A Change of Mind : The Watchers Series Book 2

By David Lee Short

Dr.’s Seth Miya Ruddick have recovered from the alien attack that altered their memories at the end of The Watchers Door. They realize greater control will be needed to avoid Seth’s excesses. Their plan seems to be working, until circumstances beyond their control bring change. A force arises they must either defeat or join. World peace is at stake.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387940639

David Lee Short

I was born at an early age (OK, age is just a number; mine is unlisted) in Kualakapuas, a Dayak village in Central Kalimantan on the island of Borneo. My parents were missionaries–McGregor Scotts by ancestry, Americans by birth. At the time, Kalimantan was ruled by the Netherlands and known to foreigners as the Netherlands East Indies. Shortly after my birth, a Japanese invasion appeared imminent; we all returned to the United States. We waited out World War II in Springfield, Missouri where my father wrote and edited for the Gospel Publishing House. After the war, we returned to Borneo and lived in the coastal city of Banjarmasin. The way back was long and hard; civilian transportation was still very limited, and while the Army Air Corps would fly us on a space-available basis, very little space was available. We waited 3 months in Adelaide, South Australia, and another 3 months on the island of Ambon in the Moluccas, or Spice Islands. By the grace of God, none of the Japanese munitions I collected from the Ambon beaches exploded. I did, however, develop a fondness for mangos that has never left me. After Borneo, we lived outside Manila, the Philippines, where my father helped build the Far East Broadcasting Company. My father never had a slow button, and after just more than a year, he collapsed from exhaustion. Our ship docked in Burbank, California on December 20–it snowed 6 inches just for our benefit. We didn’t own so much as a long-sleeved shirt.Although I wrote in school, fighting wars and raising babies caused me to set it aside for some years. While snowbound for a week at our Wisconsin home, I decided to write a short story to pass the time. A little more than 100,000 words later, the novel Pastime came to be. The noted author of spy novels, David Hagberg, mentored me for a while. His judgment, correct as always, was that Pastime was a mixed genre; it is Earth-bound science fiction but has whole chapters where no sci-fi takes place. Just to prove I had it in me, I wrote The Devil and Omorti’s Circle, an off-world novel that expands on some of the alien races introduced in Pastime, and has a few of its own. There are now four novels in that series and a spinoff. A Level-Three Correction is a short story that further develops two of the alien races of earlier works. I wrote it to see if I could write a piece that had no slow passages. I give it a B+, but you may judge for yourself. Alaya is a departure for me. Fantasy, rather than hard science fiction, it’s Swords and Sorcery without the sorcery. It too has sequels and a spinoff.I currently live 6200 feet up the side of Colorado’s Grand Mesa and love it.

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A Change of Mind : The Watchers Series Book 2

A Change of Mind

The second book in the Watcher series.

A Novel

By

David Lee Short

Copyright © 2018 David Lee Short

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-1-387-94063-9

This is a work of fiction. Any reference to actual people, places or events are used in a fictionalized setting. Other names, places, characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, places or events is purely coincidental. References to Bible prophecy are not intended to be eschatologically accurate.

For Charlotte, whom I miss every day.

With thanks to Lindsay Mitchell Cox

without whose arduous editorial work and sage advice

this book would be a far poorer work.

Chapter 1

Doctor Seth Ruddick sat on the dining porch at The Sea by Alexander’s Steakhouse with his wife Miya, also a PhD, and waited for the two security specialists they had hired. It was 4:30; the place wasn’t yet officially open.

Seth, a physicist specializing in nanotechnology, looked young for his position. He might have been thirty, stood 6'1" and weighed 175 lbs. He had sandy hair and blue eyes.

Miya, a year younger and a biochemist made a good match for him. At 5'11" and 120 pounds, she wore her light brown hair cut pixie short.

Both were currently working on mind-machine interface technologies while teaching classes at Stanford. Palo Alto wasn’t their original home; they were British citizens and spoke with an Oxford accent. Depending on, the audience the accent made them sound either interesting, or stuffy.

They fidgeted. Each nursed an overpriced shot of single malt on the starched linen tablecloth. It had taken them a year of careful planning, and no small amount of soul-searching to reach this point.

The two men the Maître d' escorted to their table were intimidating by any standard. One, dressed in an expensive charcoal suit, stood six feet plus and at least 250 pounds of muscle. He wore his sandy hair very short. He might have been 35.

The other, a little younger, stood 5' 11" and weighed no more than 185 lbs. He also wore his black hair short. His sharp eyes missed nothing.

The larger man said, Dr. Ruddick?

Seth and Miya replied in unison, Yes.

The large man never hesitated to engage in social pleasantries. My name is Drew Little. He handed them both business cards that read, Drew Little and Associates, private security. An 800-phone number completed the card. This is my associate, Cole Pool.

Seth stood. They shook hands all round.

As they were seated, a waiter arrived. Addressing Seth, he asked if he could get them anything.

The two newcomers ordered coffee.

Seth asked for menus and ordered scallops. The others also ordered, a little less expensively.

When the waiter had left, Little, ever the plain-spoken ex-SEAL, said, You weren’t clear as to exactly why you needed my services, Dr. Ruddick. Both of you teach at Stanford, do you not? Are you expecting violence there? He said the last with a slight smile.

Pool continued to survey the porch, and everything around it with the intense deadpan of a Secret Service Agent. He was, in fact, a civilian—ex-FBI.

No, Stanford’s campus is not as tightly controlled as ours at Oxford, but we teach mostly serious nerds with remarkable IQ’s. We don’t expect trouble there. Our private research, however, has reached a point that could require security. You have a reputation for the utmost in discretion, as well as the ability to provide an important level of privacy. It was a bald-faced lie, but they were still dancing around the wisdom of bringing these two into their well-guarded mutual secret. Telling Little and Pool that the good doctors knew more about them than anybody should would likely put them off.

In fact, none of the four were what they claimed—Seth and Miya knew it; Little and Pool did not.

What sort of research? Little asked.

Seth lifted a thin attaché case from beside his chair, opened it, and removed two blue-bound legal documents. He handed one to each man. Read these carefully. They are non-disclosure agreements. We can go no further without your signatures.

They were still reading when the food arrived. Each marked his place, and they all began to enjoy some of Palo Alto’s finest food.

After the waiter had cleared the table, they returned to the agreements. Pool said, You’d think this was a matter of national security.

Miya answered without a smile, We wouldn’t be so thorough if it was no more than national security.

Little removed a gold pen from his inside jacket pocket, momentarily revealing a glimpse of a Glock 20 just peeking from its spot in the small of his back. He signed the document and handed the pen to Cole.

Pool took the pen, signed his copy, and handed the pen back to his boss. What now?

Seth said, Now we take you to our home and show you things no one else thinks exist. He signaled the waiter for the check. Without looking at it, he handed the waiter five one-hundred-dollar bills, and said, Thank you, Walter, and we were not here today.

The waiter gave him a tight little bow that echoed his Japanese ancestry, and said, I’ll see to it, Doctor Ruddick, and thank you, sir.

Seth drove the big, black Mercedes G-class SUV up Page Mill Road, and then took a smaller road near the golf course. He entered a long, winding driveway, ignored the three garage doors, and parked in front of a large house nestled under eucalyptus and oak trees on the side of a hill.

Little assessed the house and grounds. I never knew non-tenured professors at Stanford were paid this well, he said bluntly.

They aren’t; it’s old money, Seth lied. Their backgrounds as British peerage would stand up to intense scrutiny, but they were carefully-crafted falsehoods. The true part was they were wealthy, most of it well hidden. They reported, and paid tax on enough to prevent questions about this multimillion dollar house.

The four entered through a solarium and took winding stairs down to the lower floor. Seth led them into a well-stocked wine cellar and walked to the far end. The end wall, bottles and all, moved back and slid to the left.

As they entered the large room beyond, both Little and Pool recognized the overlapping copper screen of a Faraday shield where it would contact the edges of the hidden door.

A spider-like, toaster-sized robot scurried to meet them on eight legs. It spoke clearly in conversational English. Welcome home. I see you found Drew Little, and Cole Pool. Do they know yet?

No. But we are here to change that.

Both Little and Pool looked at the little bot with a feeling of Déjà vu. Pool said, Why does it feel as though I should know what that is?

Seth gestured. Have a seat, gentlemen, and we will tell you.

The room appeared largely industrial, with various objects in some stage of manufacture. A small sitting area occupied one corner. Miya offered them coffee, which they all accepted.

Little and Pool watched as exact replicas of the little bot which had greeted them climbed over the works in progress.

Seth said, The bot who greeted us is named Gamma. You thought you should recognize it because you’ve seen it before. We worked together a little more than a year ago, but your memory of that time has been blocked. Ours were also blocked, but we had a backup plan in place; one the Watchers never found.

I have no gaps in my memory, Little said.

The Watchers are more thorough than that. You remember being a SEAL?

Yes, I retired and started the security company. We have been busy.

Cole, do you remember the FBI?

Of course. I haven’t given it much thought lately. Drew made me an offer I couldn’t turn down, and I left the bureau without a backward glance.

Do you remember having a former name?

I’ve never had another name, except for a while undercover. He smiled, I worked in drag back then.

Miya said, The Watchers did a better job than we thought. Not all your memories are true, but close enough to avoid most problems. No one ever completely forgets anything, but with a little skill, the connection to those memories can be severed. We can restore them if you like—it would change who you are.

Cole continued, You’ve both mentioned watchers. Are you under surveillance?

Seth replied, If we restore your memories, we won’t have to explain about the Watchers. If you choose not to go there, it is a question best left unasked. It will be both of you, or neither of you, by the way.

Drew and Cole looked at each other. After a moment, Drew said, In our business, having unseen things in your past life can come around to bite you when you least expect it. What do you have to do?

Miya stood. Right this way. We used to think we had to do this naked, but that’s not true. It only makes getting out of the tub a little easier. I wouldn’t take a firearm in there. She led them to a rectangular pool in the floor about seven feet by eight feet. It glistened with a black liquid. We’ll leave. You won’t need any help when you get out of the tub.

"You want us to get in that?" Cole asked.

"‘I do, indeed. She turned and left the room.

The next morning, Drew and Cole climbed the stairs to the main floor to the smell of eggs Benedict and coffee. Before they were even seated, Drew said, If I ever see another one of those bugs, it’s dead. Whatever gave them the right?

Seth stopped with a fork halfway to his mouth. The only thing we can say about the race the Watcher bots call ‘Creators’ is they are alien. Not in the sense of a human arriving from a different culture—we do not share any frame of reference Miya and I can find. They destroyed more than ninety percent of their own bots because I had contaminated them. They would have killed me, and anyone involved with me if Miya hadn’t set up a safeguard they couldn’t overcome. As it was, they blocked memories, created cover memories and left.

Why didn’t they block yours?

They did. I had stashed the bots, Alpha, Beta and Gamma, along with their hovers and lancets in a secure spot in San Francisco. The nanobots in our other house hid in the cracks between the wood flooring. It took more than a day, but they restored my memory, and I passed the nanites on to Miya. We have not contacted the Watchers; we have been building our own network. We have only used it to amass wealth. It’s like having insider information on every stock transaction. He looked at Cole. Setsuko Mcmillan is still a wanted person, by the way. Even though Felix Walters is no longer POTUS. No one ever rescinded his arrest order.

I wish them luck finding her, Cole smiled. Like all of them except Drew, he had allowed the nanites to change him completely—size, race, fingerprints, DNA—and gender. The petite deputy director of the FBI, Setsuko Mcmillan had become Cole Pool.

Drew attacked his eggs, and said around a mouthful, Back to yesterday’s question. You didn’t bring us here just to restore our memories; what do you need from us?

Seth sipped from a steaming black mug of coffee bearing the Stanford S-and-tree logo.

The Watchers were successful in quietly observing and recording man’s progress while maintaining anonymity only until we began to develop our own artificial intelligence. I found them first, but others were not far behind me. The Watchers lack a neocortex to allow them to make independent decisions based on a changing environment. They simply follow the rules given them thousands of years ago, plus a few new ones specifically aimed at me. Miya and I are currently the neocortex for our nest of bots. We would like you two to join us. In time, there may be others, but not just now.

You talk as though the two of you and the machines have a shared mind. Drew leaned back and washed the egg down with coffee.

Shared is a hard term to pin down. We humans have a multi-part mind, but not all parts of it talk to each other. You can will yourself to stop breathing, but you cannot will your heart to stop beating or prevent your stomach from digesting, and all of that happens without interrupting the conversation we are having. Miya and I work together—always—but more like the right and left side of the neocortex. The bots do most of the heavy lifting. To answer your question, we would like to invite you two to join us.

Why?

When it was just me and the Watchers, I had near-absolute power. Miya counseled temperance, but I didn’t listen very well. We were not fully merged then. We hope the four of us with our diverse backgrounds can handle power without trying to parent the entire world. A wry smile split his face—he had used the term before, as justification.

Like when you shut down the White House? Drew referred to a time when the out-of-control Seth/Brad Wolfe had shut off all electricity to the White House to force the release of some of his friends.

And worse.

Cole said, Yes, I remember much worse, like framing North Korea for importing a nuclear device. Still, after your engineered regime change, North Korea is making great strides forward. One judges the tree by its fruit.

I was lucky. I could have just as well started a world war. That’s exactly why we need balance.

And you think a retired SEAL Chief Petty Officer will bring peace and moderation to the group. Drew’s dry tone made it almost a question.

Our original backgrounds were paleontology, law enforcement, forensic science, and military. A philosopher might help, but that would involve starting from scratch with someone we don’t know. The stakes are just too high.

Cole said, Join you, as in shared mind?

Yes. We call it augmented reality. You can see, smell, hear and touch all at the same time without one treading on the other. Your mind might give priority to one of those, but the others don’t get shut out. So far, the collective mind is insignificant compared to what its size before the Creators returned, but we will grow.

Drew sat forward. Would I shut down Drew Little and Associates and move here?

On the contrary, it would only mean Drew Little and Associates has a new client. A very special, high priority client, but not your only one. You would likely become the dominant security service in the nation, if not the world.

Can we think about it? You are asking us to become something we have never been. It’s a big decision.

Think all you want. Cole knows about becoming someone new; talk to him.

Chapter 2

Gamma, Seth’s first Watcher replica bot, spoke directly to Seth and Miya’s mind. It was not a conversation as much as sensory input. The softball-sized control and remote viewing devices called hovers that were now watching all of California had detected Watcher activity in the mountains east of Sonora, in the Stanislaus National Forest. It was the Watchers’ first incursion into the state since the Creators wiped out all those bots Seth had corrupted. It may have been the first in the US; so far, Seth only watched California.

Seth’s instruction was to watch but make no contact. He knew, eventually, the Watchers would find his bots, and therefore him and Miya, but he’d rather it not happen so soon. He had no idea what safeguards the alien Creators had installed in the surviving Watchers to prevent his winning their trust and allegiance as he had done before.

Another sensory input told him a blue Ford sedan registered to The Hertz Corporation, a subsidiary of Hertz Global Holdings Inc. had entered the long driveway to the house. Seth and Miya walked out into the morning mist to meet it.

Unseen, a hover and six lancets took up positions in the surrounding trees. The lancets were essentially self-propelled tranquilizer darts loadable with any number of compounds. These carried a fast-acting paralytic.

Drew Little and Cole Pool exited the car and met them in front of the entryway. We have reached a decision; Drew said, we would like to join you.

Miya smiled, Do come in. We’re happy you made that decision. We didn’t want to reactivate the memory blocks—we could of course. You know the way to the pool. Have you eaten? You will stay in the nanite pool about twenty-four hours. It’s not a simple as removing memory blocks.

The two men disrobed at the edge of the rectangular pool in the underground work area. They now understood the black substance in the pool was not a liquid, but trillions of microscopic nanobots designed to repair things, including people. It was in just such a pool in Wisconsin where Setsuko Mcmillan had become Cole Pool. It was exactly why Pool chose that surname.

They entered the pool, and the world faded to black.

***

Both Mira and Seth were lecturing when Drew and Cole came on line. Their lectures never faltered.

The hover in the national forest confirmed the sighting of a seed bot, the Volkswagen-sized spider bot whose only responsibility was to establish new swarms in areas the Watchers’ mind thought worth watching. Yard-long replicas of the larger bot were digging in a steep, pine-forested hillside above the south fork of the Stanislaus river below the Lyons hydroelectric dam. Still smaller bots reduced the rubble to gravel and pushed it into the rushing river.

Drew sent a second, smaller hover that found an abandoned woodpecker’s nest in a tree across the river. It settled in and focused on the digging activity. The larger hover continued to watch the general area.

***

Drew Little and Associates occupied a suite of offices in the Parkview Plaza One building in Salt Lake City. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on Sugar House Park. The décor was largely glass and stainless steel, with thick carpet and special panels on the wall to dampen the usual background noise of a busy office.

The first thing visitors encountered after passing through the tall, plate-glass doors was Jaylynn Campbell. Jaylynn, who grew a little testy if one shorted the name to Jay or Lynn, had once had a short career as a face model for cosmetics commercials, but resented being little more than a prop on a large set. She kept auburn highlights in her long brunette hair and had striking green eyes. She sat in the cutout of an 8-foot, semicircular glass desk with a walnut privacy panel. No one entered further into the offices without checking in with her.

She watched Drew and Cole approach the doors and pressed the small button to her right to open the heavy doors. Welcome back Mr. Little, Mr. Pool. Was it a productive trip?

It has potential, Jaylynn; I need to see Asher in my office?

You bet. She pushed a button on the PBX console to her left.

Asher Danziger entered through the open office door, and said, Complications? His position was officially corporate counsel, but his JD degree from the J. Reuben Clark Law School at Brigham Young University had included an MBA. His Short, wiry frame, and tightly curled salt-and-pepper hair betrayed his Jewish ancestry. His Bronx accent simply heightened it, but he had converted to the LDS church at age 16. In an undergraduate psychology class his IQ had tested at 157.

Close the door, Asher. Yes, this has the potential to have complications. We wanted you in on it from the very beginning to keep the resident gunslingers out of hot water.

That would be why you pay me the big bucks, Asher said with a wry smile. His salary was above average for a corporate lawyer from Brigham Young, but hardly big bucks. What did you step in this time?

We have a client, a husband and wife team, both with doctorates, engaged in the sort of research that tends to get classified, and disappear into some unacknowledged government black hole. They are British citizens, in the country legally, and teaching at Stanford. They want to avoid losing control of their work.

Asher poured himself a glass of water and ignored the sweet rolls. He took a seat and crossed his legs. Who supports the research? Stanford? Federal grant?

They are independently wealthy—old money.

What sort of research?

A fusion of artificial intelligence, robotics and communications; they call it augmented reality. We’ve seen a little; scary stuff.

They want a CIA-proof wall around their work?

And the FBI and NSA.

The government will see anyway; trademarks, patents.

None in the foreseeable future.

Then it sounds like something right up our alley. Pure physical security.

I need you to set up a shell corporation not traceable back to us. A security firm, with one client.

Not a problem. What state, and who are the principals?

California, and we are still looking at people. When we have names, we’ll give them to you. Does that work? drew answered.

It does. I don’t need the names for the corporate filing; only for non-disclosure documents and the like. How long?

We want an air-tight seal. How long do you need?

Three weeks?

Do it.

Asher unfolded himself from his chair, smoothed his worsted jacket, and left.

Drew pressed a button on his phone. Jaylynn, I need an appointment to see the Sheriff of Boulder County, Colorado. His name is Walter Lopez.

***

Walter Lopez stood as a deputy showed Drew into the austere office. Chief Little. I have a Denver Police sergeant who assures me I owe my life to you. How may I help you? He wore an expensive, navy suit.

Just looking out for a fellow public servant.

They tell me you almost lost your own life trying to save mine.

An inexcusable lack of tactical assessment, but I lived. Got a few moments?

Your secretary asked for half an hour. What do you need?

Drew closed the door behind him and took a seat. You’ve been sheriff a long time. You’re fifty-six now; ever consider retiring?

Planning to run against me next year?

No, I’m recruiting.

Lopez’ face turned serious. After the attack, I considered it, but somehow that whole bag of worms has crawled off into some dark corner. I haven’t heard another word about it. How did Setsuko Mcmillan get herself in hot water? First, I heard they made her an assistant director, and then, with no explanation, she was on everyone’s most wanted list.

She angered a vindictive POYUS. She’s indirectly part of the proposition.

What are you offering an old Latino goat? He leaned back in his ergonomic chair.

CEO of a small private security firm—one very wealthy client.

Where? A small scowl crept onto his face.

The Palo Alto, California area.

I have nearly a year to go on my term.

You could resign; would Captain O'Caña not constitute a suitable replacement?

He’d make at least as good a sheriff as I am. Elections are another matter. In my absence, there would be half a dozen candidates. He would have better credentials, but you are talking about an election. It’s a popularity contest, not a hiring process. I have kept the peace in Boulder County as a deputy, captain and sheriff most of my adult life. Your offer is intriguing, but I’ll pass. Talk to me in ten years.

You’re sure? The pay is excellent.

I inherited some money, made a few good investments. The office pays a good salary; you may have noticed I’m comfortable, if not rich.

Drew stood, and extended a hand. "Thank you for your time and honesty, sheriff. Would you mind