Ramble

by D. B. Goodin

  Ramble

  Cyber Overture 5

  D. B. Goodin

  Copyright © 2020 by D. B. Goodin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction; any references to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

  * * *

  www.cyberoverture.com

  ISBN: 978-1-7350736-0-6 (Paperback)

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  A Favor

  Exclusive Bonus Offer

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by D. B. Goodin

  Ramble

  to grow or extend irregularly

  Merriam-Webster.com Dictionary

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  1

  1 Merriam-Webster.com Dictionary, s.v. “ramble,” accessed September 6, 2020, https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/ramble.

  Preface

  A lot has happened since Alice’s adventure started in Sonorous last Spring. My original goal was to publish six to twelve installments (ten-thousand words) each. What I ended up with was five installments totaling over 109,000 words. The last two installments were more than half this total. Alice has come a long way since losing her job at Jonny’s studio. That single event set off a chain reaction that would change Alice’s life forever. This book picks up right after Ensemble ends. Let me know if you would like to see Alice in future adventures.

  I can be reached at contact@davidgoodinauthor.com or you can sign up to get updates at www.cyberoverture.com

  * * *

  I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  D.B. Goodin

  October 15, 2020

  1

  Lenox Hill Hospital, New York City

  Thursday, July 23rd, 2071, 5:58 p.m.

  It took Alice Parsons almost twenty-seven years to find meaning in her life, and less than five minutes to lose it. She realized that the Purists—the people, like her, who resisted AI-generated music—had given her hope and a cause to believe in: something she’d never had before. Until she’d worked at Roxy’s all-human club, she had never even realized that so many people felt the same way that she did about synthetic music and robots.

  Alice felt defeated in her hospital bed as she held the remains of her augmented reality visor: another casualty of the E-Bomb. Except for her best friend Lindsey and her mother, nobody visited her.

  I need to get better friends, Alice thought.

  Officer Rollins sat at the foot of her hospital bed. Alice felt a pang of guilt when he introduced himself, but she understood that he was doing his job. He was just trying to figure out why she’d been found at the bottom of a ladder next to MuseFam Hall after the CityWide Concert disaster.

  The fading sunlight gave the room a yellowish tint that reminded Alice of the Player’s Pavilion: a venue in New York where human musicians once played. She herself used to play there; her musical performances were often late in the afternoon, so the tarps covering the stage would cast a hue similar to the golden light streaming into her hospital room. She held fast to the memory of playing at the CityWide Concert—a big event—before it was taken over by MuseFam; that was a simpler time, before the monstrosity now known as “MuseFam Hall” was built on top of the pavilion’s remains. Brenton Morris, MuseFam’s CEO, had convinced the board of the privately held conservatory to sell him the land and rights for MuseFam to hold special events at the location for an undisclosed sum and duration.

  “Ms. Parsons, do you feel well enough to talk to me?” Officer Rollins asked.

  “These painkillers and recovery drugs are making me feel disoriented, but I can talk,” Alice said.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be brief.”

  Officer Rollins leafed through his notepad. Alice watched him curiously; she couldn’t remember the last time someone other than herself had used actual paper. Besides Doris, her visor’s AI, technology was untrustworthy in her eyes; she preferred the old ways, such as journaling by hand.

  “I see that I’m not the only one who uses actual paper anymore,” Alice said.

  Officer Rollins smiled.

  “Yeah, I still prefer to take notes on paper. I know it’s not common, but I like the feel of the paper in my hands. Besides, my electronic tablet has been acting up since the incident at MuseFam Hall.”

  “Acting up? How?” Alice said. She shrank back into her hospital bed, suspecting the cause of the tablet’s dysfunction.

  “The department provided me with a new one, and it doesn’t store my work, or it disconnects from the network. I’ve been so busy after the incident that I haven’t been able to get it fixed.”

  “My visor is dead too,” Alice said, looking at it and fidgeting nervously. “So how can I be of help, officer?”

  Officer Rollins leveled his gaze at her. “I’m a little unclear of why you were up on the roof of MuseFam Hall after the E-Bomb went off. The way we found you was a little unsettling.”

  Alice felt a pang of regret: a feeling she knew well.

  I should have learned my lesson from the last CityWide Concert. Hacking was not the answer—it just caused more pain.

  “You were lying on a man dressed in a trench coat and old-fashioned goggles. He looked like he’d stepped out of the 1800s.”

  Officer Rollins handed Alice a hard copy of a photograph; in it, Alice appeared to be “snuggling”—clearly unconscious—next to a man she recognized. His hands were resting on her stomach. Alice’s head was turned to one side, away from the camera, but she could see the man’s face. The photo was in black and white, but Alice could see the dark trail of blood leading from the body of Stewie Hawk. The bizarre, unintended intimacy of the photo might have given outsiders the wrong impression.

  “Do you know this man?” Officer Rollins said.

  Alice gulped. “Well . . . I do recognize him. He’s my stalker.”

  Office Rollins looked surprised. He jotted down some information in his notebook.

  “From what we could piece together, this person had no form of identification on his body, and his DNA isn’t registered to any apartment, vehicle, or anything else we’ve been able to trace . . .”

  Alice tried to come up with a satisfactory response, but she couldn’t think of one. A tear rolled down her cheek.

  Officer Rollins handed Alice a tissue, then placed a comforting hand on Alice’s shoulder. Alice just stared at the photo, then looked out the window. She felt numb.

  Alice had always liked how the sky looks at dusk. The darkness wasn’t frightening to her. When she had played shows, they were usually at night, and she’d felt at peace when she played her guitar. She hoped that those feelings would return someday.

  “We can continue whenever you’re ready,” Rollins said.

  Alice took a deep breath.

  No sense avoiding the inevitable any longer.

  “I’m ready,” Alice said, turning her head back to him.

  “You said that you were being stalked by this man. So, why climb the roof of MuseFam Hall instead of calling the police or notifying security at MuseFam Hall?”

  Alice started thinking and speaking—fast. She needed to cover her tracks. “I didn’t see any security when I saw him coming toward me. I must have panicked, because the next thing I knew, I was being chased.”

  “Did you know there was a bomb atop MuseFam Hall?”

&n
bsp; I shouldn't lie to a cop, but he doesn’t understand why destroying the robots was so important to me and the Purists!

  Alice fiddled with her dead visor once more, trying to think of something to say that wasn’t another lie.

  “If I had known there was a bomb that would almost kill me, do you think I would have been there?” Alice asked.

  Officer Rollins wrote in his notebook, then looked at her for a long moment as if he were considering his next question.

  “We found this atop MuseFam Hall,” Officer Rollins said, producing a picture of an orange workman’s uniform; it looked like someone had photographed it while it was hanging from a railing in a forensics room. The police had affixed a yellow evidence tag to it; she couldn’t read what the tag said. “Do you know anything about it?”

  The sight of the uniform alarmed Alice, and she did her best to hide it, but a wave of panic was setting in; her heart began pounding faster. She attempted to push those feelings as far down as she could. After a moment, she just felt clammy and detached again.

  That dammed thing was so uncomfortable and hot—I should have ditched it sooner.

  “The lab technicians are analyzing it right now. We’ve had to send it out of the area due to all the technical glitches we’ve had with our equipment since the EMP went off in the middle of the city.”

  “What do you hope to find?”

  “We are hoping whoever planted the bomb wore it so we can get trace amounts of DNA from it. All we need is some hair, skin, or blood, and then we can trace it to whoever wore it.”

  Alice’s hands tightened on her visor.

  It’s just a matter of time before this guy knows the truth.

  “It is doubtful that a real maintenance worker would leave their uniform lying around, so it’s suspicious,” Officer Rollins continued. “We don’t have a lot of leads, so that’s why I’m talking to everyone.”

  The nurse came in to check Alice’s vital signs, and to give her some antibiotics and something to ease the pain.

  “More meds?” Alice said.

  “I’m afraid so. You are still recovering from surgery, and you need to complete an entire course of antibiotics,” the nurse said.

  “I’m not feeling so well—can we pick this up later?” Alice said to the officer.

  He stared at her for a long moment. “Of course. Thanks for your help, Ms. Parsons. I hope you feel better soon.”

  Alice nodded and looked away. She felt like Officer Rollins could read her like an open book. She felt vulnerable when she was answering his questions.

  I need to find a way out of here that doesn’t involve me getting arrested. Where are Roxy and Grace? Have they abandoned me?

  Office Rollins left Alice to her thoughts.

  Officer Rollins’s visit had been distressing. Afterward, Alice tried watching the flat-panel TV in her room. The news feed was still showing images from the EMP—electromagnetic pulse—disaster. The images of fallen flying cars with people hanging lifeless from them were too much for Alice.

  Anger suddenly rushed through her. Scotty said the E-Bomb would only affect the robots inside MuseFam Hall. It was not supposed to be this way, Alice thought. And she couldn’t believe that her mother had never told her—before now—about the microchip that had been surgically implanted into her brain to eliminate a tumor when she was a child.

  Not having any working technology, Alice took out her notepad and started writing. Damn the consequences; she needed to get this out.

  * * *

  Dear Diary,

  It’s been a while, but I wanted to get this down. I can’t believe I had a piece of tech in my brain—since I was a child, no less. Mother never told me. Had I known, I never would have gotten close to that dammed E-Bomb. Scotty screwed up, and it looks like I’m the one paying for it. Either Scotty is a moron, or I’ve been scapegoated.

  * * *

  Alice paused in her writing and thought about her mother and friends.

  Is Officer Rollins keeping them away? I need to get this sorted out soon, she thought. Then she returned pen to paper.

  * * *

  Feeling alone and unappreciated . . .

  Alice out.

  2

  City Wide Concert, MuseFam Hall, July 4th, 1:32 p.m.

  19 Days Earlier

  Brenton Morris pulled up to MuseFam Hall in his limo. He looked out one window. Several reporters were already gathered to cover the CityWide Concert.

  Vultures awaiting a carcass, Brenton thought.

  Brenton stepped outside the limo. Tabby, the synthetic reincarnation of his late girlfriend, scampered close behind. Reporters surrounded the couple as they made their way toward MuseFam Hall.

  “Who is your companion, Mr. Morris?” a reporter asked.

  Tabby latched onto Brenton’s arm as the reporter thrust the microphones into their faces.

  “She’s an old friend who will help ring in a new era of musical performance,” he replied, and kept walking.

  Drones floated above, emitting flashes of light, keeping pace with the couple. Brenton squinted as the light penetrated his eyes.

  “Will MuseFam Hall accept all-human performances in the future?” another reporter said.

  “MuseFam Hall will be an exclusive venue for AI-generated music, and for the synthetic beings that perform these modern classics,” Brenton said.

  Additional drones gathered, edging closer to the couple. Tabby seemed to have a death grip on Brenton. More flashes of light. Tabby backhanded a drone. It crashed to the ground.

  Why does Tabby hate robots so much? Brenton wondered.

  She broke loose from Brenton, grabbed another drone, and ripped out its core. More reporters gathered. Brenton positioned himself between the drones and Tabby.

  “That’s enough,” Brenton told her.

  Tabby let out a shriek. Everyone covered their ears. Brenton noticed that a few reporters didn’t flinch.

  Brenton yanked Tabby’s arm and dragged her to the entrance of MuseFam Hall. For several moments, Tabby didn’t move. It was like something had implanted her feet in the walkway.

  “What’s the matter?” Brenton demanded, patience gone.

  “Those flying things frightened me,” Tabby said.

  Brenton noticed tears forming in her eyes. He smiled as he took out a tissue and wiped away the tears.

  She is experiencing genuine emotion, Brenton thought, reflecting on her creators. This is not simulated. Dr. Howser’s team are geniuses.

  MuseFam Hall had several levels to watch the performance from. The balconies were reserved for VIPs and people with deep pockets. Brenton and Tabby climbed the stairs that led to his private balcony. Brenton scanned the theater; people were filing in and taking their seats, all dressed for the occasion. He saw older men with younger women—some of whom were synthetics without skin.

  Brenton smiled, pleased at the fact that his dream of an all-synthetic show was unfolding before his eyes. The Purists have failed to stop the AI takeover. They have lost, he thought with satisfaction.

  Although the curtain was drawn, sometimes it would move as the conductor made final stage preparations. MuseFam Hall was abuzz with activity. Many of the concertgoers looked happy and excited. Brenton had designed this event for the top one percent of New York’s social elite: all 1,250 of them.

  Two minutes before the concert started, the lights flickered: a sign for the crowd to take their seats. The concert was about to begin.

  Tabby gave Brenton a smile that filled his heart.

  “Tell me dear, why are you afraid of the synthetics?”

  Tabby gave him a sorrowful look. “They’re not real, I’m real.” Tabby pointed to herself.

  “You are real,” Brenton said as she kissed her deeply.

  They had gotten close over the past several weeks. They shared almost everything together. He enjoyed taking her out to his favorite dining establishments and enjoying carriage rides in Central Park. He felt like he was falling in love wit
h her all over again. Brenton surprised himself; he never thought he would spend less time at the office. But now he had a reason to.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Tabby said in a neutral tone of voice; it sounded off.

  Brenton frowned slightly. Some of her emotions still seem fake or simulated, he noted, his excitement from earlier dissipating. If Dr. Howser wants to keep his job as head of engineering, he’d better fix this—make her perfect—by the end of summer, as promised.

  “Yes, dear,” Brenton said as he kissed Tabby. She returned his affection by resting her head on his shoulder.

  I need to take her to Dr. Howser on Monday.

  The lights dimmed. An older man dressed in a conductor’s tuxedo strode onto the stage and took a bow. He reminded Brenton of his old music professor with that white beard and unkempt hair—except this man was a synthetic.

  I can’t believe the detail on the conductor. Dr. Howser should be proud—even if his work isn’t perfect yet.

  The audience applauded.

  “Welcome to MuseFam Hall,” the conductor said. “This is a very special day for us. You will be the first audience to experience the power of an all-synthetic orchestra.”

  Almost everyone in the audience applauded—almost. Looking around, Brenton noticed a woman on the ground level near the front who was dressed in black with her arms crossed. She seemed emotionless.

  If she’s not enjoying herself, then why is she taking one of the best seats in the house? Brenton squinted, straining to see her more clearly. Wait—is that a veil? She’s dressed for a funeral.