“That’s part of it.”
“I heard about what you did.”
Alvin frowned, then replaced the front panel. “I’ll be out of here at the end of the week. I’m keeping a low profile until then.”
“It would have been best to start with a low profile.”
“That was my last time sticking out.”
“Good luck with that. Now, print me some strawberry pancakes. I have to get something out of this deal.”
Alvin laughed. “So, how’d you get here? You don’t seem like a ’roider.”
“I enjoy analyzing mineral compositions and spectrographs and I don’t like people.”
“I guess you’re in the right place, then.”
“So why are you here, Alvin? You don’t act like one of the engineers.” Buzz paused. “Are you really an engineer?”
“That’s what they pay me for. I used to have other aspirations.”
“Yes—readily available knowledge online. But why did they send you? How does a synaptics engineer fit into the corpo’s plans?”
“They don’t care what kind of engineer I am. We’re all temp workers in their grand plans.”
“Ha! I knew it,” said Buzz. His blond hair fluttered.
“That’s not an admission of anything, Buzz.”
“Everyone knows it’s automaton. Even Beckman’s running scared.”
“Beckman wants to go home. The ones to watch are the guys with nothing. The ones who signed everything away on a contract.”
“I suppose you have better prospects as Zeus, the great cyber-athlete?”
“Let’s have a nice conversation. I don’t want to ruin my breakfast,” said Alvin.
“As you wish. Tosh tells me you have a vast knowledge of alcohol.”
“I do. You looking for breakfast cocktail tips?”
“No. I’m just making nice conversation.”
“Terrific,” said Alvin.
Thirty-Three
Alvin entered Rinsler’s habitat and removed his helmet. He heard rustling from behind the computer console. The scientist sprang up with excitement.
“Good, you’re here.” Shrink-wrap crinkled in Rinsler’s hands. He tossed a pair of grip socks and Alvin caught them.
“So what changed?” said Alvin.
“I had a look at your scans, very impressive,” said Rinsler. “More so than I had anticipated. I can definitely use you.”
Alvin put on the socks. “What scans?”
“Your synaptic scans. When you unlocked my sphere, it made a map of your brain. The microtubules in your neurons are unusually active.”
“Huh?”
Rinsler pointed to a floating video display above his desk.
Alvin took long strides across the carpet to the console. His socks made a ripping sound with each step. A three-dimensional model of his brain was onscreen.
The scientist zoomed into the cells until they began squirming, then he pointed at the image.
“Microtubules,” he said.
“What the hell is a microtubule?”
“A cylindrical protein lattice found inside neurons. They regulate synaptic communication and perform quantum calculations.”
“I liked you better when you didn’t explain yourself.”
Rinsler tapped his fingers in irritation.
“I’m kidding,” Alvin said.
“They are our connection to the great consciousness,” Rinsler said, sounding indignant.
This guy’s been alone too long.
“The great consciousness, is that like God?” said Alvin.
Rinsler bobbled his head side to side in a sign of equivocation. “Consciousness is intrinsic to the universe. Our share of it is a function of the microtubules in the brain. Your microtubules experience wave function collapse at a rate I’ve never seen before.”
Alvin stared blankly. “I don’t understand.”
“At the quantum scale, down at the very smallest bits of matter, the universe is indeterminate. It behaves like a wave until a collapse of possibilities causes the particles to take position. When the brain experiences this collapse, it becomes a conscious observation. Your brain does this at an unusual tempo. It is why you were such an impressive cyber-athlete. In effect, you were experiencing the state of the game-world before your opponents could. This talent will translate to greater affect when you utilize my spheres.”
“Which do what, exactly?”
“Magnify this property in our brains in order to hack space-time and reconfigure matter.”
“That sounds intense. So what do you need me to do?”
“There’s prep work out at the communications dish. I need you to boost the signal. Some spectrums are leaking through the shield. We need full coverage.”
“You do realize I’m not that kind of engineer?”
“It’s software,” said Rinsler. “I have a manual for you. Isn’t that all you require?”
“Sure, but after all that talk about my super brain, you just want me to tweak software? Why don’t you send the drone?” Alvin pointed to a rover in the corner with a tarp over it.
“No. Drones will not function on Dactyl. No networked communications of any kind. That reminds me, do you have an Opti-Comp?”
Alvin look at him curiously. Doesn’t everyone?
“Yeah,” he said.
“I need you to turn it off and keep it off. Did you record the sphere on your way here?”
“I might have,” he said.
“Damn it,” said the scientist. “I’ll have to purge any dangerous videos before you reconnect to the network on Ida.”
“Why are you so worried about the network?” asked Alvin.
“There are eyes everywhere, Mr. Baylor. My devices are unknown to any system.”
“How long is that gonna last?” said Alvin. “You’ll need to hit Corporate development benchmarks. And besides, the great consciousness must know about it.”
He waited for a reply with a smirk.
Rinsler tapped his fingertips on the table again.
“I got it,” said Alvin. “No recordings.”
“Good. Begin by boosting the power outside. We need to shield this moon from FTL communications monitoring.”
Rinsler handed him a small data card. “Don’t let me delay you further, Mr. Baylor. I know you work best without supervision.”
The scientist sat down again behind his mess and returned to studying the display.
Always a charmer.
“I guess I’ll just head outside, then,” said Alvin. He began putting his boots and gloves back on. “When’s lunch time?”
“Whenever you’re hungry. I have a printer here. You know they dose the food on Ida?” said Rinsler.
“You don’t say?” Alvin lowered his visor.
“I do say, and after we eat I can operate on your brain,” said Rinsler.
Alvin couldn’t make out the words from behind his lowered face guard.
Did he just say he would operate on my brain? Naw.
Several hours later, Alvin clenched a metal spork in his hand and took a stab at his shrimp with lobster sauce. He would have printed chopsticks as well, but his hands were too tired to use them. The software tweaks to the communications shield required getting at the control panel. That had been surprisingly difficult in the low gravity. He’d had trouble keeping his body from spinning while unscrewing it with his multitool. The suit’s jets were the only thing that made the work possible. Overall, the task seemed like busy work.
Rinsler sat across from him drinking green paste with a straw. He hardly spoke and made strange facial tics. Alvin felt like he was sharing space with one of the crazies back at the Budapest bar.
“How is that?” he asked.
“It’s sustaining,” said Rinsler. “How is your Chinese preparation?”
“The consistency is right, but the peas taste like shrimp. That’s not such a bad thing.”
“Mmm. I do not possess your expansive palate,” said Rinsler.
; “You keep it to the nutrients.”
“Yes. I’m a man of simple tastes. It goes well enough with my newspaper.” Rinsler grabbed at the table and lifted his arms into the air as though he were reading an old-fashioned newspaper. He looked proud.
Alvin was rattled by the thought that they both enjoyed the paper.
“Have you been keeping current?” said Rinsler.
“Not out here.”
“You don’t get name alerts for yourself?”
“No. I stopped those after my gaming career.”
“I thought you relished fame. Here.” Rinsler’s face went serious as he handed over the invisible paper. “You should see this.”
Alvin woke his Opti-Comp. “How did you get a signal?” he asked.
“I downloaded it while you had the shield offline,” said Rinsler. “This edition is from yesterday.”
A newspaper appeared in Alvin’s hand. He took hold of it and straightened out the virtual page. One of the headlines read “Alvin ‘Zeus’ Baylor a Union Buster for Alteris Asteroid?” by Anton Vance.
Alvin hammered the tabletop. His food wobbled in the low gravity and lifted off his plate.
“This makes two articles about your escapades,” said Rinsler.
Alvin took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
Fucking Vance. What will Alteris do to me now?
“I have to head back to Ida,” said Alvin. “That article is going to piss off Meyer.”
“We must stay on schedule,” said Rinsler.
“What else do you need from me today?” said Alvin.
Rinsler sat up straight. He looked defiant. “I need to put you out. Testing starts tomorrow,” he said.
“Put me out?”
“Yes, I have the proper chemicals,” said Rinsler.
“You mean anesthesia?”
Rinsler nodded. “I need to remove the bandwidth regulation from your synaptic implants and I need you unconscious to do it.”
“Why?”
“Otherwise the feedback from my spheres will short your implants and kill you.”
That explains the headaches. How dangerous is this thing?
“The law locked my implants with quantum encryption,” he said.
“Pfft. I have my own quantum programmer,” said Rinsler. “I can decrypt anything.”
I’d be able to overclock again.
“Have you done this before?” said Alvin.
“Of course not, I don’t usually work with criminals.”
Alvin scowled at him. “Neither do I.”
Rinsler scowled back.
“I only need to break the skin for a reprogram.” He pointed to his computer console. “Just lie down on top of that. I’ll get the syringe.”
Alvin awoke on top of Rinsler’s desk. He shifted his weight and almost fell off. He gripped the edge in the low gravity and kept himself from toppling over. A soft buzzing filled his head.
“Where am I?”
“Ah, good. You’re conscious,” said Rinsler.
Fuck . . . I forgot . . . Rinsler . . . overclocking.
“Did it work?” said Alvin.
“Yes. I was able to reset your implants. There will be no more limitation on your synaptic performance.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Four hours. It’s time for you to head back.”
Alvin slid off the table to his feet. He was loopy. The low gravity kept him upright despite his sloppy steps. He bounced over to his usual bench seat and grabbed at his boots and missed them.
“Maybe I should stay here for a bit.”
“Impossible, there’s no room. I need my privacy,” said Rinsler.
Alvin gave a groggy nod.
Dick. Thank god for autopilot.
He finished sealing his suit and entered the airlock. “See you tomorrow,” he said then lowered his face guard.
Rinsler nodded.
Alvin sat inside the airlock for a few minutes while he recovered. Outside, the shock of black sky woke him like a cold shower. He glided toward his hopper with ease. The synaptic controls were so sensitive he hardly had to think at all.
I think this is smoother.
A few minutes later, he lifted off Dactyl and escaped Rinsler’s interference shield. His Opti-Comp was inundated with messages. At the top was one from Meyer. He peeped it.
“Mr. Baylor, troubling news. It seems Anton Vance has written another article about you. I had thought this bit of business was behind us. We can’t have our competitors anticipating our plans. I will be in touch with my personal friend, Chan Xi-Michaels, to ensure we eliminate further publicity. Once again, I must remind you that you had no authority to participate in that tournament or to romance hookers. I trust you will execute discreetly from here on out.”
Bitch. I’ll be able to play again when I get back. I’m a free man.
The next message was a vid from Katy. She appeared onscreen, with a swollen nose and a bruise under her eye.
“What the hell!” he shouted. He was completely awake now.
“Hi, Al. You guessed it. I got fired off The Hope. Zuck’s complaints and that reporter’s questions were too much for Xi-Michaels. His guys roughed me up a little. I’m in the lobby at Armstrong Station. I can’t afford a room here. You’re only gone a week, right? Maybe you can take me home on your company’s ship? I’m gonna try to find a place to sleep. I’m sorry. I love you.”
She ended the message crying.
“Goddamn it, Meyer, you had them beat her!”
The hopper returned to the docking bay. He exited angrily and found Tosh waiting for him.
“I got this now,” said Alvin. “You don’t need to see me in and out.”
“I’m not here for that,” said Tosh. “Stay out of sight. I heard Henry’s guys talking. They’re on edge.”
So am I. “So what?”
“They saw the red laser flickering on Dactyl. I think they’re gonna—listen, I heard them, they plan to force answers out of you,” Tosh said. “I don’t want you to get your brains beat in. Stay in your room. Good luck.”
Alvin floated in place while he watched Tosh hurry out of the equipment bay.
I guess he doesn’t want to be seen with me.
He followed the railing out of the bay and back into artificial gravity. A few miners walked past and scanned him head to toe looking for evidence of his work. He scowled at them.
I can’t leave Katy alone.
He entered the crew quarters and saw Carroll Henry and his goons watching from their bunks across the room. The trio began walking toward the ramp. He picked up his pace before they could intercept. As he came around the curve, he saw Beckman in front of his room.
“Baylor, I had an exchange with Meyer. I think we should discuss it inside.”
“Okay,” said Alvin.
He looked back over his shoulder as he opened the door. Henry and company were milling about on the ground level now. Beckman entered and Alvin shut the door.
“You’re aware that those men mean to harm you?” said Beckman.
Alvin nodded.
“Are you also aware that your job is being discussed in the media?”
Goddamn it. He nodded again.
“Meyer is pissed. She wants you to complete your work quickly and quietly.”
Fuck her.
“There’s a problem,” said Alvin.
Beckman’s eyes widened.
“It’s an issue with the communications shield—unexpected and not my forte. The laser is going to short. We’re pushing too much power. The Hope has a staff of laser propulsion engineers. Thankfully, they’re still in dock. I need you to retrieve an engineer named Katy Macintyre. She has the expertise we need.”
“Why didn’t Meyer notify me?” asked Beckman.
“She doesn’t know the specifics of our work. We need to boost the array to hide our tests. We shouldn’t delay this any further. You said yourself, the men are agitated by my presence.”
“This base
is under my purview and I say who gets on or off it,” said Beckman.
“Would you like me to wait while you double-check with Meyer?” said Alvin.
Beckman had the aura of a sick man. He pointed his finger angrily. “Baylor, I believe that despite you being some kind of loose cannon that you want out of here as bad as I do.”
Alvin nodded. “Absolutely. Best to keep quiet about this, what with the news stories piling up. I’ll notify Macintyre directly.”
“Toshiro will take the shuttle to go get this engineer. I want your team to hurry up and get out. For a year my men have been asking what’s going on up there. What do I tell them?”
“Tell them they get to retire early,” said Alvin.
Beckman sneered. He opened the door and looked outside. Henry’s guys were still watching.
“I suggest you make sure it’s clear before leaving again,” he said and walked out.
Alvin locked the door and looked through the spy-hole. Beckman walked toward Henry and his men, giving them a stern look. Chickowski started shouting. Beckman argued with them then they skulked away into the shadows.
Alvin turned away from the door and sat on the edge of the bed. He grabbed his head. It buzzed between his fingers.
If they lay a hand on her, I’ll kill ’em.
He began a message.
“Katy, I’m sending the company shuttle for you. Tell the Japanese guy in red you’re with me. Pretend you’re one of The Hope’s laser propulsion engineers. We’re gonna be all right. Rinsler is here and he has a quantum decryptor. He unlocked my implants. I can overclock again. I’ll have to play nonsanctioned, but I can make us plenty of money with that Vance guy hyping me. I love you and I’ll get us home. See you soon.”
Three days to go.
Thirty-Four
Alvin awoke the next day feeling refreshed. He had a new sense of optimism despite the locals’ ire about him and Meyer’s critique of his sense of duty. Whatever dangers or discomforts surrounded him would vanish in a few short days. Rinsler’s removal of his synaptic limiters gave him a sense of hope for the future—a future with Katy.
Tosh would have reached her by now; by tonight they would be reunited. When she arrived at the colony, they’d have to stay low-key. So long as Rinsler didn’t find out, he could manage the lie. Beckman would require some ego stroking, but that would be easy. The hard part would be getting her back on The Hope for the trip home.
Alvin Baylor Lives!_A 21st Century Pulp Page 21
