Shadowprey: A Black Foxes Adventure Page 5

  Toni shook her head in wonderment at Timothy’s transformation.

  Caine said, “He can look like anyone he’s ever met. Sound like them, too, if he’s heard their voice.”

  Toni said, “It’ll be risky. I mean, what if Mark actually shows up during those three days?”

  Eric said, “What about this venture isn’t already risky? Mark showing up is just one more hazard.”

  Toni nodded. “Okay. But let me ask you this. What happens if you do succeed and set free Arthur or Arton, whichever one he is? What then? I mean, it isn’t as if there’s a waiting body out here to accept his mind.”

  “Well, crap,” said Caine. “You know, I haven’t the faintest.”

  Eric said, “Tim, you’re the AI expert. What then?”

  All eyes turned to Timothy.

  Feeling somewhat like a bug pinned to a board as entomologists peered through their magnifying glasses at him, Timothy said, “Well, it’s clear that Avery had the capacity to hold all of our mentalities in his memory, so surely he can hold Arthur’s. In actuality, we are counting on the fact that he already is; that Arthur’s mental pattern has not been destroyed. Perhaps if we discover some way to make Avery sane, he’ll cede memory and resources to Arthur; or, if we totally subdue Avery, we can give Arthur the upper hand.”

  “Beat the Dark God at his own game?” asked Eric.

  “If it’s the Dark God, we’re dead ducks,” said Caine.

  “We beat him last time,” said Meredith, “or rather Trendel did.”

  “Yes,” said Eric. “And Trendel should know that. What I mean, is Trendel should remember the code words needed to subdue the Dark God.”

  “Yeah, but I think that’s what drove Avery crazy the last time: he had to obey a mere human, but no human could tell a god what to do. Yet he had to obey, but could not obey. It’s the old irresistible force against the immovable object. The paradox drove him insane.”

  “He was already somewhat gaga from the lightning strike,” said Toni. “But I see what you mean.”

  “So that’s our plan?” asked Alice. “Free Arton, and either cure Avery or defeat the Dark God?”

  “That’s more than a lot of the plans the Black Foxes started with,” said Hiroko.

  “Yeah, Ky,” said Alice, “but that was when we first began playing back in our college days.”

  “Still,” said Eric, “I don’t know what else we can do until we actually are in VR and see what the situation is.”

  “Let me ask you this,” said Toni. “How will you find Arton?”

  “In our previous adventure, we discovered Trendel has a spell that lets him point the way to anyone he’s ever met,” said Eric.

  “Or anything I’ve ever seen, or even seen a depiction of,” added Timothy.

  “Yes, but you didn’t meet Arton,” said Toni.

  “I saw him on the holovids,” said Timothy, “during the previous adventure.”

  “Ah, wait,” said Eric, “Toni has a point. Timothy saw Arton via the holovid when Tim was in reality. On the other hand, Trendel never met Arton, or at least, I don’t think he did, unless their paths somehow crossed somewhere at a time before Arton was torn in two.”

  “Then someone will have to draw Trendel a depiction of Arton,” said Timothy.

  “Hiroko is an artist,” said Caine, “but perhaps Ky is not.”

  “Do we even know that the Foxes will understand that Arton somehow is supposedly alive and is a prisoner?” asked Alice.

  Timothy said, “I would think that if I got a message from Arton out here in reality, surely he will have some way of communicating with the Foxes in there.”

  “Look,” said Eric, “it’s all a crapshoot anyway. We can only go into VR and see whatever it is we can see, and do whatever it is we can do.”

  “Another great plan, I see,” said Alice.

  “Ah, what the hell,” said Caine, “it’s all we’ve got.”

  Eric turned to Toni. “How soon can you have the corporate team ready—powertechs and medtechs and comptechs, along with Alya, Henry, and Drew?”

  “Don’t forget John Greyson,” said Caine, “to offset Doctor Jerk.”

  Eric nodded. “Right.”

  Toni frowned. “I think I can have them all together by sunset tomorrow.”

  “Great,” said Eric. “Tell them to meet us on Sabino Canyon Road where it runs alongside old Udall Park just south of Tanque Verde. By then we’ll have solidified our plans for getting in, and we’ll lay out the operation there.”

  Toni stood. “Let me get back to my place and make the calls. You can fill me in with the others.”

  Caine raised his tumbler of scotch and said, “See you at sunset tomorrow.”

  As if that were the signal, Timothy escorted Toni to her car. When he returned, Eric said, “Let me key into your vid, and we’ll list our options.

  “Here’s one that will need Trendel’s illusions, Rith’s sound control, and Ky’s mastery of shadows. . . .”

  6

  Courthouse

  (Greyson)

  As the bailiffs escorted the agitated man in the brown robe out through one set of Pima County courthouse doors and into the arched passage beyond, vid crews surged forward, stopped only by the restraining barriers. “Sir! Sir!” shouted some of them, but one, a petite brunette, called out, “Dr. Greyson! Dr. John Greyson!”

  Beyond the vid horde and out in the broad Presidio Plaza, various factions of protesters and supporters had been cordoned off by the police, with the anti’s and the pro’s sent to separate areas to prevent the sparking of a mêlée. Within that seething mass of demonstrators, some carried signs reading Avery = 666, and others bore Christ Against Godless Machines. Some signs read Zionist Plot, while others proclaimed Islamic Plot. There was a sizable faction of the Leave My Genes Alone people, who seemed to show up at every public gathering and carry their signs depicting a double-helix inside a circle with a bar slashing across, while chanting “God’s will be done; no human interference.”

  In contrast, there were several groups of the opposite ilk: ProAI, and ProVR, and ProScience, as well as the fringe folks, such as the euthanasia supporters bearing Death with Dignity signs, and the like.

  There was also the usual smattering of college kids from the U of A, bearing signs meant to amuse—Atheists for God; Rapture Now!; Who Cares?; America Go Home!; Where is a Killer Asteroid When You Need It? and the like.

  There were a few Impeach Harold Danson signs, mingled with Close the Border Now placards.

  Out in mid plaza on the broad rim of the reflecting pool, at each corner stood someone haranguing the mob, two of them with Bibles in hand, or perhaps they were Korans, or the Book of Mormon, or whatever, a third with a Sinners Repent: End of the World sign, and the fourth with a helium-filled balloon in the likeness of a fish with legs floating above. Not that anyone seemed to be listening to these tirades, as faction shouted against faction, though some simply aimed holocams, and whatever they sighted upon they beamed to their personal holosuites on the holonet.

  It was a zoo.

  “Dr. Greyson,” again called the petite brunette, her sharp voice rising above the others as she shoved the directional mike toward the brown-robed man, while behind her the holocam operator zoomed in on the monklike figure. “Frankie Roberts, News Holo-4. What did you mean in there when you said it was murder?”

  John Greyson paused in his attempt to avoid the cameras. The bailiffs stopped as well, for they were escorting John to a holding room for witnesses, and this was the shortest route to get him there.

  “I meant that the heirs conspire to destroy the soul of Arthur Coburn, and if that isn’t murder, I don’t know what is.”

  “Come along, doctor,” said one of the bailiffs.

  “No, wait!” called Frankie. “The public has the right to know.”

  “Then keep watching the court holocast on your handhelds,” said the bailiff, and he took Greyson by the arm. “Let’s go, doc.”

&nbs
p; And they stepped on across the passage and hustled John Greyson through a guarded door there.

  Frankie and her cameraman moved out from the passageway and into the open, and she took up a position at the side of the entry.

  “Ready, Steve?” she asked her cameraman.

  “Ready,” he replied.

  “Well, there you have it,” said Frankie, looking into the holocam. “It’s murder, or so Dr. John Greyson says. How he managed to get into the courtroom during the testimony of Dr. Adkins . . . well, clearly, someone on the court staff slipped up, for witnesses are supposed to be shielded from the testimony of others until they are called. And Greyson is on the witness list, though whether he will testify, given the alleged fragile state of his mind, is yet in question.

  “As you’ll recall, eleven months ago, Arthur Coburn the billionaire fell victim to one of his own devices—the artificial intelligence known as Avery. Coburn’s death greatly affected Dr. Greyson, some say he had a complete nervous collapse, for Greyson’s faith, his belief in the souls of men, was tested beyond the breaking point. Since that time he has resided in the monastery at the San Xavier del Bac Mission, where he spent the time in quiet contemplation, at least for the first six months.

  “But with the events last February, he emerged from his cocoon. And now he is enmeshed in this bitter court battle. And though it is a civil hearing, some are calling it the trial of the century. How it will all turn out, well, your guess is as good as mine.

  “This is Frankie Roberts, News Holo-4, at the Pima County courthouse in Tucson.”

  “That was good,” said Steve, lowering his cam.

  Frankie nodded, and then she and he worked their way through the mob in the passage to reach the barrier that kept reporters back from the doors, making ready to question witnesses as they briefly crossed on their way to testify.

  And out in the plaza, the rants went on, in spite of the fact that clouds continued to gather in a darkening sky above; a monsoon deluge had been predicted, but that would probably come in the late July afternoon and evening, and it was yet midmorn.

  (Black Foxes and Toni’s Team)

  7

  Five Months before the Hearing:

  (Black Foxes and Toni’s Team)

  It was difficult to tell whether or not it was sunset, given the dark gray sky and the thin drizzle of the February winter rain. Yet when Timothy and the others in a Coburn Industries van pulled into the extension of Sabino Canyon Road just south of Tanque Verde and alongside Udall Park, several people stood beneath umbrellas waiting beside a pair of Coburn vans, and beyond them sat a Peterbilt semi with a flatbed bearing an Astro two-fifty turbogen.

  “It looks like Toni was successful,” said Hiroko.

  “Ah, there’s Greyson,” said Alice. “I wonder how she managed to pry him loose from the monastery.”

  “She probably threatened him with Dr. Jerk,” growled Caine, pointing toward Henry Stein, a tall, thin, black-haired man in his early forties. And though they couldn’t see his eyes within the shadows of his umbrella, they knew them to be an icy blue.

  Toni herself stood between brown-robed Greyson and Stein, as if to prevent an eruption between the two.

  Beside the second van, Alya Ramanni and Drew Meyer huddled under a single umbrella, Alya a woman from India in her early fifties, standing five two or so, and Drew a man in his late thirties, bald on top with ginger hair on the sides, a half a head taller than Alya.

  “I don’t see Sheila or Billy, or the medtechs for that matter,” said Timothy.

  “They’re probably sitting in the vans,” said Eric. “But the powertechs are down by the semi.”

  Umbrella-less and wearing yellow slickers, three people stood by the Peterbilt. Kat Lawrence, with her customary unlit synthbac cigarillo jammed in the corner of her mouth. Somewhere in her mid thirties, Kat stood perhaps five foot seven, and beneath her hardhat they could see that she was a redhead this week, a color that suited her fair complexion, as well as her somewhat volatile temper.

  At her side was a Hispanic male, Luiz Vizcarrondo, short and stocky and Kat’s leading powertech, he, too, wearing a hardhat.

  Also at hand was the chief powertech of Coburn Industries, Al Hawkins, a tall, gaunt man in his fifties. He was hardhatted as well.

  Inside the cab the alpha team could just make out two figures, presumably Mike Phelan, a Coburn powertech, and Carleen Alsberg, the driver of Kat’s rig. Mike and Carleen had been a twosome ever since the disastrous events of six months ago.

  As Timothy made a U-turn and pulled alongside the lead van, the medtechs and comptechs and powertechs piled out of the vans and the semi, and joined the others at the alpha team’s vehicle to hear how in the world they would break into the Coburn Industries facility.

  It took a small demonstration on the part of the Black Foxes to show them that it could really be done, at the end of which most stood with their mouths agape at what they had just seen. All but Henry Stein and John Greyson, the former who looked about for the technical equipment that seemed to manipulate shadows and suppress sound and cast holo illusions, the latter who grinned at Henry and said, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

  “Oh, don’t quote that hack to me, John,” snapped Stein, frustrated at not seeing how the deception was accomplished. “This is merely a trick of some sort.”

  Greyson’s smile vanished and he said in all seriousness, “Ah, Henry, no thimblerig this, my lad, but a genuine thing . . . just as are souls.”

  “Bah!” snarled Stein. “You and your souls. I’ll discover the truth behind this chicanery. You’ll see.”

  “Give me a knife,” growled Caine to Hiroko, “and I’ll stab the bastard, and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll heal him . . . or not.”

  “Henry,” said Toni, “it doesn’t matter whether you think this was done by technical means or if by psi, ESP, or magic, or something else altogether. The point is, we can get into the facility, and the alpha team can once more enter Avery’s virtual world.”

  “It’s stupid to have anyone risk such a thing,” said Stein. “But to regain Avery, well, what matter a few lives one way or the other? A trivial price to pay.”

  Caine balled a fist and started to step forward, but Hiroko placed her hand on his forearm and stopped him in midstride. “We need a medical doctor,” she whispered, “and Stein is it.”

  Caine made a sound deep in his throat, but stepped back.

  “All right,” said Timothy, “does everyone know what they are to do?”

  Each looked at the others, and finally Kat Lawrence said, “Carleen, fire up the rig. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  The night was glum, overcast, wholly moonless and starless, and the drizzle of winter rain continued. Three vans in a convoy hissed down Tanque Verde Road, followed in the distance by a huge cluster of shadow.

  Soon, in the lead van, Timothy and the rest of the alpha team turned onto a side road. The others followed, including the trailing massive knot of gloom. Ahead in the rain-blurred darkness, stood the main gate inset in a fence made of heavy iron bars. A guard shack sat to one side. Just as planned, the three vans pulled into the small waiting area on the left, and a figure, holding an umbrella, stepped from the lead van and walked to the shack.

  “Mister Perry,” said the guard on duty, “what brings you out on a night like this?”

  Reading the guard’s Blackledge nametag, the figure said, “I’ve brought the crew that’s to shut down and restart Avery, Jim.”

  “I didn’t think you were going to do that till Tuesday, Mr. Perry.”

  “Well, they were available now, and nothing like striking while the iron is hot. Besides, to have them sit idle over the holiday weekend, well, you know how it is.”

  The guard grinned and said, “Even so, Mr. Perry, they’ll get holiday pay, like me.”

  “Yeah, but they would have gotten that whether or not they worked.”

  The guar
d laughed and stepped into the shack and threw a switch. Slowly the gate ground open, and just as it reached the full extent, a massive blast of wind staggered both men, as a cluster of shadow, unseen behind an illusory wall of nighttime winter rain and unheard beneath quelled sound, silently roared through the gap.

  “Wow, Mr. Perry,” said the guard, “where did that come from?”

  “It’s this silly Tucson weather; you never know what it’s going to bring.”

  “I’ll call ahead,” said the guard. “How many badges will you need?”

  “Let me see— Twenty or so ought to do.”

  “Just to shut down Avery?”

  “Don’t forget, we need to restart the AI as well. It’s a complicated procedure for a complicated machine. Not at all like rebooting your basic holocomp.”

  “If you say so, Mr. Perry. Now if I were you, I’d get out of this cold rain, before you catch your death.”

  The Blackledge guard watched as Mr. Perry walked back to his van, and then all three vehicles drove through the gate and up the slope beyond. The guard then picked up the phone. “Harve, get off your butt. That asshole Perry is bringing up twenty folks to shutdown and restart Avery. . . . That’s right, twenty. . . . How the hell should I know? He says it’s a complicated procedure.”

  The road upward was virtually invisible in the darkness veiled by rain, yet Timothy and the others, on a familiar route, easily followed the quarter-mile-long arc of blacktop to the building looming above. The ten storey high steel and glass structure was difficult to make out in the drizzle and the night, but here and there lights glimmered from within.

  The three vans drew up under a portico before a lighted entryway. Waiting off to one side of the entry, Kat, Luiz, and Carleen stood, along with Hiroko and Meredith, the rig parked around back.

  As the others piled out from the vans, “One more hurdle,” said Timothy, and then Mark Perry led them all inside.

  8

  Courthouse

  (Adkins)

  “Redirect, your honor,” said Mark Perry.