Текст книги "The Turing Option"

Автор книги: Harry Harrison

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

38
December 19, 2024

Erin Snaresbtook was forced to set the cruise control on the car, since her speed kept creeping up – and dropping back only when she noticed. The desert was an ocean of darkness on all sides, the headlights boring a tunnel of light down the undulating ribbon of the road ahead of her. She drove for over a mile before she saw the car parked on the shoulder of the road. She slowed and pulled over, stopping behind it. Sighed with relief, then turned her head and spoke over her shoulder.

“You’re safe now. You can come out.”

Brian popped up onto the backseat. “Thought I was going to suffocate. No problems, I guess – or we wouldn’t be here.”

“No problems. You can get out. Wait – let me turn the lights off first. And the inside light. Just in case.”

Brian stepped out into the warm darkness. Free! For the first time in a year. He breathed deep of the dry desert air, allowed himself a long moment to take in the sky brimming over with stars, filled with them right down to the dark and jagged outline of the mountains. Heard the car door close as Snaresbrook came out and joined him. He turned to face her, looked past her and saw the other car, felt a surge of panic when he saw that someone was standing next to it.

“Who’s there! What happened?”

“It’s all right, Brian,” Snaresbrook said quietly. “It’s Shelly. She’s here to help you. She knows about everything that is happening and is on your side.”

Brian’s throat was so tight that it took an effort to speak.

“How long have you known?” he asked when Shelly came and stood before him.

“Just for the last week. Ever since I told Dr. Snaresbrook about my leaving the military because of what they were doing to you. I convinced her that I wanted to help you – and she believed me.”

“That’s when I told her what you were planning to do. I have a great fear, Brian, that you are not ready to tackle the outside world on your own yet. I took the calculated risk that she was sincere – her presence here instead of the military police is proof that I was correct. I have been very concerned about you and, frankly, I did not want you to learn about her part in this affair until you were safely away from your prison.”

Brian took a shuddering breath, let it out slowly – and smiled into the darkness. “You’re right, Doc. I don’t think I could have hacked it before. But now that it’s done – I feel great! Welcome aboard, Shelly.”

“Thank you both for letting me help. I’m coming with you. You are not going to be alone.”

“I’ve got to think about that. Later. Right now we had better get moving.” He unknotted his tie and pulled off the army shut. “Did the Major buy your story, Doc?”

“He likes you, Brian, they all seem to. I feel certain that no one will go near the room until the morning.”

“I hope so. But when they do find that I’m missing it’s going to really hit the fan. You know I feel sorry for them all. In a way it’s a really dirty trick to play. They’ll be in the yogurt for sure.”

“A little late to think about that, isn’t it?”

“No, I’ve already gone that route. I thought long and hard about it when I was planning the escape. I feel sorry for them – but they were my jailers – and I needed out of jail. Now, what’s the plan?”

“Shelly takes over from here. I’m going back to Megalobe, do some work in my lab there. Spend the night. That will muddy the waters a bit, perhaps even prevent them from tying me in with the escape. The bigger the mystery the better the chance you have to pull it off. I’ll even box my connection machine and put it back into the car so they will have trouble tying a missing box with your escape. So let’s drag Sven out and put it in Shelly’s car. The faster I get back, the better it will be.”

As soon as this was done, after a quick peck on the cheek and hurried good-byes, they separated. When the other car had made a U-turn and headed back toward Megalobe, Shelly started her engine and drove west. Brian looked out at the hills moving by, felt an even greater sense of relief than he had when he first knew he was free.

“I’m glad that you are here,” he said. “And maybe we better stick together. At least for a while.” He looked at his watch. “At this speed we should reach the border by eleven at the latest.”

“Are you sure? I’ve never driven this way before.”

“Neither have I – that I remember. But I have been reading lots of guidebooks and maps. There shouldn’t be much traffic and the total drive is only eighty-seven miles.”

They were silent after that: there was very little now to say but a lot to think about.

They turned off 78 before Brawley and headed south toward El Centra and Calexico. The signs reading MEXICO led them around the town center to the border crossing. It was just half past ten when the customs booths appeared ahead. For the first time Brian felt nervous.

“All the travel books say that there is no hassle getting into Mexico. Is that right?”

“Come and bring your dollars. I’ve never been stopped going in – or even been looked at for that matter.”

There were no American customs officers in sight when they drove across the national boundary. The Mexican official, sporting a large gun and even larger stomach, just glanced at their license plate then turned away.

“We did it!” Brian shouted as they rolled along the street of garish shops and bars.

“We sure enough did! What’s next?”

“A change of plan for one thing. The original idea was for the doc to drop me and Sven off and go back to the States. She had no clue as to what my future plans would be.”

“Do you?”

“Positively! I’m going to take the train to Mexico City tonight.”

“So am I.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“All right. We stick to the original plan except you take the car back across the border, return by cab—”

“Nope. Too complicated, too time-consuming. And it leaves a trail. We just leave the car here with the key in the ignition.”

“It’ll get stolen!”

“That’s the idea. It should vanish completely if the local car thieves are up to scratch. That’s a lot better than having it found in a parking lot in Calexico to show which way we went.”

“You can’t do that. The money…”

“I wanted a new car anyway. And maybe someday I can collect the insurance. So not another word. Which way is the station?”

“I’ll look at the street map.”

They found the Ferrocarriles Nacionales de Mexico easily enough. Shelly drove past the station and around the corner to a badly lit street, parked under a burnt-out streetlight. She took a small suitcase from the trunk, remembered to leave the keys, then helped Brian lift out the heavy box.

“The first step – and the biggest one,” he said.

“One hour and twenty-one minutes are left before the train leaves,” the box said in muffled but possibly admonitory tones.

“More than enough time. Be patient – we’re the ones dragging the box.”

They got it as far as the station entrance before Shelly called quits.

“Enough! You watch this thing while I see if they rise to something as exotic as a redcap.”

She was back a few minutes later with the man. He was wearing a battered cap, his badge of rank, and pushing a handcart.

“We have to buy tickets,” Brian said as the porter eased the metal edge of the hand truck under the box. He hoped that the man spoke English.

“No problem. Where are you going?”

“Mexico City.”

“No problem. You people, you just follow me.”

The unhappy-looking woman behind the window grille also spoke English, he was relieved to find out. Yes, there was a first-class compartment available. The ancient machine at her elbow disgorged two tickets, which she hand-stamped. The only problem was money.

“Don’t take dollars,” she said, scowling, as though it were his fault. “Only moneda national.”

“Can’t we change money here?” Shelly asked.

“The change is closed already.”

Brian’s surge of panic was only slightly relieved when the porter said, “I got a friend, change money.”

“Where?”

“Over there, he work in the bar.”

The bartender smiled broadly, was more than happy to sell pesos for dollars.

“You know I gotta charge different from the bank because I lose on the exchange.”

“Whatever you say,” Brian said, passing over the greenbacks.

“I’m sure he’s cheating you!” Shelly hissed when the man went to the till.

“I agree. But we’re getting on the train and that’s what counts.”

Cheated or not he felt immensely relieved to see the thick bundle of pesos that he got in return for his dollars.

It was eight minutes to twelve when the porter put the box on the floor in the compartment, pocketed his ten-dollar tip, closed the door behind him as he left. Shelly pulled down the curtain while Brian locked the door and opened the box.

“The correct rate of exchange for selling dollars in Mexico is—”

“Keep it a secret from us, will you please?” Brian said as he took out his airline bag. “Been enjoying your trip so far, Sven?”

“If looking at the inside of dark car trunks is enjoyable, then I have enjoyed myself.”

“It can only get better,” Shelly said.

There was the clank of distant couplings and the train shuddered and began to move; an imperious knock rattled the door.

“I’ll get that,” Shelly said. “You had better relax.”

“I would love to.”

She waited until he had slammed the box shut before she unlocked and opened the door.

“Tickets please,” the conductor said.

“Yes, of course.” He passed them over. The conductor punched them and pointed to the seats.

“Just pull the back of the couch down when you are ready to retire, the bed is already made up. The upper bunk swings down like this. Have a pleasant journey.”

Brian locked the door behind him and dropped onto the seat limply. This had been quite a day.

The train swayed as they picked up speed, the wheels clicked over the rails, lights moved by outside. He opened the curtain and watched the suburbs stream past, then the farms beyond.

“We’ve made it!” Shelly said. “I’ve never seen a more lovely sight in my life.”

“I am sure that it is a most interesting view,” the muffled voice said.

“Sorry about that,” Brian said as he opened the box again. Sven pushed his eyestalks out so he could see through the window as well. Brian turned off the lights and they watched the landscape drift by.

“What time do we get there?” Shelly asked.

“Three in the afternoon.”

“And then?”

Brian was silent, looking out into the darkness, still not sure. “Shelly, I still think I ought to be doing this on my own.”

“Nonsense. In for a penny, in for a pound, isn’t that what they say?”

“They say it in Ireland all right.”

“It is my belief that you should accept Shelly’s offer of aid,” Sven said.

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

“No. But her suggestion is a good one. You have been quite ill, your memory has gaps in it. You can use her help. Take it.”

“Outvoted,” Brian sighed. “The plan is a simple one – but you had better have your passport with you.”

“I do. Packed it in as soon as Dr. Snaresbrook mentioned she would be going to the Mexican border.”

“What I must do is stay ahead of anyone who comes looking for me.”

“Go to ground in Mexico?”

“I thought of that – but it’s no good. The Mexican and American police cooperate very closely in chasing down drug runners. I am sure that General Schorcht would tag me as a criminal if that was needed to track me down. So I have to go further than Mexico. I checked the schedules and a lot of international flights leave Mexico City in the early evening. So we buy tickets and leave the country.”

“Any particular destination in mind?”

“Of course. Ireland. You’ll remember that I am an Irish citizen.”

“That’s a brilliant idea. So we get to Ireland – then what?”

“I am going to try and find Dr. Bociort – if he is still alive. Which will probably mean making a trip to Rumania. The people who stole my first AI and tried to kill me are still out there. I am going to find them. For a lot of reasons. Revenge might be one of them, but survival is the main one. With their threat removed I can stop looking over my shoulder. And General Schorcht will no longer have an excuse to cause me trouble.”

“Amen to that.” She yawned widely and covered her mouth. “Excuse me. But if you are half as tired as I am we should get some sleep.”

“Now that you have said it – yes.”

He pulled down the curtain and turned on the lights. As promised, the two berths were made up and swung easily into position.

“I’ll take the upper,” Shelly said, opening her suitcase and taking out pajamas and a dressing gown, grabbed her purse. “Be right back.”

When she returned the only light on was the small one over her berth. Brian was under the covers and Sven had raised the curtain an inch and was looking out.

“Good night,” she said.

“Good night,” Sven said. A soft snore was the only other sound.

39
December 20, 2024

The scenery flowed by while they ate breakfast in the dining car. Small villages, jungle and mountains, an occasional glimpse of ocean as they skirted the Sea of Cortez. While they were finishing their coffee a phone rang and Brian saw one of the other diners take it from his jacket pocket and answer it.

“I’m being stupid,” he said. “I should have thought of it before this. Do you have your phone with you?”

“Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not me, not now. You know that you can receive a phone call no matter where you are. Did you ever think of the mechanism involved?”

“Not really. It’s one of those things you take for granted.”

“It was so new to me that I looked into it. There are fiber-optic and microwave links everywhere now, cellular nets right around the world. When you want to make a call you just punch it in and the nearest station accepts it and passes it on. What you might not realize is that your phone is always on, always on standby. And it logs in automatically when you move between cells by sending your present location to the memory bank of your home exchange. So when someone dials your number the national or international telephone system always knows where to find you and pass on the incoming call.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean it knows where I am now? That anyone with the authority could obtain this information?”

“Absolutely. Like General Schorcht for instance.”

She gasped. “Then we have to get rid of it! Throw it off the train—”

“No. If a phone goes out of commission a signal is sent to the repair service. You don’t want to draw any attention to yourself. We can be fairly sure that no one is looking for you yet. But when they find that I’m missing and the search begins, they will be sure to contact everyone who worked with me. Let’s go back to the compartment – I have an idea.”

There was a panel under the window that looked perfect. Brian pointed to it.

“Sven, do you think you can take those screws out?”

Sven swiveled his eyes to look. “An easy task.”

The MI formed a screwdriver head with its manipulators and quickly took out the screws that held the plastic panel in place. There were two pipes and an electric cable passing through the space there behind the panel. Brian pointed.

“We’ll just put your telephone in here. The plastic panel won’t block any signals. If the military call and you don’t answer they are going to have a busy time tracking the signal while it’s moving around Mexico. By the time they sort it out we will be long gone.”

The train pulled out of Tepic at lunchtime and turned inland towards Guadalajara, reaching Mexico City exactly on time. Sven was packed safely away and ready for the porter who came for their luggage. He led the way to the Depósito de Equipajes, where they checked everything in. Brian pointed to the bank next to it.

“The first thing we do is get some pesos. We don’t want a repetition of Mexicali.”

“And then?”

“We find a travel agency.”

Outside of the Buenavista railroad station, Mexico City was cold and wet; the smog hurt their eyes. They ignored the cab rank and walked out through the crowds and along Insurgentes Norte until they came to the first travel agency. It was a large one and a placard in the window said english spoken, a very hopeful sign. They turned in.

“We would like to fly to Ireland,” Brian told the man behind the large desk. “As soon as is possible.”

“I’m afraid that there are no direct flights from here,” the agent said as he turned to his computer and brought up the tables of departing flights. “There is an American flight that connects daily through New York City – and a Delta flight through Atlanta.”

“What about non-American carriers?” Shelly asked, and Brian nodded agreement. Safely out of the States they were in no hurry to return, however briefly. In the end they settled for MexAir to Havana, Cuba, with an Aeroflot Tupelov leaving three hours later for Shannon. The tickets were priced in pesos, but the agent called the bank for the current rate of exchange.

“Let’s hold on to the cash,” Shelly said. “We’re going to need it. Use my credit card instead.”

“They’ll track you down.”

“Like the phone – I’ll be long gone.”

“Cash or credit card, both okay,” the agent said, and pulled over the booking form. “American passports?”

“One. The other is Irish.”

“That will be fine. This will only take a few moments.” The computer link checked the credit card account, booked the seats and printed the tickets. “I hope you enjoy your flight.”

“I hope so too,” Brian said when they were back in the street. The query about their passports was a depressing reminder that they were going to have to pass through customs. The travel books had been quite clear about this and he knew he faced trouble. He hoped he could avoid it by what was called the mordida. He would soon find out.

“I’m cold and wet,” Shelly said. “Do we have time to buy a raincoat – maybe a sweater?”

He looked at his watch. “A good idea. More than enough time before we have to be at the airport. Let’s try that department store.”

He bought two more shirts, underwear, a light jacket as well as the raincoat. Just the basic items that would fit into the carry-on bag. Shelly did far better than that, shopping so well that she had to buy another small suitcase. Back in the train station Brian dug out the stub, retrieved Sven and their bags, then took a cab to the airport.

There were no problems at the check-in counter. They watched Shelly’s bag and the crated MI move slowly away on the belt as the airline clerk tore out sheets from their tickets and stapled them to the boarding cards.

“Might I see your passports, please?”

This first hurdle was easy enough to get over. All she wanted to do was look at the first page to see if the passports were current and had not expired. She smiled and passed them back. Shelly went through security first. He followed, clutching his passport and boarding pass, putting his bag on the belt of the X-ray machine before he stepped through the archway next to it. The machine bleeped and the security guard turned to him with a dark and suspicious look.

He took the coins from his pocket, even undipped and removed his brass belt buckle and put that on the tray as well. Stepped back through the arch, which bleeped again.

Then Brian realized what was happening. The magnetic field detected metal – and electronic circuitry.

“My head,” he said, pointing at his ear. “An accident, an operation.” Not a computer – keep it simple. “I have a metal plate in my skull.”

The guard was most interested in this. He used the magnetic field hand detector, which only bleeped when it was near Brian’s head. No weapon there; he was waved through. Everyone was just doing their job.

Including the customs officer. He was a dark-skinned man with an elegant mustache. When Brian gave him his passport he flipped the pages slowly, went back and repeated the action. Looked up and frowned.

“I do not see the visa entry showing where you entered Mexico.”

“Are you sure? Can I see the passport again?” He pretended to look through it and, with the great fear that he was making a total fool of himself, slipped a hundred-dollar bill between the pages. It is one thing to read about bribes – another to really attempt bribery. He was sure he would be under arrest within moments.

“I didn’t know I needed one. We crossed the border by car. I didn’t know about a visa.”

He pushed the passport back and watched with horror as the officer opened it.

“These things happen,” the officer said. “Mistakes can be made. But you will need two visa stamps. One to enter the country, one to leave. If the lady is with you she will need two stamps as well.”

The man looked bored as he returned the passport unstamped. Brian flipped through its empty pages – empty of money as well as visas – then realized what was happening.

“Of course. Two stamps, not one. I understand.”

They both understood. Three more hundred-dollar bills went the way of the first; there were two thuds and he had the passport back. Shelly’s was treated in the same way. They were through and on their way!

“Did I see what I thought I saw?” Shelly hissed in his ear. “You are a crook, Brian Delaney.”

“I am as surprised as you are. Let’s find our gate and sit down. This kind of thing is not easy on the nerves.”

The plane was only an hour late in leaving; the rest of the trip passed in a blur. They could only manage to doze on the plane and fatigue was beginning to tell. Havana was just a dimly lit transit lounge with hard plastic seats. The Aeroflot flight left two hours late this time. They ate some of the tasteless airline food, drank some Georgian champagne and finally fell asleep.

It was just after dawn in Shannon. The plane dropped down through the cloud-filled sky, came in low over cows grazing in green fields as they approached the runway. Brian pulled on his coat and took down his bag from the overhead rack. They left the plane in silence along with the rest of the weary travelers. Another transatlantic flight had arrived at the same time, so they were a long time shuffling along in the line of unshaven men, bleary-eyed women, whimpering and wailing children. Shelly went through first, had a visa stamped in her passport, turned to wait for him.

“Welcome home, Mr. Byrne,” the wide-awake and sprightly customs man said. “Been away on a holiday?”

Brian had been prepared for this moment and his accent was purest Wicklow without a trace of American. “You might say so – thousands wouldn’t. The food’s a shock and they seem to think that overcharging is a way of life.”

“That’s very interesting.” The man had the rubber stamp in his hand but he was not using it. Instead he raised cold blue eyes to Brian.

“Your current address?”

“Number 20 Kilmagig. In Tara.”

“A nice little village. Main Street with the primary school just across from the church.”

“Not unless they’ve jacked it up and moved it a half mile down the road, it isn’t.”

“True, true, I must have gotten it confused with someplace else. But there is still one little problem. That you are Irish I don’t doubt, Mr. Byrne, and I wouldn’t be one to deny a man access to the land of his birth. But the law is the law.” He signed to a garda, who nodded and strolled their way.

“I don’t understand. You’ve checked my passport—”

“I have indeed, most intriguing as well as puzzling it is. The date of issue is perfectly correct and all the visas appear to be in order. But I find one thing difficult to understand – which is why I am asking you to proceed with this garda to the office. You see this style passport has been replaced by the new Europas. This particular style passport hasn’t been issued for over ten years. Now don’t you find that interesting?”

“You better wait here for me,” Brian said weakly to Shelly as the big man in blue uniform led him away.

The interrogation room was windowless and damp. There was nothing on the drab walls except some water stains; a table and two chairs stood in the center of the worn wooden floor. Brian sat on one of them. His carry-on bag was on top of the box in the corner. A large policeman stood next to the door staring patiently into space.

Brian was depressed, chilled, and probably catching a cold. He rubbed his itching nose, pulled out his handkerchief and sneezed loudly into it.

“God bless,” the garda said, glancing at him then back to the wall again. The door opened and another big man came in. No uniform, but the dark suit and heavy boots were uniform enough. He sat down on the outer side of the table and put Brian’s passport down before him.

“I am Lieutenant Fennelly. Now, is this your passport, Mr. Byrne?”

“Yes, it is.”

“There are certain irregularities about it. Are you aware of that?”

Brian had had more than enough time to think about what he was going to say. Had decided on the truth, everything except the fact that he had been imprisoned by the military. He would keep to a highly simplified version of what had actually happened.

“Yes. The passport was out of date. I had some important business appointments, couldn’t wait to get a new one. So I made a few slight changes myself to bring it up to date.”

“Slight changes! Mr. Byrne, this passport has been so excellently altered that I sincerely doubt that it would have been detected had it not been the old model. What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an electronic engineer.”

“Well you could make a grand living as a forger should you wish to continue your criminal career.”

“I’m no criminal!”

“Aren’t you now? Did you not just admit to forgery?”

“I did not. A passport is only a piece of identification, nothing more. I have just brought my passport up to date – which is the same thing that the passport office would have done had I the time to apply for a new one.”

“That’s a pretty Jesuitical argument for a criminal to use.”

Brian was angry, even though he realized the detective had angered him on purpose. A sneeze saved him; by the time he had dug out his handkerchief and wiped his nose he had the anger under control. Attack was the best defense. He hoped.

“Are you charging me with some kind of crime, Lieutenant Fennelly?”

“I will make my report. I would like some details first.” He opened a large notebook on the table, took out a pen. “Place and date of birth.”

“Is all that needed? I have been living in the United States, but I was born in Tara, County Wicklow. My mother died when I was young. She was not married. I was adopted by my father, Patrick Delaney who took me to live in the States where he was then working. It’s all in the record. You can have names, dates, places if you must. It will all check out.”

The Lieutenant did want the facts, all of them, and slowly and carefully transcribed them in his book. Brian held nothing back, just terminated the record before he began to work at Megalobe, before the theft and the killings that happened.

“Would you open your luggage now?”

Brian had been waiting for this, had planned ahead. He knew that Sven was listening to everything that was being said, hoped that the MI would understand as well.

“The small bag, here, contains personal items. The large box is a sample.”

“A sample of what?”

“A robot. This is a machine I have developed that I plan to show to some private investors.”

“Their names?”

“I cannot reveal that. A confidential business matter.”

Fennelly made another note while Brian unlocked the box and opened the lid. “This is a basic model of an industrial robot. It can answer simple questions and take verbal input. That is how it is controlled.”

Even the garda by the door was interested in this, turning his head to look. The detective gazed down at the unassembled parts with a baffled expression.

“Shall I turn it on?” Brian asked. “It can talk – but not very well.” Sven would love that. He reached down and pressed one of the latches. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes – I can – hear – you.”

A great job of ham acting, scratchy and monotone like a cheap toy. At least it caught the attention of the lawmen.

“What are you?”

“I am – an industrial – robot. I follow – instructions.”

“If that is enough, Lieutenant, I will turn it off.”

“Just a moment, if you please. What is that?” He pointed to the hollow plastic head.

“To make the demonstration more interesting I occasionally mount that on the robot. It draws attention. If you don’t mind I’ll turn if off, the battery you know.” He pressed the latch again and closed the lid.

“What is this machine worth?” Fennelly asked.

Worth? The molecular memory alone had cost millions to build. “I would say about two thousand dollars,” Brian said innocently.

“Do you have an import license?”

“I am not importing it. It is a sample and not for sale.”

“You will have to talk to the customs officer about that.” He closed the book and stood up. “I am making a report on this matter. You will remain within the airport premises if you don’t mind.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“At the present moment, no.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“That decision is up to you.”

Shelly was sitting over a cold cup of tea, jumped to her feet when he came up.

“What happened? I was so worried—”

“Don’t be. It is all going to work out all right. Have another cup of tea while I make a phone call.”

The classified directory had a half page of solicitors in Limerick. The cashier sold him a phone card – this must be the only country in the world that still uses them. With his third call Brian talked to a Fergus Duffy, who would be happy to drive out to the airport at once and take on his case. But it was an Irish at-once, so it was afternoon, and a number of cups of tea and some very dry cheese sandwiches later, before his new solicitor managed to make any alteration in his status. Fergus Duffy was a cheerful young man with red tufts of hair protruding from his ears and nose, which he tugged on from time to time when excited.

“A pleasure to meet you both,” he said, sitting down and taking a file from his briefcase. “I must say that this is an unusual and interesting affair and no one seems to be able to work out that no crime has been committed, you have merely altered your own expired passport, which certainly can’t be considered a crime. In the end the powers that be have come to a decision to pass the problem on to a higher authority. You are free to go but you must give your address so you can be contacted. If needs be.”

“What about my baggage?”