Synchronicity Trilogy Omnibus

  Synchronicity Trilogy Omnibus

  by Michael McCloskey

  Published by Michael McCloskey at Smashwords

  Copyright 2013 Michael McCloskey

  ISBN: 978-0983843078

  Cover art by Brom

  Special thanks to Kazó Csaba and Peter Rathmann

  who helped to improve this novel.

  Book I: Insidious

  Zero

  The skyscraper entrance flaunted polished marble floors, which shone in gentle arcs below a sparkling waterfall on the left wall. An image of the Earth rotated slowly before the glistening black tiles of the right wall. Front and center stood a massive hardwood reception desk. The ceiling soared three floors above, with two long balconies overlooking the scene, supported by complex lattices of carbon struts. Light flooded in from a single oval skylight fifty meters across, offering an optically perfect sliver of the blue sky.

  A graceful, confident woman marched into that opulence wearing a black business suit, which matched her ponytailed jet-black hair. She scanned the room briefly, her face set in stone. She knew the grandeur disguised an army of security devices, which tracked her every move.

  A holograph of giant golden letters danced across a glossy wall of obsidian tiles, proclaiming the name of her employer.

  Núcleo Negro Sociedade Anônima.

  Black Core SA, the largest Brazilian corporate entity in existence, an organization rivaling the economic power of whole governments.

  The room was a shameless display, unapologetic of the expense despite the millions of souls living at subsistence level just across the bay from the headquarters here in Salvador. Those masses were the unskilled, unemployed, and punished individuals whom Black Core held as pariah. Only international pressure and the desire to avoid outright rebellion forced the giant corporation to provide food and basic housing to the general populace beyond the armored enclosures of the company.

  The woman stepped toward the unmanned desk. Its services entreated the links buried in her skull, offering an array of information about the building and its offices. She accepted one, a Black Core personnel locator.

  The Earth before her suddenly realigned with her current location in Salvador, Brazil, directly facing her. It zoomed in rapidly on the surface of the planet, depicting first the bay area, then the skyscraper, and finally the room she now stood in.

  A bright green tag with an arrow snapped up to label her, “Aldriena Niachi, Special Operative.”

  The tiny simulacrum of her stared up at the globe in perfect parody of real life. The entire display had been routed through a link in her head and into her visual cortex. It was a simple illusion. No one without a link would see anything except the black tile and marble.

  Aldriena smiled at the display. The accuracy of her doppelganger’s pose suggested she was on camera at this very moment. The athletic figure stood with squared shoulders and head raised. She wondered if any other humans were bored enough to be looking in on the feed. If so, she’d undoubtedly have captured their full interest. Any Asian walking openly in the Western World got plenty of attention. The current cold war between the Chinese bloc that dominated all of eastern Asia and the triple alliance of Brazil, the United States, and the European Union made any Asian instantly suspect.

  But she was of Japanese origin, having fled to Brazil in her childhood during the Chinese occupation of Japan. Once there, she’d taken her Brazilian first name. Her looks had served the purposes of Black Core many times, despite her conspicuous appearance.

  Aldriena walked past a mirrored sphere sitting over the elevator-waiting niche. A hostile intention trigger. She knew the HITs were part of most security hardpoints. The device would be scanning her even now, searching for the physiological cues caused by thoughts of violence.

  Her training as a Black Core operative allowed her to defeat most HIT checks, but this time, she didn’t attempt any deception. She was truly calm, without any of the stress that would be present in someone set on an imminent attack.

  Aldriena summoned the elevator with her link. The service responded with a visual indicator in her mind’s eye. She shuffled it to the side of her personal view and waited. She enjoyed the calm interior of the building with its empty walls. Anywhere else in the outside world, the walls would be full of personalized advertisements, routed through her link and thrown up onto the walls.

  Fifteen seconds later, a door opened and let her into the elevator. Inside, a pair of thin robotic arms lay folded against the wall beside an espresso machine. The machine added itself to a list of services offered through her link. Aldriena could only remember a few times the list had gone empty. It always offered her communication options, map services, entertainment, and local controls. She refused the drink but told the elevator to warm up slightly, as she found the aggressive air conditioning too cold. Sometimes she thought the corporate leaders kept it so cold in the building as another display of their wealth and power, to show they could defy the hot tropical air outside.

  Aldriena breathed deeply. Time to behave, Ms. Niachi. Put away your attitude here or you’ll get yourself into trouble.

  She arrived on the seventieth floor and stepped out. The narrow corridors were empty. Floor sconces held rotating light bars that flooded the walls with illumination, decorating the black ceiling with gently moving patterns of light. Aldriena walked along the narrow corridor toward the office of her superior.

  She arrived at a set of double doors. Her link verified her appointment, causing the doors to open for her.

  The office echoed the lavish accoutrements of the entrance below. She saw a desk and wooden bookcases decorated with books, trophies, and models of spacecraft. The walls were black and red, lit only by two dim lamps, leaving the room dark and snug.

  Gustavo Machado, the BC executive from whom she’d taken several assignments, sat forward at his desk and displayed a white-toothed smile. The man’s disposition reminded Aldriena of a wolf, not that she’d ever seen such a creature in real life. The Brazilian had dark hair and skin. His slender body suggested a fitness born of hours of soccer play each week but, unlike his peers, the trophies on his bookcase were for sailing competitions. Aldriena noted this oddity and filed it away.

  “Aldriena! I’m so glad to see you,” he said. “You’re a vision of beauty.”

  “I received instructions to meet you here,” Aldriena said, sidestepping his pleasantries.

  “Yes. We have need of your talents, as always. Another deep space trip for you. I think you’ll be pleased with the importance of this assignment.”

  “You could have briefed me remotely and sent me straight there,” Aldriena said. It was all the rebelliousness she dared display.

  “I wanted to enjoy the pleasure of your company incarnate,” he said, giving her his canine smile.

  “I’m flattered,” Aldriena replied dryly.

  “I’ve long admired you. This was my chance to see you face to face. Virtual meetings are so … instinctually unsatisfying.”

  “I see. Well, here I am. What task does Black Core have for me?”

  “Tsktsk … I suppose I should have known … a woman with a record like yours is all business all the time. You do know, don’t you my dear, that there’s more to life than work? Even here at Black Core?”

  “So, I’m here for no other reason than to satisfy your … curiosity?” Aldriena asked mildly.

  Gustavo shrugged. “We’re sending you into deep space again. To the stations in the direction of L5.”

  “Very well. You implied this assignment is important. There’s nothing sensitive that requires our face to face meeting?”

  “There is. The situation on these stations is of ex
treme interest to us. This assignment is not a punishment, Aldriena. Vineaux Genomix has made a breakthrough we need to learn more about.”

  “What kind of breakthrough?”

  “You’ll find out for us,” he said. “We know it’s big. Vineaux Genomix has increased their allocations of resources to the station by an order of magnitude. So have other companies that own stations in that direction. They must be cooperating on something. VG. Bentra. Gauss. Reiss-Marck. All the major Euro Union players with deep space facilities.”

  Aldriena suppressed her skepticism. Was this how Gustavo operated? Tell his female operatives some crazy story about a super-mission, sleep with them, and then send them off to nowhere to get them out of his hair?

  “A ruse, perhaps,” she said. She deliberately didn’t say on their part. She stared at Gustavo.

  “I’ve verified and re-verified it,” Gustavo said. “What concerns me is they haven’t been trying to hide it. That means they’re sure enough about their lead that running with it is more important than hiding it. We must know what’s happened there.”

  “And what about the UNSF?”

  Gustavo flicked his hand aside in a dismissive gesture. “The world government artilheiros? They won’t hear about it any time soon. They’re slow, incompetent … and they have their hands full here on Earth. Why else would all the companies be hiding out in space? They know the space force is underfunded and bound here at Earth.”

  “When do I leave?”

  “We have tonight. You leave tomorrow,” Gustavo said. “Where will I find you when it’s time for our dinner?”

  “I can’t afford the luxury of socializing,” Aldriena said. “I must prepare now if I’m to leave so soon.”

  Gustavo stared at her for a long moment. Aldriena knew she flirted with disaster to deflect men like Gustavo so directly. Any other female operative would at least flirt a little.

  I don’t care. I’ll never play the mistress to any of these executives.

  “Very well then, Aldriena. You’re a cold woman, but an efficient one. So go and find out what’s going on. If you fail, I’ll not be in a forgiving mood for the woman who won’t enjoy a fine dinner with me.”

  Who won’t enjoy your bed with you, she thought.

  “I haven’t failed yet,” she said, rising to her feet.

  Gustavo only nodded. He’d already shifted his attention to some business on his link. Aldriena knew that meant it was time to leave.

  Aldriena returned to the elevator, but instead of heading down, she gave the machine a command to take her up almost to the top. She arrived on the observation level of the giant headquarters building, directly below the roof that served as a landing surface.

  Lost in thought, she wandered toward the west side of the deck. A long corridor ran along giant windows overlooking the bay many stories below.

  From above, the building’s status as a fortress couldn’t be denied. Several perimeters Aldriena hadn’t noticed from the ground were clearly visible from this angle. Fenced embankments, concrete walls, and security checkpoints extended for kilometers beyond the Black Core compound.

  Movement caught her eye. Another VTOL craft lifted off from one of the eight landing pads far below. The gray X-shaped flying machine powered away from the headquarters and headed off across the water. Aldriena knew it was most likely loaded with supplies for the masses living at subsistence across the bay.

  From the overview here at the top, each window offered a magnification service, which could zoom in on a view the other side of the bay to the west. She activated it with her link to see if anything had changed.

  She saw kilometers of shacks and flimsy company housing. Thousands of people milled about searching for the latest food drops. She wondered if any of them were her relatives from Japan, refugees of the “bloodless” occupation. Only her father’s high position in the previous government had allowed her to receive the training that kept her employed by the corporation.

  Aldriena knew the people she watched had water and some food, but no medical care, no real housing, and no real hope for anything better. She wondered which of these three deficiencies killed the most people.

  Aldriena didn’t want to find out. She wouldn’t fail Black Core.

  One

  Colonel Bren Marcken prepared for battle by closing his eyes. He focused on the data displayed in his personal view. The PV assembled immense amounts of information in tabs and panes that competed for space in his mind’s eye. His attention flitted from pane to pane, picking through the vast data streams at the slow animal pace of the human brain.

  No drill this time. So many months of work to get to this point. Only minutes left to wait now.

  Some submerged part of him still felt his real surroundings. He knew he sat in the ASSAIL nexus of the space cruiser Vigilant. The crew called the nexus “the Guts,” because the main functionality of the cruiser lay here: Bren’s cores and their Veer Industries chassis. His United Nations Space Force uniform wicked sweat off his wan skin releasing moisture into the dry air of the nexus. A five-day stubble bristled on his face, the whiskers about half the length of his close-cropped brown hair. The mental tension spilled over into his muscles, cementing him in place.

  “All handlers have completed the containment checklist,” he broadcast, sending the words across the link device in his skull. “Bring up your cores.” Part of him disliked the fear, the pressure, but another part thrived on it. His team worked alongside him as they prepared to launch the Vigilant’s Board and Control Package against a corporate space station.

  He watched the readouts from a pane in his PV as ten power reservoirs filled and fed current into the AI cores. Each core carried a nascent set of “seed” code, which would begin to self-modify within seconds of release. The closest one sat mere meters in front of him. He imagined the durable metal sphere buried in the chassis of its robot, holding a new mind as it formed and expanded to a capacity exceeding human intelligence.

  Bren always imagined he could feel a sinister presence when a core bloomed. He denied the feeling, knowing it was irrational. Although young, the core held power like the rogue AI that had seized Marseilles years ago, forcing worldwide military action. Afterward, people everywhere had embarked on a decade-long witch-hunt, purging data across the globe to avoid a resurgence of the horror.

  It took about two minutes for each core to self-optimize, rewriting itself several times. In that time, each core’s code and processes would advance beyond human comprehension. With training, and enough time, a human could usually follow the first two steps of the process, and maybe part of the third. After that it was, of necessity, a mystery—an AI smart enough to audit the evolution would be much too dangerous to keep around. Bren squirmed and told himself they hadn’t missed any precautions.

  “All normal. My core’s up,” came Hoffman’s voice. Lieutenant Hoffman served as one of ten robot handlers in Bren’s team. Hoffman launched and observed the ASSAIL robot-killer nicknamed Meridian. The other nine handlers echoed Hoffman’s announcement in an avalanche of tense voices. Bren saw boxes go green in a line in a mental display, showing that everyone was ready.

  “It’s accessing the mission storage module,” Hoffman said. His voice broke nervously. “Should be ready.”

  The cores were young and thus blank. They relied upon the limited information the team had chosen to provide, the background the machines would need to successfully seize a space station. The information vacuum avoided anything that might give a new supermind pause about serving its creators for a few hours.

  Bren saw the reads of the storage modules pass by in his high-granularity log stream and nodded, even though no one would witness the gesture. All the handlers monitored their own machine’s data, and most kept their eyes closed to concentrate. He accessed another nexus pane in his PV to grant his handler team permission to execute the plug-in phase. Each of the handlers completed the link between their AI core and its body, one of the Veer Industries
ASSAIL series 910 robot-killers.

  “Okay, this is it. Let ’em loose.”

  The sound of ASSAIL movement filled the Guts, a cyclical whining and rumbling accentuated by the muffled smack of feet on the rubberized nexus grating. Bren glimpsed the nexus with his real vision. The lead machine was Hoffman’s unit, Meridian. The ASSAILs resembled metal lions with flat bug heads. The quadrupedal chassis had massive front halves, which housed the ammunition stores. Those magazines fed into twin 12mm cannon turrets mounted on each side of the ASSAIL’s flat heads, like stubby antennae. He suspected the mechanical engineers who had designed the chassis took cues from the anatomy of natural quadrupeds. Only the hammerhead and lack of any tail negated the impression of an armored cat. The gray metal chests and flanks bore simple green circles, the symbol of the UNSF.

  Bren had worked hard getting his part of the Board and Control Package to this point, but now he had to wait while his handlers and machines performed the “crack ’n pack” of the giant space station named Thermopylae. Bentra, a Brazilian conglomerate, had built the station. The BCP had been deployed here to seize the station and investigate reports of illegal activities. Bren believed Bentra had probably created the station far from Earth to escape the arm of UN law, and he was eager to find out more about the situation.

  He monitored the ASSAIL progress from the Guts, well behind the point of incursion. Despite the relative inactivity, Bren got a charge out of watching the AI cores operate after long months of preparation.

  The machines filed out of the narrow spaces of the nexus, weaving gracefully through the banks of equipment. The sounds faded as they headed for the umbilical that connected the Vigilant to Thermopylae.

  Bren trained his attention on the forward-mount camera feed from Meridian. The feeds from all the ASSAILs were visible in his PV through his nexus interface, but a human brain could only process so much input at once. Bren sifted through his data, looking for critical points, ready to back up his handlers.