Pulling The Dragon's Tail (11 page)

“Proximity. We had to get close enough for the
micro bursts to affect the trigger mechanism.”

“How close?” asked Campbell.

“About two to three meters. It’s not perfected
yet. But tonight we had a pretty good test run.” Fondly stroking
the disabling device, it was obvious that Jentry had not left her
thrill-seeking ways like her parents had wished. But they couldn’t
choose everything for her, only her genetics. She relished the
chase and the adrenalin rush of law enforcement.

Then she added ominously, “If Keagan had chosen
to stand by the window, we’d probably all be goners.”

Campbell Devereaux sat behind a large mahogany
desk at her private counseling office in lower Manhattan, her hands
sitting uneasily in her lap. She rocked back and forth slightly in
the luxurious deep-brown leather chair which felt anything but
comfortable. She brushed back some strands of hair on her forehead,
barely noting she was sweating. She shifted positions again and
stared at the man across her desk. A thick rug encompassed the
center of the office. On the other side of the door lie a small
waiting room. Muffled voices from adjacent offices indicated
therapy sessions in progress. Soft shadows on the white walls cast
her wildlife paintings in a dusky glow.

Nate Kristopher was seated on the other side of
the desk on a couch. On a small table next to him sat a CLUES
recorder. He gazed out the forty-first story window of the
International Trade Center building, the world’s tallest
superstructure. The warm spring vibrancy of New York City pulsated
below but Nate was a nervous wreck. He worried how his security
parameters had been compromised if someone like Keagan and Gideon’s
Army could find him. Somehow, he felt that Wakely’s death was
connected to the attempt on his life. Glancing at his computer
readout at the far left of his vision field, he noted the time was
8:45 p.m.
It seems like I’ve been here for a long time
, he
thought. He stood and approached the window.

Exactly one day had passed since he was released
from the Ellis Clinic, and exactly twenty-two minutes had elapsed
since Nate had set foot in Campbell Devereaux’s office. He felt her
non-empathetic eyes punishing him for being late to their
session.

Dugan was positioned near the door, standing at
attention as still as only a robotic dog can. He had given Nate
assurances on their way to this appointment they were quite safe.
However, as they set out for Campbell’s office, Nate had received
another solicitation from Chang Chaung-tze, the secretary for the
Organization of Concerned Scientists. Something about Chuang-tze
made his skin crawl. It didn’t help that this shadowy entity of
scientists and politicians had a controversial past. Nate postponed
contact with Chuang-tze. Then he programmed a circuitous route
through lower Manhattan and set Dugan’s personal protective device
to the maximum setting to immobilize an assailant.

But the most danger he felt was from the woman
across from him. It had been a standoff, like two predators
stalking each other, looking for vulnerabilities before an attack.
He took the offensive with his story of being in an anti-aging
experiment. She countered with incredulous looks and body armor
protected by tightly crossed arms, and a steely glare at both him
and his CHOFA pendant.

She tried to signal a truce. “I’ve never been so
up close with a CCR. Could you tell me a bit about him? Could I pet
him?”

Surprised, Nate, stammered, “Why, um, of course.
Whoops, gotta disable his cyber-armor first.” Smiling sheepishly,
he said, “Our get acquainted session would really be a resounding
success if Dugan attacked you.” He smiled weakly, unsure about his
fumbling attempt at humor. “Yes, certainly would put a crimp there,
wouldn’t it? Dugan, hal laidel pum.” He noticed a slight hesitation
in Dugan.
Hmm, maybe I need to run a diagnostic. I think he’s
getting gummed up with some useless programming. I have no idea
what he meant by stating we have a protector following us and
therefore I shouldn’t worry. What’s that all about?

Dugan obeyed the instructions just like any
other faithful canine. “Pum hal laidil. Level Three security
programming on standby.”

“Okay, Dr. Devereaux” Nate lovingly scratched
Dugan’s ears and the CCR wagged his tail. “He’s as approachable as
the real dog he’s been modeled from: a mixed breed, some collie,
some lab. I wanted the qualities of the actual canine breed to be
reflected in his programming; sensitive, good-natured. He’s also a
good watchdog, elegant and graceful without too much aggression.
Did I mention intelligence? There’s no doggy treats and no pooper
scoopers either. But he’s pretty demanding when he wants a new
software patch.”

She knelt in front of the computer companion
robot, cupped her hands under his long snout and gently stroked his
head. “He’s even warm to the touch,” she remarked, “and his fur is
incredibly authentic. If I didn’t know Dugan was robotic, he’d fool
me.”

“If that’s a compliment, doctor, I’ll take it.”
Dugan’s voice was soft and gentle, just like the tawny brown
nano-generated fur that encased him. “Skip tells me that I am a far
cry from the first feeble attempts a century ago to put computer
robotics into shapes other than a box on a desk.”

Campbell stopped in mid-stroke, eyes open wide.
“Such syntax and grammar! He’s nothing like the impersonal CLUES.
Who’s Skip?”

“That’s me,” volunteered Nate. “It seems I liked
to skip stones as a kid, and the nickname’s sorta stuck all these
years.”

Dugan spoke up. “You told me that your nickname
derived from skipping school.”

Nate chuckled and grinned sheepishly. “And so I
did. I guess his ethical protocols are in working order.”

“Do you catch Skip in lies very often?” inquired
Campbell.

Dugan remained silent.

“You’ll have to incorporate his name into any
set of instructions.”

“Um, Dugan, does Skip lie very often?”

“He rarely ever tells a lie.”

“You heard it from the CCR’s mouth,” said
Nate.

“I have been installed with the latest ethical
programming,” continued the CCR, “however I have been reading much
about some programming innovations that—”

Nate interrupted, “He’s recently gotten new
software so he can develop more thoroughness in dialogue. Sometimes
he goes on and on.” Nate rolled his eyes in a teasing manner. “He’s
chatty. How’s that for man’s best friend?”

“You’re quite something,” said Campbell
soothingly. “I’ve never had robotic pets, just real cats and dogs
growing up. The robotic ones always seemed more geared for computer
nerds. Of course, I thought they’d be cold and metallic. Now this
may sound like a silly question, but where does your voice come
from?”

“Use his name,” reminded Nate.

“Dugan, how do you talk?”

“Well, Doctor—”

“Dugan, please call me Campbell.”

“Campbell, I can move my mouth for speech but
mostly it’s utilized for the standard dog functions such as barking
and panting. Vocal sensors are located at seven points distributed
across my physical shell for maximum projection. Skip states I am a
laptop lassie.”

Campbell beamed. “Well, you’re quite
extraordinary!” She stroked his neck and back. Dugan responded with
tail wagging and a happy bark. “He’s adorable.”

“Yep. One of a kind,” Nate bragged, knowing that
she still didn’t have a clue of Dugan’s true capabilities.

“Maybe Dugan ought to be the one to brag,”
suggested Campbell.

“Well, he still can’t program himself. Given
enough time he probably will, and I’ll be the one following
him”

Campbell grimaced.
That’s not a pleasant
thought. A world full of CLUES is not a world I’m sure I want to
inhabit.

“Well, doctor. Do you think it’s possible that
we can get along as well as this robotic canine and his new
admirer? It seems like you and I are pretty stuck.”

She sat down in the chair next to Nate. The only
emotional protection offered to her was a small wooden table with a
magazine on it and two coasters for drinks that was between them.
Slowly she nodded, anxiety rising, but no words emerged.

Finally Nate could bear it no longer. He
searched desperately for a way to break the uncomfortable silence.
He blurted out, “Boy, you do like birds, don’t you?”

Her eyes brightened. “Yes. I especially love to
paint them. I’ve taken a couple dozen trips around the world bird
watching. This photo here—” she took it from the stand on her desk
and handed it to him— “is from a trip to the Antarctic. It’s
amazing how global warming is changing the geographical niches for
birds. Amazing, and sad.”

“You’re quite the bird maven.” He looked the
picture over carefully and handed it back.

Chuckling, she said, “That makes me sound
wrinkled and gray. Maybe I’ll answer to that title when I’m
eighty-five, but not quite yet.”

“Well, I hope you reach eighty-five without the
wrinkles and gray hair.”

Noting the irony of conversing with an
apparently ninety-one year-old human who had no wrinkles, she
noted, “Yeah, that’s a nice wish.” She sighed and said, “So what do
you suggest to break our stalemate?”

“You’re asking me for advice? Well…” and he
silently promised himself that he had nothing to lose by total
honesty. “I think we’ve had entirely too much time to think about
this meeting. Each of us holds the key to so much knowledge that
the other wants.”

She melted back into her chair, breathed a sigh
of relief and said, “I think you’re right. So how do we revise our
expectations?”

He leaned forward in earnest, clasped his hands
with arms resting on his legs. “Quite frankly, I’m scared. I’m
scared of you. You still intimidate me, you know, with the
hospitalization and all.”

With a hint of defensiveness in her voice, she
replied. “Well—we can only go forward. How…or what will lessen the
intimidation?”

“Stop treating me as a patient! I mean I was
your patient, but it feels like you’ve been treating our
conversation as a normal therapy appointment.” He was starting to
feel queasy as he became acutely aware of Dr. Devereux’s fixed
emotionless stare above and beyond him.
Is my directness the
right strategy? Or is this professional not able to handle her own
feelings that I am forcing her to confront?

Then her eyes moistened and she looked once
again at him. Fighting back tears, she said haltingly, “You don’t
know how hard this is for me. As I told you in the hospital, you
present some unique difficulties for me. Perhaps”, she said
grimacing, “I came on way too strong. It’s hard to get out of that
role. Is that a good start?”

“Yeah, thanks. Look! Here’s a quick summary of
what your grandfather did and who I am. In 1998 sixteen of us were
chosen by Mitchell Hilliard to become part of a clandestine
experiment to extend biological longevity. We were a very cohesive
bunch, as you might well guess, until Hilliard’s disappearance and
death about thirty years ago.”

“October 17, 2031” intoned a wistful Campbell,
“was the day he disappeared, and everything changed for me.”

“Right.” Nate felt a flood of sympathy for
Campbell; the Alpha Group weren’t the only ones deeply affected by
Mitchell Hilliard’s death. “Since then, we’ve been on our own.
Despite over ten billion people on this planet, we’ve managed to
remain completely clandestine. It’s pretty remarkable. Every so
often I see threads on the Net about our supposed existence. It’s a
pretty intriguing story; I imagine there might be some reporters
out there still trying to get what would be a fairly big
scoop.”

“To say the least,” agreed Campbell. “So why’ve
none of you spoken out and revealed yourselves?”

“Hilliard drummed it into us so deeply it’s
probably one of his implants. He said that our survival depended on
this. Exposing the experiment to the prying eyes of the world would
destabilize Earth’s already fragile political, ethnic, and
environmental systems. And now—we’re on our own.”

“So,” he continued , “that is the burden I
carry. Just sending you an email about how I’ve discovered clues
about your late grandfather, and that I was a contemporary of his
too, probably wouldn’t cut it. Oh yeah, I also happen to be part of
a super-secret experiment, and by the way I’m nearly a hundred
years old. Sounds a bit psychotic. But what other choice did I have
but to try to be matter-of-fact and direct with you in person. You
saw where it got me.”

“You apologize? It’s me that needs to apologize
for throwing you in the Ellis Clinic. Whew, that was quite an
adventure we had there.” Her eyes twinkled with delight.

“I appreciate your levity. Yeah, adventure would
be one way to describe it.”
She’ll never know how hard it was to
be put behind walls like that again.
With some boldness, he
asked, “Can we start with something right here—right now?”

“Sure,” she said in a trusting manner, glancing
at the clock. “Time is apparently of the essence.”

“Exactly! I’m ninety-one and time still amazes
me. I’ve had so much of it, but right now it’s passing much too
quickly.”

Nate’s casual references to these time frames
fascinated Campbell, but she also felt queasy. Never before did she
have a patient, friend, anyone talk in such a way. Nor had there
been anyone apparently like Nate Kristopher, or his cohorts, to
walk the face of the Earth before.
Grandpa, what have you been
tinkering with?

Nate continued. “The CLUES machine on the table
makes me very nervous. I know it‘s off, and I know it probably
sounds weird that I mistrust technology when I own somebody as
sophisticated as Dugan—but…”

“I’m sorry. I’m not very good at dispensing with
the CLUES stuff, especially in my office, but you’re right.” She
unplugged the CLUES recording device.