Allan stared at the tin-can robots, with their garish logos and silly names. Anticipatory task management, based on self-learning of a varied-interval schedule. In biochips. It could have tremendous potential applications in manufacturing, for maintenance machinery, in speeding up forecast software… His brain spun.
“Don’t you think,” Skaka said softly, “that this was well worth the trip back here?”
Allan kept his tone cool, although it took effort. “Possibly. But of course I have a number of reservations and questions. For instance, have you—” His phone rang, two beeps, a priority call.
“Dad? Charlie. Did you know our neighbors in Aspen have been arrested?”
“Charlie, I’m pretty busy right now, I’m with a—”
“They’ve been arrested for terrorism. There are cops all over the place.”
Terrorism. Cops. Bombs, guns. What neighbors? Allan couldn’t remember meeting anyone in Aspen.
“Where’s Mrs. Canning? Let me talk to her. Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right,” Charlie said scornfully. “Mrs. Canning took Suzette to the ice rink.”
“Then here’s what I want you to do. Just a minute…” Belatedly, Charlie remembered Skaka, who was trying to look as if she hadn’t overheard. “Excuse me, Skaka, it’s my son…”
“Of course,” Skaka said, turning to gaze away, into the robot enclosure. The backs of her shoulders, just a little too rigid, said Why haven’t you got your personal life well enough arranged so it doesn’t interfere with what may well be the most important investment opportunity of the decade?
“Charlie, first call your mother and tell her what you just told me. Also Mrs. Canning. Then call a car and driver, and pack your things and Suzette’s and Mrs. Canning’s. Have the driver take you to the Denver apartment. I’ll have Jon or Patti okay the car bill and cancel the Aspen house.”
“But, Dad—”
“Charlie, just do it. I don’t want you in any danger!”
“Oh, okay.” Charlie sounded disgusted. Twelve-year-old bravado.
Quickly, Allan called Jon. Skaka’s shoulders were still stiff. Allan resented having lost the advantage. As in-control as he could manage, he said to Skaka, “My son. There’s been terrorist activity in what should have been a safe neighborhood. I had to get him out.”
Her eyes widened. “Of course. What kind of terrorist activity?”
It occurred to Allan that he hadn’t asked. He didn’t know the charges, the situation, the neighbors, themselves. They were only local; he spent so much time global.
“The under-control kind,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on the evasion. “And we can be out of there in half an hour. Charlie’s a good packer.”
Skaka smiled. “So is my daughter. We, too, have no fixed residence. I don’t know how scientists managed before disposable leases.”
“Neither do I.” Allan warmed to her again; she was making his lapse into civilian more forgivable. “What plan do you use?”
“Live America. Their Code Nine Plan: three-bedroom leases, no more than ten minutes from an airport, warm blue decor, level three luxury. They even include our choice of pet at each house. It suits my husband, daughter, and nanny just fine.”
“We’re a Code Eleven. Four bedrooms. We have two kids.”
Allan and Skaka smiled at each other, then looked away. That was the problem with talking about personal life: it interfered with the strategy. Reconnaissance scouts had to stay detached, keep moving, remain tense and alert. The information frontier was an unpredictable place.
Skaka said briskly, “My staff will be watching very closely whatever the bots incorporate next into their learning, if anything. Should another breakthrough occur, they’ll notify me and I’ll notify you.”
“Good,” Allan said. “Meantime, let’s talk about the breakthrough we already have. I’ve got some questions.”
“Shoot,” Skaka said, and her shoulders visibly loosened.
Allan spent the night on a sleeper plane to Singapore. Mrs. Canning settled the kids in the Denver apartment, although Suzette complained the ice-rink there wasn’t as good as at Aspen. She wanted to lease in Chicago, which “Coach Palmer said has a enth-mega rink!” Allan said he’d think about it. Cathy called to postpone their romantic rendezvous until Sunday; her case was dragging on. Patti identified two more companies for Allan to check out, both on the far edge, both potential coups. One was in Sydney, the other in Brasilia. The Charlie icon on Allan’s PID sat motionless.
The Singapore company had developed what it called a “graciously serious approaching” to that perennial coming attraction, the smart road that would direct cars, freeing the driver to do other things besides drive. Allan had expected that his visit would result in hiring one of the independent consultants Haller Ventures used to evaluate automotive technology, but it didn’t even need that. Singapore wasn’t doing anything Allan hadn’t seen before. Not worth a skirmish. On to Sydney.
From the plane he called Charlie. “Son? Not much action in your PID icon.” Totally vibrationless, for five straight hours, and not a time when Charlie could be expected to be asleep.
“No,” Charlie said neutrally.
Allan tried to keep his tone light. “So what ya doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Charlie—”
“Did you know that when Robert Fulton invented the steamship, at least three other guys were making the same thing at the same time?”
“Charlie—”
“Gotta go, Dad. Love you.”
“Three minutes till landing,” said his wristwatch. “MGPS coordinates for your car are displayed.”
“Charlie!” Patti said. “Action in Tunis. Looks like a genuine outpost. Company is called Sahara Sun, and they manufacture solar panels. Stats follow. Also rerouting on tomorrow’s schedule.”
“Two minutes till landing.”
Allan closed his eyes. But when the plane stopped, he was the first one to spring up, grab his carry-on, deplane from the front row. In Jakarta.
No—Sydney. Jakarta was tomorrow.
Or the next day?
Sydney was fiber-optics with increased carrying capacity due to smaller-grain alloys.
Jakarta was medical technology, an improved electrocardiograph that could predict fibrillation by incorporating elements of chaos theory into the computer analysis of data. Eighty-one-point-three success rate. So far.
Bombay was no good. Supposedly an important advance in holographic videoconferencing, but actually old, old, old stuff. Jon had slipped up.
Berne was briefing and inspection tour of an ongoing investment, currently in beta-testing phase. A Haller Ventures accountant and quality assurance expert met Allan there.
Milan was fascinating. The benchmark for parallel-systems processing was one trillion operations per second. The Italian techies had achieved it with half the hardware previously required. There was much noisy gesturing and an earthy Tuscany wine.
Tunis was robots in the desert. The entrepreneurs drove Allan onto the rim of the Sahara, jouncing in Rovers over miles of rocky sand to a sun-drenched site where solar panels were being assembled by simple robots. The bots also assembled more of themselves. They separated ores from the desert sand for raw material, using solar power to create the high temperatures to do it: a self-perpetuating mechanical kingdom slowly spreading over the empty desert floor. The excess solar power was converted into electricity to sell, once cables were in place. A solid, conservative strategy. Allan ordered a tech-consultant evaluation immediately, including a climate projection for thirty years. Desert wars had been lost before to climate.