Reunion Read Online Free PDF Page B

obscured his vision.
    “I know the syb exists. I saw it, briefly, unopened. I know it’s there, somewhere beyond the alarm cluster that has taken its place. You
have
to help me. I know that you can. You just have to want to.”
    “The sybfile to which you refer . . .” The artificial voice halted prior to conclusion. Flinx held his breath. “The sybfile to which . . .” the voice in the shielded office began again, only to once more terminate prematurely.
    “Please,”
Flinx pleaded. “You
know
the syb I want is there. There’s no reason not to show it to me. You can’t pretend it doesn’t exist when I’ve already seen it. Bring it back. I won’t keep it long. I promise. No harm will come to the system. It’s only one little, tiny, harmless syb. Comply. Do what you were designed to do. I’m a citizen, desperately seeking.
Help me.
”
    “The sybfile . . .” the voice of the Shell began again. Suddenly, Flinx felt something in his head that was not a preverbalization. Thoughts could roil, and so could emotions. Staring at the floating screen, he strained to project, straining harder with his ability than he ever had with Elena Carolles. The pounding advanced from the rear of his skull to the median. Pain shot through him, and he winced. Alarmed, Pip stuck her head out from beneath his shirt and searched for a danger that existed only within her rangy companion. Her small, bright eyes were twitching.
    “This is an unauthorized override of system procedure.” Within the chair, Flinx hardly dared move. “I am required to generate a record, citizen. The sybfile in question is restricted. Anything beyond its name lies under Church Edict.”
    Flinx exhaled. It was a warning sufficient to frighten away most, but not him. He had violated Church Edict before, and successfully. What was more important was that he had wormed a first, critical byte of knowledge out of the Shell.
    “Then you concede the existence of the sybfile. This contradicts your previous—” He checked a marker. “—thirty-two statements delivered in response to the same question.”
    “I am required to generate a record.” The AI paused, neither volunteering any additional information nor denying its interrogator’s conclusion.
    When would that record draw the attention of those responsible for supervising the accuracy and operational functionality of the Shell? Flinx wondered. His circumscribed time was growing shorter.
    “Show me the syb in question. The original, not the alarmic. Show it to me
now.
Please,” he added after a moment’s thought.
    “I cannot. The sybfile requested is under Edict. You do not show appropriate clearance for access.”
    Quickly, Flinx composed a response. “But you
know
that I have to view it. You’re sensitive enough to tell that, aren’t you?” Once again, fighting back tears that the pain in his head squeezed from his eyes, he fought to make the AI understand the depth of his request. To see his need. To
empathize.
    “I will have to generate a report,” the voice of the Shell declared uncertainly.
    “That’s fine. Generate all the reports you want. Let someone in authority read and rule on its contents. But
I need to see the contents of that file,
and I need to see them
right now,
here, this minute. Please,
please,
bring it up. I
know
that you understand.”
    Something flowed through Flinx that he did not comprehend. This was understandable, because it was highly probable that no one else had ever felt anything quite like it before. If it was whatever passed for cybernetic empathy, he could not have identified it as such. It came and went in a twinkling, and then was gone.
    In its place was one more syb identifier among hundreds, alive within the depths of the floating screen. There was no mistaking its identity. As near as he could tell, no twitchy alarms parasitized its boundaries. It was exactly as he had seen it originally, unaugmented and unchanged. Supporting his pounding head with