Living in Syn (24 page)

Mission
feigned hurt. "Me?"  Mission looked imploringly to the heavens. "Has
a man ever been more misunderstood?"

Then he
winked at her and said, "I have to go ask Montag some leading questions. 
Think about something two cripples can do tonight that is mindlessly
entertaining."

She smiled
and said, "Go see Montag."

Mission
knocked on Montag's door and then walked in.  He threw him a hooded sweatshirt
and said, "Here.  Once my kid brother got poison ivy all over his face and
neck and head.  He felt better when he wore one of these because it covered so
much of him."

Montag
said, “Thank you Mr. Mission."

As he
slipped it on, Mission said, "Montag, is there any way I can get you to
drop the Mister and just call me Mission?"

"An
informal title conveys a lack of respect and ... "

"No! 
No it wouldn't.  You know what it would convey?  Friendship.  I consider you a
friend and my friends call me Mission.  Do you consider me a friend?"

"You
are an owner, a master."

"No! 
I am no one's master.  We worked as equals, we traveled as equals, and we
fought for our lives as equals.  I am not your master, I am your
teammate."

Montag
looked pained.  Mission said, "Look.  Think about what I've said.  But in
the meantime, call me Mission, because it hurts me when you don't.  It hurts
that you can't treat me as a friend.  You don't want to hurt me, do you?"

"Oh
no, no I do not."

"Then
it's settled.  Let's talk about research on New Angeles."

Mission
looked at him with anticipation.  Obviously Montag didn't understand how to
play this game.  He would have to coax him.

"What
do you have so far?"

"I
am afraid we are destined for failure.  All the records we desire are frozen
along with the assets of the companies in the middle of bankruptcy proceedings. 
Attorneys estimate a disposition in the next twelve to eighteen months."

Mission's
mind raced like violent footage through the cable news system.  "Okay,
we've got to come at this from a different angle.  Let's think about
transactions or records occurring on either side of a shuttle flight."

"I
am sorry Mr. Mission ... Mission, but I don't understand your objective."

"Well,
for instance, the shuttle system itself is a very structured and sequential
operation.  You don't fly from Number Three to Number Six, you have to move
from Three to Four, from Four to Five and then Five to Six.  So there are only
three ways to get to Number Eight; from Number Seven, from Number Nine, and
from Triton.  And I'll bet that more than 90% of the passengers shuttling from
Seven to Eight  take a room at the Number Eight Hotel.  From there they can go
to Number Nine or to Triton and now we have a decent figure on the incoming. 
Same thing in reverse.  Folks leaving Triton have to stop at Number Eight and
probably take a room for the night.  Then their choices are Number Seven or
Number Nine and we have a fair outgoing number.  Do you see where I'm going
with this line of reasoning?"

"Yes,
I do.  But it will not be accurate."

"Not
100%, but that was never my need in the first place.  In fact the shuttle
records are never 100% accurate.  People cancel and amend and do all kinds of
crazy things at the last minute, and the records don't always keep up.  I just
need data accurate enough to give me a feel for what's happening here in New
Angeles."

"I
understand.  I can provide a profile that is accurate in general."

"Good. 
If transactions are fairly easy to obtain, get everything you can.  It's
amazing how some least considered, trivial little tangent turns out to be the
most direct correlation."

Montag
smiled.  "Thank you, Mission.  This should occupy an entire day at a
minimum.  Feel free to visit and view my progress."

"I
will.  Thank you, Montag."

Susan
knocked on Mission's door.  She hobbled in and said, "So what have you
been up to?"

Mission
smiled at her.  "I am looking at the different angles.  This situation is
like a ball of knotted yarn with ends hanging out all over the place.  I'm
looking for a thread that will unravel almost everything."

"And
where does this train of thought take you?"

Mission
tilted his head and asked, "Our briefing on New Angeles.  Did you give us
everything, or do you have more data, especially on Pioneer as an organization
and as a business?"

"Actually,
I bet I have more data than even you want.  If you'll walk me back to my room
later, I'll load it into your com."

Mission
beamed.  "That's great!"

Susan
looked suspicious and asked, "What do you have in mind?"

"Well,
sending Denman in the first place interests me.  Given what appeared to be an
adversarial relationship between Denman and Atwood, I wonder what is happening
between Pioneer and this settlement.  I'm wondering if I can pull a thread at
Pioneer headquarters and get them to tell me what's going on.  Then I don't
have to wrestle with Atwood."

Susan
nodded and smiled approvingly.  "You approach everything like this, don't
you?"

"What
do you mean?"

"Cerebrally. 
You don't approach a problem like I do, I'm more methodical and rigorous.  But
your methods require just as much consideration, and planning.  You organize
just enough to stimulate a creative, associative process.  It's fascinating to
watch."

She
slowly raised her head to look at him.  "You educate me against my will
and show me that there are many ways to solve problems."

"I
think we’re both learning.  It happens every time you see things through someone
else's eyes."

Then
Mission went in another direction and asked, "Do you have a call to Elliot
scheduled?"

She
nodded.  "8:00 tonight."

"Would
you mind if I talked to him once you finish?  Good.  Let's go back to your
room.  I can't wait another minute for that data."

An hour
later, Mission sat on his bed, watching the different reports he specified,
being created.  He suddenly picked up his com, and scheduled a call to Earth
for 6:00 that evening.  The operator buzzed him and asked for the specific
location, number, and party being called.

He
picked up one of the reports and said, "New York, New York.  Pioneer
Incorporated Headquarters, Vice-President, Natural Resources Division, Mr. 
Bennett London.  I'm afraid I don't know the number.  Thank you very
much."

Perhaps he
was pushing this too fast, but he couldn't wait.  If they couldn't make
something happen while this ambush was fresh in their minds, any leverage they
held would slip through their fingers.  He would see Montag, and go with
whatever he had compiled to date.  6:00 tonight.  This might be it.

Mission
devoured the raw data compiled by Montag.  His suggestions to Montag had been
decent, but other indicators showed far more promise.  As part of each
settlement petition, every visitor was assessed a chemical treatment fee for
cleaning water and creating and purifying air.  As a percentage of these fees
were turned over to the government to administer safety regulation and inspection
of these procedures, the accounting was much more accurate.

On the
other side of the equation, the records were sealed with the bankruptcy
proceedings for shuttle flights between Station Eight and New Angeles.  But the
shuttle flights between Station Seven and Station Eight were accounted for. 
And there were few options after traveling to Number Eight.  You could stay to
work in the station, but there were no business opportunities there.  You could
move out to the construction work on Station Nine, but that traffic could be
easily estimated.  Or you could travel down to New Angeles.

Mission
looked at the partial data available and made some rough extrapolations. 
Something very strange was happening in this settlement.

He
looked at the time and realized he had less than thirty minutes.  He ran down
the hall as fast as possible and burst into Montag's room, huffing and puffing.

"Montag
... do you have a coat and tie I could borrow?"

"Yes,
but I think it will be too long for you."

"That's
not a problem.  This is for the vue screen and they'll only see me from the
chest up."

Montag
held up a navy suit coat with a chalk pinstripe and a red and white tie. 
"Will this do?"

"Will
it do?  It's perfect."  As he raced through the door, he said,
"Thanks, Montag."

Mission
struggled hopelessly and then called Susan for help.  She tied his necktie and
then slipped the suit coat on over his cast.  Mission tuned the entertainer to
Mozart's String Quartet # 17, playing softly, checked himself in the mirror and
sat down in front of the vue screen.  The indicator signaled an incoming call
and Mission turned on the receiver.

A
gentleman in his fifties with a handsome smile, a neatly trimmed gray mustache,
and a $6000 suit nodded and said, "I am Bennett London."

"Mr.
London, how do you do?  My name is Mission with Paradox Incorporated.  I lead a
science and engineering team conducting diagnostics on synthetics here in New
Angeles.  Dick Denman with Pioneer accompanied us here to make efficiency
evaluations.  Are you familiar with the team's activities?"

London
swallowed and said, "Yes, I approved Dick's itinerary."

"I
see.  I am afraid I have bad news.  Night before last, my team along with Mr.
Denman toured the refinery bay where we were attacked by a group of
approximately twenty.  I am sorry to say that Mr. Denman was killed, and that
my team and I were injured quite seriously."

London
put his hand to his mouth.  "Oh my God.  He was killed?"

"Yes
sir.  The aftermath revealed that the attackers were all synthetic.  Did you
know that the Army insisted on sending a representative with my team?  Well,
hindsight indicates that they suspected something.  Why else would they send a
soldier?"

Mission
spread his hands and said, "So I find myself in a quandary.  I can't put
my hands on the proper information here in New Angeles to pinpoint a cause. 
And with the potential danger to any lessor of Paradox synthetics, I find
myself forced into a rather severe course of action."

"What
do you mean, severe course of action?"

"Well,
unless we can pinpoint the problem immediately, I have to notify the Army and
ask for assistance in recovering all the synthetics in the settlement. 
Anything less would put more humans at risk."

London
was definitely shaken, not stirred.  "I ... I ... that sounds like a poor
... poor business decision ... to me.  But ... but it's yours to make.  Why are
you ... telling me this?"

Mission
became the epitome of business protocol.  "Well, first of all, I did want
to contact you personally to convey our condolences on the death of Mr.
Denman.  But, I also thought it only fair to tell you about this before it
becomes a headline in the news."

Now
London registered shock.  "News?  Why do you?  What do? ... "

"Look,
I've talked this over with our President, Chandler Hunt, and he agrees that
this is the way to go, even though it will hurt us.  Trying to cover it up will
only make things worse. And I know that your stock, just like ours, will take a
temporary hit tomorrow.  Then the financial analysts will tear apart both our
operations, looking for anything that indicates the prices should be higher or
lower.  First they start with the Stockholder's Quarterly Report, and then move
on to the detailed accounting, and on and on."

Mission
looked very contrite.  "I just didn't want all this to catch you by
surprise tomorrow."

London
said, "Look.  There must be some other way we can handle this situation. 
Don't you think?"

Mission
scratched his head.  "I am at a loss. Unfortunately all the synthetic
attacker's brains were destroyed.  And our scheduled diagnostics so far reveals
nothing unusual.  So unless I can explain to Mr. Hunt's satisfaction what
caused the violence, and how we can guarantee it won't happen again, he is
determined to come clean in a public forum.  Our reputation is built upon
absolute honesty.  Anything less would erode our credibility and thus our
customer base."

"Mr.
Mission.  Mr. Mission.  The New Angeles settlement is one of a kind, most
unusual.  I am certain that this problem is ... is limited to this one location."

Mission
frowned.  "I'm afraid I don't follow.  How could any differences in the
city affect the tendency toward violence?"

London
fumbled for something.  Then he swallowed a number of pills and chased them
with water.  "This is too much. ...  I need to talk with some of the
principals here before you proceed.  May I call you back in three hours?"

Mission
nodded.  "You may, but I must be honest.  Mr. Hunt expects me to make a
public announcement at 9:00 tomorrow morning.  And I doubt that there is anything
that you or your peers can say that will affect that decision.  I understand
that you'll suffer some unpleasant consequences in the short term, and I do
apologize, but we can’t ignore our responsibility to the public at large."

London
spoke in hushed tones.  "I understand.  We will talk again in three
hours."

The
screen went blank and Mission turned to Susan, who was sitting in the corner. 
"Well, what do you think?"

She
smiled.  "I think he swallowed the bait.  But if he calls Chandler to
appeal directly, or if he calls Atwood, you're sunk."

"If
he trusted Atwood, he never would have sent Denman in the first place.  And
he's dirty.  Or at least he’s complicit.  He'll be too busy trying to save his
hide to call Chandler.  He's going to call back and tell us what he
knows."

  At
8:00, he and Susan switched seats while she and Elliot delved deeply into the
applied mathematics of polychromadrine processing models, as well as the object
language residing in the command central unit.  Finally satisfied with their
progress and the notion that each of them faced at least four solid days of
work, they brought Mission into the discussion.

He
grinned at Elliot and said, "Tell me you found a secret in the
R-complex."

He
didn't need to.  His smile told Mission that the search was a success. 
"You think you've controlled all the code that's allowed to go live."

He shook
his head.  "This guy used messages from the diagnostics routine, to
translate other messages into code.  And why did he do this?  He couldn't stand
hearing syns talk during testing.  So he buried a few lines of code deep in the
programs so that the syn brain listens for a specific verbal command and upon
detection, shuts down the ability to speak.  If you happen to have the skull
open, you find that output is rerouted to the universal adapter, compatible for
screen display.  Once a second command is detected, verbal ability is
restored.  Neat, huh?"

Mission
shook his head.  "Amazing.  Is this back door resident in all
models?"

"Every
damn one."

"And
what are the commands?"

Elliot
told him and he said, "No.  You’re kidding me.  Tell me you're
kidding."

"Nope. 
That's what he coded."

Mission
sometimes found it impossible to believe these little unknowns could sneak into
a product so thoroughly tested.  "Thanks Elliot.  You've given us great
support through this whole thing.  Better than we have a right to expect."

"Hey,
no problem.  I'm amazed someone will pay me to do this."

At
precisely 9:00, London's call came through.  This time, his tie hung loose and
his hair was less than perfect.

"Hello
Mission.  You wanted to talk again."

"No,
I wanted to talk three hours ago. You asked for time to confer before we
continued."

London
was pointedly without expression. “As you wish. I just don’t know anything that
help.”

Mission
was clearly exasperated. “No, I told you about the ambush, and you indicated
that the violence was limited to New Angeles. It was clear that you knew
something about the cause of the behavior.”

“No, you
misinterpreted. I was shocked by the death of Dick. It sounds like you and
Paradox have a problem with violent syns, and clearly, we are victims in this
incident. A press conference by Paradox which mentions Pioneer as anything but
victims would be…actionable."

Mission
was silent for a moment. “So this is how you want to play it? Are you that
frightened?”

London
smiled. “It seems that the substantive discussion has ended. So on that note.”

There
was urgency in Mission’s voice. “Wait London. Don’t you see that you’re being
set up?”

“You’re
not making sense.”

“Really,
then why didn’t any of the folks you conferred with join the call? And why
isn’t legal there with you to warn me of actionable statements? Because it
leaves me with you and no one else. And you know what happens to people that
could shed light on this deal? They sent a murder squad to deal with my team. A
Paradox scientist ran searches on the database for violent syns and a combat
model showed up to kill her that very night. How do you think they’ll deal with
you?"

London
was visibly shaken. “You’re crazy! And I’m not talking to you anymore!”

Mission
rushed his words before the vue screen dimmed. “Don’t go home London, they’ll
kill you!”

“Shit!”
Mission stared at the disconnect screen. That was his best chance at finding
out what was going on and it had fallen apart.

Maybe.
Mission walked rapidly down the hallway, to talk to Pierce in person.

Mission
was dreaming of alarms. They wouldn’t leave him alone. They wouldn’t stop
buzzing, they… It was his com. “Hello?”

“I have
a priority call from London Bennett to Mr. Mission.”

Mission
blinked. “Three minutes.” He dialed his com and rousted Carson. “My room! Right
now.”

Sixty
second later, Carson appeared and Mission motioned him to the only corner in
his room that was off-camera for a video call. Mission said, “If this goes as
expected, I’ll invite you to join in the call in a few minutes.”

Carson
nodded and Mission patched in the video. This time he could be cool. “Hello Mr.
Bennett.”

London
mopped his forehead and leaned in toward the camera.  “They tried to kill me.
They …”

“Tell me
what happened.”

“I
pulled into my building’s garage, and I got to thinking about what you said.
And I was afraid to go to my apartment, so I sat there. And while I’m trying to
figure out what to do, someone rings my doorbell. The building routes visitor
queries through to my car and my com. So I looked at my security cam and…she
was a syn. I know it.”

Mission
was casual. “There could be a dozen reasons for a girl to ring your doorbell.”

Bennett
shook his head. “No, If I’d been home and answered that door, I’d be dead.”

“So what
can I do for you?”

“You got
me into this mess, Mission. If you hadn’t called me, none of this happens. You
have to help me.”

Mission
waited. And then finally. “Tell me what’s going on in New Angeles.”

“No. You
tell me how you’re going to protect me, then we talk about NA.”

Mission
nodded. “Give me everything and I’ll clean up this mess. The Army can have you
in protective custody in less than ten minutes. No one will be able to touch
you.”

“Prove
it.”

Mission
motioned and Carson stepped into view. He was cryptic. “I’m Major Pierce. You
already know I’m on the team that was assaulted here. I can have MPs at your
car in ten minutes. I can have you inside secure facilities at Quantico in less
than an hour.”

Bennett
deliberated. Finally he nodded. As he started to speak, he looked like he was
telling his wife he had herpes.  "The truth is ... we lost control of the
city over a year ago."

Now
Mission leaned forward as far as his cast would allow.  "What do you mean,
you lost control?"

"I
mean they're goddamned clever.  They assumed control of key duties and
positions.  All of the sudden, we couldn't get our management reports, payroll
records, employee records, nothing.  They cut deals directly with the firms
that transport the ores to the final buyers.  Arranged for the payments to go
directly back to them, instead of through us.  Oh, they send us a percentage. 
That and instructions for us to create the administrivia if we want to maintain
the pretense that we run things.  It embarrassed the hell out of the company. 
Can you imagine what would happen to stock prices if anyone knew we lost a
city?"