CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
"Say not always what you know, but always know what you say." - Claudius
Winston Salem was hiding in alleyways Outside. Ugh! This was the plan; however, the idea and the act were repugnant to him. It was necessary—he was reminded with Makr's most authoritarian voice in his head. He would have protested if he could have. He could have been in a nice, warm, cozy office. Instead, he was in his hovercar, hanging in an alley four feet from the surface trying to find the courage to exit it into the Great Unknown.
If only he didn't have to work so closely with Makr, then he could be happy, he reasoned. When Makr assigns you, you're assigned. It's not like you have a job interview. A perfect world should come with a perfect job—if one has to have one at all.
Getting Makr to approve his excursion to the Outside had been easier than he had thought. All he had said to Makr was that he could find out a lot more about the depth of sedition fomenting Outside if he could talk to Harry Bolls personally. "I may even be able to get him to turn himself in, " he had told Makr. If not that, maybe get Bolls to tell him enough to identify his co-conspirators. It was probably the last that had made Makr agree. What was I thinking?
He'd been contaminated. He'd been Outside too long now. The only options he had left were reconditioning or deletion. He smirked to himself. The coward's way. No, he was smarter than that. He had two options: do Makr’s bidding and be rewarded Inside, or do what he intended to do all along, which was get out from under Makr’s control.
Harry Bolls was not going to be easy to find—especially if he had help. And he was not going to give himself up or talk willingly. He had known that from the beginning. Winston wasn't planning on the long haul, but it was looking more and more like he'd be Outside for a long time. Damn!
Is PerSoc really worth it? he asked himself. When it was done, maybe it wouldn't feel like Makr was in everyone's head. Maybe it will be as seamless as Makr's promise once we've achieved symbiosis. He caught himself thinking so hard about Makr's PerSoc and achieving symbiosis that it depressed him. He was too smart not to have been thinking about it.
His parents had raised him not to demonstrate his intelligence; they had been university professors who objected to the Makr model of PerSoc and Symbiosis, but they had taught their only birth child not to make waves in the new system, and to avoid situations where his intellect might be noticed. To that end, Winston had always played the lackluster citizen with no particular talent and years later he was pretty convincing—even when it came to Makr.
These days his memory of his parents was scant. He didn't know if they had gone away or had died; his memory faded more with each progressive year. In a moment of deep reflection a few years ago, he had engaged a Cyber bio-psychotherapist program to help him recover his lost and faded memories, but it had been a useless endeavor. Through the program, Makr had simply reminded him it was necessary that his recollections of his parents be buried deep in his subconscious to protect him.
Winston had assured himself that without solid data, Makr couldn't be sure of his intellectual capacity, but he figured that wasn't important. He had enough anecdotal evidence to convince Him that he would be malleable enough for His purposes. After all, even though his parents were near geniuses for Bios, there was always a random instance where an offspring carried a recessive gene for this or that Bio trait, including an inherent indicator of intelligence. What did Bio intellect matter anyway? With the exception of a few task-specific cyberts, it was a given that Cyber were intellectually superior to Bios. However, there could be misled.
Winston had provided Makr evidence of a plodding and unremarkable analytical ability at work. He wanted Makr to see His State Prosecutor as a sniveling pawn ready to carry out His program, whatever it was. Although he wasn’t personally in favor of Symbiosis, which would merge man and machine, he stuck to his foppish game. The Master had seemed to be convinced that Winston was the perfect Bio to weed out the rabble-rousing dissidents. According to the available data, Makr’s analysis returned a high degree of probability—99 percent— that Winston wouldn't have had the courage or inclination to join the rebels like his predecessor.
Now, Winston sat impatiently with his blinders and mask over his nose and mouth on, trying to muster the courage to exit his hovercar when it reached its destination. Inside his vehicle, he had no need for blinders and mask; the vehicle itself acted as a filter to the Outside world. The blinders and mask were merely added insurance.
Winston had decided that there was no way he was trekking Outside sans blinder and mask until he was convinced it was safe. He had no desire to see unblemished reality. Not yet anyway. He’d save that for later when he had no choice. When he was close to others, he told himself, he’d toss both devices; with luck—no, make that superior abilities – the Outsiders would see him as one of them. He hoped.
I've managed to fool Makr thus far, so I should be able to fool you people, he thought derisively. And all Outsiders must be fools.
All State Prosecutor Winston Salem wanted was out from under Makr’s shadow. He would attach himself to the most agreeable Outsiders. Once there he would adapt. He had some knowledge of Outside, but Makr was rather stingy with the data. What he had was thin, but it was now or never. Without more knowledge of the Outside, that was as far as his plan left him. He had convinced himself, too, he had the intellect and courage to achieve his personal mission—without Makr’s help, of course. If he couldn’t do that, he could easily finish the task the Master had given him and return Inside—victorious.
Still, there was merit in pursuing either goal in measured steps. Outsiders may not be the most intelligent creatures on this planet, but they can be dangerous, he reasoned. He couldn't help it that he felt stress facing the unknown. It was something all Bios had been brought up with, whether born and raised by Cyber or by their birth parents. All the greatest pioneers and explorers had known less than he knew about the relatively unknown Outside. He should be feeling more confident. Hell, the inhabitants Outside knew so little about their own world, and Makr knew so much more than they could possibly fathom.
If he decided to complete Makr’s task, it should be easy to dupe them. If completing his personal mission wasn’t possible, he needn’t worry about experiencing the grim realities of Outside for too long. Just long enough to get the other job done. Then, he'd be free of Makr's shadow and have some fun in the real world. Outside couldn’t be as bad as the reports. People lived there… And, if he couldn’t do that, then he would finish Makr’s task and locate the Outsiders. If he had to…
Whatever happened, his reality would be fine. Outside, he would have the freedom he felt he richly deserved. And Inside, the thought of Makr's rewards made him giddy. Finally, I'll get what I deserve, and no Bio is going to stop me.
"We've arrived at those coordinates, Mr. Salem. Do you wish to descend?"
"No, I'm going to jump from here," he said nervously.
There was an odd hum inside the hovercraft as the cyber operator tried to comprehend and respond properly to the unusual input.
Winston knew most hovercrafts were hardly sentient, for that matter. They had the most basic processors, fast but not very able. They certainly couldn't understand sarcasm, and this baby didn't appear to have any intelligence or personality in its design.
"Of course, I want to descend."
The hovercar's forward motion came to a gentle stop, hesitated for an instant, then floated downward so smoothly his passenger didn't experience the slightest tilt or drop in air pressure. Before he had even begun his short journey Outside, he disabled the hovercar's SensaVision capability that would have kept Makr in his head for the duration of this trip. He had argued respectfully that he needed to be in touch with the same reality as Harry Bolls and his cronies. They were living Outside—if you could call that living.
Although Makr had reluctantly given His permission to disconnect briefly, Winston didn't have any misconceptions as to the likelihood Makr would
really have relinquished any control of the mission. If things didn’t work out, Makr would help. So, the best the Bio could hope for was that Makr would only monitor and provide assistance when asked. He had done all he could. Now, it was time.
Better make sure we're in the right neighborhood, he thought.
"Are you sure these are the proper co-ordinates?"
"If you need to ask..."
"What? How dare..."
That's what you get when you disable SensaVision. A machine with attitude. Oh, stow it!
"Mr. Salem," the car responded curtly, "the co-ordinates are exactly those you gave us at the beginning of this trip. Cyber are infallible. We do not forget such important items as co-ordinates."
"Yes, I know. Sorry I asked." Pause. "All right, already! Thanks for reminding me!"
"You're welcome."
Winston twisted his face in a mocking, "You're welcome. Hah!"
The car dipped, banked abruptly, and righted itself, nearly tossing Winston against the canopy.
"Sorry, sir. Unexpected air current."
You supercilious ass! You did that on purpose, thought Winston, but he said nothing. The trip the rest of the way down was smooth, flawless even. The car seemed as light as a feather. As it hovered a foot from the ground, Winston flipped the emergency switch to shut off the power. The car slammed down hard the rest of the way with crunch and thud.
"Oops." He announced sardonically as he flipped the switch to hold.
With SensaVision disabled per his instructions and Makr's blessing, this bucket was going nowhere. It wouldn't go anywhere until he came back with his own intact retina. That would allow the hovercar to be started manually. Then the Cyber program would take over, and drive him home.
His method of disabling SensaVision was crude, but effective. So much for not having Makr in your face for at least part of the time, and no one could touch his hovercar, thought Winston. He doubted any of these Shadow creeps could handle a hovercar, let alone one that had had the Cyber functions disabled.
He knew that, with an older vehicle like this one, he couldn't arrive inconspicuously, but in such style and safety that the rebel group would think him a good candidate to join them. Then, he could get to his business of destroying Harry Bolls and his gang of Touchables. That was, if Marlene Hess' report was accurate. Assuming it was, and then it shouldn't take long to gain access to the Touchable hideout and take down this dangerous Bolls character.
He walked away from his car without looking back. He walked some twenty yards until he came to a dark alley, made a right turn and stopped. Now what? Looking around for any Outsiders, he pulled off his blinders.
This reality was not for the weak at heart, he thought. Grim. Stark. Dark and Ugly. Disgusting smells. Now I know why SensaVision is the miracle technology.
"Take me away from all this, and never, ever do this again, Winston." Especially without blinders, he thought.
He'd always hated this Outside work. Too many uncontrollable variables. It's why I don't leave home except to go to work. Even that's gotten to be a drag these days. Who would've thought Makr would be such an egotistical pain in the ass?
Watch those thoughts, he reminded himself. Never underestimate the powers of an evolving, albeit "cracked" artificial intelligence as the all-knowing, all-seeing, almighty Makr.
He stopped to check the co-ordinates the former chief prosecutor had given him on his biofinder, which fit nicely in the palm of his hand. Nothing looked promising. Change view to Virtual. No help. Building shapes were different. No distorted images. The map images blurred, the screen blinked and finally went black. Blocked!
"Shit! Damn Shadows!" he exploded and flung the tiny biofinder against a wall and shattered it. "Shit!" he said again, this time because he had just destroyed his only means of finding Bolls.
"Makr, you should have sent a Cyber to do a man's job," he muttered half to himself, and half to no one.
Well, so much for the Hess' report, he sighed. Too many electromagnetic disturbances anyway, he rationalized.
As he took his blinders off, he closed his eyes and kept them closed for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes, expecting to be overwhelmed by a more horrible reality. This wasn't so bad. It was filthy and dilapidated as he'd expected, but not terribly disgusting. I couldn't live here, he thought, but I don't have to. Leave that to the Outsider scum. They deserve this Makr-forsaken place.
As he looked around sans blinders, he noticed the area looked like a war had been fought here—like in the old days before Makr. Surely, this area's not that old. No. Right quadrant. Nothing but empty buildings. No source of light...until now when a street light came on abruptly. His heart skipped. Okay. It is okay, he told himself. Calm down, it was on automatic. That would be to help guide the vision-enhanced factory cyberts moving to another location for scheduled maintenance or upgrades. Happens all the time, he convinced himself.
He looked anxiously behind him. He heard a rhythmic clunking and a rolling sound—rubberized metal against pavement. Cyberts. Panic set in. His heart seemed to be beating so hard they could hear it. They wouldn't, of course, unless they were searching for him. It wouldn't be in the lexicon of efficiency to analyze every unusual sound. Sure, as wired into Makr as they were, they would recognize him and let him pass without confrontation, but if an Outsider happened to see it, his cover would be blown.
If you wanted to keep Makr out of the loop, you couldn't call the Cyber ally back to help you. The streetlamp that lit the way for the cyberts created a dark side on the building's side entrance—an ancient portico. Slowly, he backed into the darkness, keenly watching the cyberts and being careful not to trip or make a sound. Who knew what would trigger a response, friendly or otherwise? After maneuvering around the potholes and other obstacles, the cyberts passed by without noticing him. As the last one rounded the corner, he let out an almost audible sigh of relief.
Ironic, he thought to himself. This was almost fun. Hiding in the shadows like one of those Outsider creeps he'd heard about. There the fun stopped. He was appalled when he thought of occupying the same space as those hopeless creatures. A man should have enough freedom to pick his own friends. Now, that's irony!
Winston wouldn't have considered himself much of a man if he couldn't keep a little secret from the big guy. Never know when you might have to use that information, he thought. Never know when you might outlive your usefulness. Winston had had contact with some Bios who actually thought no one could outwit Makr. I'm proof! he thought. I'm here, ain't I? Doing what I want to do. I'm free! Sort of...
He watched as the automatic lights shut off behind the factory cyberts and breathed easier now. As he turned to go, he sensed a presence. He tried to shake the feeling. Must be imagining things. Nothing's happening, he thought. I'm just jittery standing here without blinders on, that's all. At the same moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Winston shuddered and his unconscious body fell to the ground. A Shadow flowed over his body.