Driftmetal III Read online

  “It doesn’t. That’s the problem,” said Ezra.

  Angus stroked his chin, smoothing his bright orange beard. “The automatons aren’t like people.”

  “I haven’t been gone that long, Angus.”

  He ignored me and continued. “They don’t react to external stimuli the same way you and I do. This is the major problem with them; the reason they aren’t ready for the big-time yet. They have to be told what to do, and when. Programmed, if you will.”

  “So what’s the disagreement about?”

  “Ez—my father—doesn’t think the drive is fast enough. I’ve been working on this thing for months now and I’ve optimized it the best I can. It’s plenty fast, it’s just that the set of instructions the engineers gave me is too simple. It doesn’t give the automatons a wide enough array of behavioral choices. I need to flesh out their command options. Amplify the intelligence, somehow. I just haven’t been able to crack it.”

  “That’s a bunch of malarkey,” Ezra said. “The buggered contraptions need fewer choices, not more. They freeze up half the time because it takes ‘em too long to cycle through all the useless extra junk you put in those things. They could follow simple instructions if you’d just make it easier on ‘em. That’s why I keep tellin’ you—streamline, streamline, streamline. They gotta be faster and more intuitive, and the way to do that’s—”

  “Dammit, Ezra. I’ve upgraded these drives twice in the last five months. I think I know—”

  “You can tinker away another five years and they’ll never last a day outside this laboratory if you go on tweaking the wrong—”

  “Okay, that’s enough. I asked for a briefing, not a debate. I don’t care which one of you thinks you’re right. I just want to know where you are right now. What’s the status of the logic drive at this very moment, in terms of the best possible iteration you’ve come up with? I want you to put together that piece of tech and show me what it can do.”

  “Here’s the one I’m assembling currently,” Angus said. He slid something that looked like a loaf of metal bread to me across the table. There were tiny gears and levers across its surface, and through the openings between strips of sheathing I could see more moving parts inside, working far beneath.

  I picked it up and tried to zoom in with my eye, an old habit. When I remembered I couldn’t, I grabbed a magnifier off the table and gave the device a closer look. “Where does this go?” I asked. “Where do you connect it to the automatons?”

  “There’s a hatch in the lower back. The logic drive goes right up underneath the mobility engine, which is connected to the sensor arrays.”

  “That sounds like a solid configuration to me,” I said.

  Angus crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, looking satisfied with himself.

  “However, I am noticing a few things here,” I said. “There’s a lot of good workmanship in this thing, but unfortunately this design just isn’t optimal. The specs your engineers are giving you just aren’t right to begin with. You’re being asked to start with an inefficient model.”

  “I’ve made modifications to their specs myself,” said Angus. “Got them just the way I needed them.”

  “Well, then that wasn’t Maclin’s mistake. It was yours. Because it looks to me like these logic drives need refining. Not simplifying, mind you. Refining. In other words, I think you’re both wrong. That is to say, you’re also both right. The drive isn’t fast enough. Point for Ezra. But the decision tree also needs to be more complex. Point for Angus. There may be various approaches to fixing the problem. We just need to find the best one. And I know of something that might help.”

  “If you can point out one thing I haven’t thought of already, I’ll pay you every chip I own,” Angus said.

  Ezra rolled his eyes. He wasn’t the only one who knew how dead-broke Angus really was. That was the reason we’d come here, after all. But if Angus wanted to make a wager, I’d play along.

  “A betting man, huh?” I said. “Maybe that explains why you’re in debt to the tune of a few hundred thousand chips.”

  “You don’t have a clue how I wound up here,” Angus said.

  “Actually, I do. Sable told me the whole story. You were transporting a Maclin shipment. A valuable one. The Galeskimmer got caught in a storm, and you dropped the whole load, whatever it was. Maclin took you for ransom. Or to pay off your debt through hard labor. Whichever comes first. Here we are.”

  “You know how what people think happened and what really happened are hardly ever the same?” Angus said.

  “Sure I do.”

  “Well, let’s just say that what my crew doesn’t know can’t hurt them.”

  “I see. So upstanding old Uncle Angus isn’t really so honorable after all.”

  “Believe what you will. I did what I had to do.”

  “What you have to do now,” I said, “is put your money where your mouth is. But since you don’t have a single chip to your name, how about you ante up something else?”

  “Like what?” Angus wanted to know.

  “Your boat.”

  He laughed. “You’d like me to hand over the Galeskimmer, wouldn’t you?”

  “That’s why I asked. If you’re so certain of yourself—so sure you’ve tried everything with this logic drive—then what’s the harm?”

  “The harm is, you’ve got something up your sleeve. I don’t know you, but Thomas here says you’re quite the scoundrel.”

  I looked at Thomas, who balked. “Thomas is right. So I’ll ask you again: how sure are you that you’ve tried every last thing to fix this logic drive of yours? Sure enough to wager your most prized possession?”

  “Not hardly,” Angus said. “Forget I ever made the offer. Why don’t you just tell me what I’m missing?”

  “Because I wanted to prove a point. You’re not actually that sure you’re right. Neither one of you is. You just resent each other so much that you’d rather be a couple of stubborn jackasses than work together to find a solution.”

  Angus scowled. “Okay, fine. Point taken. So what’s this magical fix you’re going on about?”

  “It’s a reflex module. Constant energy in mechanical form.”

  “This is an augment? Where is it?”

  “They took it,” I said. “This corporation of yours. I’ve been wanting to take it apart since the moment I got it, but I’ve been too busy wearing it to try. The doctor—I don’t know his name—he removed it before they put me in isolation, along with all my other tech. Understanding how that thing runs is the key to rebuilding your logic drive. I’m sure of it. I hear you’re the big shot around here, so if anyone can get my reflex module back, it’s you. I mean, you got me back, didn’t you?”

  “That wasn’t my decision,” said Angus, giving Thomas a glance.

  “Still, I’m guessing you had to throw your weight around to some degree. They sure as hell won’t listen to me, so if you want to see what the reflex module can do, you’re going to have to ask for it.”

  Angus thought for a moment. “Okay. I’ll send for it.”

  My mind reeled at the thought of having my medallion back, but I knew I couldn’t get too excited just yet. We’d have to tinker around with it for a while before I’d get the chance to put it back on.

  Angus pressed a button on the wall and called for Ms. Foxglove, who was there within a few minutes’ time. She entered the room with a full complement of guards, eyeing me with no less suspicion than usual. I could see the stress laying heavy on her shoulders, more now than the last time I’d seen her.

  “What’s this about?” she asked.

  Angus allowed me to explain.

  When I was done, she said, “I don’t have jurisdiction over the technicians in that department. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “Don’t give me the runaround, lady,” I said. “You fed me the same baloney about Angus when we first got here. Told me you didn’t even know him. You have way more power in this place than yo
u let on. Fact is, Angus is stuck.”

  Angus gave me a dark look.

  Cordelia turned her gaze on him. “Is this true?”

  “We need a breakthrough with this logic drive,” I cut in. “The success of this project, which you are in charge of, hinges on getting a hold of that reflex module so we can examine it. Learn from it. I’m confident it’ll let us push the logic drive to the next level. You just gotta give us a little push in the right direction.”

  “When did you suddenly become so concerned with the success of this project?” she asked.

  “The moment I laid eyes on it. And then again, the moment I sabotaged it. Also, every moment I didn’t spend wondering whether I’d ever see the light of day again, I spent being concerned with the possibility that wicked battle robots who obey my every command would one day walk the planet. In my defense, there were a few moments there where I felt sorry for what I’d done, too.” I kept a straight, somber face, hoping she wouldn’t see through my insincerity. If she did, she gave no immediate sign of it.

  “I’ll speak with Dr. Gottlieb and see what I can do.”

  “Make sure he still has all my other augments,” I said. “If there isn’t a cardboard box full of my possessions waiting for me when I leave here, tell him he’s gotta answer to me.”

  Cordelia Foxglove did not deign to offer a response before she and her harem of metal gigolos left the room. We all sat down around the worktable. Ezra asked me about my time in the tank, so I gave them a brief overview of what it had been like to receive a full-body root canal and get hurled into a lightless, timeless void. They all seemed a little depressed by the time I was done.

  The medallion arrived much like the automatons who carried it—clockwork. They showed up no more than an hour or two after Cordelia had left, during which time I focused on sketching out a plan for improving the logic drive and breaking up a few more fights between Ezra and his son. When it arrived, the medallion was packed into a small wooden box with a folded note inside from Dr. Gottlieb. The note read thusly:

  Dear Sirs,

  I would have come immediately, but I am otherwise occupied. Please speak with me before you do anything with this device. I’ve run a few of my own tests and have come across some rather peculiar findings that I think you should know about.

  Regards,

  Fabian Gottlieb

  I crumpled up the note and tossed it into the industrial-sized garbage can, then scooped up a few tools and brought the medallion to an empty work table. There, I flipped it onto its rear and began taking it apart by the screws. Behind me, I heard someone walk over and rummage through the trash, followed by the sound of paper being de-crumpled.

  “Hold on a minute,” said Angus, his voice hovering toward me. “What are you doing with that?”

  “Having a look,” I said, pulling out a tiny screw and setting it carefully aside.

  When I glanced back, Angus was standing over my shoulder, watching. Since he didn’t interfere, I kept going. Then Ezra and Thomas were there too, all in a flap about what the note had said.

  “Where did you get this thing?” Angus wanted to know.

  “I found it.”

  “Where?”

  “On the floor.”

  Gilfoyle had been lying on the floor when I’d wrenched the medallion free of his chest. I didn’t see the need to say anything more.

  “You don’t know anything about it or where it came from? Because this Doctor Gottlieb fellow seems to think it’s dangerous. What makes you think we can use it to improve the logic drive?”

  I slapped the screwdriver onto the table, pushed my stool out and stood up, spinning around as I did so. I lifted my shirt, flashing them a good view of everything I had going on above the waist. “Before the good doctor ripped the thing off me, I’d been wearing it for a month,” I said, pointing to the ring of calloused skin between my nipples. The bumps where the medallion’s tendrils had snaked their way into my chest looked a little like the latticework traces on a circuit board.

  “What did you say it does, again?”

  “It does the same thing to a techsoul what a surge of caffeine does to a primie. Constant energy in mechanical form, like I said earlier. It had some other weird side effects, too, but nothing bad enough to make me want to take it off.”

  “I think those weird side effects must’ve been what the doctor uncovered during his tests,” said Angus. “You sure you want to bust that thing open before we talk to him?”

  I gave Angus the most withering look I was capable of.

  “I’ll say it another way. It would be stupid to go tinkering around with that thing before we talk to the doctor.”

  I shrugged. “One man’s ‘stupid’ is another man’s ‘I couldn’t care less.’”

  “Let’s just hold off until he gets here. I’m sure it won’t take him too long, especially if he’s as serious about it as he sounds in his note.”

  “If you think this is gonna blow up in my face, you’d better stand back.”

  “I’m the only thing standing between you and that isolation cell,” he said. “So if you want to keep acting like I’m not the one in charge, go right ahead.”

  I’ve always had a problem with not being the one in charge. It’s in my nature to take action. To do things and then think about whether I should’ve done them. I’d tried to learn to be submissive on the Galeskimmer, falling into line under Sable’s command like a good little sailor. Well, maybe not that good. But after two weeks in a black hole, I was more than a little ready to start getting things done.

  “You’re right, Angus,” I said, setting my tools down again. “Let’s all just sit here twiddling our thumbs until the doctor comes in with his mind-blowing test results and turns this plain little hunk of metal into a nuclear stink bomb that’ll explode as soon as we open it. Is that what you think is going to happen? Is my hand going to melt off if I pry away the lid and expose the chewy candy center of this nightmare contraption? Huh?”

  Ezra made a disgusted face. “Better you than me.”

  “Exactly. Thank you, Ezra. Whatever the doctor’s warning may be, it won’t change the fact that you’re still stuck, Angus. It won’t get us over the hurdle. This thing will. I know it will. Let me take the risk while you maintain a safe distance and watch. Put on your hazmat suit if you want to. My carelessness is your gain.”

  “Why are you so reckless?” Angus asked.

  “Because apparently, I care a lot more about Sable than you do.” I felt the words wanting to crawl back in as soon as I’d uttered them. The room went silent, except for the sound of Angus’s face going from pink to red. I’d hit a nerve, just as I’d meant to. But somehow, Angus was speechless. The tension in his face built up until I thought steam might erupt from his ears. There was something rattling around in that brain of his—something he wanted to say, but wasn’t saying.

  “Forget it,” I said, knocking the stool over as I stood. “Have it your way. We’ll wait for the doctor.”

  3

  Dr. Gottlieb’s face was strained. Gone was the overly calm bedside manner I had witnessed the day he took me apart. If his news was important enough to pull him away from his regular work—whatever that was—I almost didn’t want to hear it. It was obviously something that distressed him to speak about. Something he hadn’t thought could be said in a note or over a comm.

  “So… what is it?” I asked, too curious for my own good. “What’s the big deal with the medallion—sorry, the reflex module?”

  Gottlieb licked his dry lips. “The big deal, Mr. Nordstrom, is that this device has been infused with energies the likes of which I have never encountered before. Energies that defy the laws of science.”

  I was a little surprised that neither Thomas nor Ezra had told any of the Maclin people my real name over the last two weeks. Not that I minded being known by my alias. Hal Nordstrom was just some guy without a rap sheet or a price on his head. In here, that was exactly who I wanted to be. “The world
we live in defies the laws of science,” I reminded him. “Metal that’s lighter than air. Stone that responds to the planet’s gravitational field. We rewrite the laws every time our understanding of the world changes. I’m not sure how much science has to do with it, doctor.”

  The doctor waggled his chin. “Be that as it may, Mr. Nordstrom… this reflex module—the medallion, as you call it—has its own gravity. Not a gravity of physical force, but one of, for lack of a better word… psychological force. It operates within its own set of principles, as if it were a living, breathing organism unto itself. And these principles do not seem to be all for the good.”

  “You’re telling me the medallion is an evil sentient being,” I said.

  “I don’t know if that much can be said of it. In some ways, it certainly appears to be sentient.”

  “What kind of tests could you possibly have run to determine that?” I asked.

  “The company sometimes preserves data from past projects, many of which have been abandoned, but which the company believes show potential for future trials. Using this data, I located a suitable host for the reflex module.

  “A few years ago, Maclin began development on a mouse-sized drone. The drone was intended for use as an espionage device; a portable spy, if you will. It could be released within the confines of any structure to provide surveillance using vents, plumbing, wall cavities, or any other such hidden avenue.

  “The drone was intended to possess the capability of operating independently of its pilot, if necessary. If the drone lost the operator’s signal, it was supposed to go on about its business alone. The mouse was equipped with a simple intelligence that offered a small selection of behaviors. The project was eventually scrapped because the company determined that the necessary components would not fit within a chassis of such diminutive size, and that making the device any bigger would limit its uses enough to make it obsolete.