The Transmuter's Daughter Page 3

  Reaching her dad’s cellphone, she started to lift it but realized the light might make her a target. “Dad?” she whispered.

  A strained, “Sorry Kiri—” was all that came back.

  Panicked, she lifted the phone and swept it around. Her dad was lying several feet away, clutching his side. Scrambling to him, she said, “Dad! Did you get hit?” She couldn’t believe she hadn’t considered the possibility when the gun went off.

  He nodded reluctantly.

  She turned and shouted over her shoulder, “Police! My dad’s been shot!” Looking at the face of his phone—she didn’t even glance at the row of bars quantifying the cell signal—her eyes checked the Wi-Fi signal. None. She turned back over her shoulder again, shouting, “Call an ambulance!” Turning back to her dad, she said, “Where’d it hit you?”

  He nodded down to where his hands were clutching his left side.

  “Let me see,” she said, tugging gently upward on the hem of his T-shirt.

  He lifted his hand so she could pull the shirt high enough to see the little round wound from the bullet. To her relief it looked like it was below his ribs on his left side, not up near the heart or lungs. “It isn’t bleeding much,” she said hopefully.

  “Good,” he said, sounding as if he were trying to soothe her. He pulled a wad of T-shirt material back over the hole and resumed applying pressure. “Hey—” He trailed off.

  “Hey, what?” she asked. Then, glancing back over her shoulder, she said, “I need to get back there and make sure someone’s called for an ambulance.”

  “Good idea,” he said in a strained voice. “But—” He paused, but before she could urge him on, he continued, “If I don’t make it, call Morgan. He’ll take care of you guys.”

  “Your— brother?!” escaped her lips before she bit off her response and said with all the assurance she could muster, “Let’s not worry about that. You’re gonna make it.” She turned and checked back over her shoulder again. To her dismay, the flashlights she thought belonged to the police were still a long way away. She yelled again, “Did you call an ambulance? My dad’s been shot!”

  Someone shouted back, “Drop your weapon!”

  Kiri turned back to her dad, furious, “I’ve gotta go call the ambulance myself.”

  He grabbed her wrist, “Morgan’s a great guy. We fought— But it was mostly my fault. He’ll take care of you guys. My will’s in the file drawer.”

  Before she could choke up, Kiri pulled away, “I’m getting help so we won’t have to worry about any of that stuff.” Pointing the light from her dad’s cell phone down at the floor of the tunnel in front of her, she started running. After a moment she shifted over to the left side of the tunnel to make sure she didn’t accidentally fall into the down-shaft on the right. She shouted ahead of herself, “I’m on my way out to call 9-1-1 for an ambulance!”

  “Drop your weapons and get down on the ground!” came from up ahead.

  They have no idea what’s going on, she thought in frustration. “I’m the owner’s daughter,” she shouted, still running. “He’s been shot. I’m going out to call an ambulance. I have no weapon!”

  “Stop and get down or we’ll shoot!” Then there was a bang and a flash. What Kiri thought was a ricochet whizzed by her.

  She stumbled to a stop and crouched.

  Putting her hands up in the air, she shone the light of the phone down on herself. “Owner’s daughter! Unarmed! Going to call for an ambulance!” In a crouch, she started forward again.

  “If you don’t get down on your stomach, you’re gonna get shot!”

  “Oh Christ!” Kiri swore, dropping to her knees, then to her stomach. “For God’s sake, make it fast so I can call an ambulance! My dad’s been shot!”

  “Hands behind your head.”

  You’ve got to be shitting me! Kiri thought, setting down the phone and putting her hands behind her head. “Hurry, please!”

  “Where’s the gun?”

  “With the asshole who shot my dad! I’m unarmed!”

  A powerful police flashlight swept around and down the tunnel, then focused on her for a moment. She heard boots approaching down the right side of the tunnel. She said, “You really should stay on the other side of the tunnel. That side has a down-shaft you could fall into.”

  “Oh, okay,” a guy’s voice said. He sounded young. His footfalls shifted to the other side of the tunnel and got closer. “I’m going to pat you down.”

  “Okay.”

  Hands brushed lightly over her, then he said, “Turn over.”

  To her relief, he didn’t touch the front of her. He said, “Oh— You’re just a kid.” She thought he must also have realized she couldn’t possibly be hiding anything in her snug jeans and tank top. “Okay. Go call an ambulance. Sorry…”

  Kiri cut him off by scrambling to her feet. Picking up the phone, she pointed the light ahead of her and started running as fast as she could. As soon as she approached the lighted section of the tunnel, she slowed and looked down at the phone. There was a fair Wi-Fi signal, but the phone had locked itself! For a moment she panicked over the thought that her dad might’ve changed his password. Then she remembered you could call 9-1-1 without unlocking the phone.

  She dialed. A moment later a male operator picked up. Kiri said, “Hello, this’s Kiri Djai. You guys sent the police to our place because a couple of guys grabbed my dad.” Incongruously, her thoughts stumbled over the fact that she wasn’t sure she told the police there were two guys. “We need an ambulance. My dad’s been shot!”

  “Your phone’s not giving us a location.”

  “Yes, we’re in a mine shaft up behind the house on our property. You’ve already sent police there.”

  Dubiously, the guy said, “If you’re in a mine shaft, how are you talking on a cell phone?”

  My God! Kiri thought, but tried to explain without shouting at the man. “The mine’s wired for Wi-Fi. I’m talking to you on VoIP. Do you need the address?”

  “No, I’ve found the incident. Wait, give me the address just to be sure. I’m already scrambling an ambulance.”

  Moments later, Kiri was running back down the tunnel toward her dad. When she came up behind the police, one of them put his hand out, “Wait, we still don’t have the scene under control.” He glanced back at her, “You told them shots have been fired?”

  “I told them my dad’d been shot. So, yeah.”

  “Did they say they’re sending more units?”

  “No,” Kiri said, edging past him. “But I sure hope so.”

  “Wait! Don’t go down there, we don’t know where the perps are!”

  “I’ll have to take my chances,” Kiri said breaking into a run. “I’ve got to get back to my dad.”

  Her dad didn’t have a pulse.

  Through her tears, Kiri did CPR for what seemed like forever. Finally, some paramedics showed up. They took over the CPR, hooked up EKG leads and started IVs through which they gave fluids and some meds. Kiri rested, sobbing against the wall of the tunnel. However, eventually one of the paramedics borrowed her dad’s phone to go back to the Wi-Fi zone and talk to a doctor in the emergency department. Kiri heard the other two talking about how they couldn’t transport her dad and keep doing CPR since the wheels on their stretcher wouldn’t roll on the rough tunnel floor. When the paramedic who’d gone to call the doctor got back, he said, “Still pulseless?”

  They stopped CPR for a moment, then the woman said, “clear her throat Yeah.”

  “EKG still flat?”

  “Yeah,” the woman said, sounding like the voice of doom.

  The paramedic who’d talked to the doctor sounded like the voice of doom as he said, “Call it.”

  A woman cop restrained Kiri as she fought to try to resume the CPR herself.

  Ultimately, Kiri found herself being guided up and out of the tunnel. She was surprised to find out it was still light outside. The woman kept an arm around her shoulders as they walked down the road to the Dj
ai’s house. A policeman walked with them. It didn’t seem to matter how much Kiri blinked and rubbed at her eyes, her vision stayed blurry.

  When they opened the back door and stepped inside, Lindl called down from his room in an irritated tone, “Where’ve you guys been?” There was a brief pause. Kiri tried to think what to say, but before she even tried, Lindl followed with, “And why haven’t you been answering your phones?!”

  Kiri tried to say something, but all that came out was a croak. The woman leaned close and quietly asked, “Is that your brother?”

  Kiri nodded and tried to clear her throat.

  The woman called up the stairs, “Lindl, I’m afraid something’s happened—”

  There was a brief period of silence, then Lindl appeared on the stairs. “What’s happened?” He sounded apprehensive, but apparently decided Kiri must’ve gotten in trouble. Eyes on her, he said, “What’d you do?”

  Kiri knuckled at her eyes and croaked out, “Lindl—”

  In a voice filled with sudden dread, Lindl said, “Where’s Dad?”

  Kiri just shook her head. The woman, still with an arm around Kiri’s shoulders, said, “Lindl, come downstairs. You need to sit down so we can tell you what’s happened.”

  “Where’s Dad?!” Lindl screamed, punching his fist through the wall.

  Chapter One

  Thursday morning

  The day everything went to hell, Morgan Djai woke with great expectations. The software company he and four friends had founded was in the midst of negotiations to be bought out by a megacorporation. Google, Apple, Amazon, and Microsoft had all been placing bids. Everyone working at their little company held some ownership so there wasn’t a soul in the place who wasn’t excited about the impending sale. Some of the numbers bandied about for the sale were so high they seemed ridiculous, but even the more moderate prices represented a windfall for everyone concerned.

  They’d developed a natural language virtual assistant named Matilda. Like other virtual assistants, she responded to users’ questions. In her case the user could speak a question and she then assisted with the use of programs and web services on their computers. Originally derided as unnecessary, or only helpful to those totally lacking in basic computer savvy, the program had rapidly gained millions of users. It turned out that even many relatively expert users loved being able to speak simple questions and get help without having to find, read, and comprehend answers on various websites. These included things from, “Matilda, how can I find my home networking password?” to, “Where’s the ‘contact us’ information on this webpage?” In response, Matilda didn’t just give instructions; she’d open the correct part of the control panel or website, then use flashing icons to guide the user’s attention to the next steps, all the while giving verbal or text-box instructions.

  To Morgan’s surprise, people adored the flashing icons that led you to your next step or pointed out features you hadn’t seen. They were so popular that some people kept the program in an always-on state. Morgan had developed a feature that had it constantly highlight the most likely next steps or choices for whatever the user was doing.

  Many had pooh-poohed Matilda as not providing anything that couldn’t be found with a Google search. However, using cloud computing, neural networks and continuous quality improvement logic, Matilda quickly became an invaluable aid to millions of people who struggled to understand and follow the obtuse instructions found on various how-to websites. She’d become surprisingly quick and made doing almost anything on your computer easier.

  More importantly, there’d been plenty of people who, pre-Matilda, just gave up during such struggles. They just didn’t use that website or program. Now they used Matilda to help them employ sites and programs they’d avoided in the past. Not only was Matilda able to help users with difficult programs and websites, the company was also selling information back to the corporations who’d developed the difficult software. Those companies used the information to improve the parts of their programs or websites that weren’t as intuitive as they’d thought.

  Then Matilda sold the companies advice on how to actually make their software user friendly.

  As time went on, Matilda continued to improve rapidly, getting better and better at what she did and attracting more and more users. Matilda’d been attracting purchase offers for some time now and the partners had finally decided to sell.

  Morgan felt like whistling as he performed his morning ablutions. However, he didn’t want to wake his wife Arlette. She didn’t usually get up until nine and she’d be pissed if his cheerful mood interrupted her sleep.

  Besides, Morgan liked her a lot better when she was asleep.

  As Morgan quietly opened the bathroom door in preparation for his escape, he saw to his dismay that Arlette was awake. Lying on her side with her head propped on her hand, she resumed last night’s harangue. “So, have you thought about it?”

  “Arlette,” he said patiently, “all I’ve done’s sleep since—”

  Her face tightened and she interrupted quietly but forcefully, “Are you gonna have the balls to demand what’s rightfully ours? Or am I going to have to come down there and do it myself? Do you even care how badly your family’s getting screwed?”

  Morgan’d had the original idea for Matilda. It had started at his first job, out of the frustration of having to help people use a clumsily designed but important piece of commercial business software. His first little virtual assistant had proven so popular that he was soon fending off multiple suggestions that he do something similar for other software programs. Finally, he decided to start a company to do just that. He’d done almost all the programming for Matilda. He’d also organized the enormous online database that Matilda consulted to produce her answers. Morgan’s wife, Arlette, argued vehemently that he should never have agreed to splitting the majority of the company’s ownership evenly among the five original partners. Each of them owned one-sixth of the company and the remainder of the employees shared the last sixth.

  On the other hand, when he started the company, Morgan felt like he wasn’t suited for the roles of CEO, CFO, or marketing guru. He certainly couldn’t handle them and also do the programming. He particularly didn’t want to try to handle the plethora of legal issues. It’d been almost a miracle that he’d had four good friends, each of whom had skills in one of those areas.

  Better yet, they all got along.

  “Arlette,” he said tiredly, sick to death of her all-consuming avarice, “We don’t need a bigger share. We’ll get plenty of money out of this deal and I’m not going to try to screw my friends to get more.”

  “Morgan, I just want you to demand your fair share. I’m only hoping to prop up your manhood just long enough for you to insist on getting what reasonably belongs to us. You need to tell those sons of bitches that if we don’t get 50% of the whole thing, you’re taking the software and leaving. That whole company amounts to nothing without our software.”

  “Goodbye Arlette,” Morgan said sadly, closing the bedroom door on her as he exited. For a moment outside his son’s door, he paused to school his features into a pleasant expression. Opening the door, he said, “Rise and shine, Adam. Breakfast in a few.”

  Morgan headed down the stairs without checking to be sure Adam was rolling out. Like most teenagers, Adam liked to sleep in, but he never had to be hassled about getting up. When they’d proven to be infertile, Arlette had insisted they adopt, riding roughshod over Morgan’s concerns. She’d been joyous at first, but gradually lost interest in their son as he got older. To Morgan’s surprise, despite his initial opposition to the adoption, the boy had proven to be the great joy of his life. Now a teenager, Adam had his difficult moments, but generally he was bright, affable, and a joy to be around.

  Morgan had sausage and eggs on toast ready by the time Adam got downstairs. He enjoyed the simple tasks required to produce an ordinary breakfast.

  Arlette had presumably gone back to sleep since no strife roiled t
heir breakfast.

  Adam’s school was close to Morgan’s route to work, so he dropped his son off like he usually did. Actually, Adam drove as far as the school. At sixteen, Adam had just obtained his driver’s permit and never missed a chance to drive. During the drive they talked about Adam’s robotics club. Especially the club’s ongoing attempt to build a fighting bot. As Adam was getting out of the car, he turned back, “Dad, you think you could help us with some programming issues this weekend?”

  “Sure.” Morgan lifted an eyebrow, “Though I haven’t had much practice programming killer instincts, you know?”

  ***

  When Morgan got to work, the Matilda lobby was packed with angry people. He immediately saw Barry Reamer, one of his programmers, holding a cardboard file box and looking pissed off. Morgan turned to him, “What’s going on?”

  Barry gave him a dubious look and said in an angry tone, “You’re trying to say you don’t know?”

  Morgan frowned and shrugged, “I have no idea.”

  “No one’s being allowed in the building. They’re handing out pink slips and telling us that we’re all terminated employees, not shareholders.”

  Morgan drew back and gave him a doubtful look, “You’re shittin’ me, right?”

  Barry glanced down at the file box in his arms, “See this? It’s my personal effects. Last night, someone cleaned out my office, jammed my stuff in this box and brought it down here to the lobby.”

  Morgan stared at the box, seeing “Barry Reamer” written on it with black felt marker. Morgan shook his head. He muttered, “There must be some mistake,” and started across the room. As he moved, his eyes searched for one of the other four founding partners. Failing that, he hoped to see someone from one of the big companies who’d been bidding to buy Matilda.