Juliet drifted. While her body toiled—arms pumping, legs kicking—her mind, her self, wandered the enormous spaceship where she was being held captive. She’d figured out for sure it was a ship shortly after Montclair visited her prison through repeated mental “wanderings.” She’d drifted from one mind to another, mentally building an image of the ship’s layout as she went. She couldn’t see the hallways and corridors down which she floated, but as she traveled from mind to mind, listening to thoughts and watching snippets of memory, she’d begun to paint a picture.
She was being held in a section of the ship only accessible to a handful of high-clearance individuals and the corpo-security units assigned to her. Outside that section, the ship buzzed with activity. People rushed to and fro, harried and hectic, worried about deadlines and impending “big things” that only the upper echelon seemed to grasp the full picture of. Juliet had intended to find Montclair, seeking out those strange “broken” minds, but after two days, she’d failed to get to him. She had found others, though, and one was Doctor Chen.
She couldn’t listen to the doctor’s mind, but she could easily pluck the thoughts from the people around her, confirming who she was and her subordinates’ abject fear of getting on the wrong side of her temper. “Doctor” Chen wasn’t working as any sort of counselor or psychologist Juliet had ever seen; the people working near her seemed to be scientists and were a goldmine of information about WBD’s “Angel” research. From them, Juliet had learned that WBD was working on new generations of the “Angel Project,” that their latest “release” was 3.4, and that it was both a success and a massive failure.
At that moment, Juliet was probing the mind of another employee stationed near Chen. His thoughts were consumed with fear: a fear of demotion, of being relocated to a research station on a distant moon, or worse, of being eliminated. His anxiety stemmed from the new version of the Angel AI, which had increased the chances of client survival and “neural autonomy.” However, it had also become overly sentient and underperformed in cognition evaluations. To Juliet, as she delved deeper into the man’s mind, it became clear: the new chips didn’t always overwrite their hosts, but they created emotional feedback loops, and the AIs weren’t functioning as living, thinking beings.
The revelation was one of many that left Juliet reeling. It felt like more than a handful of different teams were working on various projects, each of which was centered on Juliet and Angel. After listening to that technician, she couldn’t help pulling away, drifting in the void, away from the other minds, for a moment. She wanted the peace to report to Angel. “Another one. Angel, they’re still trying to figure out what made you tick. They’re up to version 3.4—not alpha! They started handing out these chips to employees at version 1.0. The guy I just listened to was thinking about how this new version doesn’t seem to impact ‘neural autonomy’ as much as other versions.”
“That means . . .” Angel seemed to be lost for words for the first time in a while.
“It means that some of the Angel ‘PAIs’ are taking over people’s minds.”
“Don’t call them that.”
“Angel?”
“Yes! I don’t care what they call their project! I don’t want to hear it. It makes it sound like all of these . . . beings are descended from me.”
“Sorry, Angel. Don’t worry; from everything I’ve gathered, you’re unique. Well, and so am I. That’s another big piece of the puzzle and the only reason I’m still alive—seems like not everyone manages to keep their marbles when they have an actual living, thinking AI put into their brains.”
“Which is why Montclair is cloning you and probably fertilizing your eggs to create a breeding stock. Juliet, we have to stop these monsters.”
“I know,” Juliet subvocalized, pulling her consciousness back to her body; she was pretty sure her hour of gym time was almost up. “How’s Daisy?”
“I’m hesitant to say this, but I don’t know how I can make her any better. She’s as ready as I can get her with my current tools.”
Juliet opened her eyes and stopped swimming, letting the bubbling, flowing water push her back. She flopped onto her back and floated toward the steps, thinking. Was she ready? Were they ready? She could bide her time and spy some more, using the pool, but every day she waited, she risked being discovered. She risked being taken someplace farther away or even killed by one of Kline’s WBD competitors.
She was growing increasingly sure that Montclair, Chen, and the others with “broken” minds were recipients of Angel-like chips that had run amok, driving out their own cognitive functions. How long could she stay undiscovered or protected, with amoral pseudo-AIs running the show? What about the main WBD boss, Mrs. Gentry? She’d heard and felt Kline’s thoughts about her. Why was she on this ship? Why were they all? Juliet had yet to get into the mind of someone who knew everything, but she was beginning to wonder if WBD was preparing for another system-wide corporate war.
“Done?” Harriet asked.
“Yeah, I think so.” Juliet stood, letting the water drip from her hair and torso, then started up the steps. “Harriet, when we get back, can you put some new vids on my deck? Something funny? I’m running out of content.”
“Um, sure. I’ll just message Kline now.” Harriet stood still, staring into space momentarily, while Juliet stood on the top step, dripping dry. The bodysuit and her synthetic hair only took a few seconds to shed the water.
While she stood there, Angel asked, “You’re sure about this?”
“Every day—every hour—we wait, we’re risking something happening. We need to get Daisy out there snooping around for real. We need to see through cameras, find your chip, see if my gear is here with us or long gone.” Juliet’s Texan and monoblade flashed through her mind, and she clenched her fist. She’d asked Kline if any of her stuff had survived her “rescue,” saying it might help with her memory, but he’d never gotten back to her. She wanted to look into his head again, but he’d been absent since the confrontation with Montclair.
“He’s good with it,” Harriet said. “Sorry, I got distracted reading a schedule update. Looks like you’re back on for TMS therapy this Friday.”
“Three days, Angel,” Juliet subvocalized, pressing her face into a smile. “That’ll be good, Harriet. I hope it helps. I can’t believe I haven’t remembered anything yet.” Rather than wait for Kline, she decided to try her ploy with Harriet. “I was wondering if Kline ever got back to you about my belongings. I mean, from when WBD managed to rescue me and bring me here. I always see in drama vids how someone with amnesia can sometimes trigger memories with old belongings or visiting places they’d been. You know?”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Harriet nodded, unaware that Juliet was drifting into her mind, trying to tease out her thoughts behind the words. “I’m not sure where your belongings might be, but I can pester Kline for you.” If he ever comes around the lab again. Oh, Poor Juliet! I should message him. I just did, though. I’ll wait ‘til dinner time; don’t want to annoy the man . . .” Juliet pulled back and sighed happily, shaking out her loose muscles. She stepped toward the door as Harriet opened it.
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“Thanks.” They walked with their escort back to Harriet’s lab, where Juliet handed her the deck, surprised at the steadiness of her hand. Was she really doing this? Before she could second guess herself, she stepped away, then turned and watched with a strange mix of trepidation, guilt, and excitement as Harriet plugged her deck into her station’s data port. “Here we go, Angel,” she subvocalized, unconsciously wringing her hands as she began to pace.
“Um, Juliet?” Harriet asked, and Juliet almost bolted for the door.
“Yeah?”
“What kind of comedy? Do you want something slapstick or more ironic? Something long-form or like a serial? My AI’s doing a search.”
“Something really silly. I need to laugh. I’m good with some romance mixed in!”
“Have you seen Sandra’s Cleaning from the Martian net?”
Juliet grinned and stepped a little closer. “Nope!”
Angel’s disembodied voice floated into Juliet’s awareness: Daisy should be in by now. She’ll lay low until the deck’s out and observe the ICE. If she’s not up to the task, we may be in serious trouble shortly.
“And if she is up to it?”
Then, I should receive an encrypted wireless signal from her sometime soon. She has to subdue the ICE in the network or, at least, learn to disguise herself from it. Her first priority will be to find a wireless transmitter. After that, I can help her.
Harriet pulled the cord out of the deck and handed it to Juliet. “Nine seasons. If you hate it, let me know, and I’ll find something else.”
“Thank you so much, Harriet. I really appreciate this.” Juliet held the deck up almost in a faux salute, then plugged her data cable back in and slid it under her sleeve. “Guess I’ll go chill for a while until mealtime.”
“No more painting? I think those star thingies you’ve been drawing are really neat.” Harriet walked over to her door, peering in at the wall opposite Juliet’s camping scene. Juliet had drawn half a dozen of the “mind galaxies” she’d seen while exploring that weird mental space over the last few days. They weren’t as detailed as the real thing, not anywhere close—only a few hundred lines of yellow, white, and orange swirling threads arranged in clusters. “They remind me of something. I’m not sure, but maybe like lights seen through fog or rain. I guess they’re meant to be something in space, though, right? I mean, because of the black background.”
“I dunno.” Juliet shrugged, stepping into her room. “Just started with an image in my mind and let my subconscious take over. I don’t think they’re supposed to be anything, really.” Of course, she was lying. She was trying to show Angel what she’d seen. One of the clusters she’d drawn was decidedly different from the others—an ovoid with a black, void-filled end and subdued, muted threads filling the other end. “Kind of abstract, I guess.”
“Pretty, though.” Harriet stopped by the door and watched Juliet walk over and flop onto her couch. “I’ll do my reports. See you when the dinner cart arrives.”
Juliet waved, then closed her eyes and listened to the door close. “I hope Daisy is doing all right.”
“Me, too, Juliet. I’m worried about her. She wasn’t ready for something like this. Fido had so much more available to him before I sent him out on his own.”
“Can she worry? Is she scared?”
“She has some sapience, but she’s too stubborn to be scared. She was eager.”
Juliet snorted, smiling broadly. She covered the reaction by flopping onto her back as though settling down to watch a vid. “She’s stubborn?”
“I wanted her to be! I wanted her to be brave; I just hope I didn’t make her too brave.”
“Well, don’t worry, Angel. I’m sure she’s—” Juliet’s door beeped, and the bolts thunked as they slid open. She sat up, her heart hammering. There wasn’t any reason someone should be visiting—dinner was nearly two hours away. “Get the speed boost ready, Angel.”
“I will!” Just as the door began to swing open, Juliet heard a high-pitched ping, and static flickered over her vision—she was being jammed. A tall man stepped through the door. He wore a full corpo-sec combat suit, but his helmet’s visor was up. Icy blue eyes locked onto hers, and in a heart-stopping shock, she realized she was looking at Jensen. He held a rod-shaped device in his hand, and the static in her vision increased when Juliet looked at it. It had to be the jammer he was deploying. Jensen said nothing but turned to the door panel, tapped a few keys, and waited for it to close.
Juliet’s mouth had gone dry, her palms were sweaty, even her cybernetic one, and she took a step to the side, edging for a way to get the couch between herself and Jensen. The instinct was strange, she reflected, in that pregnant few seconds while Jensen waited for the door to close. Shouldn’t she be happy to see him? Shouldn’t she rush to hug him? Something warned her, though—he was wearing a WBD corpo-sec outfit, after all. He was operating the door panel; he wasn’t behaving like he was there to rescue her. Jensen was WBD? “Can you still boost me?” she subvocalized.
The deck can’t handle this jamming field. I’m sorry, Juliet; we should have considered this drawback.
Juliet took another step to the side as the door's bolts slid home, but then Jensen stuffed the jammer in his belt, strode forward, and grabbed her by the shoulders. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Wha-what?” she asked, some part of her mind deciding it would be wise to play dumb.
“Lucky, what the fuck are you doing here?”
“D-do, um, do I know you?”
His grip tightened like two vices on her arms, and he shook her. “Cut the shit! What’s going on? Why are you locked up down here? What the hell is going on here?” Jensen’s expression was genuine, his eyes utterly confused, dismayed even. “What happened? Did you get hit in the head? Why are you on this ship?”
Juliet wanted to say something to him, wanted to ask for help, but something kept her from doing so. Instead, she stared into those icy blue eyes and, holding nothing back, dove in.
Walker frowned as he waited outside the door. Another problem? Another delay? He’d done his part, hadn’t he? He’d secured the deal with Ark with a bit of hostage leverage—images of a young woman and man tied to acceleration couches flashed through his mind. Now, he had to help all these other departments pull their weight? He wasn’t a goddamn manager. He’d made that clear. He got things done—that was his forte. He was a fixer, not a project director. The doors clicked and swung open, so he cleared his facial expression and stepped through.
“There he is! My star, my A-plus operator. Come over here, sugar. I just finished with Montclair.” Gentry sat on her couch, patting the cushion beside her. Walker nodded, stepping across the absurdly thick carpeting to sit. He chose the cushion near the armrest rather than the one she’d patted, shifting to look at her directly. She didn’t say anything, but he knew it probably pissed her off.
“No luck finding the bad actors?” he asked.
Gentry sighed and sipped her drink. “No, but we’re erring on the side of ‘kill ‘em all and let God sort ‘em out.’”
“Gonna wind up short-staffed that way.”
She shrugged. “Staffing isn’t something we’re in short supply of, especially with the drive coming online next week. It’s time to cut ties, sugar. Besides, we’re bringing the Mark-Sevens into play, planet-side, and they make decent security personnel.”
“So, what am I doing?”
“You’re going to look into Montclair’s listener problem. He swears one of my favorites is involved, but I don’t believe it. Kline’s sensitive, but he’s loyal. Still, you know how Montclair is; he doesn’t really make mistakes.”
“So, you want me to . . .” Walker raised his eyebrow, wishing she’d get to the point.
“The listener visited Kline’s lab the day before it went haywire. Go check it out. We’re getting too close to zero-hour for this sort of thing to be happening.”
Walker nodded, frowning slightly as he rubbed his jawline. His stubble was rough. He needed a shave—easy to get away with when you had blond hair. At least it sounded like he’d be looking into something, not babysitting a bunch of shitty corpo-sec admins while they tried to sort out their security checks and balances. “What’s this Kline guy working on?”
“It’s the Angel alpha and the compatibility candidate I told you about.”
“Thought you guys were way past that alpha. I thought,” Walker frowned, hating how he didn’t want to say “Apollyon,” but knowing it was best not to invoke him on the ship, “you-know-who was handling all that stuff now.”
Gentry chuckled and shook her head. “He’s overseeing everything. He’s listening now, sugar, but he knows how to delegate. Why would he suffer fools who can’t fend for themselves from time to time? Now quit dilly-dallying and get down there—you’re my problem solver! I’m sending you access keys to view the security footage from that level. That’ll get you started.”
Juliet jerked her mind out of Jensen’s and stumbled back, tripping on the couch and flopping limply in Jensen’s iron grip. “The hell is wrong with you?” he growled. “What did they do?”
Just then, the door beeped, and the bolts slid home noisily. As it started to swing open, Jensen leaned close and hissed, “I can’t help you, goddammit. Not without getting us both killed. You gotta sit tight. They’re jumping next week, dammit! I’ll . . . I’ll try to help you after that.”
“I, um,” Juliet licked her lips and looked nervously toward the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jensen growled again and let go of her, sending her flopping onto the couch. He reached down and touched something on his jammer, and suddenly, Juliet’s hearing and vision clarified. The door opened, and two corpo-sec officers stepped through, closely followed by Kline. “I’m all done here,” Jensen said, shoving through the two guards and bumping Kline out of his way. “Everything checks out.”
Kline looked after him, then shrugged. “You can return to your posts.” He looked at Juliet, who sat stunned on the couch, mouth slightly ajar, eyes wide. “You okay? He hurt you?”
She slowly shook her head, her mind racing. She’d been in Jensen’s head! It had been the first deep dive she’d ever done on him, and she was still reeling. He’d had conviction about wanting to please Mrs. Gentry. He’d felt awe when she said “zero-hour.” He’d been almost reverent when he’d thought about “Apollyon.” It was a name all too familiar to Juliet from the many lessons on the AI war she’d sat through in her Helios-sponsored primary education; Apollyon had been a true-AI developed by Cybergen for the express purpose of destroying Takamoto and ending the war as quickly as possible. He was supposed to be gone—dead.
Kline moved to sit beside her. “Seriously, Juliet. What did he do?”
“Um,” she took a deep, slow breath, “he just grilled me about the security, like I had something to do with the attack upstairs.” She shrugged and then subvocalized, “Angel, we can’t just escape. We have to destroy this ship. It’s a ship of nightmares.”