Originator (32 page)

“When humans are drunk, all judgement is impaired. When Talee are impaired, mental faculties actually improve, in some directions. Linear thought process improves. Mathematics, certainly. Many of the great geniuses who have driven Talee scientific progress have been ‘users.' Today, many still use, despite death penalties for usage and possession. This is the attraction, the ability to focus mental process. Talee in this state are significantly more intelligent than the most intelligent humans. It's not a boast, believe me.”

“I believe you,” said Ragi. Ragi, of course, was the most intrigued of them all. The smartest of them all, perhaps, though with Cai that was uncertain. The one with the most questions to answer about what it was that Takewashi had used to create him, and why. “And the Talee blame this . . . ‘impaired' state for their two near-extinction events?”

Cai nodded. “Current research indicates a spiral of competing interests forced into usage by the need to keep up with each other, and that usage descending into mindless animosity.”

“And how do they stop people from using?” Sandy asked. “A police state?”

“There is less diversity in Talee society than human,” Cai explained. “They do not fragment so easily. Consensus on large matters does not require a police state. But enforcement is strict, yes . . . though largely consensual.”

“Largely?”

Cai shrugged. “Every society has its criminals.”

“And its revolutionaries.”

“And there are types of uplink technology that create a similar effect to other forms of drug usage?” Ragi pressed.

“Yes,” said Cai. “The worst.” He looked at Kiril, sitting by his new animal friend.

“What does it do?” Sandy asked quietly.

“Like the uplink effect in humans, it's not noticeable in individuals or small groups. Only when you monitor the overall direction of large group thinking does it begin to appear. Individually, our narratives are small. Favourite foods, favourite activities. Favourite people. Our preferences do not shake the world. But all uplink activity establishes commonalities over time. Uniformities.

“Neural Cluster Technology is humanity's version—it's very crude, very simple technology compared to anything Talee use. It does not differentiate between different kinds of mental signals to be shared. It shares too much, and absorbs too much, without filters. The consequence is somewhat akin to brainwashing, as you've seen with your Pyeongwha terrorists here.

“The condition is called
aiwallawai
.”

Dead silence in the room. Cai's lips twisted to pronounce it in an accent unlike the approximate Federation-neutral with which he usually spoke. Alien technology, alien words, never before spoken on this world . . . that anyone knew of. And now here they sat, five synthetic humans, plus the organic kids. Listening to the words and sounds of this strange species whose thoughts had made the technology that created them.

Sandy thought of Takewashi, now dead in his beachview chair. She'd hated him, once. Perhaps she still did. But that was a personal luxury, born of what it now dawned on her was misplaced spite. It was not easy to confront the things that made you, especially when you were dissatisfied with the result. And now she wondered if she should have accepted Takewashi's offer of fatherhood and been comforted. As Jane had. She glanced at Jane and saw sullen disapproval. Was that normal for her now? Or was it because she felt she'd just lost her father? It wasn't like they'd had any time to talk about it.

“Aiwallawai,” Ragi murmured. “It's a phonetic palindrome.”

“Double-brained,” Sandy echoed. Perhaps that was connected.

“It is like chemical impairment, only more subtle,” Cai continued. “The uplinks are designed to focus traffic into specific portions of the brain. The
user experiences aiwallawai but also becomes a link in a conduit of like-minded neural interface. This interface can induce other brains into a similar state. Like an infection. The user does not realise the condition, and this adds to its lethality.

“Unwitting sufferers are rehabilitated in isolation. Implementers are executed. Most Talee have no difficulty with this policy.”

“Do you?” Sandy pressed. It might explain his current situation.

Cai smiled faintly. “I'm not Talee.”

“Semantics.”

“No, it's not. I'm human. Being here has taught me about myself, and how I'm different. And made me wonder at the uses to which my creators put me.”

“You're not an assassin,” said Sandy. “You're a spy. These others trying to kill us are something else again.”

“They have a name I will not share. They are from what you might call an internal security force. The one that implements the executions among Talee.”

“Yeah, well, buddy,” Poole growled, “we're not in Talee space anymore. You're trespassing.”

“They have a foreign operations wing,” Cai continued, ignoring Poole. “For humans. This is the first time they've used it.” Something about that didn't sound right to Sandy. Was Cai's answer a lie? Or was it just incomplete? The difference between the cautious, sensible policy of Talee toward humans to date and now this all-out aggression and insanity was stark. Far too stark to be the result of disagreement between security agencies, surely? Was Cai merely feeding her that because it sounded like something she'd be familiar with? Cai still served his people, in his own way, she had no doubt. And serving his people, in the past, had meant only telling humans as much about Talee as suited Talee interests at the time.

“How long have they been scared humans would move on aiwallawai technologies?” asked Ragi.

“The information Takewashi and Chancelry Corporation recovered from Pantala over a century ago made it inevitable eventually,” said Cai. “It's the primary reason my kind were created, though other intelligence activities have proved useful. To see if the technology would be reached here. Takewashi was warned. But League's circumstance caused him to ignore that warning.

“The war drove synthetic neural technology faster than Talee had hoped humans could progress. Cassandra was of concern to Talee higher-ups. Then Jane. And Ragi, of course.” Looking at each of them in turn. “The final straw.”

“Gee, thanks,” said Poole. “Nothing about me, huh?”

“You three showed the proficiency that humans were gaining with the technology.” Pointing to all but Poole. “But such are matters for Talee security. Ordinary Talee do not think much on security matters, for all their imagination. The twin catastrophes make such thoughts a taboo subject. Everyone is nervous to have strategic thoughts. It makes the authorities uncomfortable.

“It's not so dissimilar to the Federation, where most civilians leave trouble with the League to Fleet, especially after thirty years of war. They don't want to think about it. And they don't ask too many questions, so long as the job gets done.”

“So Talee security created synthetic humans to assassinate us covertly, if necessary,” Sandy completed. “And these guys answer to different people than you do.” Raising her eyebrows at Cai, inviting him to jump in.

Cai smiled. “I share as much as I need to. But not that.”

“That's okay, I can guess. More moderate forces.” Cai shrugged. “And you dislike their methods?”

“I dislike the fact that they were created in the first place,” Cai said flatly. “I find it an insult to my kind. To our kind.” Looking about at them all. “We are free individuals, and most Talee treat their creations well. There are synthetic Talee too, you know. Most are subjected to nothing like this.” Another bombshell, but a predictable one. Of course Talee made synthetic copies of their own kind before applying it to aliens. How could they not? “I and others like me have protested, and our Talee friends as well. Our protests have been noted, but ignored, on the grounds of security necessity.”

The human-made GIs looked at each other. It all sounded depressingly familiar.

“That's great,” Jane said sourly, from over by her bedroom doorframe. “How do we beat them?”

“I'm not sure you can,” said Cai. “Not here. They have been surprised, and my defection has helped you. But they will recover, and they are more the combat experts than I.”

“They're not so tough,” said Sandy, eyes half-lidded as the combat reflex
began to spread across her vision once more. She forced it back, with difficulty. “They'll need a lot more than what they've brought so far to get past me.”

“And that's what they'll bring,” Cai said quietly. And sipped his half-forgotten coffee.

“Well, then we've all got a problem,” said Jane. Effortlessly hefting the rifle in her left hand. “Takewashi sent me here to look after you, sis.” With a cool stare at Sandy. “And your brat. He knew what he was doing would bring them down on you. And him. But he said it was the only way.”

“To do what?” Ragi asked.

Jane made a face. “Save humanity,” she said vaguely. “Or something like that. I only did it because he made me promise. He sacrificed himself for you lot. I hope you realise that.”

Or what? Sandy nearly asked her. Or you'll get upset at us? Since when had Jane ever been upset at the demise of anyone? Takewashi had created her but sold her off to the highest bidder when it proved the only excuse to allow her technology to see the light of day. Rapid-gestation high-des. Sandy had taken five-years-plus to become functional. Jane had taken months, perhaps a year. It meant shortcuts in mental development. Lots of tape teach. Drone-like behaviour. Murderous indifference . . . and indifferent murder. Now she claimed sentiment?

“Takewashi thinks the technology in Kiril's head is the only way to save humanity from killing itself,” Jane finished. “I don't know how or why, it's not my field.”

“Then we have a real problem with the Talee,” said Ragi, gazing at Cai. “Because if we can't live without it, and they can't live with it . . .” He let it hang, unfinished.

“Cai, you said there were others?” said Sandy. “On Pantala? That Chancelry put the same technology into, like Kiril?”

Cai nodded. “Whether they're still on Pantala, or whether League has figured out what's going on and moved them, I don't know.”

Sandy's eyes slowly widened. “Then the Talee will be going after them too?”

“Quite likely,” said Cai.

“Then we need to find League representatives here and warn them,” she said.

Ragi frowned. “Cassandra, if Talee are acting in unison to eliminate all those test subjects, it's likely they've already moved. And given Callay is
farther away, it's quite possible the others are dead already and Kiril is the last test subject left.”

Svetlana sat beside Kiril and hugged him. Kiril just scratched the asura's head, sombrely. The animal flicked its big ears.

“All the more reason to get the League onside,” Sandy said firmly. “Because in that case, Kiril's
their
last hope too.”

Ibrahim threw his coffee cup at the wall. It smashed, splashing coffee to the carpet. Everyone stared. No one had ever seen Ibrahim do such a thing.

“So you're telling me,” he said, “that we are under attack by an alien race that everyone thought benign, and that there is absolutely nothing we can do to fight back.”

They sat about the central table in the secure briefing room. All was dark, save flashlights and independently powered monitor screens. Room lights ran off the HQ grid, and if they powered the HQ grid, it was conceivable that power could be siphoned to activate the currently deactivated network. The only option was to power down completely and turn off the backup generator. If the network was operating, it could be used against them. The only way to fight the Talee was to give up electricity entirely. But most of the city couldn't do that.

“The attack appears limited,” Reichardt offered. “Just the beach house, and our reports are that Cassandra was there, and her youngest boy . . .”

“And which of those reports do we trust?” Ibrahim asked the Captain bleakly. “Which of those people reporting to us are reporting things that actually happened, or merely experiences that the Talee placed in their heads by remote?”

Reichardt looked at the wall, the splatter of dark liquid running to the floor. Then he snapped the elastic band about his wrist for the sensation of pain that would tell him if this was a simulation or not. About the table, Hando, Amirah, and Ibrahim did the same.

“VR simulation in everyone's heads,” Ibrahim muttered. “All for games. We could so easily do without it, but it's too entertaining. And now we don't even know if we're awake or not.” He'd never felt so helpless. He wondered if
there was really any point in him being here at all. Maybe he should go home to his wife and his bed.

“Sir,” tried Amirah, “high-designation GIs will be least affected. We're not easily forced into VR without a direct link; Cassandra herself made that assessment after her encounters with Cai at Pantala last year.”

“Well, if they can help,” said Hando, “they're on their own. If the Talee are after Cassandra's kid like we think, we don't know where he is and finding out could kill him.”

“We'd be better off with an army of children,” said Ibrahim. “Completely without uplinks, they'd be more use than us.”

“Sir,” Hando said carefully, “in all seriousness, I know of some high school cadets who would likely volunteer for messenger duty. Scouts, possibly football teams. Community-minded kids. They couldn't be hacked.”

“No, just killed physically,” said Amirah with obvious disapproval. “We've already got one much younger child being targeted, they wouldn't stop at more.”

“I was in Fleet Academy from fifteen,” said Reichardt grimly.

Ibrahim stared at the wall for a moment. “Do it,” he said finally. “Talk to their parents, get them out of bed if you have to. Courier by motorcycle or public transport; cars and cruisers are too vulnerable.”