Night fell over the West, that purple-blue clear night where the stars hang like turning jewels in the firmament and the edge of every shape is blurred yet in exquisite focus. The moon wheeled over the sleeping desert, casting her silver shadows over every outcrop of red rock, glinting in the depths of the Green and Colorado rivers, turning the Great Salt Lake to a pool of liquid silver, touching the roofs of all the houses in the little towns with ineffable grace. She shone through the windows of Richard Harrington's house in Torrey and caressed the curves of the Shadow and the Stingray, black and white in that monochromatic silver dusk that comes with a full moon; she played over the roof of the Knight mansion, fought with the arc-sodium security lamps to light the oval of the test track, limned the water in the ornamental pond, and moved on. She glittered on the moving sea at Malibu, found her way down into the canyons of LA, kissed the white beach where Karr had lain for so many months, brushed against the rooftops of Hollywood, and left the land to sink again beyond the water's edge. Night moved on silently, huge and full of tiny soft noises and gunshots and lovers' quarrels and everywhere the sussurus of quietly curling waves on the white shore. Jay Rose's Learjet reached for the dawn of Salt Lake City; Riley Stone lay asleep in Richard Harrington's bed alone, while Richard held Karr's perceptor safe in the palm of his hand, watching sleeplessly as Karr dreamed and the moonshadows chased one another across the floor. Michael Knight slept restlessly in the Knight mansion. Kitt sat silently in the garage, unmoving, playing over and over again his flashed vision of the woman Riley and the red hills.
Jay landed as the dew fell, as the cool of early morning touched Salt Lake. The airport was quiet and calm as he taxied towards the terminal, the mountains dark in the pale sky. He'd arranged for the Learjet to be housed in one of their hangars for the duration of his stay, and sweetened the deal with a voluntary contribution. He brought the jet to a gentle halt as the airfield personnel came driving over with the movable steps, and powered down, grabbing his suitcase and laptop bag, opening the side door. Fatigue tugged at him, but with the ease of long training and peak physical condition he ignored it, giving the stair jockey a bright smile as he descended the stairs and hurried over the dew-damp tarmac to the terminal building.
The professional greeter met Jay as he stepped into the terminal. She was a tired-looking young woman with bleached hair and heavy lip gloss, and he could see her click her smile into place as he approached. "Good morning, Mr. Rose, and welcome to Salt Lake City. We're honored to have you visit..."
"Thank you," he said quietly, reading her nametag, "Miss Hathaway. I appreciate the VIP treatment, but it's really not necessary. If you could point me in the direction of the car rental counters I'd be much obliged to you."
"But, Mr. Rose, we've got a limousine standing by for your convenience," Miss Hathaway protested. He sighed.
"I'm sorry to have put you to so much unnecessary trouble," he said. "I'd really rather drive myself, though. The car rental counters?"
She gave up, dropped the plastic smile. "Down that flight of stairs and first left. Are you sure, Mr. Rose?"
"Quite sure. Thank you very much, Miss Hathaway, you've been extremely helpful," Jay said, and kissed her hand. Hurrying away down the stairs in the direction she'd pointed, he didn't see the look of fatigue and disillusionment on her face replaced by one of complete and utterly unexpected pleasure. She stood there, watching until he was out of sight, her fingers tracing the spot on her hand that his lips had brushed.
He had to go through a similar act with the girl at the Avis counter. She eventually capitulated and rented him a black '98 Pontiac Firebird, though not before he had repeated, several times, his desire to drive himself. Leaving the airport, he allowed himself to relax into the mechanical skills of driving, the rhythm of the road, heading south through Nephi as the sun rose above the mountains and tinted the world an entirely new color. This was a change from France, he thought dryly as he flashed past desert and mountain, where the only green to be seen was the occasional flash of silvery sagebrush in an arroyo. Jay loved the American West, especially the parts of it with few people in it, like Wyoming and Utah; but he was beginning to realize that he really was tired, and that he needed to begin using his reserve strength to keep his concentration from wavering. He sped down the highway under the rising sun, his whole being focused on the need to get to Richard's as soon as he could, to begin the job of therapy that quite possibly might be the challenge of his life.
He noticed with pleasure that he wasn't currently bored.
The thought of Madison Taylor slid unwarranted into his mind. He sighed, pushing her away, anticipating the sad puppy face he knew she'd make into the phone when he told her he couldn't be there when she came back from Mallorca. Brushing her from his consciousness, he focused himself again on the road and the other cars.
It was almost eleven-thirty when he pulled the Firebird into the foyer of Richard's house, parking it between a white Corvette Stingray and a black car he didn't recognize. Dragging himself from the driver's seat, Jay climbed up the steps to the second floor, knocked on Richard's office door.
Richard, unshaven, hollow-eyed, opened the door, and saw Jay, also unshaven and rather hollow-eyed. "Jay," he said desperately, and threw his arms around his old friend.
Jay embraced him with equal fervor, feeling the way Richard's bones stretched his skin, the urgency of him. "Richard," he said quietly. "You look like hell. This Karr must be a critical system, huh?"
"And how," Richard agreed. "You don't look great yourself. Did you fly or were you flown?"
"I flew," Jay said. "I prefer to trust my precious hide to myself, rather than a caffeine-crazed union member. I also drove here. Give me coffee and then I will be functional for a few more hours."
"You're sure?"
"Sure."
Richard nodded curtly, gestured for Jay to follow him down to the kitchen. Jay noticed his friend blanch at the sight of his rental Firebird. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Richard said, shaking his head. "Ironic choice of vehicle there. You'll understand later. I promise." He led the way into the kitchen, where Riley had already been and gone: a fresh pot of coffee simmered on the burner. He poured them both cups, forgoing cream and sugar. "Jay, I can't thank you enough for coming."
"Don't thank me yet," Jay said dryly, and drank half his cup. "I haven't done anything. I don't know what needs doing or what it's possible to do, yet."
"But you believed me. You're here."
"I'm here." He got up, filled his cup again. "Ah, that's better," he said, as the edges of the world began to become clear again. "Now fill me in on a few things, if you would. What exactly does Karr remember, and how much have you told him?"
"He remembers up until just before he was deactivated; he doesn't remember the order being given to deactivate him, what he sees as betrayal by his creators. He doesn't remember anything since. Riley...my friend....has told him that there was an error in his programming, and that he's been taken out here to be rehabilitated, and that he's still working for the original company. He's lost everything since 1981."
"God," Jay said, passing a hand over his face. "How much has he changed?"
"He's acquired a sense of gratitude and the desire to protect humans, as I programmed him to. For the rest, he's still very confused and unsure of himself. He remembers acting in a way he would not now act."
"Have you told him I was coming?"
"Yes."
"Right," said Jay, getting up. "I'll get started."
He was amazed. The housing for this computer, from Richard's description of which he'd expected a roomful of massive refrigerated mainframe towers complete with magnetic tape reels, was about the size and shape of a modern VCR. On the front of it there was a dark panel flanked by rows of LEDs, and to one side he saw a dark matte area he assumed was either touch- or light-sensitive. An open Compaq Presario laptop sat to one side of the black box, connected to it by heavy cables: from the back of the black box there snaked a thin black cable that ended in a soft-looking oval object that Jay didn't recognize. It rested on a soft rubber mouse pad. There was an overflowing ashtray to the side of the computer array, and an empty wineglass sat next to the laptop, whose screen was dark and unresponsive. From a little portable radio in the corner Jay heard faint music, hardly loud enough to follow the lyrics, just enough to break the silence.
"Karr?" Richard said softly. The fifth LED on the front of the box flickered to life, and there was the soft hiss of a heatsink fan spinning up.
"Richard," a cool voice responded. The black panel on the front of the box lit up as it spoke. Jay had sudden visions of Hal 9000; he had been expecting a lifeless metallic groan, a parody of human speech; instead, it was as if another human being was speaking. The voice was on the edge of being cold, and there was a hardness to it he was interested to note; but it was also tired and wry and sardonic, and he found himself enthralled. "Who's your visitor?" Jay realized Karr could see them both, and wondered how he looked to the AI; looking down at himself, he was unimpressed. His Armani pants were creased and flattened through long hours of transit: his black silk t-shirt was covered in red dust. He knew his eyes were red and hollow, was aware he needed a shave. Oh well, he considered; he'd made worse first impressions on patients.
"This is Jay Rose, Karr," Richard introduced him. Jay felt absurdly self-conscious. He didn't know whether to nod or wave or remain impassive; Richard saved him by pulling out the office chair and indicating that he should sit down. "He's come to help you understand some of what's been going on. You can trust Jay. I do, with my life."
Karr didn't respond immediately. "If you trust him, then I do as well," he said quietly. Jay found himself mesmerized by the jumping lights on the panel. The voice was magnetic, smooth as velvet. If he had ever considered throwing this challenge over and walking back out to his rental and following Madison Taylor to Mallorca, he could not now had he wanted to. The black box on the table had captured his interest in a way nothing had for years. Richard saw the look in the emerald eyes, and felt an almost intolerable pang of hope. He left the room, leaving Karr in Jay's competent grasp.
He sat down. "Hello, Karr," he said, in his most confidence-inspiring tone of voice. "Richard tells me you're having some conflicting memories?"
Karr regarded the new human thoughtfully. He was tall and quite handsome by human standards, his black hair marked by a single streak of white that lent him a fascinating imperfection. Although he appeared to be extremely rich and not a little aware of his beauty, there was something compelling in his voice, something that urged Karr to confide in him, allowed him to feel...safe...with the new presence.
"You know what I am?" he said at last, guardedly.
"I do." Jay kept his voice level, reserving judgment.
"I...feel I was once quite different," Karr said. "There is a great space of emptiness in my memory that I don't understand; my internal clock is confused. If my circuits are calibrated correctly, I've lost about seventeen years out of my memory. What happened during those seventeen years? Why do I feel so different? Where did my memories go, and why?"
"Let's start at the beginning," Jay said quietly. "Karr, I'd like you to tell me exactly what you remember, everything you experienced from the moment you were activated. If you can, recall your motivations for acting as you did."
"Are you sure?" Karr asked.
"Very."
And so as the day stretched forward, the AI told his story, something he'd never have considered doing before Richard's tapeworm. He explained everything he could remember, from the first amazing moment of consciousness to waking up here in Richard's house in the dark to find himself so strangely altered. By the time he was done, Jay was light-headed with weariness but more determined than ever to help this amazing entity. He thought it was possible. He thought he could see a way to provide a thread to tie together the disparate fragments of Karr's memory.
"Are you all right?" Karr asked carefully, watching the way Jay's pallor had gone from pale to grey, the way his hands shook.
"I need rest," Jay admitted. "Karr, I think I can help you. I think I understand. But it's going to take a little time, and it's not going to be all that pleasant. I think I have to sleep now, but I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Thank you," the AI said, amazed at how easily the words rolled out of his voice modulator. The phrase no longer seemed so alien to him.
What was more disturbing was that he almost welcomed it. There was still enough of the integral Karr left that feeling gratitude and emotions were strange and unexpected experiences; but Richard's tapeworm had left him with a respect for humans that he'd never had before, and it made gratitude toward them less difficult to accept.
Bonnie Barstow stood with her hands on her hips in the doorway of Kitt's garage, regarding the still form of the Trans Am with barely concealed concern. Michael came up behind her, slid his arms around her waist, and she covered his hands with her own. "What's up?" he wanted to know.
"Michael, something's bothering him. I don't know what's going on, but he won't admit whatever it is."
"What do you mean?"
"He's acting awfully strangely. I think something's preoccupying him. Something really important, but he won't open up to me. Could you talk to him?"
"Of course," Michael said, concerned. He gave her a gentle squeeze, then released her. She smiled up at him, suddenly, heart-wrenchingly, and let him past into the garage proper, retreating to allow them their privacy.
He walked forward, aware that Kitt knew he was there. The black Trans Am sat silent and still, his scanner dark and cold, the lights on the dash dimmed. Michael reached out a tentative hand to Kitt's hood.
"Kitt?" he asked, diffidently.
There was silence, as if Kitt was pulling himself back from a long way away. "Yes, Michael?" he asked, at length.
"Kitt, are you all right? What's bothering you?"
"I'm perfectly functional," Kitt said. Michael sighed heavily and took his hand away.
"Then why are you sitting here alone in the dark and refusing to talk to anyone?"
"I just need some time, Michael," Kitt said quietly, and Michael heard pleading in his tone.
"All right, Pal," he said after a while. "Please, Kitt. You can trust me. You know that."
"Yes," Kitt said simply. "I know."
Michael stroked Kitt's roof a last time, and left. Bonnie was waiting outside in the gentle rain.
"Well?"
"He won't talk to me either," Michael said, not looking at her. "He says he needs some time."
"I suppose that's valid," she said. "Sometimes we all do. I only wish I knew what was bugging him."
"So do I. I hate to see him like this."
Bonnie looked up at him. Worry for his partner was writ large in his brilliant blue eyes. Whatever was bothering Kitt, Michael knew nothing about it. She had a feeling it was something to do with the revelation that Karr was still extant, and the link. She couldn't imagine what that must be like; to have killed someone twice already, and know that they were still alive.
She put her arms around Michael and they held each other, as the rain drifted out of the February sky and jeweled their hair and eyelashes. There had been so much they'd been through. Kitt had been so badly hurt so many times, and every time he had come through. He had retained his gentle humanity through so much pain and so much adversity; this wasn't the first time he'd retreated into himself to deal with something private, but as always the humans closest to him were concerned and in pain through their inability to help. For a long time Michael and Bonnie held each other, drawing strength from their shared concern.
"You're getting all wet," she remarked after some minutes.
"You're wetter than I am," Michael said softly, "and you're wearing a white shirt."
"Curses, so I am," Bonnie said. "I'd forgotten."
"I hadn't."
"I noticed."
Together they ran into the mansion, as the rain increased from drizzle to downpour, curtains of grey drifting indiscriminately down over the house and grounds.
Kitt, alone in the darkened garage, concentrated on the distant spark that he knew to be Karr. Somewhere deep inside himself, the AI could feel the presence of his brother, a strangely muted and softened Karr. The block over the link had become softer, more translucent. He nudged at it, pushing gently at the edges of what separated him from Karr, and felt part of it suddenly give. Alien sensations flooded Kitt, and it was only with difficulty that he controlled his reaction and kept himself from transmitting it back across the link. Karr was unaware of the loss of the block, and Kitt found himself able to hear and see what Karr heard and saw without making his presence known.
He was in a dim room full of electronic equipment. His field of view was severely limited....Kitt knew now that Karr had only one active visual sensor....and his external perceptor network was only receiving information from a single perceptor, which felt like it was resting on a rubber surface. In front of him, sitting in an office swivel chair, was an extraordinarily handsome green-eyed man who looked as if he was about to faint from exhaustion. He had dark hair with a single white lock running through it, tanned golden skin, a beautifully proportioned face, was dressed in disheveled but expensive clothing. Beyond him, the window showed the light of late afternoon falling over mountains, red mountains in the distance. Kitt took the room in at a glance, noting the concrete walls, the torchiere lighting, the kilim on the floor, the table with boxes of computer programming manuals and finished products. Meridian VirusScan, Kitt read. Vector. Jaxid. Queral Video Editor. Vector and Jaxid were security protection programs, developed for sensitive systems requiring several levels of security clearance, but Meridian and Queral were mainstream programs aimed at the general public. He accessed his recent memory banks for any connection between the programs.
Ah, he thought to himself. Richard Harrington.
Harrington's name appeared on all four of the programs' developer credit lists. He had designed the virus scan program, been chief programmer for the other three. He had also worked for FLAG back when Karr had been built.
So: Riley Stone and Richard Harrington were working together. Kitt considered. Riley would have been the one with access to the mainframe, and Harrington would have had the technical skill to reprogram the rebuilt Karr to include the new strange mellow sense Kitt was getting from his brother. Kitt couldn't help feeling betrayed, especially by Riley, whom he had trusted implicitly. Riley had stolen Karr, and Riley was instrumental in bringing him back to life.
There was a sense in Kitt's mind of jealousy, something he felt rarely if at all. Riley and Karr had been close, of course, but so had Riley and Kitt; had her attachment to him been so fleeting and meaningless that she would sacrifice her job, her credibility, her entire life, for an ungrateful and emotionless AI who had attempted to kill her coworkers?
But he knew that wasn't how it was. He knew there was more than old memories at work here. Riley was a smart woman, one of the smartest Kitt had ever known: he knew she would not throw over all she had worked for here without some kind of meaningful goal in mind. Which led him to believe she had confidence that the revived Karr would be....different. More successful, in clinical terms.
Kitt didn't know what to do. His knowledge of Riley and her mind suggested that she would be successful in whatever she was trying to do, and the man Harrington was admittedly brilliant, and would be of help in the endeavor. He didn't recognize the green-eyed man who was talking to Karr.
"So you don't remember anything beyond the test track, and a few hours of lab tests?" the man was saying. Kitt, inside of Karr, felt Karr reply.
"No. I can't remember anything past being put through post-track tests. Jay, I don't understand why I destroyed the mannequin on the track. I wouldn't have done that, looking back."
"Everything is going to make sense, Karr," the man, Jay, said. "I can promise you that. Look, I'm terribly sorry, but I have to rest now. I'm going to help you. Trust me."
"I do," Karr said, and Kitt was amazed to find that it was true.
He withdrew. What he had just experienced seemed like psychotherapy. Had Riley and Harrington brought in a psychiatrist to help Karr through post-revival stress? Kitt couldn't help feeling warmer toward them. Such an act would suggest that they cared about Karr, in a way no one had before. And... Kitt was aware of the strangeness of the thought....Karr had not been as Kitt remembered him at all. He had actually admitted trust in the human, which was something the old Karr would never have done, and he had said he would have acted differently in the past. Kitt wondered if Karr had really become the entity Wilton had dreamed he'd be. How...?
He let both the contact with Karr and the thought go, exhausted. Slipping down into recharge, his weary systems slept, and did not dream.
On the coast of Southern California there are miles of beaches occupied by beautiful people with blonde hair; in the mountains and canyons of Southern California there are myriads of mansions aglitter with unimaginable wealth. There are drawbacks to paradise, of course, not the least of which is the constant risk of earthquake, mudslide and fire; there are psychos aplenty in the mean streets of Los Angeles, and there are stylish crime bosses who blow things up in parking garages, as illustrated by countless action movies. The palm trees of Malibu catch on fire from time to time, and men die on the streets of the cities every day.
Alexandra Spar leaned against the black lowrider, her Ray-Bans concealing the look of pleasure in her eyes, and allowed cigarette smoke to trickle from her nostrils. Not a bad day's work, considering: five kilos of heroin had changed hands with not the slightest hitch in the proceedings. She was quite a lot richer than when she'd woken up that morning.
She nudged at the body lying slumped against the lowrider's front wheel. "Come on, get up, Pierre. You're not dead."
Pierre moaned and rolled over. He'd lost a little blood; the bullet had grazed his shoulder, slicing open his black silk shirt and cutting a neat red line in the exposed flesh. She wasn't concerned.
"Get up, or I'm leaving you here."
He opened his eyes, focused on her, saw that she meant it in the set of her body. Groaning, he got up, leaning heavily with his good arm on the lowrider's open window. She pointed her key in through the window and the door released itself, allowing Pierre inside.
Alexandra finished her cigarette, nodded to her other subordinates, who holstered their various weapons and got into the car. She slid into the driver's seat and lit the engine, pulling out of the parking lot and down into the glittering network of streets that made up downtown L.A. Pierre lay in the passenger seat, his head resting against the window, his eyes closed.
"Pierre, you okay?" she said after a while. His breathing was very loud.
One of the men in the backseat leaned forward and looked at Pierre. "Alexandra, there was something on that bullet."
"What do you mean," she said evenly, pulling the car into a private drive that went underground to an extensive garage. Raoul laid the back of his hand against Pierre's forehead, took it away again.
"Poison. I don't know what it is but I've seen it before. He's dying."
"Shit!" she exclaimed, thumping the wheel. "You sure, Raoul?"
"Yeah. Sorry, Alexandra."
"Fuck. Okay. How long does he have?"
"Maybe an hour," Raoul said. Alexandra did some fast calculations. Pierre was expendable, but there were considerations of disposal to be made. She fished a phone out of her pocket and dialed an unlisted number.
"Greg? It's Spar. I have someone for you."
"Oh?" her associate said.
"A candidate for your cooking show."
"Someone who'd appreciate my skill at roasting?"
"How about carbonizing?"
"We can do that. How hot is all this?"
"Not very, but I need him to be ashes by this evening."
"Bring him by."
Alexandra closed the phone and shoved it back in her pocket, getting out of the car. Raoul and Diego lifted Pierre from the lowrider, began to carry him up the steps toward her headquarters. She called to them to halt.
"Put him down," she told them, when they were a few yards clear of the car. She pulled a silenced Luger from her shoulder holster and levelled it against Pierre's recumbent form. Raoul and Diego stepped forward in protest, but she motioned them back with the barrel of the Luger. "He's dying anyway, and I don't have time to wait for him to go on his own," she said, with perfect equanimity, and shot Pierre once in the forehead. He jerked, and went limp.
"Diego, you take the van and deliver him to the crematorium. Raoul, go check out the shipment that's coming in tonight."
Her henchmen nodded. Alexandra shoved the Luger back in her holster and stalked upstairs to her luxury apartment, tossing the keys to the Cadillac lowrider over her shoulder to Raoul. She was annoyed. Pierre had been reasonably trustworthy, devoted to her with puppyish adoration, and smart enough to know his own limits. He had also been a dead shot, which she knew was hard to find.
She poured herself a Martini and lit a cigarette, staring out at the city through the slatted blinds. Someone out there had poisoned bullets. Raoul said he'd seen them before. Someone had power over her.
Alexandra Spar didn't like people having power over her.
She sat down on a leather sofa and crossed one exquisite leg over the other. The money from the day's transactions sat in a strongbox by her side; two million. Not bad; small potatoes by Alexandra's standards, but nothing to sneeze at nevertheless. She considered. A short holiday in France? She'd been working nonstop for months now; she deserved a break. However, this could finance the purchase of a lot more of the right stuff, which she could sell at a tidy profit to any one of the buyers that thronged L.A. Did she really need to get away just yet? Two million could easily become ten.
And ten million could finance quite an exorbitant holiday.
Alexandra put the problem of the poison-tipped bullets from her mind, lying back against the butter-soft leather. Tomorrow was, after all, another day.
Devon rubbed at his temples. "Michael, I don't like to send you out on assignment while Karr remains at large, but I don't have a choice. There's some sort of heavy drug ring operating in Los Angeles; the police have been trying to take it down for weeks. They can't crack it. I got the call this morning."
Michael sighed, sat down on the edge of Devon's desk. "Okay. What do we do?"
"Go in and do some reconnaissance to begin with. I have an address, but nothing else."
The younger man nodded. "What kind of drugs are we dealing with here?"
"Heroin, principally. They traffic in cocaine and some minor stuff as well, and there was a report of a shipment of guns going missing, but mainly it's heroin."
"Bad stuff."
"Very bad."
Michael got off the desk and Devon handed him the address the informant had given. "Ventura Boulevard?"
"Yes, well, they do say the best place to hide is in plain sight."
Michael left Devon's office, shaking his head. Kitt was already out on the gravel drive, freshly washed, his black skin gleaming in the early sunlight. Michael shrugged into his jacket and approached his partner.
"Has Devon already briefed you?" he said, yawning. Kitt lit his engine and popped the driver's side door. Michael got in, and the PLR system closed around him as the black Trans Am rolled away down the drive.
"Yes," Kitt said. He sounded preoccupied, and Michael realized he was probably thinking about Karr. He kept quiet, and after a while Kitt turned on the radio, filling the car with the sounds of young angst. How does it feel...how should I feel...how does it feel to treat me like you do?
They sped west to Los Angeles. Michael took over as they entered the city; Kitt was less obvious if it appeared that he was under human control. They circled the block containing the address Devon had specified, and then parked unobtrusively across the street a few doors down. Nothing happened. There was nothing to indicate that a high-class criminal drug ring was operating out of the building across the street. Michael slid down in the seat, sleepily. It had been another restless night, plagued with visions of the way Karr had gone on falling forever, in slow motion, frozen in time, until the world had become an explosion at the foot of a cliff and the waves had boiled and broken over the white beach below.
"Michael," Kitt said. "I'm reading a single human in the upper apartment. Female."
"Any drugs?"
"No," Kitt said after a moment. "I can't detect any drugs. There are a number of weapons, however."
"Keep an eye on her," Michael said.
"I am."
For another hour they remained thus, while Michael tried not to remember his dreams of Karr and Kitt juggled the constant scan results from the apartment across the street and his nebulous link with his brother. Michael was almost asleep in the warmth of midmorning when Kitt said, "She's coming out."
He sat straight up in the seat, staring across the street. "There's a subterranean garage," Kitt told him. "She's driving a powerful car."
A moment later a black BMW roadster emerged from the dark mouth of the garage, its blunt powerful snout gleaming in the sunlight, and turned west down Ventura Boulevard. Michael fired the engine and pulled them out after the BMW, hanging unobtrusively three cars back. The roadster threaded its way through the city, and headed north, towards Santa Monica. Kitt followed it neatly, never making his presence known, allowing them to slip back out of sight as he tracked the BMW's movements. Michael frowned. "She's headed for Malibu," he said as they watched the black car take the exit ahead on the freeway.
"I've transmitted what data we have to Devon," Kitt informed him. Michael narrowed his eyes, focusing on the black BMW. He had a weird feeling about this. Something important was about to happen.
The BMW came to a stop in a mostly-deserted parking lot. Kitt overshot the entrance on purpose, drove a few hundred yards further on and parked behind a van, out of sight of the BMW, but not out of his scanners' range. Creeping forward so that Michael could see round the front of the van, Kitt hissed suddenly. "Two men just got out of a car by the BMW. They're both carrying guns, as is the woman."
Michael peered round the van. He could see them now: a dark-haired woman, wearing black sunglasses, dressed in black, a long dark coat; two men, one of whom was tall and blond and the other shorter and brown-haired. Both wore leather jackets and dark sunglasses.
"Can you pick up what they're saying?"
Kitt increased audio pickup and blanked out background noise. Soft voices sounded inside the car.
"I have a business proposal for you, Jake," the woman was saying. "You have something I don't, and I'm willing to make it up to you if you were to change that."
"What exactly are you referring to?" one of the men asked. His voice was low and gravelly. Michael had the distinct impression that he knew exactly what the woman was referring to.
"One of my men was fatally shot yesterday. By your men. I think it was meant to be a warning shot."
"I seem to recall something about North Hollywood yesterday afternoon," the gravel voice said impartially.
"Yes, well," said the woman, and there was steel in her voice. "There was something on the tip of the bullet that killed him quite quickly. Something so nasty it didn't matter that the tip of the bullet had only grazed his shoulder. I want that formula."
"What's it worth to you?"
"Fifty thousand."
"Seventy-five."
"Sixty-five, and that's the last offer."
"What makes you think I won't just shoot you here?" said the gravel-voiced man.
"Because if you do, you won't have the satisfaction of screwing your pneumatic girlfriend tonight, because you'll be feeding the fishes. Do you really think I'd be stupid enough to come here alone?"
Michael glanced at Kitt, whose screens lit up with scan results. "She's bluffing," the AI said.
"Touche," the man said. "Seventy thousand."
"Done. There's an antidote?"
"That'll cost you extra," he said.
"I don't think so," the woman said sweetly, and there was the double click of two safeties being drawn off. Michael peered round the edge of the van again. The woman had one semiautomatic kissing the temple of the shorter man and the other levelled at the guts of the tall blond, who was grinning.
"That's what I love to hate about you, Spar," he said. "You're so damn quick. I'll make you a deal, then. You don't infringe on my territory, and I don't infringe on yours, and you give me seventy thousand, and I give you my pet poison and its antidote."
"Fine," she said, and slipped her safeties back on, tucking the guns back into her coat. She pulled out a silver cigarette case and selected one, and the blond man lit it for her. Michael had the sense of having just witnessed a feat of diplomacy rivalling anything the UN could do. "Nice doing business with you."
"Always a pleasure," he said. "I'll have my people talk to your people. The poison will be in your beautiful hands by tonight."
"See that it is," the woman....Spar....said, and swung herself back into her car. The BMW pulled out of the parking lot and headed back the way it had come. Michael folded his arms, leaning against Kitt's side.
"What do you make of that?"
"It's dangerous," the AI said. "Michael, they're talking about poison-tipped bullets. That's illegal."
"In some states," Michael said. "The woman Spar is obviously the kingpin of the drug ring Devon sent us to investigate. These others...I don't know. We might be able to take them down too."
"It's risky," Kitt said. "Devon just sent us out on reconnaissance."
"I know, but there's the potential for a greater achievement here."
"Very well. Get in," Kitt said, as the sound of an engine echoed in the lot. "We'll tail them and see where they're going."
Jay Rose came to himself. He lay in a bed he didn't recognize; not in the Chartrenceau castle, or the one in Switzerland, or the one in Germany....
Ah yes, he remembered. He had flown to Utah, to oblige an old friend, and to...
He jerked upright, aware suddenly of why he'd come here. He rubbed his eyes, clambered out of bed. The room he had slept in was dark, but he glanced at his watch and saw it was the dark of early morning. He'd slept five hours. Long enough to see him through another day and night; his body could take a few more days of this sort of punishment before he'd crash; he'd done it before, and he knew his limitations.
Jay looked around. First a quick shower was definitely in order, and then back to work. He headed for the bathroom that opened into the guest room, found large fluffy towels, a luxuriously-appointed bath suite complete with marble sink surround and lucite shower stall. He turned the water on as hot as he could stand and scrubbed himself all over until he felt slightly more alert and able to take on the world.
"Hello," a voice said as he stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp and hanging artistically into his green eyes. He frowned.
"Hello." He was used to supermodels' plastic beauty; he expected it, was geared to accept it as the way women should look. The woman who stood before him now could never in a hundred years have been a supermodel: her face had too much character to be called classically beautiful. Her eyes were admittedly huge and slightly slanted in her pale face, a disarming liquid grey that made her look at once very naive and very wise. Her face was sharply defined, none of the edges of the bones muted by an ounce of spare fat, the chin birdlike and sharp, the nose delicate and short. Her lips were full and very pale, almost bloodless, and indeed his first impression was one of the supernatural, of some kind of ghost or dream; her colorless hair clung like a gleaming cap to her skull, her body was so slight as to be almost a child's except for the curved hips and well-shaped breasts, unencumbered by a bra, that were evident under the man's undershirt she wore. She was not beautiful; the bones were too strong and the eyes too weary, but she was stunning. Her exquisite head was tilted to one side, regarding him with interest and not a little calculation.
"You must be Jay Rose," she said. Her voice was lower than he'd expected, rough and edged with a brilliant British accent.
"Yes," he said idiotically. She smiled suddenly, the sharp edges of her mouth curving so sweetly he caught his breath.
"Pleased to meet you," she said. "I'm Riley Stone. Richard's friend."
Of course, he thought. "You're involved with Karr?"
A shadow flowed through her eyes. "Yes. Richard says you can help him."
"I believe I can. I won't let myself fail." He heard himself speak the words, and knew they were true. Riley looked intently into his eyes.
"I believe you can, too," she breathed. "I don't think you would let him go. Richard's wiped so much of his memory I don't know if he can ever really recover."
"He thought he was doing the right thing," Jay said. "I don't know that I wouldn't have done the same sort of thing given that situation."
"I know," Riley said. "I'm just worried."
"I understand," he said. For a moment they were silent together. The clock beeped as it turned five o'clock. Jay started. "I have to get back to him," he said. Riley nodded, and he walked past her and down the corridor to Richard's workroom. She remained in the center of the room, staring into space, the gaze of a pair of emerald eyes burned into her vision.
"Good morning, Karr," Jay said. The room was dark except for the LEDs and the faint light of dawn in the east.
"Good morning, Jay," the AI responded. "You look better."
"I'm good for another thirty-six hours or so," Jay said dryly. "Where were we?"
Riley looked in on them hours later. Jay sat in the office chair with Karr's perceptor resting lightly in his hand. She felt a sudden irrational rush of affection for the stranger; he clearly understood the value of the perceptor contact, and knew how to use it to help Karr. Quite apart from his astonishing physical beauty, she had felt a genuine sense of confidence in the success of this challenge when she had looked into Jay's eyes. He understood; and he knew he could do it.
She walked downstairs to where Richard was working on the Shadow. Parked by the white form of Grey and the gleaming Steinway finish of the new Firebird, the Shadow sat cold and silent with its hood open. He had left a VCR-size space just behind the dash for the CPU. She recognized the configuration of the engine compartment from the early days of Karr's development. The engine was custom, as was the rest of it: she saw two cylinders tucked away to the side of the main powerplant which looked like turbines, and the black cables of perceptor circuits snaked all over the compartment.
"Hey," she said.
He looked up, wiping his hands on a rag. "Hey," he said. "You're looking particularly stunning today."
"You didn't tell me your friend the shrink was also the most beautiful man in the world," she said absently, running her fingers along the Shadow's body.
"Yes, he does rather widen the eyes, doesn't he," Richard said, not looking at her.
"Don't worry," she said. "I'm not going to leave you for a pair of green eyes," and he heard the smile in her voice.
"The thought hadn't crossed my mind," he said, screwing things back on. "Riley, my love, would you try the engine?"
She got into the Shadow. The seats were soft but not alarmingly so, ergonomically designed, the color of charcoal. She leaned forward and turned the lock, and the massive engine rumbled to life. She guessed a V-10, maybe even a V-12. Richard nodded with satisfaction and signalled to her to kill the engine again, and the silence in the atrium was very loud.
"Damned timing belt was loose again," he said to himself. "Wonderful. Thank you." She got out of the car again, reluctantly. There was something very satisfying about being there behind that black wheel, something she was almost afraid of.
"You did good with that," she said, waving an expansive hand over the black Shadow. "It's... amazing."
"It fits him," Richard said simply. "I must have been thinking of him when I made it."
"Yes," Riley said. By now the sun was high in the sky, pouring like liquid gold through the great windows. "Do you want any breakfast?"
"Um," Richard said. "Yes, actually, I would." He straightened up, stretching, popping stiff muscles across his back and shoulders. Riley nodded, drifted off towards the kitchen.
She enjoyed cooking from time to time. Richard's kitchen was as well-appointed as the rest of his estate; however, he hadn't gone grocery shopping in some time. She found a box of Life cereal and a loaf of bread in the cupboards, and some eggs; she made french toast and strong black coffee. Carrying two loaded trays downstairs into the atrium, she found Richard sitting crosslegged on the closed hood of the Shadow, parked close by Grey. "Here," she said, handing him a tray and pulling herself up on Grey's curved hood, aware of the presence of the black Firebird close by. "There's not a whole lot we can do until Jay's finished, I suppose."
"Do the people at FLAG know about any of this?"
"I don't know," she said through a mouthful of cereal. "I don't think so."
"It might be a good idea to check," Richard said thoughtfully, eating. "This is wonderful, by the way. Thank you."
"Don't mention it. I'll get into FLAGNet and see what's going on. We might be able to get some idea whether they've discovered Karr's mainframe is missing."
"Goddamn," she said suddenly. "I'd forgotten. Kitt and Karr are linked, did I tell you? I don't know if Kitt has received any clear signals from Karr, any intimation of where he is or with whom, but I asked him to block the link as much as he could."
"Fuck," Richard agreed. "Linked? You mean...?"
"There's a private channel of some kind between them. I don't understand it but there was some sort of link ever since Kitt was activated. I think Karr can block it. I hope he can."
"So do I," Richard said, finishing the french toast and licking powdered sugar from his fingers. "But even if Kitt does know we're with Karr, does he know where we are?"
"I don't think he can," said Riley. "I don't think they know where you live. You do sort of shroud yourself in secrecy, you know. And they can hardly put out an APB on the black and silver Trans Am with the yellow light on the front; they have no idea what Karr looks like now. Even when he gets put into the Shadow, they don't know what they'll be looking for."
"Did anyone ever tell you you're a great comfort?"
"Oh, all the time," Riley said. Silence fell in the atrium for some time, as they both considered the dangers of their position. At length Riley slipped off Grey's hood and collected their trays. "Strange that Jay should choose that particular make and model of rental," she said.
"Isn't it? I'm sure they offered him their top-line Lincolns and Mercedes," Richard said. "I mean, he's quite mind-wrenchingly rich. But he takes the black Trans Am."
"Firebird," Riley corrected.
"Firebird, Trans Am, same damn thing. Odd. I always thought there was a little extrasensory perception in him."
"He's a psychologist. He shouldn't believe in that stuff."
"I never said he believed in it. I don't. But there are other things, besides the car. He's done things he shouldn't have been able to do."
Riley paused on her way to the kitchen, her eyes faraway. "I can see that," she said simply. "I can see him doing the impossible. He has that sort of air around him."
Richard looked at her, then back at the floor. "He does."
Riley returned with a pack of Kamel Reds, smacking them against her palm absently. "I need a cigarette," she announced. "Want one?"
They'd both quit in the early eighties, but Richard had found himself smoking lately. He found that the wretched things really did help with the constant stress of the worry for Karr; he guessed Riley had experienced something similar. "I'd love one. Thanks."
Together they walked out into the bright day. Riley struck a match and lit their cigarettes with the style of the habitual smoker. In the distance the Henry Mountains were pale and blue-purple with heat and atmospheric perspective; already the afternoon thunderstorms were forming over Capitol Reef, great anvil clouds heavy and pregnant with rain, most of which would evaporate before ever it reached the desert below. FLAG and Knight Industries seemed very far away. Riley drew deep on her cigarette, feeling the heaviness of her body as the nicotine rushed through her blood.
"What are we going to do when this is all over?" she asked so softly he was hardly sure he'd heard her.
"I don't know," he said truthfully. "I don't think FLAG will want Karr back, if we can prove to them he's no longer the killer machine. I think they've had enough of Karr to last a lifetime."
"And they'll prosecute us," Riley said, staring at the distant mountains.
"I don't know about that. You only stole something that shouldn't have existed in the first place. And I think Devon will listen to reason. If you and I approach him with the evidence of a healthy and well-adjusted Karr, he can't just write us off as insane. I think he was as disappointed and sorry about the whole thing as Wilton was; if Wilton hadn't ordered Karr scrapped I think Devon would have tried to help him, to alter the programming just that little bit so that he could be what he was meant to be."
"I hope you're right," Riley said, smoke trickling from her nostrils. "God, I hope you're right."
For a long time they stood there together, as the heat of the day beat on them. Riley leaned against Richard, and his arms crept round her, and she turned her face to his and kissed him.
The Compaq laptop was still connected to Karr, and neither Riley nor Richard wanted to disturb Jay's session with him, so they used Riley's. Richard connected to FLAGNet and bypassed the member login easily, slipping through the network of loopholes with the ease of long practice. "Ah, here we are," he said. "Devon's files."
"Should we be doing this?"
"Can I be traced, you mean? No." Richard tapped in a few more commands, and brought up a screen full of text. "Damn. He does know about us. He does know. Look," and he turned the Toshiba Satellite towards her. She read a few words, and cursed.
"Karr can't block carefully enough yet, obviously. But Devon doesn't know how to get us. He has no way of knowing where in Utah we are. We'd better make sure there's no visual references to pinpoint our location."
"The blind's down?"
"Yeah, and the radio tuned to a station in Arizona."
"Right. He's preoccupied by this drug thing, obviously."
"Good for the drug people," Richard said sourly. "Keep it up. Keep Devon's attention, at least for a little while. Please."
"He says Kitt's concerned," Riley read. "Concerned for Karr...?"
"I'd never have thought it," Richard said. "Bizarre. That drug ring, does he say where it's based?"
"L.A.," Riley said. "Why?"
"Just wondering. Not anywhere near us."
"No."
Richard closed Devon's files, erased all record of the access and got out of FLAGNet. "Well, at least we know they know," he said fatalistically. "It's getting on for five in the evening. We'd better get Jay out of there and feed him before he collapses."
"Yes, and then we can make some well-chosen alterations to what's in Karr's visual field." Riley closed her laptop. "You want to run down to Torrey and get some food? Your kitchen's sort of barren right now."
"Yeah, sure," Richard said, kissed her, and got into the Shadow. The great engine roared to life, and he pulled out of the atrium, heading down to the town in the valley. She stretched, realized she wasn't wearing anything besides the man's undershirt and a pair of boxers she'd pirated from someone years ago. She hurried into Richard's room and retrieved her bag from the chair where it had been thrown, found a pair of jeans and an oxford shirt and put them on, running fingers through her hair, and went to get Jay.
Knocking on the door, she heard muted voices from within, and someone called "Come in."
She pushed the door gently and it swung open. Jay looked rather white and transparent, but his intensely green eyes were pleased. "Hey," she said. "Sorry to disturb you, but we're making dinner. I thought you might want a break."
"Um," he said. "Could I have food in here? I mean, I don't want to get off track with this."
"Of course," Riley assured him, and pulled her head back round the doorjamb. The look in his eyes had given her an almost insufferable hope, and she would do anything to see that hope fulfilled. They could change the room around tonight while he slept, unless he decided not to sleep in order to get more work with Karr done. She shook her head, walking back down to the kitchen.
Evening fell over the glittering metropolis of L.A. Alexandra Spar stood by her great windows with a martini glass held in her perfectly manicured fingers, wearing red silk.
"Miss Spar?"
"Yes," she said, not looking around. Her maid approached diffidently.
"Miss Spar, there's someone here to see you. He says it's important. Something to do with a business agreement."
She put the glass down, irritated. There were so many business agreements. "Very well," she said, one hand going to the pearl-handled automatic tucked into her waistband, and went to the door.
"Oh. It's you," she said, letting a tall dark-haired man into the apartment. "Couldn't you announce yourself as my brother? You came this close to getting shot."
"Nice to see you too, Alex," Riker Spar said dryly, looking his sister up and down. "You're looking particularly sexy tonight. Too much makeup, as usual, but otherwise damn good."
"Did you come here to say that, or is there some purpose behind your presence?"
"I'm here in your interest, Alex. Where d'you keep your drinks?"
"Over there," Alexandra said, gesturing to the bar half-hidden behind a Chinese screen. "Look, Riker, I haven't got all night to play guessing games with you. Why are you here?"
"Someone's trying to crack your organization," Riker said seriously, sitting down with a drink. "Not the police. Someone better than the police."
"That isn't saying a whole lot," Alexandra said, but he'd got her attention. "Who, then?"
"I don't know a lot about them. It's a sort of outside-the-law vigilante jag. The man drives a Trans Am, black, early eighties, second generation F body. It's a weird car. It has this flashing red light on the front that I don't recognize."
"How long have they been tailing me?"
"Started today." Riker drained his glass. "They followed you to the parking lot in Malibu, then they went off after your rival, whatever his name is."
"Schreck. Franz Schreck."
"Mister Schreck, then. Followed him out of sight. I came here to tell you."
"Does Schreck know?"
"No. They're not here now. I think they're based outside the city."
"Damn," Alexandra said. "Well, thank you, Riker. There's more on my plate now; Schreck agreed to sell me the formula for his poison-tipped bullets and the antidote to them, and he's sending it over tonight. There's a lot going on right now."
"I'm going, I'm going," Riker said, pouring himself another drink.
"No, actually, stay," Alexandra said, lighting a cigarette in a long holder. "Tell me more about this man. How did you come to see him watching me?"
Riker stretched out, shrugging off his leather trenchcoat. "I happened to be in the neighborhood when you left this afternoon, and saw him following you. I tracked you both to Malibu and watched from a distance. Mom always said I ought to look out for my baby sister."
Alexandra snorted, taking the pearl-handled automatic from her waistband and tossing it onto the table in front of them, lying back against the soft leather of the couch. "I don't need looking out for, Riker, but I appreciate this. Never doubt that."
"Of course you do."
"Is he dangerous?"
"I don't know. I think he might have some kind of tracking equipment in that car; from what I could see he was listening in on your conversation this afternoon, from about two hundred yards away."
"I'll be careful. Black Trans Am, you said?"
"Yes, with a red flashing light on the front."
"Not subtle, or anything," said Alexandra. "Oh, well. What are you up to these days, Riker?"
"Oh, bit of this, bit of that. I've done a lot of hits these past few months." He grinned, and she was very aware of how alike they were. "Did you hear about the DiViliano deal?"
"That was you?" Alexandra said, impressed. Antonio DiViliano had been one of the more influential advocates for gun control in the Hollywood area; he had been killed a month before, with what Alexandra considered consummate skill. "I thought at the time that whoever had done DiViliano knew his stuff."
"Why, thank you," Riker said. "Your opinion means a lot to me." He raised his glass, and she clinked hers against it.
"To family," Alexandra said, and Riker echoed her.
"To family."
There was the faint peal of the doorbell, and Alexandra heard her staff answer it. In a moment the maid approached them, head bowed. "Miss Spar, there's a man to see you. He says Franz Schreck sent him."
Riker got up. Alexandra motioned him behind the Chinese screen. "Tell him to come in," she said composedly, crossing one red silk leg over the other. The maid retreated again.
A very thin man came into her drawing room, his enormous glasses dwarfing his eyes, making him seem very young. He wore simple dark clothing that showed the hand, Alexandra thought, of an expert designer, and he carried a secure briefcase of the sort she and her associates used to transport money or salable goods. He took in the room with a single awed glance, and his eyes came to rest on her.
Behind the thick lenses they widened. Alexandra was an exceptionally beautiful woman, her dark hair pulled as always back into a knot at the back of her head, her brown eyes big and dark-lashed, her well-shaped lips the same brilliant rich red as her silk pantsuit, her white arms stretched negligently over the back of the black couch, the cigarette burning lazily in its holder balanced between two manicured fingers. She was perfectly aware of how her appearance made men feel, and she calculated that effect. With theatrical timing, she allowed her arched left eyebrow to raise a little further.
Schreck's man bit his lip. "Alexandra Spar?"
"In the flesh."
"Mr. Schreck sent me with the formula."
"I know," she said, uncrossing her legs. "Show me."
She could see him warring with his conscience. Slowly, she leaned forward, ashed her cigarette. He broke. Kneeling down, he put the briefcase on the coffee table and unlocked it.
Two vials of clear fluid, and a computer microdisk, occupied the foam interior of the case. Schreck's man plucked one of the vials out. "This is the poison. The disk contains the formula for both the poison and the antidote. It's derived from a toxin found in the skins of certain South American frogs, but it's been altered chemically so as not to be traceable. There's enough here to poison about two thousand rounds of ammunition."
"And the antidote? How is it administered?"
"Hypodermic injection, one cc. It's extremely concentrated."
"How long does the victim have from the time of the shot until the antidote can no longer be administered?"
"About thirty minutes. After that the toxin has done too much damage for the antidote to be of use. If you can't get the antidote to the victim in time, injecting a heavy amphetamine will stave off the effects for another fifteen minutes or so."
"Thank you," Alexandra said, making her voice low and breathy. Schreck's man blinked. "Your boss and I agreed on seventy thousand." She closed the case, stood up. "Wait here."
She smiled to herself as she slid past him and disappeared into the other room, aware that Riker was watching from behind the screen, which had peepholes. She opened her safe and got out the money, in a black Donna Karan bag, put the case containing the poison in the safe, and returned to the couch. Handing the bag to Schreck's man, she stood hands on hips as he riffled quickly through the bills, making sure they were all there and all clean of bugs. At last he looked up, and held out his hand. She took it, shook it hard once, like a man, and released it. He stared at his hand, as if unsure how to take this, and she raised her eyebrow again; he got the idea. "Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Spar," he said shakily.
"The pleasure is all mine," she said. "You know your way out."
When he was gone, she sat down again and lit another cigarette. "You can come out now, Riker," she said. Laughing a little, her brother emerged from behind the screen and joined her on the couch.
"Wasn't he priceless?"
"He's going to be thinking about you while he plays with himself tonight," Riker said. "Give me a cigarette."
"What an unpleasant image," Alexandra said, pointing at the box on the coffee table. "Riker, I'm taking you out to dinner. It's been far too long."
"Why, sister dear, I'd be overjoyed," Riker said, lighting his cigarette. "Only let's take my car, on the off-chance that our friend in the Trans Am is around. He'll recognize your BMW."
"As you wish," said Alexandra, getting up and pulling on her black leather coat, as Riker assumed his. "What are you driving these days?"
"A Viper," he said. She licked her red lips, hungrily.
"How beautiful," she said. He laughed, amusedly, and pulled a set of keys from his trenchcoat pocket.
"Yes, you can drive," he said, dropping them in her hand. She smiled, and Riker was suddenly aware of just how beautiful his sister was. Together they left the apartment, and the safe with its burden of poison.
Jay Rose sat back in the office chair, suddenly aware of the ache in his shoulders and neck. He was pleased with the day's work. They'd run through all Karr remembered of his life before Richard's tapeworm, his early actions and early memories, and Jay had begun to explain what had happened to him. He told Karr of his early programming directive.
"So that's why I...."
"Why you destroyed the model of the child. Back then, your primary incentive was to protect yourself at any cost. Your actions were completely in accordance with that incentive."
"All I've ever done has been for my own good," Karr said softly. "I've been self-centered all my life."
"It's not your fault," Jay said mildly. "None of this is your fault. Think of it this way: you're not like that now. Richard altered that directive just enough to show you a new way of thinking."
"What exactly did he do to me?" Karr wanted to know.
Jay frowned, trying to think of a way to describe Richard's actions in a good light. "He developed a program that would run through your circuits and alter your primary directive to preserve first humans and then yourself. He also wiped parts of your memory that corresponded with the long periods of sensory deprivation when you were deactivated. He thought...and I'm not sure I don't agree...that you wouldn't be able to deal with that memory in your current mental state."
Karr was silent for a long time. Jay began to be afraid he'd said it wrong. At last the AI spoke.
"Why didn't they do that at the beginning? Why didn't they just tweak the programming so that I was aware of the importance of human life?"
"I really don't know, Karr," Jay had to admit. "I wasn't there. I think they were just so shocked at the consequences of their actions that they couldn't deal with it rationally."
"What other memories have I lost?"
"Your experiences of all the things you did after you were first revived. You were stolen from the lab at the Knight estate and used as a tool for a couple of criminals, and you were eventually tracked down and deactivated a second time; and then someone found you and brought you back, and that time they scattered what was left of you in the desert and everyone thought you were really dead."
"Richard took all that away?"
"He thought he was doing the right thing," Jay said.
"I know." Karr paused. "Jay, I'm sorry but I think I need a little time to deal with all of this."
"I understand," Jay said, getting up stiffly. "I'll be back tomorrow. Karr, just please try and remember that you're with people who care deeply for you, and that they did all that they did for your wellbeing."
"Thank you, Jay," Karr said softly. Jay nodded, left the room, rubbing his aching shoulders. He made his way downstairs to the main atrium, where Riley and Richard were eating donuts from a box and watching something mindless on the large-screen television.
"Hey," Jay said quietly. Both heads turned to face him. He saw a fleeting shadow in Riley's eyes, and ignored it, approaching the sofa and the donuts. "Can I have one?"
"Please," Richard said, handing him the box. "Take them away. I can't stop eating them."
"They'll do that to you," Riley said, licking powdered sugar from her fingers. "Jay, you look worn out. How's Karr?"
"He said he needed some time to deal with everything. I think he's taking it rather well, considering." Jay slumped down on the sofa, rubbing his neck. Riley reached out a tentative hand to his shoulder, and he covered it with his own. Richard watched with something inscrutable in his eyes, and then turned his gaze to the television. Riley's other hand crept to Jay's shoulders, and she began to knead the tense, knotted muscles into some semblance of relaxation. She had done this for all the men she knew; done it for Richard, for Michael Knight, for Justin Turner, for her various lovers. She knew how.
Jay, under her practiced fingers, felt the agony ease. Her touch was sure and deft, unknotting the deltoids, stroking away the tightness in the sides of his neck, massaging the deep aches in his upper back. He swayed, letting his head fall forward, allowing her easier access. For almost half an hour Riley worked over him, and it was only when her fingers started to lose sensation that she sighed and let go of Jay. He leaned back and stretched, enjoying the newfound ease of movement. "God, thank you," he said quietly. "That was amazing."
"You looked like you needed it," Riley said simply. "Now go to bed and get some sleep. I can see through you."
"If you insist," Jay said tiredly. "I don't understand why I'm so tired. I can function just fine on five hours' sleep."
"Not if you're recovering from jet lag and the stress of an intercontinental flight and if you've just spent all day in an intensive session with Karr." Richard ate another donut pointedly. Jay laughed, and got up.
"You've always been the smart one, haven't you?"
"Always." Jay raised an eyebrow like a raven's wing and gave up, heading for bed.
"It is ten o'clock," Riley said. "Past my bedtime."
"Oh, come on," Richard said. "If I make you Irish coffee will you stay up and watch a bad movie with me?"
"If you make me Irish coffee I'll dance on the table for you," Riley said happily.
"Hmmmm," said Richard, "scratch the movie and let's get down." Riley smacked him with the empty donut box, and he got up, grumbling. Left alone with the three cars and the bigscreen TV, Riley got up and began to riffle through Richard's not inconsiderable movie collection. The hope that had burned through her like a deadly fever was mellowing now, as the assurance she had seen in Jay's green eyes began to comfort her. He knew what he was doing, and she really believed he could help Karr; if anyone could, it would be Jay Rose. It was possible. What she had always dreamed of was possible. She looked up from the videos and caught the light of the full moon filtering through the blinds on the big windows. Someone in love had once said that it was like holding the moon in her fingers.
She pulled 2001 from the video collection, slotting it into the VCR and sitting back on the sofa. The thought of FLAG and Devon and Michael was there on the edge of her mind like a faint headache, but she kept the image of Jay's half-smile before her eyes, made herself think of the way he'd held Karr's perceptor, and found she was able to ignore the threat of Devon. The opening credits began to roll, and she paused the tape until Richard returned with two glasses and a box of what looked remarkably like Lindt chocolates. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"
"No, actually," he said, proffering the box. She selected one, bit into it with calculated sensuality, looked at him from under half-closed lids.
"Consider it said," she assured him, licking her fingers. "You have such style."
Richard laughed. "You aren't so bad yourself, love."
She started the movie playing again. Richard made wonderful Irish coffee, she thought as she lay back into the curve of his arm. She didn't see the look of almost terrible sweetness in his yellow eyes; didn't see the almost imperceptible tightening of his lips. For a very long time he had loved Riley Stone more than he cared to admit; this business with Karr had brought them a great deal closer, and Richard was having more than a little difficulty dealing with the wrenching in his heart every time he saw Riley look at Jay Rose.
Kitt, in the parking lot of a motel in Los Angeles, felt for the link with his brother. It had been faint and nebulous all day, as if Karr was focusing all his intent and energies on someone else or some other stimulus, and the block had been more in evidence. Now, Karr was thinking hard. Kitt could feel the difference in the mindtouch; Karr was locked in introspection. With infinite care, Kitt sent out an exploratory tendril, and was shocked and surprised by what he discovered.
Karr's central core programming directive had been altered.
All his life Kitt had felt the link with Karr, and had been peculiarly aware of the difference between them, all dictated by that original programming difference. He had more or less broken through his original programming, but it was still there in the back of his mind. Karr's programming had been altered so that he would instinctively preserve the safety of his driver and of humans before his own. He was now more similar to Kitt than he'd ever been. He knew, because Karr knew, because someone had explained a great deal to him.
Kitt probed a little further. Karr had been...treated, by someone with a firm grasp of computer programming. Selective areas of his memory had been wiped. Kitt shivered at the thought of having someone do that to him. Karr's memory of his sensory deprivation during the long years of deactivation was gone. He was...feeling guilty, Kitt realized. Guilty and remorseful, for the few things he could remember doing before the deactivation and the programming alteration. Kitt realized that he'd have acted differently had he known what he now knew.
Kitt found himself feeling definitely sympathetic towards the darker AI. While Karr was definitely still there, still dark and cool and reserved, he now had a respect for humans, and he was able to admit that he felt emotions. The gaps in his memory were bothering him.
Suddenly the mindtouch changed, as Karr became aware of Kitt's presence. Kitt pulled back, but it was too late; Karr reached out for him.
Kitt?
Yes, Kitt said reluctantly. Karr didn't remember him; didn't remember their battles, or the times he'd tried to destroy him. He found himself almost glad.
Kitt, why are you linked to me? Karr wanted to know.
I am not sure. We have always had the link.
I don't remember anything. Tell me why Riley wanted me to block you.
Kitt paused. How best to phrase this...? What have they told you about why you're not at FLAG?
Very little. They said there was some kind of malfunction and they had removed me somewhere safe.
You know you were...destroyed, and your circuit boards scattered in the desert?
Yes, Karr said, and his mindtouch was dark, partly sorrowful and partly annoyed that he couldn't remember any of this for himself.
Riley and Richard Harrington stole your backup mainframe from the Knight estate, Kitt told him resignedly. He would find out anyway, and at least Kitt could offer some sympathy. They rebuilt you somehow, and they must have used your original startup disks to reinstall your primary programming; you know you've been...altered, in that core programming?
I know.
No one at the estate knows where you are, Kitt sent. I'm assuming Richard intends to put you in a car and use you for something, though I don't know what. Karr, Riley cares very deeply about you.
I know, Karr said again, and there was something of wonderment in his voice. For the first time, Kitt realized, he was able to comprehend emotions. He remembered what that had been like. They stole me?
Perhaps "stole" is the wrong word, Kitt qualified. Liberated, perhaps. Karr, whatever they did, I think they did it for your own good, because they want you back. I've spoken with Riley a lot about those early days, and she had a great respect for you back then. I think it goes deeper than that. I think she did it because she saw the possibility that you could come back to her; that she could see you again.
Karr was silent for a long time. Kitt could feel him mulling that over. I don't know if I can deal with these gaps in my memory, he said. I'm not entirely sure what I am anymore.
I understand, Kitt assured him, and sent a tentative wave of support over the link. Slowly, inexpertly, he felt his brother respond. A strange, terrible hope began to bloom within Kitt. Could Karr really be saved? Could he become everything Wilton had dreamed he'd be?
He felt the fatigue in Karr's circuits, felt the slowness, the faint aching. You're tired, he sent. Rest. I won't tell them anything. I don't know where you are.
Kitt, Karr said.
Yes?
Thank you.
Kitt was amazed. The old Karr would never have thanked anyone for anything, especially not his younger brother. He felt a new and strange respect for Riley Stone and Richard Harrington. If they could pull this off, they would have done something quite beautiful.
He let the contact go, for the first time feeling it as almost a comfort.
Franz Schreck lit a cigar with a fifty-dollar bill. His associate Legrand raised an eyebrow at his excess, but Schreck was flamboyant with his money at the best of times, and the seventy thousand delivered earlier that evening was just the icing on the day's cake. Letting the curling ashes of the fifty fall into the ashtray, Schreck exhaled a cloud of blue smoke and leaned on his desk, looking self-satisfied. Jules Legrand gave in and lit a clove, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling of Schreck's Beverly Hills apartment. "So what's next?" he wanted to know.
"There's a shipment of Russian assault rifles coming in tonight," said Schreck. "Spar's got her pretty eye on it, but my people are already going to be there when it arrives."
"Didn't you agree to stay off her territory?"
"Did I?" Schreck asked guilelessly, his wide blue eyes like chips of ice. Legrand shrugged hurriedly. "In any case, I want you to go and supervise."
Legrand fought the urge to click his heels together and salute. "All right. Anything else I should know?"
"She has the poison. I don't know if she would have had it distributed this fast."
"I'll be careful."
Schreck watched him go, leaning back in his chair with his feet on his desk. All in all, it had been a good day.
It was a chilly night. In Utah, Richard and Riley watched as the Discovery drew closer to Jupiter, and Jay slept the dreamless sleep of exhaustion, while Karr dreamed over and over of the way the mannequin child had shattered on impact with his prow. Alexandra and Riker Spar dined lavishly in one of the most exclusive restaurants in Hollywood; Franz Schreck and his young starlet double-D girlfriend lay in sin in his silken-sheeted waterbed; Michael Knight dreamed of Bonnie Barstow, while Kitt sat silent in the parking lot and attempted to make sense of the new developments in his world. Over it all the impartial moon shed her light, blacked out now and then by the fleeting high cirrus clouds that heralded the coming of spring.