Kaleidocide Page 8

  Saul was also nothing if not a private recluse, so he protected his own Legacy files with typical ferocity. They were initially stored in the cyberbrain of the only person he fully trusted, who was Min, until the bodyguard could vet me and other potential heirs. Then they were copied to a Fortress Cloud, the most secure location on the net, and coupled with the alpha version of the personification software being developed by BASS techs. Part of the security strategy was that there would be no connection whatsoever between Saul’s ghost and the rest of the net—it would only know what Saul had known by the end of his life, and whatever information was shared with it by the privileged few who had access.

  As one of those few, I had to provide voice recognition by speaking into my glasses, DNA validation by pressing my fingertips to the sensors on their arms, and a retinal scan by holding my eyes open for five seconds. Only then did the virtual 3D bust of Saul Rabin appear, suspended in front of a nondescript background and looking almost exactly as I remembered him from his final days: an expensive but out-of-style shirt draped over shoulders that were still broad but slightly slumped from aging, a thick lightning scar stretching from temple to cheek on one side of a heavily wrinkled face, and a receding shock of gray hair. I had asked the ghost about its appearance in an earlier conversation (Why not appear as a younger version?), and it responded with a rather cryptic explanation to the effect that other than his marriage, Saul considered his last decisions to be his best … an answer that elicited in me some of the mixed feelings I mentioned earlier.

  “Hello, Michael.” The audio was not as accurate as the video, since human vocal cords and larynx were such a complex organic system. But it captured the basic impression of Saul’s cracked voice at nearly eighty years old, and the somewhat impolite, order-barking manner in which he had talked. “Is my empire intact?”

  The almost imperceptible grin on the construct’s lips was reminiscent of the living Saul, but it could not approximate the amused sparkle that had been in the old man’s eye when he said things like that.

  “It’s fine for now,” I said, “but I could use some advice on how to keep it that way.”

  “Well done, Michael.” One of the minor glitches in the programming was that the ghost said my name more often than a human would. “A fool trusts in his own heart, but a wise man listens to counsel.”

  “Last time I asked you for advice,” I said, “you quoted Confucius. Before that was Aristotle, and the time before you said the same thing you just said, which I’m guessing is from the Bible. Your programmers should have anticipated this happening more than three times.” I liked to point out things like this, because it reminded me that I wasn’t talking to a human, and I felt more in control that way.

  “I can adapt,” it said. “Plans succeed with many counselors.” There were pauses before the response and between the two statements, which I had noticed quite often when it talked. I assumed they were built in to make it seem more human, because I knew this kind of high-powered A.I. would definitely not require any time to think.

  “What’s that one from?” I asked. “The Book of Mormon?”

  “Right,” it said. “Spoken in the deformed Egyptian by the angel Moronic himself.”

  I squinted at the construct for a moment, because even though I knew very little about Mormonism, that answer didn’t seem right to me. “Really?” I asked.

  “No, Michael, it’s from the Good Book also.” I had heard Saul use that expression when he was alive, and it always struck me as a subtle way to lessen the embarrassment of saying “the Bible,” because it was in such ill repute in our culture. Then the ghost let out a grating laugh that was not exactly like Saul’s, but just as awkward. And it added, “I’m programmed to spice up every tenth answer with some humor.”

  I squinted again, realizing that it had used humor twice in a row. The ghost was as enigmatic as the man. But I was short on time, and that mystery was too minor to be worth solving right now. So I merely thought about what I wanted to ask next, and as I did the ghost sat in absolute silence with an utterly fixed expression. That was one of its major glitches: unlike a human, it didn’t seem to mind an awkward silence, and appeared willing to go on forever without breaking it. A similar glitch was that it had no compunctions about going on forever when given the opportunity to provide pedantic explanations that seemed to come straight out of a book. That hiccup became apparent when I asked it how to survive a kaleidocide.

  “No one ever has, as far as I know,” the ghost said. “I don’t know what the success rate was in the early days of the religion, when it developed among the rank-and-file soldiers in the Red Army as a way of preparation for battle. Of course, we do know that the Chinese have succeeded in every annexation of neighboring territory they have attempted, as well as every ‘police action’ they carried out in those territories afterward. But no record exists of the specific rituals by the sons of the ban lan, or whatever the groups of soldiers called themselves at the time. They must have been successful to some degree, however, or a rising star like Zhang Sun would never have adopted the religion as a means of personal power. He saw something in those early days that made him believe in it.

  “But since Sun adopted the ban lan jiao, he has been nothing but successful in his quest for power, specifically in the elimination of his enemies by way of the ban lan ritual. This could be simply because none of his targets had a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving multiple assassination methods thrown at them simultaneously from a murderer with almost unlimited resources. But we must also consider the possibility that there are actually supernatural forces at work in the kaleidocide.”

  I was initially surprised at this, but then realized that the idea was consistent with Saul’s belief in an immaterial or spiritual part of life.

  “If I were in your position, Michael,” he droned on, and I wondered how he knew that I was the one being threatened, because I hadn’t revealed that, “I would hire some outside help and pay them more than they could possibly be offered by the other side, because in every situation we know about, Sun has infiltrated or turned someone against the target. Betrayal seems to be one method that is a part of every kaleidocide … maybe because the supernatural forces are especially fond of it.”

  “How can I be sure the outside help won’t betray me?” I asked. “Besides paying them a lot?”

  “You can’t be sure—risks are unavoidable either way. But before you hire someone, see how up front they are about that particular danger. If they are, that’s a good sign. The ideal situation would be to surround yourself with only those with whom you have a personal connection, or with those who have had no contact with you before, or both. You want to avoid people with no sense of loyalty to you, Michael, or those who have been around you and may have been contacted and corrupted.” The ghost paused again, for human effect. “And try to get someone who knows what they’re doing. There are personal security companies that are good enough that they only work for clients who are in significant danger and can afford an exorbitant fee. Relate to these professionals like you do a doctor: follow their instructions unless you have a really good reason not to, and don’t think you can protect yourself better in your own way.”

  Through the other side of the glasses, which did not contain the image of Saul, I could see that Min had re-entered the room, obviously finished his reconnaissance and ready to report. So I said thanks to the ghost, and asked him if it had any last word of advice.

  “Pray,” it answered. “Pay a lot and pray a lot. That about sums it up.”

  I was about to hang up when Min spoke up in an amplified voice, designed to supersede any audio in my glasses: “Sir, do I hear the shower running? Is Mrs. Ares in there?”

  “Yeah…?” I said, puzzled at first, but then realized why he was asking. Terrey had said not to touch any water until safety measures were in place, and neither Lynn nor I had taken it seriously enough to remember it.

  I shot to my feet and held out a hand
to Min, communicating that I would check on her myself. Then I moved toward the door, fast at first, but then slower because I realized that if the shower water was booby-trapped in some way, Lynn would already be dead. She would be slumped on the floor of the tub with the deadly acid or poison or whatever still spewing out from the showerhead.

  I stepped through the door to our bedroom and then to the threshold of the big bathroom, the sound of the water now seeming overamplified in my ears, and my heart pounding in my chest. I was filled with dread as the shower came into view and I called Lynn’s name. There was no reply, but soon I could see her pregnant shape through the semiopaque door, and I could see that she was rinsing her hair. I was so relieved that I punched the button and slid the door open without thinking how it might scare her, and sure enough she jumped and let out a little shout when she saw me. I only refrained from hugging her because I didn’t want to get soaked, and I reminded her of what Terrey had said and asked her to shut off the water. She said “I’m done anyway” and obliged.

  While she was replying, a voice in my ear said something also, like “Pardon me, Michael?” I was still connected to Saul’s ghost, who had waited silently in the glasses for my next question or comment.

  “Lynn was almost killed,” I said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

  “You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs,” said the ghost with a sad expression on its face. Apparently it had misunderstood what I was saying, because of the time lapse, the background noise, or my exaggerated comment. Another glitch.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I gave you the wrong impression. Lynn’s fine. You were saying something about paying and praying, to save me from the kaleidocide.”

  Another pause, then the ghost said, “Pay a lot and pray a lot. That about sums it up.”

  I thanked it again, and hung up. Why I was thanking a computer program, I don’t know, but I just shook my head and went back out to the living room to see what Min had learned about the triplets.

  12

  SAVING LIVES

  “I interviewed them,” Min said about the triplets, “and they allowed me a limited look inside.”

  “Inside their minds,” I said. “Their cyber whatever … not their bodies, right?”

  “Right. But I could see their physical capabilities as well, which are considerable, though not at my level.” Was the big machine-man capable of pride? I supposed so, though he didn’t show it. “Their mental capabilities, however, are unprecedented. The fact that they were engineered from birth by the Japanese scientists allowed their systems to accommodate the wetware more successfully than those of us who have added it later. And the fact that they share the same DNA gives them a unique ease of interaction, because they can totally avoid the translation problem that limits most other neurocybernetic communication. They are like one person with three brains, which of course they were originally.”

  “They were?” I said, catching some of it. “Oh, the same DNA. They were ‘Siamese triplets.’”

  “Yes, separated and augmented at some time after they were born. If they were born.” He paused and looked away, either processing more of his data or deciding whether to say something. “But I have to say that there seems to be even more to them than can be explained by their distinctive physiology.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Their capabilities exceed their augmentations. In other words, they seem to have supernatural powers—and I use the term in a technical sense—or at least natural ones that I cannot see.”

  “Do you think there is such a thing?” I asked, referring to supernatural powers, of course, because the ghost had just mentioned the idea. And it had become a topic of mild interest to me in the last year, since Saul Rabin was by far the most intelligent person I had ever met who believed in them. As to whether the old man was entirely sane, however, that jury was still out in my mind. So I was curious to know if Min shared his metaphysical perspective.

  “My background is purely atheistic and naturalistic, as is much of China, of course. I have to admit that Mr. Rabin challenged my assumptions, but they remain basically unchanged. Perhaps I am more of an agnostic than an atheist now, but until proven otherwise, I would still say that the mysteries of life are a result of natural causes we simply have not discovered yet.”

  I wondered briefly why Saul had hired and confided in Min, knowing the big cyborg didn’t share the beliefs that seemed so important to him, or at least to his late wife. For that matter, I still hadn’t figured out how religious the Mayor really had been, and how much was merely in deference to Mrs. Rabin.

  “What are those designs on parts of their skin?” I asked about the triplets. “It looks like the decorative nanotech that I’ve seen, but professionals don’t usually wear it at work.” Nanotechnology hadn’t turned out to be the wonderware that many had predicted, because there wasn’t yet a power source small enough to extend its life long enough to accomplish significant tasks. But it was big in the clothing and “new tattoo” markets.

  “That’s what it is,” Min said. “The metal patches underneath could be removed or covered up with cosmetic modification, but they leave them intentionally as a mark of identity, as most of us do.” He gestured to the two jackpatches clearly visible at the bottom back of his bald skull; I knew they were only necessary for emergencies, because he could do almost everything wirelessly. “The colorful ornamentation added by the triplets is, we could say, the female version of this tradition.”

  This reference made me wonder whether the triplets were “sexless” like Min, but the clock in my head told me I had indulged too much curiosity already. I needed to proceed to what really mattered.

  “Should we hire them?” I asked.

  “From what I could tell in a brief interview, I don’t see any reason not to. I asked them why they chose this line of work, while I was far enough in to confirm the truthfulness of their answers. Their special talents, combined with the fact that they enjoy money and thrills, like anybody would, leaves them with basically two options: they can either be paid to end lives, or to save lives. They chose the latter because, as they said, ‘We died many times during our creation, and we know how bad it hurts.’ Also, they have no love for China and its current leader, and they seem eager to act against his interests.”

  “You say current leader,” I said, “as if you don’t expect him to rule for too long.”

  “One can only hope,” he answered.

  “Okay,” I said, making up my mind. “Bring Terrey in. I’ll ask him a few questions, and if it looks okay, we’ll go for it. Then we’ll hope there is a God out there, and that he or she’s on our side.”

  “But we’ll take five stones,” Min said as he turned toward the door, to unlock it for Terrey to enter.

  “What?”

  “Mr. Rabin used to say, ‘Trust in God, but take five stones.’ From David and Goliath, I think.”

  “Oh,” I said, but the reference was lost on me, and soon Terrey was back in the room.

  “Tell me what I have to do to survive this,” I said to him.

  “You have to do exactly what I tell you to do,” he answered.

  “Which is what?”

  “I can’t tell you much now, because it’s fluid and you haven’t hired me yet.”

  “Help me to hire you. Tell me some things we would do.”

  “Well, the first thing is to get Lynn away from you and secure so she won’t become collateral damage.”

  So far so good, I thought.

  “Then the next thing we would do,” Terrey continued, “is change up your entire security force, remove anyone who’s had any prior access to you.” He looked at Min. “With one exception, of course.”

  “Why the changes?”

  “Because one thing that happens every time Sun wants to kill someone,” he said, “is that his people manage to turn a mate against the target, or plant someone close to him. I think there’s something about betrayal that turns
him on.”

  “You just passed Saul’s hiring test with flying colors,” I said, no pun intended. “What else?”

  “I’d rather get paid for the rest.”

  “How much?” This was Lynn, coming through the door to the bedroom, through which she must have been listening. I was reminded of the running joke between us that she was a better detective than I.

  “The bad news is that I get a million dollars a day for every day I keep you alive,” he said matter-of-factly. “The good news is that all our expenses and salaries come out of that.”

  “Big bikkies,” I said.

  “You can afford it,” he said. “And you have to.”

  “For how long?”

  “Thirty days max, then renegotiation if necessary. But it will all go down in half that time, I assure you. You’ll be dead by then or the attempts will have failed or been exposed.”

  “But you don’t know how many attempts there will be, right? So how will you know if they’re done?”

  “Good question. It’s never happened, because no one’s ever survived that long. So we’ll play it by ear, hence the thirty-day limit.”

  “Why can’t we just pay the Chinese guy thirty million dollars,” Lynn said, “to call off his kaleidoscope thing?”

  “Good luck with that” was all Terrey said.

  “I don’t think money’s a big priority for him, Lynn,” I added, then glanced at her and Min. “Listen, I think I’ve heard enough. Let’s get on with this, unless anyone has an objection.”

  No one said anything, so we got on with it. Terrey gave us the info on a havened bank account hidden under enough ice to sink the Titanic, and we transferred one million BASS dollars to it, to be repeated once a day at the same time until I was dead or free from danger, whichever came first.