The road rolled out, dark except for cones of light from the headlamps on Sam's car. She had left her silver Mercedes at the house; this beaut was the car she rarely used, a sleek shadow. She had loaded it with a copy of Madrigal, her EI. Although she kept her hands on the wheel, Madrigal was driving. Digital ink on the dash displayed dials, gauges, and screens in a green, gray, and blue motif called Forest and Lake. The car's holographic exterior could mimic any design Sam coded. Now they sped through the night, black and muted. Invisible.
Cliffs plunged down to the turbulent sea on the right, where waves crashed against the rocky shoreline, their crests capped by shimmers of light from the gibbous moon. Hills rose on the left, dark humps against a sky rich with stars. Even in the day, few people traveled this lonely road; now, after midnight, theirs was the only vehicle.
Turner sat slumped in the passenger's seat, staring out at the night. He seemed lost. Vulnerable. Sam had spent the past hour in frustrating attempts to find out more about him. Either he had lost part of his verbal abilities in becoming an EI or else he was being deliberately taciturn. She suspected a combination of the two. She had time to draw him out, though; it would take hours to reach San Francisco even if the car drove itself straight through the night.
She decided to try again. "I was wondering."
Turner glanced at her. "Yes?"
"What does Charon look like?"
"Like a devil," he said darkly.
"What does a devil look like?"
"Evil."
"Evil how?"
He stared out at the road.
She tried another tack. "Do you know what Charon planned to do with you?"
"He wanted a slave."
"For what?"
"He planned to change me." He turned to her, his face pale. "He wanted to test out different forma bodies on me, to find out if others were more efficient than the human form. And he was going to manipulate my EI, see what he could make me do."
What Turner described went against every principle Sam valued. "He needs a crash course in ethics."
"He was convinced people were plotting against him and he had to protect himself."
It sounded more like everyone else needed protection from Charon. Sam gazed out the windshield, thinking, and her reflection gazed back, a woman with shaggy blond curls and bangs, her eyes too large for her urchin's face. She looked like a waif, not an EI architect.
Turner suddenly said, "You're helping me relearn speech."
She smiled. "Well, that is my job."
"Talking to you provides data for my speech mods." He winced. "But I still sound like a damn EI."
Sam couldn't deny it. He was almost indistinguishable from a man, but nothing could change the fact that his mind derived from a matrix of evolving neural networks. "An incredible EI," she said, wishing she had something more to offer him.
"I'm not a machine."
"You're right." She didn't know what to call him.
He laid his head against the seat and closed his eyes. "Charon had me doing tests. Physical, to see how I worked; mental, to study my mind. Every now and then he turned me off while he worked."
"Turned you off?"
"With drugs."
"Drugs knock out a person. Machines turn off."
"I'll remember. But, Sam, either way, he took away my ability to think."
The dash flickered with a new holicon, or holographic icon, which glowed near to the wheel. It showed a red light like the domes that appeared on old-fashioned police cars. A warning.
Sam flicked the holicon, and it morphed into a small screen on the dash with gold letters on a black background: Car approaching from behind. The words moved down and an image formed above them showing an unmarked black car—long, sleek, and deadly—hugging the curves of the road. Information replaced the message: the car was half a mile behind, running an unusually quiet engine, one undetectable from this distance by an unaugmented human ear.
"Madrigal," Sam said.
"Hello." The voice came out of a comm below the screen.
"What can you tell me about the car behind us?"
"Analysis of its speed and accelerations suggests it is following this car and hiding its presence."
"But we know it's there."
"It has good shroud programs." Smugly Madrigal added, "Mine are better."
Sam's lips quirked upward. "And modest."
Madrigal spoke with dignity. "Software has no modesty or lack thereof."
"Yes, well, you simulate its lack very well." Sam nudged up their speed. "What do you have on that car? Make, type, age, schematics?"
"It is a Hover-Shadow 14."
"A spy car." Similar to her own, in fact. She had purchased this one when someone started tailing her during the hearings at BioII. Probably it had been nothing, only her overly sensitized concern. But she had bought the Shadow anyway. She could afford its exorbitant price, after all. That was what made the BioII investigation so charged: millions, even billions were at stake. She had thrown down the gauntlet, claiming that in the pursuit of those billions, they cut corners to the point of endangering human life. It had made her enemies, but she couldn't have stayed silent and kept her self-respect.
"It could be unconnected to us," Madrigal said. "Hover-Shadows are sold to security forces that protect VIPs."
Sam raised her eyebrows. "And they just happen to be following us in the middle of the night on a desolate highway hundreds of miles from civilization."
"The probability of that is small," Madrigal admitted.
Sam thought for a moment. Spy cars could hide from many tracking systems. Their holographic surfaces made them invisible by displaying whatever was behind the car relative to the probe. The coating and rounded angles of the car's design, derived from stealth technology, made it difficult to detect by radar. The car sent out a locator signal, in case thieves stole it, but she had deactivated the supposedly tamper-proof system. They were running "dark" now in every way.
Even so, an advanced enough system could compensate for the shroud, just as Madrigal detected their pursuer. On the display, Sam could see details of the car following them even from half a mile away. That pushed Madrigal's bandwidth, though; if their pursuer fell any farther behind, the image would degrade. Sam wondered why they followed at the limit of Madrigal's ability. Perhaps the driver thought he was out of range. It would support Madrigal's assertion that his onboard systems were less advanced than hers. Given that Sam had designed the EI and its associated systems herself, using procedures she was in the process of patenting, it wouldn't surprise her if Madrigal could outdo their trackers.
"What weapons does it have?" Sam asked.
"I can't detect them through its shroud," Madrigal said. "However, they are probably similar to the systems incorporated in this car. And they are gaining on us."
"Speed up!"
"Increasing to seventy miles an hour."
Sam knew the Shadow could easily go many times that speed. "Can't you give me more?"
"Yes. However, on this road, I can't guarantee we won't slide out over the cliff."
Sam peered out the window. The road wound in hairpin curves, following contours of the mountain. Although a metal railing separated them from the drop-off at their right, it probably wouldn't hold if they plowed into it at this speed. Although the car had some amphibious ability, they might just bounce down the cliff and smash on the rocks below.
As they careened into another curve, Turner grabbed the door handle, his body tensing until his shirt pulled tight across his shoulders. He made no sound, just stared at the road.
Damn. She was supposed to rescue Turner, not kill him in a car accident. "Madrigal, do the cloud."
"Done." A hissing came from the back of the car.
"What was that?" Turner asked.
"A fog of microscopic bomblets with picotech brains. It will bombard the car following us." Sam glanced at him. "I designed it myself."
He seemed disconcerted. "When you get the fierce look, you could be some wild eldritch warrior queen."
Sam blinked at the image. She saw herself as a tech-nerd. She would be a warrior woman, though, if it took that to protect him and get them out of here. "I'm hoping the bomblets can stop them."
Madrigal spoke. "They may not. Their car is continuing through the cloud."
Sam studied the image. Stats scrolled under it about the vehicle pursuing them. Their pursuer was barreling through the haze of bomblets, but the data was degrading as the other car fell farther behind. "Mad, can you give me a better picture?"
"Working," Mad said. The contrast increased. It didn't improve the resolution much, but it did reveal a cloud of fireflies dancing around the car.
"What's with the bugs?" Sam asked.
"Our pursuer released a swarm of bee-bots to neutralize your bomblets. They are also attacking this car."
"A bee what?" Turner asked. If he was simulating fear, he was doing one hell of a good job. No EI she had ever worked with was this convincing. She would bet her many academic degrees that Turner genuinely felt scared to death.
"They're little robots with rudimentary AI brains," Sam said. "They can counter minor threats." Like her bomblets. "I could release some, too, to counter the ones from the other car, but I don't have many and they only operate for a few minutes." Unlike the others, hers weren't armed.
Hope sparked in his voice. "Can you send back more bomblets until the other car uses up its bees?"
Sam wished she could. "I don't have any more."
Mad spoke. "Shall I activate the artillery?"
"Do it." Sam couldn't bear to see Turner so afraid.
"Done." A rumbling came from the rear of the car.
Turner clenched the edge of the seat. "You're going to shoot them?"
Sam gave him a guilty look. "Cross your fingers it doesn't come to that."
"Why would you have a car like this?" he asked.
"Someone was following me at BioII last year." Sam didn't like to remember. "One time I thought someone broke into my penthouse. They didn't take anything, but just that someone got past all my security scared me."
"Did you report it to the police?"
"Yes. But I had no proof. I just found a few things misplaced in my bedroom. And it didn't feel right." She shivered. "Maybe I imagined it. I don't know."
Madrigal spoke. "We've increased our distance from them. However, they are attacking with more bots."
It disquieted Sam that they had disarmed her bomblets so fast. "Shoot, Mad—the guns, not the mini-cannons."
"Done." The jack-hammer of machinegun fire burst out the back of the car. Almost immediately, an answering burst came from behind them.
"Holy shit," Turner muttered.
"Hostile vehicle has returned fire," Madrigal said.
"Are you all right?" Sam asked.
"A few dents," the EI said. "Otherwise, I'm still singing."
"Good." Sam felt a fierce satisfaction. Teach them to threaten her prince in distress, or whatever one called the male equivalent of the proverbial damsel. "Spread some oil on the road." They had the advantage of being ahead of the other car; she could release pernicious substances but their pursuers would have a harder time sending similar forward to bedevil them.
"Oil released," Madrigal said. "Hostile vehicle compensating." The car careened around another turn, and Sam grabbed the door handle, hanging on.
"We've gained more distance on them," Madrigal said. Turner's face had gone white, his body rigid.
"Sorry," Sam told him.
"Hey." He gulped. "No—no problem."
"Hostile vehicle has cleared the oil," Madrigal said.
Another burst of gunfire came from behind them—and Sam's car swerved.
"Mad!" Sam hung on to the door while they skidded across the road. She had to let the EI deal with this; human reactions weren't fast enough to handle the situation at such high speeds. Her body protested against the rapid changes in acceleration as Mad compensated for the swerve.
"Course corrected," Madrigal said. "They're still firing."
"Use the cannons," Sam said. "Blast the bastards."
A muffled boom came from behind them as mini-cannons on the car fired at their pursuers.
"Got one of their wheels," Madrigal said smugly.
Sam clung to the door as they lurched around another curve. "Did it stop them?"
"No. But it slowed them down. I don't think they can catch us now."
"Good," Turner whispered, scrunched against the door.
"Are you all right?" Sam asked.
"I think so." He tore his gaze away from the screen that displayed the now indistinct car behind them. "Will we make it?" A line showed between his eyebrows that hadn't been there earlier. Given enough time, his face would develop character and lose the alabaster perfection that made him seem more sculpted than human.
"We'll make it," she said, hiding her doubts. "The wheels on these cars are protected, but they're weak spots compared to the rest."
"That's right," Madrigal said. "Put out one of those babies and you can speed away."
A ghost of a smile played about Turner's lips. "Madrigal sounds like you."
"She programmed me," the car said.
Sam snorted. "You've been programming yourself for months. It's my bane." In truth, she was proud of the EI's development, even if it did have quirks, like calling her Samantha.
"Charon sent that car," Turner said.
"I thought you deactivated the tracking signals in your body."
He spoke uneasily. "Maybe I was wrong."
"But why would it take him three days to find you?"
"Maybe because I woke up?"
"You sleep?"
He spoke with reluctance. "I hope you won't think this makes me sound inhuman—but during my 'wake' time, I respond to stimuli that helps my programming evolve. I need sleep to integrate the changes."
What he described didn't actually seem that much different from what humans needed. "Like what happens when we dream."
His posture eased. "I never thought of it like that."
"Why would that help Charon find you?"
"I don't know. It's just the main difference I can think of between now and before."
Sam considered it. "Well, you were at sea before. You were on the yacht. Maybe something in its systems protected you. Or maybe Charon wanted you to find me."
His shoulders hunched. "Why would he want that?"
"Hell if I know."
"He does know who you are." He wouldn't look at her. "But then, so does anyone in the EI field."
Sweat beaded on Sam's forehead. She didn't want to be that well known. It had brought her nothing but problems, especially during the well-publicized ethics hearings at BioII. "Your EI matrix must keep a record of what happens while you sleep. Can you compare those with the records of your waking periods?"
"Yes. Just a second . . ." He went silent for a moment. "I don't see any difference."
"Maybe you should sleep now. We could see if that makes a difference."
"I'm willing to try anything."
Sam studied the screen on the dash, which showed only a dark highway now. "Mad, is that Shadow still behind us?"
"Yes. They have fallen back about a mile."
"How long before it repairs that wheel?"
"Probably fifteen minutes. I am devoting more of my systems to the shroud that hides us."
"Hide us from miniaturized systems, too."
"I'll make sure no bees sting us," Madrigal said.
"Good." Then Sam said, "Take us to the cabin."
Redwoods surrounded the small building. The smell of pine needles filled the air, and sparse underbrush crunched under their feet. Breezes whispered through the trees, the only sound in this remote location. Sam had never realized how much noise a city made, even in the latest hours of the night, until she had come to live in the wild, majestic reaches of northern California. The deepness of the silence had rattled her at first, but she soon came to find it a healing balm.
The cabin had no outward sign of electronic, optical, or superconducting systems. It was isolated from all exterior input. Sam had it built that way during one of her "I reject all the technology that has made my life miserable" phases.
However, she only carried her rebellion so far. Disguised in its innocuous wood construction, the cabin had heat shields to hide from infrared sensors, pheromone screens to contain scents produced by its inhabitants that wandering bee-bots might detect, and filters to remove bits of biological matter, like hair, that included traceable DNA.
They climbed the stairs to the porch, which was shaded by a roof. After they reached the door, Turner ran his fingers over the rough wall of the cabin, which was built from wood, real wood, though Sam had chosen the most common pine available. She hadn't even considered redwood; the trees had become too rare.
"How many houses do you have?" Turner asked.
Sam pulled out her clever-card, which was coded to her fingerprints. "This isn't a house. Well, it is, sort of. It's my cabin." She inserted her card into a slot disguised in the door molding. "It used to be my retreat, before I bought the beach house." She pressed her thumb on the ID panel, another hidden concession to modern tech. In her more honest moments, Sam had to admit she had never really turned away from technology, she just attempted to hide her use of it from herself. The door swung open on oiled hinges.
Turner spoke in a low voice. "I can't do something as simple as open the door to my own apartment anymore."
She lifted her hand, inviting him into the cabin. "Because Charon changed your fingerprints?"
Turner went inside. "Partially." He turned to her. "Even if he hadn't, it wouldn't matter. The door won't recognize the card of a dead person."
Dead. It unsettled Sam more than she wanted to admit. In that sense, she was grateful to Charon. She liked Turner. She didn't want him to be dead. But he needed the rest of his life back, too.
She came inside and closed the door. "Lights on."
The table and standing lamps came on, shedding a warm glow. The living room looked the same as the last time she had been here, a year ago. The rustic furniture was upholstered in blue, rust, and goldenrod hues. A golden pine paneled the walls, and a hearth took up most of one wall, with bricks in rusty colors. Throw rugs warmed the floor. Only a thin layer of dust had accumulated; her cat-bots kept the place clean.
"Hello, Samantha," Madrigal said.
Turner jumped. "Is that EI everywhere?"
Sam smiled. "Pretty much."
"Hello, Turner," Madrigal said.
"How do you know who I am?" he asked.
"I just exchanged memory with myself in the car."
His forehead creased with lines of strain. "Doesn't it bother you to have copies of your mind in different places?"
"Bother me?" Madrigal asked.
"Yes." Turner stood very still, listening.
"Not at all," Madrigal said. "It lets me be many places at once, a feat Sam would like to do herself. Unfortunately, like most humans, she is too limited to accomplish such a useful trait."
Sam groaned. "Enough, Mad."
"Sorry." Then Madrigal said, "But it's true."
"Mad!"
"I hate having my EI code copied," Turner said.
"Why?" Sam and Madrigal both asked, simultaneously.
"It makes me feel . . . stolen. I don't like copies of myself evolving without my knowledge."
It was the first time Sam had heard an EI express such a sentiment. But she could see how a human might feel that way. "How many copies of you exist?"
"Only this one, I think."
Sam suspected Charon made backups, but she didn't want to upset Turner. He walked into the cabin as if he wasn't certain he belonged there. Then he sat on the couch, stretching out his legs while he put his head back. As he closed his eyes, the cushions under and behind him shifted, and shifted again, straining to release at least a modicum of his muscle tension.
Sam sat near him on the couch. Impulsively, she touched his hand. "How much sleep do you need?"
He opened his eyes, his gaze lingering on her hand as she withdrew it. "Maybe three or four hours."
"We shouldn't stay here any longer than it takes to rearm the car." She had always felt strange about storing supplies for her car here, afraid she was overreacting, but she was grateful now she had been scared enough to stock the place. "We can sleep while the car drives, though. Madrigal will wake me up if anything happens."
He nodded, then closed his eyes again. "That sounds good."
"You can use my room now, if you want. I'll wake you when it's time to go." A flush spread through her at the thought of him in her bed. Flustered, she crammed her hand in the pocket of her jacket and pulled out her mesh glove, a glittering black skein she knew she should treat better than to crumple up like this. "If you need anything, let me know with this."
"Thanks." He took the offered glove and gave her a wan smile. "If I have any nightmares, I'll give you a page."
"You do that." Sam wished she could fix the nightmare his life had become.
He started to speak, then hesitated.
"Yes?" Sam asked.
His voice softened. "You pretend to bristle with spines, but underneath you're very kind, Sam Bryton."
She didn't know what she had expected, but that wasn't it. Embarrassed, she said, "Oh, you know me. The ol' porcupine." Giles and Linden Polk both used to call her that. She needed spines to protect herself in a world she could master scientifically but that she had never been either hard or cold enough to deal with on a personal level.
"I wish I had spines." His voice caught. "They would help keep the nightmares at bay."
Sam knew she should get moving, but she couldn't leave him like this. He had an odd look, as if he feared to lose himself. His neural matrix had to be forming an immense number of connections right now. Were he an unaugmented human being, her leaving right now to stock the car wouldn't cause psychological harm; for a fledgling EI, how people interacted with him during these crucial weeks would determine the patterns his matrix was establishing. This was the time an architect did some of her most important work. But she couldn't think of him as an EI; he seemed so much like a man.
"I didn't think EIs had nightmares," she said.
"Maybe it's my matrix doing cleanup." Turner touched her hand the way she had done with him. "I need to talk to you. To—to understand what I am. But what I need—what I want, what I need, they aren't the same. I'm scared Charon will find us."
She put her other hand over his. "We can talk in the car. All you want."
He averted his eyes. "Thanks."
"You sleep now. I'll wake you up when I'm ready."
"All right."
As they stood up, Sam was aware of his athletic grace. She showed him to her bedroom, a wood-paneled room with wicker furniture, round throw rugs, and a four-poster bed covered by a flowered quilt. The potted plants were even thriving, which meant her cat-bots were tending them well, unlike real cats, which probably would have eaten them for dinner. Her cat-bots had better success with plants than she had ever managed, mainly because they never forgot to water them.
She lingered with Turner in the doorway. "Rest well."
"I will." He was watching her face. "Sam . . ."
"Yes?"
He cupped his hand around her cheek. "Thank you."
She resisted the urge to turn her head and press her lips into his palm. It was too intimate, too soon. "I'll be back soon."
"Don't take too long."
"Don't worry." She did her best to project confidence. "We'll be fine."
She just wished she believed her own words.