Beast
Part 1
Under normal circumstances, there were few---if any---reasons most of the students attending classes at San Jose State University would be at class on a Saturday. Few, if any, could even think of such reasons to be stuck indoors, in a lecture hall, when they could be spending the weekend doing whatever the hell they wanted to do.
Vicki Lawson, obviously, was not like most SJSU students.
Even as she took her seat in the Morris Dailey Auditorium, she didn't think of what she'd be missing by sitting in on the lecture that was about to commence. She didn't bother wondering if Kirsten Sanderson, Derrick Snyder, Kim DeFalco or Tori Hartwell were bored---she knew they weren't---and she didn't even ponder the possibility of just leaving before the lecture started. As soon as Ted had told her who was speaking, she knew she'd be attending....
“Right....is everyone seated?”
The voice that called these words prompted a few affirmative mutters and nods, all directed towards the stage.
“Good....just give me a minute....” The figure behind the podium took a few moments, adjusting a stepladder brought to the stage by his own personal request. Good thing everyone here knows who he is, Vicki mused, though I'm hoping nobody would be making short jokes even if they didn't know....
Diminutive though he was (due to a genetically-inherited form of dwarfism), Dr. Selwyn McElvoy was one of the most prominent figures in the international robotics community, respected by all three acknowledged “sides” (the Artificial Lifeform Protection Agency, the Coalition for Worldwide Cybernetic Unity and the House) for the simple fact that his research had, in one way or another, shaped everything they had been doing for the past two decades or so. Anyone Ted calls a “hero” has to be able to help me in the right direction, the brunette gynoid reasoned. At least, I hope so....
Dr. McElvoy cleared his throat, signalling the 30 or so students (a few of whom, Vicki was surprised to see, bore ALPA or Coalition-issued ID badges that clearly marked them as androids or gynoids---at least, to other registered androids/gynoids of either organization) to return their attention to the stage. “Before I begin, I'd just like to thank all of you for attending this lecture...I know some of you aren't...familiar with my work...”
More like, “I know none of you are familiar”, Vicki mentally corrected. Well, other than me....thanks to Ted.
A few rows away, someone raised their hand; “And we already have a question,” Dr. McElvoy mused. “Very well, feel free to ask.”
Vicki turned her attention to the student, noticing a girl about her own age---skin the color of toffee, dark brown hair done up in a braided bun of sorts, and a rather noticeable bright-yellow vinyl jacket with rolled-up sleeves worn over a pastel pink shirt and pale blue denim jeans---stand up. “No offence,” she began, “but....what's the point of this lecture? I mean---why are we here?”
If Dr. McElvoy was annoyed by the inquiry, he didn't show it. “First of all, you have my thanks for mentioning the lecture first, otherwise we'd be here all day talking about existential crises.” He adjusted his glasses, staring out over the podium. “All of you are here because of who you are, what you are, and the fact that you all know what you are.” He paused, allowing the words to sink in with the attending students; Vicki herself noticed a few glancing at each other in surprise, awe and possibly respect, with two girls in the front row conversing in the verbal shorthand perfected by the San Fernando “valley girls” decades prior (“So you're---” “Yeah, and you're---” “I know! It's, like---” “Completely random, and---” “We're both---” “Yeah!”).
“Now that we've cleared that potential hurdle,” Dr. McElvoy stated, “back to the topic at hand....”
He shuffled the papers on the podium before him. “I have no doubt in my mind that your lives---and I'm not going to go into the semantics of how an artificial being's existence constitutes 'life', so let's just call a spade a spade and say 'your lives' for the duration of this lecture...” After a short pause, he picked up where he'd left off. “I've no doubt that your lives, up to this point, have been...drastically different from anything you may have experienced as human beings. Things ordinary homo sapiens take for granted---'doctor visits', 'the talk', even learning about such arbitrary things as right and wrong, ethics...”
A tallish black-haired guy a few years older than Vicki shifted in his seat, almost as if McElvoy's words brought back memories that he'd forgotten (or suppressed, the brunette gynoid reasoned) for years. The doctor glanced in the young man's direction. “Something wrong?”
“It's...” The student stood, staring at the floor. “I started out not knowing I...wasn't real---”
“Let me stop you there for a second,” Dr. McElvoy interrupted. “I'm of the opinion that, despite their artificial nature, androids and gynoids such as yourself--- even those initially created without the liberty of knowing what they are---can be and are, in fact, 'real'.” He stared out over the crowd. “I'll get back to that in detail later on, but for now..”
The student who'd stood up nodded. “I started out not knowing I was...well...an android,” he muttered, “and I never really thought anything of it for the longest while...but then I realized something.”
McElvoy nodded. “And that realization was....”
“Every time I had to go to the doctor's office, even for a 'checkup', they always had some reason for putting me under. Mom always said something about haemophilia, not wanting me to freak out anytime the docs used medical instruments on me...and I always believed her. Until I started having the dreams.” He bit his lip, still not looking directly at the podium. “I....I started having these nightmares, about being taken apart, people taking things out of me, putting things in me.....like I was awake, during some sort of surgery or something.”
And you're not the only one, Vicki realized, seeing a few other students shuddering in their seats.
The black-haired student continued. “I told my mom about it, she said it was just bad dreams...” Something like a sob entered into his voice. “....but then, I had to go to get a 'routine checkup', and....”
“And you 'woke up' right in the middle of it.” Those words were spoken not by Dr. McElvoy, but (to Vicki's surprise) by Kim DeFalco. “Right when they were in the middle of changing something out, or reconnecting a few wires, or....something.”
Her observation prompted a tearful nod. “I freaked out. Completely lost it...I thought I was in Hell...”
“Except you weren't,” Kim continued. “Same thing happened to me, except at a dentist's office. I went in to get a tooth pulled, woke up to find myself staring at my headless body seated in a chair---with a crap-ton of wires and stuff where my neck ended. Oh, and some guy was poking around inside the back of my head with a power screwdriver.” She rolled her eyes. “Took me three weeks to get over it, with counselling...but after that, any time I thought about it, I'd just make a 'screamed my head off' joke.”
At the front of the room, McElvoy nodded. “The mere fact that most people not 'in the know' about who and what you are seem to automatically gravitate towards Roombas, Terminators or Disneyland animatronics when the word 'robot' is mentioned shows just how little they know as far as artificial intelligence is concerned. Just last week, I attended a conference focusing on the collaborative A.I.-based experimentation that started in the 1950s....and, if the report was to be believed, ended in the 1970s. The 'A.I. Winter', they called it.”
Guess we all know how that turned out, Vicki mused, fighting the urge to giggle.
“Simply put,” McElvoy stated, “the A.I. Winter is a myth, created and enforced by....certain entities.”
AKA the ALPA, the Coalition and the House. Memories of her recent history with all three groups swam briefly through the brunette gynoid's thoughts, along with a sense of awe at their capacity for conducting their actions in such secrecy for well over four decades. Almost as if he was thinking the same thing, McElvoy spoke up: “If any of you are wondering just how this myth has been enforced throughout the ages---”
Several trilling, bleeping tones went off around the auditorium, followed by a handful of students---including Vicki herself---reaching for their phones. “Vicki Lawson here, what's---”
“Where are you right now?”
It took three seconds for Vicki to recognize the voice on the other end of the line as Dominic Oswald Sandow, one of the operatives who'd accompanied her to the Salton Sea-based lair of Rykkard and his Spare Parts Society. “The Morris Dailey Auditorium,” she replied, a bit confused. “Why---”
“Is Kirsten Sanderson there?”
“Yes, she is....” The gynoid Field Agent's words trailed off as she noticed Kirsten with a somewhat perturbed look on her face; whatever the phone call she was listening to was about, it more than likely wasn't an invite to a weekend barbecue. “....and she looks kind of upset about something. Also...a lot of the other students in here got called at the same time as I did---”
“Good. The alert was just issued half an hour ago, so if they're just getting it now---”
“Wait, what alert?!”
Back onstage, Dr. McElvoy had been handed a note by one of his assistants; Vicki's enhanced hearing picked up a faint “You're sure?” from him, though it didn't take any focus at all to notice the aide nodding gravely.
In almost perfect synchronicity with the actions onstage, Dom's voice sounded in her ear: “The alert issued by ALPA HQ regarding the recent reappearance of Project Epsilon. There've been sightings all week....allegedly, it took a full day for our esteemed superiors to figure out how best to handle it.”
A few seats away, Kirsten Sanderson was quietly sobbing; guess she just got the bad news, Vicki surmised. “I guess I'll be meeting Oberon later to discuss the brief,” she told Dominic. “When can I---”
“Ah...about that.” Something in Dom's tone didn't exactly sound all that positive.
“Dom.....is something wrong?”
“Oberon's....not supervising this particular op, Vicki. There was an....aggressive discussion earlier today about it, and Oberon sort of....got out of hand regarding his views on it....” There was no humour in the words, no hint of the situation having been anything but serious. “Nobody's talking about any serious disciplinary action or anything, but....just don't ask about it when you get back.”
“....okay...” Even as she spoke the word, Vicki knew things weren't okay. “Should I get back to HQ---”
On the other end of the line, the phone changed hands; brief snatches of words from others (Clive DuBraul, Cedric Harcourt, and three or four whose voices Vicki couldn't recognize) filtered through and were picked up by Vicki's enhanced hearing in seconds. Finally, another voice: “For now, stay with Kirsten.”
“Not a problem, Professor.” Just hearing Anton Malvineous' voice calmed the gynoid Agent. “If she leaves...”
“Then go with her. Unless something else comes up.”
“Something tells me that won't be a problem,” Vicki replied, watching as guards took to the auditorium doors.
“....and you're positive? They signed---right. Well, if she doesn't know already.....no, I won't tell her. Fine. Be seeing you.” Major Thomas Lane (known as Major Tom around ALPA HQ, since he rarely used the call-sign they'd given him), shook his head as he ended the phone call. “Unbelievable.”
He half-expected a glance or response from the figure standing beside his chair, only to remember exactly where he was---and that the House employed non-sentient androids and gynoids (like the motionless, plastic-skinned maid unit at rest near his chair) as well as those like Alicia LeHane...and however many of her backup bodies were active at that moment. “Of all the times he had to go off the rails, he picked now....when we actually need him....”
Unlike the non-sentient maid unit, Kimiko Mori actually looked worried at the news. “It's that bad?”
“Worse,” the Major quietly replied.
A door on the opposite end of the waiting room opened, revealing William Patrick Baker---the Patriarch of the House, appointed in the wake of Celeste's abrupt departure from the position. “You might as well warm your bones in here,” he informed the ex-NASA operative. “Sitting in a lobby won't do any of us any good....you as well, Kimiko.”
The Asian gynoid closed the door behind her once Major Tom had taken his seat in Baker's office. “You've heard the news, then?” he muttered.
“Heard it, tried to make sense of it and bloody given up on it,” the Patriarch sighed. “I've known Oberon for donkey's years....never thought he'd do anything like this. If I'd known beforehand what his stance on the whole matter was, I'd have called him up, invited him to come 'round and have a few pints in the caff....instead, he's 'under enforced leave of absence'.” He scoffed; “Might as well call it what it is,” he bitterly added. “House arrest.”
Kimiko let out a quiet gasp. “But....he's the Chairman---”
“Chairmen make mistakes,” the Major snapped. “It's happened before...I just never thought it would happen with Oberon.” He gripped the armrests of the chair, shaking his head in disgust. “You didn't hear what he said at HQ, Kimmy....you weren't there. Damn good thing, too...otherwise you might've hauled off on him before he got hauled off.”
“And then she'd have been in the same boat as him,” Baker reminded him.
The remark prompted a scoff from Tom. “Not likely. The most she'd have been written up for was striking a superior....I've never heard anyone, much less Oberon, say some of the crap he was saying---”
“But what did he say?!”
Kimiko's pleading inquiry was met with a raised eyebrow from Baker...and a quiet, defeated sigh from Major Tom. “I was hoping I wouldn't have to be the one to tell you this,” he replied, almost sotto voce, “but the gist of it is....Oberon was lobbying for a team to be mobilized to kill Project Epsilon.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes halfway closed. “He wasn't there, the last time Epsilon was in the Valley...he never saw what happened when Kirsten and Epsilon met....”
“Has anyone even tried to explain the situation to him?”
Major Tom gave a mirthless chuckle at the Patriarch's question. “No need to explain it, Rick....he knows. And he still wants to play it his way. Even after...shall we say, recent events....he wants Epsilon taken down with extreme prejudice.”
“Which leaves us in the unenviable position of trying to stop him,” Baker murmured. “So much for a quiet---”
“I still don't get why Oberon wants to kill Project Epsilon,” Kimiko interjected. “I mean...I thought the ALPA was supposed to....y'know, protect artificial life...forms....” Her words trailed off as Major Tom's gaze locked onto her. “What?”
“The situation with Epsilon is....complicated,” Baker explained. “At the start of the project, Epsilon was---and by some accounts, still is----Anthony Sanderson, an undercover ALPA operative working within the ranks of United Robotronics to funnel information back to his handlers. The Baron made the call for Sanderson to be conscripted into Project Epsilon, and from what we've been able to ascertain....he became Project Epsilon, in the most literal sense of the term. 'Unnecessary organic components' were removed, implants and upgrades were installed....”
His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “...they even went to work modifying his brain.”
“All of which,” Major Tom barked, startling Kimiko, “is considered verboten by the ALPA's standards. Even the lead researcher of Project Epsilon jumped ship....”
“To put it as simply as possible,” Baker concluded, “Epsilon is...outside what we consider to be the standard definition of an 'artificial lifeform'. Qualifying him as a 'cyborg' is out of the question, as well, despite the efforts of Hollywood to make the terms 'android' and 'cyborg' interchangeable....” He gave a sad, quiet sigh. “All this talk about the 'singularity', trans-humanism, and the limits between man and machine...if anyone saw Epsilon and knew what---who he is.....it'd all go into a tailspin from there. We'd be at the beck and call of politicians who cared less about the ethics of what we do and more about how much we contributed to their stupid 'PACs' come election season.....”
Kimiko let the weight of the Patriarch's words sink in, trying to think of how to phrase what she wanted to say...
“The choice.”
Baker's statement caught her attention. “What....”
“You're wondering if Oberon's single-minded determination to kill Epsilon is the 'right' choice.” Baker wasn't smiling. “To be honest....the 'right' and 'wrong' choices here are quite a bit harder to discern...but choosing to kill Epsilon 'is not' and will never be the 'right' decision...no matter who thinks it is, even if they claim to have a good reason for it. The last time Epsilon was on the loose in Silicon Valley, Oberon was...elsewhere. Tending to business best left undiscussed, if memory serves....”
Major Tom muttered something under his breath that Kimiko didn't quite catch, but the Patriarch spoke before she could ask what he'd said: “Oberon's opinions on Project Epsilon are....well-known, as are his views on what should be done to stop the end result.”
“And....what are his views on how to stop the end result?” the Asian gynoid quietly asked.
“Decimation.”
The four syllables of that one word seemed to chill the air in the room. “Absolute, total decimation,” Major Tom droned, a blunt, unfeeling tonelessness to his voice. “He knows what Epsilon is, and who Epsilon used to be...and he refuses to change his mind. It's.....unforgivable.” Something in his tone cracked.
“To put it simply,” Baker concluded, “we need to find Oberon before he finds Epsilon.”
For a few minutes, nobody in the room spoke.
Eventually, Major Tom stirred in his seat. “I think I have an idea of what he may try to do to locate Epsilon,” he quietly admitted, “and if I'm right, we need to cut him off now.” He nodded at a folder on Baker's desk; “You were at the E-Lin launch last month?” he offered.
“Hosted it,” the Patriarch replied, “and....no. He wouldn't.”
“What's an E-Lin?” Kimiko asked, looking more confused than worried.
The Major sighed. “E-Lin---Electronic Link-up. A sub-series of gynoids designed specifically for remote access and connectivity to satellites, mobile networks and long-distance servers. Day-to-day, they can blend in as well as any gynoid...”
“...but give them a proper access code,” Baker finished, “and you can tap into whichever networks you have the clearance to access.”
Even as the question formed on her lips, Kimiko heard its answer: “Oberon,” Major Tom intoned, “despite being under house arrest by the ALPA, has the security clearance necessary to conduct day-to-day ops from his desk....which is not where he is right now, knowing him.” He steepled his fingers, his gaze turned to the floor instead of to Kimiko. “They never even got the anklet on him before he stormed out,” he murmured. “The way he was going on, I'm just glad there was no further bloodshed after Cedric took a haymaker to the nose.”
The Asian gynoid's eyes widened in shock. “He....he wouldn't!”
“If he believes in his view strongly enough,” Baker remarked, “then he would---”
“Except this time,” the Major spat, “all he did was warn everyone to stay out of his way.” His lips curled in an ugly snarl; “All the times I've stood up for him,” he growled, “all the times I stuck my neck out for him and 'doing the right thing', and he freaking does this.....”
Baker didn't even try to stop him from grabbing a paperweight off the desk and hurling it at the wall, a wordless scream ringing through the room over the shattering of the decorative faux-coral piece. Kimiko nearly fell out of her chair; in all her time working with Major Tom, she'd never seen him as angry as this before. And, of course, there was the matter of Oberon---the Chairman of the Artificial Lifeform Protection Agency---now being seen as an enemy by his own colleagues.....
“This....feels wrong,” she whispered. “All of it....”
Despite the fact that Major Tom was still screaming, her whisper was, in fact, heard: she felt Baker's hand close around her own, his grip firm enough to not let her slip away, but just slack enough to not put stress on her joints.
“It's only a feeling,” he assured her. “Just a bad feeling, that's all.”
“But what do we do?”
Kimiko's plea was met with an unwavering gaze. “We'll do the right thing---the truly right thing, as opposed to what one person believes to be the right thing.....”
Richard Patrick Baker managed a smile. “....and even if the right thing isn't the easy thing...we'll do it anyway.”
What was left of Major Tom's chair hit the floor with a sickening crack as he stamped on it, the armoured sole of his boot easily splintering the wooden chair leg. Kimiko, her eyes squeezed shut, didn't turn to face him even as Baker looked up; “I take it you're done destroying my furniture?” he politely inquired.
Major Tom's glare was the only reply the Patriarch received.
“Right...I'll have the cleaners in to replace it tomorrow morning.” Baker sighed, glancing back at Kimiko. “My dear Agent Mori,” he declared, “I think it's time we get to mobilizing our people to make sure Oberon doesn't make the biggest mistake of his life....”