Martin"s Secret
Chapter 18: The Dead Naked Thing

After disarming security-sensors and hacking the emergency exit lock, Martin had finally breached the compound’s vault-like shell. The highly advanced electronics inside the briefcase and his implant were the only reasons they had gained access to the top-secret cybernetics laboratory. The computerized devices had allowed him to substitute benign camera footage for live images and to deactivate zoned motion-sensors and door-alarms without alerting compound security. Gaining access to the research facility that had deleted his past and scrambled his brain lifted his spirits. Still, the massive underground complex underneath Tampa manufactured the most sophisticated robotic concepts in the world and he knew breaking in would be the easiest part.

The large, dimly-lit maintenance bay, presently deserted, served as a sterile laboratory for the upgrades and repairs of bots and doubled as a storage room for spare parts. Gurneys parked in four, three-deep rows were silhouetted under minimal lighting from the security cameras that Martin had exploited. He pulled back white linen covering each gurney as they passed between them. Jessica was close behind with a hand resting on the handle of the spare Glock she had tucked under her waistband at Martin’s insistence.

When he pulled back one particular sheet, Jessica lurched backward and was about to discharge a hysteric scream when he put his hand over her mouth.

“It’s deactivated,” Martin assured before removing his hand.

“You mean it’s a dead man, or just a dead, naked thing?”

Martin retrieved a laser-penlight from a physician’s bag lying beside the corpse, bent over and lifted the man’s eyelid with his thumb and pointed the laser at his eye.

“It’s neither dead nor alive, it’s a deactivated android, a guard, a harmless one in this mode.”

For a moment, Jessica could only stare at the life-sized naked body - a muscular, highly-detailed, male specimen - lying on the stainless steel slab.

“What are you talking about, Martin? That’s a man. Dead or alive, he’s real, anyone can see that,” she insisted. “Comatose, maybe,” she added with the whispered dignity of someone visiting an intensive-care patient.

“He was never alive, so he never actually died,” countered Martin.

“The man on that table is either dead or alive, but he appears to be quite human,” she persisted, her voice rising with impatience.

“Come closer. I’ll show you.” Martin motioned with a hand for her to approach the table.

Jessica sidled up to the gurney like a child to a casket; her upper body leaned backward as though the cadaver might bolt upright and grab her. She finally relaxed enough to peek around Martin’s shoulder as he trained the laser on the patient’s eyeball.

“This specialized laser beam is calibrated to pass right through his fake retinas, which is all a doctor would see during a standard eye exam. Put simply, an MRI would get the same phony results from magnetically-prompted, three dimensional projections emanated from his sub-epidermal underlayment. Think of it as holograms camouflaging his true android structure.”

“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” blurted Jessica when he focused the laser on the android’s eye. “He has some kind of a computer for a brain,” she exclaimed in an excited whisper. “It’s hard to believe he’s not real” - she ogled the torso, again - “he’s so... lifelike.”

“They’re all programmed with distinct and sophisticated personalities. I’ve heard that some replicate the desires and nuances of human sexual relationships,” he explained.

“Wow, I see how that could happen,” she admitted.

Martin sat his briefcase on the table by the robot’s feet, opened it, and removed a device Jessica had not seen before.

“What’s that?”

“A special microphone stethoscope for audio-monitoring through vents and walls,” he answered. “It can hear voices a football field away.”

Martin placed two suction probes against a wall next to an air-duct. After adjusting its controls and the tiny ear speakers he cocked his head and held an indexed finger in the air as he listened.

“They’re holding some sort of security meeting in a conference room, about seventy feet down that hall,” he said, pointing the way. “Listen.”

After removing one of the tiny earphones, he gently pushed it into Jessica’s ear.

“I didn’t hear a thing before. Now they sound like they’re in the next room. Are you the ‘rogue agent’ they’re talking about?” asked Jessica.

“Afraid so. That’s Anthony Fererra, a real bastard and operations manager for ACR. Sounds like he’s bullying the researchers into helping a hit-squad locate me.”

“Did you hear that? He just called you a ‘walking automatic teller for classified data,’” said Jessica, lowering her voice down to a whisper.

“I heard. You don’t have to repeat everything they say,” muttered Martin.

“I’m just saying, this Fererra guy is really out to get you. And what does he mean by ‘a woefully unprepared global audience’? Unprepared for what?”

“I’m not sure. Apparently I’m not ‘fully aware’ as he put it. My AI implant contains information that hasn’t risen to a conscious level - but I can appreciate the sensitive nature of some of the classified data they put in my head.”

As Martin stored the audio surveillance gadget, Jessica heard a sustained pit-a-patting and thrumming sounds coming from outside of the room.

“What was that noise?” she gulped, as her face turned pale.

Martin pointed at his ear and cocked his head in the direction of the door.

“It’s probably a general-service bot of sorts. This sector is full of labor-saving contraptions,” he reasoned.

Martin had a calming effect on her. Somewhat satisfied with his answer Jessica wasted no time getting back to their previous conversation.

“Just tell them to take out the implant and fix your memory. Everybody walks away happy,” she suggested.

“Won’t work, they’ll kill us both.”

“Why?”

“Because they can’t be sure how much classified information I’ve accessed, and they wouldn’t trust anything I said. There’s just too much at stake from they’re perspective,” he explained.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple, don’t over-think. The kind of secrets that have prompted such a severe response from ACR’s top brass is information that must be permanently deleted from an unstable source - that’s me. They won’t leave it to chance.”

“They’d kill you because the fusion of artificial intelligence that they engineered happened to fail?

“You saw my car and we barely got out of that restaurant alive. It’s the top-secret nature of the files, Jessica. The fusion is unstable and it’s impossible for them to predict what information has already bubbled to the surface.”

“So, has any?”

“What?”

“Classified files....”

“Some. I know things that I didn’t learn or discover. It’s just there, you know?”

“No, Martin, I’m sorry, but it’s hard to imagine knowing things I never learned when I still have trouble with high-school algebra.”

Martin smiled affection. He liked the charming way she occasionally armed humor with self-deprecation.

“I believe it comes down to this,” he said. “The implant utilizes the frontal lobe of my human brain the way a computer utilizes random-access memory to select and run applications and files - but the surgeon got his wires crossed.”

“He erased the ordinary things, things like, I don’t know, your entire life,” said Jessica, her hand rested on the Glock’s handle.

“Yep. Unfortunately my biological memory was sacrificed so that my brain’s capacity for accessing artificial intelligence could be sharply increased at their convenience. When ACR figured out it was out of the loop and realized I was retrieving data, they tried to silence me before the CIA found out about it.”

“So they decided to play it safe and kill you.”

“Exactly. If Washington replaces out about my implant there’ll be an investigation and I’ll be forced to testify. It’s the last thing ACR honchos want.”

“Let me get this straight. They plan to avoid an investigation by destroying their own top-secret files using expendable assassins to murder a C.I.A. agent. What could go wrong?”

“That’s the nutshell version,” Martin replied. “The fusion is unstable which makes me a wild card in a game where wild cards are banned.”

“Well, Double-O–Seven, I guess we can write a screenplay about this if your AI includes creative writing,” poked Jessica, covering her fear with humor.

It was as though Martin was seeing her for the first time. Not actually the first time, but the first time as the woman he had fallen in love with at the speed of light. He kissed her softly on the lips then moved up, brushing his lips against a slender eyebrow before resting his cheek against her face. Her velvety lashes fluttered against his ear like a butterfly. The pull of her love was so overwhelming that he had to force himself to focus on their dire situation.

“This is probably not a good time to tell you how much I appreciate you, care about you,” said Martin.

Jessica handed back the earpiece.

“There may never be a better time,” she whispered.

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by chirping sounds accompanied by a continuous clickety-clacking, whirs and intermittent beeps, all coming from just outside the room. When it entered the bot-maintenance bay, Jessica attempted to scream but couldn’t replace her voice. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Martin and cast a defiant glare at the intruder.

Martin analyzed the visitor for a moment before reacting. The tracked vehicle was the size of a refrigerator but moved about with considerable agility on its rubber tracks.

“It’s a mindless server-bot. I don’t think it’s dangerous,” he whispered.

“Tell that to my heart, maybe it’ll start beating again,” quipped Jessica. “What does it want?”

“I am not mindless and did not mean to startle you, humans. Did the crew in Assembly Sector write “roach coach” across my serving-hatch again? Such foolery no longer bothers me but it always seems to make humans laugh.”

“No, you’re fine, and I apologize. We’re recent transfers and not used to being served by a bot,” Martin assured the miffed apparatus.

The bot slowly turned to Jessica like a tiny tank and its electrical motor surged a bit.

“Please accept my apology. I am here to serve refreshments to employees. I have Danish and Cuban sandwiches available with coffee, cola and milk.”

“Um... I’ll have a Danish pastry with milk if you don’t mind,” said Jessica, as her heartbeat slowed.

“Mind? I am a server-bot. Serving humans here at ACR is the sole reason for my existence. Even droid-guards like that heap of junk on that table over there treat server-bots like lower forms.”

Jessica was taken aback and could only manage a drop-jaw examination of the self-conscious machine at first, but she felt sympathetic.

“Well, I respect you, Lieutenant Dan,” she said.

“Thank you, human,” the machine replied in its computer voice. “Question: did you just call me ‘Lieutenant Dan?’”

“I did,” said Jessica.

“Thank you. I like that title. It’s so much nicer than the names they call me over in assembly. What does it mean?”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, saluting the dented machine that was covered by white-washed graffiti. “It means gallant officer.”

When she glanced at Martin he was beaming over the repertoire she had established with ‘Lieutenant Dan.’

“Nice touch,” he remarked.

“A mobile refrigerator that brings me food and then grovels. What’s not to like? And the whole ‘serving humans’ spiel kind of works,” Jessica deadpanned.

Martin grinned and ordered a Cuban sandwich and a soft drink. The server-bot whirred and squeaked a few seconds before a stainless steel hatch near its middle lifted to dispatch a lighted tray with the ordered items neatly arranged.

Jessica removed the drinks and cellophane-wrapped food from the tray and set Martin’s cola and Cuban sandwich on a nearby work bench.

Martin spent the next few minutes hacking the bot’s software with the portable de-encryption device from his briefcase.

Its culinary mission accomplished the machine soon turned and clickety-clacked toward the exit. But out of sight in the hallway, Lieutenant Dan suddenly stopped, paused a track to facilitate an about face and made its way back to the room. Once inside, the self-esteem-challenged server approached the two again, this time without speaking. The machine quickly powered down as the word “sleep mode” flashed across its LED menu.

Jessica looked at Martin whose expression suggested he was up to something.

“Let me guess. You’re gonna keep him around until we get hungry again,” she joked.

“Nope. There are only a few places in Tampa that make an authentic Cuban sandwich and this ain’t one. But Lieutenant Dan may be able to record some interesting video. Besides, he’s sturdy-built and designed to track the presence of androids and humans,” said Martin. “Relatively simple skills that could prove useful.”

“Oh my God, what if he tracked us down to rat us out?”

“Fortunately he wasn’t programmed to report on employees’ whereabouts. ACR relies on droid-guards and the cameras and laser-activated motion-detectors that I sabotaged for surveillance.”

“I get it. You’re programming him to spy for us, Right?”

Martin chuckled. “Observe. The word is observe. Spies are for movies. Calling a highly trained CIA agent a spy is like calling a banker a pickpocket,” he said and smiled. “It’s kind of true, but it dents the ego.”

“Sorry darling, I had no idea you were so sensitive.”

“Ha! It’s okay. We spies have tough skin,” he joked.

Martin opened his juice, took a drink and began disassembling a panel on the bot with tools he found under a work bench so that he could install a wide-angle mini-cam behind the menu screen.

She looked at the table where the droid-guard lay silent under the sheet.

“Are there more of those things?” she worried aloud, first glancing at the door then back at Martin.

“There are at least thirty. They’re deployed to defend their relatively frail inventors and are designed with advanced, synthetic muscle-fibers that feel human but are much stronger. There’s an imaging-layer under the skin that enables them to mingle with humans above ground without being compromised by routine examinations.”

“Compromised? You mean like getting through airport security?”

“Exactly.”

“So... they appear to be perfectly healthy human specimens?”

“Pretty much.”

“I didn’t think science had progressed that far anywhere in the world,” said Jessica.

It hasn’t, anywhere else in the world. Just here, and you have a front-row seat.”

After disarming its alarm and unlocking the door, Martin retrieved several items from a steel cabinet marked “guard accessories”.

“Grab that blue-handled laser-weld on that work table,” said Martin. “We’re going to make a few modifications to Lieutenant Dan.”

“But I like him the way he is,” moaned Jessica.

“Think of him as a rather simple computer,” Martin reminded. “Besides, for the time being, we need Lieutenant Dan to behave more like Lieutenant John J. Dunbar’s character from the movie Dances with Wolves. Remember when Dunbar charged the Confederate Troops because he preferred suicide to losing his leg?”

“You’re programming Lieutenant Dan to commit suicide?”

“Maybe Not. Dunbar survived and even received a citation for bravery.”

“Martin, do you realize we’re having a somewhat normal conversation about odd, movie characters while trying to stay alive in the most bizarre real-life situation imaginable?”

“Guess I should get back to work on Lieutenant Dan.”

“Yes,” said Jessica. “How may I help?”