by David Weber
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Jonas swiped a hand across his eyes.
Shigeki pulled him close, and he rested his head against his father’s chest.
“I’m sorry I tried to run from this.”
“It’s okay. Everyone has moments of weakness. What matters is what they do when it happens.”
“I’m going to be there with you.” Jonas straightened and swiped his eyes again, then met his father’s gaze levelly. “Every step of the way. You can count on me.”
“I know I can. I always have.”
*
His clothes didn’t fit anymore.
Raibert knew it was a stupid thing to be upset about, but there it was. He’d worn the same size for almost sixty years, and now all of a sudden he had to print an entirely new wardrobe. He grabbed a pine-green shirt and tossed it onto the floor where microbots cut it into manageable pieces and carted them off to reclamation.
At least he didn’t have to reclaim his scarves. The neck on this brute-of-a-body wasn’t that thick. He grabbed some of the tunics and togas he’d worn as “Titus Aluis Camillus” and added them to the pile.
“Professor, I believe the togas would still fit.”
“We’re not taking any chances,” he huffed.
“And, if I may add, I am perfectly capable of adjusting your wardrobe without your assistance.”
“No, Kleio. I will do this unpleasant task myself. Just keep chopping them up. All of them.”
“Very well, Professor.”
Raibert emptied the rest of the wardrobe onto the floor. He thought he should feel tired, but no matter how much he exerted himself, he didn’t fatigue. He still needed to sleep; the abstracted connectome inside his synthoid body still required the same mental maintenance as a meat brain, but the body could go on and on and on for as long as he required within the limits of its capacitors, which themselves could last for years without a recharge.
He wanted to exercise, to work up a good sweat that cleansed both body and mind, but they’d taken even that from him.
“Just mulch it,” he said, some of the fire leaking out of his voice. “All of it.”
“Yes, Professor.”
He stepped out into the corridor and planted two massive fists on his hips. The Kleio’s systems hummed and thrummed as they phased through time, and he looked around for something else to do. Anything to distract him from the elephant in the room.
Or the synthoid, in this case.
He sighed and opened an external view of himself in his virtual sight: blonde hair down to his shoulders, blue eyes, and a chiseled physique. And pants—he’d spent more than enough time running around naked, thank you very much—but the chest remained bare except for a dark shell over the right shoulder.
The synthoid wasn’t bad looking when you got right down to it. Actually quite handsome. He could have done a lot worse, he supposed. The world looked different from this far up, and the bed would have to be lengthened, but inhabiting a synthoid body certainly had its advantages. He’d taken that shot to the shoulder with barely a stutter in his stride, and the microbot cast over the wound had nearly repaired the damaged sinew and skin.
But he shouldn’t have had to make any adjustments. He should still be in his own body, damn it.
Raibert rubbed the hardened shell over his shoulder. It felt smooth and cool to the touch. More importantly, it felt real. As real as anything he’d experienced in his natural body and as real as the prison domain had seemed. So therefore it was real, at least from the perspective of his connectome.
“It’s not like I have a body to go back to.”
He rubbed his shoulder again. It didn’t hurt, but he intuitively understood the extent of the injury.
“Kleio, how are the repairs coming?”
“I am making good progress, Professor. My superconductor lines are operational again, and I have nearly solved the misalignment in graviton thruster three. Hull repairs are a secondary priority, but I am printing extra swarms to expedite damage control.”
“Good,” he said, nodding. “Very good.”
He stared at the mirrored image some more.
“Hey, Kleio?”
“Yes, Professor?”
“I’m sorry if I’m a butthole to you sometimes. You did a great job out there.”
“Thank you, Professor. It is a pleasure to be of service.”
Raibert clenched a fist and raised his arm so that the bicep bulged.
“So this is a STAND.”
“Actually, the Admin calls them STYNDs,” Philo offered, appearing next to him. “The ‘and’ gets replaced with a ‘y’ in their version of English. And it’s not a combat frame, just one of their general purpose synthoids.”
“Still, it could prove useful. Best to focus on the positives, right?”
“I suppose so. You doing okay?”
“I’ll live. How about you?”
“Fine. None of the damage to my connectome was permanent.”
“Glad to hear it. ‘Ride of the Valkyries,’ huh?”
“Yup.”
“Where’d that come from?”
“I don’t know. Psychological warfare?” Philo shrugged. “It just felt right, I guess.”
“Good enough for me. Though there is one other thing about my rescue I haven’t figured out yet.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Just out of curiosity,” Raibert began delicately, “where did you get a codeburner?”
Philo’s avatar dimmed.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Raibert continued, “I’m glad you had it and extremely grateful you used it. But those things are illegal. They’re the sort of weapon you use to kill another AC in the abstract.”
“Yeah, they are.”
“Then where did it come from?”
“I’ve had it for a while. Kleio kept it for me.”
“Is that so? Kleio! I take back every nice thing I ever said about you!”
“Duly noted, Professor.”
“So you’ve had it for a while?”
“That’s right,” Philo admitted.
“‘A while’ being…what exactly?”
“From before we met. From when I was you-know-who’s companion.”
“Ah. Now it makes sense.”
“But I never used it, I swear!” Philo said urgently. “I might have threatened someone with it once or twice, but I never used it.”
“It’s all right. Don’t worry about it.”
“Seriously? You sure you’re fine with me having one of those and never telling you?”
“Yeah, sure. I mean, come on, I knew you were a little rough around the edges when we joined up. I didn’t think it involved codeburners, but I knew there was a part of your past you didn’t want intruding on the present. And I was fine with that.”
“You never brought it up.”
“At the time I was respecting your privacy. And afterward, to be perfectly honest, I plain forgot about it until now.”
“Yeah,” Philo chuckled. “Meat brains are known to do that.”
“That they are. And besides, it all worked out in the end, right? I mean, yes, I did just have my mind violated and my physical body thrown in the trash, but I got a kick-ass new body out of it.”
“Raibert?”
“Also, the intended recipient for this synthoid must have been compensating for something.” He tugged the elastic band of his pants forward. “I suppose this could come in handy if I ever decide to date again. Not that I’m in any rush after the Beckett Disaster.” He let the elastic snap back into place.
“Raibert.”
“But the option is there. All in all, I’d say this was a win for me.”
“Stop, Raibert. Just stop.”
“Something you want to say?” He grimaced and switched off the reflection with a wave.
“Yeah, there is. I think you’re going through PSS.”
“Oh, please,” he dismissed.
“Physical Separation Syndrome.”<
br />
“I’m not an idiot, Philo. I know what it is. My dad experienced it when he transitioned. It’s no big deal.”
“Tavish went through a very mild case, and he was ready for it. He left his physical body behind of his own volition after a long natural life, surrounded by the comfort of friends and family. You didn’t have any of those luxuries. The Admin forced abstraction upon you suddenly and violently. That sort of experience leaves a mark.”
“True, but most people undergoing PSS are prescribed synthoid bodies. And look!” He tapped his chest. “Already done!”
“Yes, and I’m sure that’ll help. But even there, it’s not a match for your old body. It’s going to take some adjustment. You can’t go through what they did to you and come out the other side unscathed.”
“Sure I can. Besides, there’s nothing we can do about it now, so no point worrying over it.”
“Stop it, Raibert. Just stop it. Look, I’m worried about you. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
Raibert tapped his temple. “If you think I don’t have it together, then come on over and see for yourself. I’ll drop the whole firewall, and you can poke around all you want until you’re satisfied.”
He instinctively reached for the pathways between his mind and Philo’s, but couldn’t find them. They weren’t there anymore.
“I can’t do that,” Philo said sadly.
“What do you mean you can’t?”
“The tech differences between your new body and SysGov are too great. I can interface with your virtual sight and hearing, but that’s the extent of it.”
Raibert’s lip trembled. He stared blankly ahead and his shoulders drooped.
“I’m sorry,” Philo continued, “but there’s just no way we can fix this.”
“You mean…we can’t share our meals anymore?”
Philo frowned and shook his head.
“Never again?”
“I’m sorry, Raibert.”
“But I can join you in the abstract, right?”
“I’m afraid not. Your connectome can’t leave its case. Admin hardware is designed to make that impossible.”
“Well this sucks!” He slumped to the floor and rested his back against the wall.
Philo’s avatar sat down and leaned against the wall next to him.
“That’s why I said this is going to take a while. But you’ll get through this, and if—I mean when we get home, we’ll transition you into a proper synthoid with all the right interfaces. I swear we will. We’re just…limited for now. In the meantime, you let me know if there’s anything you need from me. I’m here for you, buddy. Always.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Raibert shook his head as his synthoid eyes teared up.
“So, is there anything I can get you? Anything you need right now?”
“I…”
“Yeah, Raibert? Anything.”
He looked over at the avatar. “I could really use a hug right about now.”
Philo frowned again.
“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t anymore. It’s impossible for us to interact.” He passed his hand through Raibert’s body to demonstrate. “They only set up their wetware and synthoids for virtual sight and sound.”
“No hugs?”
“Sorry. No hugs.”
“Oh, fuck the Admin!” Raibert bashed the wall with a fist and left a dent.
*
“Things have been rather lively today, Csaba, and not in a good way.”
“We’re working to contain the situation, sir.”
Chief Executor Christopher First reclined in a chair in Shigeki’s virtual vision. His thick, brown mane descended to shoulders where a dark suit covered his cosmetically enhanced physique. Shigeki stood at attention while the chief executor watched with steely eyes.
“Containment? I’ve learned more about this from watching the news than from your own department.”
“I regret the oversight, sir. We’ve been understandably busy today.”
“I can imagine. A strange time machine breaking out of your headquarters. Drones dropping like flies, which, I might add, have resulted in dozens of injuries and more than a few deaths. Attacks on two suppression towers, plus numerous casualties from those. A prison break, of all things, and more casualties at the DOI. Should I go on?”
“No, sir. That won’t be necessary.”
“And is it true the chronoport was being piloted by an AI? Surely that can’t be right.”
“Unfortunately, sir, it is.”
The chief executor’s face remained almost masklike, but Shigeki saw fear cloud his eyes.
“My God. How did this happen?” the chief executor demanded.
“We apprehended the chronoport in question two days ago and brought it back to DTI headquarters for study. We were in the process of determining its point of origin when we learned, too late unfortunately, that someone had hidden a fully self-aware AI on board. As for the rest, I believe you know as much as we do.”
“A strange chronoport shows up, and I’m not made aware of it?”
“I understand how that might seem, sir, but as you know, the very nature of what we do at the DTI requires a certain degree of secrecy. You would have received a full report once our investigation was complete. That’s been standard procedure between my department and your predecessors.”
“I suppose I can accept that explanation. For now. What about the prison break?”
“That would be the pilot, who turned out to be a complete ranting loon. Because of his mental state, he was of no use to our investigation, so we transferred him to the DOI for processing. We’re not sure why, but the AI prioritized his rescue. Perhaps it was following a behavioral governor. Perhaps it thinks it needs him. Who can honestly say at this point? Regardless, we now have a madman and an AI in control of a highly advanced chronoport with numerous Yanluo Violations incorporated into its design.”
“This breach of our security cannot be allowed to stand, Csaba. You hear me? Cannot be allowed to stand!”
“I agree completely with you, sir.”
“Then what are you going to do about it?”
“I’ll be taking personal command of the situation. Pathfinder Squadron will depart as soon as preparations are complete, and we won’t stop until we find and eliminate both the fugitive and his chronoport.”
“That seems…quite sufficient.”
“Thank you, sir. I thought it prudent to take a hands-on approach given the severity of the situation.”
“As you should.” The chief executor nodded in thought, then looked up. “Do you require any assistance?”
“Not at the moment, sir. I appreciate the offer, but what we do at the DTI is rather specialized. There’s not much support other departments can provide. Pathfinder Squadron is more than sufficient to track down and destroy a lone chronoport.”
“Don’t take any chances, Csaba. It’s a rogue AI. I want it stamped out. You hear me? Stamped out!”
“Understood, sir. It won’t get away.”
“Who’s your proxy during your absence?”
“Under-Director McMillon will be acting director while I’m away.”
“McMillon? Isn’t he in charge of your logistics?”
“He’s up to speed on all current operations and has my full confidence.”
“Then I suppose he’ll do.” The chief executor sat back. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it. Get this mess cleaned up, Csaba.”
“That is my intention, sir.”
The chief executor cut the link, and Shigeki let out a long sigh of relief. He stepped out of the cramped office on board Pathfinder-Prime, took a short walk down the narrow central corridor, and entered the mess hall, which could, and currently did, serve as a conference room.
“How did it go, boss?” Kloss asked.
“About as well as could be expected.” Shigeki stepped up to the end of the long table where Kloss, Nox, Hinnerkopf, Jonas, and the
captains of Pathfinder Squadron now sat. “And now that we have that unpleasantness out of the way, let’s get down to business. Where are we?”
“All twelve chronoports are armed and provisioned for an extended mission,” Jonas reported. “Each craft has been fitted with four Type-72 missile pods with sixteen munitions each, two Type-34 cannon pods with 115mm railguns that can be detached and used as Switchblades, a Type-88 countermeasure pod, and a Type-6 drone hangar that can also serve as a Cutlass troop transport. Pathfinder Squadron is ready to phase out on your command.”
“In addition to the external armaments,” Nox added, “each chronoport will have a sizable drone and troop complement. Sixty Scarab reconnaissance drones, eight Raptor light air-support drones, eight Wolverine light ground-support drones, and a fully equipped special operator squad. Per your orders, at least one STAND with combat frame is assigned to each ship, and we also have a few operators who specialize in the use of Condor sniper drones, but not enough to distribute to every chronoport.”
“Crew rosters have been adjusted per your specifications,” Kloss said. “All captains have been briefed, and there are no problems to report. Additionally”—he knocked on a yellow-and-red striped box about as long as his forearm—“I have the boxed AI you requested.”
“Director,” Hinnerkopf said, “I hope you don’t mind the presumption, but I’ve requisitioned additional chronometric analysis gear for Pathfinder-12. I believe it might come in handy once we’re at the storm. It’s already on board, and I’ll work to integrate it with the chronoport’s systems on the way.”
“Excellent,” Shigeki said. “Good thinking.”
Hinnerkopf gave him a curt nod.
“Now,” Jonas said, sitting forward. “Where are we going?”
“A very good question, and one I’ve given some thought to.” Shigeki brought up a graphical representation of the timeline over the narrow table. Two points far back from the True Present flashed. “We don’t know the professor’s exact destination because he doesn’t know it himself, but we do know the region he’s going to target.”
