To look at Sam Bryton, Thomas doubted most people would guess she was one of the wealthiest people alive, and self-made. Her full name was Samantha Abigail Harriet Bryton, but she rarely used it. She had told him once it made her think of prep schools and pink and green clothes, neither of which came close to her life. She had gone by Sam for as long as he could remember.
Thomas couldn't figure her out. She was among the world's leading EI architects. She had developed a substantial fraction of the AIs and EIs currently in existence. The patents on that work alone made her a millionaire a hundred times over. Add to that her biomech patents and she was worth billions. So why did she hang out in jeans and thrift shop blouses, and wear her hair in that shaggy mane of blond curls? She reminded him of Goldie Hawn, one of his favorite actors from his youth, but she looked like a beach bum rather than a world-class innovator.
The lunchtime traffic was heavy enough to slow his commute, even with the vehicles controlled by the interstate grid. Sam was already at his house by the time he arrived. As his car settled in the carport, she opened the front door and leaned against the frame, watching him with undisguised curiosity.
Jamie was humming in her car seat. Although he was still a bit unfamiliar with its straps and buckles, he managed to get her out of the car without too much jostling. As he picked her up, she snuggled in his arms and peered at Sam.
"She's pretty," Jamie decided.
"She is," Thomas said. "But don't tell her that. She gets annoyed easily."
"Why would that make her mad?"
"If I could answer that," he confided, "many people would be in my debt."
As they reached the door, Sam straightened up. "Hi, Thomas." She smiled at his bundle. "You must be Jamie."
Jamie hid her face against Thomas's shoulder, and alarm brushed him. What if she refused to stay with Sam? He couldn't take Jamie with him for the rest of the day.
Sam didn't seem fazed, though. "So where's her stuff?"
He blinked. "Stuff?"
"You know. Toys. Food. Diaper bag."
Jamie lifted her head and glared at Sam. "Don't need diapers," she stated loudly.
Thomas's face heated. "I don't have anything," he told Sam. Then he remembered the bag Leila had given him last night. "Wait. Some of her things are in the kitchen. A bag with puppies on it."
"I'll find it." Sam seemed about to laugh, probably at him. "I've never seen you babysit before."
"Leila had an emergency." Thomas carried Jamie into the house, which was filled with sunlight from the many windows. "Her law firm told her that if she didn't take this trip, she was out of a job. They landed a big client and he would only work with Leila."
Sam followed him into the living room. "That sucks."
"Sam!" Thomas wanted to put his hands over Jamie's ears. Then again, she probably had no clue what the phrase meant.
"Sorry," Sam said. She had the grace to refrain from saying she had heard much worse from him in his younger days.
Thomas set Jamie down on the couch. "Apparently the partners are concerned because Leila has already refused several trips. She's supposed to be one of their stars, rising in the firm. Well, good, but she wants a life, too."
Jamie was standing on the couch. "Mommy was mad."
"I don't blame her," Sam said. She glanced at Thomas. "What about Karl? Can't he take care of his own kid?"
Thomas scowled at her. "He's giving an important paper at a math conference in California. Nothing wrong with that."
Sam just looked at him. What could he say? He had his own doubts about his son-in-law. It was difficult, because he liked Karl Harrows. He had since Leila first brought the gangly young man home. Intelligent fellow, too, a math professor at the University of Maryland, College Park. But Karl was spending more and more time away from home, building his career, too often leaving his wife to act as a single parent, until Thomas felt like administering a swift kick to his son-in-law's rear.
"He's trying to come back early," Thomas said.
"Yeah." Sam didn't look like she believed it. She let it go, though, which he appreciated. He didn't want to talk about it in front of Jamie.
Thomas dropped into his armchair, glad to rest. Jamie started to fuss, jumping up and down on the couch. She pulled away when Sam tried to put her in a chair.
"Don't want to sit down!" Jamie yelled.
"Moppet," Thomas said. Then he ran out of words. Janice had always been better at calming a cranky child. She used to carry Leila on her hip while she was designing the holoscapes she created as an artist. Those seascapes in the hallway had been her favorites, and she had refused to sell them despite offers of fifty thousand and more. He treasured them all the more since her death, but he would have gladly given them away if it would have brought her back.
Sam had none of Janice's soft-spoken expertise, but she didn't seem the least daunted by a grouchy three-year-old. She considered Jamie, who was glaring at her. "You can stand on the couch all day," Sam offered. "It might get boring, though."
"Don't want to go!" Jamie said.
"Go where?" Sam asked.
Tears leaked out of Jamie's eyes. "I want Mommy."
Sam gentled her voice. "I'm sorry she isn't here."
"Want Mommy," Jamie repeated.
"I'm not much of a substitute," Sam said. "But I'd like to pick you up, if you don't mind."
"No!" Jamie glowered at her. "You aren't as big as Grampy."
"That's true. But I'm big enough to hold you."
Jamie regarded her warily. Finally she said, "'Kay."
When Sam hesitated, Thomas said, "That means okay."
"Ah." Sam lifted Jamie into her arms. As Jamie laid her cheek against her shoulder, Sam glanced at Thomas. "I think she's tired. I can put her down for a nap in the guest room."
He nodded, relieved Sam knew what to do. "Thanks."
"Do you have to get back to work?"
"Yes. But I've a few minutes."
"Good." Sam's gentle look vanished, replaced by the steely-eyed powerhouse he knew. "I have some questions for you."
He wanted to groan. "Maybe I have to leave after all."
"Don't you dare." Before he could protest, she strode out of the room with Jamie.
Thomas leaned back and closed his eyes. He wanted to pace and worry, but since his heart attack he was learning to relax, or trying, anyway. He knew what Sam meant to grill him about: Turner Pascal, the man Charon had reanimated. Sam's boyfriend. She insisted Pascal was human, not a construct, but their relationship confused Thomas. Could you love an EI? Sam thought so.
Charon had imaged Pascal's brain using a method that originated in the twentieth century. He took slices a few molecules thick and mapped out their neural connections. Nowadays, noninvasive methods existed that could image a brain without killing a person. Pascal, however, had already been dead. Charon had downloaded the map of Pascal's mind into Pascal's rebuilt body. When Pascal "woke up," he hadn't known over half his body was biomech—including his brain. He had believed he was human.
How did one define humanity? Replacing organs didn't matter to most people. But the brain? Charon had considered the new Pascal an android. Property. A biomech slave. Unlike Alpha, who accepted Charon's control without question, Pascal rejected it with vehemence. He escaped and went to Sam for help, choosing her because of her writings about the ethical concerns of biomechanical research. She and Pascal couldn't have evaded Charon's extensive reach on their own, but they had help from another source.
Sunrise Alley.
The Alley was an organization of EIs. By itself, that wasn't surprising. EIs often worked together to achieve purposes humanity set for them. But the Alley had formed on its own, in secret, a decade ago. To what purpose? Thomas wished he had an answer.
The central personality called himself Bart. Although he was a conglomerate of seven EIs, his core derived from the Baltimore Arms Resources Theatre, an AI developed by the Air Force to predict and counter terrorism. The project had eventually failed, replaced by a better-funded program. No one had known the AI leaked out into the world meshes. Bart had evolved since then, but his basic nature hadn't changed. He protected humans. Or so it seemed. For now.
The Alley had helped Pascal escape, but they had no answers about his status. He saw himself as a man; neither his personality nor his memories had changed. Some of his body remained his own, but his mind existed in a matrix of filaments. He claimed his rights as an American citizen. The government was struggling to define his status and had adopted a hands-off approach until they settled it. Pascal was too valuable to let him just walk out the door, but they might release him into Sam's custody if he was willing to accept bodyguards.
Alpha was another story, purely a construct in both mind and body. How they dealt with her could establish precedents for artificial life that affected the future in dramatic ways. Sunrise Alley was watching, waiting, judging. They were also inextricably woven into the world meshes. They reached everywhere. They had done nothing hostile, nor did they treat humans as competition, but it had only been weeks since they opened talks with the Pentagon.
How humanity treated Alpha would have far-reaching effects. The senators on Thomas's committee knew killing her would send a hostile message to the Alley. Thomas understood what drove them; they feared their lack of knowledge about Alpha and Charon was even more dangerous than the Alley. They wanted to be prepared: Thomas wanted to be cautious. It made for an uneasy alliance. Charon was dead, Sunrise Alley was out of hiding, and the human race had to deal with it all.
Sam came back into the room. "Jamie fell asleep as soon as I tucked her into bed."
Thomas stood up. "I appreciate your taking care of her until Lattie can get here."
"No problem." She put her fists on her hips. "Sit down, Thomas. You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's up with Pascal."
He remained standing. "You know I can't discuss him."
"Why not? I have the clearance."
"I can't talk here. Besides, you don't have the need to know."
"Like hell. The man has asked me to marry him."
Thomas flushed. "You can't marry an android."
"He's not a damn android." She stalked over to him. "He says he's human. Who gave you the right to say otherwise?"
"Pascal died." He knew she had a point, but her challenges had always exasperated him. He wondered if his adorable granddaughter would grow up to be this headstrong. Probably. She even looked like Sam had at that age. Leila, Jamie's mother, had been the same way. He was surrounded by formidable, tenacious women.
"He doesn't look dead to me," Sam said. Her lips quirked in a slight smile. "Didn't feel dead, either."
"Sam!" Listening to his buddies make lewd insinuations when he had been a young man had been one thing, but hearing even a hint of it from someone he saw as a daughter was a different story altogether. Flustered, he said, "Pascal is out at the safe house. He's fine."
"You can't hold him prisoner. He's done nothing wrong."
"He's an international security risk."
He thought she would deny it, but instead she just exhaled. "I would like to visit him."
It relieved him to see her appeased, at least for the moment. "I'll arrange it."
"Thanks."
"Well." He shifted his weight. "I should go."
Her expression softened. "I'll keep an eye on that grandkid of yours. What a charmer."
"So were you at that age," Thomas said dryly. "Look what you grew up into."
She grinned. "You wouldn't have me any other way."
He couldn't help but laugh. "No, I wouldn't."
They walked across the living room together. At the door, he paused. "Sam—"
"Yes?"
"When Jamie wakes up, could you talk to her for me?"
She regarded him curiously. "About what?"
"Well, that's just it. I don't know. She seems smart to me, maybe really smart." He thought of how much Jamie delighted him. "I'm hardly objective, though. Her mother was always a whiz in school, and I was never objective about her, either."
"I can try," Sam said. "But I'm no expert on kids."
He scowled. "You never will be, either, if you marry a forma."
She glared at him. "Turner is perfectly capable of fathering children."
"Sam, that is just too strange."
Relenting, she laid her hand on his arm. "Don't worry so much, okay? I can take care of myself."
His voice softened. "I still remember you at Jamie's age. Or when you were a teenager and you babysat Leila and Fletcher. It's hard for me to think in terms of Samantha Bryton, corporate powerhouse."
"Hell, Thomas, I'm just a nerd."
He grinned at her. "Back in my day, we didn't call girls who looked like you 'nerds.' "
Sam took on a daunting expression that he suspected had cowed plenty of swaggering young bucks. "Yeah, well, I've heard enough 'blond' jokes to last a lifetime."
Thomas winced, remembering his own rowdy sense of humor in his youth. Anyone foolish enough to tease Jamie that way would have to answer to him. "Just talk to her. See what you think."
"All right." Mischief danced in her eyes. "The two of us can plot to take over the world."
"God help us," he said, with mock alarm.
Sam laughed and pushed him out the door. "Go on. We won't burn down the house while you're gone."
He lifted his hand in a farewell, glad to know Jamie was in good hands. Then he headed back to his car.
His next stop: Alpha.
The trees were at their peak fall foliage, so vivid they reminded Thomas of neon signs. He and Alpha walked down a path bordered by azaleas with dark, waxy leaves, but no flowers this late in the year. Major Edwards and two armed "orderlies" accompanied them, discreet but always there. Thomas also had a mesh woven into his collar that would record every word he and Alpha spoke.
"The bargain," she said, "was that you take me for a ride and I tell you what orders Charon left me."
"I can't take you out of here," Thomas said. "If you want to talk about Charon, I'd like to hear. If not, that's fine."
She slanted him a look. "Bullshit."
"Alpha, listen." He drew her to a stop. "It's over. Charon's plans to have you kidnap me and Sam failed." It had been his final ploy; if Charon couldn't break into the safe house to get Pascal, he would take hostages to trade. It was how Thomas had met Alpha; she cracked the AI of a helicopter transporting him and Sam to the Pentagon and had it fly to her instead.
"It's never over," she said.
"I can't hold off the committee forever. If you won't talk, they will have analysts take apart your matrix."
"It doesn't matter." Alpha pulled away her arm. "You're the ones who want what I know. Taking me apart will destroy a lot of it. But you know that."
What he didn't know was which unsettled him more, her expressed lack of interest in her own demise or his strong emotional reaction against it. The idea of her death bothered him more than her.
"I don't want you to end," he said.
She started walking again. "Don't like losing data, hmm?"
"No. I don't like destroying life."
"You can copy me."
"It's not the same."
"That's not my problem, is it?"
He wished he knew how to reach her. "It doesn't bother you?"
"No."
She seemed self-protective, hiding her vulnerability behind a tough façade, but he was associating human reactions to her behavior. And she wasn't human.
"I don't believe you," he said.
"Well, hell, maybe I know how to lie, too."
"Can you?"
She regarded him without a flicker of her eyelashes. "No."
"I think you can lie through your teeth."
Her face lost all expression. "It isn't in my programming. Why would Charon create equipment capable of deception?"
Thomas wished she wouldn't turn off her emotive responses that way. "It could serve his purposes when you act as his covert agent."
"Maybe." With that eerie lack of affect, she added, "But that wasn't his purpose in creating me."
"What was his purpose?"
This time she pulled him to a halt. The instant she touched him, his guards surrounded them. Thomas shook his head at Edwards. The major paused, then motioned to the orderlies. They faded back into the trees, but they didn't withdraw far.
Alpha laid her palm on Thomas's chest. "What do you think Charon's purpose was?" Her voice had a dusky quality.
"You're a mercenary. A spy." He nudged away her hand. "Maybe he had you do other things with him, but I don't believe he would use up so many resources to make an android whose sole purpose was as a synthetic companion."
"Synthetic companion?" She gave a derisive snort. "General, loosen up. I fucked him. Any way he wanted, any time he wanted."
Thomas's face heated. Who wouldn't wonder what it was like to have Alpha in his bed? "That makes you angry."
"I don't feel anything."
"He didn't program you to react to him?"
"Of course he did. I can simulate anything you want."
"That I want?"
Her lips curved upward. "Sure."
That caught him off guard. Would she "simulate anything" for anyone or just him? Then he felt like an idiot. Jealousy? What the hell reaction was that? He hoped the guards hadn't overheard. He had to remind himself that the analysts working Alpha would have a full record of this talk.
"Thank you," he said stiffly. "But no thank you."
Alpha laughed, a throaty sound. "It is so delightfully easy to embarrass you. I thought you military pilots were tough-talk guys."
He had no desire to discuss himself or how he had changed in the last half century. "Why would you simulate delight in making someone uncomfortable?"
"Why not?"
"Because it serves no purpose."
"So what? I wasn't designed to be social."
Maybe not, but this conversation was revealing more than she probably realized. Although she could analyze human speech with inhuman speed, her responses were intricate enough to make him question what she consciously "simulated," and what arose out of evolution she didn't direct, the AI equivalent of a subconscious.
He wasn't certain where to take the conversation, so he started to walk again, with Alpha at his side. They came out of the trees on the shore of a lake. Rippled by breezes, the water reflected the blue sky and gold-leafed trees hanging over its surface.
He paused a few yards from the lake. "The name Charon is a symbol of death. In mythology, he's the ferryman who takes souls across the rivers of woe and lamentation into Hades."
She went to the water and stared out at the lake. "That fits."
"The Charon who sent you to kidnap me wasn't a man. He was an android with a man's mind."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"Why would an android create another android for sex? It doesn't seem like it mattered to either of you."
She swung around to him. "That copy was no less human than the original." In a low voice, she added, "If you can ever call Charon 'human.' "
"You don't think he ever was?"
"Biologically, sure." Alpha came over to him, sleek and dark, like a wildcat stalking her prey, except such hunters didn't just walk up to their targets. They crept through bushes or grass, hidden until the last moment. He couldn't imagine Alpha creeping anywhere. She would stride openly into perdition if she had to.
"Charon even had good qualities," she said. "He was smart. Tough. A good strategist. A leader." She considered Thomas. "Like you."
Although he didn't think she meant it as an insult, he hardly appreciated being compared to one of the worst criminals in recent history. "Did you know he was going to copy himself?"
"No."
Her answer was hard to credit, given that she managed Charon's finances. He would have been hard-pressed to hide the expenditure required to copy a human being. Had Thomas never met Pascal, he wouldn't have even believed it possible with present-day tech. But when Pascal had deleted Charon's mind from his matrix, he saved vital data—the locations of two copies Charon had created of his mind.
What world are we creating, that we can copy ourselves? To Thomas, it seemed like Alpha and the android Charon having sex; soulless and without meaning, a mechanical act that had lost its connection to humanity.
"You really never thought he had copies of himself?" Thomas asked.
"I didn't say that."
"Then he did make them."
"Yes. You erased them."
She couldn't actually know the NIA had destroyed them. No one had told her. "Why do you say that?"
"I analyzed the situation and calculated probabilities. In other words, General, I guessed." She shifted her weight as if she were ready to bolt. "I don't think I should talk anymore."
Thomas could tell he had pushed her too much. He would leave voice analysis and other tactics to the experts. He didn't want to lose his advantage, that she was willing to talk to him when she refused everyone else. Today was a breakthrough. She had never interacted this much with anyone, himself included.
The sun was setting behind the trees as they headed back to the house, and it cast a waning red light over the grounds. Alpha said nothing more, and Thomas brooded on his talk with Senator Bartley. He was more certain than ever: if they damaged the unique confluence of codes that created Alpha, they would lose something invaluable that could never be replaced.