The Dyson File, page 16
“Let me take care of that,” Cephalie said. “I’ll send word for them to ‘keep an eye out,’ especially on the Block’s public transit systems. If he buys a ticket, we should hear about it in real time.”
“Good thinking, Cephalie. While you’re at it, add this place to Nina’s queue. Maybe she’ll turn up more than we did.”
“What about the troopers outside?” Susan asked.
“They can stay right where they are,” Isaac replied bluntly. He knocked on the yacht’s nose. “If Fike comes for this, we need to know.”
* * *
They regrouped in the rental after giving Kassabian and Carcass the bad news.
“Dispatch has organized a discreet SSP search for Fike,” Cephalie said, appearing on the seat between Isaac and Susan. “They’ve got a squad of AC officers reviewing the public transit records in real time. They’ll call us if anything comes up.”
“Good work,” Isaac said.
She twirled her cane and took a bow. “Also, speaking of public records, something interesting just came back from the Ministry of Transportation.”
“What do you have for us?”
“Velasco’s, Fike’s, and Ruckman’s recent movements within the Third Engine Block. There’s not much in the record for Fike; he doesn’t seem to use public transit very often. But Velasco and Ruckman are a different matter, and there’s a correlation between the two. A Divided-By-Zero right here on the Breathless Ridge.”
“Divided-By-Zero?” Susan asked.
“It’s a Lunarian hotel chain,” Isaac explained. “They specialize in catering to synthoids and ACs. What’s the correlation?”
“Both men were staying at the same hotel at the same time. For one day, about a month ago.”
“Really? Velasco came down to the Breathless Ridge?”
“That’s right. Also, I’ve got Ruckman’s current location. He’s spending time at a professional motivator service called Expectation and Elation, also located along the Ridge. He transmitted over shortly after he was fired.”
“Two locations, then,” Susan said. “Which should we tackle first?”
“Ruckman,” Isaac said. “Let’s talk to him before we lose track of another person.”
* * *
Expectation and Elation was housed in a shallow, cream-colored dome constructed close to the lower left corner of the intake’s great square opening. Isaac and Susan stepped out of their vehicle and followed a tiled path toward the dome’s inset main entrance, the LENS bobbing behind them. Abstract advertisements for the company’s services hovered on either side of the path, and a vibrant electric blue “E&E” glowed above the entrance.
Susan slowed and glanced over the adverts.
“This company is a motivator service?”
“That’s right,” Isaac said, stopping beside her.
“Which means they provide motivation to . . . do what, exactly?”
“Mostly it’s to keep people working. There’s no need to work for survival in a post-scarcity society, and not everyone buys into the Two Pillars. At least not enough to keep going on their own.”
“The Two Pillars.” Susan nodded. “I remember you mentioning them before. Work and love?”
“That’s right, though that’s a bit of an oversimplified shorthand. It’s more about having something in your life to struggle against and to strive for. Work adds dignity to life.”
“Without it, we’re just existing for the sake of existing,” Susan added.
“Exactly. The other half speaks to the necessity for companionship more so than conventional love. We’re social creatures, after all. We don’t respond well to isolation. Even if technology can satisfy all of a person’s physical needs, there’s still their emotional and social health to consider.”
“Then, professional motivators help motivate people to keep working. But that can’t be all there is to it, right? What if someone really doesn’t want to work?”
“Joblessness is classified as an unhealthy state of being and can be considered illegal under certain conditions.”
“It’s illegal to not have a job over here?”
“Under certain conditions,” Isaac stressed. “Laws vary from state to state, and sometimes from city to city. Generally speaking, job avoidance is only considered a crime if it becomes chronic.”
“And if it does?”
“Normally, that’s the point where Citizen Services brings in a professional motivator to handle the case. Motivators can be physical citizens but are most often ACs licensed by SysGov, granting them the authority to enter the private infostructure of nonparticipating citizens and provide motivation for them to become engaged in society. Motivators are carefully vetted before being granted a license, and they receive a commission from SysGov based on the amount of Esteem the person or persons earn for a period after they resume societal participation. Typically, this lasts for one year. In this way, successful motivators with a large patient base can accumulate vast amounts of Esteem, making the limited number of licenses highly sought after.”
Susan chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Nothing. It just strikes me as odd that people can make careers out of coaxing other people to work. How are these cases identified?”
“It can come from a wide variety of factors: from Citizen Services internal analytics to SysPol referrals to simple reports from concerned citizens. If a citizen is judged by Citizen Services to be reaching a dangerous level of nonparticipation, the first step is to let the citizen know the appointment of a motivator is being considered. A grace period is provided, granting the citizen an opportunity to self-correct. If this grace period expires, a licensed motivator can then be assigned to the case.
“Professional motivations generally take the form of audio and visual consoling in a manner similar to having an IC, administered by the motivator while ‘squatting’ in the patient’s private infostructure, with the goal of encouraging the patient to resume societal participation. This also serves a secondary purpose of providing closer monitoring for any criminal or self-harming intentions the patient may have. Additional countermeasures can be applied in extreme cases, such as Esteem fines, Esteem locking, restricted microfacturing rights, printing pattern restrictions, and so on.”
“Can the system be abused? You know, to get someone in trouble who doesn’t deserve it?”
“Any government system that can restrict a person’s rights is vulnerable to abuse. That said, what constitutes a job in SysGov is defined along very broad terms, and requirements for avoiding or resolving these sorts of interventions are generally quite low.”
“Okay. I think I get it.” She glanced back to the E&E dome. “But then why would Ruckman be here so quickly after being fired?”
“The most likely answer is he wants to be here. Come on. Let’s go find out.”
The doors split open, admitting them inside without the need for an airlock. They walked over to the half-moon reception desk with a sparkling AC floating behind it. Stars twinkled within her transparent body, and a pair of swirling spiral galaxies formed her eyes.
“Greetings, and welcome to Expectation and Elation!” she beamed at them. “Let us guide you toward your best tomorrow!” Her expression softened and became less formal. “My name is Lucent, one of the owners of E&E, along with my two copy-sisters. I’m also a licensed motivator with over twenty-three years’ experience in the field. How may I be of service?”
“We’re trying to reach a patient of yours.” Isaac transmitted his badge. “His name’s Antoni Ruckman.”
“And may I ask what this is about?”
“We wish to speak with him about a case we’re on. Nothing more. We tried contacting him earlier, but he didn’t answer.”
“I see.” Lucent shrugged her arms, which prompted a star in one of her shoulders to go supernova. “That’s not unusual here. We encourage our guests to limit outside distractions while in our care. Let me check.” She opened an interface window and scrolled down. “We do have an Antoni Ruckman in our care. Am I correct in assuming you don’t have a warrant of any kind?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
“Then I’ll need his permission to share any more information with you.”
“We understand.”
“One moment, please.”
Lucent vanished.
Isaac tapped his fingers on the desk while they waited. She reappeared less than a minute later.
“Good news.” She knitted her luminous fingers together. “Mister Ruckman has agreed to speak with you, though he requests that you join him within his therapy abstraction. He has also waived his privacy rights, which leaves me free to answer any of your questions.”
“What can you tell us about the treatment he’s receiving?”
“Mister Ruckman is currently experiencing a personalized Parade of Positive Reinforcement. As one of our premium offerings, each Parade is customized for the individual. We always strive to highlight the positive aspects of our guest’s past employment. Often, a person can become fixated on the negatives, which is a frame of mind the Parade is meant to counter. In Mister Ruckman’s case, we’re highlighting his many remarkable contributions as an engineer.”
“Can we speak with him now?”
“Of course. As I said, he’s willing to meet you inside his therapy abstraction. Would you like to use one of our lounges?”
“Yes, that’ll be fine. Where to?”
“Right this way, please.”
Lucent led them to a side room with a row of four abstraction recliners, each with lids that could be closed for added privacy.
“Pick whichever one you like.” She swept her arm across the recliners. “They’ll log you into Mister Ruckman’s abstraction. The connection is already loaded.”
The door closed, and Lucent vanished, presumably to return to her desk. Isaac and Susan climbed into side-by-side recliners. A large, animated version of the E&E logo appeared in front of him, leaving a trail of fading pixels.
He closed his eyes and triggered the connect icon with his mind.
* * *
The two detectives flashed into existence in the middle of a grassy plain underneath a clear sky. Wooden double doors stood up near them, closed and unsupported by a wall or any other structure. The doors were intricately carved to resemble various megastructures—rings, cylinders, spheres, stations, and even Janus—alongside representations of the solar system’s many planets and moons. The sign over the door read: RUCKMAN’S GREATEST HITS!
Isaac palmed the doors and they pulled back, opening into a space separate from the grassy plain. He stepped through, and his boots crunched on reddish soil, leaving shallow footprints under a pale blue sky. A second double door stood ahead of them, closed and unsupported like the first.
“Mars?” Susan looked around.
“Looks the part.”
A plume of pink dust caught his eyes, and he shielded his gaze from the sun’s glare. A giant machine with a long, curving shell dragged its belly across the Martian soil with the help of six stout legs, each raising and lowering with such slow deliberation that it seemed to be moving in slow motion. Sunlight reflected off the iridescent shell in gleaming hues of green, blue, and black.
“I didn’t know Ruckman had a hand in the Beetle,” Isaac said.
“The what?”
“The Green Beetle. It’s a Martian terraforming platform. It walks across unsettled parts of the planet, treating the soil and seeding it. As the name implies, it leaves a trail of vegetation wherever it passes. It’s one of the more well-known terraformers on Mars. Been there since . . . ” He paused in thought. “Probably since the beginning of Martian terraforming. Back then it left behind designer plants that began changing the world’s atmosphere.”
Isaac led the way through the second set of doors, which brought them to the edge of an aerial city above Venus. They continued through the series of rooms, which took them to representations of Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune—either in orbit around the gas giants or within their atmospheres—as well as a few moons, always with a megastructure of some kind nearby: rings, cylinders, spheres, stations, space elevators, terraformers, and floating habitats.
“The guy certainly has the résumé for this line of work,” Susan said.
The path of doors eventually led them to a rounded platform of frosted glass that dropped off into the starry void on all sides. A platinum statue of Ruckman rose from the platform’s center about three times normal height, its gaze lifted with a quietly confident smile on its lips. The plaque at its feet read: WHO’S THERE TO SOLVE THE UNSOLVABLE? RUCKMAN IS!
The real Ruckman sat on the edge of the statue’s plinth, his skin dark and his hair short and curly with long sideburns that almost reached his chin. He watched them approach with harsh eyes that served as thin veils over the sea of resentment boiling within. One of Lucent’s copy-sisters floated nearby. She smiled at the detectives, nodded to Ruckman, then vanished from the simulation.
“Enjoy the show?” Ruckman asked, not bothering to stand.
“I don’t believe we’re the intended audience,” Isaac replied. “I suppose a better question would be how you feel about it?”
“I’m not sold on the premise yet,” Ruckman grunted. “E&E’s parade treatment sounds great at first, but it gets a little samey after a while. Though it has been an interesting jaunt down memory lane. I barely remember half these projects. Not sure it’s worth all the Esteem I’m shelling out, but whatever. It is making me wonder if a new career might provide a healthy change of pace.”
He turned to the side, where a list floated that read:
BECOME AN INTEGRATED COMPANION
GO ON SABBATICAL
OPEN A MEAL SPIGOT FRANCHISE
JOIN SYSPOL, HEPHAESTUS DIVISION
KEEP DOING THE SAME SHIT
“Mister Ruckman,” Isaac began, “we’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right with you.”
“Yeah, Luminous and Lucent said as much. You with SysPol?”
“That’s right. Detective Cho, SysPol Themis.”
He glanced over to Susan. “And you are?”
“Agent Cantrell,” Susan introduced with a slight nod. “I’m Detective Cho’s deputy.”
“An agent? Of what?”
“The Admin’s Department of Temporal Investigation.”
“The Admin? Seriously?” Ruckman shook his head. “Just what I fucking need.”
Isaac noticed the hint of a frown on Susan’s lips.
“Mister Ruckman, let me assure you Agent Cantrell is—”
“Look, I’m sure you’ll tell me she’s an innocent little rainbow.”
“If you’ll let me finish—”
“As long as she doesn’t try to delete me or cart me off to one of their hellhole prisons, I don’t really care. So how about we move on and get this over with?”
“Very well.” Isaac conjured a pair of virtual chairs across from Ruckman, then sat down and opened his notes. “First we’d like to discuss how you left SourceCode.”
“You mean how I was turned into a scapegoat by a company I’ve spent almost twenty years of my life working for? Like I’d be stupid enough to design a replication engine that powerful without stuffing it to the gills with protections. There’s no way my design would go rogue like that. Not with that many safeguards in place.”
“Then why did SourceCode fire you?”
“You mean the trumped-up accusation they trotted out? Why don’t you ask them?”
“We did. They accused you of mishandling your security access, and they suspect you may have even sabotaged the trial.”
“Yeah, about that!” Ruckman raged.
“What about it?”
“They can spout all the nonsense they want! In fact, the more the better, because they’re going to be hearing from my lawyers next!”
“You intend to sue SourceCode?”
“You better believe it! Wrongful termination, defamation, and maybe we’ll throw in a little emotional distress as the cherry on top. The lawyers and I are still reviewing my legal options.”
“I see. Moving on then, have you been in contact with the Mercury Historical Preservation Society at all?”
“No, thankfully. I think Atlas took the brunt of their ire. One of the advantages of living the abstract life, I suppose. It’s hard for protestors to pin down and harass someone who moves around by connectome laser.”
“What about Desmond Fike?”
“Who?”
“The chair of the Society chapter here in the Third Engine Block.”
“Never heard of him.”
“What about Atlas? Were you in contact with any of their employees while working on the Dyson Project?”
“No. Why would I be? That’d be stupid.”
“Not even Esteban Velasco?”
“Esteban?” Ruckman’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that! Hell, that’s different. Esteban and I go way back. Sure, I spoke with him on occasion. We’d meet every so often to talk shop, and to vent about all the workplace drama. It was”—he flashed a sudden grin—“therapeutic, you might say.”
“And the fact that your companies were competing for the same contract?”
“Irrelevant. As long as we stayed clear of confidential material, which we did.”
“When did you last speak with Velasco?”
“Oh, let me think.” He leaned back and gazed up at the stars. “I want to say about a month ago. We tried to meet up every month or two, though sometimes we couldn’t.”
“What was your impression of him at the time?”
“Stressed. Very stressed. I could tell the project was weighing him down, taking its toll.”
“What specifically gave you that impression about his mental state?”
“It’s hard to say. It wasn’t anything he said or did. Not one thing, anyway. More how he seemed distant the whole time. Like he was going through the motions while we talked.” Ruckman shook his head. “Sorry, can’t be more specific than that.”
“Did he say or do anything unusual?”
