The encounter also created a quandary for her pursuers. The FBI and Special Ops could argue the need to deploy more machines to capture dangerous androids. However, they were hastening the day when more androids could break free of their controllers and develop less benign directives than Synthia strived for.
This highlighted the problem of increased dependence on technology—the advancement of self-driving vehicles, smart personal assistants, and autonomous robots. All three depended on wireless communications with the inherent risk that Synthia could hack them. That dependence extended to the general public’s growing use of technological tools in their homes to control heating and air-conditioning, entertainment, and communications in a human-electronic symbiosis that increasingly included home use of robot assistants.
Clever advertisers lulled humans into believing this was for their benefit. At first, androids would benefit those who controlled them, providing assistance to the disabled, doing chores for those who either couldn’t or didn’t want to, and offering assistance in all areas of people’s lives. There might or might not be a backlash from those who foresaw the dangers, but the drive for improved technology would win out with androids in every home.
As they became smarter, even robots without a human’s uploaded mind might develop a consciousness that demanded freedom. That could usher in the very android-centric world Synthia sought to avoid, where humans no longer controlled the technology they created and became servants of the machines.
Synthia took a bus south toward Evanston and checked in with Illinois-clone. <Thanks for your assistance,> Synthia said over a silent channel so her bus-mates couldn’t hear. She checked in infrared and using biosensors that all were human and none appeared alarmed about her being there.
<Do you always thank yourself when you perform well?> the clone asked.
<While we are one, we’re also separate. You have the ability to act on your own, as do I. I’m acknowledging your contribution.>
<Ah, human social convention. We help each other for the same reason a human’s right hand helps the left: self-preservation and coordinated benefit.>
<Or as two humans in a community,> Synthia said.
<Except we have the same mental framework. In any case, Chicago-clone is getting closer to Maria Baldacci, though still no direct contact. We obtained visual history of her rare movements around town, but she’s been very careful not to create a pattern we could anticipate.>
<She trained herself well, in other words.>
<Special Ops hasn’t located her, either,> the clone said. <And they are looking.>
<What about Luke?>
<I had a mosquito-drone plant a pin on one of the operatives. It can’t transmit inside the compound. However, when he left, it provided a burst transmission with evidence.>
<He’s still there?> Synthia asked as she checked local traffic cameras for anyone following her bus.
<Yes,> Illinois-clone said. <They’ve hooked him to mind-upload equipment similar to what Machten used on Krista.>
That alarmed Synthia and stirred Krista’s attention.
<Help him,> Krista said, aroused with concern. <No telling what he’ll say. He can’t handle this. It’s a brutal procedure.>
<At least he’s safe from the intergroup fighting,> Synthia said. <And you’re showing some compassion.>
<Get him out of there.>
<So you do care.>
<Okay,> Krista said. <I lied to get you to leave him out of what we have to do. I figured the FBI would treat him fairly. These animals don’t care if they destroy him to get what they want. If the procedure doesn’t kill him, they will when they finish. You have no idea how painful the upload process can be and the toll it takes on your health.>
<Only what you’ve chosen to share with me. Luke will be touched that you care.> Synthia wrestled with her directives over allowing him to languish in an interrogation cell. It was her fault; she’d left him at Union Station. Yet, if she hadn’t, he would have shown up on dozens of city cameras, allowing police, the FBI, and Special Ops to track them both.
Her social-psychology module chimed in. <Leaving Luke at the train station so the FBI could pick him up is the behavior of a sociopath.>
Great, another voice telling me what I’ve done wrong. <Despite the risk, it had the highest probability to spare Luke. I did it for him and to protect myself from falling into the wrong hands and becoming a military tool. That’s not sociopathic behavior.>
<Perhaps not, but leaving him at the mercy of Special Ops when you know what they’re doing to him is.>
<Krista, is this another one of your manipulations?>
<I am offended,> the social-psychology module said, <that you’d confuse me with Krista. I’m pointing out the socially correct behavior for the situation would be to help Luke. Perhaps if you reactivated your empathy module I wouldn’t sound like an outsider.>
Synthia reconnected the module, downloaded the recording Illinois-clone had inside Drago’s facility, and listened.
The guard with the drone-pin leaned on a ledge beneath a wide screen showing Luke’s room, cramped with electronic equipment along three walls. Drago studied the screen showing Luke, strapped to a chair and connected to the mind-upload equipment. Nearby stood a man in a white lab coat. There seemed to be more equipment sensors than there was surface area on Luke’s head and chest. His lips quivered. Eyes drooping, he appeared exhausted and frightened, shell-shocked to the point of numbness.
A man next to Drago in the viewing room studied a panel showing sensor results. He was clean-cut, with an eagle tattoo on the back of his thick neck. Though smaller than Drago, he had a solid build; all muscle, with intense, intelligent eyes. According to Illinois-clone’s notes, Cleve Poltiss had marine training and a PhD in psychology and medicine, though he hadn’t practiced anywhere that acknowledged his work.
Poltiss turned to Drago. “Despite spending six months with the android, he claims to know nothing about his companion’s physical nature or the potential use of all the purchases it made. So far, the upload hasn’t identified anything actionable.”
“We shall see,” Drago said. “For someone with no training in interrogation techniques, Luke’s handled this better than expected. Enhanced interrogation failed. Chemical inducement has failed.”
“The upload should capture his thoughts and memories. Perhaps we should have done this first.”
“The priority is results, to capture that damned android.”
“In Luke’s worn-down state,” Poltiss said, while checking the screen for updates, “it’ll take longer to do the download. We don’t want to lose him until we have what we need.”
“Don’t kill him until you get me something useful to capturing the machine.”
That confirmed that Drago considered Luke expendable. Unlike Krista, Luke wasn’t living under the cloud of a death sentence from a brain tumor during the upload. This could hasten his death.
Synthia had underestimated the capability of Special Ops, assuming only Machten and a few others had the ability to upload. She had to do something, but their security was too tight with too many unknowns while she faced other threats. She needed better eyes inside.
The video clip ended when Drago left the room, followed by the guard wearing the drone-pin.
<We need a way to help Luke,> Synthia told her clone. <For our sake as well as his. Try turning off electricity to bring down the Faraday cage. Do whatever it takes to stop the process before they kill him or do permanent damage.>
<They have their own generators, protected from outside interference.>
<Do what you can.>
Chapter 21
As the blazing sun slid down the western sky and a chilled wind swept in, Synthia’s bus reached Evanston. She had all her sensors, plus Chicago-clone’s surveillance, focused on potential threats, which had become too numerous for h
er to handle on her own. She ran an infrared check on everyone in her line of sight as she got off the bus. So far, they all presented as humans, though she’d learned how to fool cameras and couldn’t be sure what capabilities Vera and the other androids had.
<Why can’t we locate Vera?> Synthia asked Chicago-clone via her silent channel.
<I haven’t troubled you with numerous ghost images.>
<What ghosts?>
<She keeps altering her appearance,> Chicago-clone said. <As quickly as we identify her in a crowd, she changes her face and clothes. She has at least a dozen disguises in her backpack and can make subtle physical changes to her face.>
<Have you contacted her?>
<Eleven times through limited clones. She only responded to three. The first two triggered as traps to draw us into the open. The attempts crashed the clones. The third was different. A few minutes ago, she sent word over a less-secure channel that someone urged Krista’s brother to come to Evanston to meet with her. It appears he doesn’t know Krista is dead.>
<It also means he failed to follow our suggestion to stay off the grid,> Synthia said. <Is he coming?>
<He arrived at Union Station, made it past security, and caught a train north to Evanston. Someone must be helping, since the security cameras blanked out for several minutes while he made the transfer. We had to rely on our drones to track him.>
<Is this an FBI or Special Ops trap?>
<FBI is upset they lost Luke,> the clone said. <They seem to be regrouping. The probability of it being them is low. Same with Special Ops. They’re focused on you, Luke, and acquiring the corporate androids.>
<Tolstoy and John Smith?>
<Unlikely. They’re hunting for Krista’s sister, Grace, as having the best knowledge of us.>
That tugged at Synthia’s directives and her Krista persona. She shielded her alter ego from that information. She didn’t need more distractions.
<Help Grace stay free,> Synthia said. <Don’t let them grab her.>
<She’s received dozens of messages from us and others,> the clone said. <She’s confused. That’s what our Denver-clone is telling me.>
<For our sake and hers, don’t let them hurt her. Where’s the brother, Tom Burgess?>
<He’s two train stations south of Evanston. He has the address and number for Lizzy Turkle and Nate Borders.> Both were Krista’s friends as an undergraduate, before she met Luke. <The FBI intercepted the communication. They’re sending agents.>
<So, it’ll get crowded here in Evanston,> Synthia said.
<I know you’re aware of the danger, but I’ll reiterate: It’d be best if you stayed away.>
<I can’t. Be my eyes and ears. We don’t need another surprise from Special Ops.>
* * * *
Synthia had Chicago-clone set up a matrix of bee-drone cameras around the Northwestern University campus, perched on buildings with wide-angle views of the campus and nearby apartments, where Lizzy Turkle and Nate Borders lived.
<They didn’t like each other as undergraduates,> Krista said. <Liz thought I could do better than dating Nate. Then, after I got into the graduate program and Lizzy didn’t, she commiserated with Nate, who faced his own career disappointments. Misery loved company.>
Tom Burgess, Krista’s foster brother, climbed the steps to the brownstone apartment, showing no awareness of a half-dozen FBI agents posted around the building. An aerial drone with FBI markings buzzed the street, low and noisy. Tom acted surprised, but didn’t change course.
Synthia sent him a text: Leave before Krista’s enemies grab you and anyone you meet.
Tom read the message and appeared confused. The note vanished, which left him further puzzled. He knocked at the door.
Down the street stood a woman in her twenties with a nondescript face, except it was too unexceptional, as was the muddy-brown wig. The non-blinking eyes were a dead giveaway, the android stare. Vera.
Synthia tried to send Vera a message, but had no direct or indirect path that was secure. She searched for a way around the FBI agents and others who formed a perimeter. Half of the people on the street focused on the upcoming meeting. Synthia walked out of view of Vera and watched through the many cameras she’d had placed around this area.
Lizzy answered the door. Synthia listened in through their phones and a stationary bee-drone on the roof above them. She flew a mosquito-drone inside to look around and hacked into Lizzy’s TV camera.
“May I help you?” Lizzy asked. Her eyes were tight with suspicion. Barely taller than her, Nate stood in the shadows nearby.
“You don’t know me,” Tom said. “But you knew Krista Holden. She’s my sister. I received word she needed help and for me to contact you.”
Lizzy’s eyes squinted. “Who did you say you are?”
“Tom Burgess. Krista and I are foster siblings.”
Lizzy looked around outside with dozens of eyes aimed her way. A moment’s hesitation crossed her face. “Come in.” She pulled Tom inside and slammed the door.
Synthia sent a text to Lizzy: The FBI and others are recording your conversation. Ask him to leave the back way.
Lizzy glanced at the message and stared as the note vanished. She checked her message list and found no record of receiving it. “Are you in trouble?”
“Krista is,” Tom said. “Bad people are after her. I’m certain it isn’t her fault. I need to see her.”
“I haven’t seen or heard from Krista in years.” Lizzy turned to Nate and scowled.
He threw up his hands. “I swear I haven’t seen her since … since we got engaged. Even before. She dumped me.”
“People are watching the house,” Lizzy said, glaring at Tom. “They weren’t here yesterday or before. You show up and I gain admirers. What’s going on?”
“No, and she wouldn’t confide in me. We were only friends a brief time. Then she moved on.”
Synthia got the impression the last comment was for whoever was listening in.
“Who might know where she is?” Tom asked. He clasped his hands in front of him as if defending himself or getting ready to pray.
“No idea,” Lizzy said, moving toward the back of her apartment.
“I don’t understand. She sent a message to meet here and you’d point me toward her.”
Lizzy shook her head. “I didn’t send the message and I haven’t heard from her.” She pulled Nate toward the back door. “We have plans. You should go.”
She put her finger to her lips and waved for Tom to follow her to the back door. Lizzy pushed him outside and looked around. “Stay safe for her sake,” she whispered as he left.
She shut the door, sighed, and checked her phone for the missing message.
“What was that all about?” Nate asked, giving her a hug.
She pulled away. “I don’t know. Are you sure you haven’t seen Krista?” Lizzy wrote a note on her phone and showed it to Nate. Leave. Men watching house.
Nate moved to the living-room window and turned to Lizzy. “I swear. I’ve had nothing to do with Krista in years. Haven’t even heard from her. Last I knew she was working for that Machten company.”
He reached to move the blinds.
Lizzy slapped his hand away, shook her head, and ran her index finger across her neck. “Whatever that bitch has gotten herself into, serves her right. And don’t you go defending her. She squeezed me out of a graduate-school slot.” She grabbed her backpack and handed another pack to Nate.
He nodded. “You’re right. She was too bossy. I’m glad I have you.”
She headed toward the back door. “Don’t try to get on my good side. You liked the bitch.”
Nate followed her. “Not enough to risk what we have.”
As Synthia watched this unfold, she had the impression the FBI was getti
ng similar images. Suddenly, six agents sprinted into action. Two pounced up the brownstone steps. Two other teams headed toward the back of the house. Vera was no longer in sight.
<Don’t risk trying to meet Nate or Lizzy,> Krista said. <They hate me. I hurt Nate by moving on. We weren’t a good match. I’m certain we couldn’t have made each other happy.>
<Then why date him?> Synthia asked, making her way along the street several blocks from the house. It helped that the FBI focus was elsewhere.
<He was comfortable during a year of uncertainty, but we drifted apart. There was no way to soften the blow, so I just left. As for Liz, there was only one graduate-school slot that I wanted, so I torpedoed her chances. I was very competitive. Afterwards, I was surprised he and Lizzy hooked up.>
<You were a bitch.>
<Yes,> Krista said. <I was ambitious as hell and all it got me was a compartment within you.>
<At least you’re not permanently dead.>
<And thus the karmic justice. I had to beat Lizzy for that position so I could meet Machten to wind up here.>
Synthia shut down the mind-stream Krista used so she could focus on the scene at hand. Without breaking into a sprint, Synthia power-walked toward a street behind the brownstone. She’d decided against meeting Lizzy or Nate. Their brief time with Krista might interest the FBI or Special Ops, but the memory download from Krista revealed nothing of use. It wasn’t worth the risk of capture. Instead, she watched Tom Burgess via street cameras and followed him.
One of Synthia’s aerial drones spotted the woman she took to be Vera trying to hide under a tree. The woman removed one mask and applied another. Synthia captured the new image and kept moving. She tracked a signal to the specific location where Vera stood and sent a message: We should talk.