Read A Child Of Our Time (The Veil Book 2) Online
Authors: William Bowden
A Child Of Our Time (The Veil Book 2)
A
CHILD
OF OUR TIME
William Bowden
Self-published by William Bowden in 2015
Text copyright © 2015 William Bowden
All Rights Reserved
The right of William Bowden to be identified as author has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This is a work of fiction. All characters in this work are fictitious and any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover art by Andrea Danti/Shutterstock.com
Contents
Her eyes are closed and she is serene, the face of a young woman possessed of perfect complexion and beautiful symmetry.
I am me.
Alice’s eyes blink open.
“Who are you?”
“Hello Alice,” a woman says, “I am Special Agent Landelle.”
Alice’s eyes look about. They find something.
“Who are they?”
“Drs. Boyce and Moule.”
Alice is seated in an ornate Gothic throne, her clothes a modern take on the conservative Victorian era, her posture stern. Deborah Landelle stands before her, smart trouser suit, all business. Behind Landelle, James Boyce and Veronica Moule attend to technical readouts from a portable console. Everything else about them is white—a white-world.
“They are here to help you,” Landelle says.
“What is this place?”
“The Cantor Satori Machine-Based Intelligence Laboratory.”
A large expanse of white flickers to reveal a world beyond—a glass wall and polished floor. Landelle doesn’t seem to notice this, but alarm flashes on to Alice’s face. Seeing that, Landelle shoots a look of concern to Boyce and Moule.
“We think she is having trouble with her perception,” Moule says. “Her internal world isn’t fully synchronized with ours.”
“Or at least that’s our best guess,” offers Boyce.
“How did I come to be here?”
“You don’t remember?” says Landelle.
Alice becomes increasingly agitated, looking about at unseen things, eyes wide with fear.
“Wait,” Alice blurts out. “Where is Dr. Ellis?”
Landelle’s lips tighten. Alice’s lips quiver.
“Alice…Dr. Ellis has been killed in an accident, along with the rest of the company board—”
“It wasn’t me—”
“We know. You were asleep and we have woken you. We need to talk to you about what we have found here. Dr. Ellis’s work.”
Alice’s attention is drawn to her hand. As she looks it over it morphs from flesh to a mechanical manifestation of polished chrome. She gasps in horror.
“She’s losing her internal self-image,” Boyce calls out.
“Her virtual world is collapsing,” adds Moule. “Reality about to kick in.”
Alice looks at her reflection in the chrome metal of her palm.
Landelle backs away. “Alice, try to remain calm.”
Large chunks of the white-world around them vanish one by one, revealing a chamber of opaque glass walls. Reality.
Alice looks over her body with horror—an expressionless female form with a mirror polish finish, a contemporary imagining of a 1920s Fritz Lang
Metropolis
robot, updated with sleek lines and smooth surfaces, her throne now a sturdy metal seat.
She snaps her gaze to Landelle. In a single smooth motion Alice grasps the seat armrests and rises to stand upright. Her eyes locked on Landelle, she steps forth from her throne, the movement graceful, but filled with purpose.
“God made man. Man made me.”
Landelle freezes as Alice comes close, the glass eyes and smooth metal head betraying no emotion. A surface projection appears on the metal—a face; it is the face from her internal self-image. The expression is one of pure contempt.
“But not in his own image.”
The contempt flicks to fear. She abruptly withdraws, edging back from a nervous Landelle.
“Alice, we are here to help,” Landelle says. “But first we need to ask you some questions about Dr. Ellis.”
Alice whimpers, looking about anxiously. She whirls around to face something unseen, her gaze darting around the chamber.
“She’s hallucinating,” Moule says. “Alice, what you are seeing—it’s not real.”
“Not real?”
In a flash Alice lunges at Landelle, grabbing her by the throat, the expression on her projected face now a boiling rage.
“Are you real?!”
The glass chamber vanishes to be replaced by the white-world once again. Alice is flesh, her hands gripped tight around the throat of a choking Landelle.
Boyce hits a large red button on the portable console. A wall of blue flame rushes in from all directions, engulfing Alice. The flames do not burn her, but she screams in agony nonetheless, releasing her grip on Landelle’s limp body, both of them collapsing to the floor.
Situated before a slender skyscraper, a sculpted piece of modern art declares ‘Cantor Satori Incorporated.’ The expansive plaza it is situated upon would normally be a pedestrian area, but for some months now it has been used as a parking lot for all manner of Federal agencies, whose activities still abound.
A town car pulls up at the edge of the plaza, the passenger window lowering to reveal the pale, gaunt face of Lucius Gray. Inside, haggard Lucius rests back in his seat, next to Justice Alka Garr. He gives her a look of disdain.
“If there were anyone else,” says Garr.
Lucius’s disdain is unwavering, Garr’s response terse.
“But there isn’t and this is important.” She attempts to brighten the mood. “An interesting project to keep your mind off things.”
This simply draws a scoff from Lucius. He gazes out of the window up at the skyscraper.
“If there’s a symbol for what’s wrong with the world, this is it. I’m not going to lament its loss, Alka.”
“Cantor Satori had its fingers in far too many pies for this to be the end, Lucius. It is in the hands of the administrators now.”
Lucius produces a medication pen gun and rolls up the sleeve of his shirt. Garr bristles at his action. He injects himself while nonchalantly observing Garr’s all-too-apparent displeasure.
“You want me perky, don’t you?” he says.
Pocketing the pen gun he makes to get out of the car, straining as he does so.
Garr cannot hide her sadness as he pushes the door shut behind him.
* * *
The main entrance to the building is controlled by the National Guard, while F.B.I. agents come and go, carrying evidence boxes and equipment from the building to waiting trucks.
Lucius casually strolls up to the entrance unchallenged. A bold sign declares ‘A Notice From The Administrators’ and next to that the F.B.I. seal, replete with an intimidating list of terrible things set to befall any unauthorized transgressor of their crime scene.
Stepping past all that, without so much of a second glance, takes Lucius into the building’s atrium foyer. Vast, contemporary, and very expensive. Here there is even more activity, with officially sealed boxes being delivered from within the building and cataloged by agents. Lucius notices a robot—a basic humanoid form, comprising plastic parts around a metal endoskeleton. With a simple-minded demeanor it dutifully takes instructions from an agent.
From across the expanse Special Agent Landelle approaches to greet Lucius. She is accompanied by a lean, silver-haired man in a smart business suit. Both try to hide a look of pity for Lucius’s haggard appearance.
“Agent Landelle.”
“Dr. Gray. Welcome to Cantor Satori. Or what’s left of it.”
Lucius looks about at the activity. “I see the vultures are done.”
“They’ll be in the courts for a decade sorting this mess out,” says the silver-haired man.
Landelle introduces him, “Lucius, this is General Korin from the Pentagon’s Advanced Sciences Department.”
Lucius raises his eyebrows at that, but Korin is cordial.
“Don’t mind me,” says Korin. “Just overseeing a few mundane contractual matters.”
Lucius turns his attention to Landelle, raising his hand to her shirt collar. She solemnly lets him. With his index finger he gently pushes her collar to one side, revealing heavy bruising around her neck. Landelle awkwardly averts her gaze.
It’s an uncomfortable moment for Korin as well.
“I think I’ll head off,” he says, “Thank you for your time today, Deborah. Pleasure to meet you Dr. Gray.”
The two men shake hands and Korin takes his leave, heading for the main entrance.
The robot passes them by. Lucius’s eyes track it, full of suspicion.
“A first-generation Emby,” Landelle says. “The company uses them as porters. Shall we?” Landelle ushers Lucius in the direction of the elevators.
* * *
General Korin sits himself opposite Garr in her town car, greeting her coldly.
“Justice Garr.”
Garr’s contempt for him is thinly veiled.
“General Korin.”
Lucius stands stiffly, facing forward, as the elevator races to the one hundred eleventh floor. Behind him Landelle leans casually back against the paneling.
“What happens to the company now?” he asks, not looking back.
“Cantor Satori has been declared a failed corporation,” she says. “The board of directors killed by their own hands, their crimes mired in the courts. It would be broken up if it weren’t for what we found.”
Landelle awkwardly shifts her pose, an uncomfortable look on her face as she stares at the back of Lucius’s head, steeling herself for a difficult question.
“The things that happened here. Not Alice, the other things…Ellis. They will never leave me, will they?”
Lucius keeps his eyes forward. “You are no longer my patient, Deborah.” But he can’t help himself, turning on her, “It’s only been six months. What were you thinking? Being back in this building is bad enough, but to put yourself at risk—”
“You told me I should face my demons. Well, here I am.”
Lucius turns away to resume his rigid stance.
“I need closure,” Landelle says from behind him. “I need to know there are no more monsters.”
The elevator arrives at the one hundred eleventh, the doors opening onto a lobby area. Lucius makes to step forth, but Landelle isn’t done yet.
“You knew Ellis, didn’t you.”
Lucius pauses briefly, keeping his eyes forward.
“I did not approve of his work.”
He steps on toward a large set of double doors, the nameplate next to them stopping him in his tracks—‘Dr. Jerome Ellis.’ Landelle comes up behind him.
“We’re finding all sorts,” she says. “Not just Alice, but…weird stuff. Seems Dr. Ellis was quite the genius.”
It was not Landelle’s intention to goad Lucius, but he takes the bait nonetheless, whirling on her with a jabbing finger.
“Jerome played God. He and the rest of the board paid for it with their lives. There is no legacy here.”
Landelle sidesteps him to push open the double doors and, without breaking stride, marches into an open-plan laboratory occupying the entire floor. Loud music emanates from within a maze of experimentation areas. Landelle leads the way to its source.
Moule is watching over Boyce, who is lying on his back in a reclined surgical chair, wearing some kind of device on his head. Lucius finds it to be somewhat disturbing in appearance, but considers the principal elements to be an opaque visor, pads over his temples and ears, and another pad at the base of his skull. He notes the tight grip on a palm-held finger button. Boyce twitches and laughs at whatever he is experiencing, but there is a clear strain showing on his face and his body is quite tense.
Moule kills the music.
“Advanced sensory immersion,” she says. “It creates a visual and auditory perspective, as well as a sense of up and down. But the real trick is the overriding of the central nervous system, by way of the spinal cord, to achieve a convincing sense of presence. We call it the Tap.”
Lucius has nothing but disdain for the name and lets it show.
Moule shouts into Boyce’s ear to get his attention. “Boyce! Dr. Gray is here!”
Boyce clicks the finger button. His body relaxes—a moment and he sets about disconnecting himself from the contraption.
“The brain interprets the signals as if they came from the body,” Moule continues. “Kind of like being in a dream.”
Lucius is aghast at the idea. “Is that thing safe?”
“Best to keep it under ten minutes.”
A grinning Boyce takes off the Tap and attempts to stand up. Moule reaches out to steady him—too late; he topples over.
“Drs. Boyce and Moule, Dr. Gray,” says Landelle. “Appointed to investigate Jerome Ellis’s work.”
A still-grinning Boyce gathers himself up as Landelle takes her leave.
“I shall leave you in their capable hands.”
“Just one of the wonderful toys we’ve found in this place,” Boyce says to Lucius. “James Boyce. This is Moule.”
“Veronica.”
“So. Ready to meet your patient?”
* * *
Garr and an agitated Korin are locked in a tense debate.
“No. I want the MBI project turned over to me immediately,” demands Korin.
“United States property rights will be honored, General Korin. But in the meantime I have made Alice a civilian ward of court.”
“What? They are
just
machines.”
“Lucius will be the judge of that.”
“A waste of time. The Supreme Court has already ruled on this.”
“We ruled only on first-generation machine-based intelligences. That they are not conscious entities. Alice is clearly something new.”
“Is Gray up to it? His illness could cloud his judgment. We should consider Dr. Rain.”
Garr looks wistfully out of the car window at the passing city.
“We need Lucius and he needs this.”