Shadowprey: A Black Foxes Adventure Page 6

  Judge Marshall nodded.

  “Miss Adkins, you and your fellow conspirators—”

  “Objection.”

  “Sustained. Rephrase the question, counselor.”

  Mark Perry sighed. “Miss Adkins, you as well as several previously ejected members of the corporation, along with the alpha team, surreptitiously entered the—”

  “Objection, your honor. The term ‘surreptitiously’ is pejorative.”

  “Sustained. Counselor, choose your words carefully.”

  “I thought I was, your honor,” said Mark, in all innocence. Then he turned back to Toni. “You entered the grounds of the facility on that night last February, right?”

  “Objection. Too vague, your honor.”

  “Sustained. Which night, counselor?””

  Mark Perry, not a trial lawyer but a corporate lawyer instead, sighed again. “On the Friday before the Presidents’ Day holiday.”

  Toni looked at the judge, and he said, “You may answer, Miss Adkins.”

  “Yes,” said Toni.

  Mark Perry nodded and said, “Yes, meaning you entered the grounds and the facility?”

  “Yes,” said Toni, even as Melissa said, “Asked and answered, your honor. Opposing counsel is badgering the witness.”

  “Take care, Mr. Perry,” said Judge Marshall.

  “Yes, your honor,” said Mark. He looked at Toni and asked, “And how did you do so? Enter the grounds, I mean.”

  “We drove up to the gate in several vans and went in when the guard passed us through.”

  “Is it not true that one of your members disguised himself as me in order to deceive the guard and gain entry?”

  Toni frowned in puzzlement and looked at Mark.

  “Come, come, Miss Adkins,” said Perry. “In earlier testimony, both James Haddock, the Blackledge security guard at the gate, and Harvey Middleton, the Blackledge security guard at the sign-in desk testified that someone resembling me fooled them into allowing entry and badges.”

  Melissa stood and said, “Is there a question there, your honor?”

  Marshall looked at Perry. “Counselor?”

  Perry ground his teeth in frustration and asked, “At the gate that night, Miss Adkins, what did you see?”

  “Not much. It was raining, and I was sitting in the back of the second van.”

  “But surely you saw someone get out and— Er, rather, are you saying that you didn’t see anyone approach the gate guard?”

  “Only a dim figure in the rain,” said Toni.

  “Well, what about when you signed in at the security desk?”

  “I took up the pen and signed the ledger.”

  “And you didn’t see someone disguised as me?”

  “There were twenty of us, all milling about.”

  “Who approached the desk first, Miss Adkins?”

  “I believe it was Dr. Rendell, though, now that I think of it, he signed in last. There were a lot of us in the lobby at the time.”

  Toni knew she was skating on thin ice, for the terms of the immunity agreement required her to tell the truth, and so far she had managed to do so by answering Mark’s questions in the strictest literal sense only. Yet she also had promised the alpha team that she would not reveal their abilities unless there was no other choice, and she intended to keep that promise.

  “And you did not intend subterfuge?”

  “Your honor,” protested Melissa.

  “Withdrawn,” said Mark.

  But Toni said, “Look at the entry log, Mr. Perry. Had we intended subterfuge, would we have signed in with our real names? The ledger will show that we used no aliases.”

  “But you had been ejected just the day before,” said Mark.

  “Is that a question?” asked Toni.

  “Your honor,” protested Melissa.

  “Counselor,” admonished the judge.

  Mark said, “After having been ejected, just how did you get in?”

  “We simply drove up to the gate, and a moment later to the facility, and we signed in.”

  “And how did that semi with the Astro two-fifty get in?”

  “I imagine someone drove it through the gate,” said Toni. “How else?”

  “Yet the guard testified that he neither heard nor saw it. How do you explain that, Miss Adkins?”

  “Your honor,” protested Melissa. “Isn’t this beyond the scope of this witness? She is neither a semi driver nor an expert on Peterbilt trucks nor on Astro two-fifties. And she certainly cannot get into the head of the guard on the gate. Perhaps the guard nodded off, or had a mental lapse of some sort. All we know is that three members of KatPower signed in with the others that Friday evening.”

  The judge looked at Mark Perry. “Counselor?”

  “Withdrawn.” Mark stood for a moment, then asked, “Miss Adkins, after whoever it was that first approached the sign-in desk, did you see where he went?”

  “As I said, Mr. Perry,” answered Toni, “there were twenty of us there all milling about.”

  “And so you did not see where the imposter went?”

  “Your honor,” objected Melissa, “there is no proof that a so-called imposter was present.”

  “It is our contention, Judge Marshall,” said Mark, “that someone wearing a mask fooled the guards, and then removed the mask during the confusion of the sign-in, and—”

  “Your honor,” said Melissa, “it has not been established that there was any confusion whatsoever, and—”

  “Then how do you explain the disappearance of my look-alike?” said Perry.

  “The existence of an imposter is preposterous, your honor,” said Melissa. “None of the people who signed in has any resemblance at all to Mr. Perry.”

  “Timothy Rendell is about my height and weight, five ten, one sixty, one sixty-five,” said Mark, “and the witness did say that he approached the desk first.”

  Uh-oh, thought Toni, Mark just might stumble into the truth.

  “Your honor,” said Melissa, “Toni Adkins has testified that there were twenty people signing in, but she definitely remembers that Dr. Rendell was the last to do so. If he was at the end of the line—”

  The judge rapped his gavel to quell the stir of sound among the spectators. “Counselors, enough. Mr. Perry, have you any physical evidence—discarded mask, makeup, wig, or anything else—to show that someone using a disguise impersonated you?”

  “No, your honor.”

  The judge nodded and said, “I have seen Dr. Rendell, and he has rust-colored hair and a ponytail down to his shoulder blades, whereas your hair is black and cut fashionably short. His eyes are blue, whereas yours are brown. His skin is freckled, whereas yours is clear. And although he could have been using a wig as well as contact lenses and could have applied makeup, still, it seems to me that the guards would have noticed something odd about him, and they made no mention of such a thing.”

  “But the guards testified that someone resembling me led these interlopers in.”

  Melissa said, “Your honor, I object to the word ‘interlopers,’ and we all know that eyewitness testimony is the most unreliable of all, those of the guards included, and—”

  “Enough, Miss French,” said Judge Marshall. “You’ve made your point. Counselor Perry, given the lack of physical evidence, I find it unreasonable that Dr. Rendell could pass himself off as you. Besides, Miss Adkins has indeed testified that Dr. Rendell was at the end of the line, as the log book has shown. And in spite of her earlier conjecture that he was the first one to approach the desk, I believe it is reasonable to conclude that he came in last and not first. However, I will hold my own opinion in abeyance, and will reconsider if and when you bring me reasonable proof that someone did indeed impersonate you.”

  One of the panel members raised his hand, and the judge frowned, but said, “Yes, Dr. Francini?”

  “Your honor, were there not any holocams surveilling the front gate or the grounds or the building interior?”

  J
udge Marshall looked at Mark Perry. “Counselor?”

  “Your honor, the signals from those holocams all feed into Avery, and because of the black hole he had fallen into, well, we have no records of the comings and goings of either the semi or the imposter.”

  “Your honor,” objected Melissa.

  “Sustained.” Judge Marshall glanced at the court reporter. “Marla, in the record, move to footnotes all references to look-alikes and imposters.” He then turned to the panel and said, “I would add, for purposes of this hearing, whether there was or was not an imposter is beside the point, for the central issue has to do with Arthur Coburn, and not the manner in which the facility was breached.”

  As the court reporter scrolled upward to footnote the comments, the judge cocked an eyebrow toward Mark Perry. “Counselor?”

  “I’m finished for the moment, judge, but I reserve the right to recall this witness.”

  The judge looked across at Melissa and said, “Miss French, if you have any questions for this witness, they’ll have to wait until after lunch. —We’ll reconvene in two hours: one-thirty sharp.”

  Judge Marshall stood and a bailiff called out, “All rise.”

  9

  Five Months Before the Hearing

  (Black Foxes and Toni’s Team)

  Led by Timothy Rendell, the alpha and corporate teams entered the foyer and stepped across a terrazzo floor to a wide mahogany desk manned by a uniformed, armed Blackledge guard. Behind and above, mounted on the wall, was a large metallic logo—a disk of beaten brass with an ornate C dead center, emblazoned in gold. Pinned to the guard’s chest was a temporary badge, bearing a miniature version of the logo, with Coburn Industries, Ltd., engraved around the rim. The guard’s nametag read “Harvey Middleton.”

  “Hello, Mr. Perry,” said Harvey. “James said you were on your way. How many badges do you need?”

  “As many as it takes to clip onto this crew,” said Timothy. “They’ll all need wrist combands as well.”

  The guard surveyed the group and announced, “Your attention, please: though some of you might already know this, the retinal scanners and voice print units and the holopics are not functioning. The only thing we got is the entry-exit log. You’ll need to queue up and sign in. Print your name along with your signature, and note where you’ll be staying in Tucson.”

  “Harvey,” said Timothy, “they’ll all be staying in the living quarters up on the seventh floor, and they’ll need access to all areas in the facility, including access to Avery himself. Just issue these people top-level temp badges, the green ones, and make sure all shifts of Blackledge guards honor them.”

  “Right.” Harvey looked at the group. “Who’s first?”

  The powertechs stepped forward, more or less abreast, shielding most of the others from the view of the guard, and Kat Lawrence took up the offered pen, while, as planned, the remaining members milled about, slowly forming a line. In the bustle, “Mr. Perry” stepped toward the back of the stir and became Timothy Rendell again.

  Moments later Kat had a bright green plaston ID clipped to the pocket of her battered Levi jacket. As soon as all the powertechs had their IDs and combands, Al Hawkins headed for one of the elevators and hit the down button. He would stop at the basement parking level and open the outer doors. Meanwhile, Kat, Carleen, Luiz, and Mike went out the main entrance and cranked up the vans, and drove around the side of the building to fetch the Peterbilt with its Astro two-fifty. Then all vehicles would enter the garage. Unlike the last time, when the rig had remained outside and an H2 pipe had been coupled to the gen and cables run from it to power everything, this time Carleen would drive the rig onto the massive freight elevator in the garage, where they would lower the whole shebang down to the facility power station located the second sub-basement.

  One after another the group signed in, and when Timothy Rendell registered last, Harvey Middleton looked up and said, “Is that everyone, Mr.—?” His voice jerked to a halt, and he looked left and right. Then he asked Timothy, “Where did Mr. Perry go?”

  Timothy looked about and shrugged. “Maybe he’s gone on up, or something.”

  The guard growled and said, “Well, if you see him, tell him he didn’t sign in.”

  “Do you think he’s gone back to the city?” asked Timothy.

  “Yeah, maybe. In which case he should have logged in and then out. But what the hell, he’s the boss.”

  Timothy smiled and took his temp badge and comband and headed for the elevator, where the rest waited, holding the door for him, while behind Harvey Middleton made a note in the log and mumbled something about an “asshole lawyer.”

  The alpha and corporate teams got off at the sixth floor and headed directly for the center of operations, there where the VR rigs were located—six in all. The room itself had been equipped to serve much like a mission control: spaced a short distance back from the rigs were consoles and holovids and various monitoring stations; at one end of the chamber and behind a glass wall there was even a raised viewing gallery with holovids of its own. Much of the equipment in the operations center had been replaced or repaired since the disastrous lightning strike six months ago.

  As the alpha team and the two medtechs stepped to the dressing rooms—men in one, women in another—Alya Ramanni unlocked a cabinet and retrieved the necessary ID crystals, while Dr. Stein moved to the cradles to power up the individual stations, even as Toni and Drew turned on the main consoles.

  In the women’s dressing room, Alice, Hiroko, and Meredith doffed their clothes. Then with the help of Grace Willoby, each was inserted—inserted is how Alice thought of it—inserted into the rig suits: Hiroko first, Meredith next, Alice last. Alice felt totally exposed, vulnerable, and slightly abused as the medtech fitted the waste disposal gear between her legs and adjusted it to conform. She was more at ease as Ms. Willoby checked the various built-in monitors—monitors for breathing and heart rate, skin conductivity, caloric rate, carbon dioxide production, and so forth. She noted again with mild trepidation that intravenous tubes and needles were positioned near her arms. The first time she had ever suited up, one of the medtechs explained that “. . . You know, Doctor Maxon, how sometimes, for example, a person will sweat when he dreams? Well, it’s not much different in virtual reality—there will be times when physical exertion or emotions in there will cause your real body out here to perspire or to otherwise use up your store of liquids. Among all the things he monitors, Avery keeps track of thirst as well as your electrolytic levels, and, when necessary, he replenishes your body with what it needs.”

  But that was six months ago, and still it was rather like being wrapped in an odd medical device, one not for the prudish or squeamish or claustrophobic.

  Even as she was being suited up, Alice remembered the time when she had first been introduced to this type of reality, when Toni said to all of them:

  “Black Foxes, you are here to test a new kind of virtual reality—not the old kind where you don a special visor and special gloves and enter upon an electronic stage to merely play the part of a character—to role-play as if your character were the real you. Oh no. Instead, when you enter this virtual reality, you will truly forget who you are, you will forget your life as biologists and authors, as artists and doctors, as bookstore owners and corporate executives; you will actually become whatever character you’ve chosen to be in a virtual reality indistinguishable from the real world.”

  And this suit was part of the gear needed to inject the player into that new virtual reality, but the neural helmet was the main device, for through it and with multiple pinpoint inductive stimulations to each individually mapped brain, Avery could suppress the players’ own identities and input whatever relevant knowledge their characters needed, such that they truly believed they were their VR personas. He could also injected into their consciousnesses the virtual environment—landscape, buildings, weather, oceans, rivers, forests, villages, and whatever else the adventure called for, as well as all
of the virtual characters they would meet along the way. It was rather like lucid dreaming, but with Avery controlling the setting of the adventure. The Black Foxes, though, with their powers and abilities and their Avery-generated false histories and their past adventuring memories, had free will in the virtual reality, free will to cope with whoever and whatever Avery threw at them.

  And the last time they had been in VR, it had nearly cost all of them their lives; and, in fact, after the lightning strike had damaged Avery, and when the comptechs had attempted to contact the AI, Avery had slain Arton in VR, while simultaneously murdering Arthur Coburn in reality. And just after that, during an attempt to disconnect the players from the damaged machine, Alice, being first, had nearly died in the real world, while the body of her VR persona, of Lyssa, had vanished, and she had become a ghost.

  Would Lyssa be a ghost upon reentry in VR? Alice did not know.

  “I suppose I’ll soon find out,” Alice said.

  “What?” asked Hiroko.

  “Oh, did I speak out loud?”

  “You said you supposed you would find out,” said Meredith.

  “About whether or not I will be a ghost upon reentry,” explained Alice.

  Meanwhile in the men’s dressing room, at nearly the same time, Eric said, “I suppose we’ll find out.”

  “Find out what?” asked Caine.

  Now realizing that he had spoken aloud, Eric said, “If Lyssa will be a ghost.”

  “Well, if she is,” said Caine, “we know how to keep her from fading away.”

  “Yeah,” said Timothy, “though being partly drained by a ghost, well, it’s right spooky, you know.”

  Soon all were suited up, and they stepped out and into the control room, where they were strapped into their individual witches’ cradles. The IVs were connected and various bundles of optical fiber were jacked into the rigs. Water tubes from the waste-disposal flushing system were connected to the suit as well.

  Alya finished snapping the last of the ID crystals into its assigned neural VR helmet, and one by one each was slipped onto a given member’s head and adjusted to fit.