Perion Synthetics (37 page)

“Thank you, Truman. That will be all.”

“Be careful, Father. He appears inebriated.”

Of course he was, thought Yates, as he
descended the circular staircase into the back hallway. In the main hall, an
immense wooden cross hung in the shadows at the front facing the doors. Before
it, an oversized Bible sat open atop a marble altar. Running lights illuminated
the center aisle between the pews, spilling the green and amber hues halfway
down each of the six rows.

In the final pew closest to the door, a
hunched-over figure sat with his head down. His black trench glistened from the
persistent drizzle outside.

Yates stopped at the end of the pew and
clasped his hands together. The man did not look up.

“Welcome, my son,” said Yates. “Have you
come seeking comfort?”

Robert Gantz burped in response.

Yates sighed and took a seat next to the
chief of police.

“How are you, Robert?”

“Wet.”

“It’s a blessing,” said Yates. “Lord knows
we need it.”

Robert shook his head. “It won’t last.”

“No, I suppose it won’t. But that’s desert
life, isn’t it? Scarcity of water makes us appreciate His gifts even more.”

Robert huffed.

Yates crossed one leg over the other. “I
didn’t see you at Mass today. I assume you were busy with that terrible
business in The Fringe?”

“It was just a warehouse fire. Someone
probably left some popcorn in the microwave too long.” A hiccup. “There are
bigger things happening.”

“We are listening, my son.”

Robert looked up and even in the dim light,
Yates could see the red streaks obscuring the whites of his eyes. His cheeks
were also damp, but that could have been from the rain.

“He’s dead, Padre. Gil is dead.”

Robert often spoke of Gilbert Reyes, a
low-level employee who did tech repair in the Spire.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Robert. Death is…
never easy. How did it happen? Was it the fire?”

“No,” said Robert, shaking his head. He
picked at a scar on the back of his thumb. “This was later, at Gil’s apartment.
A synthetic sna—” The chief’s voice broke. “She snapped his neck. Right in
front of me.”

“And you feel responsible?” After a
noncommittal shrug, Yates said, “I’m sure you did everything you could to
prevent it.”

“No, I didn’t. Kessler had me. I thought I
did the right thing by leading her away from Gil, but then his conversation
with Roberta started showing up on the feed. I couldn’t risk…” He squeezed his
hands into fists. “And that’s the other thing. It wasn’t like someone was
listening in and broadcasting his words; he was a fucking aggregator. He’s been
working undercover for The White Line this whole time. Under
my
nose.
Everything he and I have been through… I thought he was my friend.”

“You couldn’t have known, Robert.”

“I should have.” The chief turned his face
to the ceiling. “He lied to me. I trusted him and he
engineered
me. He
passed along privileged information to the worst possible people. All week,
I’ve been trying to figure out who was leaking information, and it turns out it
was me. I told Gil secrets about Perion in confidence. I…”

His words trailed off as he closed his eyes.

Yates waited for Robert to get a few deep
breaths.

“There are few hurts in this world as great
as betrayal. We open ourselves to other people, but they don’t always open to
us. You can’t blame yourself, my son. All men are fallible, but that shouldn’t
stop us from striving to be the very best we can.”

A flask appeared from Robert’s inner pocket.
He took a quick pull before offering it to Yates.

“No, thank you. I’m on duty.”

Robert shrugged and took another drink. “So
am I.”

Seconds passed in silence.

“You don’t know how to feel, do you?” asked Yates.

“I asked Him for guidance, but He hasn’t
answered.”

Yates put a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “The
Lord cannot tell you how to feel. That is one of our gifts as His children, to
be capable of so many emotions, even those which are conflicting or paradoxical.
You should not feel ashamed to mourn your friend’s death and simultaneously
feel anger at his betrayal. This is all part of the human condition, and no one
should feel inadequate for simply being human.

“Each of us has the capacity to be many things
to many people. You are the chief of police, yet you bow your head to a higher
power every Sunday. I preach the Gospel to you, and yet I sit here in the dead of
night with you not just as your pastor, but as your friend. Cherish the good
you had with Gil and forgive the bad. That is the way to salvation, my son.”

“Kessler knows I protected Gil,” said
Robert. “I’m almost certain she’s told Perion. We’re supposed to meet in the
morning, the three of us, and I won’t be surprised if they boot me out of the
city. Or hell, maybe they’ll just get Roberta to end me.”

“I pray that doesn’t happen,” said Yates.

“You and me both.” He looked up again, this
time past the ceiling. “I don’t know what to do.”

Yates leaned back into the rigid pew. “In
our times of need, we ask the Lord for guidance. While we wait for His answer,
we must ask ourselves what it is
we
want to do. Often our tribulations
are couched as if life is just something happening
to
us, when in
reality, we are the captains of our own destiny. Sometimes that means we adjust
our sails instead of screaming into the wind. Your friend is dead, Robert, but
because you cared for him greatly, his death is not the end of all things. What
you must ask yourself now is how you will honor his life, if you so choose.”

“I could have stopped it and I did nothing,”
said Robert, sitting up straighter. “It was a sin of omission, and I’ll never
let it happen again.”

“A virtuous pursuit if there ever was one.”

Robert replaced the flask in his jacket.
“I’m tired of this, Father. I have to put a stop to it, even if that means
finding Sava Kessler and putting a bullet in her head.”

“Violence begets violence, Robert. You know
that. The Church cannot condone murder.”

“I’m not asking for permission.”

“And yet you would ask for forgiveness?”

Robert nodded. “I can’t predict the future,
but I know if I stand up for what I believe in, people are going to die.”

The first crack of thunder rumbled beyond
the front doors of the hall. Yates shot a glance at the ceiling.

“Killing in Gil’s name will not honor his
memory,” said Yates.

“What about killing in the name of Joe
Perion to protect him from the evil brewing in the Spire?”

“I was not aware Joseph Perion needed
protecting.”

Robert sat back in the pew and folded the
flaps of his trench over his legs.

“Of course you’re weren’t,” he said. “No one
sees it but me. Everyone is walking around like the Great Synthetic Collapse of
2015 never happened. They think a chorus of synthetics chanting
the Creator
is dead
means nothing.” He cleared his throat. “They believe the Creator is
still alive, that the abomination in the Spire calling itself James Kirkland
Perion is flesh and blood just like they are, but they’re being lied to. The
synthetic James Perion is devolving and he’s taking Sava Kessler and anyone
else in his orbit with him. The world can’t lose Joe to that.
I
can’t
lose Joe to that.”

Perhaps it was the lingering drowsiness that
caused Yates to mishear Robert. For a moment, it had sounded like he was
suggesting James Perion was a synthetic. There must have been some powerful
stuff in that flask.

“I won’t let that happen,” said Robert,
standing up. He walked past Yates into the aisle. As he put his hands on his
hips, the flaps of his trench fell back to reveal the holster on his side. He
looked aimlessly around the hall before his eyes fell on the exit.

Yates rose and followed the chief to the
doors.

“Will you absolve me of my sins?” asked
Robert.

Yates thought about the gun hidden under
Robert’s coat, the tears welling at the corners of his eyes, and the vengeance
burning in his heart.

“Come see me tomorrow, my son, and we’ll see
what we can do.”

Robert nodded and opened the door. Outside,
the rain had begun to let up. He walked down the steps to the sidewalk and the
curb where his cruiser was parked. After a short pause, he looked over his
shoulder at Yates, as if asking permission.

“Better not to risk it,” said Yates. “I
expect to see you alive and well tomorrow.”

“Thanks for the words, Padre,” said Robert.
He lifted the collar of his trench and set off towards the Spire on foot.

Yates closed the door and engaged the
deadbolts at the top and bottom of the frame. He stood for a minute with one
palm on the veneered wood.

“Is everything alright, Dr. Yates?”

Truman stepped out of the shadows.

“Yes,” said Yates, “everything is fine. It
was just something the chief said about James Perion being dead.”

“The Creator
was
dead, but He is
risen again.”

The synthetic turned and walked towards the
back room where it spent its nights.

Yates stared at the shadowy cross at the
front of the hall. Truman was supposed to have retracted it into the ceiling
where the other religious symbols hung on wires, ready to be lowered to suit
the needs of the congregation.

Humans had so many gods.

Synthetics were supposed to have none, and
yet Truman’s words echoed in the stillness.

James Kirkland Perion.

Synthetic. Creator.

God?

No one was talking.

Though Gantz had plenty to say to the other
people waiting outside the conference room, he was thankful for the quiet. The
hangover he had acquired pounded in the back of his head, reaching out with
prickly tendrils with every footfall or throat-clearing.

He sat by himself on a low couch at the end
of the hallway, his head resting on the silver wainscoting. A large Areca palm
next to him provided the only shade from the rough sunlight pouring in through
the window.

A tremor went through his wrist. It took every
ounce of concentration to narrow his eyes enough to read the miniscule text on
his sliver.

Breaking: Benny Coker of White Line Media
files lawsuit in California court against Perion Synthetics. Suit names Joseph Perion
and others as instrumental in detention and possible death of Gilbert Reyes. If
suit goes forward, it will be the first challenge to the Perion City
Sovereignty Act of 2001.

Gantz looked around the room at the
others
who would be named in the suit. Sava Kessler, looking bored with her nose
buried in her phone, would definitely do time for her role as triggerman.
Beside her, Chuck Huber spoke in hushed tones to Dr. Langley Bhenderu. They
both had a hand in creating Roberta, and thus were responsible for their
creation’s actions. It wouldn’t be long before they were trading their white
lab coats for orange jumpsuits.

Absent was one Joseph Perion and his
personal assistant Nico. Gantz hadn’t seen either since Friday morning. Calls
to Joe’s cell phone went unanswered.

Further down the hallway, the synthetic
James Perion adjusted his tie in front of a mirror, flanked on three sides by
equally synthetic security personnel.

He noticed Gantz looking in his direction.

“Something the matter, Robert?”

“No,” replied Gantz, trying his best to smile.
“The old man used to do that. It was his only nervous tick, if I recall.”

Synth J pulled the Windsor knot tight and
smoothed out his jacket. “It’s not a tick. It’s just something to occupy my
hands while I visualize this meeting. Create the reality in your mind and your
body will respond accordingly.” He turned away from the mirror. “It works even
better now.” He smiled, lifting the corners of his mouth towards eyes that
didn’t narrow. “Come closer, all of you.”

Gantz stood as the Spire leaned forty-five
degrees and then corrected itself. Kessler raised an eyebrow at him, but said
nothing.

Lord, give me the strength to not choke
the life from her.

They gathered around Synth J.

“This,” he said, spreading his arms, “is my
inner circle. You are my brothers and my sister. I have asked so much from each
of you in the last week and each of you has exceeded my expectations.”

“Then how about a raise?” asked Gantz.

“My head of security cannot want for money,”
said Synth J. “Or else Vinestead could buy your loyalty out from under me.”

Gantz ignored the voice in the back of his
mind asking
what loyalty
and replied, “It’d cost them a hell of a lot of
money.”

“Believe me, they have it.” Synth J nodded
in agreement with himself. “But let’s not worry about that right now. Today we
start a new chapter in our shared history. This is the moment when we start
changing people’s minds.”

He motioned to the door, which one of the
synthetics opened.

The Automated Guards entered first, followed
by the lab coats. Gantz walked in after Kessler and stood behind a chair to her
right. Across the table sat Cameron Gray, Cynthia Mesquina, and a third man
Gantz hadn’t seen before. He looked familiar and generic at the same time, as
if his features had been averaged out of a sampling of magazines. The way he
stared back spoke to some recognition, but Gantz couldn’t place it.

Then Synth J walked in and the everyman
across the table lost his shit.

“Gilbert, directive. Stop!”

Kessler’s voice froze the man—Gil?—in the
middle of the table.

Those sons of bitches had done it.

Gantz felt himself mouthing the word
sorry
.

Two AGs pulled the synthetic back to his
chair and each put a restraining hand on his shoulder.