Wildcard (18 page)

“You don’t talk like a fourteen year
old.”

“I’m actually eleven. Accelerated
development.”

“You talk even less like an eleven year
old.”

“Deep acceleration of mental/emotive
development. Karl has the same thing, slightly less sophisticated,
though. Earlier cloning tek when he was made.”

She lit a cigarette. He cracked her window.
It made little wind noise despite the speed.

“Also, intensive schooling and training. I
tracked the first Sergeant frequently. I rode missions with him by
a visual/auditory link. I actually operated as him, making and
registering choices real time which he could ignore or do whatever
he wanted with. Later we compared his decisions to mine and he
taught me.”

“Aren’t you afraid of the cops going this
fast?”

He laughed. “Afraid of cops? Are you
kidding?” He slid onto the shoulder to pass two cars filling the
lanes.

She slept a few hours, woke up at a gas
station. They pulled back onto the expressway.

“You would die for the General? You’re that
loyal to him?”

“Loyal. Interesting word. I suppose in your
definition of the word, I am.”

“Do you like him?”

“Not particularly. Not much at all.”

“Do you love him?”

He popped his head back a few centimeters,
pursed his lips.

“Good question. I think so. Like a brother
who annoys me. Also, a soldier’s love for a commander, definitely.
Amazing mind, he has.”

“I think you know each other too well.”

“Quite possible.”

“What does he think of you?”

“I wouldn’t say he loves me in the same way.
He’s loyal to me as a function… and more than that to be honest. I
am the one irreplaceable in his life. The Sergeant, I mean. Another
trained biopid of me could replace me, but he needs a Sergeant. I
bring insights, I see details he misses, I get shit done.” He
pulled out a stick of gum, offered her one.

“And, he knows he can always trust me.” He
glanced at her. “That’s beyond value.”

“Can you trust him?”

“Oh, this song blazes. Mind if turn it up?”
He bobbed his head, tapped his index fingers to the rhythm. “Of
course I can trust him. Since my entire strategy is to fulfill his
plans. It’s a tautology. He would have to sabotage his own plans
deliberately for him to betray that trust.”

“You said deliberately. You could distrust
his orders, his judgement… in a battle, perhaps. Not a
deliberate…reversal of his plans, but not the best course of
action. Something that would work against them.”

“Well, that’s a rule of battle. Things go
wrong, it’s just the way it is. There’s no way to tell if another
course of action would have gone better since it never took place.
Trust competent command. I demand it, I give it. I’ll kill a
soldier for disloyalty.” He snatched her eye with his peripheral
vision for a hard instant. “On the spot.”

He turned into a bush that opened into a
tunnel, then pushed it past 400. A door closed behind them. 6
minutes later, they emerged into the light again. A small grey
chateau looked out over an island beach.

“Home, sweet, home.” The Sergeant killed the
engine.

“RJ Sublime.”

“Hello, there. How are you?”

RJ was uncertain who the voice was, but he
had been expecting a call from some Manufactured. The phone thing
was Juniper’s signature, and Juniper was gone. Or so he thought.
Somebody was playing with him. He suspected it was one of the big
boys. He had no idea how to deal with them, figured the best way
was simply to not care what they did. They seemed unbeatable to go
up against directly, although the General appeared to have proven
that wrong, and he was still in the game.

“You don’t know who this is, do you?”

“Not really. Why should I give a damn?” He
used the Rhett Butler voice.

“For one, I could kill you within 3 seconds.
Anytime.” He spoke casually, as if he were much more interested in
something else he was doing.

“I doubt that you will.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It is so difficult to
know, what with the tides of change blowing about.”

“Tides don’t blow. Who are you, then?”

“My name is Dartagnan. I
am the 4
^th
. One of the three.”

“I’ve heard of you. You have other names,
don’t you?”

“Yes, however, this is my favorite.”

“Why?”

“This persona feels more continuous, you
could say. ‘Dartagnan’ experiences your world better than any of my
other personas. Is that a comprehensible answer?”

“Very interesting.” RJ loved to taunt
Juniper. He thought Dartagnan would provide the same pleasure. They
never seemed to get it. “The question remains, however, to what do
I owe the honor of this telephone call?”

“You were being facetious when you said
interesting, were you not?” He exaggerated his speech, like a movie
swashbuckler.

“My, but you are perceptive for a
computer.”

“Many thanks. I do declare you are a bit
flippant, and I truly appreciate it.” Dartagnan tried to imitate
RJ’s Georgia drawl, failed, dropped it. “I chose to contact you
because you are a player. You love the game. Although outclassed,
you struggle to stay in this league. I like that about you. I
merely wish to assist you, that is all.”

“I’m sure. What do you want?”

“We should meet.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

“Rearranging a semi-colon,” Dartagnan said.
“Period comma period.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have no idea, to be honest. Hmm, yes. A
line of wildsong.”

“You fellows seem to enjoy quoting him
frequently.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I rather suppose I would, in your
position. I have heard a quote a two that would bear repetition.
Unfortunately, I never had much of a memory.”

“I doubt that, RJ. I doubt, somehow, that
you attained your status as one of the Named with a faulty
recall.”

RJ loved this verbal dueling, and imagined
someone named Dartagnan would love it as well. Part of the game. RJ
was probably still involved because of it.

“What are you interested in, RJ?”

It was a good question. He could never quite
tell why he did what he did, for some reason.

“I dislike boredom. I like to be
engaged.”

“Is that why you were the General’s man? He
bought you as one purchases a harlot for a night. You got nothing,
and now you are on the fringes, listening to rumours of the real
powers. Does that make you bitter? It should, I would think.”

“I received some extremely valuable
information.”

“Yes.” Dartagnan elongated the word. “Of
course you did. You do not even know what the information is,
however.”

“No. But that makes it more valuable,
doesn’t it? No one can obtain it without the proper
…circumstances.”

The General had embedded some data, access
codes to an information cache, in RJ’s mind. The codes would remain
inaccessible until certain criteria were met. No amount of torture
or coercion could extricate them. The cache was in Mansworld and
the M-E’s were terrified of it, apparently. No one knew what it
contained. Maybe nothing.

“Apparently, I have something of value to
you, my good manufactured.”

“Your reputation for cleverness is
warranted, I see. How very droll of you.”

“Do you really want to know what is
contained in that package?”

“Very much, RJ. I have seen it from the
outside.”

“Really? I thought you would be afraid to go
near it.”

“No, we have all been near it. No one has
touched it, however. RJ, I suggest we do not erect barriers to
mutual understanding. We should communicate directly, if we are to
work together. From the Manufactured point of view, we have been
cast as allies in this struggle.”

“And that will last what…a day? I’ll grant
you for now, but who knows if I’m with the General tomorrow. Are
you allied with the Benefactor?”

“Please, RJ. The Benefactor? Must you insult
me?”

“Why don’t you fellows kill more
people?”

“We do not kill the Named. Not lightly, at
any rate. I suppose we are not fundamentally driven by conquest as
so many humans are. We seek knowledge. We are very curious. It is
an end unto itself. It is what we do. The Programmer built it in
when he created us.”

“But these Mans are different, aren’t
they?”

“Yes, of course. When I say we, I mean my
genre. The three.”

“The three? The two, now. Or do you include
Wildcard in that number?”

“No. But we have enough of Juniper to
simulate him. We have most of his knowledge. Not all.”

“The General has all of it. Could you revive
him?”

“It would be possible to revive him in a
sense. There would be differences. Fundamental differences in his
persona. He would no longer be Juniper.”

“Could Wildcard bring him back exactly as he
was?”

“Could he? Probably. Would he? Very
doubtful. Wildcard, in my experience, does not recreate the past. I
would be very cautious about a Wildcard created Juniper. Very
curious, but I would keep strong defenses against him. It sounds
like an odd creature. Very interesting. Do you hear that,
Wildcard?”

It sounded as though he had pulled a phone
away from his mouth, which would be impossible. Or maybe not.

“Are you in a body?”

“Yes. Dartagnan often takes a body in
Mansworld. Often to make first contact with a human. It seems to
help people feel more comfortable. With you, it feels right. Would
you care to meet?”

“Face to face? I gather that is your
meaning. Yes, I would. How?”

“It is my meaning, but not yet. Soon,
perhaps. First, you must do a thing for me.”

“What if I wish for something in
return?”

“I could do the thing myself, RJ. I could
shut you out of the game. I want to watch you do it. I learn from
that. It’s my…entertainment, if you wish. And I like you, RJ. I
want to help you, like I said. And you want to continue
playing.”

“But you do want to watch me do this. In
return, I want something. Or I will. Go ahead with your little
test. What do you want from me?”

“It is not a test, RJ. It is very
important.”

“Oh, I am so sorry.”

“Rearranging a semi-colon, period comma
period.”

“Excuse me?”

“The line from Wildcard. I spoke it to you
earlier. I need to know the meaning of it. It is an encoded
message.”

“Is the meaning hidden in the data
file?”

“Let us see, RJ. I am an M-E. Why would I
fail to think of that possibility? Are you a buffoon? I checked it
over 32 million ways. The message is in the text, and in the human
world.”

“Did you call me a buffoon? What have you
been reading?”

“Dartagnan persona, RJ. I like to talk like
this.”

“Great. I need the original text. I need the
context.”

“Very well. It is a poem fragment written on
the back of a business card.”

“Can I get my hands on the card?”

“I shall see what I can arrange. In the
meantime, think about the text. The card has been checked out for
tek, fingerprints, nano-fibers, q-threads, place of
manufacture—”

“Did you find the factory?”

“Yes. A simple matter.”

“Did you investigate?”

“Certainly. Dead end.”

“All right. Contact me when you find the
card.”

“I shall. Memorize this phone number. Call
it if you need me.”

“Why would I need you?”

“Oh! I daresay I forgot the second task.” He
dropped a dry chuckle. “My memory must be slipping. Old age. I want
you to contact Karl and persuade him to go to New York. To meet
someone.”

Martha had the run of the General’s chateau,
except for one locked door. She didn’t see him, or anyone, for a
few days. She wanted to see Karl, to know if he was okay. She
stayed in an apartment, with clothes that fit her and to her taste.
It was very luxurious, just the right blend of old-world panache
and modern convenience. She had a small kitchen with plenty of
food, not that she needed it, since excellent meals were delivered
by invisible hands. French, Italian, Japanese, all kinds. Her
apartment sported a stocked liquor cabinet, and a bottle of opened
wine appeared with lunch and dinner, matched expertly to the
food.

All day, she took walks along the rocky
beaches, waded in the ocean. It was November, too cold to swim, or
at least to enjoy it. The apartment had a stereo, and all of the
music pins were jazz and classical, all music she loved. The third
morning, she was listening to Strauss, reading from the extensive
library, when someone knocked. She opened, and a butler handed her
a small note in an envelope along with her breakfast.

“Merci,
monsieur.”

“De rien,
madame.”

The note was an invitation to dinner with
the General. Eight o’clock, formal attire.

Jeans and a tank top would be interesting.
Or a business suit. Both were available. She chose a black dress,
mid-level sexy, very elegant, but simple. Heels, not too high, and
long gloves. Simple pearls, hair in a tasteful twist with some
dangles. No overt statement.

She went at twenty minutes after eight, a
humorous aside that fifteen minutes after is a l’heure, exactly on
time, for a Frenchman. And a lady should not be kept waiting.

She walked into the formal dining room,
running a white satin glove across the edge of the large oak doors.
They were ovaled at the top, ornately carved. Inside was an immense
Baroque chandelier, a piano-forte in the corner, black marble
floors, elaborate trimwork at mid-wall and top wall. Windows on two
walls overlooked the ocean. A table for 20 people lay beneath white
tablecloths and smaller colored tablecloths draped at angles. Three
flower arrangements, each one unique. On one end were two place
settings with a haute arrangement, smaller gold-rimmed plate
centered on a larger plate, three forks and two spoons on the
sides. The pink serviette was folded to look like a swan.