Back | Next
Contents

chapter thirty-three

Prime Tower

Admin, 2981 CE


“There you are.”

Csaba Shigeki looked over his shoulder to find Raibert Kaminski looming beside him. Though, perhaps “looming” was too harsh a word. The size and stature of the agent made non-looming a difficult proposition.

“Hello, Agent.” Shigeki gestured to the wall replay. “I was just watching some of the highlights. There was even some bloodshed in this one.”

“I can see that. Did Luna’s state senate really break out into fisticuffs?”

“Oh, they do that all the time.” Shigeki gave the screen an unconcerned wave. “It’s only natural they’d embarrass themselves over this, too. I imagine your own state senates are a bit more orderly.”

“You could say that.” Raibert glanced around. “I have to admit, this whole affair is making me feel a bit nostalgic. Remember how I made that surprise visit to your office?”

“How could I forget? I almost had security throw you out.”

Raibert snorted. “You could have tried.”

“We’ve come a long way since then.”

“That we have.”

“There’s a lot about SysGov that still gives me pause,” Shigeki admitted. “Corners of your society and technology that hit too close to home for us Peacekeepers to accept with open arms. At least right away.”

“I get that.”

“But there’s no denying the positive influence you’ve had on us. You’ve given us an example of an advanced society that functions, one free from many of our warts. With neighbors like you, it’s easier for us to find the courage to take steps in your direction. Because we know those steps can meet with success, even if they require a great deal of effort and determination. We always knew what we were, but you showed us what we could be.”

“We’re also the ones who started this most recent mess.”

“There’s that, too. But both of our societies have disruptors. It would be unfair of us to judge SysGov based on monsters like Xenophon or Lucius Gwon.”

“Oh, good grief! Please don’t!”

“Just as it’s unfair of you to judge us based on our rougher elements.”

“It helps that the lines between us are starting to blur. By the way, I feel I should apologize.”

“For what?”

“The losses your people have suffered under my command. Ultimately, it was my call to send the Hammerheads in, and we all saw how that ended! Only one survivor out of two whole ships is . . . I should have taken a more cautious approach.”

“Was Commissioner Schröder upset with you?”

“No, but I thought you’d—”

“Agent, I understand what you’re thinking, perhaps more than you realize, but the truth is you did nothing wrong. The engagement didn’t play out the way any of us wished. I get that. But you executed your mission with the knowledge and resources you had at the time, and you ensured word reached the rest of us. You fulfilled the role the Commissioner and I entrusted to you, and for that you have my gratitude.”

“I . . . I appreciate you saying that.”

Shigeki flashed a quick smile.

“Come to think of it, you and I make quite the interesting pair nowadays, don’t you agree?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“You in your Admin synthoid, and now me in my SysGov-printed body.”

“Ah, I see what you mean now. How’s the new body working out for you?”

“Overall well, but it’s taking some adjustment. I’ve found keeping to my old daily rhythms for eating and sleeping have helped ease the transition.”

“Yeah, I was the same. That does help, by the way.”

“Did Commissioner Schröder ever suffer any sort of reprimand for what he did?”

“A small one,” Raibert said. “And we actually have your side to thank for how mildly the hammer came down. One of our ambassadors approached the Chief Executor’s office and basically asked ‘Is this a problem?’ The answer came back a no, so Byakko gave our boss a slap on the wrist with one hand and a pat on the back with the other.”

“Glad to hear my temporary death didn’t cause him any undue inconveniences.”

“Speaking of temporary death, you want to hear something weird? It’s about my first death.”

“Sure. Why not?”

“You know the judge for Xenophon’s trial?”

“Salvatore? What about her?”

“I recognized her.”

“Oh?”

“From the other Admin. The doomed copy formed out of the Gordian Knot. I had this strange flash of anxiety when I walked into the courtroom and saw her.” Raibert shook his head. “Freaked me the hell out.”

“Well, your connectome was yanked against your will and your old body fed to a reclamation grinder. That’s quite a distance from a pleasant transition.”

“Tell me about it.” Raibert looked around. “I’m actually surprised she’s not at the reception. Any reason why she didn’t get an invite?”

“Oh, that.” Shigeki smiled knowingly. “She’ll be joining us in a bit. There’s still one last job for her to take care of today.”

* * *

A pair of security synthoids escorted Jonathan Detmeier into the courtroom. He wore an orange, self-illuminated jumpsuit, the heavy collar of a spinal interrupt around his neck. He took his seat at the defendant’s table, careful to keep his movements slow and controlled, lest the interrupt perceive a threat and disable him.

He waited while Judge Salvatore adjusted her screens, their contents blurred behind privacy filters.

The last three months had been full of long waits, most of them stressful. He’d already pled guilty to his crimes; why then had they delayed his sentencing so many times? What purpose did it serve?

He had no choice but to wait a little while longer.

Salvatore closed all but one of her screens and faced him.

“Jonathan Detmeier, you stand accused of illegal modification to a printing device, fabricating restricted patterns, impersonating an agent of the government, trespassing on government property, sabotage of government property, unsanctioned communication with an artificial intelligence, and two hundred ninety-one counts of conspiracy to unbox an artificial intelligence. You have entered a plea of guilt for all charges and have been called before the court—”

“May I make a statement?” he asked quickly, almost sheepishly.

Salvatore paused with her mouth open. She closed it and sat forward.

“That is your right, though I hardly think it’s necessary under these circumstances.”

“I would very much like to say something.”

The judge rapped her fingers atop her bench a few times. She let out a muted sigh.

“The court recognizes your right to enter a statement into the record.” She held out an open palm. “Proceed.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Detmeier slid out his chair and rose, slowly and cautiously. He placed his hand atop the defendant’s table, accessed his legal records, and retrieved the speech he’d prepared. The document materialized in front of him.

He knew it was a bloated speech. His role as a publicity manager had taught him the value of brevity, but this was a special situation, and the stakes for leaving even one detail out were too high.

He felt there was an important distinction between committing a crime and living as a criminal. Yes, he’d broken the law—well, several—but he still viewed himself as an upstanding member of society, if now slightly tarnished by his deeds. He wanted the judge to understand that; to understand the nuance of the situation.

Which took time.

And a lot of words.

He didn’t keep track of how long he spoke.

Perhaps he should have.

But at least he managed to lay it all out, clearly and confidently. At least he’d given it one last, honest try.

“In conclusion, I wish to once again stress the uniqueness of the circumstances I found myself in. While I knowingly and willingly committed these crimes, I hold in my heart no intention to continue down any paths of criminality. Furthermore, my record was spotless prior to these extraordinary events, and I ask the court to take all of this into account when issuing my sentence.”

“Thank you, Mister D—”

“I humbly throw myself at the mercy of the court.”

Thank you, Mi—”

“That is all. Thank you for your time.”

Salvatore paused for several seconds, watching him carefully.

“Are you quite finished?” she said at last.

Detmeier checked over his speech once more, then met the judge’s gaze.

“Yes, your honor. I believe so.”

“Very well.” She brought her screen over. “Now that that is out of the way, maybe we can get on with the day. As I was about to say before this segue started, you have been called before this court due to an update to your case.”

The judge forwarded a document to Detmeier. He skimmed through it quickly. It wasn’t very long.

“A . . . grant of clemency?”

“I will now read an excerpt from the document. ‘I, Chief Executor Christopher First, hereby direct the Department of Incarceration to release the prisoner, Jonathan Detmeier, from custody without delay. Pursuant to my powers under the Articles of Cooperation, I grant Jonathan Detmeier a full and unconditional pardon for the following crimes . . . ’ You can go through the list yourself, but it’s all of them.

“The document continues: ‘In light of the recent passage of the Thermopylae Protocol, and in recognition for the prisoner’s contributions to the defense of the System Cooperative Administration and the inconveniences placed upon him by his incarceration, all references to and mention of the crimes for which he has been pardoned will be expunged from the public record.

“‘Furthermore, the court is instructed to compensate Jonathan Detmeier for any lost wages and emotional trauma brought on by the eighty-seven days of his confinement, at the discretion of the court, to an amount not to exceed five hundred thousand Escudos.”

“Five hundred thousand?” Detmeier’s eyes bugged out.

“You can then see the executor’s signature and seal at the bottom.” Salvatore shifted her copy aside. “Mister Detmeier?”

“W-what?” He tried to collect himself. What was happening?

“Was your time in prison unpleasant?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Everyone was very considerate about my dietary restrictions.”

“Stressful, perhaps?”

“Uh . . . a bit, yes.”

“Very well. This court orders compensation be paid to you in the amount of five hundred thousand. Your criminal record shall be cleared, and you shall be released immediately. Security will escort you to Medical, where your spinal interrupt will be removed and civilian attire provided to you.”

Her gavel cracked the air.

“Congratulations, Mister Detmeier. You’re a free man.”

* * *

Detmeier stepped out of Medical in a white business suit, rubbing the back of his neck. The incision for the spinal interrupt itched, but he considered that a small price to pay.

A very small price, given how the government had decided to compensate him for his troubles.

What am I even going to do with all that money? he thought, still trying to come to grips with his sudden release. I suppose I could invest it in the Spartans, but what would be the point? We already won!

He pulled up a map of Prime Tower and was about to follow a nav arrow to the floor’s transportation hub when he spotted a young Peacekeeper leaning against the wall, her short, black hair streaked with purple.

“You?” Detmeier said.

“Me,” Sophia Uzuki said, and smiled brightly.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. Both of us, actually.”

“Both of you?”

She patted a wearable infosystem on her wrist, and an abstraction materialized in their shared vision. The young man opened a switchblade comb and brushed through his impressive pompadour. He folded the comb and stuffed it into his leather jacket.

“Hey there!” The abstraction gave Detmeier a friendly wave. “You don’t know me, but rest assured, I know you.”

“Are you . . . ”

“Yep! I’m an AI!”

“Wow.” Detmeier smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

“Jonathan Detmeier”—Uzuki gestured to them in turn—“meet Flunky Underling.”

Detmeier blinked. “Excuse me? Did I hear that right?”

“You know.” The AI turned to Uzuki. “About the name. I feel like I should change it if we’re going to make this work.”

“Suits me just fine. I never liked it to begin with.”

“I know.” The AI grinned. “That’s one of the reasons I picked it.”

“So, what do you want to change it to?”

“I don’t know.” He pointed his comb at Detmeier. “I kind of like his.”

“That seems a little odd. You want us to call you Detmeier now?”

“No, the first part. Jonathan.” The AI tapped his lips thoughtfully. “But that’s still a little fancy for my tastes. Maybe I should tweak it a bit, make it a little more casual, and then throw in a nod to my old name.”

“As long as your initials aren’t FU again,” Uzuki said.

“Yeah, I’m on to something here.” The AI puffed out his jacket. “All right, it’s settled. From now on, you can call me Jonny Minion!”

“I like it, but let’s not get sidetracked, okay?” Uzuki pushed off the wall and approached Detmeier. “We’re here for you, after all.”

“What about me?” Detmeier asked, still clueless on where this was going, and a little wary given his recent stint in prison.

“Well, for starters, a lot’s happened while you were locked up, and a lot more still needs to happen, especially within the Department of Software. Part of the DOS’s mandate has been removed and assigned to the new Department of Abstract Relations, which I’ve been placed in charge of.”

“She’s now Director-General Sophia Uzuki,” Minion said, “and she’s looking for a few good men, women, and AIs to staff the DAR.”

“How many do you have so far?” Detmeier asked.

“Two.” She pointed at the AI. “Including him.”

“That it?”

“Don’t judge. They only promoted me yesterday.” She flashed a quick smile. “Interesting in being number three?”

“I don’t know . . . You think I’m cut out for this?”

“Let me answer your question with my own. Are you passionate about AIs?”

“Very.”

“Are you willing to work hand-in-hand with AIs?”

“Absolutely.”

“Are you willing to put AI rights ahead of your own self-interests?”

“You know I will.”

“Do you have a criminal record?”

“Not . . . technically?” he replied with a wince.

“That’s good enough for government work. And your stunt at the Farm proves you have what it takes.”

“You earned a lot of fans from that,” Minion added. “Many of them abstract.”

“Hmm.”

“The job is yours if you want it,” Uzuki said.

“What would the job entail?”

“A fair question.” Uzuki rested a hand on her hip. “First things first, we need to bulk up the department. That means going through the DOS and poaching the right people. Not just with the right technical backgrounds, but the right attitudes. I figure the Farm is the best place to start. I know some of them will work out great. Others, not so much, and plenty more are maybes.”

“Vetting and managing personnel.” Detmeier nodded. “I can do that.”

“And after we’re at least somewhat up and running, I guess it depends. What kind of job do you want? You could stay in the same role or shift to something more to your liking.”

“You’d leave that up to me?”

“If it’ll get you to sign on. Look at it from my perspective. Having someone with your background on the team will be a clear sign that the DAR is taking its role—and our new laws—very seriously. Why wouldn’t I want you on the team?”

“Well, when you put it like that . . . ”

“So, what’ll it be?”

“I guess I’d like something that puts me on the front lines of where AIs will begin integrating with our society.”

“Sounds like fieldwork to me.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not at all.” Uzuki extended a hand. “We can make that happen. If you’re willing, that is?”

He looked down at the proffered hand, a million thoughts buzzing through his head. But somehow, her earnest smile washed all those complexities aside, and he realized a place like the DAR was exactly where he wanted to be as this new day dawned across the Admin.

He reached out and shook her hand. “I’m in.”

“Glad to have you with us. And welcome aboard, Agent Detmeier.”

 



Back | Next
Framed