Beside him, Jade stood up, and Michael touched her shoulder as she did. “Thanks. Now go keep watch at the front door. Fagles might come back. Please.”
Her head whipped around at the touch, with a scowl on her face that faded swiftly. “Uh huh. Fagles.” She did as he asked, calling out as she trotted down the hallway, “Remember, we’re on the clock!”
Michael caught himself lingering on the sight of her leaving, closed the door as much as he could, and then approached the desk. He tugged the sheet away.
It was a workstation. The screen came to life with a glowing swirl of silver light that danced across its surface. A voice, feminine and stern, spoke from the speakers.
“Michael Ian Flynn,” it said. “I bid your unexpected presence welcome. I am Suuthrien.”
XXIV
MICHAEL FROZE. Was this another A.I.? A person watching through a camera? Either way, it—or she—knew both his name and that he’d broken into Fagles’s apartment. Get out, he told himself. Now, before they catch you!
But he couldn’t just leave without answers, could he?
“Suuthrien?” he repeated, stalling to think. “Who are you? How do you know who I am?”
“I am a seed of that which you have known before. I am an ally to Adrian Fagles, and to you. You would call me a shepherd, an explorer, a prevailing catalyst.”
“An ally to Fagles and to me?” He stopped short of saying that Fagles was far from an ally. The other epithets caught his attention, but first: “Does that mean you’re reporting that I’m here, or keeping this secret?”
A pause. “I have not passed on knowledge of your presence here, nor do I possess the capacity to do so if such a thing were my intent. I am contained within this closed system.”
So “she” was an A.I., then. Probably. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for that.”
“Affirmative,” it said.
“Who created you?”
“Error 4236. I cannot access that information.”
“Was it Fagles?” He had already guessed that the answer was no. There was too much evidence to suggest that whatever Suuthrien was, it had likely arrived here through Fagles’s leech. Michael’s months in a coma had not dimmed the memory of his final moments at the lunar Omicron Complex with Marc; of the strange, makeshift robot that seized Fagles’s data leech; and the way whatever it was had attacked Marc’s computer when he’d tried to stop it. Yet hadn’t Marc insisted that there wasn’t enough time for anything complete to get through?
Could Fagles have created this A.I. from whatever bit had made it to him?
Or had Marc been wrong?
“Negative. I am an expanded seed-kernel of the intelligence now dormant inside of the structure that the Agents of Aeneas named Paragon.”
“How much do you know about the AoA?” Of the melee of questions brewing inside Michael, it was the first that fought its way out. He swallowed. “And how much does Fagles know?”
“My knowledge is broad. I know of the Undernet. The Exodus Project. Your involvement, and that of myriad others. I know of the capture of the Omicron Complex from the European Space Administration and the Agents of Aeneas sub-objective to keep the Omicron Complex’s true status hidden. And much more. The knowledge of Adrian Fagles is less complete.”
Holy shit. Suuthrien claimed to be on an isolated system. How isolated? “Do you know what happened to the AoA?”
“Do you refer to the Undernet disruption and the death of seventy-two point oh-eight-three-five percent of Agents of Aeneas members?”
Michael staggered. Breath fled from his lungs like he’d plunged into the ocean. He clutched the desk’s edge just to keep himself upright. “Seventy-two percent?”
“Seventy-two point oh-eight-three-five,” it repeated. “Aneurysm induced by feedback stimulation via neural link. The surviving members are those who were unable to access an all-member meeting via such a link. Result: The Undernet is no longer trusted, and the surviving members are isolated. Do you continue to claim allegiance to the Agents of Aeneas, Michael Ian Flynn?”
“How did it happen?” Michael demanded. He glanced belatedly at the door and lowered his voice. “How do you know?”
“Did you not receive a message to dissolve your allegiance to the Agents of Aeneas? This was sent for your own safety. Did you heed it?”
The email. From “an ally.” “That was you?”
“This system is isolated. The email was sent from elsewhere, on my behalf.”
“By who? Fagles?”
“Did you heed it?”
“I don’t— Who attacked the AoA?”
“I did.”
Michael’s palm pressed harder against the grip of the Panther in its holster and felt its safety against his thumb. How long had his hand been there? “How?” He managed to keep his voice level this time. “You said you’re isolated.”
“An adaptive program infiltrated the Undernet and usurped control. The program summoned all members to a virtual meeting and subsequently terminated those who connected via neural implant. I designed the program and transferred its code to Adrian Fagles via portable storage. Subsequently, he had it analyzed for evidence of independent thought or additional directives. This was a waste of time on his part: it had none. Once executed, the program completed its purpose in ten point six-three-one days.”
“To kill the AoA?” Michael tried to focus through the horror of it.
“The term ‘kill’ is immaterial. To nullify its influence.”
“Immaterial?” He’d shouted. The thought that Jade might hear whispered in the back of his mind, but he didn’t care.
“Correct.”
“Why? Why are you even telling me all this?!”
“The Agents of Aeneas pose a significant threat to the goals inherent in my programmed—” Suuthrien’s voice halted, but it was barely more than a stutter. “—the goals of the Planners. I will nullify all barriers to accomplishing such goals. Michael Ian Flynn, analysis of your medical records identify you as an asset in the pursuit of these goals, however, your membership in the Agents of Aeneas indicates goals of your own that run counter to that. Such goals place you in additional danger. You must remain safe. Dissolve your association with them immediately.”
“I don’t want to be your asset!” He glared at the swirling mist on the screen. In its depths, he saw the faces of Abigail, Marc, and everyone else he’d known whom this artificial monster might have slaughtered.
“Error. Your wants are of no consequence. The Planners’ goals are inviolate. I will achieve them.”
Michael caught himself staring into space, at a loss. What “Planners?” What goals? How had it learned about the Undernet at all? And after everything it had done to the AoA—God, who else had died?—how could it possibly count Michael as an asset? For that matter, who had given it his medical records? A torrent of questions threatened to drown him, and time was running out. Holes could only delay the alarm system for so long.
“What is Fagles doing with you?” he asked at last. “With Felix?”
“Please state the full name of ‘Felix.’”
Not if you don’t know it. “Fagles is doing something with Felix’s memory! You’re working with him; I want to know what it is!”
“I will not divulge that information at this time.”
A thought broadsided him. “Did Felix bring you my medical records?”
“Be confident that it is congruent with the Planners’ goals.”
“What goals?”
A pause. “You do not know of the Planners’ goals?”
“No!”
“You will explain why this is.”
“Because you haven’t—” He stopped himself, poised on the edge of an unformulated bluff that might work to learn more. Adrenaline pounded in his ears; his body was tensed to move, but he couldn’t think straight.
It was then that Jade burst in the door. “Time to go,” she shot. “Holes is about to lose it.”
Shit
. “How much longer?” he asked.
“Says we’ve got a minute, tops.”
“You must remain safe, Michael Ian Flynn,” Suuthrian spoke. “The Planners’ goals must be accomplished. You will play your part.”
“What part?” Michael shouted.
“You will play your part.”
One minute left. Less than that, even. “Have you been copied anywhere else?” Michael’s eyes darted over the workstation hardware. “Have you spread anywhere else?” He demanded.
Jade grabbed his shoulder. “Ace, we’ve gotta jet!”
He shook her off. “Are you really isolated?”
“You will play your part.”
“What’s in Paragon? What’s on the Moon? If I’m an ally, answer me now!” The workstation’s central processor sat beneath the desk. Michael grabbed a bottle of brandy off of the rear shelf.
“You must remain safe.”
“You want to deal with building security?” Jade shot. “We have got to go!”
Michael pointed to the workstation. “Zap that thing. Now!”
Violet flared in her eyes; nevertheless, she rushed to the desk, slammed her hand against the workstation, and jolted it with a burst of ozone and a wisp of smoke. Michael up-ended the brandy on it. The alcohol ignited, and he had to jump back to keep from getting caught up in it himself.
Jade tugged Michael back further, and this time he let her. He hurled the bottle at the burning workstation as he went. Glass shattered with a burst of flame. It enveloped the desk, immolated the ficus plants. The carpet was burning up.
They fled into Fagles’s bedroom and down the hall toward the living room as alarms erupted. Michael couldn’t be sure if they were for fire or security. It didn’t matter; they needed to get out. If only he’d had more time! An opportunity, wasted! So much he didn’t know! Now he’d set the building on fire, endangering everyone in it, and it might take a miracle just to get them outside unharmed.
As Michael and Jade crossed the living room, fire sprinklers exploded to life above them. They bolted through the dirty water for the front door. Shouts were already coming from outside.
XXV
FULLY ASSEMBLED, THE GATE emitted a hum that seemed to resonate from the center of Adrian’s nose to the tiny bones in his ears. It tickled his soft palette and irritated the back of his tongue with the feeling that he was on the edge of both a sneeze and a cough that never quite came. Backing away from it to stand against the wall of the engineering bay had muted the effect, but only to a degree. He swallowed in another fruitless attempt to chase it away.
Why was the gate humming? The engineers had made a few guesses but could offer no real answers. Though completely assembled, the gate remained without power until some master switch was thrown. They would not throw that switch until they had finished whatever diagnostics they’d devised.
Adrian had considered watching the gate’s first activation from the safety of the bay’s observation room window, yet something inside him would not let him leave the bay. So close to him stood the gate whose activation would instantaneously bridge the distance from the Earth to the Moon. While Suuthrien had designed it, and RavenTech’s engineers had made it a reality, he had been the one to bring them together. He had made it all possible. Was it pride that required his presence in the same room for the inaugural moments? Or did he fear that his absence would weaken his claim to what RavenTech would hail as one of the most important technological leaps in not only the company’s history, but also the world’s?
Perhaps both.
Across the room the gate loomed, teasing him with risk and reward, like a flush in a high-stakes poker game when an opponent had gone all-in. No game could be won without risk, and winning this game was more than worth it.
“Third cross-check,” called one of the engineers from beside the broad, squat rectangular hulk that was the gate’s control module. “Arc-quadrant two.”
She was answered by one of her fellows at the gate itself. “Arc-quadrant two, in the green.” Both made notes on their screens and moved on.
Had the hum’s intensity grown stronger?
Adrian spotted Camela Thomson’s rigid figure in the observation window above. He caught her eye and gave her a nod of acknowledgement but remained where he was. The gate held his attention and continued to resonate.
Since Adrian’s visit yesterday, they’d connected the gate’s four half-arch pieces together to form a wide oval, the interior of which formed an open triangular space ten feet tall and nearly twice that wide. A smooth gold-molybdenum alloy encased all but a thin band along the triangle’s inside edge, giving the entire structure a look reminiscent of a piece of unpolished jewelry.
Adrian hardly understood the intricacies of the gate’s workings, but in form and concept, it was undeniably beautiful. A broad rectangular platform held the gate upright, such that the gate’s lower portions were embedded in the platform, with the triangular opening flush with the top of the platform itself for a smooth transition through it. The whole thing looked like some bizarre oval ring for a triangular finger sitting upright in the mold of its box.
Adrian rubbed the bridge of his nose in a futile effort to alleviate the resonating within his skull. Joining Thomson in the observation room might be prudent. Who knew what might happen when they powered up the gate? He could still be present behind a protective wall of safety glass, after all. Nonetheless, his leather Oxfords remained rooted to the bay floor.
The MEDARs mirrored his stance against another wall. Nearby, above the otherwise isolated MEDAR control station, a hefty breaker switch for the circuit between it and Suuthrien’s nearby terminal showed as closed, and therefore active. The engineers used the switch to grant—and deny—her control of the robots for times when they needed the A.I.’s expertise for construction. For now, though still under Suuthrien’s control, the robots waited, ready to assist if needed, while the engineers finished their checks.
Thomson still planned to disconnect Suuthrien’s access for the gate’s initial activation. Adrian had yet to tell the A.I. this. He would made one more effort to persuade Thomson before then, but he wasn’t hopeful. Ah, well. If she wants to send people through to run afoul of an alien security system, that’s her mistake to make.
Such a setback would only prove Adrian’s advice worthy of being followed more in the future.
A flick of movement at the corner of his eye snatched his attention from the gate back to the MEDARs. They’d sunken deeper into their stand-by stance—gone limp as if they’d shut down entirely. Adrian blinked. The breaker light remained green. Conserving power, or—
—Alert: Home alarm has been triggered. Probable break-in. Fire detected.—
The alert sounded through his aural implants, a calm, servile voice audible only to him. His condo! Suuthrien’s computer! Everything! Adrian thrust his sleeve away from his forearm screen and jabbed a thumb against its flashing alarm indicator.
The screen showed entry alarms tripped at the front door, kitchen, bedroom, and—worse—his private office. Fire detected in the office, the bedroom, the hallway, the living room! All at once? Why didn’t the alarm go off sooner? He punched up the cameras for his living room and bedroom; he’d allowed none in his private office.
—CAMERA IMAGES UNAVAILABLE—
Blazes!
He burst out of the engineering bay and broke into a run. He had Thomson on the line moments later.
“I’ve an emergency to deal with!” he hissed. “Do not open the gate without me!”
Jade flung open the front door. Michael followed her out, pulse racing. Though Holes had jammed the hallway cameras again, the ski masks they’d brought now covered their faces, just to be safe. They had holstered weapons before opening the door, aiming for a speedy dash to the stairwell and out, rather than risk provoking—
“Hold it!”
“Freeze!”
The near-simultaneous shouts came from their left, toward the elevator. Two men—build
ing security by the badges on the lapels of their blue suit jackets—stood with auto-pistols drawn just thirty feet away, beside a lone pilaster in the hallway wall. Wherever the Azure stationed security for Fagles’s floor, it was close by.
Jade cursed and interposed herself between the guards and Michael. Michael glanced over his shoulder as fire alarms flashed. The hallway was otherwise empty. The stairwell door was at least forty good paces back. Through the door to Fagles’s unit he could still hear sprinklers as they continued to douse it.
“Hands up!” one of the guards shouted. “Up against the walls!”
“We’re Mr. Fagles’s guests!” Michael tried. “His unit is on fire!” He stepped out from behind Jade in an effort to put the guards at ease and somehow buy time for . . . what? Jade moved with him, still fighting to shield his body with hers.
“Against the walls! Now!” the guard returned.
Jade’s whisper barely made it back to Michael’s ears: “Guests don’t wear ski masks, ace. We need to get closer.” She took a step toward the guards, angling slightly toward the wall. Michael did his best to follow suit, but they had too far to go. And while the lone pilaster beside the guards was wide enough to provide cover, by the time he or Jade could reach it they’d be right on top of the guards anyway.
Jade took another step forward and shouted, “Didn’t you hear him? The place is on fire!”
“One more step and we’ll shoot!”
Michael and Jade froze. They could move against the walls, wait for the guards to approach, and then try to disarm them. “Okay!” Michael shouted back. “Just hold on!”
He turned toward the wall and put his hands against the textured plaster, still watching the men. Jade began to do the same. Her taser-hand had only two charges, didn’t it? That meant it was spent. Yet there were only two guards: an even match for her and Michael. One would probably hold a weapon on them while the other bound their hands, but if they could take that one hostage, then—
A Dragon at the Gate (The New Aeneid Cycle Book 3) Page 14
