| From: | Jeffrey Mach <mach@****.CALTECH.EDU> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Nothing in Particular |
| Date: | Tue, 8 Apr 1997 22:04:44 -0700 |
*****Personal log
>>>>>[+++++engage encryption: GORDIAN
I suppose it was about what I expected, and no worse than I had planned
for. She took the news rather well, actually. I foresee no more than a
one month delay to validation, since Ayanami's...diligence has put us
far enough ahead, the overall effect will be minimal.
+++++include: meeting.040858.trid
The view is of a rather spacious, but spartan office, from what appears to
be a security camera embedded in the upper, back right corner of the room.
A cluttered desk is highlighted by a large turtle monitor gathering dust
and facing the wrong way to be of use to whomever uses the desk but is
absent now. Comfortable chairs are placed on the other side for visitors.
The thin faux wood door does little to keep out the voices of those
outside.
"Damn it! When _will_ he be in his office?!?" A female voice, angry and
somewhat panicked.
"Mr. O'Roarke didn't say when he was expecting to arrive." A soft male
voice making a vain attempt at being calming. "Perhaps his flight was
delayed."
"Flight? Christ, nobody said anything about a flight.... He didn't even
bother telling me he was out of town. I don't suppose you could tell me
where he was?"
"I...I'm afraid not."
"Fine then, since he's not here, I don't suppose he'd mind me waiting in
his office." At this the door is shoved open. A tall blond woman walks
in and slams the door behind her. Her face shows more worry than anger
now. In her agitation, it seems she forgot to disconnect the surprisingly
thick datacable running from behind her left ear under her long loose
braids to the portable computer deck she has slung across her chest so
that the strap looks more like a bandolier. A number of small, delicate
looking tools poke out of various pockets on the technician's jumpsuit she
is wearing. She collapses into one of the visitor's chairs and holds her
head in her hands.
After a moment, she stands and walks behind the desk, pulling open its
unlocked drawers and finding more masses of papers and a half-empty bottle
of very old scotch. The desk's center drawer takes more time to open,
since she has to work at it with some of the tools she brought. Over her
shoulder you see the contents include a fancy antique fountain pen and
some datacables leading to a plain black box that occupies much of the
drawer.
From outside: "Ms. Anderson is already waiting in your office, sir."
At this, she quickly shuts the drawer and glancing around decides she
would best be found reclining in the office's executive chair. Scant
seconds after she makes herself comfortable, the door again opens,
although this time, much more gently. A man enters, dressed in
conservatively stylish business wear, the lightness of his grey beard,
mustache and hair betraying age which his body does not.
The woman sits up rapidly, "It's Monday, Roarke, I want answers. First
of all: where were you?"
"I was on a plane. A Lear Platinum, if I am not mistaken, but since I was
not paying too much attention, who knows?" Roarke's reply is calm, almost
deadpan in contrast to her accusational tone. "You'll find the control to
the chair in the right side pocket. It has a shiatsu massager built
in...." This comment catches her off guard. "I assume you found my
personal system, but that, since you are not drooling on yourself, you
haven't had a chance to access it yet. That would not be wise."
Anderson stands as though the chair had somehow offended her and slamming
her hands on the desk takes the position of a beat cop giving the third
degree to a perp at the precinct house. "Cut the crap. I don't suppose
you know who snuck up behind me and slammed the 'cone of silence' over my
head?"
"Of course I know...I did." He calmly continues into the room and
takes the seat where she had been moments before.
Roarke's revelation goes far to deflate her posturing. When it looks as
though it has sunk in as far as it would, he continues. "If you were
specifically asking for where I was, this morning, I was in corporate
sponsored hospital in California."
"Hikaru...? Is she?"
"She will be alright, in time."
"A crash? Why the hell didn't you tell me? Was it _that_ bad? They
didn't do any six-billion newyen crap on her...one of the wizboys said
she could barely hack another datajack."
"It wasn't a crash. Perhaps you should sit down." The elder man pauses,
resting his chin on his thumb, he rubs his mustache with the knuckle of
his index finger absently, and waits until she is seated in his chair.
"New Edward's Security found her passed out, in the simulation facility
Saturday morning. She was suffering from malnutrition, dehydration, and I
have been told she also shows signs of sleep deprivation, as well as some
other...possibly more serious ailments."
"What is it? I don't understand. And I don't see any reason why I
shouldn't have been told right away." The angry edge in her voice is
almost gone.
"Are you familiar with CDS?"
She allows herself a dull, muted laugh, "I could rattle off a dozen
possibilities from the top of my head, a few dozen more if I access for a
second. I take it she is not suffering from Control and Dynamical
Systems?"
He, on the other hand is grave, "I was referring to Chronic Dissociation
Syndrome. It is where the victim begins to dissociate themselves from
reality. Symptoms include feelings of unreality as though one..."
She picks up his sentence, "...was watching a trid show. Other symptoms
include fascination with minutiae to the extent of shutting out the rest
of the world. Yeah, I they mention it in standard councelling they do
whenever you get wired up like I did." As she says this she taps the side
of her head. But the nurse tells me they only really see it in people who
were psycho long before they got cyber, 'chip heads,' and guys that go way
too far tossing out meat for metal. Hikaru's...."
"Yes, but the psychiatrist said that in her case it is treatable, and
she is expected to make a full recovery."
"But she was fine after her implant surgery. There was nothing wrong.
That was a long time ago. And I still don't see a single damn good reason
why I'm not with her right now."
"Hmmph. With all that intelligence, you can't see what's right under your
nose, can you? I'll give you a minute to mull over what I've said. Take
your time."
As he waits, she lays far enough back in the chair that you can see the
frustration on her face. Her closed eyes indicating that she may quite
literally be going over the entire conversation word for word. Suddenly,
her eyes open and she sits up with a start, "...the simulator. You said
they found her in the simulator. But what hows that...? 'Chip heads'....
Are you trying to tell me she's somehow..."
"Addicted? In the opinion of one of the better cyber-specialist
psychiatrists on the west coast, yes. There were some very minor
anomalies in her psyche profile that maybe we should have paid more
attention to. In some ways they are traits that make Ayanami a better
pilot. Even you have to admit that once she is rigged in, flexing her
wings, drinking JP-X, she's more 'herself.' Calm, self-assured, more
comfortable."
"So, you're saying...I'm responsible for this."
"Actually, no. But I figured you would probably at some point have come
to that conclusion, which would seriously jeapordize your work here. I
wanted to first make sure she was going to be alright, and then make sure
you heard about it from someone you trust. It wasn't completely your
fault."
"...'wasn't completely' now there's a comforting thought. She's an
alcoholic, and I hand her a bottle of Dom Perignon."
"It was a factor, I will have to concur. The catalysts as it was
explained to me were the psychotropic effects of her control gear,
especially the enhanced perception aspects, combined with the nearly
symbiotic relationship she was entering into with MAX, as well as a
schedule that had her either in the air or in the sim nearly every waking
moment of the day. Regarding the latter, I do not believe I left a hair
unsinged upon the executive in charge of Valkyrie flight testing down
there. He saw the signs from the beginning, but decided to disregard them,
because of her 'enhanced productivity.' That was of course until she
began forgetting to eat or sleep, running simulations at night when the
prototype was being overhauled. Even without her...tendency, the
combination of factors was bound to cause her some psychological harm
eventually."
"So, now what? I mean for her, me, the project, everything."
"The concepts that went into the Valkyrie are sound. In fact some of what
I have heard they have achieved in the past month is well nigh incredible.
And, from what I have understood, her breakdown did not have to happen.
It is just that it was too much, too soon, too stressful on the most
delicate part of the whole machine. To stretch you analogy, Ayanami is
one of the world's finer wine-taster's, but has a proclivity for becoming
an alcoholic, especially when judging single malt scotch. It would be a
waste to lose such talent and experience, would it not? As for you, you
still at least owe us your three 'children.' I assume their nets are
nearly complete, up to their introduction to a plane and pilot?"
"Yeah...almost." The weight of the conversation has her stooped over
in the chair her head in her hands.
"They can wait.... Unlike human children, you can at least save their
state, shut them down for a while and get back to them at your
convenience. What Ayanami needs now is a solid grounding in reality. And
the people she loves.... As of now, you are on assignment to New Edwards,
if anything you can tell the truth and say we need to know if this whole
thing has caused any trauma to MAX as well. After Ayanami gets her
strength back, I am forcing you to take a vacation. No questions asked.
You get her back firmly grounded in herself at least, and you will both
have your old jobs waiting for you when you get back. Get yourself out to
SEA-TAC. I told them to refuel and wait for your arrival."
Anderson stands and Roarke follows her as she nears the door. Pausing,
she turns to him, "I..." and not finding the words she is looking for
only manages, "Thank you."
He puts an arm on her shoulder and she buries her head on his for a brief
moment. "We've got a project to finish, Jennifer. When's the last time a
design came in on time and underbudget?"
+++++end playback]<<<<<
-- Samuel O'Roarke <22:32:45/04-08-58>
Ares Special Projects Division
