“I do not,” said Stein.
“Thank you,” said Mark, returning to his table, where he turned to Melissa and said, “Your witness.”
Melissa stood and asked, “So you do not think Avery has a soul, then?”
“Bah,” said Stein. “A foolish idea.”
“But Avery does have a mentality, right?”
“Oh, yes,” said Stein. “He thinks and speaks and generates independent ideas and is quite bright. Clearly he can pass any test devised by man—such as the Turing test—to show that he has an independent mentality.”
“So a mentality can exist in a machine?”
“Of course,” snapped Stein. “Isn’t that what I just said?”
“Well then, let me ask you this, Dr. Stein: since mentalities can exist in machines, do you think that Arthur Coburn’s mentality is trapped in Avery?”
Stein paused a long while in silence, and Judge Marshall said, “Answer the question, please. Do you think Arthur Coburn’s mentality is trapped in Avery?”
Stein sighed and said, “I used to think not, that Avery was simply trying to trick us. But now I am not certain.”
“Thank you, Dr. Stein,” said Melissa.
Mark stood and said, “But on the other hand, Dr. Stein, is it possible that the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one is indeed trying to fool us all?”
“As I said, Mr. Perry, I am not certain.”
Mark sat back down, and Judge Marshall said, “You are dismissed, Dr. Stein.”
As Stein stood and joined the spectators, the judge then looked at Melissa and said, “Call your next witness, counselor.”
“I call James Packwood to the stand,” said Melissa.
Charlotte Dupree gasped and whispered something to Mark Perry.
Mark stood and said, “We object, your honor, in that Mr. Packwood is simply a powertech, and has no expertise whatsoever in artificial intelligences.”
“Ms. French?” said Judge Marshall.
“Goes to motive, your honor, as to why the heirs would have Avery shut down.”
“That’s not at issue here,” said Mark. “The only thing we need to consider is whether—”
The judge rapped his gavel and said, “I’ll allow it.” Then he fixed Melissa with a cold stare and added, “If I decide it isn’t relative to this hearing, I’ll toss it out.” Marshall then nodded to the court clerk.
“Call James Packwood to the stand,” said the clerk, and one of the bailiffs keyed a com and spoke softly into it. Moments later, the tall blond man entered the chamber and walked to the witness box.
57
Polaris
(Starfighters)
They had waited for the turn of the planet to carry the prison into darkness, for although there was neither day nor night in space, on the planet surface there was. They weren’t certain just how this might affect Lyssa, since in all of their previous incarnations she disappeared in the daytime and reappeared at night. And since they wanted to assure that she would be with them to deal with the bugs at the prison, they had delayed their attack on the G3 ship until this dreadful interrogation, experimentation, and distribution center was on the night side of the world.
The Galactic Community had learned of its purpose from a captured bug. And knowing of the psi talents of this particular sextet of starfighter pilots, they had sent them on a mission in the belief that this small and very special force might succeed, where a large brute force would only bring a fleet of bugs.
And now, running cloaked, they spiraled down to the surface, the AIs following Arik’s instructions to start one hundred klicks to the east, and come in low.
They landed a klick away from the perimeter, where Lyssa exited her starfighter and vanished. Long minutes passed, seeming like hours to those who waited. Finally, Lyssa reappeared and signed,
“Let’s go,” said Arik.
Armed and armored, they climbed out and down, and Kane said, “Ugh, rotten eggs.”
“Buck up, big boy,” said Ky. “Your nose will adapt and this too will pass.”
Covered by Ky’s psi-cast shadow, they moved toward the detectors and when they reached them, Arik said into his com, “Now go provide a distraction.”
The AI-driven six starfighters took off and circled to the west side of the force field, and there they decloaked and fired a volley of ineffective shots at the shield.
From somewhere in the prison ahead, a high-pitched whirring sounded. “Bug alarm,” said Rith, and they slowly began forcing their way through the perimeter field, struggling against the retardation magnetics and polarized gravitic repellers. It was like moving through a very thick viscous liquid.
To the west, flashes of energy discharges lit the sky, as the fortress prison fired at the starfighters. But those ships had risen far enough up the gravity well of the planet to be able to pop into and out of hyperspace, disappearing to avoid the fire from the ground, reappearing long enough to throw their deliberately ineffective bolts at the prison force field.
And while this went on, down below, Arik, Kane, Rith, and Trendel grunted and strained and slowly pressed their way through the shield, for it was set to repel high velocity projectiles and beams, and not low velocity humans. However, Lyssa and Ky were already inside, the forces having no effect on a ghost, and Ky had shadow-traveled to get from this side to that. Finally, as they made progress, the forces eased on the remaining four, and soon they were beyond the effects of the shield.
Before them stood a dark, high wall, surrounding a huge blocky building of black basalt: the prison factory. Here were temporarily kept captured Galactic Community humans and allies to be interrogated and studied by the Droms. But eventually the subjects were put in stasis pods and shipped out as food for the bugs. They liked their meals live.
And as beams and bolts flared in the west, up the wall the five Starfighters went, Lyssa in the lead, Trendel coming last. To a sentry station they went, where a man-sized bug lay dead, sapped of life by Lyssa, though the energy she took did little to nourish her, for only human essence would completely suffice.
Down from the tower they sped, through an awkward-for-humans internal stair. Then across the yard they ran, cloaked in Ky’s shadow and in through a sphincter opening.
“Trendel, can you find the control room?” asked Arik.
“I’ve seen the instruments on a crashed bug ship. If the displays are similar . . .” He said a word, and then pointed, “That way.”
But ‘that way’ was through a solid wall.
Even so, wending and turning, finally they came to what appeared to be another organic sphincter, a doorway used by the bugs. The sphincter was tight, though a large, glowing control glyph sat to one side.
“Lyss, take a look,” said Arik.
Moments later Lyssa reappeared and signed,
“Let’s go,” said Kane.
“We could let Lyssa do it all,” said Trendel.
“Where’s the fun in that?” asked Ky, and she pushed the glyph and the sphincter spread open and a waft of a higher concentration of hydrogen sulfide puffed out.
Intent on their displays, and stabbing out with their mantislike arms to push at fire-control glyphs, only a few bugs noticed the intruders and chittered in alarm. The pincer-jawed, antenna-headed, dark quadrupeds turned to see the humans, and a shrill twittering rose up, the segmented feeding palps around their mouths vibrating rapidly, and the cilia lining of their bodies fluttered and waved in distress. But then, ’ruptor fire blew the Droms apart, and the chattering fell to silence.
“So much for them,” said Rith.
“But there’s got to be a lot of guards,” said Trendel.
“Bug scientists, too,” said Ky, recalling the mission briefing where they were told that this was a base where the Droms studied GC prisoners before usi
ng them for food.
“Let’s get on with it,” said Arik.
“Wait,” said Trendel. And he spoke a word and began pushing the strange glyphic symbols on what seemed to be a master control board. Yet even his seer powers were a bit confused by the Bug glyphs. Nevertheless and finally, one of the starfighter AIs reported that the shield was down.
“Now, we can go,” said Trendel.
With ’ruptors and shadowbolts, they methodically cleared the prison of bugs—the guards, the scientists, the overseers, not knowing which was which—and Lyssa drained the bloated queen in her egg-laying sanctuary, while Ky shadow-blasted the pupae and the hatchlings.
When asked to find any live bugs, Trendel could not. “They’re all dead.”
Arik called his starfighter and said, “Inform central command that the prison has fallen and there are survivors to pick up.”
Arik knew his ship would fly up out of the gravity well such that the part of the comgear that resided in hyperspace could transmit the signal to CenCom, the arrangement providing nearly instant interstellar communications.
By this time, Trendel had found the cell control center, and just as he had done in the fire-control room, he pushed the glyphs on the consoles until the cell doors opened.
Then Rith stepped to a railing and said a bardic word, then announced, “The bugs are dead, and transport is on the way,” her psi-augmented voice reaching all corners of the prison.
There came a faint cheering from the rescued prisoners, some humans translating Rith’s words to the other GC races.
Arik then turned to Trendel. “Lyssa’s body, now.”
Trendel pointed, and off the six of them went, following a route through the complex.
As they passed one of the cells a voice called out, “Black Foxes?”
They all turned, and Arik said, “Arton?”
58
Five Months Before the Hearing
(Coburn Facility)
Kat Lawrence looked at the doomsday clock: 00:58:19 . . . 00:58:18 . . . 00:58:17 . . .
“Got it,” said Michael Phelan, connecting the last wire to the replacement LED gauge on the H2 tank.
“What does it read?” asked Al Hawkins.
Michael pressed in a code. “Oh, hell.”
All three looked at the numbers in disbelief.
“Seventeen fucking minutes?” shouted Kat. “That’s all?”
Mike keyed off the display and then keyed it back on.
The numbers did not change.
Kat did a quick calculation and said, “Crap! We’ve only got enough H2 for the Astro to pop about thirty minutes of battery power into Avery.”
“We’ve got to do something, Kat,” said Al.
“What about Doc?” asked Michael. “Isn’t he bringing a local tanker with some H2?”
“Carleen lost contact with him,” said Kat. “Maybe his com battery went dead, or he’s in that dead zone down by the old airbase, or the tanker broke down.”
“Then we really have to do something,” said Al. “I mean, if we can’t rely on him, then . . .”
Kat thought a moment and said, “Let’s put a squealer on Tucson Solar’s incoming feed, and then get to that substation point and switch it back on.”
“Right,” said Al. “But I’m not familiar with that particular TSP station.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Kat. “I’ll make a call.” She turned to Michael and said, “Mikey, we might as well go ahead and burn this H2 and feed the chargers. Make it happen.” She said to Hawkins, “Let’s go.”
They grabbed a squealer and a detector from the tool room. Kat also snatched up a pair of bolt cutters. And as she and Al ran past the semi, Luiz Vizcarrondo fired it up and revved the engine, and Carleen Alsberg started the Astro, and it came up to speed with a roar.
Out from the building Al ran, while Kat, in the parking garage, started one of the Coburn Industries vans. She pulled through the garage exit and across the grounds to pick up Al at the TSP distribution center on the facility property. He hopped into the van and said, “Squealer’s on.”
“Call Toni and let her know what’s happening,” said Kat.
“Right.” Al keyed in Toni’s wristband.
“What?” came Toni’s reply. “We’ve got a situation here, so make it short.”
“We replaced the gauge and have only enough H2 to give you an extra thirty minutes of power,” said Al. “We’re on the way to the TSP substation to turn the feed back on. You got that court order yet?”
“No. But I don’t give a rat’s ass about getting the order before restoring power. Just do it and we’ll let the chips fall where they may. Toni out.”
“A situation?” asked Kat, driving one-handed while getting out her holocom.
“She didn’t say what it was,” replied Al.
Kat nodded and said into her com, “Jackie Mays.”
Her call was answered as they approached the front gate, the barrier automatically sliding aside to let outgoing traffic exit.
“Jackie,” said Kat, as they roared past the guard station, ignoring James Haddock’s shouts for them to stop and sign out.
“Jeeze, Kat, what time is it?” said Jackie.
“We’ve got an emergency here, J. I need to know which switches to throw to turn back on the feed to Coburn Industries.”
“We had a court order from someone named Dupree to let the Universal Power people shut it off. Of course we didn’t let them actually throw the switches themselves.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve got to turn it back on.”
“I’ll meet you there,” said Jackie.
“No time, J. It’s got to be turned on now. If we wait for you it’ll be too late.”
“I’ll get out the books,” said Jackie. “But listen, you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Thanks, J. I’ll owe you big.”
“You bet you will,” said Jackie, who then clicked off.
As Kat put away her holocom, Al said, “What the hell?” He pointed.
Roaring toward them down Tanque Verde came lights flashing and sirens whooping. Vehicle after vehicle roared past them: ambulances, fire trucks, Pima County Sheriff cars, Tucson Police cars, Arizona State Highway Patrol cars, and a SWAT truck.
“I wonder if any of this has to do with Toni’s situation,” said Al.
Kat continued on down Tanque Verde. “All I know, Al, is that we’ve got to get the power back on, situation or not.”
In the emergency-lighted control room, John Greyson stood with his back in a corner and wept and held the team at bay.
“Come on, John, give me the gun,” said Toni. “You know this isn’t the way to handle things.”
“I told you he was unstable,” declared Henry Stein.
“Shut up! Shut up!” shouted Greyson.
“You aren’t helping, Henry,” snapped Toni.
In the small holo, the Black Foxes were killing insectlike beings in some sort of building, but no one paid any attention to the display, for the only thing that seemed important at the moment was the double-action Colt .45 that Greyson was waving at them.
Alfred “Doc” Jackson turned his H2 tanker off Tanque Verde and toward the Coburn Industries grounds. He had managed to get nearly a half load of the liquefied gas in the time Kat had given him.
“Holy Mother of God,” he said, for ahead, at the gate, it looked like a thousand red and blue lights flashed. A deputy sheriff waved him to a stop.
“What’s up?” asked Doc.
“There’s a hostage situation up there,” said the deputy. “Some nut with a gun holding a bunch of scientists.”
“Well, I’ve got to deliver this H2 to the building. It’s an emergency.”
“Sorry, but no one goes in but the negotiator and the SWAT boys.”
Doc growled but then said, “Let me borrow your com. Mine went dead.”
The deputy handed a holocom to Doc, and he punched in a number.
After a moment—“Carleen here. Who is
this?”
Doc could hear the Astro roaring in the background. “It’s me, Doc, Carleen. My com went dead. Tell Kat I got the H2, but there’s a bunch of cops here who won’t let me in.”
“Cat’s not here,” said Carleen, “but did you say cops?”
“Yeah. Says there’s some nut with a gun holding scientists hostage.”
The sound of the Astro whined down. “Oh, crap,” said Carleen, “We’re out.”
“Carleen?”
“We just ran out of fuel, Doc. You’ve got to find a way to get your truck in here.”
“No can do. I mean, there’s a thousand cop cars blocking everything.”
“What’s the number?” asked Captain Rawlston.
His aide handed the captain the note, and Rawlston said the number into his holocom.
“Adkins here. Who is this?”
“Ms. Adkins, this is Captain Rawlston of the Pima County Sheriff’s Department. I’ve got a SWAT team standing just outside your door, but—”
“What?” shouted Toni. “Who told you that we—?”
“Calm down, calm down. It’s important that we keep things nice and easy so that no one gets hurt. We have a hostage negotiator on the way and he will be using this line to talk to Dr. Greyson.”
“Melissa told you, right?”
“It doesn’t matter just who tol— Ms. Adkins? Ms. Adkins?”
Toni had clicked off.
59
Polaris
(Starfighters)
“My god, Arton, it is you!” declared Arik.
“More or less,” said the man in his late sixties. He had tanned skin like rawhide and was thin and wiry and stood 1.68 meters tall and weighed no more that fifty-seven kilos ringing wet. He was grey-eyed and his hair was burr-cut and silver.
“By Arda!” blurted Rith, and she jumped into the cell and embraced the man. Ky kissed him on the cheek, and Kane lifted him up in a fierce bear hug. When Kane released Arton, Arik grabbed him by the hand and said, “We thought you dead and gone, or a ghost at least.”
Shadowprey: A Black Foxes Adventure Page 29
