Perion Synthetics (56 page)

“I’m not some supernatural son of a
sky-god,” Yates replied. “I simply know
how
to see. For instance, those
irises of yours are brown beneath your latticework; you changed your color to
encourage people to look you in the eye. Your shirt is damp around the
shoulders, which means you were waiting in the rain for quite a while before my
taxi dropped me off. You underestimated the travel time between here and Umbra
Terminus.”

Gattis tried to smile. “Anything else?”

“Yes, there is one more thing. That red glow
beneath your cuff means your sliver is recording everything we say, making you
an aggregator and a purveyor of distraction. Do I have that right?”

“Spot on,” said Gattis, chuckling. He
flashed a laminate that had been tucked into his belt. “Frank Gattis, with
Banks Media out of Los Angeles. Pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Yates.”

“I haven’t been out of Perion City a full
day and already the vultures are circling.” Yates shook his head. “I have
nothing to say to the media. I would like you to leave, Mr. Gattis.”

“
After
you’ve answered my questions.
I’m investigating the disappearance of one of our aggregators. He went off the
grid about the same time all hell was breaking loose in Perion City and hasn’t
been heard from since. As a former employee and resident, I figured you might
know something.”

Yates sighed. “What is his name?”

“Cameron Gray. He arrived in Perion City on
November 9
^th
of last year.”

“I heard his name,” said Yates, “but I never
met him. I do know we would have been better off if he had never come to Perion
City. If it weren’t for your kind, no kind of hell would have broken loose at
all.”

“So you admit, there
was
some hell?”

“Leave now, or I’ll call the police.” Yates
pulled out his phone.

“Ask for Commissioner Webb,” said Gattis. He
cleared a spot on a nearby pew and sat down. “I’m sure he’ll send a dozen men
right over.”

Yates thought about the shotgun he had used
to put Truman down. It wouldn’t arrive until the next day along with the rest
of Yates’ possessions. He found a spot on the wall and arched his back against
it, trying to relieve some of the pain.

“What do you want?”

“I want to know where Cam is. We’re all very
concerned.”

“Like I said, I never met him. I knew
someone who did though. He said your man was detained by Perion personnel.”

“They
invited
him,” said Gattis. “Why
would they detain him?”

“There was an incident, a fire at a
warehouse. I assume he was involved.”

Yates glanced at the shelf.

“And who is that?” asked Gattis, pointing to
the cylinder.

“I’ve had a long trip. If I tell you about
him, will you leave me alone?”

Gattis nodded. “Give me something I can
feed, and I’ll get out of your hair for a while.”

“That is Robert Gantz,” said Yates, taking a
deep breath. “He was a dear friend and a decent man. He died defending his
ideals and those he loved. I knew no other man in Perion City who held closer
to the righteous path.”

Yates closed his eyes and began recounting
the life of Robert Gantz as he knew it to be: a dedicated public servant; a man
open to the words of a higher power; full of love; bound by a sense of duty; a
servant of justice. He left out small details such as Robert’s love of the
drink, his casual swearing, and other vices only mentioned in the confines of
the confessional.

Over the next half-hour, Yates took Gattis
through the years, from their first meeting after a Sunday service to their
final night together in Perion City, where a war-torn Robert had walked through
his doors frightened by the possibility of losing yet another person for whom
he cared deeply. There had been a finality to the way Robert spoke, an understanding
about what the night held for him. Despite knowing the danger, he had plunged
in headfirst, his thoughts only of Joseph Perion.

“They cremated his body,” said Yates, “and
there was a funeral. Robert had no next of kin; all of his accounts were
payable on death to me for some reason. I stayed only as long as necessary to
transition someone else into my role and then Robert and I moved on. Now I’m
here telling you this story instead of getting some much-needed rest.”

“It pains you to speak about him,” said
Gattis.

“Only to you.” Yates stepped away from the
wall. “Perion City was doing fine until aggregators started raining from the
sky like a plague. Your relentless pursuit of a story led to nothing but
trouble. What you do, the business you’re in, is a blight on humanity. The last
thing this new generation needs is someone like you whispering in their ear
twenty-four hours a day.” His voice echoed off the high ceilings of the church.
“We have become too addicted to information. The saturation has blinded us all.
Someone has to step in and remind the people there is only one true reality and
it isn’t virtual and it isn’t augmented. It’s time we step back from the
precipice.”

“And if they don’t want to?”

“Then I will drag them.”

Gattis nodded and stood up. He pulled back
the sleeve of his shirt to reveal his sliver. A quick tap dimmed the red LED.

“It’s a nice story, Doc, but it’ll never
feed. We do half a dozen segments on information dependency every week and no
one gives a shit. Local and national governments have been hands-off for years.
No one cares except for the few crackpots who think they can save the world
from itself. You’ve lived in Perion’s utopia for too long, my friend. Any
chance we might have had for our own perfect world died with the free Net at
the end of the last century. We are living in a hell-bound world and the only
thing you can do is try to make the ride more comfortable.”

“There is salvation for those willing to
listen.”

“Whatever you say,” he replied, walking to
the exit. “Thanks for your time, Dr. Yates. I’ll be back in a few days once
this Gantz story makes the rounds. If you remember anything or hear anything
about Cameron Gray, I’d appreciate a message.”

Gattis pulled a twenty from his wallet and
dropped it along with a business card in the donation box next to the door.
“See you around,” he said.

The room filled momentarily with a mash of
techno music as the door opened and closed. When it was quiet again, Yates
returned to the shelf to examine the urn.

Robert’s name was etched vertically along
the cylinder, punctuated by a PCPD badge. Yates stared at the intricate designs
and wondered if Robert’s God had welcome him into His arms or turned him away
at the last moment. Were there any sky-gods hiding in the clouds who would
accept a drunken cop into their afterlife?

“I didn’t tell him everything,” said Yates
to the urn. He thought back to the funeral, to the stark white room where
Robert’s ashes sat atop a marble pedestal. The faces of those few who stood
around it flashed by one by one until settling on Joseph Perion.

“He was there.” Yates cleared his throat.
“There were few words, but I saw it in his eyes. He loved you. Maybe not as you
loved him, but loved you nonetheless.”

Yates picked up a pack of matches from the
shelf. They were old and brittle, but he managed to get one lit. He selected a large
candle and set it next to the urn.

He said a silent prayer to any sky-gods who
might be listening.

The flame danced in the valley of Robert’s
name, turning silver to gold.

“And in that way, we will honor my father and make his
dreams a reality.”

Joe put the phone down on the thick arm of
his chair. Sitting across from him, Nico Shaw hit the pause button on the
stopwatch.

“I’m not sure about that last line,” said
Joe, rubbing his face. He had rehearsed the speech several times a day for the
last two weeks and every time he got to the end, he felt the importance of his
message taper off with a whimper. “I want to close with something stronger.
Maybe a resolution or a promise like Dad used to do.”

Nico nodded and took out his palette. He
scrolled to the end of the speech. “If you’re going to ad-lib, I’d at least jot
down some notes so you don’t get lost. The last thing you want is to look
uncomfortable out there.”

Joe thought about the many things he wished
he could say, but most of them were directed at specific people, not the world
at large. He wanted to reassure Dad about the fate of the company. He wanted to
tell Gantz what Cyn had done to the synthetic babies. Nico needed to know how
proud Joe was that he had remained clean for the last few months.

Then there were the department heads, the
VPs, and the individual contributors who had defected, who needed to know how
much their absence pained the company. What could Joe say to bring them back?
How could he convince them everything was going to be alright?

So maybe the speech wasn’t about justifying
himself to the world. This was an opportunity to speak directly to those who had
jumped ship and those who were still inching towards the railing.

“We’re moving forward,” said Joe. “The
company is pushing through. Things are back on course.”

Nico tapped out the fragments on his palette
and then looked at his sliver.

“Why don’t we take a little break, boss?
We’ll be starting soon.”

Joe nodded and looked to the windows.
Outside, the crowd had been growing steadily since dawn, packing the parking
lot of Perion Terminus a half-mile back to I-10. Aggregators from every feed in
the country stood shoulder to shoulder in the crisp February morning waiting to
hear what the son of Perion had to say. Joe understood their curiosity; the
last news to come out of the PC had been the announcement of Dad’s death back
in December. The short statement had caused a panic on the feeds and in the
market. Though Joe had wanted to reassure the world, Nico had suggested
silence. The tactic paid off in the end; the frenzy subsided, the stock price
recovered, and the world went back to caring about celebrities and consumer
electronics before the year was out.

One side of the terminus faced the back of a
temporary stage, the first structure ever built by synthetic hands outside of Perion
City. Joe thought it was an ill-conceived experiment put forth by a self-destructive
Chuck Huber, but when the synnies made it past the PNR without any issue, he
abandoned any thoughts that his lead engineer might just want to watch the
synthetics burn.

Synthetics beyond the walls of the city…

James Perion’s dream had intruded into
reality.

Joe turned at the sound of a door opening
and watched as his new police chief walked in rubbing his hands.

“How is it out there?” asked Nico.

“Cold, but secure, Mr. Shaw,” said Chief Parker.
“Got all the aggregators and reporters and looky-loos penned up six feet from
the stage. My men are in the moat every three feet. Got some sharpies up top
brandishing to discourage any quick movements.”

“That’s a little much, don’t you think?”
asked Joe.

“Unlike your father,” said Nico, “you don’t
have a son to pass the company onto. We’ll stop over-planning when you produce
an heir.”

He joined Joe at the window.

“Dad didn’t have me until he was fifty.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to follow his
example,” said Nico. “Those people out there are waiting to hear
you
speak, Joe—not your father. They want to know what you think and how you view
the world and what you’re going to do to leave it a better place. Stick to the
speech, speak plainly to them, and keep your ad-libbing to a minimum. We’re
going to clean up the company’s image and get back some of the prestige we lost
with the Gil and Roberta incidents and all of that starts today, right now.”

Joe looked his assistant in the eyes. And to
think it only took his father dying for Nico to shape up.

Chief Parker put his finger to his ear.
“They’re ready for you, Mr. Perion.”

Joe waited for Nico to straighten his tie
and then headed for the door.

The cold air bit at Joe’s cheeks, but the
mid-morning sun melted away the chill as he snaked through the security detail
to the short staircase behind the stage. He lingered on the first step to look
back. Nico gave him a thumbs-up sign. With a deep breath, he walked out onto
the stage.

A smattering of applause greeted Joe, but it
was drowned out by a swell of voices. Hundreds of them spoke at once, asking
questions Joe couldn’t decipher. He put his hands out, asking for quiet as he
approached the podium. There, Nico had left him a palette with his speech
already loaded. When he cleared his throat, the desert finally became silent
again.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice echoing
from the many speakers set up around the terminus. “Thank you all for coming
today. I’m happy to have you here as we begin a new chapter at Perion
Synthetics. For years, we have promised a synthetic utopia, a world where
humans are spared from the dangerous and the mundane. While our greatest minds
worked towards that goal, you gave us your time, your patience, and your
encouragement. I want to assure you we will repay that kindness.”

“When?” yelled a voice from the crowd. A
murmur of agreement followed.

Joe looked down at the palette. The
highlight around the next word in his speech blinked off and on.

“When we’re ready,” he replied. “When the
synthetics are ready.”

“When will that be?” called another voice.

“I don’t have—”

From the right, someone asked, “What about
Vinestead?”

“What about them?” asked Joe.

“Will you beat them to market?”

Joe laughed as he swiped a finger across his
palette. “Fisher Price is going to beat them to market,” he said, stepping out
from behind the podium. He approached the edge of the stage.