Idempotency (27 page)

“Mr. Jones, I have another appointment I must attend to now.” Coglin’s voice was commanding; as usual, it crackled like fire but only popped when necessary: to make a point. “My secretary will schedule a follow-up for us in one week’s time. If material change to the COGS rates are not reflected in the metrics at that point, then I will terminate our relationship immediately.”

The puffy man removed a straw from his lips. He was obviously put out; his mouth was agape and he was breathing erratically. He gathered himself enough to rejoin, “Ed, you’re killing me here. You’ve got to give us a little time. Energy expenses have skyrocketed the past twenty-one days, and we’re trying to reduce our defect rate to bring our margins in line. Look, you’ve just got to give us some time.”

“Mr. Jones, you were given time when we signed a contract with you. Your time is now up. Enjoy your day.” As he was about to terminate the vidFeed, Coglin observed an attractive, bikini-clad woman loitering behind Mr. Jones, then added unctuously, “I’m certain you will.” Coglin then made a grotesque motion with his mouth, which Korak assumed was an attempt at some kind of impish smile. Even the multitude of wrinkles on Coglin’s face seemed to be scared off by the odd smile, fading youthfully into his forehead. He then waved a hand and the screen blinked out, replaced again by the awe-inspiring view of the lake and the Puget Sound beyond.

Coglin sighed as he walked over to the thronelike chair behind his desk. “Incompetent idiots—the lot of them. Ah, Korak, how have we managed to get this far by dealing with people so stupid? And why can’t we do everything ourselves? Why must we still, after so many decades, rely on others?”

Korak Searle smiled a thin smile. “In due time, Reverend. For now, the idiots must be tolerated. Note that Mr. Jones’s competitor is twice as expensive and at least that much more incompetent than EGC.”

“Yes, I’m aware. The truth is, I’m still harboring a grudge about their stupid android: We were promised an infallible model. But you already know that.” Coglin was shifting from his guarded business persona, to his more gregarious, almost charming side, which only came out during interactions with close acquaintances these days. Korak recalled how, in decades long since past, Coglin had had only one side to his personality: the entertainer. Nowadays, that side stayed well hidden under a blanket of bitterness.

“Well, the android-Sindhu flap was merely a thorn in our side, much like SOP itself. Nothing material to worry about,” Korak rejoined, trying to temper the issue that had required much of his attention recently.

“Why are you here, Korak? And please, don’t have this be something inane. I’m the big-picture guy, you’re the details guy. You zoom in on minutiae to get resolution. I prefer a coffee-table book—do you remember those, Korak? Giant, printed books. Paper with ink. Each one a pictorial essay on a simple topic: nature, or architecture, or history, or barns, or . . . churches. What I wouldn’t give for a coffee-table book on nineteenth-century American churches. Such simple and fascinating books.”

“On a roll today, Reverend! I’ll remember this for your birthday.” Korak placed his pursed lips together in a forced smile. “To the point: I’m here to discuss our favorite new recruit, Mr. Dylan Dansby.”

“Is the interview loop over?”

“Just about. He’s finishing up with HR now.”

“And?”

“And he did well. I expected no less.”

“And did we glean anything with respect to his true motives?”

“No. That is the issue.”

“Well, then we hire him!”

Korak flinched. “Are you sure that’s wise, Reverend?”

“Why not?” Coglin raised his hands questioningly.

“Reverend—” Korak hesitated, then decided to rely on their friendship for greater effect. “Edward, you believe he’s working with SOP, an anonymous group that many people considered techno-terrorists—I’d love to know how you came by that information, by the way—and we’re potentially granting him the keys to the proverbial castle. How is that not cause for ultimate caution?”

Coglin smiled condescendingly. His voice dropped an octave, and his jocularity was instantly replaced with a ruthless gravitas. His hand, previously deep within his pocket, suddenly appeared, gripping the ivory cross he was never without. He glanced solemnly at the symbol as he rubbed it slowly. He then began flipping its chain nervously around his forefinger as his gaze met Korak’s.

“Korak, we’ve been at this goal for the better part of a half century. As we near fruition of our plan, the risks in this game will only get higher. The best way to manage risk is to understand risk. To know risk.” Coglin drew a deep raspy breath, cleared his congested throat, and exhaled through his nose. “Anyone could infiltrate our ranks. Pass our—” he raised his hands dramatically, and the ivory cross dangled just above his head “—secrets on to someone else. I, for one, would much rather know who the mole is than not know. That way, we can control the mole. Manipulate the situation for our gain. Does that make sense to you, Korak?”

Searle gritted his teeth. After all these decades, Coglin’s officious sermons were still delivered condescendingly. Korak was arguably the operational mastermind behind Coglin’s vision. To still be required to entertain Coglin’s lessons at this point in their relationship was beyond insulting. But they shared the same vision. And they were so, so close to obtaining their goals.

“Of course, Reverend. I don’t disagree with that sentiment. I simply feel we have other options, such as simply not hiring the man.”

“You’re right, Korak, we have other . . . options”—Coglin emphasized the word’s double meaning—“that we can entertain. And those options will be with us tomorrow, next week, or next month! In the meantime, Korak, we’ll watch him like an owl stalking a mole at night. We will learn the mole’s movements, and use them to our advantage.”

“I don’t believe there are any owls left, Reverend—but the sentiment is fair enough. I’ll do the needful,” Korak responded obsequiously and rose out of his chair.

“Excellent. And who knows? Perhaps my intel is wrong and you’ve obtained for employment one of the best salesmen in the country,” Coglin said with a smile.

As Searle walked out of the room quietly, Coglin resumed flipping his ivory cross round and round on his finger on its golden chain. He spun around in his chair and glanced out his floor-to-ceiling window. A final flip snapped the icon into the palm of his hand, and he closed his fist around it.

Coglin cleared his throat and stated, “Ping Mr. Kane.”

Upon the expansive window in front of him, an opaque animation began to spin and moments later the round face of Kane came into view, framed by short, neatly chopped hair.

“Reverend Coglin, I wasn’t expecting a call from you until our status meeting tomorrow. I hope nothing’s wrong?”

“No, no—no problems, only opportunities. It concerns our candidate, Mr. Dylan Dansby.” Kane nodded, and Coglin continued, “We’re close to nabbing him. There is no doubt he’s working with SOP now—”

Kane interrupted: “How did you verify this, sir?”

Looking annoyed, Coglin responded, “I have a reliable source who is loyal to me, Kane, much like yourself. But you needn’t bother with those details—in fact, it’s best if you don’t. In any event, I intend to hire him. We’ll watch him here for a bit, run further tests on him, and assuming everything pans out, I’ll send him your way to Titus.”

“Excellent, just tell me what needs to be done and it will be done.”

“That’s what I like about you, Kane. Direct and to the point. Always aiming to please.” Coglin smiled as Kane tried poorly to hide his glowing admiration. “Remember, Korak does not and will not know about this plan. This is imperative. I’m trusting only you and Dr. Okafor with the information of my terminal illness and our plans with Dylan. You are my prized pupil, Mr. Kane. Should I not cheat death, I will posthumously look to you to guide our ship into port.”

“Of course, Reverend,” Kane snapped back with great importance.

Coglin nodded, then clicked off the vidFeed with a wave of his wrinkly hand.

In a crackling voice, he mumbled, “God help us if it comes to that.”

Sindhu lay upon a soft, cozy bed, propped up slightly with some very large pillows. She held an ice pack the size of her face softly against her chin with her left hand, and her mouth was agape with a red-stained cloth wrapping around her tongue. Her right hand played with her hair, twirling it incessantly. She was fairly certain that she had sustained a concussion somewhere along the line. And her butt hurt, too, but she wasn’t sure exactly when she’d hurt that. In general, she was not happy.

After the android had been whisked away, a few other security personnel had helped her find the entrance to SOP’s operation. They had offered to carry her, but she ignored their entreaties entirely, nearly blacking out. At that point she reluctantly agreed to lean on one of the taller individuals.

The entrance to SOP’s offices happened to be within a slum shack only meters away from her final confrontation with the android. She walked into the shack and down several flights of stairs, then finally through a room with a large oval table, some couches, and some impressive media displays that covered every inch of each wall. After traversing one more smaller hallway, she ended up in a narrow room at the mouth of a cave. Ocean waves lapped against the rocks at the front of the cave; she correctly assumed a holoShield was guarding her from the ocean’s elements—along with anyone who might be looking into the cave. She could see out, but no one could see in.

A gentle knock rasped against the door. An anxious Sindhu twisted her head to see who was coming in, but grimaced from a pain in her unappreciative neck. She blinked hard and then saw a large crop of blond hair atop a round face leaning into the room.

“Hey, you okay to talk?”

“Thure. I’m dying thoo know whath’s going on.”

Sindhu’s unique accent, combined with a lisp induced by her swollen tongue, caused Simeon to laugh. His bass-filled laughter confirmed one of the infamous rumors about him that she’d found on the darkNets. As he moved into the room, her eyes widened and became fixated on his also-rumored flame aniToo.

“Thimeon?” she lisped.

He laughed harder.

“Yes, that’s me. It’s good to meet you, Sindhu.” He raised his hands as she was about to speak. “Don’t. I’ll do the talking; you rest, we’re going to need your help soon.”

He smiled and placed a kind hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry for all the problems. You ended up helping us out quite a bit, though. None of our guys were caught on film; there’s no evidence of us down here at all. Although they will suspect.”

She raised her hands and tried to say
Who?

“Probably some subsidiary of NanoRegenSoft, although I think the android is property of EarthwideGamingCorporation, which is a disturbing development in its own right. Don’t worry about that right now—we’ll brief you on the larger picture soon.”

Simeon took a deep breath and smiled.

“First things first: Thanks for the remote help you’ve been giving us. We often test out new recruits that way. You’ve earned your stripes. The job is yours.” Sindhu brightened visibly, and Simeon continued without pause, “Your first task: We need your help pulling bytes out of our android friend. Here’s the short version of our plan. First, with your help, we reverse-compile the android’s code. Second, you release the code to every open-source repository around the world. Third, you write a personal note on your social feed explaining what happened. It’ll be something along the lines of, you took a weekend getaway, you were followed and attacked, you fought back, and then felt compelled to explain your circumstance. You’ll be famous within CS crowds in seconds, and you have the pedigree to lend credence to your story. They won’t be able to touch you in the near term for fear of the heightened observation around you, and they won’t be able to come forward to claim the android else they admit their guilt. They may even leave this area alone, since people will be watching closely, but we’ll probably still relocate, just to be safe.”

Sindhu nodded. She desperately wanted to talk, and was about to say something when Simeon held up the conflagration that was his right arm.

“Nope, don’t worry, plenty of time for questions. We shot you up with nanobiotics and a two-hour sleep aid—you should be fine in a few hours. So, sleep. I’ll be back.” He turned on the ball of his foot and was out the door before she could respond. A few minutes later, she was sound asleep.

Several groggy hours later, Sindhu’s eyes flared to life. She blinked once, took stock of her surroundings, and was surprisingly alert after just having been in REM sleep. As she moved her chin slowly up and down, she rubbed the jaw muscles on the sides of her face. Still sore, but much improved. Her tongue wiggled. She felt as though a piece of tape was stuck to it, but she tasted no blood. Her headache was gone too. Unfortunately, her posterior still ached.
Can’t win them all
, she thought.

Using a small bathroom just outside of her room, Sindhu freshened up, raised her hair into a ponytail, and quickly made her way back through the hallways toward the centralized larger room. She stood in the entrance and observed the organized chaos. The android lay upon an oblong table; various wires poked into his brain, especially his eye sockets. An exact-sized hologram of the android’s interior hovered one meter above the android, allowing the team to easily compare interior to exterior. Two men, Grepman and Jay-san, huddled around the android’s brain. Their focus bounced between the android’s head and a large vid display to their right. The wall was lit up with an immense amount of deciphered code and binary gibberish.

On the opposite side of the room, Mitlee and Chicklet were entranced by separate, smaller media displays. Sindhu giggled at the boy’s hyperactive colored Mohawk. Mitlee wore a dress around her rail-thin waist, and her short hair was bobbed. Sindhu could only see them from behind, but she suspected they had Indian genes, several generations past. They appeared to be researching some kind of building schematics.