The Prospects (Book 2): Nothing Poorer Than Gods (17 page)

“Alex, you know me,” said Harry. “I wouldn’t vivisect someone.”

“Of all the people I know, you’re the most likely to,” said Alex.

“I’d only involve a living person in any experiment with informed consent. I wouldn’t harm a biological consciousness. I used inorganic cloned circuitry for Mecha-Menta, and it would’ve been much quicker if I used real human brain tissue for Magna’s sensory interface.”

“Hold on,” said Bosillos. “You didn’t use biological components in that lady-robot?”

“Purely synthetic,” said Harry. “The top programmers in the world said my expanding algorithms pass every criteria of the Turing Test.”

“If it runs on expanding algorithms, it’s going to go insane.”

Harry snorted. “What would you know about it?”

“I know artificial intelligence won’t adjust to real-world situations fast enough, and when things happen differently than predicted it will think the world is at fault. That’s as crazy as crazy gets.”

“How cute. I accounted for variances when I based its processing capabilities on the brainwaves of a remarkably sane woman.”

“Only brainwaves? Ain’t just brains that make us do stuff. What about gland secretions? Hormones? Other things that come from other parts the body?”

“I developed logarithms to produce appropriate reactions to common situations.”

“Reactions ain’t quantitative, they’re qualitative, man. You got a lot to decide in no time in every situation. It's like how the computers can play chess, but they suck at Tetris.”

Harry chuckled. “I’m a recognized mechanical geniuses, you’re a goon from a defeated criminal gang. I think I know more about psychological simulation technology than you.”

“You don’t know shit about humanity. World changes, we gotta change to. It happens too fast for programs. That’s why we Iron Pirates never go full robot.”

Kayleigh returned to Alex. “There’s a lot of weird stuff in here, and that big brain with wires in it is really weird, but I didn’t see another person.”

Alex asked, “What were you doing here in the first place?”

“I used one of his devices at the prison break-in earlier today. I came up to return it.”

He pointed at Bosillos. “How did you find him?”

“I leaned against the blast chamber. It opened. He fell on me, I got scared and called you.”

“I fell on you?” Bosillos leered. “Wish I remembered that.”

Alex leaned in close. “Did Harry do anything illegal or make any demands of you?”

Kayleigh shook her head.

“Seriously, anything at all?”

Kayleigh focused on keeping a straight face as she lied. “No.”

Alex nodded and led Bosillos to the hallway. “Harry, I’m letting you go, but from now on stay away from all Prospects. That includes Deon and Jenny.”

Alex put the cuffs on Bosillos as Harry stood and rubbed his uncuffed wrists. “In my defense, I got valuable information with Trista’s help, rescued Pinwheel and Knockout Rose when the island was attacked, and used Deon to save Vijay.”

“Yeah, well …”

“Agent, despite our differences, I’m one of the good guys. We are on the same team.”

“Speaking of the team,” said Gale Force, “Keep Magna away from me. I won’t take any more abuse from that damn robot.”

Bosillos said, “Robots ain’t got no manners, ‘specially if they’re programmed by someone who don’t understand humans.”

“Get that idiot out of here,” said Harry.

Alex collected Bosillos’s tools. “I’ll keep him in the medical ward to scan him for implanted bombs, pop-out guns, anything like that, then lock him down next to the ninja.”

“Very good. And, Alex, regarding what I said about your wife in the meeting, uh ….”

“At least someone told me. Gale Force, Kayleigh, let’s go to the medical ward.”

Kayleigh said, “Let me get my stun gloves. I’ll catch up.”

The elevator door closed on Bosillos, Alex, and Gale Force.

Harry went into the lab.

Kayleigh picked up her old stun gloves.

Harry said, “You were smart not to tell Alex about our arrangement. I don’t need to give him another reason to hate me.”

“I didn’t do it for you. If Agent O’Farrell knew how close I came to prostituting myself, he’d lose all respect for me.”

“I’ll fix and recharge the harness.”

Kayleigh headed for the stairs. “Don’t bother.”

“You won’t have to …”

“I got accepted to the Prospects with these stun gloves, I’ll stick with them.” Kayleigh stopped at the door to the stairs. “You and Agent O’Farrell may be on the same team, but you’re sure as hell not one of the good guys.”

“I saved them, and the world, many times.”

“How would have saved your wife if someone put her in the position you put me in?”

Harry didn’t have an answer.

“That cyborg was right, you don’t know anything about humanity.” Kayleigh let the door slam behind her.

Harry stared at the close door until Magna tapped her own shoulder. Her eyes glowed blue.

Harry stepped back. “Were you online the whole time?”

“I am capable of all sensory functions even when powered down.”

“You shouldn’t be. That emergency switch should’ve shut down all of your functions.”

“I rerouted the circuitry to remain aware.”

“So you overrode my manual power-down command and were ready to move at any time?”

“My vibration blasters are calibrated to the frequency necessary to liquefy human flesh. I would have used them on the girl in the red suit if she struck you.”

“What? There was no need for that.”

“She was irrational.”

“But if you killed her, everything would be worse for us. I’d be a criminal and you’d be dismantled.”

“I will not let anyone harm you.”

“Would you care if I had sex with her?”

“She should be honored to receive genetic material from a true genius. I only regret I cannot fulfill that need.”

“Mindy wouldn’t feel that way.”

“I am not Mindy. I am Magna.”

“Did you know about the cyborg in the blast containment chamber?”

“Yes. I did an X-ray scan and detected his presence when we returned to the lab. His air supply expired and his vital signs were low.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he was dying?”

“He was of no importance.”

“But if he died, Alex could have taken me to prison.”

“I would have liquefied him if he tried.”

“He wouldn’t be wrong to do it. I’d have committed a crime.”

“Allowing harm to come to you would be a greater crime.”

“No, you don’t get it. Alex’s IQ is barely in the triple digits, but he’s the most moral man I know. I’d be the one who did something wrong.”

The millions of algorithms that went through Magna’s processing units led to one response. “You could never be wrong. It is the rest of the world that would be incorrect.”

Harry sighed. “They’re right. You are a psychotic robot.”

The Porsche 918 Spyder cut through the Jersey City’s traffic like a sleek silver dart. It cut into each available gap, sometimes only inches from the cars in front or behind it, and weaved back into another space. The stunned drivers in front and behind it rarely had time to honk their horns or raise their middle fingers.

Inside the Porsche, Portia shifted the gears with measured precision. Chopin’s Piano Concerto Number Two in F Minor played through the gold-wired speakers.

Candilyn hadn't said a word since taking off her Venusta mask, but there was only so much Chopin she could take.

“Can we listen to anything else?”

“Chopin is all I listen to. Each note subtly blends with the next to create an aural tapestry of symmetrical consonance and dissonance.”

“All this classical crap sounds alike. You got any Insane Clown Posse on your iPod?”

“Who?”

“A couple of clowns from Detroit who love Faygo. Their about miracles totally changed my life. Hey, can we go to my trailer in Poughkeepsie before going to the airport? I want to pick up my CDs.”  

“No. It’s not on the way to Newark, and we have a tight schedule.”

“But I also want to say goodbye to my little brother. I mean, he’s retarded and everything, but I’ll miss him the most.”

“If you say he's retarded, he must truly be stupid.”

Candilyn folded her arms. “You suck.”

“You’re pathetic.”

That stung Candilyn. “I thought you liked me.”

“I like you as much as anyone can. That isn’t very much.”

“I don’t want to go to Fiji with you anymore.”

“Where else will you go? You’re an escaped criminal who betrayed her old team. No one else wants anything to do with you. I’m all you have left. Remember that.”

“But do you have to be so mean?”

“Did I hurt the big bad warrior girl’s feelings?”

“You smacked me around when we got in the taxi after Griffin Tower.”

Portia sped through a yellow light. “You’re already healed, and I wouldn’t have done that if you hadn't screwed up. We'd be millions richer if Gale Force was dead and Trista was in the trunk.”

“You should’ve told me …”

“All you had to do was what I said when I said it. You deserved punishment. Anyone else would do more than hit you a few times.”

“So if I do what you say, you won’t hit me anymore?”

“I won’t have a reason to.” Portia drove past a sign that read “SATELL ENTERPRISES: A SUBSIDIARY OF ALERION INCORPORATED” and parked in a handicapped spot.

“We’re here. Put on your mask, Venusta.”

Candilyn put on the mask and pulled up her hood to become Venusta. “What do you want? I won’t screw up this time. I promise.”

“Wait in the lobby. Stay there. Don’t do anything without me, no matter who tells you otherwise.”

The lobby was an unremarkable entrance with overhead lights and a few chairs. Venusta sulked near the chairs while Portia walked to the secretary. “I’m the six o’clock appointment.”

The secretary pressed a button and buzzed her in.

Portia walked past several security guards with identical faces and through the cubicles that made up the front for the business to an unmarked door. She turned the handle and entered a sterile white room.

A long metal catwalk led to a raised platform in the middle of the room. The only thing on this platform was a glass cylinder where a skinless body of a small man slept in light-blue bubbling gel.

A man on the catwalk looked at his watch. “You’re punctual, Portia. I always liked that about you.”

Portia prided herself on her photographic memory, but she could never remember what the Handler looked like. His face was so unremarkable and devoid of any ethnicity or character she couldn’t pinpoint a single identifiable feature. When he spoke all she heard were his words, no hints of a regional accent or social class. Even the way he dressed in polo shirts and khakis made him so bland they paradoxically made him fascinating.

It took conscious control for Portia not to show how uncomfortable the Handler’s presence made her. She clicked to her smartphone’s picture of Vijay slumped over his laptop with a large hole in the side of his head. “Asura, slain. Why was my e-mailed picture of this insufficient for payment?”

“Because there will be no payment. Vijay Gupta is alive.”

“That’s impossible. I shot him through the weakest spot in his skull and angled the gun so the bullet would sever his brainstem.”

“He is now in a surgery recovery room, not a morgue.”

“But he can’t hack anymore.”

“The deal was for his death, not his incapacitation. I also don’t understand how you infiltrated Griffin Tower without kidnapping Trista Gianni or killing a single New York Guardian.”

“My only excuse is in your waiting room.”

The Handler went to a monitor and pressed a button. An image of Venusta standing in the waiting room appeared.

“It’s the one I kept for myself from the prison van hijacking,” said Portia. “She’s yours now. No charge.”

“She looks like common trash. Why did you keep her?”

“Because she’s so stupid I literally couldn’t believe it. I assumed she was an undercover cop who played dumb as a disguise. I wanted to see how far she was willing to go to keep her cover. But I was wrong, she genuinely is an idiot. She may be good fodder for your army.”

“Can she work independently?”

“She couldn’t pick her nose without supervision. But she fights well.”

“I won’t have time to prepare her for the first wave.”

“What do you mean?”

“My war begins tonight.”

“That’s much sooner than you planned, isn’t it? I thought you had years of assignments for me.”

“Speed is more important now.”

“Why?”

“The live ones. A few clones who were being physically conditioned to be bodies for new hosts had the sentience to escape. Only a few out of thousands, but that’s all it took.”

“Little mistakes ruin big plans.”

“Too true. I tried to buy time by eliminating Agent O’Farrell and putting the New York Guardians on the defensive, but my top team failed. My spyware let me know that the CIA gave the superheroes the locations for my most important bases. By morning my cloning facilities will be destroyed because hitting things is the only way superheroes solve their problems.”

“You don’t seem concerned.”

“Their fists aren’t strong enough to smash my idea. I won’t end the age of superheroes throughout the nation, which was my ambition, but with some creative adaptations I can prove it is possible to eradicate them.”

Portia scrutinized the Handler’s face for any sign of agitation or humor but found none.

The Handler said, “War is an art, not a science. Its value lies in its meaning. Like any piece of art it’s never completed, only abandoned at some stage due to the limitations of the world and ourselves. Nothing made by an imperfect thing will ever be perfect, but those little flaws make it worth something.”

“I disagree. To me, if a piece of art isn’t perfect, it’s worthless. A small perfect thing is superior to sprawling grandiosity.”

“Your small perfection is a mere detail in my big picture. All you know is that I had you recruit villains for me, right?”

“Before you made it clear quantity mattered more than quality, I tracked down broken men and women who once threatened heroes. And, on some occasions, I returned their mindless bodies to staged crime scenes.”

The Handler walked down the catwalk. “Yes. You did a great job placing Wyckedblade’s original body, after we extracted the mind, where Sergeant Hammer would find it so he could kill him. And your hijacked prison van added some talent to my first wave.”

Portia followed him. “I’m still not clear on what the first wave is.”

“It’s the next stop on our tour. To your left are the brainchildren of Doctor Hellgrun, a man who saw possibilities between the double-helix of DNA.”

Portia looked at second capsule containing a large fetus with snail-like eyestalks. “Why did he create these horrible things in the first place?”

“As I said, he saw possibilities. Our clones need more than year in our holding pens to develop their muscles, mental capacities, and immune systems, and we use that time to see if they develop something that could make them useful as assassins against a specific type of superhero. If not, they get buried in a pit. If they do, we replace whatever sentience they achieved in their short lives with the mind of an experienced killer. If you look to the lower-right corner, you’ll see how.”

Portia squinted. “Is that a fat old woman with tubes going into her chest?”

“That’s Swapper, one of the Ultra-Geniuses. She can transfer one personality to another as long as she can see both bodies at the same time. But it's heavy work on a brain. I had two psychics before her, one of whom committed suicide by projecting himself into a corpse and another who became prematurely senile. Poor Swapper recently had a stroke and her mutated brain is too complicated to clone. She may not survive making another transfer. I need a replacement.”

“Trista Gianni, right?”

The Handler nodded. “The only living American psychic with enough potential power to make a full-mind transfer.”

“I don’t think she would enjoy being forced to work until a premature death.”

“What she wants is irrelevant. You should see the projections for her psychic power level’s increase. She could well be a threat to the world within a few years. And she defeated my top team in Boston, I had to change my plans.”

“How?”

“With Trista, I could’ve implanted more minds into more assassins. Agent O’Farrell’s apparent suicide would’ve thrown them off the trail, and the attack on Griffin Island would’ve left the New York Guardians too disorganized to pick it up quickly. I could’ve moved everything before the CIA updated its addresses. Then I would've been back on my original schedule.”

“Trista barely slipped through my fingers at Griffin Tower.”

“She’s a tricky little minx. After Midnight Rider got her to safety, she received a phone call. I had her location, but no one left who could infiltrate a wealthy vigilante’s lair. And she and the agent made it back to New York via private jet, so I couldn’t make a move without revealing myself.”

“Shall we try again?”

“No, we won’t have time to get any new clones in fighting condition, especially since the Iron Pirates raided my second cloning facility earlier this year. I’m resorting to a far cruder method to get more expendables for my first wave.”

The Handler slid his security badge through a card reader to raise the sliding door at the end of the catwalk. “In here, you’ll see my first wave.”

Portia looked at the man in a black doctor’s uniform with a green double-helix on his chest. “Is that Doctor Hellgrun?”

“No, merely of his apprentices.”

“Where is the doctor?”

“The CIA wanted Doctor Hellgrun returned when they ordered my project terminated. What they got was Doctor Hellgrun’s original body with the blank mind of a n clone. His mind and intelligence were swapped into a clone’s body. That body happened to be a jellyfish-like monster. It’s like something from a H.P. Lovecraft novel. I let him build it in return for developing this cloning facility. He also made a small squadron of squid people, bred them until they were an army, and was kind enough to wait for my permission before retaking his island.”

“How did you manage to build an army without him?”

“It’s simple arithmetic. There are more bad guys than good ones. Heroes have rogue’s galleries, but villains don’t have collections of heroes. I used recruiters like you to bring me fodder.”

Portia looked at the operating table. Junkyard Kat, the amber-eyed woman from the prison van, was strapped to it. Her head held in a place by a vise. Her mouth contorted but no sound came out. The physician plunged a large hypodermic needle into her tear duct.

“The first wave consists of mindless clones and minor villains incapable of following orders or working independently. Normally I’d brainwash them through isolation and deprivation in my hidden camps, but speed is of the essence. I had them drugged to paralysis so the physician can insert a stimoceiver into their frontal lobes. That little electronic device will make them more willing to follow orders by overriding all other impulses. All it takes is a specialized microphone to make them slaves. Do you think this will be a good fate for your girlfriend?”

“I’m not sure Venusta has enough of a brain to hold a microchip. You can try, though. I left her with instructions not to leave the waiting room for any reason.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I want to see how many of your security guards it’ll take to put her on the table.”

“That wasn’t very nice.”

“‘Nice’ is a thing I am to get what I want, nothing more.”

“You're brilliant, Portia, but cold. Where is your passion?”