As soon as she was gone they went back to work. Brian took the purple Irish passport from the safe and slipped it out of its plastic cover. A photo of himself as a nine-year-old stared back, wide-eyed and frightened. Brian Byrne, born 1999.
“Two things to be done,” he said. “The photograph and the expiration date will have to be changed. The signature is all right. One thing the nuns taught me, with the lesson made memorable by the crack of a ruler across the knuckles, was good handwriting.”
He opened it on the table and weighted the edges so it wouldn’t close. Sven bent over it and looked at it closely with one eye, then straightened up.
“The manipulators have better optical resolution,” it said, pointing its right arm at the passport and looking at it with what appeared to be its fingertips. “There will be no problem making the alterations that you suggest.”
Sven had taken a number of close-up photographs of Brian, then had made an enlarged, life-sized print.
“Red hair,” Brian said, pointing. “It has to be black.”
“Not a problem. These manipulators are effective at the forty-micron level. I have obtained satisfactory dye and now will color each hair in the photograph black.” It did — and quite speedily as well.
The MI’s skills at forgery were equally impressive. The micromanipulators removed the original photograph by chipping away the glue that held it in place, one microscopic particle at a time. The retouched photograph was photographed again and a passport-sized print made. It was no better — or worse — than any other passport photograph. Before it was glued into place the embossed letters of the seal were carefully duplicated. Changing the dates of issue and expiration was equally as simple. Brian leafed through the altered passport — then put it back on the table.
“These other dates will have to be changed too. The one that the customs officer stamped in when I left Ireland, and the other one put there when I arrived in the States.”
The ping of the annunciator at the front entrance sounded. He gaped at the screen to see Shelly standing there.
“Hi, Brian, I just got back. Open up, please, there are some things we have to talk about.”
But she couldn’t come in. Impossible! How could he explain the altered Sven, take the time to hide the photographs, the money spread across the table, the passport? He couldn’t do it.
“Welcome back — it’s nice to see you.” Yes, that was it. He would have to see her — just not in here. “I was just washing up, give me a moment. It’s been a long day. Can we talk over a drink in the club?”
“Yes, of course.”
He left Sven laboring away on his new criminal career and joined her outside, blinking in the sudden glare. “What’s up?” he asked.
She frowned, pushed the hair out of her eyes as a dust devil swirled around them.
“It’s complex. Let’s get that drink first.”
“I hope it’s not bad news about your father. You said he was doing well last time we talked.”
“He’s fine, much better. Complaining about the hospital food, which is a very good sign. In fact I could make the time to get down here to see you because he is so stable now. They’ll do a bypass soon. I’ll go home for that, but I wanted to talk to you first.”
They had the club to themselves as they settled down over bowl-sized frozen margaritas. Nostalgia music played quietly in the background, ancient classics by the antique old-timers U2. She slurped and sighed, touched her lips with the napkin, then put her hand on his.
“Brian, I don’t think that it’s fair, locking you up in this place. As soon as I heard about it I put in a formal report, lodged a complaint, all through the proper channels. Not that it will do much good. They didn’t even bother to answer me. You know that I have been transferred back to Boulder?”
“No one told me that.” Her warm hand was still on his, the physical contact felt good; he did not pull away.
“They wouldn’t, would they? That’s what bothers me, the high-handed way they simply transferred me out of here. No questions, no consultations. Just — bang, and that was it. But there is still so much work to do with AI. To me it is much more interesting, more exciting than writing dumb code for military programs. What it all adds up to is that I’m thinking of a career change, that’s what. I’m going to resign my commission and become a civilian again.”
“Not because of me?” He pulled his fingers free of hers, clasped his hands together in his lap.
“Partly, or mostly. I don’t want to be part of a military system that can treat someone so badly. And it is the work as well. I want to work on MI with you — if you will let me.”
Shelly’s voice was low, serious. Her dark eyes were worried, looking into his, searching for help. Brian turned away, seized up his margarita and took a tooth-hurting gulp. “Shelly, listen. I can’t take the responsibility for your decisions. I’m having enough of a job taking care of myself—”
“I’m not asking you to, Brian. You misunderstood. This is my own decision, my own doing, all the way. I know that things are a lot better with you now. But I also know what you have gone through. It shows at times. So please understand that I am resigning from the Air Corps no matter what you say. I’ve served two enlistments more than the agreed time, which means I have more than paid back anything I owe them for my education. And there’s a personal motive as well. I have been so wrapped up in my work that I haven’t noticed the years slipping by. Not that I’m an old hag yet!”
She laughed and stretched, ran her fingers through her hair, the fullness of her figure clear even in the darkened room. “Shelly, you’re gorgeous. You always will be. But I am too mixed up now, too much on my mind to go into this.”
“Hush,” she said, touching her finger to his lips. “I’m not asking you to do anything, say anything. I came here to tell you that I am through with the Air Force. I’ll drop you a note as soon as I am free of their clutches. With my background I can get work anywhere, double the salary I have been getting. Don’t worry about me. But if there is anything I can do to help with AI development — I want to do it. Be part of it. Okay?”
“Okay. You do understand?”
“More than you think, Brian…” His telephone bleeped. “Excuse me a second. Yes?”
“Sven here. Sven-2 has made some significant and highly interesting discoveries. Would it be possible for you to return here?”
“Yes, of course.” He slipped the phone back onto his belt, stood. “I have to get back to the lab—”
She jumped to her feet, angry and hurt. “You’ve hired someone else to work with you while I was away? That’s what all this was about.”
“Shelly — your paranoia is showing. That was Sven, remember, our AI. He’s running some programs and there are results he wants to ask about.”
She laughed. “You’re right. Incipient paranoia. Too many years in uniform. I’ll just have to get out.”
She took his hands in hers, stood up on tiptoe and kissed him warmly on the cheek, let go and turned toward the door. “You will call?”
“A promise — and I mean it. When I start developing the AI applications I want you there. Good luck to your father.”
He picked up his military guardians as he walked quickly back to the lab. He liked Shelly, liked to work with her — but did not want to think about that now. Later when and if everything cooled down. And what the blazes had Sven been talking about? No details on the phone of course because of security. But it had seemed insistent — and this was the very first time it had called like that.
Sven was waiting at the door when he came in, led the way across the lab.
“Sven-2 has been spending a long time on an analysis of the Bug-Off AI. The results are most interesting.”