The Phoenix Code (19 page)

So they rode down the escalator. At the bottom, row after row of slot machines stretched out: the old-fashioned type where a player pulled the handle; computerized models with screens; and holoslots that were no more than light. Colors flashed and twirled in flamboyant splendor. The sensory input made Megan's mind spin.

It took a moment for her to register the comp-phones on a wall to their left. If she could slip away from Ander, she could call the number General Graham had given her—

"Don't even think about it," Ander said.

She gave him a guileless look. "About what?"

"The phones." He indicated an information desk staffed by an attractive woman in a gold and crimson uniform. A console abutted the desk. "See that?"

"You can't use that console," she said.

"It's IR capable. Hacking it is child's play."

Child's play. An apt phrase. Ander was like a kid who had run away from home. However, he had the body of an adult and the training of a commando. If he hacked the console, he could use the Internet to reach computers beyond the casino—including the bungalow. Megan rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. She stopped looking at the phones.

Then another anomaly registered. "They have no public consoles here," she said. "No way for guests to use the Web. No
clocks
, even."

"Wait..." His face took on a blank quality. "Okay, I'm in the computer web. They're hooked into a citywide net that spans all the casinos." Now he looked thoughtful. "They have no clocks or public consoles because they don't want customers distracted. And hey, listen to this. They've so much security here, you're safer in these casinos than almost anywhere else in the city." He refocused on Megan. "In case you're wondering, I've also linked into the console at the motel."

"Ander, please. Don't hurt him."

"I won't. If you don't try to get away."

"Don't worry." Megan wondered how many other scientists had their research projects blackmail them.

Unexpectedly, he spoke to reassure her. "He's sleeping. He'll be fine."

"I hope so." Could her guess be right, that Ander didn't want to hurt Raj? Lord, she wished she knew which of them to believe.

"Come on." Ander took her hand. "Let's go have fun."

"Can you?" She walked with him along an aisle of slots, past men and women in a plethora of clothing styles: chic, casual, fancy, loud.

"I don't know if I can," Ander said. "I've been locked underground all my life, subjected to this and that and who knows what. I have no idea what people mean when they say they're having fun. Sure, I've files on the subject. But that's not the same as
knowing
."

"I had no idea you wanted to go gambling."

"Neither did I." His infectious laugh caused several people to smile at them.

Megan could just imagine writing the grant proposal:
We need Department of Defense funds to take the RS-4 gambling.
Hell, if she had thought it would head off this mess, she would have tried. She suspected, though, that Ander would have found some other way to assert his independence.

"Are you going to play the slots?" she asked.

"I don't think so. They're all computerized, even the ones with the arms you pull. The casino keeps track of how much you win." Delight flashed across his face, which was developing more mobility. "Do you know, they even have a group you can join, the Royal Adventure Club, that tallies up the points you make at these things."

She smiled, responding to his enthusiasm. "It sounds like an amusement park."

"When you reach certain levels, you get free rides on their adventure tours."

"That's a lot money just to ride a fake river with fake crocodiles."

His laugh sounded almost completely natural. "You need to have more fun."

"So why aren't you playing the slots, Mister Fun Guy?"

"Ah, Megan. You're charming when you're cranky. I do like you."

She hadn't expected that response. "You've an odd way of showing it."

"I suppose it's semantics. My neural nets model behaviors in response to you that humans interpret as 'liking.' "

"But do you feel it?"

His face turned contemplative. "I don't think I can 'feel.' "

The phrasing intrigued her. "You sound like you're not sure."

"It's hard to say when I have no referent for the experience."

She motioned at the slots. "Why aren't you going to play these? It's a new experience."

"It's too easy to monitor our actions. And the odds of winning stink."

"If they're all computerized, can't you just jiggle their IR signals?" She had tried to program honesty into his code, but who knew what had happened to those mods in the past few days?

"They aren't IR capable, probably for exactly that reason." He shrugged. "I'd rather win by skill anyway."

Although it gratified her that he preferred skill to dishonesty, she wished he would cheat and be caught. A moment's thought, though, changed her mind. He could still carry out his threat against Raj. It might fail; he had to have the computer here contact the bungalow and run his program. He could hit trouble many places along the line. Raj might not die. But Ander had more chance of success than failure, and Megan had no intention of gambling with Raj's life.

Her response to Ander was conflicted. She regretted making it impossible to deactivate him by voice command. Yet she rejoiced in what that seemed to have made happen. If this wasn't the emergence of his self-awareness, then she was a pig in a poke.

Although Ander didn't know, he had another ace he could use with her: she didn't want him hurt. He was the harbinger of a new species, and how she and Raj treated him now could have far-reaching effects. She felt as if she were walking along a narrow wall. If she fell in either direction, it could do a great deal of harm.

Ander took her toward an area with roulette wheels and tables covered by green felt. They passed several guards in blue jackets with badges that said "Security." Megan stared intently at each, wishing she knew how to alert them without alerting Ander. One man nodded and smiled to her, then went on his way.

At the roulette tables, Ander's face lit with excitement. The balls rattled and bounced seductively in their spinning wheels. One table produced a holo that floated in the air, a roulette sphere, spinning, shimmering, translucent. Holoballs bounced within it in blissful defiance of gravity.

"Cool," Ander said.

"Cool?" She blinked. "I didn't know you knew slang."

"Hey, Megan baby, wanna scream the ultraviolet and run the RAM?"

"What?" When he laughed at her, she glared. "Can you repeat that in English?"

"I asked if you wanted to jump jail and bim the bam."

"Oh, well, that's clear as mud."

"Clear as mud. Yes. I see." He looked ready to laugh again. "You wish me to adapt my statement to your ancient language base."

"Pah. My database is not ancient."

"How about this: let's paint the town red and get laid."

She threw up her hands. "You're the worst-behaved android I know."

"I'm the only android you know."

Megan wondered if anyone could overhear them. She doubted it mattered; who in their right mind would think they were doing anything more than playing around? It amazed her how adept he had become at conversation.

Ander drew her to a table where people were playing cards. A sign showed the allowed bets: $25-$500. Shaped like a half-moon and covered with green felt, the table had room for seven players along its curved side. The seats resembled bar chairs, tall and upholstered in red leather. Six were occupied. With an uncoordinated lurch, Ander pulled himself into the empty seat. The others glanced curiously at him and murmured greetings.

The dealer was standing by the straight edge of the table. Tall and svelte, she had almond eyes, high cheekbones, and hair that fell in a black waterfall to her shoulders. Her glistening dress left her shoulders and arms bare.

"Good evening, sir," she said in a smooth voice.

Ander beamed at her. "Good evening to you too, sir."

As Megan winced, the dealer smiled coolly, then turned her attention to a player making a bet.

The woman on Ander's right glanced at him with boredom, then did a much livelier double take. She looked in her forties, with streaked-blond hair, diamonds around her neck, and a remarkably unlined face. Her little black dress did nothing to disguise a body more fit and well made than that of many women half her age. She glanced at Megan, her gaze flicking over Megan's unadorned ring finger. Then she turned her attention back to Ander. "Hello, there."

He blinked his big baby-blues, acting so innocent that Megan wanted to groan. "Hello," he replied.

"Is this your first time?" the woman asked.

"The very first."

"You don't want to take it too fast," she cooed. "Play slow."

Ander gave her a langorous smile. "I like it slow."

"For crying out loud." Megan was tempted to tell Little Black Dress she was flirting with a robot.

The other players had continued the game. Megan tried to stand behind Ander, out of sight, but he motioned her to his side. She knew he could watch her in his peripheral vision while he focused on the table; unlike humans, he easily divided his attention among several processes without losing concentration on any.

The game was twenty-one. She had played it on her palmtop, mostly because she could win it more than solitaire. The goal was to score as many points as possible without going over twenty-one.

When it came time for a new round, the players placed their bets on gilded disks embossed with the letters RAP. They used chips, though, rather than money. Ander watched them, then pulled out Raj's wallet with its hundred-dollar bill.

Megan leaned next to him, bringing her lips by his ear like a lover about to murmur sweet words. In a voice only he could hear, she said, "Quit stealing from Raj."

"Think of it as my allowance," Ander murmured. He set the bill in front of the dealer and spoke in a normal voice. "Can you give me chips?"

"Certainly." She raised her voice. "One hundred change."

Ander looked alarmed. "You're changing one hundred of us?"

As the dealer gave him another of her cool smiles, one of the men strolling among the tables came over to watch. The dealer used a plastic tool shaped like a T to stuff the bill into a slot. Then she spoke to Ander. "Would you like quarters?"

"A hundred dollars' worth of quarter dollars?" he asked. "Are you sure?"

"No, sir," she said, patient. "Each quarter is worth twenty-five dollars."

"Ah. Okay. Yes, do that." Ander beamed as she gave him four green chips engraved with RAP. He set one on the disk in front of him.

The dealer included him in the next hand. Looking inordinately pleased, he picked up his cards, a two and a three, and settled back in his chair.

"Cards over the table, please," the dealer said.

Ander looked up. "Do you mean me?"

"You must keep your cards over the table," she said, as smooth as burnished metal.

"Oh." He sat forward, bringing his cards into their proper place. "Why?"

The dealer had already turned to the first player, a man at the left end of the table. She turned back to Ander with a silver glance. "Those are the rules, sir."

"You know," he told her, his face deadpan, "you could really use an expanded language and emotive base." Megan almost groaned.

The dealer put on a chill smile. Then she returned to the first player, a man with thinning hair, a Hawaiian shirt, and a paunch that pushed against the table.

The sexpot in the little black dress, who had been listening to all this with obvious fascination, gave Ander a sultry pout. "And just how do you expand your database, honey?"

"I've good input ports," Ander murmured.

"Do you now?" She took a sip of her blue drink. "How about your output?"

His face relaxed into his guaranteed-to-charm grin. "It gets better all the time."

"I'll bet," she purred.

"I don't believe this," Megan said. The sexpot looked her over, then gave the slightest shrug, as if to dismiss her from consideration.

The fellow with the Hawaiian shirt scratched the table with his cards, asking for another card. When the dealer gave him a nine, he scowled and tossed his cards on the table. Twenty-two. A bust. Ander watched him with unabashed curiosity.

"Did you want something?" the man asked.

"I've never seen anyone with such dramatic facial casts," Ander said.

The man frowned. "I don't have a cast."

"Your face. It's amazing."

"What, you got a problem with my face?"

"You emote well." Ander sounded enthralled.

Megan feared the man would take offense, but instead his stiff posture relaxed. "Well, I've done some theater. I just finished a run of
West Side Story
." He gave Ander a friendlier look. "You an actor, kid?"

"You bet. Two bees or not two bees. All the world is upstaged." Ander paused. "Or something like that." Then he added, "Isn't a kid a baby goat?"

Bees? Upstaged? Megan wondered what the heck he had done to his knowledge base. It sounded as if he had put it through a cheese shredder.

"You look plenty grown to me," Little Black Dress said.

Ander glanced at her. "I'm self-modifying, you know."

"Oh, my." She languidly fanned herself. "That sounds creative."

He leaned closer. "You should see what I can do with hardware."

"You'll have to show me."

Megan crossed her arms and fixed Little Black Dress with a stare.
Keep slavering over my robot
, she thought,
and I'll modify your face.

A tall man on the right spoke to Ander in a good-natured voice. "You work on computers, son?"

"All the time," Ander said. "I can't get away from them."

A woman to his left made a commiserating noise. "Everywhere you look, there they are."

"Damn invasion, if you ask me," Hawaiian Shirt stated.

"Sometimes you just have to say enough is enough." Ander shot Megan a devilish glance. "Wouldn't you agree, dear?"

I'll
dear
you
, she thought.
After I hang you upside down in gravity boots.
"I think we should turn them all off," she said sweetly. "Right now, in fact."