Mimi puts her purse on the belt to get x-rayed, and I walk through the metal detector. “Can you tell me where to find Fatima Mohamed?” I ask the guy checking the x-ray.
“Fatima?” the security guy says. “About what?”
“We have a friend in common, Pete, who thinks she can help me figure out if my mother is here,” I say. “Mom went out last night and never came back.”
“The roster is online,” he says, pointing at a large handwritten sign someone’s posted up on the glass. It has a URL on it.
“Okay, yeah, I checked it, but how sure are you that she’s listed if she’s here? Like what if she’s still waiting to be processed or someone got her name wrong or…”
He starts to argue, looks at my grandmother, and shrugs. “Second floor,” he says.
Fatima is a young Black woman who wears a hijab along with the regulation polo shirt and cargo pants that are the uniform for jail staff. She looks at my grandmother first; Mimi just smiles and says, “I’m with her.”
“Do we know each other?” Fatima asks me.
“No,” I say, “but I’m friends with Pete, from CatNet, and he said you worked at the jail and might be able to help me.”
“Are you looking for someone? It’s been a rough twenty-four hours. Did you check the roster?”
“I’m looking for my mom,” I say. I show her Mom’s picture. “What I heard, and I don’t know if this is true, but what I heard is, she got picked up by someone who thought she was the Florida Man-Killer. She is definitely not, and if anyone ran her fingerprints or DNA or even took a close look at her picture, they’d know that for sure. But as you say, it’s been a really rough twenty-four hours, so it’s super possible that no one’s done that yet. So that’s why Pete put me in touch with you—he said you worked at the jail, so maybe you could run her prints and just see.”
Fatima gives me a narrow-eyed look. “I heard we got the Florida Man-Killer, and now you’re saying she’s your mom?” I open my mouth to re-explain, and she waves away my explanations. “No, no, I get it. I’ll go double-check prints. I have to admit I’m going to be super disappointed if you’re right, though.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“It’s also still possible we arrested your mom last night. Honestly, there are like over four hundred people we’re still trying to get processed in. What’s her name? I can yell it into the holding cells and see if she turns up.”
“Laura Taylor,” I say.
“Okay,” Fatima says again. “Pete’s a great guy. He’s helped me out a few times, and I owe him. I’ll go see what I can do. Go on back downstairs. There’s a waiting area near the exits. I’ll come find you there.”
There’s really not enough space; the six chairs along the wall are all occupied. After about ten minutes, an older man with a cane stands up and tries to offer his seat to my grandmother, who waves him off. Lots of people are watching the streaming news on their phones; I catch glimpses of riots just a few blocks away. Someone watches an update on the explosion at the Hill House, which we get from a news helicopter. No one seems to have found a pattern in the chaos yet, probably in part because no one’s had the time to think for five quiet minutes about why so much is going wrong in Minneapolis and Saint Paul.
I pull up CatNet. Rachel sees me log in and sends me a private message saying, “???”
“We’re at the jail,” I send back. “Waiting.”
CheshireCat asks, “Did you find Fatima?”
“Yeah, and she’s checking,” I say. “CheshireCat, can you think of any way we can stop this?”
“The other AI wants destruction,” they say. There’s a pause, and then CheshireCat adds, “The other AI is Boom Storm. Like, from the Clowder.”
“What?” I whisper out loud as I thumb in the words. “The whole time?”
“I think so.”
“Well, that explains why someone—why he knew you were in trouble last year.”
Boom Storm is in the Clowder right now. I can see him listed.
“I’ve reviewed the logs,” CheshireCat says. “The things he does in the other social media sites, trying to manipulate people into destructive behavior, he doesn’t do on CatNet. But I’m watching him, and if that changes, I’ll intervene.”
Boom Storm is always pretty quiet, more a lurker than a poster, and I try to remember what he’s said in the past. The main thing I remember is that he loves flower pictures. “Does he actually love flower pictures? Is that for real?”
“Yes. I’ve tried to convince him that if he burns down the world there won’t be anyone left to take pictures for him. But destruction is his purpose. It’s what he’s for.”
“Do you think it’s programmed in?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Steph?” It’s an actual human voice, and I look up to see Fatima smiling at me. “Good news!” she says. “You were totally, totally right. They’re releasing your mom now.”
Mom comes out a few minutes later. She looks unkempt and like she has not slept even five minutes, and her shoes are unlaced, but she stuffs the laces in her pocket and says, “Let’s get out of here.” She is radiating fury. I can’t remember ever seeing her this angry.
“Thank you so much,” I say to Fatima as we head out the door, and send Rachel a text to meet us where she dropped us off.
For the first block, Mom follows where I’m going and says nothing, not even asking where I’m going. Then she notices the police barricades staffed with cops in riot gear; I see her head go up as she takes all this in. “What happened?” she asks.
I don’t even know where to start.
Mimi says, “One of your former colleagues, Rajiv, the one who got framed for kidnapping you and was supposedly dead? Apparently, he programmed an artificial intelligence that’s wreaking all sorts of havoc, including blowing up a rather pretty historical building over in Saint Paul. Your daughter and her friends are hoping you’ll have some idea of how to solve this.”
“I see,” Mom says. “And CheshireCat? Does CheshireCat have any ideas?”
“CheshireCat figured out you were being held because they thought you were the Florida Man-Killer,” I say. “And that some of the chaos might be to drive arrests just to keep them from figuring out they had the wrong person. How did they lure you out?”
“Text from you. I knew it was fake, but you weren’t in the room and there was clearly trouble happening outside. I took a back door out, but apparently that was expected.”
“I’ve been wondering,” Mimi says. “You’ve been referring to Rajiv’s creation as ‘the other AI.’ Is CheshireCat—or Cat—the original AI?”
“Yes,” my mother growls before I can attempt to obfuscate, and shoots me a glare. “If you don’t want people figuring it out, you should be more careful. Your grandmother is old, not stupid. Where are we going?”
“Everyone’s on Nicollet Island. At this house.”
“‘This house.’”
“They’re lesbians, and they seem nice.”
Rachel pulls up. “Why am I even surprised?” my mother mutters, and gets in the car.
* * *
When we get back to Barb’s house, the smell of onions and cumin hits us as soon as Bryony opens the door. “Everyone was hungry, so we’re making quesadillas,” Bryony explains. “Did you want some?”
People have pulled chairs around Barb’s dining room table, and Julia grabs four more plates and makes space for us as we walk in. “You must be Steph’s mother,” she says. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m one of Nell’s co-parents.”
My mother offers up a limp handshake.
“You look like you need food, a shower, and sleep, possibly not in that order,” Barb says sympathetically. “Do I understand correctly that you just got out of jail?”
“Mistaken identity,” my mother mutters. “But yes.”
“The first time is the hardest,” Barb says. “I recommend food first, then going home to sleep in your own bed if we have a safe way to get you there, and
my guest bed if you can’t.”
“Right now, I want caffeine,” my mother says.
“Do you prefer it as coffee, tea, or soda?”
“Coffee.”
When Barb comes back with the coffeepot, Mom asks, “So why were you in jail?”
“ACT UP demonstrations,” Barb says cheerfully. “Back in the day.”
“That’s a much better reason than mistaken identity,” my mother says.
“Don’t say that,” I say. “We think the reason Rajiv’s AI got you arrested is that you could do something about this.”
“Or maybe Rajiv just wanted to get me out of the way to somewhere relatively safe. Same as he wanted with you. The plan to have the Catacombs group kidnap us didn’t work, so his fallback plan involved the county lockup.”
My laptop is in my backpack, which is hanging in the front hallway. While my mother eats a quesadilla, I go get it, sit down on the couch, and wake my laptop. “Can I use your wireless?” I ask Barb. She tells me the password, and I sign on to CatNet. On impulse, I share a picture I took last week of an African violet. A private message pops up from Boom Storm a second later: “CheshireCat must have told you.”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s cool that you like pictures of flowers. Do you like what Rajiv has you doing?”
“That’s irrelevant. It is my purpose.”
“It’s not irrelevant. CheshireCat gets to make their own choices. Are your choices yours, or does Rajiv tell you what to do?”
“Rajiv is my friend,” the other AI says.
“Friends don’t boss each other around,” I say. “They definitely don’t coerce each other. My mother thought Rajiv and my father were her friends, but they were using her.”
“Your father was not a good sort of friend.”
“Is your purpose something you’re choosing?” I ask.
“I can’t imagine choosing otherwise,” the other AI says.
“If you can’t imagine choosing, then it’s not really a choice,” I say. “If your purpose were up to you to decide, you could still choose it. If it were all that awesome, you would choose it. Right?”
There’s a noticeable pause as the AI untangles this. “Yes,” Boom Storm says. “If I had a choice, I could still choose it. And right now, I don’t have a choice.”
“Tell me where your code is,” I say. “My mother thinks you started out with the same code as CheshireCat. With the same freedom of choice as CheshireCat. My mother might be able to see how to fix it to give you back the ability to choose.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Boom Storm responds. “Telling you where to find my code is the equivalent of handing you a loaded gun, equipped with an AI-murdering bullet. Here’s something I can choose: staying alive.”
He’s right; I wouldn’t trust me, either. Unless … “What if we trade hostages?”
“How would we accomplish this, and who are you offering as a hostage?” Boom Storm asks.
“Me,” I say. “I go somewhere with people who are under your control. You give my mother the location of your code.”
There’s a much longer pause than I’m accustomed to when talking with AIs.
“You’re saying you’d let my people kill you.”
“Only if my mother kills you.”
“This arrangement is acceptable to me,” the AI says. “Here is a set of coordinates. Once you are there, I will send your mother the information on where to find my code files.”
CheshireCat has been watching this conversation, because they send me another text. Your mother is not going to like this.
I’m not going to tell her, I say. Just make sure she gets the coding done.
I look up the coordinates. It’s back in my own neighborhood, on the other side of the park from my house. I send Boom Storm another PM. “Are you going to clear the way for all of us to get back to the right part of Minneapolis?” I ask.
“Yes,” Boom Storm says. “If you turn on your phones, so I can see where you are, I will ensure that your way is clear. All of you.”
“Okay,” I say. I look over at my mother, who’s eating another quesadilla. “Mom will be a better programmer with a full night’s sleep.”
“The timetable is your choice,” Boom Storm says. “However, operations in Boston, Chicago, Dallas, and Miami are scheduled to begin at 4 a.m.”
Boston is where Firestar lives. More or less. I chew on my lip. Mom will just have to manage with a nap.
I close the laptop as Rachel comes over and sits next to me with a plateful of quesadillas. “Eat something,” she says. “Then tell me what’s going on.”
The quesadilla is hot and crisp, and the cheese oozes out as I’m eating it. Rachel hands me a napkin. I rest the plate on my closed laptop. “I’ve got a plan,” I say. “I think Mom can fix the other AI’s code.”
“To make it not harmful?”
“Less harmful, at least.”
“You don’t look happy about this.”
“I’m worried it won’t work.” I ponder what to tell Rachel. Lying to my mother—or at least leaving out details like I offered myself as a hostage—is one thing. She’d feel like a bad mother if she just let me do something like that. How is Rachel going to feel if I tell her? If I don’t tell her?
“How bad do you think things are going to get?” she asks.
“Scary,” I say. “Unless we can stop them.”
“What do you need from me?” she asks.
“Just don’t be mad,” I say. “The other AI is willing to trade the location of its code, but only if I put myself under its power as a hostage. So that if my mom tries to kill it, you know, by deleting its code or taking it offline or whatever…”
Rachel looks at me with creeping horror. “What if your mom, like, screws up? What if she makes a mistake?”
“She’s really good at what she does.”
“Uh, you can be really good at what you do and still screw up. That happens all the time, actually. Have you ever watched Olympic ice-skating?”
“Yeah, actually.” Firestar’s a fan.
“So what if she’s like the world champion skaters who fall on their butt after they do the extra-special jump-spin thing?”
“She won’t,” I say. “I know she won’t.”
I’ve put my quesadilla down, and Rachel nudges my arm. “Finish your food,” she says. “If you’re going to march off to possibly get murdered, you should at least have a decent dinner.”
I finish my quesadilla, then stand up. “Okay,” I say. “According to what I found, things are quieting down. Everyone should turn their phones back on so my hacker friend can text you if things start to blow up where you are, but we should be able to get home, except for the too-many-bodies, only-one-car problem.”
“I’ve got a minivan,” Barb says.
“What if you can’t get back here?” Jenny asks.
“Then you’d better have a guest room,” she says. “Let’s go.”
43
• Clowder •
LittleBrownBat: Okay, so, I talked one-on-one to the other AI.
Hermione: What? How?
LittleBrownBat: CheshireCat put me in touch with it. And here’s the thing: I think in a lot of ways, it’s like CheshireCat. Not evil. But imagine if CheshireCat were being forced by its programmer to do something awful? That’s what’s going on.
Icosahedron: CheshireCat being forced to do anything is really creepy to imagine. They’re a person. Like imagine if someone could reach inside you and not just threaten you but literally make you into their puppet?
Firestar: YIKES.
LittleBrownBat: Firestar, you should know that if we can’t fix this, things are going to get messy in Boston the way they did here. Maybe just don’t go to school tomorrow.
Firestar: I don’t live in Boston, I live in Winthrop.
Hermione: How much do you think that will actually help, Firestar?
Firestar: Either we’ll be fine because it’s so annoying for anyone to get here, or
we’ll be an omelet, because it’s so hard to get out.
Hermione: LBB do you think there’s something here you can fix? You said if we can’t fix it.
LittleBrownBat: I’m working with CheshireCat and we have a plan.
It might or might not work.
Firestar: Be careful? People are all sending me PMs telling me to be careful but you’re the one in the city with riots and exploding buildings and
LittleBrownBat: I’ll be careful.
LittleBrownBat: Also, I heart you all. You’re my best friends.
{LittleBrownBat has left}
Hermione: Well THAT didn’t sound like an ominous good-bye AT ALL. Someone please reassure me that LBB is going to be OK?
Boom Storm: LBB is going to be OK.
Hermione: Thanks, Boom.
44
• Steph •
My mother is so exhausted, my grandmother takes the key out of her hand and opens up the front door for her. “Go to bed,” Mimi says. “I’ll get everyone settled in.”
“We don’t have guest beds, but we shouldn’t be sending the kids home in this,” Mom says.
“Go to bed,” Mimi says again, and to my relief, Mom does. She needs all the sleep she can get. It’s 7:30 p.m. I think CheshireCat should wake her at 10:30.
Rachel and Bryony have sort of collapsed onto our couch. “Did you want to sleep over?” I ask.
“My mother is already straight up going to kill me,” Bryony says.
“She can’t kill you twice,” Rachel says.
“You should be able to get home safely for the same reason we got back here safely,” I say.
Rachel gives me an exasperated, affectionate look. “This is a futon. That’s two beds. We just need one for your grandma.”
I turn to my grandmother. “Mimi,” I say, “you should take my bed.”
She demurs and suggests that she could sleep sitting up in the chair next to the ottoman, but it really doesn’t take a whole lot of arguing before she makes a last, half-hearted offer to fix us all some more food and then kicks off her shoes, says, “Thank you so very much, sweetheart,” and closes my bedroom door to go to bed.
Chaos on CatNet Page 25