Kyle Kirkland - Connections

My comm buzzed as I arrived at Yates’s house. Sandra’s voice came from the speaker. “El, you there?”

I powered down the turbo, detached the car from the rail, and parked it illegally on top of a nearby house.

“Go ahead,” I told her. “But be quick. And don’t linger at wherever you’re calling from.”

“Jake and I are at the Crogan Institute. It’s all right, we’ve been here a while and nothing’s happened.”

Another rebellion. “I thought I told you two to hide.”

“We did. In a way, I mean. This institute’s a real labyrinth. I’m not even sure we can find our way out.”

I sighed.

“El? You still there?”

“We’re going to have a little talk about this later. Now tell me what you learned.”

“Not much, actually. People weren’t very communicative. According to rumor, Professor Kirst was onto something big, but no one was sure exactly what it was. Plenty of speculation, though I think most of the researchers we talked to were just tooting their own horn.”

“You’re probably right. But did any common thread emerge?”

“A lot of people mentioned artificial intelligence.”

“AI? That doesn’t make any sense. Arden Kirst was a geneticist.”

“I know. But one of the projects he was working on when he died involved the genetics of intelligence. And he’d been seen studying computer science and AI engineering texts.”

Something began clicking in my mind. “How about the digital signature of the AI who called me? Is it Kirst’s?”

“It was.”

“Was? You mean—”

“One of Kirst’s colleagues told me it had gotten zapped late this morning.”

There went my “client.” Funny thing. I briefly felt as if I’d lost someone—almost as if Kirst had died twice. But it’d only been a relatively unsophisticated computer program. I recovered quickly.

Sandra went on. “But listen, El. That might not be his only AI system. Several people told me that they thought Professor Kirst had designed something a lot more advanced. And he’d gotten someone to build it.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know.”

“Is Jake there with you?”

A deep voice came over the line. “Yeah, boss.”

“Have either of you heard anything from Barbara?”

“Not a peep.”

I struggled with how to phrase the next question. Before I could get it out, Sandra asked one of her own.

“Is she in trouble, El?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know who she really is.”

“Come again?”

“Tell you later. For now let me ask both of you this. Have you spent much time with Barbara since she’s been working for me?”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Jake. “You know how she is.”

Sandra said, “She isn’t very nice, and we’ve never seen each other outside of work, as far as I can recall. I think she’s an intense young woman. Smart and aloof. The only time I ever saw her smile was when Jake—”

“I remember. Okay, that’s what I thought you’d say.” I raised my voice. “Now hear this: Both of you go somewhere safe. I suggest Brohm’s. Yoobie raided it once today, so they probably won’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest. Stay there until you receive further instructions. If you don’t hear anything more from me by this evening, spend the night with some friends or relatives—someone you trust. Oh, and one more thing. If either of you ignore an order again, you’re fired.”

I closed the link.

Kirst and AI? It didn’t seem like a good fit. He’d never worked on it when I was close to him, although he could have gotten interested in it later. His research interests mostly involved the regulation of genes and gene expression—which genes got switched on and how much of the associated protein was produced, and when and where in the body this occurred.

The car floated down to street level, where I killed the fans and rolled up to Nadia’s place. It was the third floor of a tetraplex. The floors were staggered so that each resident enjoyed a sunny terrace. I knew she was home because I’d pinged her comm a few moments ago. I checked in at the security gate and got permission to enter. Nadia answered the door at once and ushered me in.

She still hadn’t cleaned up from the wake. I apologized for my behavior last night.

“I would have been offended if you hadn’t shown some emotion, Ellam. Some loss of control. The other guests… I’m not entirely sure they cared.”

Nadia took my hand and we navigated our way around the clutter and sat down on the terrace. “Hair of the dog that bit you?” she asked.

“Nothing for me.”

We stared at each other for a moment. Nadia looked about twenty-five years old though she clocked in at thirty-three—more than two decades younger than Arden. She wore her black hair long, though this morning she’d tied it up in the back. Her face, which hinted at a tropical ancestry, had paled today, looking unusually bright in the sunshine.

A brief smile showed on her face. “You’re here to discuss something sensitive?”

“Yeah. First let me ask about Arden. I heard he was into AI?”

A bot rolled out with a tray and two glasses of ice water. Nadia set them down on coasters. “I don’t know much about what Arden did at the institute. I know he was excited about something, but I haven’t the slightest idea what. We didn’t talk about our work. His or mine.”

Examples of Nadia’s work lay scattered on the terrace. Her terra-cotta sculptures had won some awards in the art world, of which I had little knowledge.

She kept staring at me. “You already know genetics and biology baffle me, and Arden never understood abstract art. What is it you really want to ask?”

I took a sip of water, clanked the ice a little. “Where is Jennifer Yates?”

“Ah,” she said. “So that’s it.”

I waited for her to volunteer more information but she kept silent. A painful expression clouded her face.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but it’s very important.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Do you know where she is?”

Her voice grew hard. “Yes, I do, Ellam. She’s returned to the earth.”

My mouth fell open.

“She died in the influenza epidemic five years ago,” she explained.

That would have been two years before she met Arden. It would account for why I never heard any mention of Jennifer Yates.

“Can I see a picture?” I asked.

Another brief smile flitted across her round face. “Always so suspicious,” she muttered. “Wait here.”

She got up and returned a moment later with an imager. It showed a series of three pictures of a teenager who looked a lot like Nadia, except her eyes were lighter and her cheekbones were more prominent.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Why did you want to know about Jennifer?”

“Have you ever heard of Barbara J. Marion?”

She shook her head.

“She stole your daughter’s old ID number.”

“But how?”

“I’m guessing that Yoobie neglected to void it. That happened occasionally during the epidemic, when a lot of deaths occurred at the same time.”

“But what would this person gain by using an old ID number?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” I got up to leave. Then another thought struck me. I told her about the call I’d received from Arden’s now presumably switched-off AI.

“Remarkable,” she said.

I nodded. “Almost as remarkable as the connection between Barbara and Jennifer. Do you mind if I… I mean, is it all right if I…”

Nadia rescued me. “Arden spoke highly of you, Ellam. I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded if you rummaged through his personal effects.”

“Won’t take but a minute.” And it didn’t. I hooked up my comm to his organizer, and a few seconds later the data had successfully transferred.