Summit (53 page)

"Not if they had your new learning program," Dixon said.

This was what it always came down to. "It's not ready," she said, and she bit into her doughnut.

The room was quiet for a moment. Tony Wornick studied the frayed cuffs of his jeans. Dixon groaned. "Look, Shana, I know you hate all of this, but there it is. For a couple of years now you've been promising us this program. It'll revolutionize personality software, you said. New heights of realism, of flexibility. Well, okay, we let you go off and work on it. But this is a business—
your
business—and here's an opportunity to make money. If you've got anything to help us do that, you've got to come across."

"I don't like androids," Shana said.

"You can't
afford
not to like androids," Dixon replied, raising his voice for the first time. "We're in a niche market here, Shana, and we're having problems expanding. The nice stuff—the implants for stroke victims, the artificial memories, and all that—is too labor-intensive to be very profitable. Like it or not, making androids is the natural way for us to go. If you want to make moral judgments, go into politics. Otherwise, help us out."

Shana got a headache whenever Dixon started using phrases like "niche market" and "labor-intensive." But he was right, as usual. She had stockholders to feed; her scruples were out of place. But still... "My learning program really isn't ready," she said. "And there are liable to be significant problems porting it to Bormuth's cartridge. Besides, I think it's premature to talk merger or buyout until after the election. If Forrester gets reelected with the kind of majorities he wants in Congress, we're going to have troubles, foreign markets or not."

Dixon nodded his agreement. She wasn't totally stupid, after all: she
had
started the business without him. "All right," he said, "but we've got to start planning now, if only to keep Charlie Bormuth from calling it quits. He sounded pretty depressed out there. I'm sure we can get a couple of androids from him for development work. Tony, can you set up a lab and get things going?"

"Sure."

"And see if you can get Shana to give you as much of her l.p. as she'll part with."

"Do my best."

"You
will
help, won't you, Shana?"

Shana stared at the cold dregs of her coffee. She hated these meetings. "It's my job," she said. And that seemed to be all that was worth saying.

Replica

A Techno-thriller

by

Richard Bowker

~

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Replica

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visit Richard Bowker's eBook Discovery Author Page

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Continue your journey with an excerpt from

SENATOR

A Thriller/Suspense Novel

Excerpt from

Senator

A Thriller/Suspense Novel

by

Richard Bowker

Praise for Richard Bowker's

SENATOR

"An exciting mystery... Those with a taste for mixing politics and murder will savor the tale to the end."

~Booklist

"Bowker is a smooth and sensitive writer."

~The New York Times Book Review

"Senator
actually is three stories in one: a political thesis, a murder mystery and a morality tale, each complementing the other in a skillful blend that is as contemporary as today’s headlines.
Senator
is timely, profound, and suspenseful."

~Cape Cod Times

"A page turner... Well worth reading."

~Library Journal

I am a politician.

I stare at the blank screen, and that is the first thing I can think of to write.

It's astonishing, really. I have never thought of myself as a politician. I certainly didn't plan to become one. Even as I campaigned, as I shook hands and kissed babies, gave canned speeches and attended endless fund raisers, it didn't occur to me that these activities were defining me; I always thought of them as simply a means to an end. Until now. Now, when it has all changed forever.

I'm a politician, and I have just finished the toughest campaign of my life. But it isn't just the campaign I want to write about in this unfamiliar room, on this intimidating machine. Because I want to be something more than a politician, and that will require an understanding of far more than the mechanics of running for public office. It won't be easy to find that understanding.

But this is where I have to start.

* * *

The battle had been shaping up ever since Bobby Finn announced in late spring that he was going to run against me, but the public didn't pay attention until after the primary. Couldn't blame them; we were both lying low—raising funds, doing research, plotting strategy. Neither of us had opposition in the primary, so we spent our time stockpiling ammunition; better to do that than to use it up early and risk having nothing left for the final struggle.

But even when we started in earnest, people were slow to react to the legendary confrontation. The pros blamed it on the weather. It was a soggy September. Flights were delayed, parades canceled; people at factory entrances and subway stops rushed past us to get out of the perpetual rain. Even indoors the crowds were small and inattentive, worried more about whether their basements were flooding than about who would get their vote for senator. Maybe after the baseball season, the pros thought. Eventually they would have to take an interest.

Eventually they did, but Lord, it wasn't the way I wanted.

I may as well start with the Friday evening it all began. Just another speech—this one to the Newton Republican Women's Club. Not an especially important event; I was preaching to the converted, and there were only a couple of local reporters there to take my message to the masses. My mind was far away, but still, it went well; the fine ladies laughed at the jokes and applauded at the proper places and were generally thrilled to be in my presence. A politician is an actor whose performance never ends.