Part 5

(Author's note: the first few chapters of this are already up at Fictionwise. But after I finish the story I intend to go back and smooth some rough edges. I will re-post the final version at Fictionwise when I have it, so that may be a little different than the chapters that you guys have been getting here on the fly.

I would also like to dedicate this story to Buzz Aldrin.)

Summary: Personal initiative, present. Possible delays in software upgrades. Personal initiative, past.

-------

"Yo, Ida. I got you a present," Wendy said when they were back at Middle HQ. She unpacked the grocery bag she'd brought with her. "Tyler Ford's U-Master. It's kind of busted up, but it's definitely got the weird vibe. He just about passed out when I took it off him."

"That's gonna help," Ida said. Her expression stayed disdainful. "Must have been blind luck."

The Middleman gave her a reproachful look; Ida ignored it. "I've got leads, boss. One, I got past the self-destructs on one of those other U-Masters. The Faraday cage worked this time; when it didn't get a GPS signal it kept right on booting." A humming U-Master was enclosed in the same wire mesh cabinet they'd used earlier.

"Good work, Ida. Any theories on why?"

"Yeah. These things have the manufacturing date on the packaging. The ones that blew up were all made within the last two months; the one that didn't is over six months old. Must have been at the back of the shelf somewhere." Ida brought up magnified images of two computer chips on the HEYDAR screen. "The difference seems to be the firmware that ships with the thing. I couldn't recover any of the computer code from the ones that blew up, but I got a read on file sizes. The new ones have three times the built-in software of the older one. I think they shipped them all with the extra hardware -- the GPS, the hidden hard drive, the second set of wi-fi gear -- but they're taking longer to develop the software that uses all that stuff." Ida touched the case around the U-Master. "The second we take this one out of the Faraday cage, it'll automatically look for software upgrades. And my guess is, blow up too."

"The news could be worse," the Middleman said thoughtfully. "Whatever they plan to inflict on their customers isn't ready to begin, or not quite yet. Give us an analysis of Mr. Ford's."

Wendy set the latest broken U-Master on the table. Ida set up her scanners. "Oh yeah, this has all the bells and whistles," she reported. "Even more hidden data storage than the off-the-shelf versions; ten times as much. The same for the wi-fi bandwidth. Whatever they're doing, they're doing it to him in spades."

The robot pushed more buttons. "The firmware on this thing is hugely more detailed. Call them versions one, two, and three. Version one didn't do much. Version two, for one thing, explodes when it gets to our place. And three ... it looks like your hottie signed up as a beta tester."

"He's not my hottie," Wendy said absently. "I bet he doesn't know what they've done to him."

The Middleman said nothing; Wendy had the uncomfortable feeling that he didn't want to speak ill of a near-rival. "Either way, I don't think he's in control of what's happening to him," Wendy said. "I wish we knew what version the guy at the school shooting was running. Maybe his U-Master stopped him from killing people; maybe it started him and stopped him."

"The police lab has it," Ida said. "Anything they learn, we can pull out of their reports, but it won't be much. They have crap equipment and they don't know what to look for. But I also have another lead."

"I couldn't crack the firewalls at FATBOY, but I've got their perimeter scanned to hell and back," Ida continued. "Real space around their headquarters and links to the Internet both."

"Too bad you didn't have that yesterday. It might have helped," Wendy commented.

"Hah." Ida pointed at her. "Plenty around here you still don't know, toots. I put the REPLAY on it."

"Retroactive Event Processing with Linear Analysis, Ytterbium-based," the Middleman supplied.

"We can run the sensors back in time thirty-six, sometimes forty-eight hours depending on sunspot levels," Ida said. "FATBOY did send out a modulated signal right before the guy at the school snapped. A wavelength nobody on Earth uses; it would take a dense palladium-iridium circuit to pick it up at all."

"You've checked the metals content on the U-Masters." The Middleman wasn't asking a question."

"On the nose. All three versions have it," Ida said. "That gear may be human-built, but no way it was human designed. FATBOY has access to alien tech at a minimum, maybe actual off-world help. Either way, it breaks the Wilderman Treaty."

Wendy knew she was expected to give a sidekick line like 'Really? What's that?' "Just tell me."

"There are very strict rules about what information and materials alien visitors can bring to a low-technology planet like the Earth," the Middleman said. "That's why UFO crashes never leave any proven debris. Sometimes they clean up their own litter, sometimes we do. Our culture as a whole is too primitive to survive that kind of first-contact trauma."

"Who signs these treaties in the first place?" Wendy asked.

"What are you, dumb?" Ida jeered. "He does. Under galactic law the Earth is ... well, the closest English would be private property. Big guy there owns it, or whoever's in his job. Regular governments don't come into it."

Wendy could tell when she was being kidded. And she wasn't. "We were dealing with an actual evil Titanic tuba, and you didn't think to mention you're king of the world?"

"Doesn't make you the queen," Ida retorted.

"The Middle organization holds title to the planet under alien law," he muttered, embarrassed. "It's a legal fiction. That way we have the right to sign treaties, declare war, that sort of thing. You remember the Clotharian business. Whoever's Middleman is held accountable for Earth actions. There's not any power involved."

"Just the responsibility," Wendy said. "That's just the sort of thing you would do."

A different image came up on the HEYDAR screen. "Score," Ida said. "There was a second alien-tech signal about seven a.m. today, aimed at a suburban neighborhood. We didn't have any correlations; no police calls to the site, stuff like that. Still nothing on the scene, but the guy who lives at that address dropped dead at work two hours ago. Massive stroke." She listened to her data feeds. "He got to the hospital DOA. Also, his wife and mistress got to the emergency room at the same time. That's how the cops got onto it; one hell of a cat fight." She snickered. "I've got video footage."

"The mission, Ida," the Middleman scolded.

"You're no fun. Dead two-timing guy owns a U-Master, and he was wearing it when he died. The hospital lists it in his personal effects."

"Scanners live in vain!" the Middleman said. "Two people have received these signals via U-Master; and at least one signal led to extremely aberrant behavior. And neither survived the experience."

"I'll nail the next signal in real time, if there is a next one," Ida said. "Guaranteed. I don't know if that will give us time to do anything about it."

----

FATBOY headquarters kept dozens of top-of-the-line U-Masters on hand, for tech-reviewer samples and gifts. Tyler Ford took the top box out of the stack in the supply cabinet and took it back to his desk. He set the headset aside, and plugged the main unit into his computer.

He had all the bandwidth in the world, since he was on the interior FATBOY network. The new machine found his account in seconds and started configuring itself. That was one of the selling points compared to smaller, generic music players. A U-Master user who replaced his unit didn't have to choose between pirating music or paying for it over again; he had lifetime digital rights. Tyler's unit had, among other things, a complete collection of all his own songs except "Dreams of Monica." On impulse, he added that one too. It was all pretty much the same to him these days. His own music didn't resonate for him any more. He certainly couldn't stay upset about Monica when Wendy had hurt him so much more deeply and recently.

He picked up the headset by habit when the U-Master was ready to go. Hesitated. Wendy had screwed him over, but she wasn't dumb; she had a point about his reactions. Now that he thought about it, he'd drifted into the 24/7 U-Master habit since he'd been here. A break wouldn't hurt him. It might clear his head a little.

Tyler logged into the main network and started doing some real work. Nothing specific in mind, just earning his paycheck. If he was dabbling almost randomly throughout the whole network, that was just natural curiosity. Anyway, learning all about how the company worked was his job.

You have a sharp mind. Use it. Find out what you're a part of before it's too late. But Tyler was not doing what that guy had told him to. Just curious.

The CEO office suite, Neville and his five or six closest staffers including Tyler, had its own node on the network. Tyler noted that his boss wasn't online right now, at least not from his desktop. The machine was on, though. Tyler looked idly for shared files that he could reach from here.

Manservant Neville's computer demanded a password. Tyler, half his mind elsewhere, tapped it in and continued.

The whole company was racking up major overtime, trying to get the latest U-Master software updates debugged and ready to go. The release date was three weeks out, but that was an eye-blink in software development terms. Tyler noticed that the big boss had spent a lot of his own time on the beta files. He knew Neville had been a wizard programming geek when the company started, but that was several software generations ago. He had to respect a guy who would work that hard to keep on top of things.

That was the kind of thing that Wendy would never understand. Neville didn't just run this company for the money; it was his passion. He was here to change the world, and Tyler was proud to be involved.

Tyler's watch, the one Manservant Neville had given him, warmed and buzzed almost imperceptibly on his wrist. He didn't really register the change. His headache had started up again.

He took a look at the new firmware, but Tyler wasn't much of a computer guy himself. The raw computer code was gibberish to him. If they'd put in any lines of documentation, for the nerdly-impaired, he couldn't find that part of the file.

"Good afternoon, Tyler," a mild British voice said behind him.

Tyler jumped and minimized the window on his computer screen. Great job playing it cool. "Hello, boss. What's up?"

"Just another day at the salt mines." Neville tapped a key on Tyler's computer keyboard; the window re-opened. "You've never been interested in programming before."

"It's our main product, even more than the U-Master hardware," Tyler said quickly. "I thought I should at least try."

"That's admirable. In the long run, I do want you to act as my alter ego," Neville said. He didn't smile. "But I'm a bit concerned that you felt you had to go behind my back. I don't know if you've realized exactly how crucial I mean you to be in FATBOY's future. Anything you want to know, anything you want access to, just ask. You've got the keys to the kingdom." Neville's tone sharpened. "Did anyone tell you to take a direct interest in the new software?"

"No. Of course not. I mean, who would?"

Neville's dark eyes snapped with real anger. "Don't lie to me, Tyler. I won't abide that. And I think I deserve better, especially in contrast to people who've done you personal harm." He shoved Tyler aside, brought up a different program on the screen with a few brisk raps. "You haven't paid much attention to the details on your paycheck, have you? I had you fully vested in the corporate stock options program the day you came to work here; I have that much confidence in you. Even if I never paid you another dime's salary you'd never have to be in want again. Not as long as FATBOY stays in business, anyway. I have faith in you, and I thought you had the same for me."

"I do," Tyler protested. "I have. It's just ... that was weird, the guy going crazy and dying with his U-Master on. And I had a pretty odd reaction myself when Wendy broke mine."

"There's that as well." Neville picked up the U-Master on the desk. "This is the replacement; what happened to your original? The hardware itself."

"Nothing. It was smashed up; I guess Lacey or Wendy threw it away at their place. It wasn't good for anything but trash." Tyler was becoming alarmed. Instincts he barely knew he owned were screaming at him. "Chief. Why did I flake out like that when I suddenly lost my U-Master? It was almost like I was a computer, and the interface locked up."

"You were under a lot of emotional stress," Neville said easily. "The human mind is a peculiar thing."

The instinct-yelling was deafening. "Boss. Mr. Neville." Tyler felt a little fear, but mostly genuine loss. He did like the man, damn it. "How do you know that? I haven't told anybody where I went, or who I talked to. You've got no idea what conversation I had ... at least, you shouldn't."

"You're very stressed, I can see that. Maybe I've asked too much of you too fast," Neville went on as if Tyler hadn't spoken. "A change is as good as a rest, they say. I dictated a lot of letters this morning; you can help Cora transcribe and send them out. I'll send the files to your U-Master."

"I ... don't want to do that. Sir. I'll do the work, sure, but not on U-Master. It seems like I'm plugged into the thing all the time these days. I'd rather take a break from it."

Neville did smile. It looked wrong. "Don't you want to be an advertisement for your own goods? Every little bit helps our stock prices."

Tyler was sliding his chair back. "Honestly, I'd much rather..."

"Sit still," Neville said. His voice was booming suddenly, filling the room; Tyler felt dizzy. Another second, and quick fingers fitted the headset over his ear. The room seemed to recede. Suddenly Tyler couldn't move, or couldn't want to. It was all too much trouble.

Neville had the main body of the U-Master in his hands, working with the controls. "You're making me sad," he said. "I've given you everything, Tyler -- work, money, respect, a place in my company. Even my own memories. I need a right-hand man I can trust absolutely. With the combination of your native talents and some ... suitable motivation to treat my interests as your own, you could have been that person. Stand up."

Tyler moved like a robot. "Maybe it's not too late," Neville continued. "You said you wanted to make a better world, after all. That's all I'm doing. You might see my side of the case on its merits." Tyler tried to get to the door. "Now, now." Neville pushed another button; the headache clamped down like a vise.

"That U-Master is far better synchronized to your mental patterns than the general test rigs were," Neville assured him. "But this is still as far as I dare go. I'd hate for you to be hurt, Tyler. I've come to think of you as something of a son. Look at me. Answer."

"Okay, boss. Neville." Tyler couldn't look away.

The older man relaxed a bit. "There we are. You've had a bad day, Tyler. Several bad days. You've been in conflict with some very dangerous, very frightening people; no wonder you're upset. And they know where you live, don't forget." He leaned in closer. "You're very tired, Tyler. Very distressed. I want you to stay here. There's a guest suite in my penthouse, a very comfortable one. Take the rest of the day off, go lie down. Maybe you can sleep a bit. Maybe you can listen to some music." The device started trickling a song from Phantom of the Opera into his ears, in mid-verse. You've already decided...

"Kind of tired," Tyler conceded. He was being a fool about this. Neville was a friend, Tyler could trust him. The pressure in his head eased off at the thought. "I could rest."

"Good child," Neville soothed. "Go on up, then. Let yourself in; you're fingerprinted as an authorized user. See how much I trust you. Sleep as long as you like."

Tyler drifted toward the private elevator, all thought of resistance gone. He carried his U-Master in both hands. He was vaguely aware of Manservant Neville, behind him, watching him with an expression of controlled fury. "Right. That's it," said Neville, and headed the opposite direction.

-----

Wendy Watson was a hardened comic-book heroine, or becoming one. Even so, four hours waiting for an enemy signal had dulled her sense of urgency. She'd done some rough sketches on a legal pad, given them up when nothing inspired her. She looked around the Middle control room. Her Middleman's dossier folder was still out in plain sight. Ida had moved it to her own desk, in a protective arm's reach, but she hadn't had the nerve to get rid of it entirely. Maybe she had orders. "I'm bored. How about you, your Majesty?"

The Middleman frowned. "That's in poor taste, Dubbie."

"You're just mad because I've got a whole new shtick whenever I want it. Your Highness-ness, your Honor, your Worship. Han Solo always had good lines." She grinned evilly. "Am I bugging you?"

"Yes, Dubbie." He sounded like a babysitter. "Find something productive to do."

"Hey, it doesn't have to be royal titles. I could always just go look at your real name." She waved at the folder. "Start going Hi Mike, hand me that metric pattern buffer Mike, hey Lacey, Mike said hello."

The Middleman looked puzzled. "Mike?"

"I've had to think about it, you know," Wendy said. "In case I needed a name for you with no lead time. I went with Mike Middler, as in some relation to Bette Middler. It works. It could be a real name."

He relaxed. "That's not very imaginative."

"You didn't exactly give me much to work with."

A chime sounded; someone had entered Jolly Fats Wehawkin's Temporary Employment Agency's front office. "Damn. Five more minutes and I'd have closed for the day." Ida got to her feet. "Oh. Crap." The face on the foyer security camera was all too familiar.

---

Neville didn't have to wait long. A dumpy, aging woman in a hideous print dress came out of the main part of the office. She walked as if her feet hurt. "Well, if it isn't the international electronics magnate and green-friendly billionaire, Manservant Neville, gracing our obscure establishment," she said in an absolutely flat screw-you tone. "We would be delighted to assist your corporation with its temporary-employee needs in any way we can, especially since you have more money than God. How may I help you?"

Neville smiled genially. "I have some fairly specialized needs that my human resources department can't meet. I want to hire someone to fight evil. So that, in a manner of speaking, I don't have to."

"I can lock this place down like a bomb shelter in ten nanoseconds, and nobody would ever find the body," the secretary warned.

He looked mildly pained. "Is there someone else I can talk to?"

They'd clearly been listening. They came out of the back office into the foyer at once, Wendy Watson trailing a bit behind and to the side of her employer. The man seemed even bigger than Neville would have expected from his height and weight statistics. He looked like solid muscle, and moved with a cool-eyed air of homicidal competence.

Neville smiled a bit more; he'd been winning brains-versus-brawn competitions all his life. No need for introductions on either side. "It's an honor. My protégé Tyler Ford has such strong views about you, I simply had to make the acquaintance firsthand."

"What do you want?" The Middleman said without emotion.

"Just a professional courtesy. Although I must say your staff has done nothing so far to make me feel welcome." Neville shifted a bit closer to seriousness. "I know you take a rather direct approach to your calling, slaying monsters and fighting aliens and so forth. Your strength is as the strength of ten, et cetera. I have no intention of getting into fisticuffs with you," Neville's look included the young woman, "either of you. So I thought I'd better drop by and say, don't."

"Or else what?" Wendy shot back.

Neville adjusted his game plan a bit; she was apparently closer to an equal partner than he'd expected. "That's a bit of a complex explanation. You certainly know that I'm preparing to roll out version two of the software that controls my U-Masters. We've had one or two beta tests already."

"We know you've killed people by influencing their minds," the Middleman said.

"I didn't say they were successful beta tests. But we're making progress. I wanted to say that in return for your noninvolvement, I'm prepared to scale back the testing process. Even if it means I miss my upgrade release deadline. Lower level tests that would do little to no damage to anyone. My company's prestige can survive a delay; I'd quite frankly rather ship the software right than fast."

"Even if the deaths so far have been incidental, you've killed. And you're holding the lives of thousands of other people in your hands."

"Thousands?" Neville looked offended. "I've sold five million of the version two hardware in the United States alone, and at a respectable profit. All ready and waiting for the new software. You don't think I'd let you learn about my plans too soon, do you? I'm not a fool."

He was buying it, or enough so that he hadn't tried to attack Neville on the spot. "Then what are you doing?"

"Nothing very dramatic. I'm not going to fill the streets with zombies or rule by murderous whim from some sort of super-fortress. That strikes me as time-consuming and uncomfortable. I think that conquering the world in such a way that people notice is unacceptably shoddy. For the most part, I'm perfectly content with the levels of wealth and power I already have. I just want a bit of an edge, to maximize my options. Just hang back a bit, let me perfect the system. The most I've even considered on a widespread basis is just a touch of docility; the crime rate would certainly go down. Wouldn't it be ironic, if I saved more human lives than you ever have?"

"You're disgusting," Wendy Watson shot out.

"Oh, please. Not one-hundredth of one percent of users will ever be affected in any way they'll be aware of. What's the harm?"

"Violation of human free will is the worst possible harm," the Middleman said. "And even if you're telling the truth about your current plans ... it wouldn't last. Power corrupts. In the end you would have armies of zombies, or something like them -- and you'd enjoy it."

"So. Then we'll do this the hard way." Neville was looking forward to it, in his heart of hearts. "You should know that a version of the new software is ready to go at an instant's notice. Not a very safe version, even if we send no commands at all. If we have to roll the program out too quickly we've estimated, hmm, a minimum attrition of five thousand randomly distributed users."

"You mean you'll murder five thousand people."

Neville shrugged at the re-wording. "That's why I'm telling you this. If I remain alive and well, the problem doesn't arise. But I have to log into my office terminal regularly, at least once every twenty-four hours, to keep matters in that happy state. So don't get any heroic ideas about detaining me or killing me."

Neville spread out his hands. "That's all I wanted to say. Practice some discretion, just in my specific case. Apart from that, I'm completely in support of your mission statement. Go on protecting us all from alien invaders and mad scientists and so forth. I don't want anything bad to happen to the Earth or the human race. Not now that I own them."

The Middleman wanted to attack him on the spot, Neville knew. He could almost feel his own bones breaking. But he'd spoken pure truth from the moment he walked in the door, and the Middleman in turn knew that. "Get out," he said in a voice like stone.

"Oh, very well." Neville turned. And stopped again, two steps short of the door. He simply couldn't resist. "One more thing, Miss Watson. Personal question. I know you haven't been best pleased with Tyler's ... less characteristic ... possessive behavior lately. Certainly understandable; you're a strong-minded woman. But how do you reconcile that principle with ...." He gestured broadly toward their side of the front counter.

Confusion on the girl's face, utter blankness on the Middleman's. Neville couldn't help smiling; he was surprised this particular weapon was still available for his use. Wonderful. Perhaps the old saw about power corrupting did have some merit.

Neville turned to face them directly, face set in a look of friendly sympathy. "You don't know? Well, I suppose anyone with sense would keep it from you. He tried to kill his high-school girlfriend because she rejected him."

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