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(Game date: 12/03/2020)
I didn't discover that impetus until I started meeting with everyone, one-on-one. Only then did he allow the full extent of his bitterness to show.
The Nepeta family, he revealed, is a rare -- nay, vanishing -- breed of proud, hereditary servants. They have managed the staff at Chystari manor for generations. The estate itself is at least as old as the city, one of the few actual historic landmarks of Æstas, so this traditional employment is indeed a prestigious claim all on its own. The tradition came to an abrupt end a few weeks ago when the current and sole heir of Chystari, entirely without warning, terminated all employees and replaced them with a new line of anthrodrones.
Most people won't understand how much of a blow that is. That's because, for most of us, a job is simply a job, not an integral part of our identity. Those of us born to privilege, such as Vamir or myself, may feel cheated when that privilege is lost, but for the Nepetas, their pride and heritage were stolen. To make matters worse, this man-child (Foster by name) acts not as a caretaker of a precious historical site, but as a wastrel and a degenerate. Every week or two, he hosts another lavish orgy. His standing guest list is a roster of the most influential, and corrupt, people in the entire city.
Ergo, when I asked Aru about his personal goals, revenge against Foster and reclamation of Chystari were just about all he talked about. He, being someone with zero criminal background, had no plan as yet, but that is my department. A grand scheme started to grow in my mind. I filed it away under "for later, need resources."
Our recent acquisition of Hilda's drone schematics conveniently provided the resources needed to put that plan into motion.
When our holographic ghost designed her cybernetic shell, her ill-fated collaboration with CyberTek ultimately led to corporate espionage, and knock-offs based upon that design went to market early. These are what Foster bought to replace the foxkin servants: a fleet of iDolls, with essentially the same operating system as Hilda's original design, but with corners cut -- and built-in wireless access.
I designed a virus especially for that OS, to spread via the Matrix. For safety's sake, I also wrote a patch specifically to block it, and made sure that our own stolen property (and Hilda, the next time we saw her) was so protected. The virus itself was nothing but a software shell designed to receive, verify, and execute instructions. My own little back-door into any anthrodrone in the city. Well, any with a wireless link, at least, which is most of them.
My plan was to modify Foster's will to make the Nepeta family his heirs, then use his own drones to ensure that they inherit, turning one of his weekend parties into a slaughter. If it worked out, then Aru gets his revenge, plus access to near-unlimited funds. As an added bonus, we start a huge wave of distrust against anthrodrones. If that doesn't kill the market, it should at the very least make it unprofitable for a long stretch, and discourage other mass layoffs.
I immediately hit two snags. The first came from within: In a completely unexpected twist, Mauger judged the plan too bloodthirsty. At first, I pushed back, but eventually, he started to make sense. After a bit of digging, it turned out that guests were allowed to bring a "plus one" if they wanted, so the chance of innocent people getting caught in the crossfire was, indeed, non-zero. Another bonus dropped into my lap from this extra work: it turned out that Major Stone and Captain Bennet, of the Border Patrol, were on the regular guest list. I modified the program to only include official guests (and the host, of course) in the attack order, and made a note to try to time this job for a day when they were both onsite.
The second problem was the will. Apparently the Fosters didn't keep their important documents online like normal people. They were only accessible from within a safe room. The elder master of the house would have a servant (most recently, Aru's mother) open the door for him, and stand guard while he did whatever business he needed to do inside. If I was to have a hope of altering the will, I needed to get into that room.
Heavy sigh. I don't like the idea field testing my work at the production site, but didn't see a way around it in this case. I sent a packet to grab video of the next time the safe room was opened, so that I could get a look at the lock and maybe at what was inside. What came back...was quite a shock.
I had an uneasy feeling that I knew exactly what this was, but needed confirmation. I sent another packet, this time for a general 24-hour surveillance of the entire estate. I didn't turn on constant video feed, instead having the drones record everything and send it in high-speed, encrypted blips, at staggered intervals.
I could not have sifted through the hours of video that came back without Parker's assistance. My journal entries lately have been rather unfairly critical of Parker, comparing her level of development with Hilda. I shouldn't do that. Hilda is literally a centuries-old human soul, whereas Parker's custom programming is only a few months old. I'm lucky to get sass out of her. And for jobs like this...well, I got to skip many droid-hours of tedious household chores, for which I am grateful. Even so, I learned much more than I wanted to know about Foster's personal peccadilloes. I am certain that not one iDoll in that household is still covered under warranty.
The relevant piece of video arrived roughly mid-day. It showed Little Miss exiting the safe room, and proceeding directly to the indoor pool, where she commanded a languishing Foster, attended by more anthrodrones than necessary, to "Report." Oh, here, I'll copy the video into my log. I really can't do it justice.
Video begins.
The girl exits the secure room. No visual on how she opened it from the inside, it just unlocks and opens, then shuts again after she passes through, sliding back into place and becoming what could almost be mistaken for a decorative part of the wall. Hands clasped behind her back, the girl strolls away from the door, making her way to the larger pool area where Foster was enjoying some recreational drugs and a massage.
In a youthful, saccharine voice, the girl issues a one-word command. "Report."
"Ahh, Mistress Dawn. How wonderful of you to grace us with your presence."
The girl says nothing, standing expectantly, hands still clasped behind her back.
"I'm rested, comfortable, and high as the Core right now. As per usual. I'd be happy to show you how rested I am."
'Mistress Dawn' twists her lips into a condescending smile, tilting her head to one side. "Your obsession with youth is so... mortal."
Video ends
Now, see, I should have cut off the surveillance right here, if I had been thinking things through. Because I had all the clues I needed, but that damned curiosity of mine, combined with my pride, drove me forward. At any rate, I now believe that there is something missing between the preceding clip and the next, and we are all probably better off for it.
Video begins
She straightens again, her smile turning coy. "You will get all that you deserve, soon enough." Then she turns and strolls away from the pool. As she passes one of the nearby drones, standing there holding a towel in readiness, the girl looks up directly into the eyes of the drone. A voice like paper tearing comes through the audio, though her lips do not move.
"Ĩ̶̛͙̺ ̸̦̮̑ş̴̡͕̔́͝e̸̯̮͔͓̎͌͝͝e̸͇̼̖̿ ̵͎̓͗̃̓y̶̠̆̑̊o̸̮̝̐́ư̸̜̭̥̿̆̆."
Video ends
Precisely timed with the end of that clip, all the feeds from every drone in the area shut down simultaneously. A tracer packet, carrying a nasty payload, came barreling after my feed, stopped only by the government-level VPN protection offered by Frank. I do believe that, if I'd been sitting at home instead, I'd have lost my BAN-link. Perhaps more.
But that did not happen, and I had my confirmation. Katrya, watching from the next van seat over, growled it out: "Sun-baby." Her guttural tone might have scared me, had I not already been so frightened.
Our team had already been advised on these creatures. A single one of them, with access to Tek from centuries ago, had threatened the existence of the entire planet. It took a team of legendary heroes to defeat it. I silently took inventory of our assets. Our own team, already small, was steadily dwindling. and none of us could claim to be heroes, let alone legends. We didn't even dare to take our drones into a battle against a being which could quite possibly take any of them over and use them against us.
No one questioned that we had to face this thing, so there is that. Regardless of how this turns out, let this record show that everyone faced the danger, knowing full well that it may be futile. But we were going to need help. It was time to make dinner reservations at the Crystal Pilot.
She did, however offer her personal assistance, while expressly forbidding her wife to take that drone body of hers anywhere near this particular battle. I agreed, even going so far as to recommend extra precautions -- added distance, even Matrix blocking if available. Never mind that Hilda didn't have built-in wireless. If I could figure out how to bypass that obstacle (and I have), then I must assume that the sunchild is equal to the task as well.
While the rest of the team spent hard-won credits on extra protection, I installed my antivirus patch in Hilda's OS and made last-minute adjustments to the plan. I had previously asked Vamir to prepare a narcotic, to put party guests to sleep before our attack. After a brief conference, we cancelled that part of the plan, not wanting to give any more advance warning than we already had. I apologized to Vamir, but he shrugged it off, saying something about "extra explosives instead."
I had dearly hoped that one of the Nepetas could help us forge a will in advance of our strike, but none of them had worked at the estate long enough to become familiar with the young man's handwriting before losing their jobs. We'd have to wing it once we got in.
When the weekend arrived, all too soon, The Crystal Pilot closed for business. Instead of dining customers, it carried a raiding party as it floated in a most leisurely fashion over the city, slowly making its way toward Stately Chystari Manor.
Major Stone arrived early on the first day of the weekend. Feeling a bit greedy, and a bit lucky, I held off. I wanted Bennett onsite too. I could tell that Katrya was becoming agitated, and nerves in general were high. Most of us wanted to get this over with, because the primary target was now the sunchild, and we had no idea how this was going to turn out. I was in complete sympathy, and told them so. I also advised that everyone who could rest, do so. These parties tended to run all weekend.
Early the next day, Bennett arrived, just as Stone awakened. We didn't have sound, as we were witnessing the meeting via the Pilot's "spyglass" screens, but we surmised from the agitated nature of their conversation that it involved the injured Border Patrol agents refusing CyberTek's experimental prostheses, and the subsequent disappearance of the entire squad. Stone did not appear pleased, and found a dressing-room.
If we were going to catch them both at once, it had to be now. I asked Ms. Blackrose to take us in, determined to hold off the "kill packet" until we had to make the decision whether to disembark, or to pull up. I still had no idea if it would still work. If the sunchild had discovered my virus...
Cecily grinned rakishly. "Been too long since I've done this," she uttered.
The airship's prior slow crawl through the sky was quite a deception. We now moved at a speed that I had never before experienced -- not that I claim much prior air travel at all, but still. If the descent were more rapid, the passengers would have had a difficult time keeping up. I sent my packet, already queued up.
Barely a second passed before screams of fear and pain became audible. They grew louder as the craft neared the ground. I gripped the railing, trying to concentrate on the mission ahead, trying and failing to keep one thought out of my mind.
I am now a mass murderer.
The ship never did touch ground. It came to a stop a few feet above the ground when the captain gave the order to disembark (actually, she gave no such order; she merely handed off helm controls to Hilda, bared her teeth in another piratical grin, said "This brings back memories," then fairly leapt over the edge). Aru led the way, he being the only one who knows the actual location of the safe room, and we raced up the steps, through the grand entryway, and into the foyer. The safe room, we had been told, was very near.
Once inside, I wondered if we would make it that far.
Standing between our group and the double-stairway was the sunchild, Mistress Dawn.
She said, in a voice that dripped of false, sweet, sincerity, "You've come to play as well?"
(to be continued)
..::Kai::..
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