by Tal Turing
Upon reaching the lobby, she found it was dark and empty with only the sound of the waterfall to fill the large hall. Pur was long gone, her station abandoned. A couple whispered quietly in a corner and their presence reassured her so rather than head directly for her quarters,and end this awful day, Cyn walked toward the entrance instead.
Cyn reached the end of the hallway to stand in front of two massive doors which formed the main entrance. She looked out through the thick, heavy glass.
Transom Dome was dark except for the flashers of moving vehicles in the distance. The twilight sky was red and angry beyond the slow rotation of the dome. Two specks of light flashed where something had struck the dome wall, perhaps a propelled piece of wood or an unfortunate bird. The entry arch was dark, its display of bravado muted for the night.
After a minute, Cyn turned back toward the lobby and gasped. A man stood right behind her, seemingly appearing out of thin air, his small eyes locked onto her. She recognized the man. It was Lysander Barrett, the executive director of Transom Security.
“You startled me,” she murmured, fighting the urge to take a step back.
“If you were wearing your AI then you would have known I was here. Perhaps you don't wish to be identified...”
“I still have implants. You would know where I was.”
“We have better things to do than scan the property for implants. Or the baggage.”
Cyn hoped that she could keep from alienating yet another person this day, and this one was an executive.
“I apologize, I mistakenly left my room without my spectacles and made a poor choice in trying to speak to Patron. I have been unable to get back to my quarters since. I was just on my way.”
The man continued to stare, without responding.
Cyn continued. “My security is blocked. I can't even leave the grounds. Virtual as well.”
The man continued to glare at her, but now he blatantly looked at her up and down and, once again, Cynnamon regretted her casual choice in dress. She resisted the urge to tug at the hem of her dress, to cover as much of her thigh as possible.
“Is there anything you can do about it?” Cyn prompted.
“Principle of minimum privileges. Until Patron finds a use for you, there is no need for you to go anywhere.”
“But I was summoned here? From Techview.”
Barrett shrugged. “That may be, but it's Patron's affair, not mine.”
“And I need to report on arrival. It's required. That is why I tried to...”
“You aren't even ops here. You may have been in Techview, but not here. Not now. Admittedly, your position is most unusual and most vulnerable.” His eyes drifted up to meet hers once again and he casually grasped her wrist and held it tight. “You could attend to some personal matters for me. You would be protected, of course, but you should know that I like it rough.”
Cyn's eyes widened but she did not try to pull back or shrug off his grasp. She was not ready to react and would not telegraph her response.
“You refuse to help me with a security issue, but instead you suggest some sort of private arrangement? That's it?”
“That's it,” he concluded for her. “You'll discover that I sent a location link for my quarters, if you ever find your AI.”
With that, he dropped her wrist and walked away.
Cyn massaged her wrist and watched Barrett go. After a while she followed him, slowly, taking care that he had entered an elevator and the doors had closed before she hurried through the lobby to the basement stairs.
Back in her room, she locked the door behind her, checked her marks and then ripped through her bag to find a warm robe. She looked for a way to bar the door but found none.
Before falling asleep, Cyn had some time to plan. But the only plan she could formulate was to get up early and go straight to the operations office so she could report what she had seen...and try to find out why she was here.
Third Techview Interlude
Carla
Carla tossed her long fire-red hair as they stepped into the elevator. She ignored the lurch in her stomach as the cabin dropped and furtively watched the young man who had accompanied her.
It was strange, this feeling of awkwardness between two people who had been great friends and teammates for years. It had been only a week since they had last spoke and somehow it seemed much longer as if now they were different people and moving in opposite directions. Perhaps it wasn't the time but the perception of a barrier between them.
The elevator opened and they walked into the room, immediately escorted by large, hulking humanoid forms, encased in black armor from head to toe, the face plates were the only thing through which one could view anything human and even those visages where stern and determined. Somehow Carla could not help but think it was overkill.
They were in a basement room, artificial sunlight streamed from somewhere in the folds of the ceiling and the room was filled with plants. She had heard that Mother was obsessed with flora but never expected to see any sign of that first-hand.
And there she was, a short woman, dressed in black, her pale face framed by straight reddish hair, not nearly as striking nor as full as Carla's own but suddenly the young hospie felt a connection although Carla knew it was dangerous to feel familiarity with a stranger.
James looked over at her and nodded in another direction and Carla followed the direction of his gesture and gasped. There was another 'Mother' attending to a different plant and still another who was watching them with an amused smile.
“Greetings assets,” one Mother remarked with a nod and a gesture from her AI glove. The armed guards, in unison, raised evil looking weapons, held them firm and then went black and still from head to toe, like statues. Perhaps the one who had spoken to them was the real Mother?
But another one spoke, without turning to face them, as it sprayed liquid onto the large, colorful leaves of a tree.
“Do you know why you are here?” purred the woman.
“This is about Cynnamon, correct?” Carla stated adding the indication of a question only as a hedge on her bet.
“Are you asking me?”
“I am pretty sure, Mother. Am I wrong?”
“That is really your guess?” Another one turned toward them. The trio of Mothers was starting to unnerve Carla. “That I, the head of the most powerful branch of Transom Industries in any of the Four Joyas, took time out of my hectic day to meet with some pieces of corporate baggage in order to discuss yet another piece of property?”
“It is my best guess, Mother.”
Carla got a kind of strength from saying the name. She prided herself in being able to handle her betters whether they be employees, executives or even Mother. Besides, Mother had a reputation for efficiency and an abhorrence of time-wasters, Carla doubted she would punish them for answering a question, even incorrectly.
“I actually have a sneaky affection for you chattel,” another Mother called as she drizzled liquid vitamins on a cactus. “You assets tend to speak when spoken to and seldom do you try to bullshit me, which shows good sense on your part.
My employees, on the other hand, have so many angles, so many aspects to their agenda, a promotion for themselves, favors for a friend, strategic horizontal moves, it goes on. But with the likes of you? The possibilities are considerably less. I feel like I understand you, usually.”
Two of the 'Mothers' approached the pair, each from a different side. Carla and James stood straight and faced the one who was currently addressing them.
“Tell me, how are you finding your new ops teams? Your current teammates seem satisfied with each of you, so what do you have to say?
Carla did not say anything but she could almost feel James' mental look toward her. He was articulate and well-spoken, but these was dangerous waters and she was the hospie, the diplomat, he would defer to her, no doubt. But what would she say?
Since the departure of Cyn and Trent, their small team was broken. Carla had been
reassigned to a larger group, a crew of older, experienced and stubborn, dinosaurs. They pulled in consistent commissions but the individual shares were much smaller than when she had been with Cyn and James. At this rate, she would be in her forties before her debt would be paid and she would hardly ever see her younger sisters unless they entered Sponsorship as well.
Carla stared ahead, fighting the anger. It was clear that Mother knew what she was asking.
She jumped when a voice hissed in her ear:
“I expect anssswersss to my questionsss” the stern voice of a Mother-clone spat.
“The work isn't as challenging and the commissions are lower but everyone on my team knows their job and is dedicated.” James offered.
Not a bad response, thought Carla. But it would be a waste of Mother's time. She had intentionally provoked them and expected them to take the bait.
“Which is why I asked about our former teammate, I was hoping she would return and you would rebuild our former team,” Carla spoke again to the central Mother.
“Of course you would,” declared a triumphant Mother. “Your commissions are a fraction of what they once were. Don't make the mistake of thinking that I am not aware of that.”
I will never under-estimate you again, Carla fumed to herself.
Another mother turned and spoke up, lessening the tension. “What do you think of my clones? Is it disconcerting to have to face more than one of me?”
“Are they really clones, Mother?” Carla asked.
“Of course not!” the one near her spat again.
“And you'll both learn the true meaning of regret should you repeat what you have seen or heard here!” warned another.
Mother continued. “It is a little experiment. Tell me, what worries you more, to be in a room with several autonomous versions of myself...”
“Or the prospect that they are all part of the same being?” The other finished.
“That reminds me a little of Daneel,” James began.
“Exactly a topic I wish to discuss,” approved Mother.
Carla relaxed, although disappointed in herself. James was doing well without her help, was she overly cautious? Mother continued, now turning away from them.
“Daneel Tech, corporate power which has built nearly seventy percent of all artificial intelligence units in Las Joyas. By their products, our vehicles and hugger trains find their way, our AI units see the world in new ways, enhancing our minds, providing the information we need to function. I, myself, carry three of their devices wherever I go.”
“And they allow us to communicate with each other, by the implants in our...” James began easily, his fear of Mother apparently subsided.
“Right on track, James!” mother jumped in, “May I call you James? As you assets lack surnames, I do not have much of a choice but to be familiar,”
“Unless you prefer 'Asset D-3-T-twelve',” hissed the unhappy version of Mother from behind them.
James smiled boyishly, “As you wish, Mother.”
“Good lad, James,” Mother continued. “As I was saying, Daneel was...is one of the most successful and most powerful companies of our day, and was easily the most admired even over SkyTran...until last year.
Then, seemingly overnight, they began to change. Gone was the interest in corporate domination and the drive to sell as many units as possible. Instead, they focused on a series of personal growth initiatives, they began to openly speak about their desire to evolve into something new, a hive of completely connected human minds, sharing experiences in real time. More recently, they started to wear the strange masks and to speak in plural, as 'we' rather than 'I'.”
“We met one of their agents,” James began. “His face was covered with a shiny, metallic plate which displayed his face if you will. As he spoke to us, the projection changed, blending into a stream of faces, even as it mouthed words and changed expressions. I have never seen anything like it. It was like we were speaking to multiple people.”
“Precisely, that is exactly what those displays are meant to indicate - the Daneel members who are active in the entity.”
“But behind the mask, it was still a person, a person with a sophisticated AI unit built into its face plate, probably a form of AI visor,” James continued.
“Incorrect. Now you are swimming in waters that cannot sustain you, James. You are aware that your friend Trent has joined Daneel?”
Carla nodded, her face dark. They had been told. But did Mother know about her relationship with Trent?
“And you are aware that Cynnamon was present during that transfer? At their strict request?”
“What?” Carla blurted, shocked. She turned her head towards James, long enough to be sure that he was also surprised before turning back to Mother.
Yes, she had been surprised to hear of Trent's defection, it came just as she was realizing that he had used her, used them all. And they had been told about Cyn's sudden reassignment to New Berlyn. That had hit Carla even harder, they had not parted on the best of terms and she did not get the chance to say good bye.
But she had never, in her wildest dreams, imagined that Cyn had been present when Trent went over. Trent hated Cyn, why would he bring her?
“Surprised?” Came a chorus of Mothers, who were carefully watching the two assets. “Good. You should be, unless somehow your intelligence rivals my own. But now I have reason to share this fact with you both.
Daneel, apparently in retaliation for our early appropriation of one of their assets, as you may remember, demanded one of our assets in exchange, as payment. But, strangely, they insisted that Cynnamon be present. That was a mystery in itself, until I learned that Trent had incited them against us and in particular against her, for reasons of his own.
That made my decision easy. I gave them Trent, of course, what would we want with a traitor? They accepted him as redress to the perceived wrong and good relations between the two companies has been restored.”
“But...why did they want Cyn to be present?” James asked the question on Carla's lips.
“Isn't it obvious, James? They planned to take them both. They told me as much when the meeting was under way. They have a great need for converts now, especially as their recent peculiarities has hindered their ability to attract new recruits.”
“Cyn isn't with Daneel. I saw her get on the shuttle for New Berlyn, she told me...” James muttered.
Suddenly one of the Mother's appeared at his side and looked him straight in the eye.
“Tell me, what did she say? About Daneel.” It demanded.
“Nothing, she said nothing about Trent or anything,” James explained. “Only that Mother was sending her to New Berlyn...and she was not sure if she would be able to return. She seemed tired and sad.”
The room was silent as Mother's clones mulled about.
“You think Cyn is a double agent!” replied Carla in awe.
The clones paused and one of them turned.
“Make sure neither of you repeat that conjecture. But I am suddenly convinced that it is very important to know why Daneel allowed her to leave. They are not going to tell me but you are her friends, you have a vested interest in where she is and when she will return. Officially, I have kept you in the dark about her, but I can't help it if you are anxious to find out more.
You might even approach Trent. Find out what happened, ignore your team assignments, pretend that you are consumed with finding out what happened to your friend. Be convincing. I want to know what happened. If I am pleased, who knows, I may restore you to your former...productivity.”
The Borderlands
Raiders
Agnetha crept over to the wall of a deep, damp, furrow in the ground which cut through the earth of the rim of the valley. She pressed her boot toe into the firm soil and nodded her head, appreciatively. This formation provided needed shelter from the storms while a nearby ravine siphoned off the water which normally would have flooded the ground on which she was standing.
>
But although the banks of the furrow blocked the winds, protecting them, it was not passable, blocked by a thick tangle of vines, vegetation and fallen trees. Thus their progress down and into the next valley was slow. They were careful to cut just enough room for their vehicle to pass, making minimal changes, loathe to leave a sign that could be noticed from the air. She could hear the hacking sound of machetes as she climbed the bank, the wind starting to whistle in her ears.
Agnetha greedily breathed in a rough gust of fresh, cool, air. It was a welcome change to the dry, acrid smoke from their minimal-light fires. She peered out, into the valley, letting the weight of her body counterbalance the air pressure which played at sucking her out. The valley was full of thick, dark, swirling clouds but she saw nothing moving that opposed the storm.
She removed a field glass from the folds of her protective coat and pressed it to her face, sweeping its view across the valley. But there was no sign of the flying eel. She knew that it is not an animal, that it was some sort of machine, she could tell that from the unnatural white-bluish sparkle which smoldered from its belly. But she could not fathom how it was able to move through the air so easily. Even small birds labored against Maltiempo and she had seen more of those creatures dashed against rocks and trees than she could count. But this mechanical eel moved as if it were on a track rather than flying through the turbulent airs. Whatever it was, she had not seen it tonight.
She was disappointed but also puzzled. The eel's movements were too regular for hunting or foraging; it seemed to have a schedule but did not follow the same path, as if it intentionally changed path simply for the sake of doing so. It was almost as if it were frightened of something.
But without a new sighting, they would continue across this valley, in the direction of the last siting.
She thought they were getting close and their cargo was still healthy and full, having not lost even one to sickness, escape or an 'accident' with any of the men. Agnetha had been clear with them about that.
