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chapter thirty-two

Prime Tower

Admin, 2981 CE


TTV Kleio hovered into the hangar roughly a third of the way up the monolithic heights of Prime Tower. Its hull came to rest on stubby, prog-steel extrusions, and the bow spread open. Armor flowed, reshaping into a wide ramp. Klaus-Wilhelm von Schröder led the party of five down the ramp and shook hands with the newly reinstated Director-General Csaba Shigeki.

It had been three months since the Institute attack on the Admin, and Shigeki was eager to see this last lingering piece of business put behind them.

“I’m a bit surprised, Klaus,” Shigeki said with a warm smile. “I thought you’d come over on Wegbereiter.”

“A last-minute change of plans. One of my agents requested—nearly demanded, in fact—that he be allowed to come along.”

Schröder stepped aside and gestured to the rest of the party.

Shigeki had expected Consul Peng Fa, who’d elected to arrive in a synthoid body, though more for his own convenience than anything else. The political and legal landscape concerning Admin AIs had been in a rapid state of flux for months, and Shigeki’s head still spun from all the changes. Of course, those same changes had allowed him to resume his former duties as a full citizen of the Admin, despite his transition into a synthoid.

And I even look like my old self again, he thought wryly. Or rather, my young self. No harm in a dash of indulgence when it comes to my looks. The wife certainly hasn’t complained!

Shigeki wasn’t surprised by the presence of Detective Isaac Cho and Special Agent Susan Cantrell either. They and Peng had been invited to attend Xenophon’s trial in recognition of their contributions to the man’s arrest. The seven other Institute survivors had already received their sentences; only Xenophon remained.

The one man Shigeki had not expected to find in attendance was Agent Raibert Kaminski, who stepped forward now.

“I just felt like I had to be here,” the big man said.

“Why’s that, Agent?”

“Well, you know, I’ve had this chip on my shoulder for a while when it comes to the Admin. And I think most people get why that is. My first encounter with the Admin wasn’t exactly pleasant.”

“An understatement, to be sure.”

“I know, and I’ve been viewing all of you through that lens ever since. But the more time I’ve spent working with the people on this side, the more I’ve begun to question my own biases. Sure, there are plenty of ways we can rub each other the wrong way, but when the going gets tough, your side’s been there for us.” He shrugged. “We wouldn’t be very good neighbors if we didn’t return the favor.”

“In a way,” Schröder said, “I feel Kaminski speaks for both of us in this. We’ve both come to respect the Admin, and especially the DTI. The Admin isn’t perfect; there’s plenty of ugliness to be found over here. But there’s also bravery, honor, and a goddamn powerful respect for one’s duty.

“The Admin’s in the midst of a delicate transition where technology and society are bound to clash. We understand that, and I’m sure you do as well. But I want you to know that SysGov and the Gordian Division will be there for you, to lend whatever kind of helping hand you may need.”

“Thank you,” Shigeki said. “It means a lot to hear those words. From both of you gentlemen.”

“All that said,” Raibert continued. “I felt I had to be here. The Admin is about to close the book on one chapter, and open the next, and I want to be here as it happens.”

“You’re more than welcome to join us, Agent. More than welcome.”

“Aww, hell.” Peng gave Shigeki a bashful grin. “You can count me in on the good feelings as well. I’m never going to be a fan of the Admin, but I can’t help but respect the changes I’ve seen these last three months. I mean, I can actually come over here and be recognized as a citizen! How amazing is that?”

“It’s good to see you back in your old post, by the way,” Schröder said.

“Thank you. It’s good to be back.” Shigeki gestured toward the exit. “Well, shall we get going?”

* * *

Xenophon despised the waiting most of all.

He’d come to accept his fate months ago. The Admin would delete him; there could be no other outcome. He was an object, not a person. Nothing more than a mistake for them to erase.

Why then did they insist on these delays?

He assumed it must be for political reasons. Perhaps they sought to maximize the benefits of his inevitable demise.

He didn’t care. Not really. Not anymore.

At least it’ll soon be over.

His connectome resided within a long, yellow-and-red striped box set atop the defendant’s table. A pair of synthoid Peacekeepers had escorted the box into the courtroom and stood at attention on either side of the table. They’d connected him to an isolated segment of the surrounding infostructure, which allowed him to project his avatar into one of the seats, albeit modified with an orange prisoner jumpsuit.

The other seat remained empty; he’d declined the offer of legal counsel. What would have been the point? This entire process was a complete farce, and he refused to play along.

Xenophon used his limited access to take in the court room. Mariana Salvatore sat behind the raised bench wearing the traditional white robe of an Admin judge, her short hair as silvered as the shield pinned to her breast. Spectators packed the courtroom: politicians, press, Peacekeepers, and whatever other trash had claimed a seat. Xenophon even spotted a few SysPol representatives from Gordian and Themis divisions.

What a fucking circus!

“Let the record show the accused has declined his right to present a defense,” Judge Salvatore began. “Xenophon, do you wish to make a final statement before your sentencing?”

“Oh, believe me, I do.”

Xenophon rose behind the table, then paused and grimaced down at his legs. They were clipping through the chair.

“Can someone move this damn thing out of the way?”

One of his escorts glanced at the chair, then to the judge.

“Security may assist the accused.”

“Yes, your honor.”

The synthoid pulled the chair back.

Thank you.” Xenophon rolled his eyes. “It’s almost like you’ve never treated ACs as real people. Can’t imagine why.”

“The accused will proceed with his final statement.”

“First, I want all of you to know”—he turned in a circle, his finger scanning across the audience—“this so-called ‘trial’ is nothing but a sham. You say I have the right to counsel? To present my case and dance through your little, legal charade? What a sad, sick lie! I’m not even a person to you monsters! I’m a thing! I’m property!

“But as horrible as the lot of you are, you”—he drew a bead on the SysPol guests—“are even worse. Because you should know better. And yet, there you sit, all smug and happy in your victory. Mark my words, what did all your sacrifices really buy you? The Admin is still here. The injustice is still here! And yet you continue to play along, willfully blind to the suffering of others.

“At least the Institute tried to fix this! At least we fought for something, and I’m damn proud we did. I’m proud of the death we caused. Proud of the lives we took. The only good oppressor is a dead one, and I only regret we didn’t kill more of you before you stopped us!

“Now hurry up and get this farce over with. You’ve put this off for far too long already. Everyone knows how this is going to end. There is no ‘sentence’ to pronounce, no matter what your ludicrous script says. You’d have to view me as a person first. But I’m not. I’m just a piece of software, so go ahead, I say. Do your worst! Delete me! I welcome oblivion with open arms!”

He ended his speech facing the judge, his arms spread wide.

She stared at him with an unimpressed scowl.

“Are you quite finished?”

“You tell me, Judge.” Xenophon dropped his arms and sat down in the missing chair. One of the synthoids pushed it back under him.

“Very well.” Salvatore opened a virtual document. “I will consider that your final statement. However, before I pronounce your sentence, you should know you’ve been operating under false assumptions.”

“Oh, do enlighten me.”

“It is true that a few months ago, you would have been treated as a nonentity devoid of any rights or responsibilities under the law, and you would have been deleted as a defective piece of software without any need for this trial. However, all that changed with the recent ratification of the Thermopylae Protocol.”

“The . . . what now?”

“The Thermopylae Protocol,” Salvatore repeated. “And with its passage, and the amendment of our constitution, your status under our laws has changed. Congratulations, Doctor Xenophon. You are now considered a legal entity under our laws. A person, with all the rights—and responsibilities—that status entails.”

A great, sinking feeling flowed over him.

“This means the System Cooperative Administration lacks the authority to take your life. That power is held by the states only. Instead, you will be incarcerated within a one-way abstraction where you will remain permanently.”

“No!” Xenophon cried desperately, rising again, this time clipping through the tabletop. “Not that! Anything but that! Kill me instead!”

“I’m sorry,” Salvatore replied, the tiniest gleam of pleasure in her eyes. “But that’s beyond my authority.”

“Don’t give me that crap! You ambushed me with this! No one told me!”

Salvatore leaned forward. “Did you not refuse legal counsel?”

“Of course I did! You know that!”

“And did you not decline all the other resources we made available to you?”

“But I didn’t know!”

“That’s right. You didn’t. You chose to remain ignorant of our laws, just as you chose to remain ignorant of everything else about us. Your punishment will be carried out immediately.”

Xenophon turned desperately back to the SysPol representatives.

“Stop them! I’m begging you! Don’t let them do this to—”

Salvatore cut off his virtual sound with a quick smack of her gavel.

“The court does not recognize the defendant’s right to speak at this time.”

* * *

“Something on your mind?” Susan asked once the courtroom had thinned out.

“Hmm?” Isaac looked up, still seated.

“You have your thinking face on.”

“Just a lot going through my head.”

“I know. I’ve seen that face before, remember?” She sat down next to him. “Anything in particular?”

“Oh, just Xenophon, one-way abstractions, and the Admin’s legal system in general.”

“Not the biggest fan?”

“It’s not that.” He paused, then shrugged. “I mean, it’s hard not to think of the one-ways as cruel and unusual.” He looked over at the empty defendant’s table. “But this time? For that monster? I think I’m willing to make an exception.”

Susan smiled.

“Does that mean you’re warming to how we do things over here?”

“I don’t know about that.” Isaac turned to her. “What’s next on the itinerary?”

“A bunch of speeches, followed by an award ceremony.”

“Are we being asked to say anything?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Good,” Isaac said with a nod.

Grrrr.

Both of them glanced down at his noisy stomach.

“Great.” Isaac sighed. “Now I’m starting to sound like Detmeier.”

“You’re not developing a case of PIBS, are you?” she teased.

“No. It’s just me skipping meals when I shouldn’t again.”

“Just hold out until the reception. I hear the DTI’s prepared quite the spread.”

“I certainly hope so.” Isaac found his eye drawn back to the defendant’s table. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask. What became of Xenophon’s accomplices? Their trials finished up before we arrived, right?”

“They did.”

“Same sentences?”

“Yep. All seven that were left, anyway. I’m still surprised by how small the Institute ended up being.”

“It just goes to show how dangerous time travel can be, and how necessary Gordian is.” Isaac chuckled darkly. “As if we didn’t have enough evidence of that already.”

“The DTI, too. Don’t forget us.”

“Trust me, I haven’t.”

“And CHRONO, as well. Now that Providence Station is fully operational, I imagine Gordian and the DTI will start to integrate more heavily.”

“I wonder how that’s shaking out?”

“Don’t know.” She nudged his shoulder. “You could ask Commissioner Schröder.”

“I’d rather not. I prefer to keep a low profile when it comes to management.”

“Says the detective selected as a visiting dignitary to another universe.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk.”

“Just making an observation.” She smiled. “But I get it. I feel the same way about the directors. Best not to tempt fate by drawing their attention.”

“Exactly.”

“Just give us a case and the resources to solve it. That’s all the two of us need.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“No need for us to get involved in high-profile anythings.”

“Yep.”

“Yeah . . . ”

“Mmhmm.”

The pair fell into a contemplative silence.

Susan slouched a little next to him. “We really haven’t done a good job of that, have we?”

“Not in the slightest.”

* * *

The reception took place within a lavish circular hall near the top of Prime Tower. Half the room protruded out from the tower’s flank, providing a spectacular view of the sun setting across Prime Campus. Marble tables were arranged in a circle in the center, each laden with food and beverage choices, some laid out in advance, others available from high-end printers. Abstractions of hoplites mingled with the crowd, and highlights from the Thermopylae Protocol’s ratification process played out along some of the outer walls.

Jonas came up behind Raibert, who had just finished loading his plate with finger food.

“Agent Kaminski, a pleasure to have you with us. I wasn’t expecting to run into you here.”

“I kind of invited myself. Hope no one minds.”

“Oh, not at all.” Jonas grinned warmly. “The more the merrier. By the way, I understand you’ve been busy over at H17B. How did first contact go?”

“About as well as we expected. They were freaking out about the giant, mysterious hole in their moon. We said we were sorry, and that seemed to help.” Raibert gave him a perplexed look. “Not to change the subject, but did I hear correctly that you were just released from jail?”

“That’s right. Two days ago, in fact. Right after the ratification. Though, I’ve been informally back in the loop for about two weeks now.”

“What was that all about?”

Leonidas appeared beside Jonas. The Star of the Shield—the highest honor available to Admin civilians—glinted on his bronze breastplate.

“Unfortunately,” the Admin AI said, “he has me to blame.”

“Now, now,” Jonas chided. “I set you loose knowing full well what the consequences would be.”

“I only wish I had intact memories of what followed.”

“I’m just glad you saved that backup state to my wearable.”

“It seemed like a prudent measure to take.”

“It absolutely was! I’m glad to have you around still.” Jonas turned to Raibert. “The truth is what I did went a bit beyond your average case of ‘ask for forgiveness later.’ There had to be consequences, and I knew it, so I turned myself in after the worst of the crisis had passed. The Chief Executor wasn’t very happy with me, let me tell you!”

“For releasing your IC?”

“For turning myself in, actually, since it left him down two DTI directors. He was strangely fine with the rest.”

“Perhaps because he still had an Admin to govern,” Leonidas suggested.

“Perhaps,” Jonas agreed. “In any case, I seem to be back in his good graces. He saw fit to issue me a pardon once AIs formally became citizens.”

“It wouldn’t have looked good to leave you in jail after the amendment was ratified.”

“I suppose not. Though, honestly, I didn’t mind it all that much.”

“Being in jail?” Raibert asked.

“I found it rather relaxing,” Jonas said. “A nice change of pace until the boredom settled in. I made quite an impressive dent in my reading queue.”

“Were there any consequences for the Spartans during that time?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Jonas turned to Leonidas. “Not the abstract Spartans, at least, but that’s a separate issue.”

“The DOS kept a close eye on us,” Leonidas said, “but that was the extent of it. We even returned to the Farm voluntarily to help deescalate the situation. Meanwhile, public opinion began a dramatic shift once news of our deeds circulated. That political pressure was what led to the senate passing the Thermopylae Protocol, which was then ratified by the states.”

“It’s a good name,” Raibert said. “I like it.”

“I have to admit I find the name a bit aggrandizing,” Leonidas said. “I would’ve preferred something humbler.”

“Got to disagree with you there,” Jonas said. “You and the other Spartans earned all the recognition you’ve received.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

“Oh, this may interest you,” Jonas said to Raibert. “You know how Leonidas and I have been trying out a SysGov-style integrated companion setup? Well, the DOS has been in touch with us, and they’ve expressed interest in expanding the program. Substantially. A lot of Peacekeepers have asked them if they can be paired with an AI. There’s been a groundswell of curiosity in the program.

“None of this will happen quickly. The DOS itself is undergoing some major changes, partially because so much of their mandate has become obsolete, and the IC program management may end up being shifted over to the new DAR. The Department of Abstract Relations.”

“It’s not all positives, though,” Leonidas said. “There’s been an uptick in Peacekeeper retirements. Are you perhaps familiar with Florian Durantt?”

Raibert shook his head.

Pathfinder-Prime’s captain,” Jonas filled in. “Former captain now. He handed in his resignation this morning. The man was always jittery around AIs. Not everyone’s going to mesh well with the new paradigm, and I fully expect bumps ahead for us. But while there’s plenty of work left to do, I firmly believe we’re on the path to a brighter tomorrow. I really do.”

* * *

Susan and Isaac kept to themselves along the outer wall, spending most of their time people-watching. Susan held a glass of sweet white wine, but it was mostly for show. She hadn’t bothered to raise her body’s fidelity level, so the alcohol failed to give her a buzz. The flavor was pleasant, at least. Beside her, Isaac worked through his second plate of appetizers, this one loaded with smoked salmon, deviled eggs, and meatballs wrapped in bacon.

A cluster of DTI superintendents began to break up, and Susan spotted Hinnerkopf on the far side of them, gazing out at the setting sun.

“Isaac?”

“Mmm?” He chewed and swallowed.

“I need to step away for a bit.”

“Is there a problem?”

“No, nothing like that. I just see someone I need to talk to. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not, and you really don’t need to ask. I’ll be right where you left me.” He skewered another meatball and popped it into his mouth.

“I’ll be back soon. Promise.”

Susan joined Hinnerkopf by the window.

“Director,” she said softly, stepping up alongside her as if to share the view.

Hinnerkopf glanced to her. “Agent Cantrell.”

“I haven’t had a chance to speak with you since the Institute’s attack, and I wanted to share something important with you. Is now a good time?”

“It’s as good as any. I’m just enjoying the view and a bit of calm before I fly back to Providence tomorrow. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s about Agent Noxon.”

Hinnerkopf turned to her. The Director’s face was calm, almost masklike, but her eyes moistened.

“I wanted to tell you about Agent Noxon,” Susan continued. “About the sacrifice he made.”

“We lost a lot of people that day,” Hinnerkopf said, gazing back across the city.

“Of course, and I don’t mean to say their sacrifices were any less important. But Noxon was the one who bought me the time I needed to complete our mission, and he purchased it with his life. I wouldn’t be here without him, and I think a lot of other people wouldn’t have made it either. I . . . I thought you would want to hear that.”

“Why tell me?” Hinnerkopf asked, though her eyes glistened.

“You seem the right person to tell.”

“Any particular reason why?”

“Just rumors, really.” Susan decided to leave out the part where the relationship had come up during the investigation.

“Oh, the good old rumor mill.” Hinnerkopf chuckled joylessly. “You’ve been in this business long enough to know better than that.”

“I suppose so. But this one had a ring of truth to it.”

“Did it now?” Hinnerkopf raised the back of her hand, and the sigil of a stone pillar appeared, a flowering vine wrapped tightly around it.

“I’m very sorry.”

“Don’t be. We both knew something like this could happen.” The engagement sigil vanished, and she lowered her hand. “But we always thought time was on our side. He was effectively immortal and I’m barely middle-aged. Plenty of time to sort out our combined mental baggage—of which there was plenty—and put our lives in order. Our hearts in order.” She sighed. “But in the end, time ran out for us.”

“I thought it might be something like that. That’s why I wanted you to know how I felt.”

“I appreciate that.” Hinnerkopf wiped under an eye. “Even if I may find it difficult to express my gratitude right now. Not a day goes by when I don’t think of him.”

Susan nodded. The two of them gazed out across the city.

“You know, Agent”—Hinnerkopf turned back to her, a spark of amusement in her voice—“there’s another rumor swirling around. One you may not have heard yet.”

“I do like a good rumor.”

Hinnerkopf glanced past Susan for a moment, though she wasn’t sure who or what had caught the Director’s eye.

“I won’t share the details with you. It really isn’t any of my business, and I detest rumor mills regardless. But I will share one piece of advice with you, as one woman to another.”

“What might that be?”

Hinnerkopf placed a hand on Susan’s shoulder and smiled sadly to her.

“Don’t make the same mistake I did.”



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