Savant

by Nik Abnett

  “SAINTOUT WILL STAY with you while I go to see Service,” said Metoo. “I’m so sorry about this, Tobe, I’ll be back as soon as I can manage.”

  “We’ll be okay, won’t we, Master?” asked Saintout. “The Master and the Frenchie.”

  “Frenchie,” said Tobe, smiling broadly. “Master Tobe and the Frenchie.”

  “God, it sounds like one of those bad straight to vid police-thriller-romance things,” said Metoo.

  “Seriously,” said Saintout, “what could possibly go wrong?”

  “What could possibly go wrong?” asked Master Tobe.

  “Maybe, while she’s gone,” said Saintout, leaning in to Tobe, and speaking to him conspiratorially, “you and I can play a game.”

  Tobe stepped back from Saintout, unable to bear anyone, let alone a comparative stranger, in his personal space. He stepped away, but he didn’t panic.

  “What game?”

  Saintout took his cue, and kept at arms-length from Tobe.

  “A get to know you game,” he said. “We take it in turns to ask each other questions, and answer them, and then we have a contest to see who knows the most about the other person.”

  Tobe looked at Saintout, quizzically. Metoo took hold of Tobe by the face, one small hand on either cheek.

  “I probably won’t be gone that long,” she said to him. “If Saintout bothers you, or you don’t like him being here, he’ll go into the garden room, okay?”

  “And if you really can’t stand me, I’ll leave,” said Saintout.

  “Frenchie leave,” said Tobe, his face expressionless. Saintout punched Tobe lightly on the shoulder, still at arms-length, and laughed at the suggestion.

  “Not yet, Buddy, surely,” he said. Tobe jolted sideways, slightly, from the play punch, taken unawares, but the expression on his face didn’t change.

  “Buddy?” asked Tobe. “Who’s Buddy?”

  Metoo held Tobe’s gaze for a moment.

  “I won’t be long,” she promised, casting a determined gaze in Saintout’s direction. “Look after each other.”

  “We will,” said Saintout, “won’t we, Buddy?”

  “Who’s Buddy?” asked Tobe.

  Metoo shot Saintout another look, and then left the flat.

  DOCTOR WOOH REMAINED in the garden room. She put on her headset, positioned the bead in her ear and dropped the little screen down in front of her face. In the hour between breakfast and the appointment time, while they waited for Metoo to prepare Tobe, more equipment had arrived via the garden room window. Saintout had inserted a mini-bead into his ear, and fixed a comm-camera, fashioned in the shape of a Service badge, on his lapel. Both should be totally undetectable, unless Saintout got very unlucky.

  Doctor Wooh had the text of all the questions that Service wanted Master Tobe to answer; it was her job to relay them to Saintout, via the mini-bead. She would whisper in his ear, and monitor everything from Saintout’s point of view, or from the point of view of Saintout’s lapel, at least. She was grateful that he was taller than Metoo and Tobe; maybe, she’d be able to pick up some of the Master’s facial expressions, which might help her to decode his answers. In the meantime, she knew that Service would be watching. All screens on the Service Floor would be on Tobe.

  Saintout stood where he was after Metoo left. He didn’t want to cause Tobe any problems by moving around too quickly, or going somewhere he wasn’t wanted. Tobe stood next to him, in the hallway. After three or four minutes, Saintout decided that he’d have to make some sort of move.

  “I’d like a drink, if that’s all right?” he asked. “Can we go into the kitchen?”

  “Kitchen,” said Tobe, turning and making his way down the corridor. He entered the kitchen first, walked around the counter, and sat down on his stool. Saintout hung in the doorway until Tobe was sitting down. There was one other stool in the kitchen, opposite Tobe’s, on the other side of the counter: Metoo’s stool.

  “Can I sit here?” asked Saintout.

  “Metoo’s,” said Tobe. Saintout took that to mean ‘no’, so he stood at the counter next to the stool.

  “Can I make you a cup of coffee?” asked Saintout. Tobe laughed, as if Saintout had said something foolish.

  “Metoo drinks coffee,” said Tobe.

  “Lots of people drink coffee.”

  “Tobe drinks tea at breakfast time, or water.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll have water, then, shall we?”

  Saintout stood for a moment, waiting for an answer, but none came. So, he walked around the counter, giving Tobe a wide berth, and made his way to the sink. Four or five glasses stood next to the tap for drinking water. Saintout hesitated again. All of the glasses were different shapes and sizes. He knew that if he picked up the wrong glass anything might happen.

  “Which is your glass?” he finally asked Tobe.

  “The big one, of course,” said Tobe. Saintout began to wish that Tobe was more capable of hiding his disdain, but at least the Master seemed to feel in control of the situation, which might make him more tolerant of the Operator’s presence. Tobe obviously didn’t view Saintout as any kind of threat.

  Saintout picked up the largest glass, and began to fill it from the tap.

  “No. No. No!” said Tobe, suddenly, almost making Saintout jump. “Too full. Too full,” he said, thumping the side of his head lightly with the knuckles of his fist.

  Saintout looked over his shoulder at Tobe, but couldn’t read the expression on his face.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Look, I’ll pour it away. It’s fine.” He poured the water into the sink.

  “No!” shouted Tobe, again, thumping the side of his head more deliberately.

  Saintout took a breath, and said, “Why don’t you tell me how to do it? Look, I won’t do anything until you’re calm and we can work this out, properly. You know how to do it, don’t you? So, you can make sure that I do it right.”

  After three or four minutes, Tobe stopped thumping the side of his head, and looked back at Saintout, who was standing as still as he could, his hand clasped around Tobe’s glass.

  “Do it like Metoo does it,” said Tobe.

  “And how is that?” asked Saintout.

  Doctor Wooh watched on her screen as Tobe talked Saintout through the pouring of water. When it was wrong, Saintout was not allowed to pour the water down the sink. He should’ve known better. Water was conserved at all costs, drinking water, especially. If the water in the glass was wrong, he was to pour it into a large jug in the fridge, which Metoo always used to fill her glass.

  The large glass that Tobe used was moulded with a series of scalloped ridges, running up the sides, like an old-fashioned soda glass. The water had to be poured in one go, and should come up to the curved tops of the ridges. Too much and the water was poured into the jug, too little and the water was poured into the jug. If the water was poured incorrectly, the glass had to be rinsed and dried thoroughly with a blue tea-cloth.

  How the hell does she manage this? Saintout wondered, packing the glass with the cloth and then rotating it to thoroughly dry the inside. Is he the same with everything? He decided that when this was over, he’d have a lot of questions to ask Metoo.

  Saintout poured the water correctly on the third attempt.

  POLICE OPERATOR STRAUSS greeted Metoo on the other side of the door, and led her out of the building and across the site to Service. She didn’t speak to her escort, not out of rudeness, or because she didn’t care for her, but because she was worried about Tobe, and nothing seemed to take that worry away. At least, she wasn’t worried about Tobe; she was worried about so many other people worrying about Tobe.

  Metoo and her escort rode the elevator to the exterior gallery, and entered a small interview room. It was the room where Pitu 3 had been questioned, although there were no signs of the room’s previous use.

  “Take a seat,” said Police Operator Strauss. “I’ll be observing the interview, but I’m just going to step out for a momen
t.”

  Metoo sat alone for a few minutes, unaware that she was being watched. The vid-con screen in front of her was black, apparently inactive. She sat, quietly, looking into the black screen, almost as if she was in a trance. She was counting her breaths, slowing them down, so that she could think clearly, so that she wouldn’t be caught off guard, so that she wouldn’t appear flustered or incoherent. She just wanted everything to return to normal, and if being interviewed by Service would make that happen, she would endure the indignity.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  BRANTING WAS LOOKING intently at the vid-con screen, deeply concerned for Operator Goodman, and for the implications of his breakdown in the light of the crisis.

  The door into the little room opened, and McColl saw Branting raise his head. The Control Operator appeared to be looking over the top of him and to the right. He gestured at something that McColl couldn’t see, except that he was almost tempted to turn around, and look behind him.

  The door opened into Branting’s interview room, and Qa thrust his head around it, holding a piece of paper up in his hand. Branting looked over the top of the screen at him, read the scrawled message on the piece of paper that Qa was holding up, and waved a hand. Qa retreated.

  “If you could just stay there for a minute or two, gentlemen,” said Branting, getting out of his seat, and nodding to McColl. Goodman had still not recovered his composure. “I won’t be long. Perhaps, Ranked Operator McColl, you could try to calm Operator Goodman down, while I step out.”

  Branting opened the door of the interview room to find Qa in the corridor, waiting for him.

  “Okay, Qa, you’ve got my attention,” said Branting. “What is it?”

  “We’ve got another one.”

  “So your little message said, Qa, but another what?”

  “Another Goodman.”

  “You’re sure?” asked Branting, visibly excited.

  “She’s an Operator in Mumbai College, and her score on the test was exactly the same as Goodman’s. Her profile didn’t seem remotely similar, but then I checked her Codes,” said Qa, smiling.

  “And?”

  “Operator Perrett had been working a station on the Service Floor when she put through a query. She recognised that the subject at her Workstation had been changed.”

  “That happens,” said Branting. “What makes her unusual?”

  “She was young, she’d been in the job two Lows, she was fresh back on the Service Floor after a six week sabbatical, and she’d spotted a difference between two control subjects, who, for all sensible purposes, had the same screen.”

  “She picked up minute differences after a gap of six weeks?” asked Branting.

  “She couldn’t explain it, but she was adamant that the subject had been switched-out, and nothing could persuade her otherwise.”

  “And, she was right?”

  “And she was right.”

  “Get her into an interview room, now,” said Branting, “and splice her vid-con onto mine, so that I’ve got her and Goodman on at the same time.”

  “Done and done. Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m fine. Good work, Qa, this’ll all be over before you know it.”

  “Not before time, sir.”

  “Just one thing. When do we begin interviewing the Assistant-Companion?”

  Qa looked at his watch, and said, “Any time now, sir, if she’s on time for her appointment.”

  “Does she strike you as the type that would be late?”

  “No, sir, she doesn’t.”

  “You’d better make that a three-way split on the vid-con, then. I want them to be able to see her, so let’s keep multiple channels open between the three locations, please.”

  “Four.”

  “What?”

  “Four locations, sir. Your room, one in Mumbai, and two at College Ground Zero.”

  “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Four, then,” said Branting, turning back to the door he’d come out of only minutes before.

  A TONE WAS sent to Perrett’s room. It was 13:40 in Mumbai, and she was in a Repast/Recreation cycle. She’d hit her button for Repast only two hours ago, and wasn’t due back on duty for another six hours. She signed in.

  “Operator Perrett,” she said.

  “Repast cycle terminated, await escort to Service Floor,” said Service.

  “What for?”

  “Please await your escort.”

  Perrett signed out. She cleaned up a little, and changed her robe. If she was being called back into Service, it wasn’t to go back on the Service Floor; the first to be called back in an emergency would be the group completing a Rest cycle. The Global situation might be complicated, but there was no reason for her to be called back to her Workstation. Something else was happening, and Operator Perrett wanted to make sure that she was prepared.

  A Police Operator arrived to escort Perrett back to Service.

  “Can you tell me what’s going on, Police Operator...?”

  “Black,” said the tall, dark female Operator. “I can’t tell you. Apparently this is all ‘need to know’, and the powers that be haven’t deemed it necessary to bring me in on their plans.”

  “Oh.”

  “I wouldn’t worry. I’m just the escort; I’ve got to hand you off to Ranked Operator Chandar. Do you know him?”

  “I know of him,” said Perrett, her small face pinching into a strained expression. “Thanks.”

  Black escorted Perrett into the Service building, up to the exterior gallery, via the elevator, and into a small interview room, half a storey below the Service Floor. Perrett had not been in one of the rooms before. It was small and windowless with only one entrance/exit. There was a table in the room, and two chairs, one of which was already occupied by a large, older man with broad white streaks in his dark hair. Perrett didn’t want to assume that the other chair was for her. She turned to Black, but she had already retreated, and the door closed a split second after Perret turned, her mouth half-open to speak to her escort.

  “Take a seat,” said the large man, without looking at Perrett.

  Perrett pulled the chair out, and smoothed her robe over her behind as she sat down. Stress almost made her appear prim to anyone that didn’t know her, and she hated it.

  “What’s happening?” asked Perrett.

  “Haven’t a clue,” said the large man, who seemed remarkably unbothered by the whole episode.

  “You’re Ranked Operator Chandar?” asked Perrett, tentatively.

  “That’s right.”

  With that, the vid-con on the wall opposite flickered brightly into life before settling into a drifting snow-scape of white noise. It made Perrett jump.

  When the fuzz cleared, the screen blinked into life, showing a small, dark-haired man, sitting in a chair with a pile of documents on a table in front of him. The man appeared to be looking over her left shoulder, and was mouthing words that she couldn’t hear.

  The screen blinked again, and this time, she saw a room just like the one she was sitting in, but facing her were two men, one of whom looked ill, and appeared to be being consoled by the other. Again, she couldn’t hear what was being said, but they didn’t appear to be looking at her.

  BRANTING SWITCHED HIS point of view between the three rooms. He hadn’t introduced himself to Operator Perrett, yet, but he could see her sitting in an interview room with Ranked Operator Chandar. Chandar seemed very relaxed, and Branting made a note to check out his file, in case the man could prove useful in the future, providing, of course, that they had a future.

  He then switched to the second interview room at College Ground Zero. The room was empty. The time signature at the top of his vid-con suggested that his third subject was not yet late.

  He kept the empty room on screen and waited. As the time signature clicked over to the hour, the door to the empty room opened, and Branting caught his first sight of Metoo. She entered the
room alone, as he had requested, and he had three minutes just to look at her, before her escort was due to return. He downloaded those three minutes of her in the room, ready to make the footage available to Goodman and Perrett, if required.

  Police Operator Strauss closed the door to the interview room, and stood outside for the allotted three minutes. Then, she tapped lightly on the door, and let herself in.

  Metoo appeared to be totally calm. Strauss entered the room, closing the door behind her, and sat down in the vacant chair.

  The vid-con blinked and fizzed, and then drifting snow appeared to fill it for three or four seconds. When it had cleared, Metoo could see a small, dark-haired man sitting behind a desk. He smiled out at her.

  “Hello, Metoo,” said Branting. “I am Control Operator Branting, and, with your permission, I’ll be interviewing you, today.”

  “You’re tired,” said Metoo.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re tired,” said Metoo, looking hard at Branting’s image on the screen. “You’ve been working too hard for too long, and you’re tired.”

  Branting sighed. “You’re right, of course, but maybe, if you can see your way clear to helping us out, we can put all this behind us, and I can get some Rest.”

  “Maybe,” said Metoo, calm, but still a little wary. “Tell me first, why am I here?”

  Branting looked at Metoo, and put down the pieces of paper that he was holding in his hands.

  “All right,” he said. “That seems only fair.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  MASTER TOBE AND Saintout sat on either sides of the kitchen counter. It had taken over an hour, but Tobe had finally indicated that Saintout could sit on Metoo’s stool.

  Doctor Wooh sat in the garden room, more than a little frustrated. She kept whispering the first few questions on the test into Saintout’s ear, but he wasn’t responding. To begin with, she thought that perhaps he couldn’t hear her, so she asked him to cough if he was picking her up on his ear-bead. He coughed on cue.