Cyberchild
A novel by Alix Paultre
In a war-torn country in Eastern Europe, the life of a young girl and the future of those around her are radically changed when she encounters a lab animal freed from a medical experiment gone awry. Set in the near future, CYBERCHILD explores what happens when advanced science meets human reality, an action thriller that explores real-world issues and the challenges presented by medical research and developing technology.
"The cast of characters begins with Gordona, a little girl in Gavrilova, an Eastern European hellhole (think Bosnia a few years back); her father is a leader of the local rebels who want independence for their province. Then there's Steve Dixon, a tech consultant who is steering one client-who wants to develop a computer to be constructed inside the brain by nanotech bots, without interference by bleeding hearts who think certain kinds of research should be regulated-towards setting up in Gavrilova.He's also hunting for a computer criminal who has released a virus that funnels tiny amounts from millions of victims into his pocket. Add in Eileen Harris, leader of the Non-Human Liberation Front, bleeding-heart animal rights extremists with an action arm that is not above violence, as they demonstrate when they get wind of the research being done in Gavrilova and decide to funnel funds and weapons to Gordona's dad. She, of course, must be on-site to supervise the destruction of the research facility and the slaughter of the researchers, and to get there she enlists the aid of Z-Man, a computer whiz and old friend of her own father.
Dixon learns that his hacker target is in Europe and homes in. Perhaps not surprisingly, he promptly bumps into Eileen and discovers attraction despite differences before he also bumps into his target and the chase is on, all the way to Gavrilova, where the bots are building their first brain-computer just as the raid brings everything to a halt. But Gordona's dad brings the ape with the nascent computer home, where it bleeds on Gordona before it dies. Soon the kid has a computer, complete with Web-access, and the industrialist who doesn't care for bleeding hearts is after her (as well as revenge on Eileen and her group).
The plot moves along very nicely."
-Tom Easton, Analog Magazine
Read the first two chapters:
Prelude
The force of the explosion blew the little girl out of bed. She lay on the floor whimpering as she covered her ears against the string of blasts that followed. The deafening torrent of sound didn’t stop right away, but continued for what seemed like forever, a thunderstorm of fire and steel.
Deafened by the concussion, Gordona could feel the shrapnel flying through the air above her as it tore holes in the walls. She screamed in fear, eyes shut, praying for the terrible violence to end.
The bombardment ended as suddenly as it began, and in the silence following the barrage, Gordona almost thought the experience was a dream. Unfortunately, any doubts she held vanished when her grandmother burst into the room.
The look on the old woman’s face told Gordona that the nightmare was only too real. The woman threw herself to the floor and covered the girl with her body. Gordona lay half smothered, wondering what was going to happen next.
As her hearing returned, Gordona recognized the agonized screams of livestock and the wailing of her grandmother. She couldn’t make out what the old woman was saying, but Gordona could tell by the tone of it that Nana was extremely upset.
The door burst inward again, and Gordona looked up to see her father, face crazed with concern. His eyes darted about the room, finally settling on his daughter and mother on the floor.
His question was more a scream than a shout, his voice riding the ragged edge of hysteria. “Are either of you hurt?” When the two on the floor shook their heads, he turned and ran out of the room into the night.
The old woman got off the floor and sat on the bed, tears in her eyes. Sitting up on the floor to look at her grandmother, Gordona groped for a moment before she found her voice. “Nana, what happened?” Her grandmother wiped her eyes with an old piece of lace she had wrapped tightly around her fingers. “We've been bombed, my darling, but never you worry, it’s over now.”
Rising from the bed, Anuschka bent to the floor and pulled her grandchild up. “To be certain we're safe we’re going to spend the rest of the night in the cellar until your father says it's clear.”
Outside of the house, the chill light of dawn cast a dreamlike aura over everything, softening the harsh reality of the scene. Gordona wanted to believe that it was really all a dream, but her eyes couldn't escape the carnage that was strewn about in front of her. The barn was destroyed and dead livestock lay everywhere.
Gordona saw her father tearing through the smoking wreckage of the barn with his bare hands, making a noise she had never heard before. Seeing his frantic clawing was more upsetting than the earlier explosions.
Gasping at the sight, Nana hurried Gordona around the side of the house to the cellar entrance, blocking the surreal tableau from the child with her body. Once they were underground, the girl gave voice to her fears. “Where’s Pavel, Nana? Where’s Mama?”
“It's all right, child.” Nana caressed Gordona's head while hugging her tighter. “They are helping your father save what’s left of the livestock, now shush.”
The fear in her grandmother’s voice exposed the lie to Gordona, and she cried when it finally sank in that she'd never see her mother or her brother again. The two spent the evening huddled in the cellar hugging each other, unable to stop thinking about what they had seen.
Chapter 1
The alarm tore Steve Dixon away from what was promising to be a great dream. Lifting his head from the pillow, he peered at the clock display through gummy eyelids to make sure that it was really six in the morning and not just some chronological aberration. Unfortunately, life (and an alarm clock) doesn't grant a dispensation for hangovers, and Steve had an important meeting later that morning. Luckily, he was more tired from the late night than hung-over, anyway.
Once his eyes adjusted to the light, Steve swept the gauzy window dressing open to enjoy the great view, something of a luxury in New York City. Turning from the busy sight, he called out, "News".
As he headed for the bathroom, Steve noted that the talking heads were being especially chipper today, which meant that there must be something bad going on somewhere in the world. He looked at the headline feed and saw that there was more bombing in Gavrilovia. No shit, Sherlock. Those idiots shoot at one another like it was a contest.
The mess in Gavrilovia began when the Cold War ended about 40 years ago. The situation hadn't improved much since, despite the intermittent spasms of peacekeeping efforts by different nations over the years. Steve himself spent time there while in the Army during the last American military fumbling there, and he assumed that nothing much had changed.
As he entered the parking garage, Steve stopped for a moment to admire his car. It was a deep blue vintage '95 Porsche 968 convertible, the last year they made that model, and it ran like the finely made driving instrument it was. Its design was the first the company created as a convertible from the ground up, instead of making a coupe and then cutting the roof off.
Looking up as he raced along the sweeping onramp of the Belt Parkway past the bridge exit, Steve noted the Verrazano's rusty underside. You'd think they'd maintain the bridge better. In a few years, the city will be bitching about the renovation costs. Steve patted the black leather-covered dash. "How are you today, Michele? Is everything in order?" Along with the engine modifications and autodrive circuitry, Steve had a state-of-the-art electronics suite installed that was not only more advanced than the current minimum required by the DOT, it also had features that could get Steve in trouble if the authorities knew about them.
The AI ran the Porsche's navigation, traffic management, data center, and diagnostic systems, and was also the electronic equivalent of a helpful co-driver. Best of all, Michele never complained about how aggressively Steve drove. "Let's hear the news, Michele." The command brought Steve's favorite station on at a volume just loud enough to be heard over the road noise. Michele used a hidden microphone to measure the surrounding noise level so that the stereo system's sound never became overbearing.
As he switched over from manual to automatic, Steve checked the papers in his briefcase while he listened to the reports of unrest throughout the world, wondering why he bothered. Those with deadly differences of opinion would be killing themselves off whether he listened to their plight or not.
Ever since the fighting in Gavrilovia had settled down following the last UN PeaceForce intervention a year or so ago, the focus of attention had returned to the Middle East, where the Palestine Caliphate was rumored to have orbital attack weaponry. Steve intended to take advantage of the opportunity provided by the new peace in Gavrilovia, and had already looked into the place as a potential location to steer clients for offshore manufacturing. However, if the current unrest was more than just a little random violence, it would be impossible to generate any business there. "Michele, what's the latest in Gavrilovia?"
The contralto voice in the dashboard replied, "There were some sporadic rocket and bomb attacks in the Buducian sector of the country, Steve, but the damage was relatively minor and the current truce is holding. There is a motion in the UN to recognize the Buducians, but it is stuck in committee."
The Buducians were the local oppressed minority, and the Gavrilovians killed off as many of them as they could whenever the rest of the world wasn't looking. The Buducians laid ancestral claim to the southern quarter of Gavrilovia and fought a constant guerrilla conflict with the Gavrilovians in an attempt to win their freedom. Unfortunately, the balance of power strongly favored the Gavrilovians.
The entire region was still entangled in the wreckage left by the Soviet Union's collapse over a generation ago, and the inhabitants continue to fight over the pieces. Steve's service there was during the period of conflict following the collapse of the Russian-brokered peace accord that had lasted since the end of the cold war, and Steve had seen a great deal of the mess with front-row seats.
Arriving at the building where his company, Dixon & Associates Consulting, rented office space, Steve thought about his upcoming meeting with Louis Edwards. The founder and CEO of BioMicronics was a brilliant technophile (his friends called him a big childish geek and his enemies something much coarser) who started his company with a lot of luck and a few exclusive patents.
BioMicronics quickly garnered a lion's share of the biotechnology market and became a major player almost overnight. The company was about to embark on a major research and development project that was full of potential problems, which was why Steve assumed Edwards wanted to see him. One of the services Steve's company provided was to ensure that a client's project proceeded in a way that minimized any potential negative public reaction, while dealing with any related problems that arose. As he got out of his car, Steve saw his office manager just getting out of hers, a sporty green hatchback. Yvonne Lawlor wasn't quite old enough to be his mother, but she acted as if she was.
From the moment Steve had hired her, she had taken him under her wing and fretted over him constantly. That trait had actually saved Steve's ass on occasion when he was working on a case.
Dixon & Associates Consulting occupied a modest office suite in a nondescript building in an anonymous office park on Long Island. Yvonne had a huge mahogany desk facing the entrance, where she ran the office like a beneficent queen. She looked the part too, ensconced in a throne-like overstuffed leather swivel chair.
Once he had a fresh cup of coffee, Steve headed for his office. It was as cluttered as his condo, with knickknacks from various companies and trade shows on just about every horizontal surface. Steve slid into his chair, punching the voice mail button on his speakerphone in the same fluid movement.
As he listened to his messages, he pulled a pair of what looked like half-frame reading glasses out of his drawer. There was a big flat-screen monitor on the wall in his office's conference area for TV and presentation purposes, but for regular Email reading and light Web surfing, the hi-res color output from his Spex was more than satisfactory.
Steve touched an unmarked spot on the shiny surface of his desk. A concealed sensor verified his fingerprint and turned on the computer built into it. Part of his system's security stemmed from the slightly anachronistic tech, now used only for the cheapest public access terminals, and part of it came from not having an obvious security point. It's much more difficult to pick a lock if you can't find the keyhole. An intruder would have to disassemble the entire desk and trace the cabling to even begin to find the place to start.
As Steve went through his voice-, snail-, and email, Mike appeared at his office door. He had a build similar to Steve's, but the similarities ended there. The most notable differences were that Mike had a shock of red hair to Steve's black, and his cheerful smile was punctuated with freckles. An ex police detective, he was the firm's security expert, his primary contribution to the partnership. Mike also supervised the staff that handled the firm's routine casework.
Peering over his Spex, Steve smiled at his friend. "How's the world treating you, Mike?" Now that his friend had his jacket off, Steve could see the edge of something wrapped around his left arm.
"Fine, Boss, I'm doing just fine." Mike held up the limb in question, and Steve saw that it was wrapped in an Ace SmartBandage. "I sprained my wrist last night. Some punk tripped me while I was making the winning goal." Mike grinned. "But he regrets it now."
Hockey was one of the few opportunities where a civilized man could hit someone in anger in public and get away with it. Steve assumed it must be very cathartic. Mike was getting to the point where some would say he was too old to play, although he could still give the kids a run for their money.
Steve looked pointedly at his friend's chin. "Is the bad wrist the reason that why you haven't been shaving?" He laughed, "It looks like your face is dirty."
Mike rubbed his chin. "I'm trying to grow a goatee, that's all."
Steve grinned. "You better be careful, or a cat will come by and lick it off. What, hairlessness runs in your family?" Mike grit his teeth. "Funny, Steve, really funny. Give it some time, it will grow out."
Still chuckling, Steve motioned Mike to sit at the smallish conference table at the end of the office. There was a presentation monitor on each wall. One of the screens was also a window, and could be made transparent.
They placed their DataPads on the table, and Mike pulled a few memory chips from his pocket. For added security Mike often used memory connected directly to the system instead of transferring the data from the network via his TeleMemory Clip. The device's wireless connection was supposed to be secure, but Mike hated to take chances. Mike's caution was prudent, in light of people like the hacker the firm was currently chasing.
The two men sat and faced one another quietly for a moment, as if allowing time for their mental gears to shift from bantering to business. Steve steepled his fingers, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. "Let's talk about the virus case."
Mike inserted one of the stamp-sized chips into the reader slot in the wall below the screen. Before activating it, he turned to Steve and smiled. "Our surveillance and data mining obtained enough info so that we should now be able to catch our rat the next time he breaks cover."
Steve smiled back. "That's great, Mike. Very thorough. I knew you'd be able to pull a pattern out of it." He touched one of the buttons on his DataPad. "Yvonne, can you get me Narita-san, please?"
Her response echoed as it came from both the doorway and the desk. "No problem, Steve." Mike activated the screen, and began layering it with windows full of maps and images. As he arranged it, he said, "At first, I wasn't sure if we would be able to get a handle on his whereabouts, but we were lucky."
The firm had been tasked to find the creator of a virus that was costing their clients a lot of money. Dextronics, a manufacturer of semi-autonomous robots, had only recently found out about their losses, and was extremely interested in talking with the virus author.
The virus propagated itself by leaping between susceptible devices, moving from victim to victim as a real virus would, installing itself during the wireless computer network "handshake" between the infected unit and the next victim. Due to the nature of the "infection" Dextronics had problems tracking down the author, and so contracted Steve's company. As Mike worked on the data, one of the other wall monitors lit up with a test pattern that morphed into Yvonne's face. "I've got Narita-san on the line. He'll be on in five." The test pattern turned into Toyozumi Narita, head of Dextronics. In addition to robotics, one of Dextronics' most lucrative businesses involved buying old landfills. They would then "mine" the site and recycle the trash from the wasteful years in and around the turn of the century. The rich detritus of discarded electronics, plastics, and other sources of currently-scarce materials were easily recovered. What the firm didn't use for themselves was exported, mostly to factories in third-world countries with poor mineral resources. Dextronics had offices across the United States, and was doing rather well. The company paid up front and in cash, a quality very endearing and always welcome. Cash-strapped municipalities were all too eager to let someone else clean up their messes. Steve stood and gave a short bow to the man on the screen. "Konnichi-wa, Narita-san." Toyozumi Narita cut an imposing figure, boyish features tempered by an expression matching the sharp creases in his British-made suit. The expectant moue on the man's face turned into a look of recognition as the connection was completed. "Hello, Mr. Dixon. It is a pleasure to see you again."
Steve smiled and gestured towards Mike. "We are always happy to talk to our clients, especially when we have progress to report."
Toyozumi's image receded as the camera zoomed out, revealing a second man. "Kihara Obi is one of my business partners. Please brief him on the situation as well."
Steve nodded to the new arrival. "Obi-san, after your company was attacked by a virus, Narita-san contracted our company to determine the methodology of the attack and locate the originator." Steve looked at Mike, who picked up the narrative. Mike activated the link which transferred the data on the presentation screen to a monitor in Toyozumi's office. He then took out an interactive pointer and turned it on. Indicating an epidemiology-style plotting map, he began, "The virus came in on the personal electronics of your workers, specifically your international office managers. They were holding their annual conference at The Plaza when an infected device spread the contagion to everyone's equipment."
Kihara held up a hand to pause the briefing. "Our wireless systems are very secure, and we checked the network logs. There was no unaccountable activity prior to the infestation."
Mike smiled. "That's because the virus doesn't spread via the traditional network. The virus used the inter-device radio-frequency data-transfer carrier, coming in under the radar." He continued, "The virus attaches itself to the victim's personal data by using a little-known "back door" designed into most money handling software."
Mike explained, "The weak point in the system was a cash-handling loophole for processing charitable donations linked to shopping-contribution programs. The feature lets people donate money with targeted purchases, paying a penny to their favorite charity each time they buy a program-related item. The plan was attacked by consumer advocate groups as overly invasive, and was canceled."
Toyozumi cut into the presentation with a chopping gesture. "If the feature was canceled, how could it be used for this virus attack?"
Mike's smile came back, but with a cynical undertone. "The feature was removed from the operating system menus and user documentation, but the subroutine's code was in too deep to remove easily, so it was left in. Your attacker was able to find a way to activate that feature. The virus marked all of the victim's transactions as eligible for charitable deduction, and then diverted the micropayments to daily-shifting accounts, with the money dumped regularly to an untraceable third location." Mike called up a map of the country with a graph overlay showing levels of infection. "Over 200,000 devices across the country are currently infected, with new victims "catching" it at about the same pace that infected victims were finding it and erasing it. Since not all of the infected people are aware they are infected, his base is slowly building. Right now this guy is pulling down over thirty thousand dollars a day, and the amount is growing."
Steve added, "It falls just far enough under the threshold of the damage caps in the Anti-Eworm law regulating virus and spam to avoid federal attention, and it is spread so evenly, the States aren't even paying attention, and most of the victims don't even know they're infected. The virus is almost invisible, lost in the accounting fuzz at the bottom of most people's bank accounts. If the virus author hadn't taken a big bite out of you, he or she would probably still be operating in secret." Narita spoke up again with a quick glance to people off-screen. Steve wondered who else was in that office in Japan. "Our accountants found the bug while auditing employee expense reports. The entire management team had been infected, and we discovered that the virus was bleeding hundreds of dollars a day out of our accounts."
Steve asked, "Once we locate the individual you are seeking, what action will you be taking?" He tried to keep his voice neutral. The amount being stolen wasn't a lot, but Dextronics wasn't known for its charitable tendencies. Kihara laid a hand on his colleague's arm, looking in his eyes before turning to face Steve. "We are exploring reciprocity options. Your job is to locate him and bring him to us."
Steve wasn't sure if whether that meant they wanted to kill the virus author, hire him, or just have him arrested. He assumed they were debating the first two choices. "What if he refuses to come?"
"You are to take whatever measures are needed, and do not concern yourself about the expense. We do not want you to harm him, though. Bring him back alive and unhurt." Toyozumi nodded in agreement.
Sensing that they were treading into a sensitive area, Mike cleared his throat. "You were correct that New York was the primary center of contagion, which is both good and bad." He looked over at Steve, who picked up the cue.
"Because of its population density and traffic patterns, it means that the virus can travel all over the world while the virus author hides in the noise, as it were. Since New Yorkers are so paranoid and technically savvy, the virus gets wiped off of victim devices faster than in any other area. This is a two edged sword, in that it allows the virus writer to constantly tweak his virus and send out updates to new victims constantly. Luckily for us, that means that with a little detective work, we will eventually pinpoint his exact whereabouts."
Mike switched the display to a map of Manhattan, and created an overlay of the subway grid. He drew circles around various areas while the screen tracked the laser trace. "Our target has been very careful to spread the alpha contacts widely, to hide the pattern of infection. He is smart enough to guess we would use epidemiology methods to look for him. Lucky for us, he's not as good at hiding as we are at looking."
Mike touched a control, and colored dots sprang up on the screen. "With each version of the virus, infected systems appeared on the same day all over the city, with no seeming link." Mike paused for effect, his gaze darting between the two men on the screen. "Until now." He looked over his shoulder at Steve while grinning in a feral manner, and then turned back to the screen. "According to the dispersion pattern and timeline, every area where an alpha case occurred was within walking distance of a subway line that runs through the Union Square station." The subway lines in question flashed, leading back to the area around 14th and Broadway, which lit up on the map.
"This is supported by a small number of cases in each infection that were not in the alpha areas at the times of initial spread. They were very probably infected at the station by our target as he was on his way out to spread his handiwork." The subway grid on the screen gave way to a street map showing the region around Broadway and 14th Street.
"That gives us a large area to cover, but it allows us to narrow our focus." Mike touched another control, and a pattern of lights appeared on the map. "These are land-line high-speed data line subscribers in the area. We figured that whoever is pulling this off must be a heavy computer user with a penchant for security, and so has to have at least one hyper-broadband input."
He began to check off the lines displayed, eliminating them one at a time. "We located every single-occupancy residence that has subscriber terabit broadband line in the area." The lights designating the buildings flashed on the screen. "Then we eliminated every one that is inactive or in caretaker mode outside of normal business hours, since people like our guy are online 24/7." All but five lights disappeared. Mike smiled as he drew circles around the results. "Our target is probably at one of these locations."
Obi-san interjected, "Your case is built on a mountain of assumptions. How sure are you that our virus-writer is there?" Steve answered, "We tried other search methods and made different theories as to the target's behavior, but this is the only one that provided a pattern of any significance."
Mike changed the display to show a camouflaged electronic package attached to a pole. The device looked like an abandoned bicycle lock. "We mounted remote monitors, video and electronic, in the traffic flow areas around all five places this morning, programmed to detect any virus activity. They are set up to act as bait, constantly broadcasting an RFID handshake signal." Kihara asked, "What about other devices? Wouldn't your traps bring unwanted attention?"
Steve answered, "For anybody else picking up our signal, we camouflaged our intent by sending them a discount coupon for a local business."
Mike turned back to his audience. "We should be able to make a positive ID as soon as the target makes his next move. When he tries to spread a new variation of the virus, our sensors will detect it, and we'll have him."
Mike called up an operational diagram of the virus "trap", and used his laser to point out the various aspects as he spoke. "We send a bait handshake signal, and then scan the response for any unusual signatures. The alarm goes out when anything unusual is detected."
The men on the screen were still for a moment. Just before the pause became awkward, Toyozumi spoke. "Well done, gentlemen. We hope that your plan is ultimately successful." His partner sat in stony silence beside him.
Steve shot a glance over at Mike. It was now painfully obvious that their clients had expected this meeting to bring them news of success, not a status report, however optimistic.
Kihara spoke coolly. "If and when you do find your quarry, then apprehend him and bring him to us. Preferably without injury." Steve nodded. "Of course." he stood and faced the screen completely. "We will let you know the moment we have him in our possession."
Toyozumi's eyes bored into Steve's. "Good luck, Mr. Dixon." He touched a control on the arm of his chair, and the screen went blank.
Mike scooped up his gear, and turned to Steve. Ruefully, he said, "Well, that went well, didn't it?" The look on his face mirrored the tone of his voice.
Steve rubbed his forehead. "Well, that could have gone better, but their mood will be much improved once we bag our guy." Mike brightened. "Good point; once we have him we'll be golden."
Steve clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. "Let's hope we can tie this one up as soon as possible. We have to be ready to move in on our target at any time. Let me know as soon as the sensors detect anything."
After Mike left, Steve brought his notes up to date, and checked with the company lawyer as to the legal options open to him once he located his quarry. He didn't have to check with anyone but the client for the other options. The only fly in the ointment was that their prey might wait months before distributing another version of the virus.
At exactly a quarter to eleven, Yvonne called him on the intercom. "Your 11:00 is here now, should I send him in?" Steve straightened the items on his desk, and stood up to face his office door. "Yes, send him in right away. Can you also bring in a carafe of coffee?"
The door opened, and Louis Edwards walked in, wearing a dark blue blazer over a polo shirt, khakis, and boat shoes. A man of average build, Louis had sandy hair, a slight paunch, and intense blue eyes. He didn't sport much in the way of personal hardware for a notorious geek, though.
Steve didn't see the small bump of a TeleMemory Clip on his belt, and instead of a WristComp, Louis wore an analog watch. The only visible piece of hardware was a pair of Spex jauntily hanging from the V of his collar, and Steve assumed Louis' pair had a lot more functionality than the ones he owned himself.
"Good morning, Louis, I hope you didn't encounter too much traffic on the ride from the airport." Steve motioned to the conference table and the chairs around it. "Please, take a seat."
"Thank you, Steve. It was actually quite a pleasant drive." The man sat, and his aides took up positions behind him. Steve looked them over as he took a seat opposite his client. In contrast to their leader, Louis' aides were examples of geek overkill, festooned with an array of electronics.
Each sported a complete Xybernaut wearable computer suite with VR headset, wrist-mounted keypad, datagloves, and miscellaneous electronic devices hanging from their belts. Steve's eyes widened slightly when he saw a neurotangler on each of the aides' hips among the other assorted gadgets.
Louis noted Steve's expression, and said with a smile, "They're also my bodyguards. It's less obtrusive that way." The headgear they wore looked like close-fitting wrap-around mirrored sunglasses with thick frames. Earbuds attached to tiny pigtails came out of the frames and tiny boom microphones poked down from their temples.
That explains the fashion show. Steve smiled. His people don't need to be that gaudy, but it helps camouflage their protective function.
The woman leaned forward at that moment and showed Edwards some data on a secondary screen she held in her hand, and he motioned her to sit down in a corner of the room, close to hand but out of direct view. She sat down, muttering to people only she could see. The other aide stood behind Edwards, a digital knave serving his master.
Steve tapped the tray with the coffee service. "Would you like some? We made it fresh."
"No thanks, Steve." Louis held a hand out over his shoulder, and his aide dropped a data chip into it. Louis inserted the chip into the data port in the blotter in front of him.
The wall screens came alive with colorful representations of the BioMicronics logo surrounded by the logos of its subsidiaries. The aide stepped around the table and gave Steve a disposable DataPlate, then returned to his place behind Louis.
Steve looked down at the sheet of plastic and saw a duplicate of the presentation on the walls, along with talking points. Louis began, "BioMicronics is arguably the most advanced company in biotechnology research, development, and product creation in the world." He leaned back in his seat, and waved casually at the information displayed. "We make biochips and microrobotic devices for medical testing, surgery, drug delivery, and similar deep-body applications."
Images of hospital rooms full of people in various states of rehabilitation appeared onscreen. "We make the implant chips that help disabled people see, hear, and speak. We spend over 30% of our revenue on research. Our most well-known products are those tiny medical probes that can roam on their own in the human body, clearing blood vessel blockages and recording information about the patient's state of health. But BioMicronics is involved in much more than that."
Pictures of people and devices demonstrating the various applications danced across the screen. "BioMicronics is now on the verge of starting its most ambitious endeavor ever, one that will change the way people deal with information on a fundamental level."
Louis spread his arms in an encompassing gesture. "We are used to dealing with the plethora of devices that surround us because we need them to manipulate, view, and manage all of the data we are immersed in on a regular basis. We have devices constantly providing us with information ranging from the latest sports scores to how old the milk is in our refrigerator. We are used to looking at a screen or into a pair of glasses or listening to speakers or headphones to see and hear data, and manipulating a keyboard or speaking into a microphone for data input."
"We already swim in the sea of data around us with our TeleMemory Clips as our life preservers, carrying our data and seamlessly linking us to the electronic world." Louis' tone changed suddenly, and he leaned forward, eyes blazing with fervor. "But what if you could eliminate the middleman?"
The BioMicronics logo on the screen changed into a cutaway diagram of a human head. Lines of data were shown streaming inwards to the brain, as if it were a switchboard. "What if we could put a computer directly into your brain?"
Steve wasn't impressed. "We can do that already. Your company even makes computer implants for that very purpose. My cousin has an artificial cochlea."
"Ah, but that device is a crude replacement, not an enhancement. Look at this." Louis opened a small case and pulled out a flat metal disk that looked like an old-fashioned watch battery. An array of short, fine wires covered one side. "This is a cranial implant. It is currently used to help the blind see, the deaf hear, and give the paralyzed a way to control their prosthetics. It's what we use when the hardware works, but the nerves are damaged. It's different from the kind of replacement part your cousin has." Louis placed the chip on the table, and leaned back in his seat.
Steve picked the curious little wafer up. As he turned it in his fingers, Steve noted that the electrodes looked almost like sparse fur on the disk. "It looks like a dime with hair."
Louis continued, "As thin as those electrodes are, at the cellular level, communication between your brain and that device is the equivalent of the two of us using hand grenades to send Morse-code messages." He reached over and took the wafer from Steve. "We need to do better than this." Louis tucked the device gently into its case and placed it back into his pocket. "We need to get smaller electrodes more accurately placed in specific areas of the brain with as little invasion into the body as humanly possible."
"So what is BioMicronics doing?" Steve was curious now, wondering what someone like Louis would think is better than the devices his company currently made. "What is so special about your next generation devices?"
Louis smiled cannily. "BioMicronics is developing a way to interface with the brain at a more intimate level, to transmit more and better information. What we see and hear are only electrical impulses generated by the sense organs and transmitted to the brain, anyway."
Louis tapped the implant in his pocket. "This technology will never be anything more than a crude approximation, lacking the fine control needed to truly communicate with the brain. What if we could generate those impulses directly on the nerves themselves?" Turning to face Steve, his eyes took on an almost evangelical glow. "With a better interface, you could make in-brain devices for everyone, not just the sick and injured. Building a computer in the brain would create the ultimate personal data servant, a transparent interface between the world of data and its user."
The cutaway image of the head on the monitors changed, adding a network of lines and nodes that linked the various portions of the brain. "You could see without squinting at a monitor, hear without static or background noise. You could work in a more intimate way with the information that we are constantly awash in, a more able swimmer in the information sea."
Louis changed the display to show a collage of phone books, calendars, and photographs. "Wouldn't you like to have perfect memory, Steve? Wouldn't it be great if you could always remember names, places, dates, and appointments? A computer in your head could do that for you, and much, much more." Louis' voice grew more animated as he progressed. "Arthur C. Clarke once said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. How would you like to have telepathy? Wireless inter-cranial Email between people would be just that! Imagine being able to download the facts to support an argument in real-time from the Net? What we could do with this technology is limited only by our imagination!"
Steve, impressed by the promise of Louis' words, was caught up short in his enthusiasm by a cold breeze of reality. He could see in his mind's eye a group of surgeons poking and prodding in his head as they installed a network as complex and delicate as the one Louis was describing. He didn't like the mental image. "Unless they desperately needed to have it done, who would want someone cutting into their skull and installing something in their brain?"
Louis smiled in response to Steve's question, and called up a photograph of an operating table draped with a blood-spattered sheet. Louis pointed at the grisly image. "You're right; the problem is that in order to create a computer like that in a person's brain today, we'd have to drill into their skull in a delicate and dangerous procedure. No one wants a surgeon digging around inside them unnecessarily, especially in their head." The technologist brought up a window showing a nerve cell with a nanometer ruler scale to show how small it was. "The level of surgical precision and the incredibly close tolerances required are exact and unforgiving. In order for the computer to function properly, the devices must be placed directly in the proper nerve junctions in the cerebral cortex. Done incorrectly, if the procedure didn't kill you or drive you insane, any images and sounds would be of poor quality."
"That's my point exactly. Even with endoscopic robotic surgery, the procedure is too invasive for most people." Steve gestured at the screen. "Sure you could probably do it, but nobody wants someone poking around in their gray matter." Nodding, Louis advanced the presentation to the next screen. The cutaway image of a head reappeared, this time with tiny structures highlighted in the various sensory nerve centers with what looked like ants teeming around them. Louis's voice started to take on that evangelical tone again. "What if you could build the computer from the inside? What if there was some way to create the required structures directly in the brain itself? The electrodes would be mated to the right nerves so intimately and accurately that the data it provided would be as real to you as any other sensation in your head!" Louis tapped on the display with his finger. "The devices would be microscopically tiny and extremely energy efficient, able to run from chemical reactions with the blood itself."
Louis turned back to the screen as it changed images again. Steve saw what had to be a computer-generated video, but the production values were so high it could have come from Hollywood. It showed an otherworldly view of what looked like a swarm of stubby-legged insects streaming down a liquid-filled tunnel.
Steve realized the scene depicted was of the inside of a blood vessel, and as he watched the tiny mites dodging white corpuscles and other bloodstream fauna his perception changed as he realized the scale involved. He experienced a moment of lightheadedness when he realized what BioMicronics intended to do.
"Now you see our plan. We intend to use nanotechnology-based microscopic robots as our method of construction." Louis used a laser pointer to highlight one of the odd creatures as he turned and smiled at Steve. "Our marketing people came up with the term BioBot, or "BB" for short. It sounds nice and it even conjures up the proper consumer image." He turned back to the display and continued, "If we inject them into a person, they could travel through the bloodstream and build the computer directly in the brain." Louis pointed and gestured as if he were herding the tiny robots along with his hands while he explained. "Each BB is a part of a greater whole, communicating with the others in a distributed computing network to form a single computing entity. There are several types of BB, each designed to perform the various tasks needed. Some of the BioBots are purely construction workers, while others use different parts of themselves as components. Some, like the memory and processing units, use their entire bodies in the construction, linking together to form the required structures."
Steve had known that Louis was going to spring something new on him today, but this project was incredibly ambitious. "It looks impressive, Louis. Besides being less invasive, how will this improve the computer-brain interface?"
It was obvious that Louis was waiting for Steve to ask a question like that. "We do gain a significant improvement simply by having smaller devices with improved placement, but our technology goes far beyond that. Wire traces and nerve-contact electrodes are made by electrolyzing conductors directly onto the nerve itself, with the BBs pulling the metal they need for the connection directly from the bloodstream."
The screen image changed again to show a computer rendition of a group of the incredibly tiny machines at work in the brain. Steve thought the picture looked like caraway seeds in lumpy bread dough, but when the image zoomed in to show a close-up of a BioBot at a nerve cell, he appreciated the scale reference. He would have never thought the devices could be so small. The BB's appendages were connecting themselves to the nerve shaft with a delicate web of electrodes. Louis encircled the point of contact with a laser spot. "The BBs form both the communications interface and the computing elements of the system. Some of them become parts of a massively parallel processor, some the memory and communications blocks, and some the antenna structure. We expect that the brain will not be able to distinguish between the computer input and the information from its own nerve cells."
Louis then called up an expanded diagram of the computer's various parts, linked by dotted lines that simulated lines of communication. "Each component of the system talks to the others by short-range radio. The signals are so small they only travel a few centimeters, but using "Smart Dust" technology, each node retransmits any signal it receives so the network can communicate through the entire body."
"The entire body?" Steve was realizing this could be much bigger than he initially recognized.
"Anywhere BioBots install themselves." Louis brought up a different image, this time one showing a cutaway of the body with lines running from the brain to spots in the arms, legs, chest, and abdomen. "We already have internal devices from automatic insulin pumps for diabetics to neuromuscular stimulators for the paralyzed. A BB-based computer could coordinate the efforts of any device in the body."
Steve was impressed despite his skepticism. If BioMicronics could pull it off, it could change the world completely. "How long would it take for the process to be completed? Would it be affected by external factors at all?"
Louis shrugged. "Less than a week after the injection, you'd wake up to find you have a computer in your head. The process could be slowed by excessive head and body movement, which slows the mapping process, but since the work itself is done at the cellular scale there would be no difference in the result. Only a massive magnetic field would be able to stop the process by destroying the BBs."
"What about exposure to a large magnetic field, like that of an MRI, after the procedure is complete?" Steve didn't think he would like the answer.
"There would be serious negative health effects from any strong magnetic field." Louis conceded. "But it would be no more dangerous than if that person had a pacemaker or seizure stabilizer."
The scene shifted back to the cutaway head, again showing streams of glowing dots representing the microbots. Some were depicted grouping themselves into a grid at the top of the head. Louis pointed at those units. "When the BBs are finished in the brain, the remaining units converge at the crown of the skull, on the bone under the scalp. They would then link together in a web-shaped grid, which would act as both system memory and a phased-array radio antenna capable of receiving signals and broadcasting data." The image showed something looking like a futuristic yarmulke.
Steve held up his hand as if he were in a classroom. "So you're saying that the user will have the capacity to send and receive messages? What would be the range?"
"We expect the system to be able to broadcast as far as two kilometers for standard real-time wireless broadband, and nearly unlimited in satellite packet mode, which is only a little slower." Louis made encompassing gestures with his hands and arms. "It would be able to receive any signal in the standard communications spectrum. I told you, Steve. This would give the user, or should I say host, the electronic equivalent of telepathy and clairvoyance."
Louis' voice had an intensity Steve usually heard from street-corner preachers, and the man's face and eyes were aglow. "This is the wheel, Steve. This is the future." Louis raised his arms to the sky. "It is the next step in human evolution." Steve glanced at Louis' aides. They must have seen their boss act this way in the past, for they continued to stand patiently. Pointing over Louis' shoulder at them, he asked, "How is making people even more gadget-intensive than those two an evolutionary step?"
Louis waved his hand dismissively. "Because BBs will in fact be freeing people from the mechanical clutter you pointed to, while increasing their ability to seamlessly function in modern society. This development is evolutionary exactly because of the artificial nature of its incarnation, the ultimate tool for the ultimate tool-using species. It will truly free mankind." Louis calmed himself down, realizing how he must have looked to Steve. "The first generation will be injected, but eventually you'll be able to take a pill or put on a microbot-laden patch to implant the BBs."
The image on the screens changed yet again, and Steve was surprised to see a cutaway view of a pregnant woman, her fetus' brain outlined in neon blue. Louis continued, "One day, people will engineer the latest computer into their child's developing fetus. They'll use it to not only monitor their child's mental development, but also to communicate with it." Steve wasn't sure whether to be scared or hopeful. This guy is either totally nuts or he's a genius. He chose his words carefully. "That's a little extreme, isn't it?"
Louis shook his head dismissively. "Not at all, Steve. This technology will enable all of that and more." A picture of a rescue dog moving through the rubble of a collapsed building replaced the woman's. "Just as we now implant controls into animals to monitor and control their behavior, we could increase their mental capacity and potentially teach them to understand us better."
"That a BB-based computer system, let's call it a BBC, in the brain can be used as a human learning tool is a given." A short simulation played showing a little boy playing in a field looking at flowers, trees, and animals. A BBC in his head told him what kind they were, and explained things about them. It ended with the boy looking out of the screen and saying, "I just think of it, and I know all about it!"
Louis tapped the table for emphasis. "Mankind is poised on the verge of the next great revolution. A true man-machine interface will be a completely disruptive technology, changing the very fabric of society. BioMicronics will create that technology and lead the world into that future."
Louis settled in his chair as if spent. "We contacted your firm for a reason. BioMicronics can create the technology involved, but you are experienced in solving problems in the real world. It has been pointed out to us that there is a potential animal-research problem involved."
Steve grinned inside. Now we get down to business. He answered dryly, "Because you have to test it all first, and it looks like the initial testing rounds are going to be very rough on the subjects involved."
"Not only that," Louis ruefully agreed, "We have to deal with the anti-establishment types as well. There is of course a potential for abuse with this technology, but the benefits will far outweigh any "Big Brother" scenario. We feel we can deal with that element through proper marketing and communication efforts."
A photo of a group of picketers outside a slaughterhouse replaced the idyllic scene with the little boy. "The animal-rights people are our greatest worry. In order to develop this technology, test it, perfect it, and commercialize it, we may have to go through a lot of animals, especially primates. We can make the BBs here, but testing, programming, and systems integration will take a great deal of experimentation. How can we do that without incurring the wrath of the damn tree-huggers? What happens once they find out we're poking around in innocent Bonzo's head for the advancement of "evil science"? They'd have a field day!" Louis smacked the table with the flat of his hand in frustration.
Steve leaned back in his chair, and laced his fingers behind his head. Knowing the general nature of the problem before the meeting, he had already thought of a potential solution and investigated a few options. Now that he knew exactly what the situation was, he knew which of those options fit. "The key is that you can't do things like that here in the US, and there are only a few alternatives. Canada is too much like us, and Mexico is too close. Have you thought about taking the research offshore?"
"Of course, but where to?" Louis spread his hands. "Asia is the best location, but we have no real research assets there. Ever since the Pacific Rim formed an economic syndicate, outside investment carries too many caveats." Louis shook his head. "We have no intention of sharing our intellectual property. BioMicronics has facilities in Europe, but they have even crazier animal nuts there than the ones we have here."
Steve leaned forward and asked, "What about the old East Bloc?"
Louis looked interested but guarded. "We thought about that, too. Unfortunately, all of the progressive countries in that region have developed to the point where they're indistinguishable from Western Europe, and the rest are unstable shitholes." Steve smiled and pulled out a chip of his own. He leaned forward and inserted it into the conference table. "That may be the case, but they are desperate for cash. If you choose wisely, you can take advantage of "friendly" governments looking for additional revenue." Steve picked up a remote and summoned a map of Southeastern Europe. Louis leaned back and examined it while Steve continued.
"Gavrilovia is an old Soviet satellite where they used to do a lot of biological weapons testing. The leader, Yarost Krof, is a dictator of the old school. He's a relic of the Soviet Union, a member of the Nomenclatura whose golden parachute actually opened at the end of the Cold War."
Steve summoned an image of Krof and placed it over Gavrilovia's spot on the map. "He was the KGB's number two man in the region, and took over Gavrilovia in a relatively bloodless coup in cahoots with the local military commander, an old general named Ochin who wanted to retire in comfort."
Steve called up some gory crime-scene shots. "The general didn't quite make it to cash in his pension. Shortly after the coup, he "accidentally" died of severe lead poisoning of a 7.62-mm persuasion one evening after supposedly sealing himself in a steel barrel." He shook his head. "Gavrilovia's Attorney-General had to do a lot of dancing to explain how Ochin managed to pull it all off with his hands tied behind his back, but he must have been highly motivated to stay out of his own barrel." Steve summoned an organizational table and some demographic and economic charts before continuing. "Ever since, Krof has run a modified kleptocracy, so we know he'll deal. In addition, for a little extra donation, we can have military personnel for the security force. The new military commander is a local named General Druzba. He is pretty much a yes man to the Big Guy, since he hasn't forgotten what happened to his predecessor."
Louis interrupted. "Isn't that country unstable? There have been bombs going off over there for as long as I can remember." "They have been having troubles, but lately it's been losing steam. The local terrorist group has been having serious problems in obtaining enough funds to operate. Krof is almost as broke, which is why he'll do business with us. By moving a little early, we take some risk but gain a jump on any competition."
Steve brought the map back. "Logistically, Gavrilovia is perfect. There is a train line between Munich and Gavrilovia's capital, Nadjesta, which we can use. There are a couple of old Soviet facilities there that would be perfect to renovate." Steve got up and tapped the map on the wall. "Anything you set up there would be close enough to your Bavarian subsidiary for logistic support and to provide an R&R site for your staff. There is an ongoing heavy-handed "security" effort on the part of Krof's administration, so the region isn't very pretty, but it's relatively secure. You would have to maintain a campus on-site for your workers to insulate them from the outside."
Louis motioned to his female aide, who had since returned to his side. He spoke to her in whispers, and put on his Spex while she escorted him through the dataspace.
Watching their intense discussion, Steve thought Louis must have gotten a good answer, because the man began to nod and smile. Louis turned back to Steve. "It can work. Not only will the facility be more secure, it would still be cheaper than doing it here, even accounting for bribes." He shook Steve's hand. "I'll have my people get in touch with yours to follow through on this. Good work, Steve. If this works out the way I think it will, you will be getting a nice fat bonus, and we'll use you for other jobs in the future." Louis stood, gestured to his aides to collect themselves, and left the office.
Steve walked them to the exit, then turned and leaned his back against the door after it had closed. Another irreplaceable scrap torn from an already-ragged excuse of what passes for a soul. He smiled sadly to himself. At least the results may actually help people, even if only the rich at first. He held no illusions about Edward's altruism. Steve knew that the BBC would cost very dearly at first, and may never be completely accessible to the public. Then again, hope springs eternal. Steve turned and saw Yvonne looking at him as if she could read his mind. His smile twisted into a knowing smirk, and Steve nodded to her and headed for the coffee room, motioning her to follow him.
He sat at the room's single table with a cup of coffee in one hand and pointed to a chair with the other. After she had sat, Steve gave her instructions. "Have Peter and Jessica get in touch with Krof's people in Gavrilovia, and set up the logistics. Then get our lawyer to write up a contract with BioMicronics that reduces our liability as much as possible if things get ugly." Yvonne nodded, and then reached across the table to touch his hand. "You look a little bothered, Steve. Is there something about the deal you don't like?"
Steve waved his hand as if warding off a bad smell. "Sometimes I feel a little dirty after dealing with these people, but the rent must be paid."
Yvonne looked at Steve with concern. "We're not doing anything illegal, right?"
Steve patted her on the back of her hand. "No, there's just something about Edwards that makes me uncomfortable." Steve finished his coffee and walked with Yvonne back into the main office area. "You have a nice afternoon. I'm going to go play some golf. Hold the fort while I'm gone, I'll be in tomorrow morning." Steve left Yvonne at her desk and waved to Mike through his office door as he headed out of the building.
On the drive to the golf club, Steve thought about the meeting with Edwards. Most of the presentations Steve had to sit through were pretty boring, but this one impressed the hell out of him. Edwards may be a geek, but he was a brilliant one.
Steve didn't know whether to be pleased or creeped out over what he had learned and his mind churned as he entered the parkway. This really is revolutionary, blue-sky wild-ass science-fiction shit. The only problem is that the technology could be used as a powerful tool, or it could be used in a way that would make Orwell's 1984 look like a Dr. Seuss book. If Edwards is successful, his creation is going to spark the biggest debate since genetic products were created.
Steve tore his mind away from the topic and forced its focus back on the road. He was able to relax then, luxuriating in the way Michele nimbly danced in the light traffic. Sometimes it is best to focus on life's simpler pleasures. Smiling, he turned on the Porsche's traffic control jammer and increased his speed, hands and feet busily manipulating pedals, gearshift, and steering wheel.
Chapter 2
Sometimes Eileen Harris almost wished she didn't care about things so strongly. It may feel really good to help the underdog, but the work doesn't pay well and the hours are terrible. After working from 10 to 12 hours nearly every day as a public advocate, fighting the good fight in the daily grind of special-interest politics, she then worked most nights and weekends for her personal crusade, the fight for animal rights. Unfortunately, that effort had even worse hours.
For example,
instead of catching some well-earned sleep, Eileen was spending her evening in
a dingy room in a nameless brownstone in the
The room was full of animal rights paraphernalia, leaflets, newsletters, and protest signs. Posters with horrific scenes of animal cruelty covered the walls. An ape strapped to an examining table stared out at them in pain from one, a thicket of electrodes entering its head. A row of rabbits in restraint boxes was seen in another, the furry victims waiting their turn to test eye cosmetics. Pictures of dead baby seals with bloody heads and otherwise-beautiful beaches covered with bloated dolphin carcasses contributed to the gruesome imagery.
Eileen and the
people arguing around her were the core members and leadership of an
organization they called the Non-human Liberation Front (NLF). Their radical
protest gestures had included such acts as the release of hundreds of rats into
the foyer of the
Contrary to
appearances, saving animals was actually a lucrative business. The modest
trappings were more from a desire to remain low-key than from a lack of a
better place to meet. The NLF's “official”
headquarters was on the
This was a secret top-level meeting to discuss a new development, and so they used one of their Activism Safehouses, where they usually planned their less-than-legitimate protest activities. Ever since corporations learned to use the various minutia of the law to fight their enemies, most animal rights, ecological protection, and anticorporate protest groups were under a constant barrage of nuisance lawsuits and prosecutions.
Planning a protest march becomes “conspiracy to incite a riot”; pamphleteering becomes “illegal waste disposal”; and planning boycotts becomes “racketeering”. Operational security became the best method of defense. The resulting air of secrecy lent the entire enterprise a glamour that sometimes caused unwanted ego inflation among its participants.
Eileen was one of the NLF’s founders and its current leader, a role as thankless as it was difficult. She looked around the table and wondered how a group so diverse in style and personality ever managed to agree on anything. The group numbered six, three men and three women. They hadn’t planned that it would turn out that way, but the symmetry was pleasing to them.
Eileen shook her head while she thought about the group before her. Dealing with this group is like herding cats. The cause was vitally important, though, and if these people were the tools that she had to work with, then that was that. Besides, everyone here was a good person in their own way, each helpful to the effort.
One advantage to the secrecy the group was forced to sometimes operate under was that it made it easier for them to maintain a covert action arm, which they called Animals for Action (AfA). Its rationale for existence was to perform the protest efforts that could bring a tougher response than a nuisance lawsuit, isolating the NLF from serious legal problems. Only the six people in the room knew the covert arm’s total membership, about 100 people scattered around the country, with a few overseas in places with citizenry sympathetic to the cause.
Eileen tucked her shoulder-length honey-colored hair behind her ears and leaned forward. Slapping the table for attention, she created an interruption in the squabble. “I understand Peter has something important that he wishes to share with us.”
They all diverted their attention to Peter DeKuyper, a man whose tousled baggy clothing tried and failed to hide his flabby physique and large girth. Always loud and excitable, he was especially agitated this evening about news he had received from his sources.
Peter was a tech fanatic with contacts almost everywhere, some even in the animal research industry itself. Some were people who didn’t feel comfortable about how they got their paycheck, and others of a more dedicated bent worked in the industry just so they could keep tabs on it. Whatever the motivation, they informed animal-rights groups like the NLF about their company's research to ease their conscience or to fight for the cause (or to line their pockets, as some of the NLF's war chest was used to pay bribes or buy information).
Peter held up a DataPad, shaking it in the air with a look of deep disgust on his face. “BioMicronics, the big biotechnology firm, set up a research center overseas in an ex-Soviet country called Gavrilovia almost a year ago. Their work involves experimenting on ape brains to perfect some kind of mind-control device.”
Eileen couldn't believe her ears. “Are you serious? What kind of apes? What kind of device?” It was obvious the others in the room felt the same way, as suddenly Peter was the center of rapt attention from all.
“My sources aren't exactly sure as they only handle the dead animals; they aren't involved directly with the research. But we know it involves putting some kind of circuitry in the brain, mostly using Rhesus monkeys and Bonobo apes. My contact works in the biohazard disposal facility and has to destroy the bodies, which is how I was able to get these pictures.” Peter turned on the 'Pad and showed the group disturbing photographs. Each of the animals had its head cut open, and flecks of metal could be seen in the bloody ruin of their brains. Several of the faces around the table turned green, even though they had seen such gore before. The images had a greater impact because of the implications behind the research.
Sabina Bronte stood up. She was quite attractive in an exotic Mediterranean way, and dressed to show she knew it. She tossed her ebony hair, fine as silk, as if fear and disgust were flies that could be shooed away. “This is sick, even for a man with as few scruples as Louis Edwards. I wonder if he is doing it for personal gain, or if he's doing it for the government.”
Jim Wood spoke up. He was of moderate height, with Jerry Garcia's face and Sylvester Stallone's body. “Edwards will be gaining from it no matter who the technology is being developed for. The important thing is that we have to do something about it.”
Peter nodded his
head vigorously. “Damn right we have to do something about it!” He glared at
his colleagues. “These corporate scumbags are spitting in our faces and
laughing about it!” Peter's face was florid and his hands constantly moved,
gesturing and pointing. He shook one wattled arm
violently. “They are going to torture to death who knows how many primates, and
they think that if they don’t do it here in
Peter’s eyes shone as he threw his gaze around the room at his fellow crusaders. “What's even worse is that BioMicronics is doing it to create mind control devices!” He smashed his fist against the table, the impact causing the DataPad sitting on it to flip in the air, landing so that the last picture displayed was still visible, that of the ape strapped into a restraint on an examination table with steel glints in its eyes.
Peter pointed at the image for additional emphasis. “Look at that! We can’t let them continue to do this to living beings.” Loud mutterings of assent and support were heard from the others. “We have got to show them that they are not only wrong, but that their decision to do this was a serious mistake! If we simply stand aside and allow these pigs to succeed in their sick plans, we will be abandoning our duty!”
Ruth Haley, a trim brunette with short hair, chimed in. She wore a single eyebrow ring and a tan, close-fitting jumpsuit. “I agree with you Peter, but what can we do? Assuming that BioMicronics doesn’t have the local government in their pockets, and we can actually obtain entry visas, once we go there, we will almost certainly be identified by those bastards, and their thugs can play as hard as they want to over there. If we go there and picket, we could wind up getting our asses kicked, thrown in prison, or worse.”
Jim grimaced.
“Ruth, if they can play hardball that means we can, too. We could break into
the facility and not only free the animals; we could really fuck the place up and
make a real example.” He rubbed his hands together at the thought. “I have a
contact in
Eileen looked at Jim with concern. He was very useful when the group needed the means for mayhem, but had to be kept under control lest he turn their group into a bunch of wanted terrorists. “I don’t know if guns are the answer, we should look into peaceful protest methods first.”
Ruth shouted over the hubbub rising around the table as the group argued with itself. “We could call up all the animal-rights groups over there, and organize a huge protest. Maybe we can even use the crowd to storm the facility!”
“That doesn't sound very people friendly.” George Gates seemed a bit out of place among this group, looking as he did like a suburbanite who had gotten lost, but his convictions ran as deep as any of them. Due to his background he often acted as the voice of moderation for the group. It even worked, sometimes. “We can't put innocent people at risk, even for a good cause.”
Jim snorted. “Listen to ball-less George over there, he wants to blow happy dust at the bad guys hoping that they will all fall in love with the world.”
George looked coldly at Jim. “Did you hear anything I said? How are we going to get close enough to the facility to do anything to it if they surround it with hired goons? Not to mention that they almost certainly do have the local government in their pockets! Are you really that stupid?”
Ruth nodded in agreement. “If we waltz in there with BioMicronics holding the upper hand, they will wipe up the floor with us.” Peter tried to talk, but Ruth rode over his protest. “Do you think that we can just call a lawyer if we get in trouble over there?”
Sabina leaned
forward with her hands on the table as if physically forcing a gap in the
conversation. “I have a better idea. I have a contact in the region, a guy
named Samir. He and I were together when I went to university in
“What kind of business are you referring to?” George asked dryly.
Sabina paused for effect, shifted in her seat, and looked around the table into the eyes of each person individually before she continued to speak. “We could contract the PFF to attack the facility.”
Pandemonium broke out around the table, and Eileen had to shout to get everyone’s attention. “Hey, shut up everybody and let’s talk about this like adults.” It didn’t get everyone to completely quiet down, but at least they took turns shouting.
“Now that’s what I call a great idea!” Jim sprang up out of his seat. “Let’s really hit those bastards!” He shook his fist in the air as he crowed.
Eileen continued to make calming motions with her hands as she addressed her colleagues. “Hey everybody, let’s calm down. We can’t keep shouting at each other like this.” She looked over at Sabina, the disbelief plain on her face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Seeing no evidence of mirth, Eileen continued in a voice held in even tighter control. “What do you propose the guerillas should do?”
Peter, still at the front of the room, shouted, “They could free the animals, that’s what! And when they are done, they could destroy the building! We’ll show those murdering mother-humping assholes!” He pumped his fist in the air.
George spoke up again. “I hate what those corporate greedheads are doing over there too, but this is serious stuff you’re proposing.”
“Oh, grow a dick, why don’t you.” Jim’s voice dripped disgust. “We have to engage them on their turf or we’ll just wind up sitting around wringing our hands like a group of old women.”
“Look, it isn’t like they care a flying fuck what we or anybody else thinks, or else they wouldn’t have set this thing up overseas.” Peter added. “We need to deal with this directly, or we’re just pissing in the wind.”
Ruth tapped the table with her fingernail, making a sharp noise that cut though the hubbub. “This is serious, big-time stuff, people. We aren’t just debating throwing paint bombs and breaking windows this time. Besides, we don’t even know if the PFF will do it.” She looked around the table at the group. “I’m all for it, but we just need to be sure that this is the path of action that we really want to follow.”
“If we sweeten the pot enough, they’ll do it.” George spoke matter-of-factly, having decided to go along with the plan. “They’ll do it for the chance to gain enough funding to further their other objectives.”
“Good point.” Eileen agreed, “We’ve got enough in the war chest to make the offer pretty sweet.” She caught herself. “Not that this is necessarily the best path to follow.” She looked at Peter. “What if someone gets killed in the attack?”
Peter rationalized, “So what, why should we care about them? If they wanted to be safe, they shouldn’t be experimenting on endangered animals! Those bastards think that they can buy and sell everyone and everything, doing whatever they want however they see fit. This is a great opportunity to show them that they’re wrong. We could really make a statement here.”
Jim piped in,
having just thought of something. “I can add a little spice to the pot via my
contacts in
Eileen stood up and addressed the table. “Before we go any further with this, let’s remember that we’re talking about working with terrorists.” It was her turn to look at everyone meaningfully. “How the hell can we even consider ourselves and our cause honorable if we use terrorists for our action?” Eileen pointed her finger at Sabina, “If we use those criminals, we are no better than those soulless corporations we fight.”
Sabina stood her ground. “The people that the West calls terrorists are simply soldiers that cannot fight a face-to-face battle. What is the difference between a car bomb blowing up in front of a police station, and a helicopter gunship firing rockets into a disputed zone with civilians?” She stood up, punching at the air with her fist. “This is not an act of terrorism; this is a military action in a time of war. We are fighting for the last vestiges of animal rights in existence.”
“Besides, the Buducian’s cause is a just one.” Ruth chimed in. “Their country was stolen from them in the worldwide political confusion at the turn of the century. They only wish to regain their homeland where they would be free from Gavrilovian control.”
George jumped in at that point to emphasize his support for Sabina’s idea, possibly to turn aside Jim’s accusations. “You’re right. We’ll be able to fight our fight while supporting the Buducians in theirs. We would be supporting animal and human rights simultaneously.”
Peter chimed in. “I like the idea that we will deal those corporate bastards some real pain, and have deniability in case public opinion goes against the action.” He thumped his knuckles against the table. “I would love to hurt that bloated vulture Edwards! Just think how much money he would stand to lose. It would cut his operations back all around the world!”
Sabina nodded. “We could also give the PFF video gear, to record the action and freeing of the animals.” She looked at Eileen, “That way we’ll have ammo to fight in the court of public opinion. If we show that we are really freeing endangered animals that were being used in experiments, we won’t have to worry as much about the BioMicronics spin.”
Ruth asked, “Where are we going to “free” those apes to? Are we to just let them go in the Gavrilovian hinterland? That wouldn’t make any sense.”
“That part is the
easiest.” Jim cut in. “We hire a ship to take them back to
Ruth added, “Don’t forget we’ve never killed anyone in an action before. Let’s think about the researchers.”
“Like I said, if they can’t take the heat, they shouldn’t be playing with matches.” Peter exclaimed, “Let them be treated the way their kind treats animals! I think they’re getting off easy! They deserve to be hunted down and experimented on themselves. Shooting is too good for them!” He looked around the table for support. “Merchants of pain and death should reap what they sow.” Murmurs of agreement came from around the table.
Eileen tried to stay above the debate. She repeated, “Are we sure we want to do this? This isn’t something we can enter into lightly.” She got up and walked around the table, fixing her gaze on each of her comrades in turn, touching their shoulders as she passed. “It is all well and good to plan mayhem in comfort. This will result in real people dying. Armchair quarterbacking is not what we’re about.”
Ruth grabbed Eileen’s hand when she got to her. “Eileen, remember what these guys are doing. They put animals under the knife, without painkillers, and perform the most egregious medical experiments since Mengele. They deserve to be made an example of. This will save animal’s lives, and if we’re lucky, human lives in Buducia as well.”
“How do we know they’re doing it without anesthesia?” George looked around at his colleagues. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate.”
Peter shouted, “What fucking difference does that make!” He pointed at George. “So you’re telling me that if they put the animals under before scrambling their brains, it makes it all right?”
George held his hands up in submission. “No, that’s not it at all. I only want to keep us anchored in reality.”
“The reality is that we are going to do this thing, George.” Ruth looked at Eileen. “That’s already been decided, right?”
“That’s what we’re here to decide, Ruth.” Eileen looked into her friend’s eyes. “I agree with your sentiment, but let’s not forget that this isn’t a game. What happens if BioMicronics finds out? What’s to prevent them from performing some kind of retaliation?” She pointed at Peter. “Are you going to show them your martial arts skills? You can barely wrestle a potato-chip can into submission.”
Before Peter could register his indignation, Sabina interrupted. “Only the six of us know. Any leaks would have to come from one of us.”
Everyone surreptitiously looked at one another around the table, thinking about the reliability of the other. “Good point,” said Ruth. “We all have a vested interest to keep our mouths shut.”
“Well, we’ve all been though tough times together, and I trust everyone here.” Sabina looked around. “Even you, Pete. You’re a jerk, but I know your heart is in the right place.”
“I love you too baby.” Peter kissed the air between them in an attempted mockery of affection, but his body language betrayed his real pleasure at being complimented by someone he obviously had secret hots for.
Eileen nodded to the inevitable. “OK, let’s vote on this.” She looked around at her friends. “All those in favor of having the PFF attack the facility?” Every hand went up. She summoned up a jovial tone to ward off any fears about their action. “I guess that we don’t have to count the negative votes, then.”
George cut in. “That reminds me, we need to send someone over there to supervise the operation.” He looked at the brunette to his right. “When can you leave for Gavrilovia, Sabina?”
Sabina made pushing gestures as if fending off something dangerous. “I’m not going anywhere! Besides the fact that I don’t have a decent passport to travel on, if I ever see Samir again, it will be too soon!” She snorted derisively. “I can give you the information to get in touch with him, but I’m not going.”
Eileen looked at Sabina disdainfully. “You want this to happen, but you don’t want to get your hands dirty, is that it?”
“Like I said, if I left the country, I’d be arrested when I returned. You’re the boss; you should deal directly with the PFF yourself.”
“Wait a second, why me? I may be the current head of this group, but this was your and Pete’s idea in the first place. Why can’t he go?” Eileen looked over at Peter, and realized that he could barely walk up stairs, much less tramp around a foreign countryside. “Okay, maybe not Peter, but shouldn’t we see if there are any volunteers?” She looked around the table and realized the idiocy of that statement.
George pointed at Eileen. “You are the leader of this merry gang, Eileen. You should go anyway. You’re certainly capable of doing the job. You even speak French. We’ll even send you first class, how’s that sound?” Voices of assent came from all sides of the table.
Eileen frowned but realized it was better to cooperate with the inevitable. “Okay, let’s do this.” She gave everyone a stern look. “We’d all better be 100% behind it, that’s all.”
George interjected, “I think Benjamin Franklin once said it best.” He stood up with his hand on his chest and intoned, “We must all hang together, or we will certainly all hang separately.” Everyone nodded and smiled nervously at one another.
Eileen took charge again. “All right, Sabina, you get us in touch with the PFF and open negotiations. George, you get me data on Gavrilovia, maps and travel plans. Ruth, get the funding arranged. Peter, you arrange for the freighter to ship the animals home. Jim, you acquire whatever hardware we need.” She sighed. “I’m going to get myself ready for the trip.”
Eileen stood up and leaned against the table on her hands, staring everyone down. “I want everything ready to go in less than 60 days. The longer BioMicronics operates that facility, the more atrocities are committed. I want everything in place before I get over there. That means that every moment is precious so don’t waste them.”
Eileen straightened up and surveyed the room. “Okay, any more business? I’ll keep in touch with you all individually as we move along with this. Let’s have a meeting in three weeks to put everything together and move to the next phase.”
The meeting broke up, and everyone busied themselves by putting their things together in preparation to leave. After the bulk of them had gone, Eileen stayed back a while and helped Ruth straighten up the room. As they worked, Eileen asked her friend, “What do you think about this? Are we really doing the right thing?”
Ruth thought a moment before answering. “I think this may not be the best thing to do, but it will definitely send our message in words even the fat cats can hear. By showing them that they can’t run away from the truth, we strike a blow for all oppressed groups.”
“You’re right, but I have a bad feeling about it. We may be biting off more than we can chew.” The two women finished cleaning up and left.
As they walked to the subway station together, Ruth sympathized. “I don’t envy you your trip to Gavrilovia, Eileen. I hear the place is a real shithole. You make sure and take some backup protection.”
“What do you mean? I’m not going to carry a gun in the attack.”
“I don’t mean that. You’re going to be a single woman by yourself in an uncertain place. What do you have to protect yourself from rape?”
“I’ve got this.” Eileen pulled out her key chain pepper spray. “This thing fires a cloud up to six feet long, and I know a few self-defense moves.”
Ruth shook her head and turned her nose up at Eileen’s defenses. “I’m talking about something like this.” She pulled a short, thin knife from somewhere under her coverall. She handed it to her friend. “Tuck this in the front of your panties, girlfriend. It’s called a nutcutter, and could save your life one day.”
Eileen examined the weapon. It was a translucent milky-colored sliver of what felt like very hard plastic or glass. As she examined it she realized it was a short blade with a thin gray coating of roughened plastic on one end to provide a grip. She touched the edge gingerly. It was razor sharp.
“Lovely. It looks like a slice of solidified smoke. What is it made of?”
Ruth answered, “It’s a ceramic knife. There’s no metal in it at all, so it won’t set off metal detectors. It takes a full strip-search to find. Its edge is sharp as hell, and the blade itself is harder than steel.” She pulled a thin sheath out from where she got the knife, and showed Eileen how to tuck the blade away and draw it. “Surprise is the most lethal of weapons, never forget that.” Ruth added, “Keep it, it’s yours now. Get used to going everywhere and doing everything with it tucked in your drawers. One day, you’ll thank me for it.”
Eileen tucked the blade away a final time. It was initially a cold shock against her lower belly, the unpleasantness slowly fading as the ceramic matched her body temperature. “Thanks. I don’t think I will need it, but I will take your advice and keep it with me. One never knows.”
The neighborhood
around the safe house was proudly middle-class suburban. Flags and banners hung
from windows and porches, children played in front of houses, and men polished
their cars in the driveway. The subway station entrance was on the main through
street for the area. A trail of urban influence, it cut through the community
where those who serviced
Eileen looked at a diner that stood on the corner they were approaching. It had the timeless look of the kind of place where you could get breakfast, lunch, or dinner at any time of the day. Clean white counters and busy waitresses with pots of coffee made a pleasant impression on her. Looking over at Ruth, she pointed to the eatery. “Are you hungry?”
Her friend smiled back. “Sure, I’d love a bowl of soup.” Ruth put her hand on her friend’s elbow, steering her into the entrance.
The place was large and clean, with about half of the tables occupied. The two women went to a booth by a window facing the street. As they made themselves comfortable, Eileen said “I could certainly use the vacation.”
“Excuse me?” Ruth shook her head as if to clear her ears. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying that
going to
“Are you nuts?” Ruth shook her finger at her friend. “Gavrilovia’s a dump. You’ll be lucky not to get sick while you’re there.”
“Well, I plan to
spend some time in
Ruth smiled. “That’s more like it, Eileen. I was starting to worry about you for a minute.”
Eileen took her friend’s hands in hers. “Don’t worry, I intend to take this mission seriously. Still, I can’t help but think that I can make this an interesting adventure.”
Ruth tapped her choices into the menu, and the delivery clock on top of the napkin dispenser began to count down. “The most adventurous thing I ever want to do is sleep with a guy the first time I meet him. I draw the line at getting shot at.”
Eileen entered her order and put the menu down. “I don’t plan on getting shot at, there is such a thing as a rear echelon.”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “Look who turned into Ms. Military all of a sudden.”
The women’s
orders arrived, and they dove into the meal with gusto. The discussion topic
changed to a case that Eileen was working on. It involved a building full of
squatters fighting eviction from an abandoned oil barge floating in the
As the cab pulled in front of Eileen’s building, Ruth put her hand on her friends arm. “I’ll get in touch with you about the “stuff” we all talked about next week.”
Eileen nodded. “We’ll talk.” As the cab pulled away, she entered the building while musing to herself. What have you gotten yourself into? Are you crazy, or what?
“Fritz, Lights.” (She loved Metropolis.) Locking the door of her apartment behind her, she made a beeline for the kitchen, where she made herself a drink. She dropped it off on the coffee table on her way into the bedroom, where she changed into a set of pink flannel pajamas and fluffy bear-claw slippers. After hanging up her street clothes she entered the living room and flopped down into her comfy chair while reaching for her drink.
“Fritz, Yahoo News, please.” The video screen on the wall changed from its art slideshow to the feed from the local station. Eileen always caught the evening news, even though most of it was pap. It was important to know how badly the people were being deceived. Eileen got much of what she considered “real” news through liberal and independent text-based news agencies, investigative reporting websites, and the few independent newsfeeds still in existence.
Looking at the
perky talking heads of the nightly news team, Eileen was always amazed at how
much goes on in the world with ramifications that directly affect the
The walls of the apartment were done in sepia tones; warm calming washes that helped Eileen forget the glaring, clashing contrasts of the world outside her windows. A few pieces of terra cotta, bowls and vases, decorated various strategic points in the room.
She sipped her drink while she thought about her upcoming journey. There was an element of adventure to it, traveling to exotic places to do things only people in spy novels did. Eileen pictured herself in her mind’s eye as a sexy, sultry agent in designer clothes to die for, playing roulette in a smoke-filled room paneled in exquisitely carved exotic woods, tall men in double-breasted suits vying for her attention. Sadly, the reality would likely be much grittier. She had an idea. “Fritz, change the Vid center feed to European Travel, Gavrilovia.” The central image in the wall-size screen changed to a red-and-white-striped background with flashing orange letters. UNITED STATES CITIZENS ARE DISCOURAGED FROM VISITING GAVRILOVIA. Shit. Not good.
It definitely
looked like khakis and jeans would dominate over silks and satins this trip.
She changed the feed to a travelogue on
When the short video was finished, Eileen went to get a snack to try and keep from thinking any more negative thoughts. This will certainly be an interesting adventure; the only question is how interesting will it get? She put a conical teakettle with a little plastic bird for a whistle on the stove and took care of the dishes that had accumulated in the sink. Eileen always rinsed her plates immediately, but waited for a load to build up before loading the dishwasher.
She puttered around the apartment while she waited for the water to boil. Some of her friends had flash heaters, but she liked the warm quaintness of the old-fashioned way. The apartment walls were covered in an array of art prints that she had found in her flea-market rummaging over the years.
Eileen came back into the kitchen/dining nook just in time to get some snacks together on a tray along with cup and teabag. She finished just as the whistle blew, then took her tray back to the comfy chair.
As she sat and sipped her tea, the unwelcome thoughts began to return. This could turn out to be a very dangerous trip. They won’t be playing with toy guns. Eileen wouldn’t be fighting with the PFF, but you can get just as dead from a stray bullet as an aimed one. If the attack went awry, they could all be killed or captured, and she had no delusions about what they’d do to a young American woman. She shivered despite the warm cup in her hands, feeling a little intimidated at the thought.
She remembered her old hacker friend Z-man. He was a friend of her father’s from his days in the military, when they both served in Army Intelligence during the First Bosnian War. He would be a good person to ask about the region, travel preparations and such. She decided to call him right away. “Fritz, call Z-man for me.”
After a moment or two, a computer-generated face took over the center window of the wall display. “If you are someone the person you are trying to reach would want to talk to, identify yourself. If you are trying to sell us stuff, proselytize, or waste our time in any other way, take a flying fandango at a rolling donut.”
“It’s Eileen; do you have a minute to talk?”
A moment later
the face of her friend appeared on the screen. The expression brightened when
his eyes spied her. “Eileen, I haven’t heard from you in weeks.” He had a hard
but kind face with the light-brown skin of the
Z-man leaned over and touched a control out of Eileen’s field of view. The image flickered a bit, and then steadied down, but it was not as sharp as it was before. “I’ve cut in a scrambler, so you can talk freely.” Z-man was a major privacy advocate, and would probably put additional encryption on his comms even if he weren’t involved in several shady activities. He also knew that Eileen wouldn’t talk about NLF business over an open line.
Eileen started
without preamble. “I have to go to
Z-man concealed
his surprise with a smile. “I love
“I’m going to Gavrilovia. It’s…”
Z-man cut her off with a wave of his hand, obviously upset with the answer. “I know where the hell it is.” He leaned into the monitor in an attempt to examine his friend’s face though the artificial interface. “Are you insane, young lady? Do you like visiting a country where the people’s national pastime is shooting at one another?”
Eileen walked over to stand in front of the screen, arms akimbo. “I have to go over there, Z. It’s important that I do this.” Her attitude showed the depth of her conviction. She was the type who, once committed, tossed away all doubt.
Z-man was incredulous. “Why are you going, can you at least tell me that?” He sputtered. “What the hell is so important that you have to go to a place that thinks electricity is for torturing, and flush toilets are a novel application for water?”
Eileen wrung her hands. “There’s a BioMicronics facility over there performing animal research, Z, and I have to go there to coordinate the protest effort.”
“How many of the others are going?”
“I’m going by myself.”
Z-man exploded. “Are you insane?” He slapped his forehead. “If it’s a protest effort, why aren’t the others going?” Z-man touched a control and sat down, and the view on Eileen’s monitor zoomed out and including more of his room in the background. All visible space was crowded with computer gear, some of it in various stages of repair. Z-man was wearing a faded pair of jeans and a vintage dot-com T-shirt. “Why are you the only one going?”
Eileen’s eyes darted about the room as she searched for the right words. “The protest action is a bit unorthodox. I’m going to ensure that it works smoothly.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Z-man leaned closer to the screen. “Everything you tree-huggers do is unorthodox.” He grinned. He always ribbed her about the movement.
Eileen was more comfortable, ironically, sparring with Z on more familiar ground. “You are an odd bird to call another’s methods unorthodox.” She grinned and made quotes in the air with her fingers. “How goes the “medical consulting” business?” Z-man, among his other ventures, gimmicked people’s medical implants to skew their reporting results to qualify his customers for specific treatments. “Or should I refer to other “consulting” work that you do?”
“Okay, you’ve
made your point.” Z-man shrugged. “So you’re going to visit
“I’d like to talk to you in person about that,” said Eileen quickly, not liking the distance the Vid brought between them, and wanting to pursue her agenda. “Let’s meet for dinner.”
He nodded. “Okay,
I know a bar on the
Eileen let out a big sigh, and looked at her reflection in the now-inactive screen, which became a mirror when not in use. “You are going to take a nice hot bath, and then we’ll see about the rest of the evening.” She went into the bathroom and started the water, throwing in some bath salts.
Eileen loved her
bathtub. It was a claw-footed enameled antique, her one true luxury. Most
apartments that human beings could afford in
Bathed, refreshed, and relaxed, she left the apartment. On her way to the rendezvous, Eileen looked at the people and vehicles jamming the sidewalk. I hate to admit it, but I do love this city so. She stopped for a second and looked up where the sky could be seen past the crowns of the skyscrapers around her.
The only stars discernable were Orion’s belt and shoulders, and the Big Dipper. Thank God for small favors. I’m surprised to see this much. As Eileen arrived at the address Z-man gave her, she saw that it was a friendly-looking pseudo-European restaurant, with an open front that exposed both the bar and the dining area to the street. Eileen saw Z-man standing at the corner of the bar by the bartender’s station. He had his back to the sidewalk and a drink in his hand, watching the people across from him as they chatted and flirted.
Eileen came up behind him, and just as she was going to try to surprise him, he said, “About time you showed up, they were about to give our table away.” Addressing her unasked question, he added, “I saw you in the reflection in the tap, there.” Eileen followed Z-man’s finger and sure enough, the brass tap handle was highly polished, its round shape providing a distorted yet surprisingly wide panoramic view of what was behind them.
Z-man smiled archly. “Anything can be used as a tool.” He took his friend’s arm and walked her over to the tuxedo-clad Maitre ‘D, who escorted them deeper into the establishment.
While the pair was being escorted to their table, a smiling Eileen hugged her old friend to her, almost causing them to walk into a dining couple. “I haven’t seen you in ages, Z! How are you doing?”
“Fine, business is good.” Z-man was a freelance computer consultant, and he did just enough work to pay for his gadget-filled lifestyle. The rest of the time he traveled and pursued his many hobbies.
After their host
had seated them, they busied themselves getting comfortable and sorting out
their cutlery and napkins. Their waitress was a typical
Z-man gestured after the girl. “Doesn’t she look like that chick from one of those old horror movies?”
Eileen, who was a major movie buff, smiled. “I’m pleased that you recognized that much, Z. She looks Like Morticia Addams, from the Addams family. They had a TV show and a string of movies in the days of flat video.”
Z-man continued to admire the view provided as “Morticia” walked away, and his eyes met Eileen’s as they swung back. “What? I was just enjoying the scenery!” He held up his hands, grinning. “I know, I know. I’m just a weak male pig.” He leaned towards Eileen. “I just like to look at a nice ass once in a while, that’s all.” Z-man sometimes tried to shock Eileen with blunt language out of the blue, just to catch her off guard.
Z-man picked up his menu and scrolled through the offers. He peered over the top of it at Eileen. “Speaking of men, how’s your love life?”
Eileen blushed slightly. She cleared her throat and was about to reply when she was rescued by their waitress with the drinks. Eileen picked up hers, a White Russian, and took a sip. Z-man held up his Sam Adams in a toast to his late friend’s daughter, and took a drink himself.
Glad for the opportunity to compose herself, Eileen answered the question that still hovered in the air between them. “I just haven’t found the right guy, that’s all.” She shrugged. “I’m too busy to maintain a relationship now anyway.”
Z-man smirked. “You don’t have to maintain a relationship to have a love life.”
Eileen’s blush returned. “That’s none of your business.” She fussed with her silverware to avoid looking into his eyes.
The waitress saved Eileen again by showing up to take their order. She pulled a DataPad from a holster on her well-shaped hip, and looked over at Z-man in a way that made him feel as if she had heard what he said earlier. “What would you like to eat, handsome?”
He looked into her eyes and his smile widened. “I’ll have a medium-well steak, please. Potatoes on the side.”
“Au Gratin, boiled, fried, or baked?”
“Fries, please.”
“Thick, thin, or waffle cut?”
“Waffle cut, please.”
Eileen could barely manage to keep from laughing. As it was, she let out a small chuckle while placing her order. “I’ll have the large salad, no meat or dairy, with vinaigrette dressing, please.”
The waitress winked at Eileen and hit Z-man in the shoulder lightly with her hip as she turned before gliding away. Eileen laughed lightly at her friend’s discomfort. “It serves you right, you old dog.”
“As long as this old dog has life in him, he’s going to enjoy it.” He cocked his head and winked at Eileen. He placed his hand on his chest. “Who knows, she may want some of this. I’m not old, I’m experienced.”
Their meal came, and he pointed at her plate. “I’d kill myself if I had to live on your diet.” Z-man smiled to show Eileen he was just kidding her. “Don’t you get tired of grazing through every meal?”
This was an old battle topic, and Eileen and Z-man went through the motions almost every time they ate together. Eileen poked in the direction of the piece of meat Z-man was eating. “You know that steak is not only bad for you, but the cow that provided that steak was killed, gutted, hacked into pieces, and brought here to be served to you. How can you do that to your body, much less the planet?” Eileen hated meat-eaters in principle, but Z-man was an old friend of her father, and he had other redeeming values. Besides, she loved him dearly, warts and all. She just wished he would stop eating meat.
“If God had meant for man not to eat animals, he wouldn’t have made them out of meat.” Z-man joked. “We came up the evolutionary ladder as omnivores, Eileen. Meat-eating is part of our heritage.” He cut a chunk of steak, ate it, chewing with a look of exaggerated ecstasy on his face.
“So is swinging from trees.” Eileen riposted, “but there comes a time to abandon the barbarisms of the past. The world cannot sustain a population this large as it is, and here we sit and consume and waste far more than our share of the world’s resources. That beef was raised on grain that could have fed more people as bread than as cattle feed.”
Z-man cleared his palate with a swig of beer, holding the bottle up solemnly in a mock toast. “I say, fuck ‘em if they don’t like it.” He cut another piece of steak, and then paused before placing it in his mouth. He admired it while saying, “I enjoy being at the top of the food chain, and I’m going to take advantage of the situation as long as possible. This piece of steak is mine. I don’t give you a hard time about your waste of water.”
At his mention of the bathtub, Eileen blushed. “I’ll have you know I take sponge baths in between to make up for the water I use in the tub.” She held her napkin up to just below her chin. What I do in my bathroom is my business.”
“And what I do in a restaurant is mine.” Z-man stuck the tip of his knife into the remaining steak. “At least your people were successful in regulating factory farms to use free-range animals and humane-kill methods.” He cut a chunk of meat and brandished it in the air on the tip of his fork. “Do you know how much this shit costs now? I earned every bite.” He punctuated the statement by plopping the morsel into his smirking mouth.
Eileen realized for the millionth time that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with Z-man and dropped the subject. They chatted about the weather and whether “Morticia” was sleeping with the owner as she wasn’t a very good waitress.
After the dishes were cleared, the dessert tray arrived with a selection of sinful delectables. Eileen chose a tiramisu and Z-man waved the tray away. As the girl pushing the cart turned to go, Z-man touched her elbow. “Can you ask our waitress to bring us a couple of Irish coffees?” As Z-man placed the order, Eileen looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.
“I just felt like one, and I thought you’d appreciate one too. They’re very relaxing.” He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “Besides, I felt like a smoke and wanted something nice to go with it.”
Their waitress arrived with the two drinks, and the two friends toasted one another. While Eileen tore into her tiramisu, Z-man pulled out a pack of 420’s and lit one.
Smoking in the
Z-man took a drag from the slim paper cylinder, and blew a stream of smoke upward at the air sterilizer. “Do you think that this is going to be some kind of glamorous mission, hmm? Have you totally taken leave of your senses? What you’re doing could get you seriously hurt.” He took another drag, shaking his head as he looked his friend in the eyes. “What is so important over there that you have to risk your life to deal with it?”
Eileen wagged her finger at her friend. “It has to be done, and I’m the one who’s been tasked to do it.”
Z-man nodded sarcastically. “Only you, eh? What happened to the other animal lovers?”
Eileen straightened up in her seat and stared him down. “I’m in charge of the group, you know, and as leader, I need to go.” She then appealed to his sensibilities. “We have to stop BioMicronics from torturing those animals to death!” She passed Z-man a DataPlate from her purse with the photographs from the lab in Gavrilovia stored on it. “Just look at what they’re doing over there!”
Z-man took a sip of his coffee while he scrolled through the images. His expression changed to one of disgust as he went through the shots of the dead and mutilated apes. When he finished going through them all, he leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed. “This shit has ramifications way beyond some poor dead monkeys, you know.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” Eileen grimaced. “We let some of our libertarian friends know about it, and they’re making inquiries. However, our group’s mandate is the safety of those animals.”
Z-man’s gaze softened as he realized that he wasn’t going to keep his late best friend’s daughter from going. “So, I know I can’t stop you. What are you supposed to be going there to supervise?”
Eileen leaned in closer and whispered the main points of their plan. Z-man’s eyes bugged as she spoke, and he coughed before responding. “That’s a pretty ballsy plan for a bunch of pacifists.”
“We are anti-war, but are not above using violence for a good cause. Besides, we will only destroy the facility, we’re not going to kill anybody if we can help it.”
“You’re going to hire some terrorists to destroy a lab in a country where everyone is shooting at one another, and you think you’ll be able to control the level of violence? You are probably going to kill a bunch of those researchers, people who have done nothing to you.” He leaned back and shook his head. “Violence isn’t the answer.”
“What is, Z?” Eileen shot back. “Words aren’t enough, and the big corporations own the local government, so trying to use the law is an exercise in futility. Radical action is the only language they understand.” Her eyes blazed as she spoke.
Z-man rubbed his forehead as if he was trying to suppress an oncoming headache. “Okay, I’ll buy that, but you can’t be serious if you think you can just waltz in there and have this thing up and running without a hitch. You need help.” Z-man paused, and then continued with an expression that made him look as if he ate something bad. “I guess I’ll have to go with you and keep you safe.”
Eileen started to protest, but Z-man held up his hand. “I know you asked to meet me here to maneuver me into offering, anyway. Don’t play coy.”
Eileen’s look went from protest to embarrassment. “I figured you’d guess that.” She added earnestly, “I could really use your help over there.”
Z-man snorted.
“Damn right you can. I can’t even think what would happen to you if you went
over there alone.” He touched her hand and smiled. “Besides, I promised your
Daddy that I’d keep an eye on you. Anyway, you’re going to have to travel
through
Eileen’s relief was palpable. “Thanks, Z, I’m so glad you’re going to come with me.”
Z-man walked Eileen to the curb, and insisted on calling her a cab instead of letting her take the subway, paying the driver himself before she left. As she got into the cab, he leaned against the door, speaking through the open window. “Don’t worry, Eileen. With me along, you’ll not only get your task done, you may even have a little fun along the way.” He slapped the top of the vehicle with the flat of his hand to let the driver know he could go, and then waved at his friend as she sped off into the night. Your Daddy would be proud of you girl, although he may not agree with your politics. He laughed to himself, and headed home.
In the cab, Eileen went over all of the details that needed addressing. The group may have the resources to pull this off, but it would still take a lot of hard work and thorough preparation to make sure the whole thing came off the way they planned.
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