The Last Rational Man Page 25

that cancer, then I could have done the rebuilding for her too.

  "Can you tell how it's progressing right now?"

  "Honey, you know that at this point we just let the machine run. We can't monitor the process in real time."

  "You sure she's OK?"

  Sal caught something in Saffron's voice.

  "What's the matter? Do you know her? Is she your friend's mom or something?"

  "No. I just get nervous with these things."

  Saffy didn't sound right. Maybe it was some early hormones breaking in. pre-adolescent nervousness. She certainly had that awkward lanky look girls sometimes get at that age.

  The machine seemed to be running fine. You could set the display to 'show' the process, but it was just an animation based on the work Sal had already done, not a real-time image. Sal preferred to keep the instrumental display on, to see that power levels and frequencies looked about right. There were duplicate systems for almost everything, so a major failure in the middle of the process was unlikely. Still, it was best to keep an eye on things.

  Power levels were a bit higher than she'd expected, but not high enough to be of concern.

  "Saffy, could you run and get me some coffee?"

  "Sure, mom."

  Well, at least the kid would be busy for a few minutes, and helpful to boot. Sal wouldn't leave the station until the patient sat up.

  "Thanks for the coffee."

  "You're welcome."

  "Are you OK?"

  "Uh huh."

  "All done animating for today?"

  "Uh huh."

  "Bug's Bunny completed?"

  "Uh huh"

  "Getting bored?"

  "Uh huh."

  "Paying attention to what I am saying?"

  "Uh huh."

  "New boyfriend?"

  "Uh huh."

  "Pregnant?"

  "Uh, huh."

  Sal gave up and sipped at the coffee. The process should be almost done by now, but the progress bar showed only 28%. It was hard to calculate exactly how long the process took. Sometimes a small change could complicate the calculations and double the processing time, but Sal had been doing this for years, and had a good idea of how long things actually took

  "Mom, isn't there any way to see how it is going?"

  "Not really. You know that. It's just taking longer than expected, that's all."

  "You sure?"

  "Of course I am. What could go wrong?"

  "I don't know."

  "I could show you the animation of the process. But it is just a low-resolution animation, no real data. The bottom line is that the machine does exactly what it is told to do. I set up the parameters, and now it's doing what I set up a couple of hours ago."

  It had been two hours already. Highly unusual for mamo work. Still, there wasn't much to do about it.

  Saffron was getting antsy.

  "Mom, maybe we should look at the animation."

  "Honey, your work is a thousand times better. I find the animation insulting. It's like watching a washing machine. Really. Just be patient."

  Two and a half hours. Far too long. Sal called her supervisor, the head of the department, disturbing her at a romantic dinner with that cute young professor. She was on call, though, and this did seem like a serious situation. The supervisor's response was predictable – 'Give it another half hour, and if the machine still hasn't finished, call me and I'll come in'.

  She gave it the extra half hour, and picked up the phone just as the supervisor walked in.

  "I was just about to call you."

  "I decided to come in. This doesn't sound right."

  They looked at the readings together.

  "Sal, I see why you're worried, but I don't see what we can do. You know what a mess it is to stop this in the middle of a procedure. Anyhow, it seems to be just about done now."

  "Mom, maybe we should look at the animation."

  "Saffron, can't you see we're busy here?"

  She turned back to the supervisor.

  "Sorry, but you know how it is. Bob is out of town, and I've got the evening shift."

  "No problem. "

  "Mom, I really think we should look at that animation."

  "Saffy, what's gotten into you? Look, the fields are shutting down. The chamber will be sliding out in a minute."

  Saffron reached out to her mother's console and brought up the animation display. Bug's Bunny popped up on the screen. The room was silent, except for the sound of the chamber sliding out.

  "Saffron, is this why you wanted to see the animation? So you managed to hack this station and paste your cartoon character on the screen? You proud of yourself? And you did it when my boss is here to boot. You're never coming with me to work again!"

  Saffron sat wide-eyed, staring past her furious mother at the opening chamber. Sal turned around just as a grey furry hand reached over the edge of the chamber. Horror struck as a familiar voice called out:

  "Eh, what's up, doc?"

  A Code

  "You were given a number.

  "A number. Part of a secret code."

  "I've told you already, a thousand times. I don't know anything about a secret code. I don't have any number."

  "You have no idea how critical this is."

  "So tell me."

  My interrogator mulled it over for a moment, but chose a different path.

  "Look, we have been going around in circles. For hours now. Let me try something different. Maybe this will remind you."

  He pulled a printed page out of a pocket. It was a photograph of a young woman. I was doubly shocked. Shocked at the fact that he was showing me a two dimensional printed photo, instead of the usual holo. And shocked because I knew her.

  It must have shown.

  "You know her."

  A statement, not a question.

  "I have met her."

  "When? Where?"

  "What difference does it make? It was purely social. You know that I have no interest in politics."

  "So you have said. And so our records show. But this woman did have an interest in politics."

  I immediately caught his use of the past tense. Again, my face gave me away.

  "Yes, she did have an interest in politics, when she was alive."

  Dead? She couldn't have been more than forty. She had a good two hundred and fifty years ahead of her. She must have been involved in something pretty bad, from the sounds of it.

  "And, yes, it was not a peaceful death. Nor a pleasant one. She gave us the information we needed in the end. But she delayed long enough for it to be only of limited use."

  "You tortured her?"

  He didn't answer. Just stared silently straight at me. So they had tortured her.

  "It isn't legal! It's immoral, and against the national code of ethics. For that matter, so is this questioning. You haven't charged me with anything, just locked me in a room, and questioned me for the past eight hours. I want to speak with my lawyer."

  "There are times when even the most basic laws must be ignored. This is one of them. If you spoke to a lawyer, I would have to lock him up as well, just in case you passed the information on to him."

  "I tell you that I don't know anything! Nobody gave me a secret code or whatever this magic number is supposed to be. Not she, nor anyone else."

  I had only met her once. I had found a quiet corner in one of those nostalgic coffee bars. They had become a little too fashionable for my tastes, but the coffee was usually good. The place was fairly busy, but I managed to find a small table towards the back. I was sipping a double espresso. Unsweetened, so I could enjoy the strong bitter taste. Then she pulled up a chair and sat down opposite me.

  "May I join you?"

  "It is considered more polite to ask first, then to sit."

  "My apologies. I am rather short of time."

  "You look like you have a good couple hundred years left."

  "Thanks for the compliment. Hopefully, I do have those years left. I am
not sure. Right now, though, I am in a bit of a rush."

  She did look a bit disheveled. Her hair was long, straight, and dark. Nearly black. It badly needed brushing, and she was constantly pulling stray strands out of her face. Her face was unexceptional, pale, with weak features. A slightly sunken chin, lips that protruded just a tiny bit too much.

  Her eyes made up for all of it. I had never seen such piercing eyes. Bright blue eyes, but all I paid attention to was her pupils, black, infinitely deep. I stared straight into them, mesmerized, like the legendary deer that froze when an automobile's headlights shine on them. Though automobiles were just about as legendary as the deer now.

  She repeated herself.

  "I am in a bit of rush."

  I continued staring.

  "I need you. Badly."

  The whole thing was turning into a sorry version of an adolescent daydream.

  "What?"

  "I need you. Not for sex. Though maybe we can do that too, if I have enough time. I doubt that I do. I can't explain here. You just have to promise me one thing."

  "What?"

  "That you will call me."

  "Call you?"

  "Don't be dense. Call me. By any kind of phone – it makes no difference. Call me tomorrow. I'll give you my ID number so you can call me. But there is one thing."

  "What?"

  "Don't write or record the number here. Memorize it now. If you are afraid that you will forget it, then write it down. Later, not here."

  She glanced briefly at the ceiling. Only afterwards did I understand that she was looking for concealed cameras. There were cameras there, as it turned out. Well-concealed ones.

  "Here is my number."

  She told me the digits. I repeated them after her.

  "Remember my number. Be sure to call."

  "I will. And I will."

  "If you don't get hold of me, make sure to keep the number. Somebody will ask you for it someday."

  The conversation was turning from male fantasy to detective thriller. But she had me hooked.

  She got up, and flashed me a killer smile.

  "See ya."

  "Sure."

  I sat alone for a