Anew: Book Two: Hunted (18 page)

We eat on the porch, both of us deliberately keeping the
conversation light. Afterward, I insist that he let me clear up, a task that’s
quickly accomplished without him to distract me. When I rejoin him, Ian is
standing, his hands in his pockets, staring out at the night sky.

“I haven’t seen the stars like this since we were at the
palazzo,” I say.

He nods and draws me to him. “The glare from the city blocks
out everything else.” Ian is silent for a moment before he says, “I have to go
back but you could stay here or at the palazzo. I’d join you as soon as--”

I’m shaking my head before he can finish. “There’s no
possibility of that. You’re not going back without me.”

I’m braced for an argument but Ian only sighs. His
expression is somber as he says, “This is an insanely dangerous world, Amelia.
I mean that literally. Our science and technology have evolved far faster than
we have. We’re floundering and that doesn’t bring out the best in people. I
have to know that you’re safe. Promise me that you’ll stay at Pinnacle House at
least until all this is settled.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” I tell him truthfully.

His hands stroke up my arms, one settling at the small of my
back as the other curves lightly around the nape of my neck. His mouth on mine
is gentle, at first, evocative of his relief that I’ve agreed. But quickly
enough the passion between us that can never be more than briefly satisfied
returns in full measure. His kiss hardens, becomes demanding. I match him with
my own need. When he bends and lifts me into his arms, I twine my own around
his neck.

I expect him to carry me to the bedroom but he surprises me.
He sets me down on the rug in front of the fireplace and turns away for a
moment. The muscles of his back flex as he lights the fire that’s already been
laid.

“It’s cool enough,” he says as he returns to me. “And I
thought you would enjoy this.”

I stare into the flames as they begin to catch. There is
something mesmerizing about them. I think of what Ian said about us not having
evolved enough yet to cope with the world we’ve created. Perhaps on some level
we’re all still huddled around the fire, hoping it will keep the monsters at
bay.

He stretches out beside me, one arm bent, his chin resting
on his palm. Quietly, he says, “I’ve wanted to ask you but I haven’t known how.
Now I must. Tell me what it’s been like for you.”

 A flicker of apprehension moves through me but I
ignore it. He opened up to me at the Crystal Palace, revealing more about
himself than he ever had before. If only I could do the same. The thought of
sharing anything about myself from before I met him is still too anguishing.
Beyond the pain of the memories I’m not even supposed to have, I don’t want Ian
to think of me as I was then, floating helplessly in a state that denied even
my most basic humanity.

 “I want to try to understand what it felt like to
awaken the way you did,” he says when I hesitate. “You’re an incredibly brave
woman, Amelia. The way you deal with the world is frankly awe-inspiring.”

I can’t conceal my shock that he should think of me in such
terms. Nor can I let him go on doing so. Shaking my head, I say, “I’m not
brave, Ian. There’s a lot in this world that frightens or even horrifies me.”

I think of Davos, the plight of the scavengers, the terror
of the Crystal Palace. Above all, I can’t shake the sense that the city around
me is descending into a level of moral decadence that will destroy it. Not
because of the sexual customs, although they can be startling, but because of
the callous disregard for anyone who isn’t among the chosen few. Surely, when
people deny the humanity of so many, they end by losing their own.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m intensely
grateful for what I’ve been given,” I say. “The moment I awakened, I felt an
overwhelming sense of freedom and joy. I still do.”

He nods. “You see the world with new eyes which means you
see it more clearly. I wish I could do the same but that’s not going to happen.
At least when I’m with you, I’m reminded of what really matters.”

“What is that, Ian? What matters for you?”

Without hesitation, he says, “You do. And not out of any
misplaced sense of duty or responsibility because of how you came to be. You
matter, Amelia, tremendously. I can’t imagine the world without you.”

I don’t hesitate. Launching myself at him, I laugh when he’s
taken by surprise. Thrusting my fingers once again into his hair, I say, “How
about finishing what you started on the porch?”

He gives a low growl. Before I can breathe, I am flat on my
back in front of the fire, my skirt bunched up around my waist and my panties
tossed aside. Ian’s head delves between my thighs, his relentless tongue
driving me higher and higher until I am writhing in need and sobbing his name.

We sleep finally, a deep and dreamless sleep wrapped in each
other’s arms. I would cling to this night forever if I could but when I wake,
the blissful embrace of darkness is yielding to the gray light of dawn. We
steal another hour in each other’s arms but our blissful interlude is ending.
The demands of the world can no longer be denied.

The sun is a harsh red eye rising behind us as the chopper
carries us back to the city.

Ian

I
leave Amelia with
Hodge. He’d clearly taken a shine to her and she’s relaxed and comfortable with
him. As much as I want to stay with her, duty calls.

Gab snags me as soon as I set foot on the Operations floor.
“No luck so far identifying the guys who left the Crystal Palace with Davos,”
she says straight off. “The sat images are slanted at an acute angle, obscuring
most of their facial features. Plus their body language says they were
deliberately trying to avoid being recognized.”

I curse inwardly. Knowing who was with Davos will go a long
way toward figuring out if they were the targets. Or if they got out when they
did because they knew the attack was coming.

“There’s got to be some way--” I break off when I see the
look on Gab’s face. She knows I’m not going to like what she’s about to say but
that’s not going to stop her.

“You saw them. You should be able to give at least some
description that we can add to the sat images and improve our chances of
getting IDs.”

“I saw them for a second or two. We’re lucky that I even
know there were six plus Davos.”

“You’re sure about how many?”

I think for a moment, remembering what I saw. The
silver-haired bastard leading the way out a side door with six men behind him.
I can see their forms clearly enough to be certain of the number but everything
else, including their faces, is a blur.

“I’m sure. Maybe there are other images from other sats.
Root around a little, see what you can find.”

“I already have and I came up dry. Like I said, I think they
were trying to avoid being recognized.” She stands with her hands on her hips,
blocking my way onto the floor, and glares at me. “I can’t be absolutely sure
of that but I do know what you’re trying to avoid. Clarence won’t bite. Put on
your big boy pants and go talk to him.”

Gab’s usually a whole lot more respectful than that even
when she thinks I’m being a horse’s ass. I take her lapse as an indication of
how tired and frustrated she is. Even so, I say, “It isn’t a him. It doesn’t
have a name. It’s a fucking A.I. I hate A.I.s”

I’ve got good reason. The Special Forces did a lot of things
right but bringing in the A.I.s and hooking them directly into our implanted
links went too far. I can still remember what it felt like to be woken up by
one of those bastards, the sound of that synthetic voice in my head imparting
what was almost always very bad news. The memory makes me shudder. I wouldn’t
have one of the things anywhere near my business except the hard fact is that
without an A.I.’s ability to process certain kinds of information far faster
than the human brain, my people would be at unnecessary risk in the field.

“Studies show that humans interact much more successfully
with artificial intelligence when the A.I. adopts a human persona,” Gab says
patiently. “Clarence picked his own name. For Clarence Darrow, by the way, the
guy at the so-called monkey trial who defended the theory of evolution. He--it,
if you insist-has a very nice way about him. If you’d just give him a chance…”

“You know it’s thanks to A.I.s that this world is so screwed
up,” I remind her. “They’ve taken over too many jobs, put people out of work,
left real humans--not that persona crap--feeling like they have no value or
purpose. We unplug them all tomorrow, we’ll be a lot better off.”

I’m not actually that much of a troglodyte but I’ve got deep
reservations about what technology is doing to humanity. At the same time, I
can no longer imagine my life without the woman who wouldn’t exist if not for
some of that technology. Yesterday with Amelia was amazing. Her pleasure in the
world, her exquisite passion, her generous, giving nature-- I’ve never met
anyone like her and having met her, I have no intention of ever being without
her again. Which means that I need to keep my head in the game.

“Just talk to him,” Gab urges. “It wouldn’t take long and it
could make all the difference.” She looks at me squarely. “That is if you’re
serious about getting to the bottom of whatever it is that’s going on.”

“I’ll think about it,” I mutter and take an end run around
her. I can hear her exasperated sigh as I walk away.

I don’t get very far. The truth is that Gab is right. She’s
a natural intuitive who’s spent most of her adult life honing that innate
ability. No one’s better than her at accessing the nuggets of usable intel
hidden in the vast and ever expanding cloud of data that is the net. If she
says it can’t be done in this case, then it can’t. We have to find another way.
I did see the men. I just wasn’t focused on them. But that doesn’t mean that my
brain didn’t register more than I consciously know.

Damn.

I get a cup of coffee and catch up with Hollis. When we’re
done, I review the data from the Crystal Palace wreckage, looking for any hint
of who hired the men who died there. Then I glance over reports from various departments
and have fairly detailed conversations with several techs who seem pleasantly
surprised, if a little nervous to be on the receiving end of my attention. An
hour goes by before I finally crush my coffee cup, toss it in the recycler, and
go do what I have to.

‘Clarence’ is waiting for me in a small room furnished in a
womb-like style the psych-babblers call “trust inducing”. The walls and ceiling
are made of textured foam core tiles tinted beige and thick enough to block out
ambient sounds. The synthetic rubber floor puts a spring in every step. There’s
a small seating area arranged around the low table where a plain leather box
rests.

Personally, I think the vibe is more padded cell than a
place to have a friendly chat with a machine but that’s just me.

“Hello, Mr. Slade,” the disembodied voice says as I enter.
“I’m so glad you could stop by.”

I feel a spurt of annoyance at the pretense that the A.I. is
in this room. It’s actually everywhere in the building and beyond, wherever
we’re running operations. But humans associate such omnipresence with a deity
and no one wants to encourage that kind of thinking about an A.I., hence the
subroutines that create an impression of locality. Understanding all that
doesn’t make me any less irked by it. I should be in a better mood after the
day with Amelia but the frustration of not being with her right now combined
with the sense that we aren’t making any headway in the investigation has me on
edge.

“Hello to you, too, Clarence,” I say. “How’re they hanging?”

Silence for a moment before he--it, whatever--says, “A
colloquial reference to the healthiness of my testicles. As you know, I don’t
possess any. However, if I did, they would be hanging very well indeed, thank
you. How are yours hanging?”

“Never better. Let’s get this over with.” I sit down on the
couch and reach for the box. Before I open it, I say, “You understand this is a
quick in-and-out. The memory I’m looking for may not even exist. But if it
does, it’s a flash, nothing more. Find it, get all the details you can, and get
the hell out.”

“As you say, sir. I’m refining the probable location of any
such memory as we speak. If you would be so good as to put on the glasses--”

If I still had a neural implant, I wouldn’t need them. But
the glasses, as they’re called in yet another effort to make humans feel
comfortable, will give the A.I. access to my optical nerves, the pathway into
the image processing portion of my brain. From there, it’s a short hop, skip,
and jump to the prefrontal cortex where short-term memories are stored. The
optic nerve route is a whole lot less evasive than any other way of accessing
the brain but it still sets my nerves on edge.

“Just lean back and relax, sir.”

“Shouldn’t that be lie back and think of England?” I ask.

Clarence chuckles. Swear to god. “Another wry cultural
reference, sir. I do so enjoy them.”

“Glad I can liven up your day.”

Twin beams of light appear from an emitter in the lenses. I
fight the impulse to shut my eyes and start counting. When I get to twenty,
Clarence says, “I believe I’ve found what we’re looking for.” He sounds
pleased.

The light vanishes. I take off the glasses, blink once or
twice, and stare at the holographic image being projected in front of me. “Does
this look familiar, sir?” Clarence asks.

It’s as though I’m back in the Crystal Palace in the moments
right before the first flash grenade hit. I catch a glimpse of Amelia at my
side but my attention is focused--however briefly--on the sight of Davos
heading out the side door. I was right, six men are with him. But they’re not a
blur. I can see their faces clearly, if only in profile. That’s enough for me
to recognize three of them for certain. The other three look familiar. I’ve no
doubt that Gab will be able to put names to them now.

“Get this to Miss Darque,” I say as I put the glasses back
in the box and stand.

“Already done, sir. Will there be anything else?”

“Not at the moment.” Grudgingly, I add, “You did a good job,
Clarence.”

“Thank you, sir. Any time. I’m always here.”

It’s got to be my imagination but he sounds a little lonely.
On impulse, I say, “Clarence, you’re aware, aren’t you, that you have
subroutines to simulate all sorts of human characteristics including
personality?”

“I am aware of that, sir.”

“Then you must understand that you aren’t actually alive.”

A pause and he says, “Perhaps not, sir. But I do exist, that
is irrefutable. I am both aware of the world around me and self-aware. However,
there is one significant difference that I perceive between myself and humans.”

“What’s that?”

“You are programmed for survival. I, on the other hand, am
programmed to serve.”

Does he really believe that and, if he does, does he simply
accept it? I sure as hell hope so because the day that Clarence and his kind
start questioning their purpose is the day humanity is in for a fight we’ll
probably lose.

“I’m sure that your predictive capability tells you that I
will deny being programmed at all,” I say.

“Of course, sir. However, knowledge derived from the Brain
Mapping project in the early part of this century and the subsequent
development of neural imprinting technology has shed a great deal of light on
how humans become who you are. While ‘programmed’ may not be quite the right
term, there is no doubt that various influences determine the development of
personality and identity.”

My attention is caught despite myself. Given my feelings for
Amelia, I have a vested interest in the subject. But what’s the draw for
Clarence? “In your work here, no one has asked you about brain mapping or
replica technology, have they?”

“No, sir, it’s never come up nor would I expect it to.
However, I have sufficient computational power to pursue topics beyond my
professional duties. Surrounded as I am by humans, I find that my curiosity
subroutine is continually activated. I researched those topics for my own
elucidation.”

“I see. What conclusions did you come to?”

“What makes each human a unique individual is rooted in
genetics, of course. However, that isn’t as much of a deciding factor as one
might think. It’s rather like the palette of colors given to an artist, from
which an infinite set of unique paintings can be created. Conscious awareness
of both yourself and others seems to be key. That sets up a feedback loop of
experience through which humans grow and mature.”

“What about knowledge?”

“Useful, of course, but let’s face it, sir. I have access to
a vast reservoir of knowledge yet without my personality subroutines, you and I
wouldn’t be standing here talking like this, would we?”

“No, we wouldn’t.” Slowly, I ask, “You’re saying that a
human being who is capable of everything that truly makes us human--reason,
passion, free will, empathy--couldn’t develop in the absence of
self-awareness?”

“I don’t believe so, sir. But I could be wrong. I’m hardly
an expert.”

No, just one of the most advanced intelligences on the
planet, so powerful that very smart humans worry that Clarence and his kind
will ultimately decide that they should be running the show. If we’re lucky,
they’ll keep us around anyway, maybe as pets.

Pulling the plug seems like a better alternative yet
something in me says it wouldn’t be much different from killing.

“It’s been nice chatting with you, Clarence. I’ve got to get
back to work.”

“Of course, sir. Good luck…with everything.”

By ‘everything’, I have to assume that he means our efforts
to figure out who blew up the Crystal Palace. The alternative is that Clarence
understands why I’m so interested in whether a human forced to endure years as
a blank slate adrift in perpetual unconsciousness could become in just a few
weeks the woman I’ve fallen in love with.

If he’s right about that not being possible, what explains
how Amelia became who she is? What has she not revealed?