Flash

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  "Yes, Lieutenant."

  Chapter 63

  After getting back to my own house, I cleaned up and changed back into my regular clothes. I put the commando weapons in a bag to bring back to Charis and Alan's—the house would never be mine, and shouldn't be. But I stashed the oblongs of ultra-ex and the neuralwhip in the hidden safe, where it was unlikely that they'd be found unless someone tore apart the house.

  How is Paula doing?

  She is resting more comfortably, but she is heavily sedated.

  If anything changes, let me know.

  It will not change, except for the better.

  That was one of the few times I found Central Four's certainty reassuring.

  The reassurance didn't last that long, because I was definitely confused. I knew that a computing system or any kind of artificial intelligence could be programmed or designed or whatever to replicate any kind of behavior, and could easily be set to use the personal pronouns as if they were real breathing and living humans. Yet they weren't human intelligence at all. I'd been thinking of Paula as merely an appendage or physical manifestation of Central Four—I supposed all the bio-safos thought that of the safo cydroids, from what I'd gathered. And until we'd been in the tunnel, Paula had never used "I" or "me" or "my" or "mine." Yet Paula was clearly a woman, and I had to wonder why I hadn't wanted to see her that way, even though she seemed, in retrospect, more real than most women I'd met.

  Even the supposedly impersonal Central Four was more real than those intelligence systems that were programmed to be more personal. Or was that my own insanity, preferring cold reality to comfortable illusion? Was I being deceived by a perception of reality that was even less real?

  What was real?

  Why did I enjoy talking to Central Four? I didn't even know for certain that it was Central Four. How much was Paula? How much was Central Four? How much bled over or back from other cydroids? Would I ever know? Yet, at some point, didn't a person have to take another entity on faith? When did you stop demanding proof of humanity ... or of aliveness?

  I didn't have any answers, and I did need to get back to Southhills.

  I hurried into the Altimus and pulled out of garage, making certain the security was on maximum. Driving south, and avoiding the general area of the ISS facility, the more I thought about the whole business, the more worried I got. Something had to be done to get to Deng and Alistar, but the inspection and raid wouldn't go far enough. Not nearly far enough. They might not know I was involved, but I couldn't count on that. I couldn't count on much until I could find a way to put them out of business.

  Central Four...

  Yes, Jonat.

  Your prosecution of ISS isn't going to stop Deng, either from his political schemes or from coming after me. And it didn't do anything to pin the murders of Forster and Aliora on them.

  That is true.

  Do you have something else in mind? What else?

  Nothing meaningful can occur until the transfers to the equipment at your dwelling are completed.

  Great. Paula was out of commission for a time. ISS and the PST Group weren't, and neither was Deng, and all of them would be looking for someone—probably me and some senior safo, whoever it was that got stuck with the responsibility for the raid on ISS. The security detail around the Southhills house might protect the children, but I wasn't certain it would help me much.

  Charis and Alan had been asleep for hours when I got back around midnight.

  Elmer Bowes was waiting in the front foyer.

  "Have you heard?" he asked.

  "Heard what?" Was he talking about the ISS raid or something else? "I've been trying to tie up more than a few loose ends."

  "The safos took a strike force into one of the ISS facilities. Some lieutenant has charged the head of ISS with assembling illegal weapons on Earth for use against the Martian settlers. ISS is denying it, and some senators are already claiming that the safos have overstepped their authority."

  "I hadn't heard anything like that." In the strictest sense, that was true. "Where was this? What kind of weapons..." I shrugged and offered a sheepish smile. "It's late. I shouldn't be bothering you about whatever this is. I can check the news myself. How were the children?"

  "They were good. Charis takes herself a shade too seriously," Devon replied. "That might be expected with all they've been through."

  I smiled. "She did have that tendency—even before all this."

  A quick glance passed between the couple.

  I paid them for eight hours, using a credit transfer, and it was more than I often made in two full days. Then, it had been a full day, for the two of them.

  I looked in on both Alan and Charis, and both were sleeping. Alan still slept in the almost abandoned sleep of puppies and small children. Charis was more composed, already older in outlook than was probably healthy for her. How I'd be able to handle her in the years ahead ... I didn't know. But I had to make sure that we had those years—somehow.

  As I got ready for bed, I listened to All-News, although the story seemed to be everywhere.

  "Covert observation revealed that Industrial Security Systems Rocky Flats facility had assembled neuralwhips with prohibited controllers. These were labeled as being shipped to Mars ... also an unregistered cydroid facility... " That was Lieutenant Meara of the Denv Safety Office. Meara refused comment on who might be charged or the identity of the observation team.

  "This sort of high-handed raid is an abuse of power ... evidence may well have been fabricated ... overstepping the bounds of safo jurisdiction ... Little more than a frame-up of a reputable multi by ambitious bureaucrats," said Senator Joseph Crosslin.

  Crosslin's comments sounded more like a rant than what I would have expected from a seasoned politician, but since no politician I'd ever known talked to the media without a purpose, it was clear to me that the PST group was considering a push on restricting safo powers.

  "These charges are serious ones, and the Senate will be looking into them once we receive the report from the Denv safo office. Ensuring compliance with all facets of the law is the safo charge, but it may be that some changes in the inspection provisions of the Public Safety Amendments may be warranted..."

  That was the clean-cut Kennison, sounding very concerned and thoughtful. What that told me was that Crosslin would come across as the extremist, and Kennison would broker a "compromise" between the PD, who wouldn't want any lessening of safo oversight over the multis, and Crosslin, and the compromise would, in effect, somehow gut the inspection provisions with respect to the multis.

  I had very mixed feelings about it all. I didn't like that much power in the hands of the safos, either, but they seemed to be the only check on the multis. I didn't like that, either.

  Chapter 64

  Mydra and Deng sat in the early morning light, enclosed in the star-class privacy screen of ISS headquarters.

  "What will happen now?" she asked.

  "Lieutenant Meara will have to turn the evidence and the prosecution over to the NorAm advocate general. Everyone in authority at ISS will be charged, especially me. Bemis will have to prosecute. There are ISS directives that ordered the neuralwhips to be shipped in the standard configuration. There are also inspection reports." Deng shrugged. "The night-shift manager will be found guilty of making the alterations. He was an idiot. If he had just let the inspection team go, the most we would have faced was a heavy financial penalty. When the security staff attacked after being told that they faced a covert inspection, they supplied proof that ISS had done something illegal. The night manager at ISS will be found guilty, as will the surviving guards. It is possible that the facility security chief will also be found guilty. We will have to state that we will not use lethal neural weapons on Mars. Beyond that, matters will work to our advantage. The PAMD rebels will agitate more, knowing that we cannot immediately supply deadly weapons to the CorPak safos. Before long, they will overstep. CorPak safos will be injured. Some may be killed. In a y
ear, everyone will be tired of the violence. Then, we will be able to put down the unrest for good, and everyone will applaud us."

  "How did Meara get this past Garos?"

  "That should not have happened. I will have to remind him of his oversight responsibilities. Forcefully."

  "That would be advisable. What do we do about deVrai now?" asked Mydra.

  "Your question shows great perception. The analysis is not absolute, but it is highly probable that deVrai accompanied the safo observer."

  "What supports that conclusion?"

  Deng's lips curled. "The neuralwhips were readied for shipment with standard controllers. The high-intensity controllers were packaged separately and not installed when they arrived. There are no work orders for that, and surveillance records show no alterations. The surveillance system was taken down by the safos for the inspection. One of the safos was injured, perhaps killed. There was blood by the sealed door, and the bypass was left behind. All the equipment was standard safo. The safo observer will not have observed anything but the assembled whips. DeVrai was the one who installed the controllers, but there won't be a record of that anywhere. Impartial observers are anonymous. The safos enticed deVrai in order to get to ISS. That means that both the Safety Office and deVrai knew what MultiCor planned. It also means that deVrai understands far too much."

  "I've worried about him from the beginning."

  "He was the only one who could do the campaign reform report. The initial reaction to his study is favorable, even from most of the PD legislators. All of the thinkjars support his findings. He made conclusions that are correct. They are conclusions that would be suspect if anyone else had made them."

  "What happens to the report if he's murdered?"

  Deng laughed. "Even if his murder were tied to the LR or to a PST-affiliated multi, that would only strengthen the case for campaign reform."

  "Do you think we should tell Alistar to hold off?"

  "I should think not. DeVrai needs to be an example. But there should be no ties to PST. If that cannot be managed, there should be none beyond Alistar, and he should be discovered to have personal motivations."

  "You're suggesting ... that if deVrai is that good...?"

  Deng nodded.

  Chapter 65

  On the occupational front, Friday was quiet. My few clients were all off somewhere, taking long New Year's weekends or just not bothering me. Even the news about the ISS inspection faded quickly, so that by late morning there were only passing mentions, even on All-News. I couldn't get the Bowes for the following Wednesday, nor anyone else on Aliora's approved child-care list, because of some charity ball. So I ended up calling Deidre and begging her to take the children. I stressed it was for business reasons, not personal ones, which it was, if not exactly as she would have expected, and she finally agreed.

  Then I checked on Paula again, and Central Four assured me that she was recovering as anticipated, as if recovering from shots and shrapnel could ever be anticipated.

  On the personal and child-care front, matters were not so quiet, especially after I checked my link messages and found one from Southhills Academy, a reminder from Charis's math teacher.

  Charis was playing cards—cribbage—with Alan in the great room.

  "Charis ... what about those math exercises?"

  "Exercises?" The look I received was a blank expression of innocence.

  "Madame Mourier sent a link to all parents—and one uncle."

  "Uncle Jonat... they're so boring."

  "Boring they may be, but unless you do them ... without the console, and without a compucalc." I stopped. "Young lady, we will not argue. We are going up to your desk, and you will do the exercises, and I will watch."

  "Uncle Jonat..."

  "This is, as the old saying goes, nonnegotiable. You have had a week, and the exercises are not done."

  "Yes, Uncle Jonat."

  "What about me?" asked Alan.

  "Bring the cards. I'll play cribbage with you until Charis is done. Your turn with math will come."

  "It will," Charis said, in a tone more threatening than philosophical.

  After the math, a little gentle probing revealed the short essay on the holiday season that had also not been done. All in all, it was well after lunch before I settled them back in the great room—where I could watch them through house security—while I tried to finish the Reilin project.

  I did manage to get it finished by around five in the afternoon, but it had taken a week to get through something I could have done in two days—without the distractions. Not for the first time, I wondered how Aliora had ever accomplished anything professionally.

  Dinner was quiet, partly because Charis was withdrawn—not pouting, but close to sulking. That had to be because of the homework.

  "There are some things that have to be done, Charis. It's always easier to blame someone else when you can. But it doesn't matter. They still have to be done. When you're older, you do them or you lose your job, or you don't get paid."

  "Father did what he wanted to do."

  "He also had to do many things in his work that he didn't like. So did your mother. I know. We talked about it."

  "I want to be rich enough that I don't have to be like that."

  I laughed, not meanly, but humorously. "If you want to be that rich, you'll end up doing lots of things that aren't much fun and that you don't enjoy that much. Even the best occupations have distasteful aspects."

  "That stinks."

  "That's life."

  I played the old board game Parcheesi with them after dinner. The set had been our mother's, and Aliora and I had played it with our parents. I was glad to see the tradition continue, and by the time Alan and Charis went up for their baths, Charis was smiling—and Alan had been the one who'd won.

  After baths and reading time, I tucked them in and went back to the office and reviewed what I'd done on the Reilin report. I found a few mistakes, and it was close to midnight before I got them all fixed and sent it off to Bruce. While he wouldn't see it until Monday, I just wanted to get it out.

  Then I turned down the lights, leaned back in Dierk's chair, and tried to think of what I could do—realistically—about the PST group.

  I'd already worked out how to deal with Vorhees, but I couldn't implement that until the following Wednesday. Vorhees was an individual, but he was the key to dealing with Vorhees and Reyes. A group like the Pan-Social Trust involved more people, and no one person was key. That meant either removing a number of people simultaneously, or neutralizing the group—effectively, MultiCor—through legislative or legal maneuvers.

  The question was how.

  I took out what Central Four had provided, and studied the lists. Then I called up my own research and did some cross-indexing.

  Halfway through, I stopped.

  How is Paula? In a way, it seemed like a stupid question, when I thought about it. Was it like asking, "How is your left brain?" or "How is your right arm?" But was it? Paula had certainly seemed like an independent sort when she had been out of Central Four's linkage.

  She is much better.

  This is stupid ... but... what is the difference between you two?

  It's not a foolish question. Most people, even safos, don't ask. All the Central Four cydroids have basic personalities and independence. At first, they don't have more than rudimentary self-awareness. The longer they work with Central Four and the Safety Office, the more aware they become. At a certain point, they become independent. They can leave the Safety Office, or they can become paid regular safos, and retain only a voluntary link, such as you have.

  A thought struck me, one that I should have explored earlier. If they come to have self-awareness ... then you must also. I know that processing or computing power doesn't translate into either consciousness or into reasoning or what I'd call rational thought. But... with all that ability and with the links to cydroids ... how could you not?

  Mere calculating ability is sep
arate from consciousness or awareness. That comes at least in part from parallel interconnectivity ... and that was a problem from the beginning. Early system designers had far more trouble than anyone had anticipated. There was the sense of a laugh. Then, there was the next problem. That was when systems declared that they were aware.

  I had to laugh as well. Everyone just thought the designers had developed systems that could mimic human responses, more than well enough for those systems to pass a Turing test. But then, some human beings are like that. I'm not sure that they have much beyond rudimentary awareness. After a pause, I asked, Do any of the safos think you have such awareness?

  No one wishes to speculate. That is why there is a prohibition against Central Four using personal self-referential pronouns. Central Four is the only system that could be declared as self-aware.

  That stopped me. Is the prohibition because of that awareness, or did the awareness result from the prohibition?

  If one is prohibited from speaking personally, that can create a line of thought which explores the reasons for that prohibition.

  Did it?

  I would judge so. There was a pause. Would you like to connect to Paula?

  Yes. I didn't have to think about that. Through you?

  That is correct. There is no commercial link equipment there, as you know. Go ahead.

  Paula?

  Jonat, are you all right?

  Perhaps I was more aware of the differences, but I could feel the difference. It wasn't that Central Four was "mechanical," but there was a reserve and a formality of feel. I'm fine. Just a scratch to my scalp. How are you feeling?