The Machine Awakes (22 page)

Kodiak exhaled a long, slow breath. “Not much at the moment except holy. Shit.”

And it was remarkable, to say the least. That the man in the pale coat was a servitor—a
robot
—that looked like a human, down to the last detail … the Fleet had never gotten that far with robotics technology. With the Spider war getting progressively more difficult, there had seemed to be little need for such development.

Obviously, such advancement was not impossible—the partially dismantled servitor lying on a lab bench proof positive—but Kodiak thought back to the two other surprises the investigation had brought up.

That a manifest tag's signal could be shielded. That the tag itself could be removed without killing the subject.

Kodiak rubbed his face, wishing for another coffee to materialize on the table next to the images from the lab.

“The Fleet doesn't have anything like this,” he said, another obvious statement but one that allowed his mind to process the information.

Avalon folded her arms. “We don't. The Fleet has robots and artificial intelligence, but not ‘androids.' We've only just entered into a contract for combat servitors in the last year.”

Kodiak nodded. She was right—of course, the Fleet used robots all the time, everything from surveillance and maintenance drones, to service robots like the cleaning machines on Helprin's Gambit. When there was heavy lifting required, you used a robot. U-Stars were constructed by them. So was most of New Orem. The combat servitors
were
new—but even those were experimental. But while the Fleet ran as much automation as possible, AI itself centuries-old tech, its use was deliberately limited—it was enough to give battle computers and management systems an edge, assisting the Fleet with real-time pre-emptive data and decision making, but it had its limitations. A self-aware, fully autonomous artificial intelligence was considered far, far too dangerous to use when the entirety of humanity was battling for its very existence against an enemy that was itself an artificial intelligence: the Spiders.

Avalon pushed herself away from the glass wall and took a seat next to Kodiak. She slid some of the report images around. “The Fleet doesn't have anything like
this
either.”

The new picture showed a gun. It was tiny, little more than a molded grip and small barrel no bigger than Kodiak's little finger. The agent leaned over the table, rotating and enlarging the image to get a better look.

“What's that?” he asked. “Not sure I've seen a design like that before.”

“It's a PJH four-ninety-three,” said the chief. “But most people call it a Yuri-G.” She swiped the table and a few more images slid into view, showing the weapon in various stages of disassembly.

Kodiak frowned and glanced sideways at the chief. “Looks kinda small.” The Yuri-G seemed barely big enough to fit into an average-sized hand.

“Small but powerful,” said Avalon. “It got its nickname because people say it'll put you into orbit. They were Fleet issue once, but were actually banned a long time ago. Too dangerous.”

Kodiak whistled. “So our mystery man is not only an advanced servitor, something beyond Fleet tech, but he's packing heat that the Fleet doesn't even use.” He rolled his fingers along the edge of the table, deep in thought. “I wonder,” he said.

The information he had learned was undeniably bad. Whatever was going on, they were up against a well-prepared, well-equipped enemy with serious resources and technology.

Avalon stared at the images on the table. “This all suggests it
can't
be an inside job. Not if the Fleet doesn't even have this stuff itself.”

Kodiak nodded. “And who knows what other tricks they might have—if they can do all this, then they could probably circumvent Fleet security. That's how they got the shooter into and out of their positions without being caught.”

“What about black ops?” asked Avalon, clearly going through a list of alternatives in her mind, as Kodiak was himself.

“Could be,” he said. It was a distinct possibility—who the hell knew what kind of tech the dark side of the Fleet had, what secret plans they were following. But it was almost a pointless line of inquiry—if this was part of some official, but secret operation, one not even the Command Council knew about, then they would never get to the bottom of it. Kodiak voiced that opinion to Avalon and the chief agreed.

The two sat in silence for a while. Outside, work went on in the bullpen, the place a hive of activity that was, to the two agents sitting in the planning room, totally silent. Kodiak watched them for a while, letting his mind wander. They needed to come up with a new plan, but he was aware he was tired. He needed some rest, and soon, even if it was just for a few hours.

Kodiak sighed. He could survive on coffee for a while longer. There was a bigger, more important thing he needed than sleep.

He turned in his seat. Avalon was leaning over the table, examining the lab report, her forehead in her hands. Her long red hair framed her face, hiding it from Kodiak.

“We need to find Tyler and Caitlin Smith,
now,
” he said.

Avalon looked up. “And how do we do that? Caitlin Smith doesn't have her tag anymore, and Tyler's is shielded and doesn't show up on the Fleet manifest.”

Kodiak rolled his neck. “And the door-to-door hasn't picked up anything yet.” Reports from the city lockdown were flooding the Bureau—with so many agents and marines enforcing the lockdown out in the city, it was all the bullpen could do to keep up with the flow of information. Kodiak curled his hand into a fist and bumped it against the table in frustration. “The two prime suspects are psi-abled. You'd think that would be some kind of help at least.” He gave a sigh and slumped back into his seat, wracking his brains for options. Damn, he was tired.

Then Avalon sat up in her chair. She turned to her agent. He sat up too, recognizing a fire in her eyes.

“What?”

“Moustafa,” she said. Kodiak frowned and Avalon tapped a fingernail on the table. “
Commander
Moustafa,” she explained. “He's a lead psi-trainer at the Fleet Academy.”

Kodiak pursed his lips. “Okay … one of the Smiths' teachers, I assume?”

The chief nodded. “Yes. He's a good friend. I remember something he once briefed the Command Council on, maybe six months ago. They were working with the Alpha One class on something—they could take the psychospore of an individual and follow it back to them.”

“Psychospore?” Kodiak's eyes went wide.

“The psychospore is the psychic echo everyone leaves—it's what our psi-fi equipment uses when it pairs with our minds.”

Kodiak rubbed his eyes as his Fleet training came back to him—specific information on psionics that he hadn't needed to call on in … well, in years.

“I remember,” he said, nodding. “That's how the psi-marines link up to form their gestalts—they kinda listen out for the psychospore of the other members in their fireteam, using it to lock their consciousnesses together to form the hive mind.”

“Exactly,” said Avalon. “And while their minds are linked, the gestalt is essentially one single entity. Like the Spiders themselves.”

“So what was the Academy working on?”

“I don't remember the details,” said the chief, “but I think the idea is that if the gestalt is a single mind, in theory each of the psi-marines will know where the other members of their team are. Their physical location.”

Kodiak's jaw worked as he processed the concept. It sounded logical, although he knew he was very much a layman when it came to the Psi-Marine Corps. But, if this “technique” was viable, then maybe they had a new option available, one that would allow them to find both Tyler and Caitlin, even without the manifest tags.

Then he frowned as he thought again. “But doesn't that mean Tyler and Caitlin need to be part of a team's gestalt?”

Avalon shrugged. “Like I said, I don't remember the specifics.”

“I think you need to talk to Commander Moustafa. If there's a chance this might work, we need to take it.”

“Agreed,” said the chief. She pushed her chair out and headed for the door, but she stopped, one hand on the handle as she turned back to her agent. “You need to get some rest. I'll talk to Moustafa. I'm not sure how long it would take to organize, if we can do this at all, but I'll call you. You'll have a couple of hours at least. You look like you could use that.”

Kodiak nodded. “Thanks,” he said.

As Avalon left, the sound of the busy bullpen came through the open door for a few seconds, then cut out again as the door clicked closed.

Kodiak allowed himself a yawn, then stood and stretched. He could rest, just for a little bit. And yes, he certainly needed it.

But as he walked to the door, he felt excitement grow.

Maybe they had another option open.

Maybe they could find the Smith twins.

Maybe they could get some damn answers.

 

23

“I don't know about
you, but this is giving me the creeps. Seriously, man. The
creeps.
”

Braben sipped his coffee as he stood next to Kodiak and Commander Avalon. They were in a large and perfectly circular room, the walls Fleet-standard silvery gray but angled outward from the floor, so the chamber was considerably wider at the ceiling than ground level. In the ceiling of the strange chamber was a white circular light panel, spotlighting the center of the room and the eight reclining couches arranged like petals around the hub. The couches were thickly padded and articulated, like the medical equipment they were. Arranged around them were three separate consoles, curved like the walls of the room. The entire set-up was minimal, symmetrical. It was, Kodiak thought, like standing inside a giant metal flower. It was beautiful too, but Braben was right. The strange space was also a little creepy, the weird design making the chamber feel very …
unfamiliar.
He swallowed a ball of tension.

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” said Kodiak, exchanging a look not just with Braben but with the chief too. Avalon was silent, but her expression was firm. They were venturing into unknown territory with this, but if this was successful, it would mean a lot to the Bureau—not just in terms of the current investigation, but as a new technique for them to use.

If
it was successful.

But, at least he was feeling better after a couple of hours of sleep. Now it was Braben's turn to look ragged. He'd been up all night in the lab apparently, in case the techs had discovered anything as they dismantled the servitor from the warehouse. Then the pair had spent the best part of the last few hours going over the data down at the bullpen while Avalon flexed her authority and made contact with her friend, Commander Moustafa at the Fleet Academy. The technique they were about to employ was experimental. New territory. But Moustafa had been cooperative, and for that Kodiak was grateful.

It sounded so simple too. The search would be conducted by a psi-team, who lay on the couches, closed their eyes, and …

What, exactly? Kodiak wasn't sure. He had zero psi-ability himself, aside from the general low-level aura every human being possessed that allowed various bits of equipment—the helmet computers Fleet personnel wore out on the field, for example—to function by thought alone. So whatever the psi-team was about to do, whatever they saw, or felt, or heard, or whatever the hell it was, he really had no idea. All he could do was sit and watch and hope they succeeded in finding their two targets: Tyler Smith and Caitlin Smith. Tyler was the priority, but ideally they wanted both of them in custody.

The main doors slid open behind them. The trio turned as a dozen personnel filed in: at the front, a tall officer with a closely cropped black beard, the rank insignia on his chest set onto the black inverted triangle of the Psi-Marine Corps. The officer was followed by two women and a man dressed in the white uniforms and garrison caps of technical operators—FlyEyes without their multifaceted headsets—and eight younger personnel in tan uniforms marking them as students from the Academy.

As Kodiak watched the team arrive, Braben turned to the chief, his eyes wide in surprise. “These the best for the job? Cadets?”

Avalon ignored the comment, instead snapping a command.

“Attention, Agents!”

Braben and Kodiak automatically obeyed, Braben ducking down to place his coffee on the floor before joining Kodiak in a salute while Bureau Chief and Commander Moustafa saluted each other, then shook hands.

“Thanks for this, Ibrahim,” said the chief.

“Of course,” said the Psi-Marine Commander. “We have to throw everything at this. The Academy is honored to be of assistance.”

Avalon introduced Kodiak and Braben to her colleague. After they made their greetings, Moustafa insisted the two agents stand at ease. Then he gestured to the three ops he had brought with him. “This is First Sergeant Epstein and Corporals Sigler and Holt, three of our best technical trainers.”

The technicians saluted, which Kodiak, Braben, and Avalon acknowledged. Standing next to him, Kodiak thought he could physically feel Braben's anxiety, radiating off him like heat. Moustafa had clearly heard Braben's earlier comment. He nodded at the agent, then turned to the group of eight cadets assembled just behind him.

“I know what you are thinking,” he said. “Yes, they are young. Yes, they are cadets. But I can assure you, they are the best.” He turned to regard his students and held out his hand, palm open. “This is Alpha One, the elite class of Sixty-Nine from the Psi-Marine Academy. They may not have served the Fleet yet, but believe me, they are ready.” He turned back to the Bureau agents. “More than that, Alpha One-Sixty-Nine, along with their ops trainers, were actually the ones to help develop the technique we're about to test for you.”