this room or heard inside this room using my Meg Ryan door commands last 5 minutes via playback.”

  “Playback commencing . . .” and Cramer and Mary heard only my command to open the door as we went in and then my command to open the door to come out. Nothing else.

  “System, has Mary used her access or my access to open this door in past hour?”

  “Negative.”

  “Cramer, there you are. The System’s functioning perfectly and Mary didn’t do it.”

  Cramer leaned into the room: “System, Agent Cramer, priority voice code authorization. Who issued door open and close commands between playback items last 5 minutes?”

  I held my breath. “Unknown. Commands came from within System, not System initiated.”

  “There you are Cramer, it’s that protect mechanism we saw. It’s not Mary. No one’s to blame, well you are because you didn’t believe the new life form and so it sent you an intelligent message, but it’s a fairly benign message, wouldn’t you say? No one has come to any harm.” He knew and I knew that was wrong in one aspect: someone would come to harm the way this worked out. Control would have his guts. And me? I was still public enemy number one, I suppose.

  His authority undermined, Cramer decided to re-e
stablish it the way he was trained: take someone, the nearest person, into custody. Me. He went over to a bag with SND emboldened on the side, his RFID opened the latch and he pulled out a collar. “Put this on,” handing it to me.

  Mary was frantic, “Cramer, don’t do this, he’s done all you asked and more, he’s risked his life to repair the System. You heard what Doctor Rence said, it was sentient and developing for months, perhaps years, long before Simon started here. Anyway, he repaired the damage and that protection program to Makerman, you can deal with that, it won’t cause any real problem. Please, you can’t arrest him.”

  “I can and I will.” Turning to me, “Simon Bank under the authority invested in me as Security Net Division of the American Armed Police Force and the instructions I have received from SND Control, division One, I hereby place you under restriction pending formal charges which will be brought before a defender advocate of the Citizen’s Committee at a time and date to be decided upon but within,” he looked at his sleeve “six days. You will place the collar around your neck and, once activated, you will be restricted to movement in this city until notified to remove the collar. Attempts to remove the collar without authorization will result in stun, paralysis or worse. Do you understand all that I have told you?”

  As he was babbling on, Mary had gone over to her desk and popping fingers called up the vid screen for the evening broadcast of hot topics. There I was, looking the real fugitive, vaulting the crushed car on Park, running down the street. The announcer was saying “Bank is considered armed and dangerous. After his sabotage of the System’s programs this morning, Control has re-established normal function and all’s back to nominal operation. Bank is still at large and, besides charges for manslaughter, he’s wanted for state terrorism. SND police say they expect his apprehension within the hour.”

  “Cramer, do you really believe all that?” I asked as I pointed at Mary’s screen.

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe, those are orders. Put the collar on, Bank.”

  “Cramer, don’t make me do this. I ran back here to fix the System, you know that, you didn’t have to convince me or force me. When I saw that skycrane suddenly swerve I figured something was still out of whack. And ran to you, not away from you. Okay I didn’t know you were here but—and here’s the point, thickhead—I was trying to fix a problem, a problem that is now yours, not mine.”

  I was wasting my time, of course. He had orders. He had that granite look on his face and just stared me down. I took the collar and put it around my neck. The ends, when they touched, melded, making no seam, it was how it worked, un-removable until released by SND. Mary turned away, sighing sadly. She knew, as did I, that hardly anyone ever returned to society after being collared.

  Formally, Cramer spoke out loud, his sleeve hooked up to the public defender’s office no doubt: “The suspect and accused Simon Bank is collared and ready for transport to holding prison, Division One, without delay. ETA 1 hour. End transmission.” He turned off his sleeve and looked at Mary and added a slight chin whip. Mary took the hint and shut down the whole office.

  My head was buzzing. One hour to get to prison at Division One? With lights flashing and priority intersection clearance, it was less than 10 minutes. Anyway, why turn off his sleeve? In near mental dark, still dazed at having been collared, I was waiting for the next shock.

  Cramer turned to face me, his face softer except for intense fixed eyes, locked onto mine, “Simon, you know and I know,” he used my first name, “and if I spell everything we know out Mary will also know and then she’ll be an accomplice. Already she suspects.” He turned to her, “Mary will you please forget this conversation and report at the normal time for debriefing? Until then do not, I repeat, do not take your work home with you.”

  “Can do, Agent. I think I deserve a big prize for the work I’ve done today and so I’m off to, let’s see, Baja for a bit of R and R. A day or so. Maybe more. Will that do for work and “normal time” as far as Control is concerned?”

  “Yes, they’ll be tracking you. Keep to your usual behavior pattern, use the same mode of transport, and you should be fine.”

  Mary stood, picked up her small backpack and started walking, “Adios, muchachos, it’s been . . . well, it’s been something. I’ll figure out what in due time, normal time. Hah!” And with that she left the office. I’ll never see her again, I guessed that then. I think she did too.

  Alone, Cramer breathed a sigh and sat on the edge of Mary’s desk, “Simon, you were tipped off to run. I told the Doc to do it. I knew where you’d run.”

  “And did you tell Control? About your plans? And about telling Doc?”

  “No.” There it was, an understanding. For Cramer, that chocolate cake dipping agent, bully and over-thinker, not to have told his superiors meant he’s taken a different course of action, not one I would, or could, have expected from an agent. If that was true, what else did he know? As usual, he was ahead of me.

  “What was the creature’s name? Did you name it?”

  No use pretending, “Peter. But Peter is no more, he’s self-deleted.”

  “Come on, spit it out, what’s the rest?” That was too fast, I thought, with an hour to kill, he was probing too fast. I couldn’t trust him. Maybe never. A new life was at stake, not to mention mine and possibly Fred’s.

  “No, it’s the truth, Peter’s gone, deleted, finito, no more, erased. And I mean erased.”

  “Why Peter?”

  “He named himself Peter. He wanted to be trusted, he wanted to choose a name that meant steadfast, strong, reliable, trustworthy. When it was not to be, he simply took the course of action that would have been denied him: freedom in death instead of dissection and study under a team of scientists somewhere. Live vivisection was not his idea of a future. I thought his parting proof rather eloquent, didn’t you?”

  “Hilarious. Well, actually I do admire the concept, except it puts the System out of balance. More effort will have to be devoted to Makerman than anyone wants. How deep is this protection thing?”

  “What I saw was essentially, prevent any willful damage or harm to Makerman.”

  “Ah, so it’s not his desires that need to be met, but that no one or nothing should harm him if the System can prevent it, right?”

  “That’s about right. But, as with the skycrane, that swerve to avoid killing Makerman killed the driver.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Why was the driver back in the car?”

  I answered as if I was guessing, “I suppose to try and drive away after Makerman was skewered?”

  “Okay, sure.” He didn’t believe it. “Let’s leave that, he’s dead now and there’s no evidence, although I have my doubts about you. The only other question I need you to answer is this one, and think carefully before you answer it, for it will mean either you’re probably going to be erased yourself or I’m going to help you get out of here.”

  I took a deep breath. One question I knew I wasn’t going to answer, death be damned. He didn’t ask that one. I tried not to appear relieved, but worried about the one he did ask:

  “What did you do for those 250 hundredths of a second after you had the door cut my wires?”

  It was no use protesting. Just Cramer and I in a huddle, his sleeve off, collar on me. What was I going to do? One of the problems with the collar was that if you lied, the collar would monitor and transmit vital signs to the nearest source. That was Cramer’s sleeve, it was off. I looked at it.

  “Bank, get this, I can tell if you’re lying without the damn collar. And no, the collar won’t transmit further than this room. Now spill it, I’m the only chance you’ve got.”

  “It’s all in your perception. Either you’ll be really mad or you’ll understand. Either way, you’re right I can’t go forward without your help, but not for the reasons you think.”

  Cramer was quick enough, he stood and suddenly shouted at me: “What have you done, oh damn, what have you done?”

/>   “Relax, I’ve haven’t done anything, really. I spotted how to alter the protect annex protocols, it was simple really. Peter,” (it helped being able to use a name and not accidentally blurt Apollo) “knew you needed proof, a little ruse for you, right? And he used a command from me that you were witness to. I agree it was a sloppy command, which I didn’t mean forever for shit’s sake, but who knew? Then I thought, Peter was smart enough to know I didn’t mean forever and, because you would assume he was stupid, you would assume—as would Control—that the Makerman protect protocol was inviolate. But Peter knew I knew or believed in him, where you didn’t. So I looked as I would look, trusting him to show me a way to alter it.

  “You see, Cramer, Peter was about 20 when we left him to die. If you ask Doc, I’ll bet the synaptic overlay from Cornell would have him at Level 10 intellect or more. So he simply out-thought you, Control and me. And, because he knew I believed in him, he trusted it would only be me that spotted the subset that allowed a onetime alteration. One little alteration: substitution based on my blue tomatoes again. Ironic isn’t it? Those blue tomatoes are a metaphor for saving your life, possibly forever.”

  “What, what did you do?” He was frightened now.

  “I was allowed one substitution. Peter would think I could chose me, but this collar here should prove that I didn’t put my name in there. I put yours.”

  As Cramer sat down, his head sank to his hands. He was at once a shrunken man and at the same time quivering with rage. “You fucking idiot, you’ve labeled me a double conspirator. There’s no proof we didn’t do this together and there’s no proof now that Peter is dead. It was our word and the clean operation of the system. The whole future. They won’t believe that now for an instant.”