She read the notes on the people Hicks had sent her. Justin had started with the bottom, the gammas. Number one gamma, passed, number two, passed.
She read far beyond that. He had left the betas for last, and was two individuals from finishing, which meant he might be done tomorrow.
“Sera?” From the door. Joyesse again. “Sera, would you like anything?”
“Nothing,” she said, and Joyesse went away. Ari delved deeper, deeper into her own understanding of sets, and read Justin’s notes, and absorbed his comments, which made sense. He saw, clear as clear, where the sets were vulnerable to a command, and noted push‑button items that just had to be patched, was all.
Easy to do. She knew the way to do it. People reacted–to expectation of good stimulus, like praise; to fear, linked to imagination–imaginative people feared a wider range of things. And some people had an “off” switch that routed an idea to the analytic faculties, and some–mus, which they didn’t birth many of, were like that–you started them on a track and they’d follow it without a second thought. Mus wanted everything to be the same all the time–they were happier when it was like that–unless what they were assigned linked to a desire for an adrenaline rush, which was a whole other problem…
Betas, however, tended to overcheck and hesitate, and reconsider, and given an adrenaline rush, they dithered a second and then acted. These were guards. They had lightning‑quick fuses where it came to threat against their Contract holders. But she also had to defuse their “pause” switch where it came to reluctance to report something as yet unresolved.
Report any anomaly to Florian or Catlin immediately, she’d tell them: they’ll take the responsibility.
And being azi, the new people would do that, once they took that order deep: they’d wantthat contact with Florian and Catlin–they’d be uneasy and unresolved until they got it, and they’d run to get it.
And if there was some buried contrary instruction in the stack, say, one to report to Hicks or Yanni, something that just somehow hadn’t gotten into the records, that command to go to Florian, emphasized with a hard drug punch, would send them into profound emotional conflict–enough to show up, fast, in a very, very upset azi. If you ever feel conflicted, she’d tell them, additionally, report to Florian immediately.
If you can’t find a bug in a set, elder Ari’s tape had told her, just do something to make the conflict show itself– makethe subject react, never mind finesse. Present a quandary, contrary to the direction you suspect the bug to react, identify it–and excise it.
So just give me the files, Justin. Quit fretting. I need to get to work, and I need these people. Whatever’s been done, if it was done, it’s not going to be in any record. That’s what we have to worry about.
Justin thought she was still studying the basics–maybe thought she was out of her depth with these security sets; or he was, which was possible, he hadn’t really worked with the type before.
She had. From childhood. She knew Florian and Catlin. She looked at the possibilities in a security azi tape…
And she suddenly had a picture of how to solve any problem in a security azi set. It was right in the same place in the set that they attached the compulsion. Just conflict it, and get angst in the subject, and then resolve the angst, leaving the subject feeling oh, so much better. In azi, deep set work was so much easier. Deep set stuff didn’t need to be unhooked from all sorts of randomly acquired born‑man thinking, which ran like a bad cabling job; and it didn’t even have to be unhooked from the later instructions: if there were conflicts, they’d show. The azi in question, above delta level, was very likely to report his own conflicts. Azi were so, so elegantly clean. A thought led to very planned places, economical, and ideally un‑conflicted, everything structured and architectured and efficient.
And she wasn’t. God, she wasn’t. Her thoughts skipped all over the place. They tunneled, they ran riot through completely extraneous topics, they hopped from one point to another–pity the programmer that tried to solve her.
But a beta with a buried directive?
Damn if she couldn’t bring thatto the surface, by exactly such brute‑force mechanics as the first Ari said.
And she’d make the tape for the head of her new Security, beta azi he might be, but she could make the instructional tape herself, right to the deep sets, and be sure of him. She’d send Catlin down to barracks, to sit there and personally see he got it.
And when he woke up, he’d know definitely who was in charge and who could cure any angst he felt. Shecould help him. She would be his first recourse, in any case of doubt, because shewas the highest authority in Reseune, and Reseune was the highest authority on the planet, and an azi who had access to her had access to having his questions answered definitively and absolutely. An azi who obeyed herdirectives was always in the right–as any azi wanted with all his being to be correct. Any delivery of information to anyone other than her chain of command was utterly forbidden; any request from anyone outside her chain of command had to be cleared, and any lingering doubt was utterly overcome by the power she had within Reseune. She owned his Contract, and any azi under that authority could be assured, very assured, that he was psychologically safe following her orders.
She took notes. She took abundant notes on the officer’s set, which she had scanned before she sent it to Justin, and for good measure she looked up deepsets for four of the unrelated gamma genotypes with a related program list, for whom the same tape would be quite, quite sufficient. For three others, again program sets related to each other, she could do a minor modification in the directive, but it sufficed. For the newly arrived Theo and Jory–a little different approach, but much the same. Physically, they were easy to get at. Intervening with Hicks’ incoming security team was logistically a little harder, but Catlin could manage. Catlin would go armed, and if the subjects had a psychotic episode–meaning her rewiring had hit a major or a lethal block–Catlin would deal with it, get the individual sedated, and notify her, specifically, that someone had tried something.
Sorry, Justin, sorry you’ve had to sweat this, and I know you hate real‑time work worse than poison. You don’t need to send it to me: I see your notes, and they help me. They show me what I need to do, and it’s in the deep sets, not the things they’ve hung on it.
No wonder it’s driving you crazy. It’s like a birthday cake, icing all over, decorations here, decorations there, all sorts of programs and routines added on, none of it really showing you what’s underneath. We just need to slice right into it, and you’re far too kind for that.
I can’t afford to be. Maybe later, but not now, not in this.
BOOK THREE Section 1 Chapter vi
JUNE 7, 2424
0821H
Early to the office, early to work, mindful of the extra requests, and there was a note from Ari, time‑stamped yesterday at 1701: Justin: I’m really anxious to have your comments on the sets I gave you. Please hurry.
Hurry. Hell. He’d already hurried.
Then another one, time stamped this morning at 0131: It’s not that urgent. Relax.
Haste makes waste,he messaged back. But I’m hurrying. I should have something for you this evening. And when are you sleeping, anyway?
“Little sera wants miracles,” he said to Grant. “Lunch is going to be in, today.”
“No problem,” Grant said. “Shoot me what you have.”
He shot. Grant took it, and there was silence for an hour, until Grant ran out of coffee.
Grant filled his cup, fuel for the morning.