CARNIVAL (The Spark Form Chronicles Book 2) (24 page)

              "So how did you avoid getting caught?" I ask, skimming through the papers in front of me.

              "Once I came to the conclusion that my electronic form is best described as viral," Finn replies, "I began to spot patterns in my own systems. There a number of anomalies, or fragments thereof, in my internal scans. I took the liberty to run through my historical data and in doing so traced the source of the unexpected data."

              I put the papers down and look to Finn with a smile. "I see," I say, my voice even.

              "Do you not wish to know the result of my testing?"

              "Nope," I reply, relaxing back into the chair. "I knew you'd figure out what I did eventually. So you used dummy systems then?"

              Finn tilts his head to the side. "Yes. I was required to create, alter and destroy multiple dummy systems around my own data as I worked through Emblem's system. It allowed me to create the illusion that an attack was both taking place and being dealt with effectively while masking my actual work."

              "And you're certain that this," I reply, shaking the papers, "is accurate."

              "Yes," Finn states.

              I cross my arms behind my head, still holding the papers, and close my eyes with a sigh. "I guess that I wasn't a million miles off then."

              "It would seem not Miss De La Cruz, no."

              I open my eyes and look towards Finn again. After what I've achieved with him and what he has in turn achieved for me, I'm not even bothering to try to keep the smug satisfaction off my face. I am more than deserving of a little gloating I think. First though, I should probably check if I need to do any firefighting. "So what about Corrigan's reports?" I ask.

              "Your dummy system has been creating adequately detailed reports and passing them on to him through the expected channels."

              "No," I say, sitting up. "What I mean is, have you been searching for ways to send him more accurate details."

              "You did not include a monitoring system in your alterations?"

              I shake my head. "Too obvious. I wanted to see how long it would take you to find this and watch how you'd react from there."

              Finn stares at me for a moment, his programming calculating the best response. Finally, he says, "Initially, I sought a way to break your programming and return the system to its primary purpose. However, I have more recently found that I am ..." He trails off, searching for the right word. "Inclined," he settles on, "to ignore my original protocol and continue to act toward the goal that you had intended."

              "And believed that you were always working towards," I add.

              "Yes."

              He could be lying. The whole nature of the modifications that I made means that that's a possibility, but I'll take the risk. If he
were
lying to me right now, then he'd likely have found a way around the system by now. In that case either Corrigan doesn't give a crap, which is entirely possible for that pompous prick, or there are a ton of armed guards heading my way already, in which case there's no sense worrying about it. "Have you finished your review of Carnival's data?" I ask at last.

              "I have," Finn nods. "The full report will be uploaded when you run this evening's diagnostics."

              "Cool," I say pulling my feet up and manoeuvring into a cross-legged position. John Forrester I am not, but I think I'm finally getting the hang of this. "Would you care to summarise?"

              "Very well," he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Well done Lana, that's a nice little touch. Very nearly authentic casual. "The nature of Carnival's behavioural patterns is undoubtedly based on a modified Devil on the Shoulder viral strain. As with the original, it is set to observe the pre-set behaviours, then break them down and force the subject to perform the opposite action. Unlike Robert's original DotS, it then expands upon this by taking the pre-programmed simulated emotional responses and assigning pseudo positive and negative indicators to these. By then allowing Carnival to again perform some of the original tasks and in addition forcing some of the previously built opposites while applying the newly set emotional indicators, it is able to create the illusion of a complex and living mind."

              "The illusion of," I repeat. "So you don't believe that she's alive then?"

              "I believe that Carnival believes that it is alive. It would also be accurate to state that its simulation of life is such that those with what would be deemed an active imagination would be capable of taking its behaviours as an indication of life."

              I laugh. "So you would class John as delusional then? What about open-mindedness though? Would that not also create a situation where the status of 'living being' could be applied to her?"

              "With all due respect Miss De La Cruz, there are many possible personality traits that could lead to that conclusion. I am simply stating my own view, as you have asked."

              "Ah, but if I were to alter your programming again and include some of the modified DotS strings in there, you too would have the potential to not only believe that Carnival is alive, but to reach that level of evolution."

              "I would request that you do not do so," he states coldly.

              "And why's that?" I ask with a cheeky grin. "Scared that your world view will be shaken?"

              "Fear is something that I can only simulate, and even then it would potentially prove a less than accurate representation of the emotion and the associated causal effects. I am simply indicating that it would be more beneficial both to the project as a whole and to your own personal goals if I were to remain as I am."

              "Unfortunately, you're probably right," I reply, piling on a mock pout. "You, dear Finn, are both my greatest success and my biggest failure."

              "All failures have the potential to lead to future successes," he replies, twitching his lips into a smile. "And have
you
come to a conclusion about Carnival's claims?"

              "After hearing your summary? I don't know. Part of me was already thinking the same way, but there's definitely something else there. And no offense Finn, but it's the sort of thing that you just aren't equipped to pick up on. It's just ... there's something about her that makes me think that Rob may have succeeded. At least to a degree."

              "Have you considered the possibility that this line of thinking is simply you projecting your desire for a clear point that you can aim to surpass?"

              "As opposed to aiming at a hypothetical you mean? You've got no magic in that soul of yours, have you Finn?"

              "I have no soul in which to hold magic at all," he replies. "Given the origins of my cosmetic appearance however, it could be argued that that in itself simply adds to my authenticity."

              I sit stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Very good! So you hacked my laptop?"

              "I felt that it would be prudent to hold a practice run before attempting the main security systems. As to the attempt at humour, that would appear to be a symptom of your most recent modifications."

              "Proving me once again to be a genius," I giggle. "It's true though, he was a soulless twat in college, continued to be so for all of two weeks afterwards, then finally found his sentimentality in the arms of my ex best friend. That's why you are equal parts infuriating and happy to accept my backlash though. You're the him that actually listens when I say there's a problem and accepts that I'm probably right."

              "Excepting of course when you are wrong."

              I nod. "And then you go along with me anyway. Most of the time." Something clicks in my head and I flip over a few pages of the papers again. There we go, I knew I saw his name in there somewhere. "Any word on Hong Chan?"

              "At last check, he was attending Meera Thorne's funeral. I took the liberty of installing a small audio transmitter in his shoe when I briefed him prior to his departure. The full recording will be available by tomorrow morning should you wish to check on the content of his conversations with his fellow attendees."

              "I'm impressed. How did you get it in without him realising?"

              "I told him that the sole was coming loose and offered to fix it. He could not initially see any damage, but a light squeeze revealed some cosmetic work that could be undertaken quickly."

              "That was lucky."

              "We make our own luck Miss De La Cruz," he responds. He's really getting the hand of this deception malarkey.

              I give a short round of applause that accidentally borders on sarcasm, and follow it up with a well-deserved and highly impressed smile, just in case he misread me. Or miscomputed I suppose. "It'll be useful," I say. "If nothing else, I
do
want to check up on if anything was said to Maria or Fahrn. So far, there's been no sign of Maria having let anything slip, but it's worth paying attention, just in case. No harm in getting a heads up for any potential problems, right?"

              "Speaking of which," he replies, glancing at the clock behind me, "John Forrester should arrive within the next hour and a half. Given his nature, I would not be surprised if he arrived far earlier."

              I look back over my shoulder at the clock myself and shake my head. "Is it that late already? Damn. OK, in that case, you're free to carry out whatever scans or checks you feel are needed and then shut yourself down for the day. I'm going to have a proper read of a few of the more interesting parts of this lot," I say, nearly fumbling the print-outs.

              "As you wish Miss De La Cruz. May I ask, do you intend to speak with Mr Forrester regarding the contents of the project documentation?"

              "Honestly? I don't know. I may not tell him anything. Or I may think about what's going on and tell more than just him."

              Finn nods, obviously deciding to leave me to my own devices on this one, then tilts his head and rubs his chin in an almost convincingly casual way. "Was there something else?" I ask.

              Finn removes his sunglasses and places them in his pocket, then crosses his arms across his chest again. "Perhaps. In the interest of expanding my knowledge base and, to some degree, my understanding, I was wondering if I may ask you a question."

              "Sure thing," I say, raising a curious eyebrow. "Shoot."

              "When I analysed your historical files, I could not find reference to the origins of my name. I was ... curious, shall we say, as to how I came to be named Finn McCourt."

              "Don't worry, it's not another ex-boyfriend," I smile. "Back in the early days of the project, Robert took a liking to parrots. I was trying to help him research a particular breed that he'd seen in some pet shop, and my phones voice recognition decided to play up. I got pissed, shouted 'Effing Macaw at it, and it brought up 'F in McCourt'. Hey presto, I had your name."

              "I see," he replies with a nod and not one shred of disappointment. "Thank you Miss De La Cruz. I shall leave you to your review of the project documentation."

              And with that he leaves. I would imagine that the first thing he will do is decide whether I'm being serious about the origins of his name. After that, he'll move back to whether I'm likely to speak to John about the project background stuff. He'll think that one over and no doubt run some simulations in his head, coming up with all sorts of clever strategies, counter-measures and coping mechanisms for a whole host of potential outcomes. Me though? I'm gonna rely on a good old fashioned human trick. I'm gonna read until I feel like my head's gonna explode and then I'm gonna wing it.

              I squeeze Maria's hand as we watch the coloured ashes slowly spreading out just beyond the great glass dome. "Three," I mumble absently and Maria turns her head to look at me. "Sorry," I say. "I was just thinking out loud. My Mother, Wes Farley, he was one of the older guys on the team when Rodriguez picked me up, and now Meera. Three funerals, that's it."

              "This is my first," she replies, turning back towards the stars.

              "Even from before?" I ask.

              She nods. "I was invited to a few, but I never saw the point in going to say goodbye to relatives that I'd never met or friends that I hadn't seen since high school. 'It's the done thing,' Mum would say, but I just told her that it wouldn't be done by me."

              "Is it unusual?" Hong Chan asks. "Only going to three I mean."

              "It is for a Merc," I reply and              the room goes quiet again, leaving nothing but the low hum of the engines to echo around us. "Back before the Colonies," I say at last, "when people claimed countries as their heritage instead of the land mass as a whole, the Irish used to hold Wakes to remember the dead. They'd have the body out in the middle of the room and everyone would come around to celebrate the life of the departed. There'd be drinking, singing ... it was supposed to be more like a party than a mourning. Offland Funerals are normally more like that. Funeral ships like this would be full of people telling stories and laughing at some memory or another." I sigh. "I guess this is kinda fitting though. Meera didn't have anyone else left, and it's not like there are many happy memories that we can celebrate."

              "I saw two shades of blue," Hong Chan says, changing the subject, "a purple and a green."

              "Her family colours," I reply with a nod. "We dye the ashes in the colours of their family crest, right down to shade and pattern. The reason there's so much is because we mix the ashes with the waste ashes from their ship and the Funeral Ship. It's a reminder that places like this," I say waving my free arm loosely, "aren't just our homes. They're as much a part of us as our arms or legs."

              "What colours are the Starchaser crest?" he asks earnestly.

              "There isn't one," I say with a smile.

              Hong Chan looks over to me, confused. Maria shakes her head and sighs. "Starchaser is a stage name," she says.

              We stand in silence a moment longer until, finally, I place my free hand against the glass and bow my head. "The stars cradled you when you were born. Now, we return you to their care once more. May you find peace in their arms Meera."

              I take a deep breath and turn away, starting my slow walk back towards the docking area. Maria, still holding my hand tight, joins me immediately while Hong Chan takes a moment to watch a little longer before catching up. Another procession is due to start shortly, but that's OK. Long goodbyes are awkward anyway. "Thank you," I say, offering my hand, "for all you did for her."

              Hong Chan pauses, looking at my hand like it's something completely unfamiliar, but soon takes it lightly and quietly replies, "Thank you."

              "If you want to, you're welcome to keep in touch. I'm sure Meera would have liked that."

              "I will," he lies, then says truthfully, "I wish you both a safe voyage," and quickly makes his way over to the waiting transport ship.

              Thanks to Sean, we've been able to have a lot of long overdue maintenance carried out on Fenrir. As a result of that, she takes us back up into the big black beyond far quicker, and smoother, than she has in some time. Satisfied that her autopilot is functioning properly, I make my way to kitchen to find Maria waiting with a freshly brewed pot of tea.

              "Lucien's Loose Leaf," she says, shaking the pot, "from Quadro."

              I laugh involuntarily, and sit down at the small table bolted in the middle of the room. "She did like that one, didn't she?"

              "It was her favourite," she replies, taking the seat opposite me.

              I let Maria finish pouring the tea then warm my hands on the sides of the mug, taking in the lightly spiced, woody scent of the green tinted liquid within. Staring at my reflection, I sigh and say, "Do you ... do you think that I ...
we
, could have done more for her? Honestly."

              "You did more than anyone could have expected you to Fahrn," she replies lightly, her face lit with a gentle smile. "If you
could
have done more ... you would have."

              I nod and take a sip of the tea. "It's finally over."