Beautiful Intelligence (32 page)

Hound nodded. “I could definitely live in Malta. Nice climate... some space away from dusty urbs. We could find a bit of land to grow veg. Yeah. Malta. Shall we?”

And Leonora grinned.

The snow-muffled mountain slopes owned by Ichikawa Laboratories shone icy blue in the light of the full moon. In the lower of the main laboratories – a circular chamber split in half by a sheet of toughened glass – Aritomo Ichikawa and his nexus manager Ikuo Amano stood in the safe side looking into the secure side. In that secure half stood Zeug.

Zeug had been placed into a metal jacket, so that he was unable to move his arms. He was stronger than a typical Japanese man, but, more important, his reflexes were as fast as a cat’s, and that made him dangerous. His feet had been shod with lead boots that he was unable to remove. This both slowed him down and made him aware of the control wielded by his new owners.

Aritomo said, “He is to be dealt with as if he was a mentally retarded person. I believe he hid inside a place of mad people for symbolic reasons.”

Ikuo asked, “What reasons, Mr Ichikawa?”

“I learned from your nexus trail report that Zeug is able to compare himself with human beings. He does not grasp the difference between himself and a human, but he does grasp that human behaviour can be analysed. He sees patterns and metaphors in human behaviour, and he matches those patterns to his own. What he does not grasp is that he could use himself as a human equivalent. He has no self-symbol. He does not tell himself the tale of his own life. He just lives it, unconsciously.”

“Then, he identified his own patterns of behaviour with those of mad people?”

“Indeed. Zeug has intelligence. What he lacks is comprehension of that intelligence.”

“What will you do with him?” asked Ikuo.

“Zeug is to be dismantled. It must be done slowly, and with tender care. There are several novel uses of materials in his muscles and organs, and those we need to analyse. Once his body is dismantled his brain will fail – but by then we will know all we need to know about Zeug.”

Aritomo strolled away, Ikuo following. Two of the artificial cats also followed, at a distance of a few metres, like awed, respectful servants.

“What is your plan for Zeug’s brain?” Ikuo asked.

“To let it fade – it will be nothing without its senses. We will build another, better brain. The important matter is the body. We are experts on quantum computers, and our research is proceeding well. But a truly lifelike artificial human eludes all Japanese manufacturers. Zeug, in rough cosmetics and wearing human clothes, was able to fool a few mad Africans, but no Japanese would mistake him for a human being. He is still an android.”

“The Westerners call our products Nippandroids.”

“Then our task,” Aritomo said, “is to utilise all the novel techniques used to make Zeug’s body, incorporating them into artificial bodies that will not be viewed as androids. I was informed this morning that we now have a cat non-identification level of ninety nine percent amongst a sample of one thousand Japanese.”

“That final one percent will be difficult to convince.” Ikuo glanced back at the pair of cats following them. “Though even I would be fooled by those two, and I am fond of cats.”

“We will use everything we have learned about making lifelike cats to make a lifelike human. Time is on our side.”

“And what of Mr Klee and the bis?”

Aritomo favoured Ikuo with an amused glance. “You have struggled with that concept, have you not?”

Ikuo wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Mr Ichikawa, the BIteam security specialist operates at the level of Mr Awuku. We have found no hint of their presence on the western American coast.”

“A thought occurs to me. What would you say was the weakest point of their security arrangement?”

Ikuo paused to contemplate this question.

“Do not be afraid of making a mistake,” Aritomo said. “Tell me what you think, since all thoughts must be integrated into the whole. I will not be dishonoured.”

“I think the weakest point must be the relationship between Manfred Klee and his partner, who we believe to be Joanna Rohlen. Love makes people wilt.”

Aritomo shook his head. “The weak point is not inside the BIteam. We could spend years searching for them, and never find them. Do not forget that we were lucky locating the AIteam. You should not feel ashamed to admit that.”

“Then what, Mr Ichikawa?”

“The weak point is the bis themselves. If they are intelligent and conscious, they may be difficult to control. My guess is that they will exhibit nonhuman characteristics. Therefore we should consider attacking in their direction.”

“How?”

“We could entice, trick or force one or more bis out of the group,” Aritomo said. “Most likely the BIteam is using the method of moving from place to place that they employed in Philadelphia. When they are between safe houses they will be vulnerable. We must devise a strategy that activates when such an event happens. When one bi is loose, we attack. Manfred will do everything he can to retrieve such a loose bi. He will be forced to act on impulse, swiftly, perhaps without thought.”

“There will be an element of chaos in such a situation! Then we strike.”

Aritomo nodded. “We shall make a base in San Francisco. Prepare for a conference here tomorrow. Make sure you invite Wataru Kohama, since I will request that he directs the base. We shall discuss options, then begin work. The bis will be ours in due course.”

“And Manfred Klee?”

“He could still be useful to the Ichikawa Corporation. He will understand the use of biograins better than anyone else we know of. If circumstances allow, he should not be killed.”

Pouncey saw the news on PXR-15 – a science news orientated media station – while she was checking out the fake exam results of the fake class. For a few seconds she just stared, open-mouthed, as the bold red text scrolled across her spex. She halted in the street. She read, then re-read. She glanced away, to see a dozen other pedestrians doing the same as she was.

Cascadia subduction zone earthquake rated 89.2% likely in the next 72 hours.

At once she put down her bags of food and initiated a nexus source check via her wristband. But the news was being disseminated at the speed of light through the nexus by every rock-solid media station in the world. It looked as though it was true. Real.

The next three days!

She read the full transcript on Sci-News Central, the streetwise wing of Europe’s Independent BBC.

The West Coast Geological Survey has received intelligence from scientific vessels anchored off Newport indicating that a subduction zone megathrust earthquake is almost certain to occur in the next 72 hours. This means an earthquake of magnitude around or greater than 9.0 on the Richter scale. All coastal communities advised to evacuate immediately to avoid consequential megatsunami. Advise Seattle and Portland total evacuation. Megathrust earthquakes are particularly destructive. The Cascadia fault is thought to have last moved around 1700. If the quake motion travels its entire length the earthquake duration could be as much as five minutes, destroying every building in the area.

Pouncey picked up her bags, to discover that she was shaking. The two bags, filled with half rotten food, seemed much heavier than before.

“Just shock,” she told herself. “Just a sugar low. You feel sweaty. Get home and get some food.”

She walked back to Haemorrhage Apts as fast as she could.

Everybody was home. She locked the door, dropped the bags to the floor and ran into the main common room, where Dirk and Joanna sat, along with the bis. “Listen up,” she said.

Joanna glanced up at her, but Dirk continued his sentence.

“Listen
up!
” Pouncey yelled.

Dirk jumped, then looked over his shoulder.

“Where’s Manfred?” Pouncey asked.

A voice behind her: “Here.”

Pouncey turned. “Cascadia earthquake! It’s gonna unzip – maybe the entire length of the fault. We gotta get out.”

“Out? Earthquake?”

“On the news – the grown up news, Manfred! This is the real thing.”

“Wait,” Manfred said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “What’s this news in full?”

Pouncey summarised what she’d read, then linked her wristband to the lo-fi computer they had stolen from a local geek artist. The monitor screen lit up. “Read it for yourself,” she said.

They all read the official reports. Joanna went pale and began stroking her cheek with one hand. Dirk sat back, silent. Manfred read the info, then shook his head.

“I smell a big rat,” he said. “This is Aritomo trying to scare us.”

At once Pouncey felt anger course through her body. “This is confirmed by all the legit stations!” she said. “This isn’t a software hack, this is the real deal. They’ve been warnin’ about this for
decades,
and now it’s gonna happen.”

Manfred hesitated. Pouncey saw that he was half convinced.

“Okay,” she said, “I’ll do a full check on it. Of course I will. But we have to pack. To go. In
hours,
Manfred! What if a megatsunami makes it all the way here–”

“It couldn’t possibly–”

“You don’t
know!
Nobody’s ever seen a megatsunami in the modern world. What about the Columbia River? Get real. You think you know it all and you don’t! We have to evacuate within hours. Two hours – that’s what I’m tellin’ you. Any more and it’s your ass on the line.”

“Mmm, thank you,” said Manfred.

“What’s da security diagnosis?” asked Dirk.

Pouncey gestured at the bis. “One per cage – now. Then all food and water to be packed. Then all hardware. Last of all other stuff – clothes, oddments. I’ll prep the van to go in one hour. After that I’ll allow another hour. We can probably get out of Portland... hey, you know,
fuck
it! We need to be out of this city in one hour. If we don’t the traffic queues will kill us. Get movin’!”

She ran out of the room to fetch the bi crates.

Manfred followed. “You’re serious?” he asked.

“Yes!”

“Do your nexus source check. Five minutes, okay? We’ll pack while you do it. But I wanna be sure who’s behind this.”

Pouncey tried to stop herself from trembling. She took a few deep breaths.

Manfred again put a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down,” he said. “We don’t disbelieve you, but I need to be certain. Aritomo is a devious bastard.”

“I do
know,
” Pouncey replied, putting every ounce of sarcasm into her voice. “Get packin’. I’ll do the check. Five minutes and I want to see five bis in five crates. Five in the back, that is – not Indigo.”

“We haven’t got five strong crates any more. We’ve got four.”

Pouncey hesitated. That was true. They were still militating against the bi co-operation regime, though the inhuman wailing had ceased. “Use that wooden case I made for Blue when it was injured,” she said. “It’s ramshackle, but it should hold.”

Manfred nodded. He looked scared now. The atmosphere of the apartment had changed. Even the bis were quiet, staring at them in that weird Nippandroid way. Pouncey shuddered. The bis knew something unusual was happening. They weren’t stupid.

She initiated a secure analysis of the nexus info source. The problem she faced was that, although her analysis would seem invisible – effectively secure – she could never entirely wipe the nexus free of her computational activities. Invisible, in nexus terms, meant hidden; there was always a trace. And if somebody wanted to locate that trace, invisible could change to visible.

She had five minutes. She would have to ignore the usual complex, careful, fractal-freighted camouflage of a fully secure analysis and go for the default option: hide and hope. It worked 99.999% of the time.

Having initiated the analysis, she set it off. The default computer chose an earthquake infomercial to conceal its activities, an option Pouncey supported, though it was rather obvious. She checked local stats – already there had been over twenty million hits on official earthquake advice stations. She glanced at a few traffic cams. Nothing out of the ordinary. But soon, she knew, the roads would be filled with solcars and solbikes, not to mention every half-operational, salvaged, pimped or patchworked solar vehicle in Portland. It would be a mechanical jungle.

She heard noises in the other rooms. She felt reassured. They were taking the warning seriously. Some of the bis were whining – she could hear their vocoder-lite voices making beats as the frequencies dipped and dived – but it was only two or three of them. Anyway, they were still too weak to resist a co-ordinated move from Manfred and the other two, in such a constrained environment.

Then the results: info source 99.6% official West Coast Geological Survey.

Pouncey compressed her lips. That was less than she’d expected, and less than she wanted. A 99.9% official would have been nice. Her result meant a 0.4% chance that somebody had set up the Cascadia warning as a hoax.

Manfred walked out of the far room. “Well?” he grunted.

“It’s real,” she said. “Everyone out. Fifty minutes. I’ll prep the van. Move it!”

Without waiting for an answer she grabbed the food bags and headed to the lift shaft. Minutes later she stood beside the van.

She paused. She was trembling again. Shock receded, and she felt frightened. A megathrust earthquake was every West Coast person’s nightmare. Was it real? Surely it was. 99.6%...

“Oh,
fuck
it! Why
now?
” She kicked the side of the van, then pulled open all the doors. Moments later she’d forgotten her fears and immersed herself in the mechanics of the soltruck. Engine first. Check. Fluids. Check. Tyres... one down slightly, but not serious. Spare tyre: check.

Noises from the lift shaft: Manfred, Jo and bis in crates. “I found the sixth crate and lashed it up,” he said. “Better than that old wooden case you made.” He grinned. “No offence.”

Pouncey indicated the back of the soltruck. “None taken,” she said.

She revved the engine a few times, disabled the auto-GPS feature, then ran down the on-board computer by disconnecting its power lead. This being an emergency exit, they didn’t want to leave a traffic trace in the nexus for some nosy street management system to record.