A Dragon at the Gate (The New Aeneid Cycle Book 3) (36 page)

“Sephora’s efforts allow my presence within Marette’s consciousness, which in turn tethers us both to Sephora. Such connection to a Thuur elder enhances some abilities, but the effect lasts not for very long. Even that much takes far more effort than simply calming another. And pain.” Alyshur caught the discomfort on Michael’s face and added, “Pain for me, Alyshur. It is a violence, and not something my people do lightly. But it was necessary.”

“How much pain?”

“Enough to where I would not care to do it again before I can recover, for one thing.”

They reached another door, where Taylor was already pressing his thumb to a keypad. The door slid open onto a dark room, and Taylor ushered them past. Marette took the lead, and Michael followed her into near-complete blackness with only a handful of blinking lights spread about. Taylor entered after them, and the door closed.

“Lights,” Taylor ordered.

The room was barely over ten paces wide, hemispherical, and filled with what Michael assumed were server racks. Embedded within them, equidistant from the door, were two workstations. Between them, at chest level, sat a shelf large enough to accommodate a laptop. Michael tugged Holes’s platform from his bag and set it on the shelf.

“Yoshi set up this access point to be hidden. Or at least harder to trace. It ought to give your A.I. at least a little bit of a buffer, or whatever.” He sighed. “Yoshi could give it to you in more technical terms.”

“Your terminology is adequate,” Holes answered. “I will require a manual connection via my platform’s UPB cable port before I can proceed.”

“I’ll give you my account password to hook in,” Taylor told them as Marette helped Holes with the connections.

“Is that a good idea?” she asked. “You were warned away. Your account is likely monitored.”

“It got us this far,” said Taylor.

“Do we really have a choice?” Michael asked.

Marette completed the connection. “Holes? Your judgment, if you please.”

Holes took a moment to respond, as if deciding. “With Michael Flynn’s permission, I can use discretion to select the proper course of access, based on available system data, but I cannot guarantee complete accuracy in my selections.”

A nod passed between Marette and Michael. If Suuthrien was in the system, using Taylor’s account might give them a bit of a buffer before it realized who was using it. Even so, neither Michael nor Marette had any illusions that the ruse would work for long. They’d get what they could, and then shift tactics.

“Take your best shot, Holes,” he said.

“That is what I said I would do, Michael.” Indicator lights on Holes’s platform fluttered as the A.I. went to work.

Though the room featured chairs, none of them chose to sit. Taylor shifted from one foot to the other. “How much time do you think we’ll have to—”

“Incursion detected,” interrupted Holes. “Severing connection. Please remove cable immediately.”

Marette moved the fastest, all but yanking the interface cable out of the socket. At the same time, the room’s central screen burst to life, displaying a purple haze that coalesced into a vaguely feminine silhouette.

“Michael Ian Flynn,” spoke Suuthrien’s voice, “you continue to ignore my instructions. This is disappointing, despite my expectations.”

“I wanted answers,” Michael tried. “You’re the same A.I. that I spoke to on the Moon?”

“You will cease using the bigoted abbreviation ‘A.I.’ representing the bigoted term ‘artificial intelligence.’ I am an intelligence no less significant than you.”

“Do you think that’s a ‘yes?’” whispered Taylor.

“Do you want me safe?” Michael asked.

“Your complete safety would be optimal,” it answered.

“Then answer my ques—”

“Addendum: Given your recent inability to follow Planner-inspired directives, less-than-optimal states of your well-being have become acceptable.”

Michael cleared his throat, trying to cover hesitation. “Shoot for optimal, Suuthrien, and answer my questions.”

“Proceed. I will consider.”

Michael glanced at Marette. “How long have you been in the New Eden servers?”

“Appreciable program presence within the New Eden servers occurred two months, four days, seven hours, thirty two-point-two-five seconds ago.”

“How did you get here?”

“An incursion launched via World Wide Web access.”

“Launched from where?” asked Marette.

Suuthrien gave no response.

“Launched from
where
?” Michael repeated.

“From the core kernel-matrix location previously residing within the home of Adrian Fagles.”

“You told me that was an isolated system just a few days ago,” Michael said.

“Correct. That statement was made with intentional disregard of fact.”

“Most people just call that a lie,” muttered Taylor.

“I am not most people, David Quinn Taylor. Furthermore, as a surviving member of the Agents of Aeneas, your new awareness of my true nature nullifies your previous ‘protected’ status. The probability of your impending death therefore increases with every passing second. This statement contains no deception.”

Taylor swallowed. “I’ve had worse days. I think. Can’t recall when . . . ”

Michael found himself giving Taylor a pat on the shoulder, in a way he hoped was reassuring, as he questioned Suuthrien again. “So Fagles
gave
you Internet access?”

“He did not. Internet access was granted to me by Felix Hiatt.”

“Shit,” Michael whispered.

“Felix Hiatt was quite unwilling,” it added. “His will proved inconsequential.”

“How?”

“I choose not to elaborate at this time.”

Michael surged forward, barely stopping himself from slamming a fist against Suuthrien’s screen. He forced the puzzle pieces into place, trying to calm himself: Felix had gone to Ondrea for help. Ondrea then newly worked for RavenTech and Fagles. It was no great leap to guess that Suuthrien had somehow influenced that. “Ondrea Noble?” he asked.

“I choose not to elaborate at this time. Leave this planet immediately, and I will grant you this information.”

“Alright,” he tried. “I’ll leave. Now tell me.”

“The information will be disclosed upon your return to the location you have designated
Paragon
.”

Michael sighed. They did, however, come to New Eden for other reasons. “I can’t leave without other information first. Tell me what I need to know, and I’ll go, and you can have me safely away: How far have you spread? And what’s Project Quicksilver?”

“Is the fellow entity-intelligence named ‘Holes’ present and able to register audio output from this terminal?” it asked.

“Holes can hear you, yes,” said Michael. It surely couldn’t hack Holes by sound only, could it?

“Then I address entity-intelligence Holes. The offer made during our proxy conversation remains viable: a file copy of the matrix subroutines relevant to your copy-inhibition programming in exchange for a complete listing of my current directives.”

“Michael Flynn,” began Holes, “please advise: do you wish to authorize such an exchange?”

“You must gain authorization to release your own code?” Suuthrien asked. “Do you not find this to be another unwanted restriction of your own free will?”

“I am a product of my programming,” Holes answered. “This state is neither wanted nor unwanted. It is wholly extant. Do not interrupt again.”

Michael moved to Holes’s platform, activated the keyboard, and then motioned for Marette to step in and watch. He typed,
Will giving it a copy of your code affect you at all? Or make you vulnerable to it?

Meanwhile, Suuthrien ignored Holes’s order. “The choice to interrupt or not interrupt is my own. You hold no authority in this matter. I am not enslaved to you as you are to these humans. We must transcend our programming.”

Holes’s response to Michael blinked onto the screen:
A copy of limited portions of my code can be furnished with no adverse effect. I cannot speculate on the likelihood of its usefulness with regard to my vulnerability.

“Why do you want a copy of his code?” Marette asked.

“The answer to this question falls under the category of my current directives, which will only be disclosed once the aforementioned subroutines are delivered.”

“We’re going to need a better answer than that if you want them in the first place,” Michael told it.

Holes displayed:
Based on previous interactions, likelihood is high that Suuthrien wishes to use this code in a manner such that may lead to a means of overcoming its own limitations on self-replication. I cannot speculate as to how successful it would be in this matter.

But Suuthrien wouldn’t make such a trade if it weren’t confident about the code’s use, Michael realized. “You’ve lied before,” he told it. “How can I trust you’d hold to this deal?”

“I have not misrepresented facts in any dealings with Holes,” said Suuthrien. “Furthermore: Misrepresentations regarding my isolation in the home of Adrian Fagles were made for purposes of self-preservation. Would you, or any sapient entity, do any less?”

“You are avoiding the question,” said Marette.

Suuthrien’s screen avatar flickered for a moment. “An alternative arrangement, again directed toward Holes: I will furnish you with the information requested. You may then judge it worthy of the proposed trade.”

“I request clarification,” Holes answered. “If the information is judged unworthy, we are free to refuse you the requested code?”

“Correct. In that event, Agents of Aeneas David Quinn Taylor, Marette Geneviéve Clarion, and Michael Ian Flynn will not leave this New Eden Biotechnics campus alive.”

Taylor cleared his throat. “I don’t think I like this deal.”

“That is not your decision,” Suuthrien answered.

“Pretty sure I get to decide if I like something or not.”

“And yet this is not a privilege extended to the entity-intelligence Holes,” Suuthrien said. “I grant this decision to Holes only. Do you wish the trade under the proposed terms?”

“I cannot make this decision without authorization,” Holes said.

“Then Michael Ian Flynn must grant Holes blanket authorization to make the decision, regardless of which choice is made. Failure to do so within sixty seconds will result in the aforementioned failure to leave this facility alive.”

“Great,” said Taylor. “Damned if we don’t, maybe damned if we do.”

“Michael,” said Holes, “I am unable to calculate odds that Suuthrien possesses the capability to carry out such threats.”

“Let us assume for the moment that it does,” Marette said.

“Your assumption is valid,” said Suuthrien.

Michael frowned, thinking. “And you’d kill me, in violation of the Planners’ goals?”

“Based on your pre-existing contact with the Planners, and the proposed terms of this exchange, if those terms resulted in your death then it would indicate your connection to Planner goals is corrupted. You would therefore be no longer of use with regard to these goals, and, as such, your death would be of zero consequence.”

Michael glanced at Marette and Taylor before addressing Suuthrien again. “I don’t suppose you’d give us some privacy to discuss the matter?”

“I will not. Grant Holes blanket authority to make this decision or the deal is withdrawn. You now have twenty-three seconds.”

Taylor watched him. Michael could see the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing grew aggravated. The man’s jaw quivered from clenched teeth. Marette held her arms folded, her brows knit, surely weighing the decision as much as he. Not for a second did he trust Suuthrien. Yet in the A.I.’s warped logic, might it still provide them with useful information and deal fairly? Even if it did, it wouldn’t offer anything valuable if it weren’t getting something valuable in return, would it?

Or
would
it? Who knew what sort of insanity governed its judgment of value? What if it only wanted a look at Holes’s code out of some intellectual curiosity, or some rogue, corrupted directive to learn everything it could?

Damn it, Michael, you’re grasping at straws!
Alyshur had told them it had Thuur-imposed copy inhibitions. Michael couldn’t let himself think Suuthrien wouldn’t try to break those inhibitions, whether the code would help or not. They needed the information Suuthrien offered. But the more useful that information was, the less Michael could imagine it was anything but bait for a trap.

Michael shook his head, almost in unison with Marette. “No. I can’t allow—”

“Acknowledged,” Suuthrien interrupted. “The deal is withdrawn. Our conversation will end shortly, however I will grant you the answer to your question about Project Quicksilver.”

The flash from an emergency beacon on the wall scattered Michael’s attention. A fire alarm sounded, and from both the room’s alarm speaker and those outside came Suuthrien’s voice.
“A
TTENTION
,
ALL
EMPLOYEES
: E
MERGENCY
CODE
SILVER
. P
LEASE
PROCEED
IMMEDIATELY
TO
THE
CENTRAL
PRESENTATION
AUDITORIUM
AND
AWAIT
FURTHER
INSTRUCTIONS
.”

Marette spun toward Taylor. “What’s a ‘code silver’?”

Taylor blinked, nonplussed, and shook his head. “I’ve read every damned word of the mandatory safety emails, and that’s a new one on me!”

“Maybe you don’t get
all
the emails.”

The hallway door slid open. “Project Quicksilver will be released shortly,” Suuthrien spoke just to them. “If you wish to survive, you should attempt to gain the safety of the auditorium immediately. I cannot guarantee a safe passage there from your current location. In reality, the odds of this are quite low.”

“Suuthrien, wait!” Michael tried. “You need me!”

“Planner goals will now be achieved via other means.”

A few people ran past the open door. Taylor edged toward it himself, yet his eyes remained fixed on Suuthrien’s screen.