Con Code Read online

  The conference room hasn’t gotten any more opaque since the previous day. A building made almost entirely out of clear glass should be reassuring, but I feel like I’m missing something. Like I’m being told to look when I should be listening.

  The glass table sits our entire Mexico group with Spaulding at the right of Geo, who sits at the head of the table. Behind Geo is Juan—a tall imposing figure with even darker features in the light of day. His brow shades his eyes so that I feel like he’s watching us from behind sunglasses.

  To either side of Juan are armed guards. Why there are armed guards in a room filled with unarmed people congregating with the sole purpose of meeting one another has me scanning the environment for the third time.

  “Feels like they’re hiding something.” I lean toward Gordon to speak near him—my best approximation at whispering so far. Juan moves, the smallest fraction of movement, in my direction when I speak. I only catch his motion because I’m running a scan and the flinch of his steady robotic form catches one of my sensors.

  “What could they hide?” Mav answers. “I can see into the next four rooms and they’re empty.”

  I sit straighter. It’s the appearance of nothing hidden that has me the most concerned.

  “We’re just waiting for our lawyers to arrive, then we’ll make introductions and get started,” Geo announces in his thick accent like each Anglo word is painful to form and eject from his mouth.

  “Lawyers?” Dr. Miller asks. He turns to face Spaulding directly, who appears to not be surprised by the announcement. “Why do you need lawyers?” He still faces Spaulding, but I believe the question is for Geo.

  “You brought Mr. Pierson.” Geo indicates Mav. “I assume he wants some claim on our accomplishments.” Juan shifts his weight at the head of the room. The soldiers at his side adjust their guns so that a rustling of straps and metal carries over the gap of silence before Geo speaks again. “Especially in the face of your failure.”

  He doesn’t point to me, but I snap my attention from scanning the room to look at Geo directly. He meets my eyes like he’s waiting to receive me. I’m the failure he’s talking about, and I’m sick and tired of being thought of as ruined before I’m given a chance. Just like in the donor game.

  “With Ace out of the picture…” I can almost hear an implication in Geo’s words. Ace should have won the game of life—he had every qualification plus money. From the look on Mav’s face, he hears it too. Geo might as well be accusing Mav of ‘getting his brother out of the way.’

  “You need to watch how you phrase things,” Mav says.

  “Which is why we’re waiting for our lawyers.” Geo smiles as his eyes draw tighter, not the slightest concerned at how he trips on English words with his heavy accent. I’d wager he’s enjoying the wretchedness of us all. Broken and unprepared.

  I’m suddenly relieved that Jilly’s family are on their way here. Maybe they can take me out of this mess. I can pretend to be their child. I mean, she’s remembered for being an amnesiac. How hard is that to fake?

  Three men, tall for the Ecuadorian standard and all with crisp seams in tailored suits with muted but prominently colored ties and faces dialed to the setting of ‘stern’ and ‘business,’ walk down the hallway. Their crisp forms distort where the glass panes meet. Not one looks comfortable crossing those seams of glass like it reveals too much of what’s under the suits.

  Spaulding stands first like he’s the one who called the trio of law-abiding swindlers to this meeting. Geo stands only after the men enter the room. He motions for them to sit near him at the head of the table. Dr. Miller, Mav, Gordon, and I shift, displaced with the addition—all of us moving down three seats. At the end of the table, I find myself the loser of this game of musical chairs.

  I do my best to stand at attention behind the foot of the table. Where Juan is the picture of quiet dignity at the head of the room—practically the symbol of security and professionalism—I stand half-cocked and exposed despite being fully clothed.

  “Now that we’re all here,” Geo begins. Before he moves forward with his sentiments, Mav and Dr. Miller stand at the same time. Neither appears to have planned the coordinated event.

  “What is this?” Dr. Miller speaks first. He nods to the lawyers. “We’ve come to you here,” he glances about the glass room out toward the glass halls and the dark glass exterior, “for cooperation in introducing a new generation into society.”

  Juan shifts the slightest motion. His shaded eyes slowly move toward Dr. Miller. Standing, I have a much better scan of the room. In reality, it would have been wise for me to remain standing from the start, to appear like I chose this position. But, now that it’s been forced upon me, I’m glad for it. I watch the movements of the room. The smallest ones are the most telling. Like how Gordon is entering code into his device on his lap, below the clear table top. If anyone were paying him attention they’d have a perfect view of his actions, but his motions are masked by the invisible plane dividing all of their lines of sight.

  The room’s attendees are set on sizing one another up. Right now, that measuring sight is aimed at Dr. Miller and Mav Pierson. “Society can wait,” Geo says.

  “We found Jennie’s family.” Dr. Miller pushes his calves against the back of his chair so that it scrapes behind him on the carpeting. “They’re coming here now. They’ll need information on how to integrate her into their routine, how this new life will impact them. They’ll be celebrities unprepared to deal with the instant fame.”

  “No, they won’t.” Geo’s confidence causes Dr. Miller to falter slightly. His knees bend, and he catches himself with one hand flat on the surface of the glass in front of him. “They will remain the same pointless people they’ve always been with no more interference in their lives than they choose to pursue.” When Geo pronounces ‘pursue’ with his thick accent, it comes out sounding menacing. Like, if they don’t decide to remain silent background fixtures, any problems that arise will be on their own heads.

  I watch Juan for any indication regarding what’s next. Surely, with his smooth entry into this world, he’s met with his human family and dealt with transitions. This facility claims success above all other programs in the world.

  Juan offers no reaction.

  The lawyers busy themselves with files and papers and opening cases where more files and papers emerge onto the glass.

  Spaulding holds a pen in his hand. When it appears or from where it emerges, I miss entirely. All I notice is that he has it now, and he grips it as though he intends to put his name to something for gain. He licks his fat lips and pulls them from his sticking teeth before clicking the butt of the pen against the table twice like he’s impatient for a meal.

  Dr. Miller takes his seat, but Mav remains standing. It’s clear he hasn’t formed what he can say in this off-balance room. But he stands like he’s performing a mute filibuster.

  “Take your seat, Mr. Pierson.” Geo places both palms on the table and leans forward. “I’d like to get started.”

  Juan jerks his head up. It’s hard to imagine he’s dozing in the tension of the room, but he looks at Gordon. Like Gordon has surprised him. I, too, look to Gordon, hoping whatever the surprise gesture was, or is, it will benefit all of us from Mexico. Gordon doesn’t look at me, signal, or hold up a message from his device. He ignores me.

  “As has been made clear in the years our continent bands have been fighting,” Geo begins. Already I’m not happy with the meeting. “Those at the center of it all…” He pauses as if we need time to realize he’s referring to himself. “…have it all.”

  The lawyers shuffle and tap their papers into order and straightness, getting the inanimate things tamed for their big showing obviously soon to follow.

  “We own the resources, personnel, and technology.”

  “Now hold on,” Dr. Miller stands again, interrupting Geo from what comes after technology. “Ace Pierson developed this technology before he…passed.” Died sou
nds like an insensitive term considering Ace was an intelligence donor just as Juan and the several bits and pieces of failed gamers that went into the Frankenstein construction of me.

  “You should have put more effort into ensuring he was here, then, if that’s how you feel about it.” Geo nods to the lawyer closest to Dr. Miller. A file slides from a pile of ready papers and is placed squarely in front of Dr. Miller without the lawyer needing to stand or speak.

  “What’s this?” Miller asks.

  “A contract.”

  “What for?” Dr. Miller crosses his arms as if he expects to be asked to sign something and has no intention of cooperating. I smile in defiance of this silly charade and mentally cheer him on.

  “Open it,” Geo urges. When Dr. Miller makes no move to unfold his arms, Geo sits in his seat, leans back and swivels to his right, where Juan stands behind him. “It’s a contract for Ace Pierson’s services.” He nods again to the file, taunting Miller to reveal the paper within. “It clearly specifies that we own his work.” Dr. Miller’s complexion blanches. Color falls from him like he’s being bled of life. “All of it.”

  Dr. Miller’s head snaps toward me. Spaulding looks down at the pen in his hand. No mercy glance to try to claim me. “No.” Miller opens the file. He flips pages over, scan reading as fast as he can. “You can’t do this.”

  Geo continues to swivel as he waits for Miller to complete his page by page search for some loophole.

  “She’s not property,” Mav says.

  “Yes, she is,” Geo announces. “My property.”

  “This proves nothing.” Miller slides the file to the head of the table, across the line of lawyers. Papers slip out, disorganized. Two pages fall to the floor. Geo stops the gliding file with his flat hand atop the cover.

  “I wasn’t going to bother dealing with you this way, but then I realized you brought a member of the Pierson family.” He nods to Mav. A slick smile grows across his face. “Thank you for coming. I knew it was the perfect opportunity to deliver the news.”

  Mav’s form looks stricken like he’s physically ill from this meeting. I don’t blame him. “Deliver what? I don’t claim to own Jennie. I’m not her family.” That one hurts a little. Though Mav doesn’t know me, he looks like and shares blood with my main ally inside the game. Hearing him say he has no familial ties to me hits me like Ace from the game rejecting me. A nerve pings in my neck and I want out of this room. “I don’t have any ownership or claim on this.” He half lifts his hand. Is that all he can say about me? This? Like my form isn’t good enough to even be named ‘body’ ‘girl’ anything? I’m that disjointed in my human appearance?

  Maybe Juan was right. Maybe my team is purposefully holding me back from a smooth human transition, making me dependent on them and preventing me from being all I can be. Maybe I would be better off with the men who developed Juan to be the gliding force of nature that he appears to be.

  Geo smiles deeper at Mav and flicks his wrist for his second lawyer to deliver papers. “I’m not saying you ever had a claim on this poor creation.” I’m unsure if it’s me or my team he intends to insult, but it stings. And my loyalties remain with my crappy team. “I’m saying your family does not own Pierson Industries.”

  “What?” Mav demands.

  “All of the technology your companies are built upon…” Geo moves his lips only toward the file—pointing with his mouth. “I own.”

  Gordon is typing faster. He’s no longer hiding his motions below the table, his device is up and he’s thumbing so quickly and fiercely, I can’t believe no one is stopping him. He could be live streaming this meeting to the internet. I hope that’s what he’s doing.

  “Put it away,” Geo says to Gordon, who continues to finger his device.

  Geo nods to Juan, who responds like a trained dog. Juan moves to the side of the table where Gordon sits. Gordon’s eyes lift as he watches Juan approach from the side. He types faster. Juan makes no haste. When he reaches the back of Gordon’s chair he pauses, allowing Gordon an extra second to hit send. “Sir.”

  Gordon slides his phone into his shirt pocket and folds his hands on top of each other in his lap. He nods with his head bent. It’s a submissive gesture, which seems to please Geo. Yet Juan and Gordon seem to still be passing some current between them. Juan watches me lurching in my corner at the butt of the room, then returns to his position at the head.

  “Right then.” Geo nods to the final well-dressed man seated at the table nearest our host.

  The man stands, “I’m placing you all under arrest for the use and distribution of patented scientific techniques under the piracy of technology act and taking possession of products belonging to Pierson Industries.”

  “What?” The table erupts in protest, first from Mav. He’s followed resolutely by Abby and Ben who had appeared conspiratory in their earlier silence, but now reveal themselves to be cowardly pawns unwilling to speak until it’s too late.

  The only person unphased by the announcement is Dr. Spaulding, who is given a paper to sign from the man announcing the arrest of the room. “Mr. Spaulding has immunity, as he has agreed to provide us access to all the materials and files in the Mexico City facilities and any known facilities worldwide undertaking in the use or distribution of technologies developed by Ace Pierson, a former employee, and war hero…”

  Mav chokes on a laugh as he echoes, “War hero…”

  “Just take them away.” Geo waves to the man to cease speaking and clear the room of us.

  Armed men appear at the end of the long glass hall, wavering at every seam they cross. They don’t have to enter the room for us to understand. We’re being escorted to prison. Nice welcome committee indeed. I trail at the rear of the room, behind Gordon.

  “What did you send?” I whisper in my best quiet voice, which is heard by all.

  Gordon doesn’t answer me, not because he doesn’t open his mouth, but due to the fact the butt of a rifle connects to the back of his skull forcing him forward on his feet and jarring his open mouth closed, catching his tongue so that blood escapes his mouth.

  “Not you.” Geo sends Juan to stand in front of me.

  “I’m with them,” I say to Juan. If the robot before me has such an emotion as pity, it’s showing behind his deep shaded eyes. His cheek pulls ever so slightly so that I feel he’s trying to tell me that he warned me, but I wouldn’t listen. None of this show makes me any more willing to listen to him now.

  “You’re with me now.” Geo has Juan wait until the party of law offenders is out of sight. He then has me pushed back so that Spaulding can leave. “Don’t come back here,” Geo says. “Immunity is a one-time grant.”

  Spaulding extends a hand to shake on it. When Geo doesn’t reciprocate, Spaulding waits. Geo takes the final case left at the table, brought in by the lawyers, and hands it to Spaulding. A payoff. The case fits heavily into Spaulding’s hand. The weight of the bad deal sinks into his wrinkles and pulls on the joints holding the money.

  “Stay out of the news, Spaulding,” Geo warns.

  With that, Spaulding lugs his prize with him down the hall. I doubt he’ll bother returning to his room to retrieve his belongings. He’s a man escaping his conscious, hoping it won’t sneak into his luggage before he can leave the country.

  “You don’t own me,” I say as defiantly as I can manage.

  “Faraday cage for that one.” Geo doesn’t look at me, doesn’t talk to me, doesn’t acknowledge me as anything more than an object to be ‘put away for now’.

  “I’m a person,” I say. Juan takes hold of my arm and pulls so hard, I’m certain I’ll have to repair cords and wires where they’ve been loosened to the point of disconnection. “Ow.”

  I struggle to keep up with Juan’s long strides. “I’m not property,” I say again.

  “We’ll discuss it later,” he says and no more. No matter what I call out, no matter how many panes of glass I reach for, scratch with my metal claws, or kick so the tempered
glass spiderwebs outward in a shatter-pattern, not one piece of glass do I manage to displace, though I damage a good few, making the perfectly see-through floor a white-lined mess.

  “This will get worse before it gets better,” Juan says before throwing me into a metal cage and securing the door behind me.

  Worse is worse than it sounds. My intelligence has already been uploaded into the device I’m housed in. Due to technological restrictions and the unpredictability of human intelligence transfers outside of a circuit transfusion, which is risky, Geo’s team cannot remove my intelligence from my housing in order to insert me into better housing.

  They can, however, take me apart piece by piece and replace the parts one at a time with upgrades. It takes time for each replacement to adjust to my brain function, so it’s slow. I’m left with paralyzed limbs for days at a time. All the while, without news regarding my team from Mexico. I know nothing of Jillian’s family—if they landed, were informed of a change. Nothing. The Faraday cage I’m moved to after every procedure restricts Wi-Fi signals from reaching my circuitry. I am supplied with no news of any kind. Not even Juan has been permitted to see me since I’ve been trapped in Ecuador.

  I’d thought the Mexico facility was like jail.

  Ecuador is jail.

  The workers won’t talk to me. “Where’s Juan?” I ask. Today’s procedure is hand and wrist replacement. Currently, I have a left stump with exposed wires and liquid filled tubes. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s disturbing to see my insides exposed and tinkered with like the inner working of a computer laid bare. It’s gore. The woman reconnecting my wires doesn’t shift her attention from her task. It’s like I’ve gone mute since being caged.

  They work from the bottom up—my feet, legs, even my trunk, and internal functioning is replaced already. The parts of me that pump fluids and signals to the rest of my body now has a quad processor. I work at four times the efficiency I could before. I get what Geo means when he says the Intercontinents have the resources. They do. All their materials are more advanced and greater quality than anything they had in Mexico. I was basically a junkheap before.