by Lee Bond
His utter lack of comprehension made going through the manual an exercise in absolute, Zen-like patience. Every time he turned around, he wanted to break something to let off a little steam, and the only thing keeping him from pulling the ceiling apart was the knowledge that turning off network protocols was something he could do. It didn’t make sense to build a machine without that particular function. What if someone’s main picked up a malevolent virus or something equally destructive? Everyone in Latelyspace was hooked into their netLINKs from birth to death and the last thing they’d do was leave it open to viral maladies and hijinkery.
“Goddamnit.” Garth closed his eyes.
Maybe he was approaching the problem from the wrong angle. Maybe there wasn’t a software resolution. Maybe it was a hardware fix. The Latelians seemed genetically programmed to do the opposite of things normal people did; in an instance where you’d think they’d take the hard way out, maybe they’d go simple.
Zipping back to the table of contents at the beginning of the electronic book, Garth read through some of the titles, looking desperately for anything that sounded like ‘blueprints’. Eventually he decided that ‘Hierarchical Architecture’ was as good a bet as any. He took a stab and accessed the files.
Jackpot. Blueprints, no matter how quaintly phrased, were things he could read and understand with instinctual skill. He located the necessary schematics, absorbing them in a matter of minutes.
“For fuck’s sake.” Garth muttered angrily. He tossed the Sheet onto the couch as he headed over to the system.
For once in his life, he wished the people around him worked at being consistent with their paranoia and reliance on being as difficult as possible. He popped the back off the large computer and stared at the innards, which is what he should’ve done right away. It would’ve spared him an hour of reading sentences that he knew contained words from the ‘English’ language but put together in ways never before imagined.
The inside of the Protipal Primary System was crammed with plates engraved with warning sign after warning sign; removal of any one of the protective coverings invalidated the warranty and apparently subjected the remover to a number of different legal clauses should their treacherous ways ever be discovered. Garth poked around in search of the data ports the baffle-sphere needed in order to complete the AI interface, finding them center bottom.
“Hmm.” Garth stepped back to get a look at the big picture. The baffle-sphere was jointed so that when the connectors were plugged in, the long arm and the orb at the top could snap upwards into the chassis, theoretically allowing the case to be put back on without any signs of tampering. In order to get this done, though, every bolted cover in the thing needed to be removed. There was a half-formed suspicion that those cover plates protected stuff that probably really did need covering all the time.
Still, there was no other choice; bits of Huey’s brain were probably that very minute leaking out into The Palazzo. Eventually those quantum emissions would be detected by scanners in the street.
Garth looked back at the Manual Sheet with loathing. He was going to have to read a lot more before he started taking shit apart willy-nilly. He’d made the mistake of not paying enough attention during his dealings with Guillfoyle and the Portsiders, and look what happened there; the deaths of hundreds and a financial blow that Hospitalis would be long in absorbing. Haphazardly connecting a potentially insane AI up to the limitless netLINK that existed on Hospitalis had ‘massive danger’ and ‘exponentially stupid’ written all over it.
Adding insult to injury, the particular network connectivity control he’d been looking for was a bright red switch just inside the left-hand side of the machine. Apparently, anyone with half a brain and an advanced degree in protean construction would have known exactly where to find it.
Fuming, Garth flipped the switch and went back to the couch, as eager to continue reading the manual as he was to fight God soldiers. He flipped to a section he’d come across earlier and read up on what he needed to do next.
For all the warnings and unsubtle hints that Warranty Ninjas would come shooting through the windows and rappelling from the ceiling flinging shuriken into his face, removing the various plates and caps was so easy that Garth decided he’d been snookered into dropping ten large for the privilege of being an idiot. The waste of money didn’t bother him so much as Turuin’s lack of honesty. Thinking about the deceased BCU brought up the fact that Lisa Laughlin was at least partially responsible for the mess he was in, so Garth pushed Turuin –and ‘Starlight Woman’- out of his head with an effort.
When the innards of the protean netLINK were completely revealed, Garth stepped back to examine the craftsmanship that went into the machine.
This was what he was talking about when he went off about how Trinity science lacked anything resembling coolness! For reasons astonishing scientists day in and day out, the Trinity AI denied anyone in Trinityspace access or permission to work on anything more sophisticated than the microchip. Of course, you could get really high-tech with layered or stacked chips, but sooner or later, you ran into the wall.
But the Latelians –thanks to their Sovereignty- didn’t suffer from restrictions. The Protipal was a testament to what you could build if only visionaries had a free hand. The main’s data storage containers, for example, were easy to remove chips no bigger than his thumbnail; each of the small drives was capable of storing all the information on a proteus and able to deliver that data at blistering high speeds of up to forty teraflops per second along internal netLINKs. Data transmission along the planetary networks for standard users was throttled to two teraflops or less to prevent massive bandwidth hogging and brownouts.
As far as Garth could tell, the flash drives also did double duty by performing the work of RAM because there wasn’t anything else inside that looked familiar to him. Without a synthetic diamond mind, you needed to fall back on ancient standards, sure, but what the Latelians had done with those old ideas…
The storage/RAM chips weren’t necessarily a complete violation of Trinity Proscribed Sciences, but they were damn close. R&D guys all across Trinityspace would rip into those chips for the secret of smaller-than-micro designs, promptly using those innovations to make pocket-sized Gamma Plateaus.
Much of the rest of the machinery and tools inside the chassis were self-explanatory; netLINK communications rigs, data displays, connection ports for holographic emitters, printers, and other portable devices. There was even a section of real estate put aside for a Q-Comm system, which was where Guillfoyle’s genius outshone the heavens. The Traitor’s baffle-sphere was destined for that long slot.
It was no wonder Conglomerates throughout Trinityspace were hungry to get their hands on the brainiacs living in Latelyspace. They were humble geniuses too smart to realize that they could ask any price at all for their services and walk away wealthy after a single job.
Garth hefted Huey thoughtfully in his hands. It was now or never.
He knelt down and guided the baffle-sphere gently into place until he felt the triple-click that told him the top part of the arm was locked into place. Holding onto that locked part with his left hand, Garth exerted pressure along the arm until a joint swiveled; the sphere glided easily into position between a holographic processing unit and a tertiary rack of flash chips. There was a second series of clicking sounds as the shining sphere went firmly into place, locked firmly in at the bottom of the main.
If the clicking and humming reaching his ears was any indication of success, the baffle-sphere was running its hardwired programming. So far, so good. According to the help file, the gizmo would run diagnostic tests to determine if the connected primary had sufficient capacity to operate properly. If the main wasn’t up to snuff, the sphere would unlock itself and he’d have to buy a better one. He couldn’t and wouldn’t try to use the suite’s ‘main’ because it was a dummy slaved to a much larger system and if Huey had gone One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, there’d be no
way to prevent a Forbin Project scenario. Being cast as Doctor Charles Forbin wasn’t something Garth wanted; he had better hair, for one, and besides which, he doubted he could pull such a bad haircut off on his best day.
This went on for about five minutes before stopping. After thirty seconds of nerve-wracking silence, Garth assumed the Protipal computer met the baffle-sphere’s requirements.
“Yeehaw.” Reminding himself that a smart handyman is a safe and unharmed handyman, Garth put the computer’s case back together and discarded all the useless plates before maneuvering the newly customized system towards a wall socket. Though it was highly likely that Huey’s own internal power source could run the main system once everything was up and running, for Guillfoyle’s device would need a ‘familiar’ power source to do it’s job. Cord in hand, he was seconds away from bringing Huey to life when a shrill pipping sound jerked his attention away.
“Goddamnit!” It was someone from the Hotel. He wanted to ignore it, but didn’t think that’d be the wisest course of action; whoever was calling could want to talk to him about anything at all, covering his possession of illegal military weapons to his ownership of an even more illegal AI sphere.
Christ, no doubt he was guilty of shit he was blissfully unaware of, probably ten million things! Garth dropped the plug unhappily and answered the call.
“Yes?” Considering that he’d been moments away from realizing one of the thousand different very important tasks he’d assigned himself, Garth was very impressed with how politely he took the call.
“Sa Nickels, this is Si Amanda down here at the front desk.”
Si Amanda was the inverse of Si Joanna; where Joanna was a pale platinum blonde, Amanda was charcoal black. To Garth’s disgust, Amanda also possessed preternaturally sharp eyes and that unflinching ‘can-do’ attitude that was an effective weapon against anything. If the people being invaded by Mongol hordes had only employed someone from the service industry to greet the slavering maniacs, everything would’ve gone much differently. Garth could see it now; Genghis Khan, terror of the world, bashing his head against Si Amanda’s bright, vacuous-but-steely gaze.
“Er, hi.” Garth said, wavering under the eternally optimistic gaze. “What can I do for you?” He shifted the Sheet slightly so Amanda couldn’t see the computer behind him.
Si Amanda threw a picture onto the screen. “This is Si Alixia van derTuppen. She claims she is an associate of yours and needs to see you on a matter of the utmost urgency.”
Garth gazed unsolicitously at Alixia van derWhosits. Nine feet tall, rail thin, dressed in what he assumed was expensive clothing. Short blonde bob frosted with flaming red hues on the tips, long fingernails, lots of jewelry and a posture that warned everyone that she’d bite first and ask questions much, much later. Probably three days after the body’d cooled and only then to find out where the money was. She was busy jabbering into her proteus a mile a minute, pausing once every three seconds to shout incomprehensibly into it. An aura of pale blue cigarette smoke hovered eternally around her head, forming a carcinogenic halo. “Yikes.”
“You don’t know her?” Amanda asked.
“Uhm, no.” Garth shook his head. Even if he did know who Alixia vandenScoonk was, he wouldn’t admit it. She was a nightmare!
“According to documents in her possession, she is an employee of the currently unapproved conglomerate UltraMegaDynamaTron. Does this have any meaning for you?”
“Shit.” Garth hung his head low. He didn’t know who Alixia vinderHimmel was, but at least he knew what she was now: his ‘publicist’. “Uh. Yeah, she works for me, I guess.”
“You guess?” Amanda locked eyes with Garth. “I cannot allow her into the building unless you are more specific than that, sa.”
Garth threw his hands into the air, exasperated. “All right, yes, fine, she works for me. I’m the owner of UltraMegaDynamaTron. She’s my publicist.”
“Oh.” Amanda became all smiles and relaxation. “Very well. I’ll log her into the system and direct her to your rooms, if that is what you want.”
What Garth wanted and needed were two very different things: he wanted to be left alone to pursue a lifetime of being disgustingly wealthy, but he needed to deal with an increasingly spastic planet. “Send her up. Ignore the screaming, si, ‘cuz that’ll be me being forced into public appearances.”
“Will do, sa. Thank you for your understanding.” Amanda nodded. “If you need anything further, please don’t hesitate to contact us.”
“Don’t you worry.” Garth replied, unable to tear his eyes away from Si Alixia. “I’ll do just that.” He ended the call wondering just what kind of help his newest employee was going to be.
The Nightmare of Popularity
Si Alixia ‘Call me Alix’ van derTuppen wasn’t someone Garth wanted to know, and the hyper-thin media attack dog warned him right from the front door that if he liked her, she wasn’t doing her job properly.
“My job,” Alix said as she lit up a cigarette, “is to make sure you keep yourself from being an idiot in public. Now, now, I know what you’re going to say: ‘Alix, I would never do something stupid in public’. But you will. Admit it. Like it or not, sa, you’re in the public eye in a big, big way and the only way to change that is to become public enemy number one; we love our stars, sa, and hold on to them long after the expiry date.”
“Uh.” Garth had to sit down. This wasn’t good. Not at all.
Alix sat down across from him, eyes flicking momentarily over his main. “Practicing a little education?”
“Huh?” Garth followed his agent’s line of sight. “Oh, uh, yeah. Nothing like it in Trinityspace.”
Alix nodded approvingly. “That’s something we can work with, sa.” She threw her hands up in the air and started boxing out the type. “Ex-Trinity Devil Tries To Learn Computers’. The eggheads will love it. We’ll have to get some pictures of you sitting at the terminal doing something … suitable.”
“What?” Garth shook his head. “No, no, no pictures. No stories. No nothing. I don’t want anyone knowing anything about me. I hired you to make sure that everyone leaves me alone when I Conglomerate.”
Alix ignored Garth entirely, re-reading something on her prote. “What’s this malarkey about you being raised by wolf-men? That’s not true is it? If it is, we can find you a corner niche for pet lovers. ‘Wolf-boy Shaves, Joins Society, Still Sleeps by Fireplace’. Endearing images abound.”
“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” Garth shouted. “What in the hell is wrong with you? My primary concern is staying out of the public eye. I can’t afford fame.”
Alix blew a torrent of smoke out the side of her mouth, looked for an ashtray, and, finding none, decorously tapped her ash onto the carpet. “It’s just that sort of thing, sa, that the public is dying to see. And it’s just the sort of thing I’m here to prevent. We Latelians love a good meltdown.”
“Chairwoman Doans told me that as a Conglomerate, I could force reporters and journalists and whoever else into pre-approved venues only.” Garth said hotly. “Sounds to me like you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Darling,” Alix shot back confidently, “I know more about what I’m doing than anyone else in the game. Doans, well, she didn’t exactly lie to you, but she definitely didn’t tell you the truth.” She leaped out of her chair and dragged Garth over to the windows. She threw them wide open and gestured maniacally at the towers and lights. “These people are watching you day and night, sa. They’re going to know what you eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner. They’re going to know about wolf-men or man-wolves or whatever it was that you really raised you. They’re going to know your favorite music. Do you know what they’re never going to know or care about? Ever?”
Suddenly in need of fresh air, Garth pulled the glass doors open –even though The Palazzo suggested the more security-conscious stay indoors at all times- and stepped out. Alixia was hot on his heels.
Garth wondered if killing som
eone like this ‘publicist’ counted as murder or if he could spin it into some sort of philanthropic gesture. He cast a sidelong glance at Alix and decided against that course of action; the woman was so thin she’d just float to the ground. Failing that, her ultra-dense layer of cynicism would absorb the shock of impact. He took a deep, deep breath and exhaled slowly, counting to fifteen before he opened his yapper.
“What?” Garth was impressed with how calm he sounded.
Alix launched her cigarette over the edge and lit another one. “Whatever it is UltraMegaDynamaTron does. Or is going to do. I don’t know. Sa Herrig was very busy planning a trip to Northon to look at a house.”
“Wait a minute.” Garth took a deep breath of fresh air. “You said Doans didn’t tell me the whole truth. What was that all about?”
Alix split a grin. “So you do pay attention after all.” She patted Garth’s cheek. “As a Conglomerate, you are legally entitled to maximum privacy protection. This includes but is not limited to temporary access denial to prevent unauthorized Sheet transmissions, autolocked still photography requiring your direct approval before print and the right to have newspaper reporters and anyone else harassing you arrested. Doans didn’t tell you that this blanket of protection extends no further than your place of business. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be a problem. People at your level of finance spend most of their time inside their headquarters plotting whatever it is people like you plot. Since you seem to have a proclivity for the best hotels, well, that’s not good on its own, but even if you skulked around in some basement somewhere, you’d still have problems.”
