Reborn. Lance Erlick
into a plain student-style pantsuit, put on glasses for effect, and returned to the bedroom.
“That’s the look,” he said, showing surprise that she could follow orders. It was in those moments of astonishment that he treated her as human, even if only for an instant.
She hunched her shoulders ever so slightly and slid across the room as if she’d become her own shadow. There was an entire science to appearing unremarkable that he had programmed into her for such occasions: the anonymous look. Nevertheless, downgrading her appearance violated his ego’s need to have the most beautiful woman on his arm, or so her social-psychology module told her.
Unless she did something to change his mind, he was granting her a chance to go outside. She considered how best to handle her pending freedom, even if it promised to be fleeting.
She sent a message to Zachary: <I might soon have access to a way to contact you. Will you be around?>
* * * *
Machten brushed his hand across Synthia’s cheek in what might have been a sensual gesture. His behavior indicated conflict between his wanting to keep her to himself, his desire to parade her in public for all to see what a catch he had, and his need to dig into his rival’s company.
“Even with the bland wig, plain face, and simple clothes you’re gorgeous,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?” It came across as another apology, this time for making her dress down.
“Take your backpack,” he said, handing it to her. He also handed her an old thumb drive. “You’ll need this. Keep it safe.”
He took her by the hand, led her to the door, and placed his eye next to the scanner. A single LED turned green. He placed his other hand on an electronic pad and a second green light switched on. “Open says me,” he said in his weak attempt at humor. The sound analyzer picked up his tonal qualities and kicked on the third green light.
The door opened.
Machten led her down a faded, well-lit corridor with cameras at both ends, the same ones that had allowed her to watch him approach her door. “This is exciting, isn’t it?” he said.
Indeed, she sensed his respiration picking up more than from walking, along with an elevated heart rate. Humans got excited for reasons that she could objectively identify and yet couldn’t experience.
He led her down several hallways of the inner facility and through a door that sealed behind a movable set of shelves that concealed the door from a room in the outer facility. They reached a different entryway with no lobby and a back door that avoided visitors blindsiding him again. He repeated his door security procedure, and they stepped into an empty storage room, beyond which stood the garage. He checked video footage on a small screen and opened the door.
Her infrared vision revealed no other humans in the garage. There was only one car, Machten’s. The ramp above them held an Under Construction sign at the entrance. Whenever uninvited guests entered this area, his system would automatically call 911 in a simulated voice to have them removed. The system was set up to recognize and permit Synthia and Machten.
She climbed into the passenger seat of a battered sedan that wouldn’t have been beat-up if she’d been driving, though she had no data to show she’d ever driven before or where that conclusion came from. Downloaded recordings showed Machten in the past getting distracted, mostly minor fender-benders. She belted herself in as he drove up the ramp into daylight, what the weather report said would be a cloudless April day, unseasonably warm. She’d missed the winter snows.
Squinting, Machten put on sunglasses. Synthia adjusted her lens aperture and took in the depth of a sky thousands of times farther away than the ceiling of her cell. The buildings reached skyward, though none as tall as those in downtown Chicago. Unlike the videos she’d accessed, she now had a 3-D perspective of the world aboveground, trees with texture, people sporting angles in all sizes and shapes. As Machten drove through intersections, she studied roads that weaved off in every direction and the noise of horns, car stereos, and people shuffling along beside them. That gave her an idea.
“The fastest Wi-Fi connections would be in the university data hub,” Synthia said. The speed would reduce the time they needed to be there. The university setting would also allow her to observe human behavior, experience people interacting, and explore freedom outside the bunker.
“Access is limited,” Machten said, “and the connection to the university would draw unwanted attention.” He drove south of campus.
“What about Deluxe Brew?” she asked, observing students and others walking along the sidewalk. Her direct experience with humans was limited; she needed more in order to improve her interaction skills, and not just on social media. Contact beyond Machten could help her learn about the trust warning, meet up with Zachary, and find out what happened to Fran Rogers.
Synthia took in the subtle variations of facial expressions and walking gait of passersby that diminished when presented in 2-D videos. “Speeds at Deluxe Brew are high enough,” she added.
“Too busy and not ideal for what I have in mind. We’ll try Constant Connection. They offer secure anonymous links for a price. It seems plenty of students are willing to pay for secrecy despite the university providing free access to social media.”
For illegal activities, she could have added. “Good third choice, but they’re busy and they attract business types. Won’t they get suspicious?”
“Leave that to me.” Machten parked two blocks from their intended network place. He held up a tiny earbud that he placed in his ear. “You’ll walk ahead of me so we aren’t seen together. Enter Constant Connection. We’ll communicate through this secure wireless line. At any sign of danger, return to the storage shed in the garage and wait.”
She experienced his slow-com, human-voice explanation as irritating. With fifty tracks, she could have solved his problem in the time it took him to explain it.
“To remain anonymous, you’ll pay cash,” he said. He handed her a wad of bills.
“It isn’t this expensive.”
“No, but we want them to see you can pay. If they get nosy, say you don’t want your boyfriend tracking your spending. They’re discreet. Now go. Let me know when you’ve hacked into Goradine’s server. If you encounter any problems, place a bill on the counter and leave.”
He was acting paranoid, but perhaps with good reason.
* * * *
Synthia climbed out of the car, slung the backpack over her shoulder, and blended into a group of young women heading toward campus. It took a few steps to adjust to the uneven pavement after living with the level floors of the facility.
An odd thought surfaced of her going to school as the girl whose memory she’d experienced. With her access to information, she could ace every class. Despite the ease of doing so, the experience would be a microcosm of human interactions. Something urgent attached to these memories. She filed that away and kept moving.
Through a camera in what appeared as a mole in the back of her neck, she watched Machten follow her. His gait was awkward; he tried too hard to blend into a group of students with whom he didn’t belong. He was old enough to be a professor and had some of the rumpled look of a stereotyped academic. However, he was too purposed and paranoid in his manner. Hopefully, any humans who did notice him would lack her skill at social observation.
Synthia, on the other hand, was programmed to fit in. A girl heading the other way smiled as if recognizing the plain-Jane android. Synthia nodded back. She passed Deluxe Brew, overflowing with students between classes, and was tempted to step inside. Conversations bounced off each other, at least a dozen threads. Inside, she could have broken down the soundtracks and followed each separately. There was so much to learn. She spotted boys on the prowl and girls toying with them, as in a game Machten had equipped her to play. She moved on.
She sent another message to Zachary: <Let me know when you’re online.>
Gazing