Now the Stranger was hopping from one foot to the other. “Only you can save mankind! Just knock the cylinders onto the lower tray. Don’t let Alfred win!”
That seemed to convince Miri. She rushed to the table, grabbed the package out of the pneumo tube lock, and tossed it to Robert. He caught it and the next and the next and now his arms were full. The white cylinders were as light as foam.
“Heh! Excellently done.” He waved vaguely at the walls. “See that, Alfred? It doesn’t pay to cross the Rabbit!”
Rabbit
? The creature turned back in their general direction; by God, it did look a little bit like a rabbit. “That was a near thing, but I won! I mean, we saved mankind.” It drew itself up, but its whole body was tilted. “Damn Alfred. He is shutting me down a piece at time. Maybe I should exit with my impression of the Wicked Witch of the West. Dying, that is.”
“I mean it!” said the Stranger, something like a serious tone creeping into its voice. It flailed about — more dramatic dying, or looking for an explanation? “If the bugs are disease vectors, you’re at ground zero! The lower tray will send them to an incinerator, all safe and tidy.”
Miri shook her head. “No. That’s an alternate path to the UP/Ex launcher.” “Look at my pdf, you fool. The map.” “I looked at
my
map, the one I cached this afternoon.” Miri’s smile was triumphant.
“Do you think he’s
really
gone, Miri?”
“I… don’t know.”
Miri plunked herself down on the floor. She was very quiet for a moment, both publicly and privately. Robert set the packages down and stared off into the dark, looking this way and that. Supposedly there were no mon enemy robots. What could “Alfred” do with the fruit flies now? What couk the fellow do to Miri and Robert himself?
Miri — > Robert:
Miri — > Robert:
Robert tapped at his keypad:
Robert — > Miri:
Miri’s chin came up.
Günberk and Keiko and Alfred each had their own analyst pools. Ten seconds ago those analysts had agreed: As an active threat, Rabbit was gone, both topside and in the operation’s milnet. Dissent clusters hung around the opinion, but they were related to collateral-damage prediction.
Mitsuri — > Braun, Vaz:
Mitsuri — > Braun, Vaz:
Vaz — > Braun, Mitsuri:
Mitsuri — > Braun, Vaz:
Alfred smiled at Keiko’s impolitely constrained panic. She and Günberk would do their best. And in some ways, this chaos was helpful. Fooling Günberk and Keiko had always been Alfred’s biggest problem. His outshipment would’ve been impossible if they weren’t so distracted.
Two minutes passed. Three. His secret team had completed most of the fakery. They had updated the logs to satisfy both Alliance and future U.S. investigators. Now they were working with one small section of the
Mus musculus
arrays, his true animal model. Alfred hopped from viewpoint to viewpoint, swooping over cabinets that looked like office blocks in some bland, utilitarian city. He couldn’t take more than a few of the mice, just a few of those conceived since the last update. His team had already shut down the in-progress experiments and started destruct operations. Now they detached the chosen arrays and began prepping them for launch. Other members of the team were already sending shipping cartridges to the pneumo port atop the cabinet. He could fit one twenty-by-thirty array… six hundred mice — into each cartridge.
Mitsuri -> Braun, Vaz:
Vaz swore and glanced at the topside analysis. This wasn’t even close to Keiko’s deadline. Braun -> Mitsuri, Vaz:
The analysts were boiling with contrary opinions. Failures like this happened a couple of times a year somewhere in the world, the price that civilization paid for complexity. But here there was a more sinister suspicion, that
this
failure was collateral damage from the revocation. Maybe Rabbit’s riot magic depended on his commandeering the embedded computer systems of the public environment. Now that his certificates were revoked, there was a cascade of failures working through almost everything, just as fast as the certificates failed.
The second and third cartridges would be ready in a moment. Alfred glanced at the UP/Ex status. The launcher was close to the MCog area. Most important, it was locally managed, unaffected by the crash outside. He entered a destination in Guatemala — and selected a launch vehicle that he’d emplaced some weeks before. It ought to be stealthy enough to get out of U.S. airspace.
Vaz — > Braun, Mitsuri:
Mitsuri — > Braun, Vaz:
The topside analysts were hard into contingency planning and probability estimates. A thousand little changes were being made across the UCSD landscape, wherever the Indo-European operation had influence. The Bollywood presence would survive as long as any up there.
Alfred froze. The Gus were gone from the fruit-fly area. There was movement in another window, at the edge of the mice arrays. A girl and a man running toward the camera. They hadn’t been fooled by the fruit flies.
Lena’s wheelchair was no hiking machine. It did well enough on the asphalt, even going uphill; Xiu had to trot to keep up. But where the asphalt was carved by gullies, the chair had to walk. The going got very slow.
“No. I think someone has turned off the hillside. Side effect of the riot, maybe.” She moved to the middle of the road. “Sst! They’re still coming.” She waved at Xiu to come forward. “How can we stop them? One way or another, we have to find out what’s happening.”
“Robert will see you.”
“Damnation!” Lena dithered, caught in a dilemma. “Go back to the side of the road. I can stop them more safely, anyway.” “Hmph,” said Lena. But she retreated.
Xiu stood still for a moment. There were the distant sounds of the freeway. From over the hilltop there were noises that might have been chanting. But nearby was just insect sounds, the feel of air cooling in the night, the narrow roadway jumbled and rocky under her feet. She saw light sweep across the outcroppings above her.
But on this road, cars could not speed. Its headlights slowly bore down on her. “Make way, make way.” The words were loud, and the view-page in her hand came alight with flashing warnings about the penalties for interfering with the California Highway Patrol.
With every heartbeat, pain spiked through Tommie. After a moment he realized that was
good
news. He raised his head, saw that he was stretched out on the backseat of a passenger car. That was Winston and Carlos in the facing seats.
“Where’s Robert and his little girl?”
Winston Blount shook his head. “They stayed behind.”
“We split up, Professor Parker.”
Scary memories were coming back. “Oh… yeah. Where’s my laptop? We gotta call 911.” “We called, Tommie. Everything’s okay now, this is a CHP vehicle.”
Despite his haziness, that didn’t make sense. “It sure doesn’t look like one.
“It’s got all the insignia, Tommie,” but there was dawning uncertainty in Winston’s voice.
Tommie slid his legs from the seat and pushed himself into a half-sitting position. The pain squeezed tight on his chest, clawed out along his arms. He almost blacked out again, and would have fallen forward if not for Carlos.
“Hold… hold me up!” Tommie looked forward. The car’s headlights were on. The road was steep and narrow, with scattered remnants of asphalt surfacing, the sort of thing you might see in the East County, or in short stretches along the coast, a disconnected remnant of lost roadway. They slowed, negotiating deeply shadowed gullies. Bushes swept close around them. And now ahead he saw someone standing in the middle of the road. The car slowed to a crawl just five yards short of — it was a young woman.
Their car backed up a few feet, and Tommie heard the faint squeal of a capacitor preparing for something drastic. The wheels turned a few degrees — and the woman jumped in front of them again. Her face was bright in the headlights. It was a pretty Asian face… if you added thirty years to it, you got the face from some very distasteful turn-of-the-century papers in
Secure Computing
. She was the last person he’d ever expect to play “block the tanks at Tiananmen Square.”
The headlights went out. The car jolted forward. Then the brakes engaged and they slid halfway into the ditch. There was a muffled explosion that might have been that capacitor slagging itself. The doors on both sides of the vehicle popped open and Tommie slid partway into the cool night air.
“Not dead yet.” He heard footsteps on the roadway. A light flared in a small hand, and the woman said loudly, “It’s Winston Blount and Carlos Rivera — ” and then more conversationally, ” — and Thomas Parker. Y-You probably don’t know me, Dr. Parker, but I have admired your work.”
Tommie didn’t know what to say to that.
“Let us pass,” said Winston. “This is an emergency.”
“Maybe not.” Winnie sounded like he was chewing on broken glass. “We think that someone has… subverted security. We called 911. That’s what you’re interfering with.” He waved at their car. It was halfway into the ditch, unmoving.