Living in Syn (11 page)

Susan
felt overwhelmed.  She didn't go to many parties, and the few she had attended
favored chamber music or light jazz, with catered food and a three or four person
staff tending bar and passing out
hors d'oeuvres
.  Now she
found herself in a small home jammed considerably past full, with high volume
rock that vibrated through her bones.  Chips and dips lined the kitchen table,
and beer and wine coolers filled Styrofoam containers on the floor.  She met at
least forty different people and remembered exactly three names.

She
noticed that four or five couples managed to dance.  They moved in angry
rhythms, erotic but frustrated.  They seemed to say that their only outlet for
expression was sex, and thus it had to show anger and fear, lust and greed. 
Apparently, his friends hadn't seen Mission recently, and the crowd took him off
the way the tide grabs a beach ball.  Susan found a couch and plopped down,
exhausted.  Then she noticed Mission trying to make his way over to her. 

A woman
intercepted him, of course.  A beautiful blonde that appeared to have served as
inspiration for the Barbie doll, wrapped her arms around his neck and gushed,
"Oh Miss, it's been too, too long.  You don't know how much I've missed
you.  In fact ... "

She put
her lips on his ear and whispered and then giggled.  "You don't think I'm
a terrible person, do you Miss?"

Mission
smiled.  "No Amber. Hey, you look great."

She
smiled and said, "You have always been a charmer, Miss.  Bye."

He made
a move toward Susan and three men literally picked him up while one of them
said, "Okay Miss.  If you want the arm wrestling title back, you've gotta
go through me."

Suddenly,
Jeff Taylor plopped down beside Susan.  He looked at her for a moment and said,
"So ... Suze.  How did you and the Mission meet?"

"At
work.  Our paths cross quite often."

He
looked at her strangely.  "Suze, you ain't no bounty hunter."

"Oh
no, no.  I work for Paradox."

"Okay,
that explains it.  I figured you get paid for your brains."

Now
Susan was puzzled.  "Why is that?"

Jeff
pointed his thumb in the general direction of the crowd.  "Miss.  He was
always the brain and he always ended up hanging with girls that were smart,
too."

"Mission
was the brain?"

"Yeah,
he won like a $10,000 stipend from that electronics company, uh, oh I don’t
remember the name. But he was in ninth grade.  He wrote something for an auto
pilot for cars, using navigation beacons, all kinds of stuff.  Brainiac stuff.  Yeah,
it was tough.  You know?  I mean, you, me, most people got so many choices, we
can't keep track.  And Miss, well he didn't have any choices at all." He
shook his head. “You need proof that life ain’t fair, look no further.”

Susan
leaned closer to Jeff.  "What do you mean, no choices?"

Jeff's
mouth dropped open.  "He didn't tell you?  Shit, I need to keep my mouth
shut.” As he started to get up, he murmured, “Really nice to meet you Susan”, 
but she was already pulling him back down onto the couch.

“Wait
Jeff, tell me.”

He shook
his head.  “No, Susan. Miss is my good friend, and he wouldn’t appreciate me
telling his personal stuff. He wants you to know, he’ll tell you.”

“And to
how many people has he told this story?”

Jeff
stood up and gave Susan a big smile. “You’ll be the first. Hey, have another
drink, have a great time here tonight!” And he disappeared into the crowd.

She had
been on the sofa long enough. Time to make another circuit of the house, do
some more people watching, have another drink. Eventually, she found herself in
line for the bathroom. Amber saw her and motioned for Susan to come forward.
Susan moved up with a bit of trepidation. Amber noticed and waved her hand
dismissively. “There’s a separate water closet.” She motioned toward the back
of the room. Then she pointed toward several women jockeying for position in
front of the mirror over the two-sink vanity. "We’re just touching up
makeup, talking about the men.” She and the other girls giggled. Amber pointed
from left to right. “This is Sophie, Laurie, and Sharon.” They nodded except
for Sharon who was carefully reapplying lip gloss. She asked, in that
interesting dialect that women assume while pursing their lips for makeup
application. “So, Susan. Are you with Mission?”

Susan didn’t
understand for an instant, and then she did. “Oh. No, no, we’re just friends.”

Sharon
smiled shrewdly. “Good…maybe tonight.”

Amber
laughed. “Right.” She pointed with her eyes toward Susan and said, “So you
believe her? Mission shows up with Miss Thing here, and you think nothing’s
simmering on the stove. Sweetie, you believe what you want.”

Laurie
was at the mirror now and examined her lips as she mumbled, “He was always so
serious.”

Now
Sharon piped in. “God, you’re stupid, Laurie. Senior year, we were drunk,
cutting class, gettin high, and he has to drop out to raise his brother and
sister. How much fun would you be?”

“I know,
I’m just saying…”

Amber
watched Susan’s face closely during the entire exchange between Laurie and
Sharon. Susan asked, “Why did Mission have to raise…?”

Amber
already had Laurie by the arm, but things came to Laurie on a slow train. She
was impatient at Susan’s apparent stupidity. “Because his parents were killed
when…Ow!”

Amber
had tightened her grip considerably and now had her posse out the door and back
into the party mainstream. She called over her shoulder, “Lovely to meet you.
Y’all have a nice time.”

Susan now
made a circuit of the house with a purpose, but she was confused. It didn’t
make sense, why hadn’t he told her? But a few things were clear. Mission had
friends who understood that he wished to keep his private life private, and
they respected those wishes. And that Mission was not the man she had assumed
him to be.

She finally
found him in a group where two of the men had burning cigarettes on their arms
as a buxom woman called out the time in fifteen second intervals.  When she
reached the edge of the crowd, Mission saw her and he moved in her direction.  He
looked straight into her eyes for what seemed like several minutes. Then he
stepped closer. Susan didn't recognize the song being played, but she knew a
slow dance when she heard one.

As
Mission reached her, she whispered in his ear, "Dance with me."

He
looked at her for a second and then took her hand to lead her to the section of
the house that seemed to be the dance floor.  He looked at Susan again. 

It's
funny how you notice different things.  Mission had seen her in the outfit, she
made him give her an okay, before she would wear it to the party.  But now he
looked at her, in this simple, short black dress with black stockings, her hair
so perfect, falling over her shoulders, and that face.  Just a trace of makeup
to define and emphasize her intelligence and humor, her passion.  She was
beautiful.

Mission extended
his right arm for the classic slow dance position and Susan folded it around
her waist.  They pressed against each other and the energy between them was
palpable.  As they circled the dance space, they moved to their own internal
music, and the rest of the world disappeared. They glided slowly across the
floor.

Mission
looked over to see what Susan was doing.  He located her, deep in the sofa
cushions, eyes glued to the vue screen, whispering at an auctioneer's pace into
the WI (wireless interface) and typing on her keyboard simultaneously.  Olympic
athletes would stop and stare at the balletic interplay of body and mind at
work.  Mission considered the pathetic two fingered typing he performed on his
laptop.  Pathetic, indeed.

"Susan. 
Are you still working on the diagnostics programming?"

"Yes,
I only have about three more days of solid work to go."

"And
would those be the standard eight hour days or the St. Jean eighteen hour
workaholic days?"

"Well,
I could do it all in one Mission thirty-two hour obsessive day.  Why do you
ask?"

Mission
looked at the ceiling.  "I think it's time we sat down with your best and
brightest technical minds.  I want their help in building the specs on our yet
to be created synthetic companion.  And I have some other questions.  I want
another means to disable a syn.  And I at least want to discuss some
possibilities for detecting a syn.  Other than x-rays or dissection."

Susan
tilted her head.  "Why do you want another way to disable them?"

"I
don't know.  But it's lurking somewhere in the recesses of my mind.  I'm sure
we're going to need it."

She
nodded.  "Do you want me to call Fenwicke and ask him for a meeting with
his top techies?"

Mission
was lost in thought and then resurfaced.  "Yes, please.  And help me remember
to invite the Major once a date and time is set. And that reminds me."

And with
that, Mission sat at his computer and was instantly lost in thought.

Six
hours later, Susan passed through the room and saw Mission relax his
concentration. “Okay Mission, so what are you researching now?”

He
motioned toward the screen.  “Pierce.  Research can’t tell you whether to trust
a guy, but I wanted to know more about him.” Mission nodded to himself.
“Impressive.”

Susan
looked over his shoulder toward  his computer screen. “Impressive how?”

“Well,
for one, he’s a certified badass. Remember those Chinese pirates, year before
last? Hiding out in little island groups. Sinking ships, holding folks for
ransom? And then they screwed up, grabbed the American family? Pierce was on
the team they sent in. Ended up leading the thing when his commander was hurt.
Man! He’s got balls of…”

He
looked at Susan for a second. “He’s got nerves of steel.”

“And
that’s good?”

“I don’t
want a virgin and Pierce has the experience. And I don’t want a loose cannon,
putting everyone at risk to get his adrenaline fix. He took care of his men.”

Mission
leaned back with his hands behind his head and grinned. “But perhaps best of
all, he turned down a promotion when it was all over. Cause it was a desk job.
He’s our man.”

Susan
put her hands on Mission’s shoulders. “And would Pierce research you?”

“Of
course, the man’s a pro.”

“And
what does he think about Mission?”

He
turned around to look at her. “Well, if I were him, I’d be worried. I’m a
bounty hunter, never had a real job. I sound like a mercenary. There’s no way
he trusts me.”

“And
should I trust you?”

Mission
put his arms around her neck and pulled her closer to him. He whispered in her
ear. “Should you trust me?”

He
kissed her ever so lightly on her cheek. She smiled. “I trust you.”

A few
days later, they sat in the altogether different conference room for the Vice
President of Research and Design.  Mission decided that Fenwicke designed the
room as an extended think tank.   Vue screens formed the top half of all four
walls and each seat held a keyboard, a pen/pad kit for drawing to the screen,
and microphones for voice recognition command.  Each of the techies except
Fenwicke wore the traditional white lab coat.  They all seemed a little apprehensive. 
  

Mission
looked at the professor and asked, "Everyone here is up to speed on the
situation at the settlement?"

The
professor nodded and Mission said, "Good.  So you all know that the Major
here, plus myself and Dr. St. Jean will form the team that will travel to Triton. 
I take it you’ve also heard the details of my three violent encounters with
995s.  Obviously, we want to enter this potentially hostile environment as well
prepared and equipped as is possible.  My first thought is that we need a
synthetic to accompany us.  So ... what kind of synthetic should we take, and
with what options?"

A baby
faced kid about 5'2" said, "Well, first you need to select a
classification.  I mean double nines in any class is a great mechanism, but
class definitely flavors everything the synthetic does or thinks or says."

Another
of the scientists said, "Why not go with the mining class?  That's what
you'll be dealing with at the settlement."

Then
everyone talked at once and chaos bubbled over the top.  Mission said, 
"Well actually ... ACTUALLY! ... actually I already strongly favor the
protector class, since its first and foremost duty is to protect Dr. St.
Jean."

The
Major nodded his agreement and then the entire group saw the sense in it. 
Mission said, "But…we also want the reinforced chassis in prototype for
the mining class.”

There
was a great deal of murmuring in response to that one. Eliot was suspicious.
“Where did you hear about the Miner SA?”

Mission
ignored the question. “To protect us against combat models, we need a
reinforced chassis. Can we build a Protector series on the enhanced frame?”

Eliot
nodded slowly. “Sure, there’s no systemic incompatibilities at the frame
level.”

Mission
nodded. “ Good.  I think we’re all agreed that we want double nines.  So that
leaves what we want in the special categories, the software options, and the
gender.  Right?"

Mission
turned to Susan.  "Let's take care of the easiest one first.  What gender
do you prefer?"

She
looked surprised that he asked and then said, "Definitely male.  I've seen
too many females with murder on their minds."

"Okay. 
Now, is there any reason to keep us from going to nine in specialties and
getting everything?"

The kid
said, "No. It's not a case of performance or storage limitations or contradictory
programming.  It's strictly a money issue, and that's not relevant here."

Mission
beamed.  "Excellent!  So it's a PM999 and now we only need to pick
software options."

The kid
piped up and said, "I've got a program that lets you pick from a list, and
tells you if you're going to have problems with your selections and why."

Major Pierce
raised his hand and said, "I'll take a crack at it.  It sounds like it
won't let me screw up."

Mission
nodded.  He looked at the professor and said, "We should have final specs
within the hour.  How long before we can take delivery?"

Fenwicke
peered first through the bottom lens of his glasses, and then through the top
lens, and finally over the top of the glasses altogether.  "Well ...
provided you don't mind taking a body in stock, and I see no reason why you
would, we'll have it ready tomorrow."

Mission
was stunned.  "Tomorrow?  Why that's incredible."

The
professor began to clean his glasses and said, "Incredible?  No.  No,
that's just Mr. Westin's influence on the company.  I am continually amazed at
their organization and efficiency."

Soon the
Major returned, and they put the software list up on the screens.  The techies
whistled their appreciation and the professor said, "I think this will be
the most sophisticated synthetic we have ever built."

Mission
breathed easier.  Up till now, he felt trapped in conflicting emotions.  The closer
the team got to leaving, the more he wanted to get Susan bumped from the trip. 
He couldn't stand the idea of her being hurt, and he recognized those feelings
could lead to some poor decisions.  The reality of a synthetic bodyguard eased
his fears.  That gave him time to wonder why he felt compelled to go.  Maybe
this was part of avenging Miller.  He decided that if he kept up this line of
thinking, he would soon be questioning everything in his life.

Everyone
settled back at the table, so Mission continued.  "The next items I want
to discuss are: One. Is there a another way to incapacitate a synthetic?  And
two:  Is there a way to easily detect a synthetic?"

A
firestorm of discussion ensued, and even Susan had trouble following it at
times.  Mission finally rested his head on the table and did his best to hear
it all.  He hoped that more of it might make sense to him later on.  Finally
the group came to a few conclusions.

The kid
spoke up and said, "Well.  On the question of incapacitating a synthetic,
we have an idea.  We believe that ultrasonics in the high gigawatt range might
be effective.  This doesn't try to match the frequency of the brain impulses. 
This frequency is much higher and may trigger resonant vibrations that would,
in essence, shake apart any impulses the brain attempts to send.  The problem
here is that ultrasonics can damage people as well as property.  It might break
glassware, or electronics components, light bulbs, and who knows what."

As he
paused to push his glasses back to the top of his nose, Mission said,  "Is
there a way that we can perform some tests?"

Professor
Matlin said, "Yes, we will work with some different frequencies, and if we
have some success, we'll work on building a compact ultrasonics
generator."

Mission
said, "Great.  Now what about the question of detecting a syn?"

The kid
spoke for the group again.  "Well, we have several different opinions, but
I think the strongest position is that no physical test exists and that the
only possibility would be to administer a series of carefully selected
questions.  Susan would be the one to say if there are questions that could
serve to separate the synthetics from the humans."

Susan
was in agreement.  "Yes, I think you're right.  I'll give some thought to
the question."

Mission
added, "And there's no harm in pursuing the theories from those dissenting
opinions.  Is there?"

The kid
said, "No, not at all." and Susan said, "I'll work with you guys
on those items too."

Mission
looked around the table and said, "This sounds like an adjournment.  Last
thoughts?  Thanks for all your help."

As the
group went their separate ways, Professor Matlin said, "Mission, I wondered
if I could speak with you privately."

Mission
nodded and they stepped into the professor's office.  Or perhaps it was a robot
graveyard.  Pieces of synthetic anatomy covered the majority of the room,
masking the fact that office furniture existed somewhere underneath the
clutter.

The
professor looked at him and said, "We discussed everything about this
diagnostics trip except for your status with Paradox.  I discussed your
qualifications with Chandler and we agreed that this is an appropriate offer."

He
handed Mission a slip of paper which he opened.  It couldn't be right.  It
listed the position of Senior Robotics Engineer with a salary of more than
Mission earned in his
two
best years.  He looked at the professor and
asked, "And then I would resign when the trip was over?"

"Eh? 
Resign?  No.  I hope not.  No, this is an offer for a permanent position.  If
we only wanted you for the trip, we'd draw up a contract and treat you as
self-employed."

"But
... I don't qualify as an engineer.  I don't even have a degree."

Matlin
laughed.  "You know, you are doing this backwards.  You are supposed to
ask for a higher position, not the other way around.  Look, college education
is not the end all, be all.  Plenty of great students wash out in R&D. 
That's why we have a sales department.  To employ all the engineering
washouts.  You already knew the combat models used altered visual processors. 
I could see it in your face.  You built a high-burst battery pack.  That is an
engineering accomplishment.  I asked Susan about you and she told me you
program your own computers.  She said you set up a rig to translate between a
computer and a synthetic brain.  She also said you moved into the Master's
program in Math on the University channel.  And you have good instincts.  In
business, this is always true.  Nothing succeeds like success.  You risk your
life on your devices and on your instincts.  And you have claimed more bounties
in the last five years than anyone else on the planet.  So ... that's all.  Not
going to beg you.  You decide."

Mission
looked at him and said,  "I tell you, with all sincerity, that I am
honored.  I'd like to think about this.  Could I give you my decision on
Monday?"

"Hmmm? 
Oh, of course, of course. Monday then."

Mission
walked out to Susan's aircar where she waited.  Shock reigned for the moment
over a jumble of emotions.  He had dreamed about this since he was a kid.  So
why couldn't he shake the feeling that it couldn't be right?