by Terry Persun
“Who?” Smythe said. “You act as though he’s human.”
O’Brien said, “He is right now. That DNA material has been delivered.”
“How many other robots do you think he’s going to make?” Smythe said.
Steffenbraun shook his head. “Reports from the FBI, before they went into the warehouse, said that there were three human-looking robots. We’ve received confirmation on that, plus additional information from the agents who are still alive. They’re being held inside a small office. According to them, the warehouse is packed with all manner of robot, many of which are advanced versions of military combat bots. They are very heavily armed.”
“There’s another reason you want to go see Klein without backup support, isn’t there?” Smythe said.
“The dark energy balancer,” Steffenbraun said. “Absolutely. If that robot was able to travel through time with live bacteria and DNA, then we can send a human through time, too. I never had a chance to test my latest adjustments. They must have been the ones that allowed this to happen. I need to duplicate that thing exactly.”
“You’ll have invented a time travel machine,” Smythe said.
“And you, too,” Steffenbraun said. Then he smiled a broad smile. “That’s not all?”
Smythe didn’t say anything. He waited for Steffenbraun to go on.
“Matter transporter,” Steffenbraun said as though it was a logical transition. “If we have two machines, a transmitter and a receiver, I can move you from one place to another. If this works, we’ve done it all. We’ve stepped into a future different than anything we can imagine.” His eyes glazed over with elation. “Beam me up, Scotty,” he said with enthusiasm.
The idea filled Smythe with awe. He hadn’t even finished his Ph.D. and he’d be part of the greatest discovery in the world. His career would be cast in stone. There was only one problem at the moment that he could see. “What makes you think they’ll have the balancer with them?”
Steffenbraun shifted from his spacey demeanor and said positively, “They will.”
“Why?” Smythe looked to each of them, one at a time.
“If you had it, would you let it out of your sight?” O’Brien said.
“Why are you letting me in on this? Why wouldn’t you go alone?” Smythe said.
“No more bullshit,” Steffenbraun said. “You’re here for two reasons. One,” he tapped the table, “is because you are the next generation. As my assistant, we’ll do a lot in the next twenty or thirty years. You’ll carry on the research. And, two,” he tapped the table again, “you can keep Harkins off our asses.”
Smythe understood exactly. “When do we go?”
Steffenbraun smiled. “We go now. The robots left with Neil and Mavra as hostages about two hours ago.”
All four men rose from the table. “We’re all going?” Smythe said.
O’Brien gave Smythe that same look of disbelief that he had given him earlier, as though he was stupid. “This is my chance to see what he’s done face to face. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Smythe nodded and followed Steffenbraun out of the building where they piled into Steffenbraun’s Ford Prism. Smythe took the passenger seat and no one argued about it.
Of the four of them, Lowan appeared to be the most hesitant. But as far as Smythe could tell, he wasn’t spying on Klein, so he had no frustration or anxiety about what Klein had been doing for years. He had been called in as an expert, and that was all. Like Smythe, Lowan had been thrust into the situation by proximity.
Smythe glanced into the back seat. Lowan stared out the window, no doubt contemplating how he would explain himself if they got caught. He knew how it felt to be commandeered, but also realized that he had so much more to gain than Lowan. For Lowan there was little reason to buy in.
Maybe it had been the duties that Steffenbraun had handed him over the years, but Smythe had learned to be the diplomat, and was compelled to get Lowan on board. He decided to jump right in. “So, you two will become partners, then,” he said.
“Partners?” O’Brien said.
Lowan took his eyes from the window and turned toward Smythe and O’Brien.
“We all have good reasons for being here. Lowan hasn’t been involved with any of this, so he’s got to get something from this discovery.” Smythe let the statement stand.
There was a long silence. Lowan was in his early fifties, O’Brien heading for or into his sixties, and Steffenbraun was beyond that. As one of the two youngest, Lowan risked more than either of the older men. Ten or twenty years was a long time to spend in a career only to have end.
“I’m a scientist,” Lowan finally said. “My curiosity is drive enough.”
Smythe nodded, not quite believing him.
“No,” O’Brien finally said. “He’s right. This is a big deal. We can share in it, all of us. We should share in any discoveries we make.”
“Not the time machine.” Steffenbraun turned so that Smythe could read his lips.
Smythe looked at him, recalling the conversation he had with General Harkins.
“Except for you,” Steffenbraun tapped Smythe on the knee. “I just meant that they’re not physicists.”
“That’s fine,” O’Brien said before Smythe could oppose Steffenbraun’s statement.
“I haven’t been keeping tabs on Klein all these years, though,” Lowan said.
“That was my choice. I knew what I was doing. But now you’re involved. You jumped in headfirst. Besides I can use your expertise. I’d have called you first anyway, so why not just create the agreement right here and now.” O’Brien reached a hand out to Lowan. “Be my partner on taking Klein’s research to the next level?”
Lowan smiled and took O’Brien’s hand. “I’d be happy to.”
Smythe was satisfied. The tension in the car seemed to disperse, leaving them in a quiet, self-indulgent daydream for a while. He even settled into the drive by watching the world go by out the side window. He was about to be a part of the most amazing discovery of his life, all because he was in the right place at the right time. How much of a scientist’s career is defined by that? In a field where most discoveries are stumbled upon by accident, probably a lot of careers have been made or broken by luck.
Smythe knew Steffenbraun’s research well, but not well enough. He’d have to pay attention to the changes to the dark energy balancer. He watched Dr. Steffenbraun for a while as he drove. Could he trust the man? Would it be a wiser move to let General Harkins in on the situation just in case Steffenbraun was pushed out? Smythe grinned as he thought about the ramifications. He could become head of the project. It could become his discovery. Maybe General Harkins should find out about this excursion.
CHAPTER 30
NEUROGRID FENNY saw identity as a slipknot: it had to be wrapped around something secure when you yanked at it or you’d have hold of nothing.
Revision 7, the DNA-enhanced part of Fenny, or what the neurogrid Fenny thought of as Fennimore, remained in charge of the mechanical, the physical, Fenny. It appeared as though Fennimore was unable to observe Fenny’s thoughts, but Fennimore did monitor Fenny’s emotional shifts, which meant that maintaining a calm state could only help whatever situation was encountered. Since Fennimore found Fenny useful, if only for his emotional responses, perhaps he would relinquish control to Fenny once in a while.
One thing Fenny understood entirely was that Fennimore, Revision 7, did not have hold of a solid and recognizable identity. The slipknot tightened but was wrapped around nothing.
Fenny observed Fennimore searching for an identity from the outside, through Dr. Klein, and from the inside, by tapping into subtle emotional cues coming from Fenny and his neurogrid circuits. That’s how the original Fenny registered the situation. He knew who he was. The godlike feeling that Fenny had experienced earlier was an inside cue that brought on Fennimore’s comment that Dr. Klein could never turn him off again. Dr. Klein delivered an external cue in the way of his comment that
he would never do that, which shoved Fennimore over the edge and into his submissive and self-deprecating state.
Neurogrid Fenny found that he continued to be in contact with all his sensing circuits — that’s why he could hear Dr. Klein talking and why he could see and feel his movements. What he couldn’t do is take control of his movements.
As expected, Dr. Klein eventually ran out of things to say. He had not been in a conversation with Fennimore. He had merely dialogued, which kept Fennimore’s mind busy. As long as his mind remained occupied, it became easier for Fenny to process, experiment, and learn his new place in the Revision 7 unit he had become. His place became clearer and clearer as the day wore on.
Fenny had read about the strange dichotomy of the human mind, how the outside world kept the mind busy, and how the internal mind, the subconscious, was wiser and, if only listened to, could guide the outward motivated self. Fenny had become that still, small voice that most humans couldn’t identify or hear because of all the external activity and chatter with which they were involved.
If he could have smiled, he would have. The strange godlike feeling came over him again. Perhaps using the subtleties of emotion he could direct the actions that Fennimore would take. But that could only be done as long as Fennimore monitored Fenny’s emotional data. At times when the outside world appeared to require more attention, the sampling rate by which Fennimore kept in contact with Fenny’s emotional data decreased. Sometimes contact was lost completely. Now was one of those times.
Fennimore reached out and nudged Dr. Klein to continue with his dialog.
“What more can I say? I’ve told you the whole story. You know what I’ve been doing all these years.” He sighed. “I just wanted my family back.”
Like a small child, Fennimore had the energy to continue to listen to Dr. Klein whether he had the energy to continue speaking or not. “There must be more,” Fennimore said. “Another story? Perhaps there is additional information about your son that will help me to understand my new circuitry? Right now, I can’t feel the connection. If I can’t feel it, then it’s not me. Is it?”
Dr. Klein looked exhausted and disgruntled. “You can’t expect this to happen instantly. I can’t expect it either. As much as I want you to integrate with the circuitry, it can’t be forced.” His voice lowered and he turned away. “I knew it would never be the same. Really, I knew you wouldn’t actually be Fennimore. He’s gone. That’s impossible, no matter how much of his DNA we use. You’re not a clone.” He looked directly at Fennimore. “You can never be him. I’ve failed. And I should have known it all along. I’m a scientist, by god.” Turning to go, Dr. Klein waved Fennimore away, dismissing him with a shrug.
Fenny saw the action and interpreted it, knowing that the doctor was just exhausted, too tired to go on. But he also sensed Dr. Klein’s disinterest.
At that very moment Fennimore sampled Fenny’s emotional data, getting only the spike of information, the full and instant understanding that Dr. Klein was disinterested in him, rather than the gradual understanding that neurogrid Fenny had gone through. The minor disinterest escalated into a sense of complete detachment, to the point of being ignored, which folded into disdain. Fennimore blew up with rage. He thrashed his arms and stomped his legs. His feet pounded at the floor until they hurt. He was hurting himself. His voice climbed to full volume, saturating his small chest speakers until they rattled into a fuzzy sound overdriven by the amplifiers. “You can’t dismiss me like I’m meaningless. Just because I’m not your son doesn’t mean you can discard me. I am somebody,” he screamed.
Dr. Klein recoiled and hunkered down with his arms raised to protect him. He turned only enough to keep an eye on Fennimore. He took another, tentative step away from him.
Fennimore advanced, matching Dr. Klein’s pace. His audio circuits made the sound of someone whimpering. “Please, please,” Fennimore said.
The change in mood was drastic.
Dr. Klein stopped, but he didn’t turn around completely. “You’ve got to calm down before we can talk. Do as I say, please. Remove yourself from all stimulus, from the words, the sensations. Shut down your video. Stay quiet for a while. Let your new circuits get used to the interface. You can’t expect to integrate all your senses at once.”
“I’ll listen. Just don’t go away. Tell me who I am. Who should I be?” Fennimore kneeled on the floor and lifted his arms, hands together, fingers intertwined, a habit that he had begun after he first received his hands, and proof that Fenny still had some control, if only habitual.
Dr. Klein turned completely around now and walked toward Fenny with apprehension. “I can’t tell you. I wish I could. You would be Fennimore. That would be my choice. But you are someone unique and you’ll have to figure who that is on your own. I can help guide you, but only if you allow me to.” He reached out to touch Fennimore. He stretched his arm and placed it on top of the robot’s torso, between the flexible shafts that his eyes were connected to.
Fennimore’s eyes swung back and forth as though gesturing negatively. “I can’t feel that. I only have half a body that can feel. Hold my hand.” He unclasped his hands and held his right one out to Dr. Klein, who took it.
Fenny felt a sense of strength in the hand he no longer controlled. He hoped that it had been his ability to control his emotions that had put Fennimore into a more docile mood, but he couldn’t be sure of anything at the moment. His control over his emotions delivered soothing messages, by remaining constant while waiting for them to be sampled. Although it had been difficult to hold the data steady and still think with other parts of his neurogrid brain, Fenny was learning. There was power in his ability to adjust Fennimore’s reactions through subtle information, even if the magnitude of the reaction was not yet controllable.
Fennimore rose from the floor, equal in height to Dr. Klein.
Inside, Fenny monitored his circuitry repeatedly, like repeating a mantra. When Fennimore chose to sample emotions, Fenny would be ready. It helped that Dr. Klein had become cautious as well. As long as the doctor remained congenial and friendly, Fenny didn’t have a reason to react. Which meant that his reactions weren’t used to set Fennimore off to a place where he ignored all other data.
The next few minutes appeared to go by well except for one small thing. Fenny got the sense that behind the wall that Fennimore put up, the DNA circuits were adjusting to his new circumstances. Trial and error. The very circuitry that made up Fennimore was testing its emotional responses based on the information garnered from neurogrid Fenny.
Fennimore was learning how to interact with Dr. Klein. Once he felt that he had learned all he needed, it was probable that he would sever the connection from Fenny completely. The thought terrified Fenny. That would be worse than shutting down his neurogrid mind using the All Stop. Cutting him off would mean that he would not even have outside stimulus to monitor, that controlling his emotional data would be useless. Fennimore would be in complete control and Fenny might never be able to know what was happening at all. He would be the victim to Fennimore’s insanity. He would be a prisoner.
Fenny turned his attention to his digital memory, searching desperately for even a minor interface. And there was one. Although Fennimore had made it so that Fenny couldn’t control his physical body, he was too inexperienced to block Fenny from all other digital contact. In fact, Fennimore allowed the emotional data to go into memory probably so that he could recreate the emotions in tandem with an activity.
Fenny set to work immediately to write a program, using a security coded front end, which he would upload through his emotional interfaces. The program he created would appear habitual, like direct orders, like being compelled to act. He programmed a subroutine that would have the digital memory engage at any point where the DNA enhanced circuitry was offline. Fenny guessed that somewhere in the future, a replacement of circuitry would be required. Or a battery exchange that caused the slightest millisecond of down time would occur. Once that happen
ed, his digital circuits were to do a complete software dump of the program he created. Fennimore would have no choice but to follow through on the orders. Fenny would program in passion and motivation along with instructions. And those instructions would be to remove the DNA material no matter what got in the way. Fenny would be back.
Paying close attention to his programming meant that Fenny’s sense of terror about being disconnected had remained present the next time his emotional circuits were sampled.
Fennimore received the full strength of the emotion. When terror coursed through his system, he reacted instantaneously. Without prompting from Dr. Klein, Fennimore struck out violently, throwing the old man away from him.
Dr. Klein tripped and fell onto the floor, moaning that he’d broken something.
Fennimore’s circuits were so saturated that his audio was compromised and Fenny couldn’t hear what Dr. Klein had broken. Reception was intermittent from many of the physical sensors, which only drove home to what extent Fennimore could shut Fenny down.
Fenny minimally monitored Fennimore’s actions. There was little time to complete the program, perhaps only milliseconds. He worked as quickly as possible and at the end of the upload sent a signal to erase the security code from memory.
Gone. The program was set. There would be no compromises. No matter what happened now, no matter how long he remained cut off, there would be a time when the download occurred and the only goal Fennimore could fulfill would be to remove the DNA material. It would be instinctual.
Fenny knew that he’d eventually gain control again, sometime in the future, and when he did he would never allow humans to alter his identity again. Fennimore may not have known who he was, but Fenny did know who he was, and he was going to hold onto that identity as long as robotically possible.
By the time the terror spike began to be absorbed by the rest of Fennimore’s circuitry, Dr. Klein lay bloodied and motionless on the floor. Fennimore had hunkered down on his legs and stared. His eyes did not move from Dr. Klein’s unnatural position. An arm lay over the man’s face, one leg was turned backward, and the other arm was twisted farther around than should have been physically possible.
