Mae wondered how much time she actually had to pull this infiltration off.
One glance at her wrist-pd showed that Rolstad was still dragging his feet. He didn’t want a horde of Jackals roaming his station. He’d set up a quarantine requirement as part of the agreement to provide R&R to the Fury’s crew.
Undoubtedly, he was trying to cover something up. However, without meaning to, he’d also given Mae some time to attempt her own subterfuge.
Mae had one problem. She needed to hack a Minos synthetic network. That would have been easy if she wasn’t undercover as a human. However, Zula had given her strict orders not to reveal what she was to anyone, and that included this situation. If she failed the hack, or if someone found them, then everyone would discover her synthetic nature. Who knew what Weyland-Yutani would do with that information. Nothing good.
So instead, she had another solution: Rook.
He smiled at Mae as she led him into the elevator and punched the button for the sub-levels. “You still haven’t said what I won’t like about this.”
“I’m not sure how you feel about lying. Some synthetics’ programming cannot reconcile it with their protocols. I didn’t want to burden you.”
“I’ll forgive you that, since we don’t know each other well. Free will, I remind you, includes the ability to tell untruths.”
“Excellent.” Mae crossed her arms as her mother often did. “I’m looking for a good time. How about you?”
He didn’t answer, merely chuckled.
A run-down station like this would usually have approximately 45.8 percent of its security cameras nonfunctional. The galleria and elevator sported shiny new tracking cameras, but she would not take any chances. They needed to reach the sub-levels.
A young woman recently off a military vessel on the hunt for illicit substances would not raise alarm bells with any AI or human at the command center. These sub-levels were where people purchased such things, and also accessed synthetic repair facilities.
On the residential levels, no matter how much money a company put into their station, cameras were less prevalent. It wasn’t only a lack of funding, but that the residents vandalized such security measures regularly. Humans, like cats, did not like being monitored constantly. They preferred to keep their living habits unobserved even when not doing anything illicit.
As the elevator trundled lower, Rook leaned against the back wall and scrutinized her. “You said I would not like this—and that is true.”
“I told you so, but you’ll obey me.” The words seemed wrong, but in case anyone was watching, she needed to play along.
The skin around his eyes puckered in an almost human manner. The Bishop model, though old and out of date, was still an exquisitely well-made synthetic. The Bishops ran for years and seldom suffered from the fatal glitches seen in the Hyperdyne 120s. Observing the performance of this one, its emotional intelligence impressed Mae. She hoped that Rook possessed at least some of his original programming.
It seemed he might, because Rook figured out her play and did nothing to break the illusion. Instead, he gave a weary sigh. “As you wish.”
They reached the bottommost level of the station and stepped out into the corridor. It wasn’t as dirty as Mae expected. A network of walkways was strung together and extended around the gradual curve of the station. It was dimly lit to simulate the night a human circadian rhythm still needed.
Along the way were many hatchways. Children played in the square areas which served as makeshift parks, their voices echoing noisily off the metal walls.
She stared at the small humans wrestling over a makeshift ball. Mae recalled the dark hair and sad eyes of the Shānmén child they’d helped to safety. She wondered how that little girl was, after witnessing all that carnage.
“Mae?” Rook’s voice brought her back to reality. This gap was strange. Her synthetic brain ran thousands of computational processes and thoughts simultaneously, but the sight of children brought her to a standstill? She needed to find a quiet time to run a full diagnostic later, where no one would observe her.
Standing close to Rook, with their bodies shielding her from observation, she dared to sign, Are they watching?
“No, the cameras on this level are barely functioning. I fear someone has deliberately damaged some for nefarious purposes.”
“Good.” Mae jerked her head. “Find me a home with no one in it.”
“This way.”
She followed him into the dark shadows of the living areas. Her scanning technology was superior to his, but once again her deception limited her. After ten minutes, Rook led her into a cul-de-sac in the workers’ quarters. He gestured to one door in particular.
“Watch my back.” She stepped in close and ran a bypass. It wasn’t much of a security system. Workers didn’t have anything worth stealing, and the company wasn’t overly worried about that happening. Even masquerading as a human, Mae got the door open in under a minute.
“Petty thievery, now?” Rook stood outside while she darted in.
A locker right at the entrance contained four clean overalls. Mae slipped quickly into one, then exited and locked the door once more. Now clad in a fashion less likely to draw attention, she tied up her hair and slipped on a cap with the company logo emblazoned on it.
“Fetching.” Rook shot her a smile. “Now I presume there is a part you want me to play?”
Mae let out a sigh. “This is the bit you will not like. I need you to rip your face.” She pointed to the prominent stitches that ran across his right cheekbone.
It shouldn’t have bothered him. Ultimately, to a synthetic, a face was no different from any other piece of equipment. Yet shock ran across Rook’s features: a tiny jerk back, a tightening around his eyes. So very close to a genetic human reaction.
He raised his hand and touched what would have been called a scar. When his eyes locked with hers, she feared he might attack her. She’d touched a nerve in this synthetic human.
“You know, Mae, when I was injured, so too were my deepest protocols. As I said, I found myself possessing free will. So what would you do if I said no?”
Until that moment, she wasn’t sure she’d believed that story. Synthetics were capable of deception in certain circumstances. Now, though, looking into Rook’s eyes, she understood they were the same. Davis designed her to protect one person, Zula Hendricks; the rest of Mae was made of her own choices.
This Bishop model possessed the ability to turn on her—as much as any genetic human.
“I would ask you to reconsider. Your friend Blue gave you a mission, and sometimes that means making a sacrifice or two.” She straightened to her full height so that they stood eye to eye. “I give you my word that I’ll fix it after.”
He flashed that cautious smile. “Something about you, Mae Hendricks, does foster trust. I rarely trust humans.” He stepped closer. “You may do your worst.”
Mae pulled out her knife and examined him, determining which cuts would be easiest to repair. Settling on the main scar that ran vertically down his face, she cut free the stitches. It seemed strange, but it wasn’t as if Rook experienced pain in the same way a human did.
He held up his hands as the slab of synthetic skin on the right of his face bent and flopped over. It exposed the metal structure of the workings beneath, including his eye. It was a grim sight that would have left any human screaming in agony.
Rook took it all with a relaxed attitude. “I find myself not enjoying this,” he said with a twist of the remaining half of his lips. “I hope this plan of yours requires this… humiliation.”
Mae held up the wrist-pd built into the sleeve of the overalls. “Synthetic repair is only down one level. This gives us a good reason to head there. Hope you’re up to hacking a network or two while your face is hanging off.”
“I think I can manage that.”
This time Mae took the lead, following the map on her wrist. They repaired the station’s androids on the bottommost sub-level. As always, the company showed a real lack of concern for their synthetic workers.
Together they followed the map down some stairs and past the large red arrows that proclaimed SYNTH REPAIR STATION. This was no Jackal facility; this was the ragged end of life for most synths.
It was an eerie sensation to pass by various models propped up in the corridor. Many were Mr. Browns. Like the Seegson Working Joes, they were designed to perform menial tasks near humans, so were made to resemble them. However, unlike the unsettling Seegson design with its blank gray face, the Mr. Browns were constructed with more complex and realistic features. Aside from several of them, there were also the silent, boxy forms of the station maintenance robots who performed tasks outside of human sight. Most stations, especially ones that made parts for spaceships, would try to get those functional again.
Rook’s half-exposed eye flickered over the maintenance robots, undoubtedly coming to the same conclusion.
“Hello?” Mae called out. It was significantly darker on this bottommost level. Something clattered in the darkness, and a set of bright eyes flashed.
It was only a Mr. Brown, its bottom half mangled. It jerked sideways. “Whaaaaaaattt is your service?”
Rook signed with one hand. I detect a network.
“Hello, I need some help?” Mae said, louder.
“Yes? What?” The voice came out of the dark, and she followed it in.
A woman stood at a workbench, hunched over the twitching leg of a Mr. Brown. Behind her, two maintenance droids welded metal plating back onto one of their kin. The dim interior jumped with bright sparks and the annoyed stare the human occupant leveled at them. She kept her red hair shaved close, while a fresh-looking burn on her left cheek gleamed in the sudden light. The name patch on her dirty overalls said HOLYFIELD.
Her eyes jumped to Rook. “Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me.” She threw down her spanner and crossed her arms. “Did Rolstad’s little bitch, Dix, send you down here?”
Mae tried to answer, but the woman cut her off. “I’ve got thirteen maintenance droids to fix by yesterday, and they send me one of the chief’s butlers?” Holyfield gestured her closer. “Well, I guess I gotta drop everything now.”
Mae had already prepared an entire speech, but something about the gleam in Holyfield’s eyes suggested she’d better not use it.
“I mean, I guess the Bishop models can be smartarses, but shit, did Rolstad have to cut one up again?” Holyfield gestured for Mae to set Rook on an unoccupied bench to the right.
“I don’t know,” she ventured. “I was just told to—”
“Never mind.” Holyfield’s glare turned into a warm smile. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’d rather work on something beautiful like a Bishop, instead of those.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder to the still-twitching Mr. Brown.
Rook kept his damaged face held to his skull with one hand, but still managed a weak smile. “No one’s ever called me beautiful before. Thank you.”
The engineer chuckled. “I mean, the emotional capacitors on your model, amazing. Can’t think of another better at integrating with humans and forming… well, actual fucking bonds with them.” She pointed to the wall, where a medal hung.
Rook’s one visible eye widened a little. “The Triple Solar? I haven’t seen one of those for a long time.”
Holyfield blushed as she examined the damage done to his facial mask. “Yeah, I did a few tours with the Colonial Marines. Fought in the assault on Greylin back when I was young and stupid. Got in a bit of trouble with the law, and that’s how I ended up here, sewing your face back together.”
While Rook and his admirer chatted, Mae wandered around the engineering bay. She might not be able to attach herself to the synthetic network, but she sensed it. Each network was a complex web of interconnecting nodes. Subroutines looking for intrusions protected all of them. If they detected an unexpected attempt at a breach, they would inject malicious programming into the offender. This code would corrupt the synthetic and render them inactive. Then station security would scoop them up for examination and destruction.
However, there was one place where the network needed to be accessible to new and repaired synthetics. This engineering bay was a softer target, but not completely unprotected.
As Rook kept the human in charge occupied, Mae searched for the physical node itself. It needed to be nearby so Holyfield could test her repairs and integrate new synthetics with the system. With so much work to do, the one thing the engineer hadn’t yet done was repair her own security camera. Mae already noted it wasn’t tracking her as she moved around. If only the station funded its repair shop better. The shiny, exciting equipment upstairs needed to be matched with support staff below.
Mae spotted the subtle, flickering light of a station network node behind the bench where the two maintenance robots worked. They would notice any interference with it, and Mae couldn’t damage or destroy them with Holyfield and Rook only a few meters away. Mae would have to rely on human deception and misdirection.
The damaged maintenance droid that the two other droids were working on provided a small window of opportunity. Mae leaned down, pretending to be interested in what they were doing, and at the same time, nudged the wires of the droid’s exposed power unit into contact with its exterior.
The surge of current through the two droids knocked them out for a few moments. Mae pulled the narrow silver infiltration spike from her pocket. This Jackal-designed tech was a quick way to access information their targets might not want revealed. As the lights dipped above them, Mae darted forward, and plunged the spike into the network node’s access port.
She moved faster than a human could have performed the maneuver. By the time Holyfield swung around to see why the lights were dancing, Mae had leapt away from the bench entirely.
The two maintenance droids still stuttered and rebooted.
“What the hell?” Holyfield strode over. “You idiots touched that damn power unit? I don’t need you frying yourself. I got no time to fix you as well!”
Mae glanced over at Rook. The engineer had sealed the tear in his facial mask with some specialty silicone. It was a better repair than he’d originally managed for himself. He gave her a nod and swung his thumb over his shoulder to indicate that they ought to go.
“Thanks for the patch up.” Mae hustled over to Rook. “He’ll do for now. Gotta get him back topside.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Holyfield was already putting on some gloves to fix the damage done to the other two maintenance droids. She didn’t even look up as they hurried out of the repair bay.
“Well done.” Rook ran a hand down the surface of his forehead and nose. “This is an improvement, but, you know, I used to be top of the line.” His tone was almost wistful.
Not sure what to say to that, Mae nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I don’t care about the damage at all, but I will admit it’s nice to have my skin sealed properly. They designed me with a friendly, non-threatening face, and my injury ruined that effect. Even for androids, self-repair is tricky.”
“But the node, can you access it now?”
His friendly face, now much closer to resembling when he’d come off the assembly line, stilled for a moment. “You have successfully introduced a back door to the synthetic network.”
She would have dearly loved to access what Rook now did. It dangled nearby, temptingly, but she restrained herself from inserting herself into it.
Mae and Rook slipped into an alleyway while he processed the stream of data.
“I am inside the synthetic network, but I don’t think I can penetrate the station’s AI. It would sense that immediately.” Rook’s hand closed around Mae’s wrist. “There’s more. That shipment wasn’t the only strange scientific equipment. There’s a level with no synthetics in it that I cannot access. I’m blind there. Level eleven.”
Mae glanced around, making sure no locals were nearby. “A level without artificial people?”
“I can’t confirm that. They could be firewalled off from the system.”
Mae considered the options. She understood the Jackals’ tenuous position. Her mother couldn’t order a strike on this Weyland-Yutani station without deadly political consequences. They needed proof before she could move.
Since the comms channels within the station would be monitored, they would be on their own.
Both she and Rook possessed free will. “Then we have to go there ourselves, take pictures, gather evidence. Do you agree?”
“If you think we’re going to walk right into there, then I have to point out, neither of us can change our faces. They will see us riding the elevator immediately.”
This was the moment Mae could truly help her mother, prove herself capable of being useful as a full member of the Jackals.
“Then,” she replied with a quirk of her lips, “we don’t show our faces. And we don’t take an elevator. There is always another way around a problem.”