Armen Gharabegian - Protocol 7

She was fine. One hundred percent perfect.

And he still didn’t trust her one bit.

“Stalemate in five moves,” she said in an oddly neutral voice.

Hayden ran a hand through his straight white hair, fine as silk from crown to shoulder. He nodded grimly.

“Stalemate,” he agreed, and shut down the game.

He looked up at the robot he had constructed himself, with his own hands. He thought of the millions of lines of code he had compiled, the AI core he had grown and sculpted himself, and he wondered for the millionth time what-if anything-had gone wrong.

He just didn’t know. It was as simple and awful as that: he just didn’t know.

Simon's Flat

Simon had all of five minutes to himself after Andrew left, promising more of his gadgets by the end of the day. The conversation with the young security expert had been productive-except for the “I want to come with” part. But he had to admit that Andrew had a point. If there was some sudden, unexpected hole in his cloak of invisibility somewhere along the way…what would he do? He thought about Ryan again. He needed him on the team, Andrew was right.

Fae made her throat-clearing sound. “Samantha is calling again,” she said.

Simon covered his eyes for a moment and sighed. This was not what he-

“Just a minute. You said ‘again?’”

The AI actually hesitated. “Ah…”

“Has she called before?”

“Well, of course. She is a close friend.”

“Has she called recently, and you simply didn’t bother to mention it to me?” He could feel the heat rising under his collar, and he tried to stop it. But damn it, he told himself. Sometimes Fae could be so irritating.

“What did you tell her?” he demanded.

“Nothing. Of course!”

“Of course. Let me guess. She asked, ‘Is Simon all right?’ and you said something like, ‘Oh, I really couldn’t say.’”

“Well…”

“And she said, ‘Well, if there was something going on, and Simon had told you not to tell, you would be in a very awkward position,’ and you agreed with her.”

“She said ‘difficult,’ actually. And Simon, she’s still waiting.”

He sighed even more deeply. “I’m sure she is. Put her through-but no visual.”

“All right…”

There was a change in the quality of the air-the sense that another voice was present, even though no one had spoken. It was a familiar feeling for Simon; he felt it every time he spoke with Sammy. She had a presence, an energy that he just couldn’t ignore.

“All right then,” she said without preface. “What’s this all about?”

He couldn’t help himself. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he deadpanned. Aside from Hayden and Andrew, Simon hadn’t been able to face anyone since receiving the news from Jonathan about Oliver, much less Samantha. He knew she would ask too many questions.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Simon! First you spend almost a week dodging me-”

“I most certainly have not! That idiot simply-”

“Oh, stop. Dodging me, I said. And Fae is not an idiot.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“You’re welcome, Fae.”

Great, Simon groaned to himself. They’ve become friends.

“-and then I get a call from Max, way out in Argentina or somewhere.”

“The Falkland Islands, as you are well aware.”

“Fine. And then I get a call from Ryan, of all people, mister genius turned corporate, and feeding off daddy’s money, asking if I’m coming with you tonight? That’s rather bizarre, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh god-”

“-both of them asking me the same thing: what’s going on? Because they assume I know.”

She had worked herself into a high dudgeon, and for good reason, Simon realized. Samantha had been a close friend in times of need, and he had thought long and hard about bringing her into the circle-obviously, her name had even gone on his dog-eared list, just to be crossed off again. She would expect to be part of it. But this was dangerous, damn it, and though Samantha’s skill as a field surgeon and her expertise in bio-engineering could be hugely valuable, he couldn’t bear the thought of putting her in danger.

“All right, Sammy,” he said aloud. “It’s time that we sat down and had a talk.”

“Past time, I’d say.”

He also knew he couldn’t say a word on the phone. Even though Andrew’s new device had made the house secure from eavesdroppers, Sam didn’t have a secure phone-at least not yet. “Are you up for a drink?”

“It’s a bit early for a bender, Simon.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “It’s past noon, Sam. I think you’ll survive.”

He could feel her smile on the other end. “I suppose I could do the pub in an hour,” she replied. “But let’s make it the Stanton.”

“All right then, I’ll see you in an hour.”

“An hour,” she replied, and the call faded.

They usually met at the Griffin, a nice little pub about midway between their homes. But this time Samantha had purposely called for the Stanton, right around the corner from her flat-a longer trip for Simon. Simon was actually grateful; it would give him time to put together a convincing lie.

He wanted to see her-he always wanted to see her-but he didn’t want to tell her the whole story. He didn’t dare. She’d be pushing her way onto the team halfway through hearing it.

You’ll risk the lives of your best friend, your college roommate, and your father’s oldest ally…but not Samantha. Why is that? he asked himself.

Samantha was a remarkable woman. An adventurer in her own right, she had been field doctor for half a dozen major expeditions, including two trips up Everest. She had spent years as a leader for Doctors Without Borders and had recently made a mark in bio-engineering with a series of documents on the enhancement of human/machine interfaces. She was tough and smart and perceptive and beautiful, and…

And that’s it, he told himself. No more.

He shook off his reservations and promised himself he’d tell her he was simply involved in some troublesome research with Hayden and still grieving over his father’s death and leave it at that. Then he’d leave on his…project…without another word to her. He would just have to try and patch things up if-or when-he returned.

The cab dropped him in front of the Stanton. He paid the driver in cash, which surprised him; almost no one used paper money anymore. Still, he accepted it and the healthy tip that went with it without comment-cash, after all, was money.

The pub itself was very stylish but not much of Simon’s usual crowd. When it came to drinking establishments, he preferred a less pretentious place, but this one was filled to the gunwales with a mix of Londoners looking to be seen and tourists doing the seeing. He knew why Sammy enjoyed it: many of her DWB and wilderness expedition people favored this hangout, so she was able to network easily here. Simon had joined her on a few occasions, but he had always felt out of place. It was just too upscale, too contrived.

He squared his shoulders and slipped past the entrance. Even in mid-afternoon, it was crowded as usual with a clot of smokers outside, and the interior was thick with shadows after the watery London sunshine. He had to squint to see if Sam-

“Hey, stranger.” It was a richly amused female voice just behind his ear.

Simon turned to see her standing just three feet away, more beautiful than ever.

Samantha was dressed in a long black overcoat, stylish and striking. Given her reputation, people expected her to be rough around the edges, some sort of outdoorsy tomboy type, but in fact she was the favored daughter of an upscale British family who had been born with an impeccable sense of style. Her makeup was light but perfect; her nails recently done and subtly colored. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a small ponytail that made her high cheekbones and sculpted lips even more pronounced.