Living in Syn (13 page)

Mission
looked around the table and asked,  "Are we ready for a status on the
capture?"

Montag
said,  "I sent the message to the
teacher
two hours ago.  It was
opened by the recipient.  It states that the window of opportunity will occur
between 10:00 and 12:00 tonight in our selected room.  Building security is
aware of our disconnecting the fire exit alarm.  That door is now
unlocked."

"Good. 
You arranged the room so that the only illumination is at the doorway, and the
rest is darkened?"

Montag
and Pierce nodded.  Pierce said, "There seems to be little benefit in
having Montag in the room since the ultrasonics will disable him.  So, I’ll
take position in the northwest corner.  The darkness will cover me and I’ll
carry a sidearm."

Pierce
held up his weapon and Mission shuddered.  A Stiletto.  They fired ionized
particles too, but about the size of thumbtacks, and with a charge that burned
in a manner similar to napalm.  A clip carried 120 rounds and the weapon
sprayed death like rain on the ocean.

Mission
said, "Request that you reconsider your weapons choice.  If you fire that
thing in that little room, I'm going to die, too."

Pierce
said, "No way, Mission.  I've got it set to single fire, not
automatic."

Mission
said, "Montag, if you have to take one of the Major's burning BBs out of
my butt, I want you to put it in his."

Montag
said, "I cannot treat a human in such a manner."

Mission
pointed at Elliot, the kid scientist, and said, "You've really got to
install a humor program in him before we leave."

Montag
said, "I will observe the capture from the adjacent room to provide
assistance if required."

Mission
nodded.  "Good.  What about post-capture?"

The
Major said, "Montag and I worked with the engineers to develop an analysis
program, including code on the chips.  We’ll identify what is different from a
standard factory synthetic and analyze.  If appropriate, we will provide it to
Montag.  If not, we’ll make a full report so that we all know what to expect
from the combat models in terms of abilities and inclinations."

"How
long will the analysis take?"

Elliot
looked up and said, "No more than 36 hours, and we'll work shifts to
complete in the minimum time."

"How
are the plans for the trip coming?"

A young
man from sales said, "We were somewhat surprised, but Pioneer cooperated
immediately.  They are willing to schedule at our convenience.  But then they
called back and said that they too, need to send someone from the home office. 
To evaluate the synthetic performance versus cost for another year, that sort
of thing.  They sent us a general bio on their man, Dick Denman."

Mission
muttered, "Dick? Let's hope that's not prophetic."

Susan
kicked him under the table.  Mission considered his options.  He certainly did
not intend to stop being a smartass.  He would just have to sit further from
Susan at these meetings. 

The
sales rep said, "So, should we allow Mr. Denman to join the group?"

Mission
said, "We can't stop him.  We're using commercial flights all the way. 
All he has to do is buy a ticket.  Carson?  Can you run a background check on
this Dick?"

Carson
nodded and Mission said, "Final remarks?  Okay, I'll be sitting in the
chair at 10:00 tonight."

Mission
shifted in his chair again.  It had to be 11:20, maybe later.  His eyes had
long since adjusted to the light, and he could make out most of the details of
the room.  The ceiling was one of those depressing
drop tile
types with
a metal frame holding acoustic ceiling tiles in place.  The exterior walls were
concrete block with metal conduit slapped on to run between switches and
outlets.  Apparently, the room had been carpeted once, but that was ripped up
to reveal an ancient linoleum tile.  On the whole, a room devoid of life.  No
remnants of pictures, nothing to indicate real people with real lives ever
occupied the space.

He
looked over at Major Pierce.  He sat on the edge of his seat, gun at the
ready.  Mission appreciated his professional approach.  He took things
seriously, and he gave 100% at all times.  He knew all of them would be glad Pierce
was with them on the trip to New Angeles.

Mission
figured he was driving Carson crazy by smoking.  First off, it was illegal. 
Secondly, it was terrible form for an ambush.  But Mission was careful to keep
the cigarette in the ashtray, an arm's length away.  The instant he saw that
door handle turn, the cigarette would be gone. 

He had
taken thin strips of fluorescent tape and placed them on the door knob.  The
first movement would show from anywhere in the room.  Mission had asked the
techies to place a pull ring on the ultrasonics device, like a hand grenade. 
He stared at his clothes like an idiot, and then finally just pushed the ring
through the front of his sweatshirt with the device hanging down.  He was armed
to the teeth.  He carried the command implanter he and Susan built, the
ultrasonics grenade,  the magnetic interrupter, his battery pack, and of
course, the Glock.

How much
longer would it be?  When you ask a killer synthetic to an ambush between 10:00
and 12:00, you really expect him or her to arrive closer to 10:00.  Now they
were at 12:00, and he considered for the first time that this might not work. 
Perhaps they discovered Tanya was gone by attempting contact at her residence. 
Maybe they didn't have more assassins in the group.  Maybe the group was
charting a different course with all the recent losses in their ranks.  Maybe
his parents picked up the wrong baby at the hospital and his true destiny was
to be the first 200 pound jockey to win the Kentucky Derby.  Maybe endless and
idle speculation is bad for your brain.  Enough.

Mission
called softly, "Carson?"

"I'm
here."

"It's
12:30, what do you think?"

"I
think we've been stood up."

"Yeah."

Mission
already collected his gear and was halfway to the interior door.  Pierce picked
up his equipment and said, "I can't believe we sat here all night and ...
"

The
ceiling tile above Pierce disintegrated as the female dropped through it.  She
hit the Major like a sledgehammer.  As Mission whirled around, the force of the
fall took the female down into a crouch on top of Pierce.  The Stiletto spun
and clattered there on the floor, and she scooped it up and sprayed the whole
room.

It
happened like lightning and Mission had only turned around when he saw her
bring the gun to bear.  He tried to get to the floor when the spray caught him
in the midsection.  The good fortune was that the shots knocked him on the
ground instantly, away from the rest of the gunfire.  He could feel the charges
flare into liquid fire inside him.  The pain burned hotter than anything he had
felt before.  The fire knotted him into a fetal ball, he tried to scream but didn’t
have the breath.

The
interior door flew off its hinges as Montag charged through.  Pierce had pulled
a huge knife from under his pants leg and reached up and rammed it into the
syn's abdomen, which stopped the firing for a second.  Mission reached an
ultrasonics grenade and rolled it in the corner.  Montag took at least three
hits from the Stiletto, but would not be denied, and he delivered a body block
that knocked the syn to the floor.  Unfortunately, his feet tangled with Pierce
and he collapsed on top of him.  Mission saw Montag lift his head and then
freeze.  The ultrasonics had kicked in and the female crouched, paralyzed.  Pierce
couldn't get out from under Montag, and Mission could feel the seconds ticking
by.  He started pulling himself across the floor, and in the far corners of his
mind, he noted the crackling, the smoke, and the flames.  He armed the magnetic
interrupter, and slapped it between the syn's shoulder blades.  He remembered
rolling over and screaming, and then darkness.

He
struggled to swim, swim up through molasses.  So thick, so hard to make
headway.  He could see the surface, but it would take years to get there.  He
couldn't breathe and it burned him.  Like a red hot poker in his stomach.  And
now something pulled on his arm, keeping him from surfacing.  He got closer ...
and closer.

"Mission? 
Mission?"  He reached the surface, and there stood Susan.

He said,
almost inaudibly, "Hi Susan."

She
fought her emotions and for the most part won, but a few tears rolled across
her face spoiling the illusion of control.  She said, "The med tech is
giving you morphine."  That's what pulled on his arm.  He felt the dreamy
warmth spread through him and he smiled.  The room moved underneath him.

He tried
to pick his head up.  "Where are we?"

"We're
in a medivac aircar.  We'll reach the hospital in three minutes."

He moved
his hand and Susan took it.  He tried to smile again and whispered, "You’re
pretty."

The
darkness called and this time he didn't fight it.  He let the waters close
around him.  He hoped it wouldn't let go until the surgeons finished.

Mission
woke up once to find Susan sitting beside him, her face buried in a tissue. 
The next time he woke up because the fire inside had returned.  He screamed and
let out an impressive string of expletives.  When the nurse arrived, he cursed
her so steadily that it almost became lyrical.  From an objective standpoint,
he did employ an originality and variety not generally present in modern-day obscenity. 
Ten seconds after the morphine, he loved the nurse as he did all people.

When he
finally felt awake, the sunlight seemed harsh, and he sensed that too many
people crowded the room.  Susan still sat beside him and he asked,
"Whatcha doing?"

She
smiled and said, "Oh, I've been taking notes.  I want you to define some
of these words and phrases for me."

"Did
I wander into strong language?"

"Wander? 
No, you landed with a fleet of sailors."

"Tell
me about it later so I can apologize.  Okay?"

"Sure. 
You have lots of visitors here.  You need to see Montag first."

Montag
stepped to the foot of the bed and appeared nervous.  "Mr. Mission, I
failed to protect you, and you were injured.  You should consider taking a
different synthetic with you."

Mission
laughed and then tried to stop.  "Montag, I don't mean to laugh, but I
think the blame can be spread around pretty equally.  Let me ask, did you learn
anything that will lead you to act differently in the future?"

"Oh
yes, Mr. Mission.  I have modified many resident programs on defense tactics
and strategy."

"See? 
Now you have something that no other synthetic possesses, first-hand
experience."

Mission
looked over at Pierce. He was tight lipped and he focused on the floor. Mission
knew what he was thinking. The syn took his gun and hurt someone else with it.
Should he say something? No, anything would sound like pity. Stick to business.

“What
about the fire?  Did the fire department keep it from spreading?"

Susan
said, "Montag put it out by himself, after he moved you and Carson outside
and called for a medivac."

Mission
nodded, and then addressed everyone.  "She outsmarted us  But we had the
good sense to bring extra people, Just you two remember that next time, someone
else takes a turn at getting hurt."

Mission
hadn't noticed before, but Chandler Hunt stood quietly in the background.  Now
he stepped up and said, "Mission, we’re all relieved to know that you’re
alright.  Is there anything we can do for you?"

He shook
his head and said, "No, but I appreciate the offer."

The
nurse burst in, threw an evil stare at Mission and said, "I told you no
more than three at a time.  Now who is leaving?"

Susan, Pierce,
and Montag said in unison, "Chandler is."

Once
Chandler said his good-byes, Mission said, "What about your analysis of
the syn?"

Pierce
said, "We found an incredibly aggressive and brutal program for engaging
other syns.  It's a core portion of their programming.  We'll load it into
Montag this afternoon."

Mission's
eyes narrowed and he said, "Montag, what do you think about that, loading
violent programming into your system?"

"I
want to do anything possible to protect the three of you."

"No,
that's not what I mean.  You saw that combat model female in action.  What did
you think of her behavior?"

"I
thought it was horrible.  There is no excuse for acting in such a manner."

"If
that’s true, then why would you allow yourself to become like her?"

"I
do it to protect.  That is my function."

Mission
sighed.  "This is getting us nowhere.  I don't like this.  These killer
syns are wrong, and we’re the last people who should create another one."

Mission
turned to Susan and said, "Actually, I shouldn't have said a word.  His
primary function is protecting you.  How do you feel about this?"

Susan
actually shuddered.  "They scare me.  Anything that’s trained to kill
without conscience is a frightening thing.  I couldn't feel safe next to
one."

Montag
looked upset and Pierce said, "Don't worry about it big guy.  I'll explain
later."

Mission
tugged at Susan's blouse and said, "I hate to be selfish, but can you tell
me what happened to me, and what the prognosis is?"

"You
took three rounds from the Stiletto on the left side of the abdominal region.
The shots formed a rough equilateral triangle with about 1½" on a side. 
Fortunately, there is not much in the way of organs where you were hit, so the
internal damage was mostly burn trauma.  You did suffer some damage to the wall
of the stomach and the small intestine.  They might let you try some solid food
in a couple of days and that will tell them how you are progressing."

"When
can I get out of here?"

"Right
now, they’re saying two weeks."

"I'll
dig my way out with a plastic spoon before I stay two weeks."

The
visit took too long.  He could feel the darkness tapping on his shoulder, and
he began to sink.  "I didn't get to talk to the professor.  I was supposed
to give him my answer ... what's today?"

"Tuesday."

"Oh
God, I've .... "

Susan
smiled.  He drifted away again.