At the end of that time, she will ask you by means of a vote whether you wish to keep her or accept the Board's recommendation that she be replaced by a traditional computer having no personality or self-awareness.
I will be in command of the station only until the investigation of recent deadly incidents is completed and I will endeavor not to interrupt normal station functions.
Other concerns should be addressed through regular channels.'
"Well, Steph? What do you think?"
"I think you shouldn't include your own padmail address, Ed. You could be inundated with responses."
"Who's in charge of communications on the station?"
"Board member Wickson's offices."
"Fine. Let responses go to his offices, then. I suppose it's only fair to warn him. Would you contact him for me, please?"
A moment later, Wickson answered, “I'm here. Are you calling to fire me, too?"
"Word sure gets around quickly up here, doesn't it? Nope. I just wanted to let you know I'm having Stephie send out a memo to everybody on the station and that your office will be handling any responses."
"What kind of memo? Will a lynch mob show up at my door?"
"Maybe not. Want to preview the message? I can send you a copy now."
Wickson seemed surprised at my offer. Suspicious, too.
In a cautious tone, he said, “Yes. I would like to see it."
Stephie sent him a copy. He was quiet for some moments, then asked, “This is all of it? You've left nothing out?"
"That's all I wanted to say, Wickson."
"When were you going to send it?"
"Today. Right now, in fact."
"I'll send it for you. One moment."
He didn't turn off his watch, so I heard him telling someone to send the message to all pads on the station. I covered my own watch for a moment.
"Stephie, verify the sending. Make sure nobody's left out."
A moment later, Wickson said, “It's going out now."
"Thanks, Wickson. Why are you being so cooperative?"
"You fired Carlton for being a few minutes late, didn't you?"
"No. I fired her because she lied to me. I hate liars. I fired Hawkins for incompetence and Carlton for backing up Hawkins’ lie, as well as using two of her people as the butt of a bad joke."
"They didn't mention any other reasons."
"It's all in this evening's public record. Look it up. See you later."
I closed the link and went back to the kitchenette to refill the sink and practice some more with my field implant. Stephie's image followed me and stood a few feet away, watching my efforts.
When I distractedly set my mug down on the bowl of a spoon, the handle end flipped up and sent the spoon flying into the sink. I used my field to reach through the water and pick up the spoon, then set it on the drainboard and stared at it for a moment as a thought formed. Leverage.
Implantees could only lift small weights because the implant served as an anchor to the effort. Suppose that a field effort could be anchored at midpoint or closer to the object, like a fulcrum? The arm of the field that connected to the implant would present far less strain on surrounding bone tissue.
I envisioned a lever-and-fulcrum arrangement sitting on the floor between me and my suitcase and sent the other end of the field through the case's handle. When all seemed set, I applied downward pressure to my end of the lever.
The suitcase lifted a few inches, then a foot. I felt a bit of strain at my end of the lever, but the suitcase continued to rise until it was two feet above the floor.
Steph said, “Ed, be careful. I can repair the damage if you dislodge your implant, but it will be quite painful at the time."
"I'll let it drop if I feel real strain, Steph. How much does the suitcase weigh?"
"Thirty-one pounds, three and one-half ounces, Ed."
"That's a bit more than I expected. Maybe I need to pack lighter."
I let the suitcase down and relaxed. A wave of fatigue washed over me. Steph said that the human brain normally used around twenty percent of the body's energy, but that the implant could cause it to use double that amount during field emanations.
"Damn. Naptime, Steph. It's close to five. Rouse me in an hour, okay?"
She said, “Okay,” then her image disappeared.
Something other than Stephie woke me five minutes before six. I sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments and tried to figure out why I was awake, then went to the kitchenette to take my coffee mug out of the fridge and sent a very small hot spot into the coffee to warm it up.
"Stephie, were there any messages while I was out?"
"None, Ed."
"Good. Thanks, ma'am. Is there a Chinese restaurant on the station?"
"One of them is two decks below your position."
"Thanks again."
I unpacked my one remaining burned and battered suitcase as I finished my coffee. It was the formal stuff, naturally. I decided to eat dinner and do some shopping, so I cleaned up and headed for an elevator.
"Stephie, I saw a pet section in one of the stores last night, so there have to be a few pets up here. Have there been any mysterious ailments among them?"
"There have been three cases of what appeared to be asthma. One case resulted in death of the animal. All of the cases involved small dogs and occurred as their owners were walking them in arboretum six. Nothing toxic was found in the area."
"The area? Not the areas?"
"The area. Singular. All of the cases occurred near the entrance to section six."
"What exactly is in section six, Steph?” I asked. “And please don't simply say 'plants', ma'am. I know what an arboretum is."
"Oh, yes, sir, sir. It contains—plants—native to the northeastern U.S."
As I got into the elevator, I asked, “Any special displays there, or just a general taste of home?"
"No special displays, Ed. Just trails among the trees and a recreation of that region's seasonal climate in order to accommodate the plants’ normal cycles."
"It sounds like a place that someone who was homesick might visit. Or someone who'd simply found fascination with that environment. Got a list of everybody who's visited during the dog illnesses? For that matter, a list of who's visited and when during the last few months?"
"It will be in your pad in a moment. There appear to have been attempts to erase some of the visitation records. I'm trying to recreate them. Several of the visits appear to have been made by Board member Carlton within the last three months of station construction. She has made only three visits since construction ended."
"I can think of a number of reasons why a politically-involved woman might not want her recreational comings and goings on record. Unless the records appear to be connected to the events we're investigating, they can stay hidden from the public."
"Got it. In each of the entries logged during the station's construction, she logged in at about the same time as a man named Webster. He was one of the construction foremen who didn't remain after the station was completed. All I have are login and logout times; peoples’ activities in the arboretums aren't recorded."
When the elevator stopped, the Chinese restaurant was only about fifty feet away at the opening of the corridor. It didn't seem to be crowded, so I went inside. After being seated at a corner booth and ordering pepper steak, I sat sipping Jasmine tea and thinking for a moment, then called Stephanie again.
"Do any of their visits correspond timewise to station damage or the sick dogs?"
"No, Ed. They don't seem to correspond to any of those incidents."
"They were probably romantic matters, then. We'll concentrate on visits made when dogs were injured or killed, first. I think someone found a new way to use a PFM and was practicing in the woods with it, Stephie. Those logs may show us who suffocated the guy in the production area."
"Ed, I've found something that may be of importance. A man named Philip Brinks was present during a few of Carlton's visits
to the arboretum. On those occasions, he logged in and out at almost the same time that she did. Since Webster's return to Earth, Brinks has visited the arboretum quite often, and some of those times do correspond to incidents of station damage or dog ailments."
"Was he there alone, or were others in the arboretum?"
"Others were there during most of his visits. They were seldom the same people, and their login and logout times don't seem to match his very well."
"Call them innocent bystanders for now, then. What do you know about Brinks?"
"Caucasian male, age seventeen. His father is a line worker. His mother is deceased."
"Does he seem to have any links to Carlton at all?"
"Nothing I can find except visiting times at the arboretum."
"What about links to Webster?"
"The same, Ed. Apparently only arboretum visits."
"Thanks, Steph. Let me know if you spot anything that ties these people together in other ways at other times."
"Okay, Ed."
My pepper steak meal was fortunately almost finished when Leslie called. Stephie fielded the call. Somewhere along the line she'd made herself my de facto secretary.
Steph said, “Ed, it's Leslie on line one."
"Line one? What show did that come from, Steph?"
"Darrin's secretary says it in some episodes of 'Bewitched'. One reviewer thought that since there was always a different woman in the role, the part was given to peoples’ girlfriends."
"That's possible, and it would be a typical assumption in Hollywood, but it could also be that they didn't use the role enough to justify retaining a regular."
"You always like to err on the side of caution, don't you, boss? Except when you don't, of course. Shall I put her through?"
"That bit about erring sounds as if it came from a detective show, not a comedy."
"So I'm gregarious. It's from 'Magnum, P.I.'"
"Uh, huh. Steph, be sure to take everything you see on television with a few grains of salt, okay? Candid skepticism. Put Leslie through, please."
Leslie said, “Ed? Can you spare me time enough to tell me why I was offered a job on the very board you commandeered this morning?"
"Why, certainly, ma'am. I have a minute, so I'll giftwrap it and give it to you. Inspectors Price and Williams suggested you for the job. Caitlin approved it, Linda approved it, and I went along with it, too. It was unanimous."
"Well, I'm not willing to believe that it wasn't a setup, Ed. Nobody puts a simple schoolteacher in a job like that."
"Check the record of the event and then believe what you want, simple schoolteacher. Take the job or don't."
"Are you trying to pay off your guilt from dumping me? Is that it?"
"Ask Linda how I handle guilt. You'll make her day. Leslie, you'll believe whatever you want to believe, so as I said, take the job or don't, but don't talk it to death. Let me get back to my dinner now."
"Ed, you're being very difficult about this. About everything to do with me."
"Leslie, if there's nothing else on your mind, this call's finished. If the seat is still vacant when I meet with Caitlin tomorrow, someone else will get the offer. Bug Caitlin about why you're getting the offer and tell her your answer. Bye."
Once Leslie was off 'line one', I finished my pepper steak and went to replace my destroyed casual wardrobe. The store didn't have what I wanted, so I placed an order that I was told would arrive on the next transport.
I was standing in front of the ice cream parlor, watching some blonde walk down the hall, when Stephie told me that Caitlin wanted to speak to me.
"Put her through, Steph."
"Caitlin here. Pratt told me why she thinks you're offering her Carlton's job, sir. I'm not sure I can support the decision now."
"I told you there was reason to think it wouldn't fly, didn't I? You two work this out, Caitlin. I don't give a damn who gets the job, as long as whoever gets it is fairly competent. If that seat's still open tomorrow, we fill it with someone else."
"Yes, sir. I got that from her. Okay, then, I'll review the record of our conversation and see how I feel about it then."
"Caitlin, how Pratt feels and how I feel about it are all that matter at the moment. You don't have a vote on that issue unless you turn up hard evidence that she can't do the job. By the way, my name is 'Ed', not 'sir'. I prefer my name to a generic term."
After a brief pause, she said, “But I prefer a generic term of respect to unearned familiarity with senior officers, sir. Do I still have a job?"
"Well, since a backbone is required in my outfit, I guess so, but don't think of asking for a raise until you can call me by name. Anything else?"
"Not at the moment. Sir."
"Bye, then."
"Goodbye, sir."
Heh. Caitlin may turn out to be the outfit's Sergeant Major.
"Steph, ask Linda why Caitlin was only the second in command of Security, please, and send her a copy of our thoughts concerning Brinks."
"Done. Awaiting reply, Ed."
As I waited, I walked. The station was like one of the fancier Army bases I'd so often visited while in Europe. The GI's didn't have to step off base to see a first-run movie, buy groceries, participate in most sports, or do much of anything else they wanted to do. The station was like a small, well-equipped city in space.
"Linda's answer is here, Ed. Audio or pad?"
"Play it now, please."
Linda's voice said, “She was second because Merrit had two years time in grade on her when they converted from the Air Force to station security. He'd been a Lt. Colonel and she'd been a Major who was up for promotion to Lt. Colonel. No other reasons. Don't lean on Brinks unless you have solid evidence, Ed. His uncle is a bigwig politician who pulled some strings to get Brinks, senior, a job on the station."
"Send back: Got it. Roger that. Over and out, Fearless Leader."
Chapter Twenty-nine
Back in my room, I used my pad to check my email on the internet. The station's orbit, like that of the asteroid belt it mined, lay in the area between Mars and Jupiter, so surfing the net engendered command delays of several seconds each way.
Distance made page loading times abominably slow compared to what I was used to, even when the Earthside server gathered all the pages and images from a site or range of sites and preassembled the pages before sending them up to me.
On the other hand, the station's server hosted hundreds of websites for station personnel, and some of them were fascinating. I spent some time prowling the station's branch of the internet while I ran a search using Brinks's name.
Yes, Brinks had a website. It was like deja vu for me, seeing all the rhetoric so long used by so many to manipulate the minds of others on behalf of some '-ism' or '-ist' organization. Brinks seemed to have borrowed freely from all the big names; Trotsky, Marx, Lenin, and many others, regardless of their nationalities or political positions.
His page wasn't specifically Communist or Socialist. Quotes from leaders of democracies and ancient civilizations were equally prominent. It appeared as if he'd quoted materials from all sources, solely for the purpose of supporting his own platform of beliefs about the Amarans, the station, and life in general.
I wasn't about to read his sixty-something pages of plagiarized rhetorical bullshit. I wanted a summary, and the shorter the better.
"Stephie, can you boil his pages down? What's he actually saying?"
"His quotes and actual statements tend to contradict themselves almost evenly, Ed. Whatever seems to reflect a pro-something stance is ripped apart a few pages later in almost every instance. I don't think I'm equipped to evaluate the true purpose of this website because I can't discover one. The only recurring theme has to do with his distrust of women. He advocates removing women from all positions of responsibility, making them dress to conceal all skin, and he seems to think that a woman's punishment should in all cases be twice or three times that of a man's."
"That just means
he'll probably never get laid if he can't keep his mouth shut and that he may be somewhat insane. Is there any hidden code of any sort on any of the pages? Anything that might cause problems for a computer, Amaran or other?"
"Nothing that I can detect on his current pages."
"Current? Are you saying there are some that aren't current?"
"Yes. Some pages and files were recently erased and many have been partially or completely overwritten, but I think I can restore most..."
"No. Don't restore that stuff, Steph. Copy them to a lesser computer and isolate them first, then have that computer restore what it can and verbally report its findings. Don't remain connected to it while it works."
"Okay. I'll use a flitter core and remove it from the network."
"That should be good enough. Let me know when it's done."
"It shouldn't take long. There are only a hundred and six pages to..."
That startled the hell out of me. I couldn't remember even one instance, ever, when Stephie had let a sentence trail off like that.
"Stephie, what is it?"
"Ed, the flitter just crashed."
"Crashed, as in the programming collapsed?"
"No, Ed. It crashed, literally. It fell to the deck and appears to be nonfunctional. I can try to..."
"Don't try to contact it, Steph. Tell Caitlin's office to get someone to it and remove that core. Tell them what happened. I want to be there, too. Where is it?"
"In the parking zone under the shell with the others in section four."
"Is it one of the Earth flits or the export flits?"
"I used one of the Earth models, Ed. It seemed to me that if you suspected a problem, there was sufficient reason not to use a fully-powered and equipped flitter."
"My brilliant Stephie. Smart move, ma'am. Back up the crap that caused this and copy it to a separate core for Linda's people. We'll send it to her first chance."
Fifteen minutes later I had arrived at the sub-shell surface of the station. There was no reason to make my option five field suit public knowledge, so I used one of the maintenance space suits to join Caitlin and another officer at the fallen flitter. Other than some minor denting from its short fall, the flitter seemed unharmed.
Book 2: 3rd World Products, Inc. Page 30
