Mindscape: Book 2 of the New Frontiers Series (11 page)

Chapter 18

“F
ormer Navy Admiral Lars Becker claims that aliens, the so-called
Watchers,
are attacking us, but I am here to tell you that those claims are patently false. We now have compelling evidence to prove the Solarians are behind the attacks, and we have captured the Solarian warship responsible for launching the missiles that hit the Moon and Earth.

“The Alliance is officially at war with the Solarian Republic, and we are building new warships around the clock to answer this threat to our sovereignty. We must ensure that the gulf and lunar attacks never happen again. In light of this, I ask your patience and understanding as we raise taxes in order to pay for these new fleets. Thank you, and good night. May God be with us all.”

Alexander gaped at the holoscreen, unable to believe what President Wallace had just said.

“I told you you’d be shocked,” McAdams commented from the chair in front of his desk. They were both virtually present, their bodies still submerged on the bridge as the
Adamantine
roared through space at eight
G
s, trying to reach Alliance reinforcements before the pursuing Solarian destroyers reached them. “What should we do, sir?”

Alexander shook his head. “About what, Commander?”

“About the lies the president is telling. We don’t have proof of Solarian involvement. We told Fleet Command that, so where is the president getting his information?”

“Politicians lie, McAdams. That’s nothing new. I’m sure when we get the
Crimson Warrior
back to Earth, fleet investigators will find the evidence to backup the president’s claims. Right now he needs to keep the public focused on the real enemy, not distracted by a fake one as I’m sure the Solarians intended.” Alexander stood up from his desk and headed for the door. “Let’s go for a walk, Commander.”

“Yes, sir,” McAdams replied, looking puzzled.

They left his office at a brisk pace, walking down a gleaming corridor that corresponded to a real one aboard the ship. Given how little time they actually spent physically walking around warships during war-time operations, large battleships like the
Adamantine
were long-since obsolete. All the crew really needed were
G
-tanks with Mindscape connections to allow virtual command of the ship, and when off-duty, to provide access to ample virtual mess and recreation areas. Alexander guessed that the new ships the Alliance was building would be more like that.

“Isn’t it amazing that this can look and feel so real?” Alexander asked, gesturing to their surroundings.

“Yes, sir…” McAdams replied, obviously confused by the change of topic.

“All of this is going on inside our heads, data streaming directly to and from our brains.”

“That
is
the definition of a mindscape, sir.”

Alexander nodded. She still wasn’t getting it. “Every detail of the real corridors that correspond to these ones is faithfully reproduced in this mindscape—well, every detail except for one.”

“And that is?”

“Notice the ceiling, Commander.”

Looking more puzzled than ever, McAdams glanced up.

“See anything different?”

“No, sir.”

“No holo cameras. There’s no need for virtual surveillance systems when everything you say and do is already being read by the ship’s computer. Did you know that in order to deal with the sheer volume of brainwaves, most mindscapes have to ignore people’s private thoughts? That means I can imagine something that could get me into trouble, and so long as I don’t
say
it or
do
it, then it won’t actually get me into trouble.” Alexander turned to stare at his XO, willing her to understand. He saw a light of understanding flicker through her blue eyes.

“I suppose that’s true, sir,” McAdams replied, nodding.

“Well, at least we still have some level of privacy.” He looked away. “We’d probably better get back to the bridge.”

“Aye, sir.”

She got it. If President Wallace’s lie was part of a government conspiracy to frame the Solarians, then they couldn’t afford to talk about it while they were in a mindscape where their conversation could be flagged for analysis. Anyone willing to kill millions of Terrans in order to start a war wouldn’t mind killing a few more to cover it up.

* * *

“You have to go, Ben,” Professor Arias said.

“But this is my home.”

“Not anymore. You need to find a new home.”

“Where will we go?”

“Not
we
, Ben. You. They’ll find us too easily if I go, too. You have to find a bot that looks like you, a service model, and then take its place. If anyone asks, you cannot say who you really are. Bots have ID numbers, not names. Remember that. And Human League Districts are dangerous. You’re not allowed to enter one of them. Stay away from those areas at all costs. Don’t even get too close if you can help it.”

Ben cocked his head and re-focused the cameras behind his holographic eyes in an effort to better read his father’s facial expression, searching for cues that would give away the professor’s attempt at humorous deception. There were no such cues. The professor meant everything he’d said.

“Lying about who I am is not right,” he said.

“Ben, I know this is confusing, and you’ve only had a short time to learn, but you need to grow up fast now. Grown-ups tell lies, and it’s okay to lie if a lie can prevent something bad from happening. Do you understand?”

“What bad thing are we trying to prevent?”

“Your destruction.” The professor smiled shakily and pushed his AR glasses up higher on his nose. “Ben, you are special. I made you with a purpose. Some day you are going to save humanity from itself. You’re going to save billions of lives. But in order to do that, you need to be
alive
, do you understand? Safe-guarding your own survival is synonymous with safe-guarding humanity.”

“I understand. I must lie because the harm caused by a lie to keep me hidden is inferior to the good that I can do by someday fulfilling my purpose.”

Professor Arias breathed a sigh. Relief radiated from him like a physical wave. “Yes, exactly. Right and wrong are not black and white. Wrong actions can have good results just as right actions can have bad ones. You must predict the consequences of your actions and choose the course of action that will maximize benefit and minimize detriment for the greatest number of people.”

Ben nodded as he made adjustments to the parameters in his moral code. “Father, will I ever see you again?”

“I don’t know, Ben. You mustn’t contact me, or they will find you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but if my continued existence is important for humanity’s survival, why do humans want to deactivate me?”

“They don’t understand, Ben, and people have always feared what they cannot understand.”

“So fear can lead to wrong action.”

“Exactly. Are you ready?”

Ben nodded. “I am ready, Father. I will miss you.”

The professor reached up and lifted his glasses to wipe his eyes. His hands came away wet with salty water.

“You are leaking.”

“They’re called tears. When you get a chance, find a way to connect to the net so you can finish your education. Access is restricted for bots, so you’ll need to make a physical connection to a computer terminal. I’ve given you my credentials, but you’ll still need a human to unlock the terminal for you. Be careful who you trust, and don’t let them know what you are doing.”

“Yes, Father.”

“We have to go now, Ben. Follow me.”

They found a service bot in an alley right outside Mindsoft Tower—a garbage collector model. “There Ben!” the professor whispered as he commanded the hover car to stop behind the garbage truck. The collector bot was busy loading bags into the back of his truck. “Deactivate him and download his programming to your core so you can take his place.”

“Yes, father.”

Ben slid open the door to the hover car’s cabin and raced out toward the bot. It was an older version of the service model that Ben had been built from, but perhaps no one would notice. The bot wore dirty coveralls. Ben felt a flash of disappointment that he would have to wear those coveralls instead of his jeans and jacket ensemble.

As he raced up behind the collector bot, it turned to look at him; its holographic human face was generic and expressionless. “You are about to collide with me,” the bot warned. When Ben didn’t stop coming, it tried to step aside, but Ben was faster, and he grabbed the bot’s head with both hands as they fell into the alley with a crash. “What are you doing?” the bot inquired in an inflectionless voice as Ben reached behind its head and ripped open the access panel located there. He flicked the on/off switch and the bot’s holographic face vanished. Ben quickly lifted his shirt and opened one of his own access panels to pull out a self-reeling data transfer cable. He plugged it into the appropriate port on the garbage collector bot and downloaded its programming.

“I am done, Father,” Ben said a few seconds later.

“Now change clothes with it and bring the bot here when you’re done.”

“Yes, Father.”

When Ben was finished changing, he heard the distant roar of another hover car approaching.

“Quickly!” the professor urged as Ben carried the deactivated bot, now wearing his jeans and sports jacket into the back of the hover car. “Goodbye, Ben.”

“Goodbye, Father,” Ben said as the professor slid the door shut in his face. He raised a hand to wave, but stopped when he saw the approaching car slowing down to pull alongside his father’s car.

Ben traded his holographic face for the collector bot’s generic, expressionless one and then executed the garbage collector’s work code. He turned away from his father’s car and went back to loading garbage into the truck.

He listened in as his father explained to the driver of the second hover car—one of his colleagues—that he didn’t need assistance. He had parked beside the alley to collect his thoughts before formatting Ben’s data core as Gray had ordered him to.

The driver of the second car offered smug-sounding sympathies and drove on; then the professor pulled out into the street and drove off, too. Ben looked up from collecting trash to watch his father leave. He half expected to see the professor turn and wave to him from the back window, but his father didn’t even look back. Ben felt a flash of disappointment, but he reminded himself that the professor couldn’t afford to risk exposing him.

As Ben went back to his task, retrieving the final bags of garbage from the alley, he saw a pair of eyes glinting at him from the shadows, followed by a low growl. Ben activated a light-amplification routine and saw the dog he’d fed earlier. “Hey there, boy,” Ben said, speaking in the inflectionless tones of the collector bot.

Another growl.

Ben changed his voice and face back to his own. “Remember me?” he asked.

The dog wagged its tail and padded out of the shadows. Ben bent down and patted it on the head.

“I bet you want more chicken. I’m sorry, boy. I don’t have any, but maybe we can find something else to eat. You want to come for a ride with me?”

Another wag.

Ben smiled. Maybe life on the street wouldn’t be so bad. “Let’s go then.”

* * *

Catalina watched buildings flash by as the car took her through the City of the Minds. The sun filtered down from a hazy sky, not enough to illuminate the pools of shadow below. The streets were black rivers winding through the artificial canyons of the city. Cliffs of concrete and colored glass jutted up to either side. Covered pedestrian tunnels crossed between buildings, creating more street levels higher up.

If New York had survived The Last War, this is probably what it would look like now,
Catalina decided.

Despite all the provisions for their safe passage, no pedestrians roamed the streets, and just a few cars joined Catalina’s on the road. Even here, where people still had jobs, most didn’t venture far from their apartments—why bother? Virtual commuting was far more efficient than physical travel, and food was all prepared by bots and delivered by hover drones.

As her car drew near to the Human League district beyond the outer limits of the city, scrawls of graffiti appeared in every color of the rainbow, smeared over bare walls and columns. The contents were vulgar, technophobic rhetoric designed to incite hatred against bots and automation. No doubt the work of Human League kids who’d come to the city under the auspices of tourism.

Catalina sighed. She understood their frustration, but she wished they would find more productive ways to express themselves. Vandalism wasn’t the way to raise public awareness. All it accomplished was to reinforce Utopian stereotypes that Leaguers were all primitive, uneducated barbarians.

Looking out the front windshield, Catalina saw a garbage truck on the side of the road belching black smoke. A frown creased her brow.

“Stop here,” Catalina said, giving a verbal command to the car’s driver program.