“Since those fools keep producing nuclear power without having the slightest idea of what to do with its toxic by-products,” theUber -Director muttered to himself. His small motorized chair wheeled silently over the smooth crystalline floors. Eventually, perhaps, this cavern would be sold, and theUber -Director would have to relocate his base of operations. But for right now, this was a most acceptable, and unusually safe, headquarters.
Heavy lines of cable, some almost a foot in diameter, snaked down from the surface, bringing electricity, water, fresh air. In addition, mobile, self-contained air scrubbers hummed quietly as they scooted from room to room, trapping carbon dioxide and releasing oxygen. When they touched a barrier, they simply reversed and scooted off in another direction. TheUber -Director himself didn’t use that much oxygen- only 23 percent of his being required oxygen to function. But stale air was unpleasant.
TheUber -Director’s conference room was off the main tunnel. It adjoined his actual “office” and held an antique table whose top had been hewn from a single slab of rosewood. A bank of plasma screens, five wide and four high, covered most of one wall.
“Sir?”
A human assistant stood nearby, head lowered in respect.
“Have the arrangements been made?” asked theUber -Director.
“Yes, sir. Everything is prepared. The auction preview can begin at your signal.”
“Excellent. Have all the parties accepted the invitation to attend?”
The assistant straightened proudly. “Yes, sir. All of them.”
“Then let’s begin.”
21
Subterranean
Electronic relays responded to theUber -Director’s eye signals. The plasma screens popped on, each framing the leader of a different country or corporation. The men and women on the screens, aware that they were now live on camera, shifted in their seats and adjusted the minuscule microphones in front of them. If any of them were shocked by theUber -Director’s unconventional, even grotesque, appearance, they showed no sign. They had been advised beforehand.
“Greetings,” said theUber -Director in his odd, machinelike voice.
He interrupted the chorus of responses from his onscreen clients.
“To clarify what we’re doing here today, let me go over some salient points.” He turned his chair slightly and looked at another large screen to his right. It came on, showing a picture of six scruffy, scowling children. “These are the items up for auction. They come as a set. Though the set could be split up, it would not be wise, and would no doubt hamper the success of your mission.”
“Could you detail exactly what we’re looking at?” a dictator who had recently made CNN’s “Ten Worst Abusers of Human Rights” list broke in forcefully. “There have been rumors.”
“You are looking at six juvenile avian-human experiments in recombinant-DNA science. They are the most viable of any that have been produced. They can actually fly like birds.” TheUber -Director blinked twice, and the screen behind him showed a short video of six flying children. He was gratified by the gasps and murmurs coming from the viewers, but his “face” showed no expression. “They fly well,” he went on. “They have an uncanny sense of direction and superior regenerative and healing powers. They’re smart, wily, and relatively sturdy.”
“You sound as if you admire them.” A woman who had been nicknamed “the Iron Maiden of Silicon Valley” leaned forward.
“Admire?” said theUber -Director. “No. Not at all. To me they are genetic accidents, mistakes.” No one dared mention his own form. “Nor am I so foolish as to underestimate them, as my predecessors have.”
There were a few seconds of silence, as the potential bidders contemplated theUber -Director and the possibilities of his offered product. Then he blinked again, and the screen behind him went blank.
“You have received your packets of information,” he said. “I will answer no more questions. I will alert you as to when and where the bidding will take place. Please be aware that theopening bid is five hundred million dollars.”
More murmurs broke out from the wall of screens.
TheUber -Director permitted himself a slight smile. “After all, it is difficult to put a price on the ability to rule the world.”
22
Terranean
“The demonstration is ready, sir.” The assistant stood with head typically bowed, barely managing to avoid saying “My Lord” or even “Your Grace.” That was the trouble with old-fashioned humans. Too ruled by emotion, too easily cowed. There would be no place for them in the New Age.
With a blink, theUber -Director gave permission to begin.
Ten yards above him, a slight shadow signaled an existing cave. His informants had told him the bird kids often rested in caves. He hoped this demonstration would be more successful than the last.
“Why hasn’t it beg-,” he started to ask, only to have a movement catch his eye and draw it upward. He looked directly at the rock wall but saw nothing. Then- there! The camouflage was excellent. Only a small patch of skin matrix was visible as the soldier moved sideways across the rock, like a crab. By focusing intently and increasing his internal zoom by 400 percent, theUber -Director could now see a swarm of soldiers moving toward the opening in the rock face.
One of them had shot a fine, almost invisible net over the cave opening. TheUber -Director smiled. Even at this magnification, he had to concentrate hard to see the occasional patches of matrix. His assistant frowned and squinted at the rock wall. An ordinary human would have a great deal of trouble spotting these new soldiers.
With his mind, theUber -Director turned on a channel that allowed him to listen in on the coded transmissions between the soldier units. This generation, Generation J, had been endowed with some intelligence and only rudimentary emotion, but they seemed to be using and channeling them more effectively than their predecessors.
They were much more controllable than either Erasers or their flying-machine replacements, and smart enough to make quick decisions and improvise.
Earlier versions had been smarter- too smart. Smart enough to question orders, to want to make their own decisions. Others had had only a machine’s ability to follow orders. Their ability to think on their feet, to make snap decisions, to adapt to changing circumstances, had been practically nonexistent.
Even more disastrous had been Generations D through G. Either they were so blood hungry that they couldn’t be controlled once they scented their prey, or their empathy was so heightened that they couldn’t bring themselves to actually kill anything.
The soldiers paused, patched into one impulse, one global command. Then they quickly detached the netting and sprang into the cave entrance. Moving as one, they left no space to escape.
Several of the units reappeared at the cave’s entrance. They tossed down mannequins filled with hamburger, buzzing with flies. They had not eaten them. They had followed their orders and captured their prey. Now they raised their arms in victory.
TheUber -Director blinked at his assistant, who was gazing at the mannequins with dismay and revulsion.
“Yes, sir.” The assistant opened a small black suitcase. It contained a highly efficient electric generator.
TheUber -Director sent his solders the message, and instantly they swarmed down the rock wall like spiders, moving surely and easily over a surface with few ridges, no handholds.
The assistant was afraid of them but knew not to show it. The soldiers circled him, their faces expressionless.
“Here,” the assistant muttered nervously. One soldier stepped forward, his left shoulder turned to the assistant. Hands trembling slightly, the assistant hooked the generator to the soldier’s shoulder and turned it on. A quick burst of electricity made the soldier jolt and stiffen, then relax. His face smoothed. The next soldier stepped up.