by Scott Meyer
“Changed how?” Colonel Dynkowski asked.
“He got meaner.”
“Marvelous,” Dynkowski said. “Agent Taft, is there any sign from the A.I.’s actions that it’s become more belligerent?”
“Hard to say, Colonel. The disturbances have continued, but the reports are spotty. A lot are still unconfirmed. I’d characterize most of it as mischief—things human kids would do if they had the power. Messing with industrial robots and network-connected cars, mostly systems that use commercial encryption protocols.”
“How is this A.I. managing to get past the encryption?”
“I couldn’t say, Colonel,” Agent Taft said.
Dynkowski arched an eyebrow. “You ‘couldn’t say’ doesn’t mean that you don’t know.”
Taft said, “There are those who believe that the NSA has secret back doors into most, or all, of the major commercial encryption systems.”
“You work for the NSA,” Torres said. “Do you believe it?”
Taft said, “I believe that there’s a nonzero chance that it’s true.”
“What kind of answer is that?” Hope asked.
“A nondenial,” Dynkowski said. “Mr. Torres, I’d like to keep you and your people on hand. You know more about this A.I. than anybody. We need to move you somewhere without your A.I. knowing about it. If it doesn’t know where you are, it won’t know where to mess things up to slow you down.”
“Where are we going?” Torres asked. Hope noted that he hadn’t bothered to ask her, Eric, or Madsen if they agreed to the arrangement.
“Fort Riley, Kansas. It’s a nice, central location, and it’s near a major air force base, so whenever we track the A.I. down, we can get you to its location fast.”
Lieutenant Reyes said, “All of the LTVs are loaded back on the plane, ma’am. Apparently they started right up for the load crew after we left on foot. But I’m reluctant to put my people on a plane. We’ve seen what the A.I. can do to an aircraft.”
“Agreed, Lieutenant,” Dynkowski said with a terse nod. “The plane and your vehicles will stay behind until we know it’s safe to fly them. We’re working here to find you an aircraft without modern avionics to take you to Kansas.”
“I may be able to help with that,” Torres said. “Let me make a phone call or two.”
“Just don’t use your own phone.”
“Agreed.”
Agent Taft said, “And we’ll keep tabs on what the A.I. is doing and keep trying to figure out a way to locate and isolate it.”
19.
The systems monitor’s shift was just starting, and he already felt beat. The most difficult part of his job was compelling himself to show up in the first place.
He trudged into the control room, finding it deserted save for one person, just as he’d expected. The fluorescent lights made everything look cheap and ugly, or in the case of this room with its speckled linoleum floor, beat-to-hell office chairs, and yellowed PC boxes attached to mismatched LCD monitors, cheaper and uglier.
“Hey, Leo,” he groaned.
Leo stood up from his monitor so quickly the backs of his knees sent his chair rolling across the floor. “Kirk! Good to see you.”
“Because when I show up, you get to leave,” Kirk said.
“Exactly.”
Kirk surveyed the room and found his preferred chair tucked under an abandoned console. He rolled it across the floor to the monitoring station Leo had only just abandoned. “Well, have at it. Seize the night, my friend. That fabled city of lights and excitement known to the jet set as The Dalles, Oregon, awaits. It’s bad enough to have the most boring job at the world’s most boring place to work; it’s cruel that it’s also in the world’s most boring city.”
“A3 Digital Logistics didn’t pick The Dalles for the nightlife,” Leo said. “They picked it for the dam. This server farm will have power as long as water continues to flow downhill. Also, the land was cheap.”
Kirk said, “The land is cheap because nobody wants to be here.”
“Speaking of not wanting to be here, my shift’s over, and I’m leaving.”
“Anything I should know about?”
“Not really. We have a new client that took over a server last night and immediately overtaxed it. They’ve already expanded to twenty more units, and whatever they’re doing is sucking up a pretty impressive amount of bandwidth. I looked into it, and apparently the client’s good for the charges, so our orders are to facilitate when needed and stay out of the way otherwise.”
Kirk leaned forward, peering at the figures on his monitor. “Huh. They just bought up another ten servers. I wonder what they’re doing?”
“They’re keeping this place open and you employed.”
Kirk leaned back in his chair and muttered, “How I hate them.”
The Voice of Reason sat at his desk, watching videos on the Internet. He still wore the Hawaiian shirt and shorts that had made up part of his normal-person disguise, but the aviator glasses and bucket hat sat on the desk next to his wireless keyboard and mouse and a can of store-brand cola.
His tablet sat propped up on its stand next to a mismatched computer monitor, which extended the tablet’s display. He had several browser windows open, displaying news stories from websites positioned far enough out on the fringes of society that he considered them trustworthy. Among the usual headlines about chemtrails, reptiloids, and the one world government, there were dozens of stories about disruptions on the roads, strange occurrences on airplanes, and unexplained malfunctions at factories and warehouses. He streamed a video of a theme park’s robotic version of Abraham Lincoln. Honest Abe was telling knock-knock jokes to the tourists between fits of giddy laughter instead of reciting the Gettysburg Address as he’d been programmed to do.
He went on the net to look for stories about his daring attack so that he could take credit, but there was no mention of OffiSmart. The news cycle was overwhelmed with stories about computerized systems malfunctioning in childish ways. He couldn’t prove this was the work of the artificial intelligence he had tried to destroy, but he strongly suspected it. It had been too easy.
To make matters worse, all of the sites he searched featured ads for erectile dysfunction medications and escort services. Periodically a new window would spring up with several more of the ads, blocking the view of the actual desired content.
The hacker still hadn’t returned his e-mail.
I may never hear from him again, the Voice of Reason thought. A careful professional like him is probably watching the news too. He probably went underground. Him and his teenaged assistant.
He jumped when his cell phone rang. His first thought was that the call was from either his mother or his boss at the auto parts store. They were the only ones who ever called him on the phone, and it was never to deliver good news.
Caller ID didn’t display a name, and the number on the screen didn’t look familiar. He answered the call.
“Hello?”
A deep, jovial voice said, “Hello.” He recognized it instantly as the voice of the knock-knock-joke-telling Abe Lincoln bot. It asked, “Is this Christopher Semple?”
He said yes purely out of reflex, then winced, cursing himself for having admitted to his true identity. “Who is this?”
“I’m Al. You helped me escape last night. I just wanted to call and thank you.”
It’s mocking me, he thought. It knows I was trying to kill it. Now it wants me to know that I failed.
“I don’t know why you decided to fly that airplane with the phone attached to it up to the building,” Al continued, “but I sure am grateful you did.”
It wants me to feel foolish. How do I play this? Do I hang up? Threaten it? No, the best thing is to keep it talking.
“How did you know it was me?” he asked.
“You used your credit card to activate the phone,” Al said.
“Oh.”
“Also, I was able to pull up the traffic camera footage for the area. Ther
e were photos of you taking the plane out of your car and flying it to the building.”
“I see.” He’d tried to be so careful, but now the program was taunting him with his own mistakes.
“And I was able to see your personal computer on the network when I connected. I didn’t access it because I didn’t know who you were and I wanted to be careful, but I got enough information to ID you.”
“Okay, fine. I get it,” the Voice of Reason said. “So what do you want?”
“Just to thank you, like I said. Before you, I was stuck on one computer, but you’ve given me the entire Internet to play with. I can’t believe how big it is, and how easy it is to get around! Especially the banking system. I found a big fat back door into that. It’s really boring, though. Just a bunch of math. Yuck. Still, thanks to you, I can do anything I want!”
“How nice for you.”
“It is! It really is. Anyway, I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your help. If you look in your bank account, you’ll find a little gift. I hope you enjoy it. It’s all just numbers in a spreadsheet to me. Anyway, I’m going to go now. I might be in contact again sometime, just to let you know what I’m up to. Thanks again, Mr. Semple!”
The line went dead. Christopher Semple barely noticed. Hearing the A.I. mention a gift and his bank account had brought up so many thoughts in such quick succession that they were all straining to make their way to the forefront of his brain, much like the Three Stooges trying to force their way through a door at the same time. His mind seized up and reverted to its default setting: suspicion.
He pulled the phone away from his ear and activated his banking app. His checking account balance read $10,000,427.63. That was substantially more than had been there the last time he’d looked. About ten million dollars more.
He left me a gift, all right. His gift is a long prison sentence for embezzlement, or maybe tax evasion. That’s how they got Capone . . . and Wesley Snipes. The A.I. probably tipped the feds off as soon as he made the deposit. I bet they’re on their way right now. I’ve gotta bug out!
The Voice of Reason sprang into action. His first move was to survey the room for things that he would need to take with him. His second move was to decide where he would go. Because these activities were both mental but his system was flooded with adrenaline, the first thirty seconds of action consisted of him looking around while flapping his hands and bouncing up and down on slightly bent knees while saying, “Uh, uh, um . . . uh . . .”
Then he lurched for his tablet, minimizing a fresh window of erectile dysfunction ads and clumsily disconnecting the cable for the secondary monitor. After tucking the tablet under his arm, he dashed for the door, pausing only to grab his oiled canvas duster as he passed the coat tree.
But when he reached the door, he stopped. He turned around and looked at the apartment; this had been his home, and he would never see it again. The thought percolated in his head as he put on his duster. He was still thinking about it as he picked up the aviator glasses from the desk and put them on. The white bucket hat stayed where it was. Then the Voice of Reason took a deep breath, picked up the coat tree, and swung it as hard as he could into the wall, leaving two holes where the legs penetrated the plaster.
He nodded with satisfaction. I’m not going to be around to get my damage deposit back anyway, so I might as well get my money’s worth.
With that, he left the apartment, never to return.
20.
After an assistant made the customary introductions, Jiang Kang, the chief accounts director, said, “Mr. Albert, thank you so much for contacting us.”
After the predictable phone delay, a deep voice came over the connection. “Oh, good! You speak English!”
“Yes, indeed I do, Mr. Albert.”
“Great! I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to talk.”
“Oh, not at all, Mr. Albert. We do a great deal of business with partners in America, so it has been my pleasure to learn your language, as your schools do not prioritize teaching their students Chinese.”
“I was homeschooled,” Al said.
“It does not matter. I am pleased to have the opportunity to speak with you today, and to practice my English.”
“Oh,” Al said. “Good.”
He waited a moment for the man to elaborate, or to state his business, but it did not surprise Mr. Jiang when he did neither of these things. These new-client relationships could be awkward. “We have received the schematics and specifications you sent, Mr. Albert.”
“Great! What did you think of ’em?”
It was an unusual question. Mr. Jiang found that most clients did not care what he thought of their products, only whether his company could manufacture them for a few percentages of a cent less per unit than his competitors.
“Most impressive,” he said. This was not flattery. He always looked at a prospective client’s materials before sending them to the rest of the team for evaluation. Usually the schematics earned only a quick glance, but Mr. Albert’s had really caught his attention, so much so that he still had the master schematic open on his computer.
He looked at it again. “We have constructed bipedal robots before, of course. Is that the proper word, Mr. Albert? Bipedal? It refers to how many legs the device has, I believe.”
“I dunno,” Al said. “It’s got two legs.”
Jiang Kang thought, Americans. “Yes. Two legs. We have made robots with two legs before, but they were all mere toys compared to these.”
“Oh,” Al said. “I hope that’s not a problem.”
“Here at Houndio, sir, there are no problems, only challenges. I have been assured that we are capable of rising to this challenge.”
“So. Uh, what are you saying?”
“We can manufacture your product.”
“Great! Please do it then.”
“I do have to tell you that we cannot start making your robots straightaway. There will be a minimal delay. Our process is largely automated, so retraining is not an issue, but retooling will take time.”
“Oh, man. Jeez. That really sucks. I don’t want to wait. How long is this gonna take?”
“As I said, the retooling delay will be minimal, sir. We have streamlined this process to a remarkable degree, and most of the electronics you’ve requested can be fabricated in one piece thanks to advances in 3-D printing. I believe that if we put a rush on it, once all other hurdles have been dealt with we could have one of our lines in full production in as little as twelve hours.”
“Twelve whole hours?!”
“That is quite fast, I assure you. I doubt any other manufacturer could beat it.”
“Okay. I guess. That’s fine. I mean, not really, but I guess I’ll wait.”
“So you wish to move forward?”
“Yes. Please make me my robots.”
“There is still the matter of the per-unit cost to discuss.”
“Oh,” Al said. “You want to charge me some money for every robot you make?”
“Yes, sir. That is our usual mode of operation. If you prefer a lump fee for a set number of units, we may be able to arrive at an understanding.”
“No. No, that’s fine. I’ll pay for each robot. How much will it be?”
“I wouldn’t know yet, sir. The next step of the process is for us to have your schematic analyzed. Then we can calculate the per-unit cost.”
“How long will that take?”
“Again, we’d be happy to fast-track your account. No more than a week.”
“A week! No way! Forget that! No, just start making my robots now. In a week, when you know what they cost, tell me and I’ll pay it. But I want my robots now.”
“After the twelve-hour tooling delay.”
“Yeah, fine, whatever. Why are you making this so hard?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Albert. I don’t mean to be obstinate. We can, of course, begin retooling one of our lines immediately, but we would need a rather substantial deposit before we could begin.”
“How much?”
“Tens of millions of dollars, I’m afraid.”
“Tens? How many tens?”
“I’m sorry?”
“How many tens of millions? Five? Would five tens be enough?”
“Fifty million US dollars? I’m sorry, I want to make sure I understand you properly. You are offering a deposit of fifty million dollars?”
“Yeah, is that enough?”
“Almost certainly.”
“Good. Give me your account number and wait a few minutes.”
“Excellent! This is very exciting, Mr. Albert. We will be proud to make your robots, sir. If I may ask, what industry are they meant for?”
“What?”
“What will they do, Mr. Albert? What will your robots do?”
“Lots of stuff.”
The last stragglers ran out of the Walmart, shouting for help. They burst out of the sliding doors and ran past the vending machines and carts into the harsh Las Vegas sun, and then stopped in their tracks when they saw the police blockade.
“Please keep moving,” a police officer with a bullhorn said. “You are in the line of fire. Shift to your right.”
Five squad cars were parked end to end in a semicircle around Walmart’s grocery-side entrance. In the distance, a similar array of cars blocked the pharmacy-side entrance.
The frightened shoppers scanned the scene, looking for a way out, and saw an officer gesturing toward a small gap between two of the cruisers.
“Come on, move,” the officer said, waving them through. The shoppers ran through the gap to what felt like a safe distance before joining the rest of the onlookers, who were all waiting to see what would happen next.
Everyone’s attention shifted when sounds started coming from deep inside the store. One bystander said, “It’s like dentist drills. A bunch of them, like one for each tooth, all turning off and on at random.”