This book is intended for a more mature audience, so be advised.
╗ SIX ╚
LABORATORY
A1A
Anna
tore into her lunch with a vigor that surprised even her. The last
three hours had approached grueling in their intensity and food had
never looked so good before in her life. Despite the greasiness and
lack of taste of Central Admin cafeteria chicken, she was determined
to have her fill before someone else grabbed her and whisked her away
for more orientation.
Her
hands still shook from the sheer physical exertion they had endured
since she arrived. Her right index finger in particular ached, and
now that salt and oil covered her fingers she realized painfully that
she had rubbed a raw patch on both her finger and the web of the same
hand. Terry's mention of one hundred more shots had proven entirely
misleading; she had made Anna fire five hundred rounds before she was
satisfied. But satisfied she was in the end, and their training had
turned to cleaning the firearm.
Anna
had no idea a gun could become so filthy so quickly. When she had
first handled it out of the box it smelled new, a crisp scent of oil
and fresh plastic. After five hundred rounds it smelled of propellant
and ash. In her usual matter-of-fact manner, Terry had taken the gun
and demonstrated how to brush out and oil the barrel, slide and
stock. She was not squeamish about dirt and grime, and by the time
the gun clicked back together clean, both her and Anna's hands were
covered in black. After washing their hands, Terry had shown her to
the cafeteria and left her to eat by herself for the next forty-five
minutes.
Anna
now silently thanked her for the solitude; it gave her some time to
reflect. Her mind still reeled from the events of the morning and it
was good to let everything settle. Since her arrival she had been
accosted, searched, scanned, probed, and suddenly granted unmolested
access to the Central Admin building. On top of that, she had gone
from never having touched a firearm in her life to firing, taking
apart, cleaning, and reassembling one. Her own, no less. The thought
somehow refused to sink into her consciousness easily. The bulge in
her waistband begged to differ, however, and she reached back to
touch the weapon that nestled under her shirt in the small of her
back.
Terry
had given her that as well, an in-the-waistband holster that fit both
her gun and her body perfectly. Terry had shown her how to draw the
gun properly from behind her back and Anna had again impressed with
her quickness to learn and her accuracy. With only ten or fifteen
tries she had satisfied Terry's critical eye, at least for today.
She
glanced at her watch: forty-two minutes had ticked by. Looking up
from the remains of her lunch, she saw Terry enter the cafeteria with
a business-like stride, accompanied by a very short stout man who was
forced to run to keep up with his much taller companion. He looked to
be in his late forties, dark skinned with a fringe of gray hair
framing his ears. He wore a long white lab coat and a pair of glasses
pushed high up onto his forehead.
The
odd pair did not immediately approach Anna but instead visited the
food counter first. Anna studied the small man with increasing
curiosity and a growing sense of wonder; she realized she knew who he
was: Dr. Konrath Jarrod, reactive computing specialist
extraordinaire. His picture featured prominently in the news she had
seen regarding the breakthroughs in reactive computing, and he looked
every bit the scientist in real life as he had on the broadcast.
In
a few moments they were headed in Anna's direction and Anna quickly
wiped her mouth and hands in embarrassment, still oily from her
chicken. Terry approached first and gestured to Anna: “Anna, I'd
like you to meet the man who invented reactive computing, Dr. Konrath
Jarrod. Dr. Jarrod, this is Annalise McLean, the one who will be
writing your transfer protocols.”
Dr.
Jarrod, all smiles, eagerly proffered his hand to the star-struck
Anna. “It is good to meet you, Miss McLean,” he rumbled
agreeably. His accent leaned Caribbean, but Anna found it impossible
to narrow down any farther. “Officer Garnham has told me how smart
you are already, but she did not mention how beautiful as well.”
Anna
unexpectedly blushed hard. It had been ages since someone had called
her beautiful, at least as sincerely as he just did, and her heart
melted a little. Her instinct told her she was needy for being so
touched, but for once she didn't care. She held her hand out to him.
“I am so pleased to meet you, Dr. Jarrod. I've heard plenty about
you as well.”
She
was taken completely by surprise when Dr. Jarrod, instead of shaking
her hand, took it in his own and kissed it gently. He looked into her
shocked face and smiled, showing a full set of very white teeth. “All
good, I sincerely hope. I wouldn't want my newest programmer to
harbor any animosity.”
Anna
stammered something unintelligible and the scientist laughed and sat
next to Terry, across the table from Anna. “One would think a man
had never paid you any of the proper courtesies due to your sex,”
he chuckled almost to himself. “I cannot imagine why or how.”
The
offhand comment bit right through to Anna's core and she winced
inside. He was more correct than he knew. She pushed the garbage from
her lunch to the side and leaned on the table in front of her,
searching for a way to change the subject. “So, how far along are
you with the whole reactive computing process?”
Terry
tapped the doctor on the shoulder. “That is my signal to leave. She
is in your care for the rest of the day.” She turned to Anna.
“Please review the agenda for tomorrow's orientation before you
arrive in the morning.”
“Yes
ma'am,” Ann replied, then turned eagerly back to Dr. Jarrod, who
had begun to dig into his own lunch. She repeated her earlier
question as Terry exited, and he held up a finger as he chewed his
first bite. Finally he was ready to speak.
“To
be honest,” he said with a sudden seriousness, “now that Officer
Garnham is gone, we are far enough along in the reactive computing
process that I am surprised they even brought you into it.”
Anna
frowned. “Wait, what?”
He
looked deep into her face and for the first time she saw a troubled
flame in his eyes. “We are almost done. Them bringing you into the
project almost seemed like an externally-motivated stunt. I am sorry
to say that most of the interesting work is already complete.”
“That's
odd,” Anna mused, her spirits falling. She hadn't realized how
eager she had been for this challenge until it had apparently
evaporated. “So then why did they get me at all?”
Dr.
Jarrod leaned back in his chair and chewed silently for a moment
before he replied. “The day that I submitted my latest progress
report to Central Admin, I included a small action item that I needed
fulfilled at their earliest convenience. I told them that I needed a
software person to provide a badly needed fresh pair of eyes. We had
hit a small snag with the transfer protocol and needed an outside
opinion.”
This
sounded better than nothing. Anna perked up as he continued: “The
reactive tech, as you know, works the same way the human brain works.
And the human brain is notoriously...eh...nonlinear in how it
processes information.” He rolled his eyes, searching for the
correct explanation. “Making that last jump between computer and
brain is a bit like trying to pin a fly to a table while it's flying
around. The brain attempts to reject the information at every turn.”
“That
is fascinating,” Anna remarked. “So the reactive computer
simulates the brain that well?”
“Simulates
may be a strong word for it. We actually use real brain tissue in the
computer, so we are working with essentially the real thing.”
Anna
started. “Real brain tissue? But I thought-”
“Most
people think the same thing,” Dr. Jarrod said, smiling. “And we
did originally build a computer simply based on the structure
of the brain. Now we've enhanced it with some of the real thing and
run into the problem. We didn't have this transfer issue with the
man-made version. A major oversight on our part.”
“Ah.”
Anna wasn't sure what sort of reply was appropriate.
“Let's
just say that we are finding it much easier to extract muscle skills
and thought patterns from the human brain than to put those
skills and thoughts back in.”
Anna
nodded, again unsure of a proper reply.
“The
protocol is finished up to that point. And once we-or you- figure out
that particular algorithm, then the project is complete. Central
Admin and HomoGen will have instant education at their disposal for
the Versions.”
“Then
it doesn't sound as bad as you were making it out to be,” Anna said
with a dry chuckle. “It leaves me something
to do, anyways.”
Dr.
Jarrod smiled briefly. “I suppose.” He fiddled with his fork.
“The question is, what will you be doing after the project is
complete? They seem to want you for the long haul. Officer Garnham
really hammered the firearms training this morning, did she not?”
Anna
blushed again, this time for other reasons. “Word really gets
around in here, doesn't it?”
“She
told me herself,” Dr. Jarrod laughed. He became serious again and
leaned forward closer to her. “Miss McLean- may I call you
Annalise?”
“I
prefer Anna.”
“Very
well, Anna.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I would
recommend that you keep your eyes wide open. Something is going on
here that is bigger than you, I think. As much as I will enjoy
working with you, I feel your time with my laboratory will be brief.
They didn't bring you in here just to program a protocol for me.”
A
cold sensation washed over Anna as she listened. She could think of
no explanations but in her gut she felt he was correct. She moved
closer to him and asked in a lowered voice: “Why am I here then?”
The
man across the table from her gave her a perturbed shake of the head.
“I have no idea. All I know is that neither I nor any one of the
scientists I work with keeps a gun on their person. You'd be the
first in my laboratory to do so.”
The
cold feeling settled into her stomach and began to wind it up in
knots. “Should I be worried? Or should you be worried? I was never
told to...to keep an eye on you or anything of that sort.”
“I
wouldn't worry for the moment,” the doctor replied. “I don't
think. But...keep your eyes open. I like you already, Anna, and I
wouldn't want to see you get hurt.” His face was gloomy for a few
moments, then it suddenly cleared and he smiled his wide toothy smile
again. “Speaking of laboratories and projects, shall we go get you
acquainted with mine?”
“That
would be wonderful,” Anna said.
They
both were eager to change the subject and both left the cafeteria
with Dr. Jarrod leading the way. They walked for what seemed like an
eternity, down several long hallways and up another elevator, then
down a long windowed gallery similar to HomoGen's huge windowed upper
stories. Anna slowed down and Dr. Jarrod, realizing he was no longer
being followed, slowed as well. She insisted on pausing here, and
with her back to the windows she stared with wonder at an enormous
mural on the wall opposite.
The
painting must have stretched for fifty feet in either direction and
easily stood twenty feet tall. Darker hues dominated the leftmost
portion, gradually growing lighter as the eye moved from left to
right. The individual images crowded together into a fantastic mass
of chaotic motion, and yet each was distinct enough to easily make
out. Men fought each other; tanks battled, bodies bled, and in the
background of the dark section of the painting rose a glowing
mushroom cloud. Anna wasn't sure if it literally represented the
nuclear terrorist attack of 2024 or if it stood merely as a symbol of
past violence, but either way it made an effective image.
Towards
the middle of the painting the individual images began to change,
forming into a charging slew of men and machines facing off against
another army charging in the opposite direction. A different flag
flew over each army, the one on the right she recognized as the blue
and white flag of the Party of the Reunited States. The flag on the
left she did not immediately recognize; it was striped red and white,
with a blue field studded with white stars. She guessed it belonged
to the rebellion forces, judging from the ugly snarl of the man
carrying it. In fact, the entire rebellion army showed the bias of
the painter with their bloodthirsty open mouths and animalistic
poses.
Moving
farther to the right along the painting, the images changed again to
dark rivers and fields that gradually yielded to sunshine and
brilliant light. From that point onward no darkness or violence
lurked, no men fought, no blood ran. At the far right end stood a
shining representation of the Central Administration building, with a
portrait of a man emerging from behind it. Anna recognized him as
Secretary Bono Clark, the first Executive Secretary of the Reunited
States. The entire mural, she realized, was a history of the last one
hundred years.
“Quite
a stunning piece, is it not?” Dr. Jarrod remarked quietly, his
hands behind his back and his gaze on the wall. Anna nodded.
“Maybe
a little over-the-top, but yes,” she replied, taking in the vast
picture. It reminded her of an image she had seen long ago as a
little girl, in a book that her parents owned; she only remembered
that the picture was titled The Divine Comedy and that it
depicted a similar progression of images. Hard to forget, those
images of twisted and agonized bodies in hell, of fire licking at
damned souls, of the two men walking through the midst of it all
witnessing the brutality of their surroundings. She had gone running
to her mother in tears after seeing the picture, after which the book
disappeared without a trace. To this day Anna could not find it.
She
sighed and turned to Dr. Jarrod. “I'm sorry, I've never seen it
before, that's why I stopped. We can keep going.”
Dr.
Jarrod smiled graciously. “I do not object.” He turned and
continued walking down the gallery with Anna in tow. She could not
help but give the painting one last glance before they passed through
another door and another hall. Finally they stood in front of a door
marked Laboratory A1A, and Dr. Jarrod swiped his badge against the
sensor pad. The door clicked sharply and he pushed it open, waving
Anna inside.
“Welcome
to my humble but very well-equipped abode,” he said grandly,
spreading his arms wide. Anna grinned at him and, entering, looked
around.
Everything
was white: the walls, the floor, the equipment. It all gleamed and
exuded the feeling of new and expensive. Most of the equipment stood
in the middle of the room, forming an island around which the
workbenches were arranged. Every work station featured its own
omni-monitor and data inputs. Anna felt her spirits rise as she took
it all in; this put her setup at HomoGen to shame. She finally felt
at home. She poked and probed around, and Dr. Jarrod watched her with
an increasingly amused smile. “You are allowed to touch, you know,”
he laughed. “Although whatever happens in this lab stays in this
lab for security purposes.”
Suddenly
she gasped and pointed to the corner. “Is-that it?” she asked,
looking to Dr. Jarrod. He nodded.
“That
is the crown jewel, yes,” he said, walking to the corner where a
large bank of monitors sat atop a shelf that hung suspended over a
long black box. As Anna approached she saw that the entire corner was
bursting with support equipment for the reactive computer, with wires
and cables of all sizes and shapes snaking in and out of the black
box and feeding information to the monitor array. She ran her hand
along the tops of the glass screens, reveling in the feel of high
technology under her fingertips. Looking down past the complex wiring
harness, she suddenly found herself disturbed staring at the black
box. It looked like nothing so much as a child-sized coffin made of
black metal. She shook herself and willed the thought out of her
head.
Dr.
Jarrod cleared his throat and sat down in front of the monitors. “Sit
down if you would, Anna, and we'll get started.”
They
spent the next two hours sitting in front of the computer screens,
Anna asking many questions to which Dr. Jarrod almost always had an
answer. The scope of his knowledge and expertise was truly vast, and
Anna thought she could never tire of picking the man's brain. She
watched with rapt attention as he demonstrated the wave patterns the
reactive computer core generated, and the thought patterns that he
and his team were attempting to input. She soon found herself
puzzled, though. “Dr. Jarrod? I have an odd question.”
“Yes?”
“You
said earlier that it was a lot easier to extract thought than to put
it into the brain, correct?”
“That
is correct, yes.” Dr. Jarrod pulled his spectacles off his head and
began to clean them.
“And
you are trying to input a specific thought pattern into the reactive
computer core?” Anna continued.
“Yes.”
“Then,
if you don't mind my asking, where did the thought patterns come
from? The ones we are trying to input? Who did you record them from?”
Dr.
Jarrod seemed surprised by the question, but he shrugged and replaced
his glasses atop his head. Anna wondered offhandedly why he bothered
to clean them when he was just going to stick them back up there.
“Now that is an interesting story,” he said. “I didn't get my
choice of subject for the thoughts and muscle motor skills I was
extracting. Central Admin, in their infinite wisdom, picked my
subject for me. I would have chosen...oh, I don't know, a violinist,
perhaps? Someone with finely honed artistic skill of some sort. But
no, they decided I would get someone else.”
“Who?”
“His
name was Daniel Marcus, ex-military Elite Combat Unit. The best of
the best, or so they told me. Story goes that he fought his way
single-handedly out of Mogadishu during the Allied campaign there and
rejoined his squad with barely a scratch. Anyways, he supposedly
represented the pinnacle of physical prowess so we recruited him to
donate his motor skill thought patterns to us.”
Anna
frowned. “You said his name was Daniel Marcus. Where is he
now?”
Dr.
Jarrod became silent for a long moment. He rubbed his fingers
together and with a discouraged look on his face turned to Anna.
“Something went wrong. Very wrong. He got mixed up with some woman
around here and got into a huge fight. Even started demanding that I
erase the brain data he had donated to me. Finally he disappeared
into some Central Admin prison and word came out that he was actually
an agent working for Verité.”
Anna
drew in breath. “Were they attempting to break into something?”
Dr.
Jarrod shook his head. “I have no idea. But Central Admin naturally
wanted him as dead as they could make him so a brief went out just
last week that he was to be executed. It was going to be televised,
as a warning against any further Verité intrusion attempts. Then the
whole affair just disappeared.”
Anna's
eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean? Did they execute him?”
“If
they had executed him they would have made it public, like they
promised. But they haven't said a word about it since. So I think he
either killed himself in his cell, or- and I know this is insane- he
escaped.”
Something
in Anna's mind instantly clicked. “He escaped,” she breathed.
Dr.
Jarrod sat back and raised a doubtful eyebrow at her. “How the hell
do you know?”
“The
Central Police were stopping all traffic out of D.C. at checkpoints
just a matter of days ago,” she explained. “And they refused to
tell me why. I'd say it's a good bet that he escaped and they are
looking for him.”
Dr.
Jarrod chuckled grimly. “Heh, well, I wouldn't have known about
roadblocks or checkpoints. I am almost chained to these desks; I
sleep here many nights. Just over the weekend I got to go home for
the first time in weeks, and I plan on leaving here at decent hours
from now on.” He grinned. “Now that I have a savvy programmer in
my lab to do my work for me.”
“You
can expect work from me, not miracles,” Ann replied, catching his
infectious humor. “But I already have some ideas as to how to fix
your problem.”
“I'm
glad to hear it.” Dr. Jarrod said, then stood as another man
entered the lab. The new man stood much taller than Dr. Jarrod and
sported a much younger face, a face which he was in the act of
stuffing full of doughnut as he walked through the door and sat down.
“Anna,
this is Dex Lynch, my assistant,” Dr. Jarrod said, motioning to the
other man. Anna nodded to him and he nodded wordlessly back, the
doughnut still obstructing his speech. Without another word he
plugged his ears with digital music and pulled himself up to one of
the computers to work.
“Not
much of a conversationalist,” Anna remarked dryly. Dr. Jarrod
chuckled and sat back down.
“No,
and I prefer him that way. Nepotism at its best; Dex the Second, son
of the founder of Dexworks. He's a whiz at brain pattern analysis but
he spews some of the most obnoxious crap when he gets started.” The
doctor tapped the data pad in front of him. “Shall we get back to
the task at hand then? All of this talk of escaped convicts has
derailed my train of thought.”
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