by D. B. Goodin
Is he shaking? Good.
“My apologies, Mr. Scruthers, someone will get you soon. Have a seat,” the guard said.
Several minutes later, a tall woman in a pale blue suit approached Walt. “You must be Mr. Scruthers,” the woman said.
“I am, little lady.” Walt made a hat-tipping motion. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Andi Watson. I’m the head of the public relations department. Mr. Morris wants to ensure your comfort—while you wait for him, that is.”
“Yes, I’m glad he didn’t send a robot. Lead the way, little lady,” Walt said.
Upon being called “little lady,” Andi gave Walt a scowl before leading him past the guard booth and into a sizeable atrium area. Several glass elevators were operating in the distance; Walt counted at least eight elevator cars. In the center of the atrium, an enormous fountain was visible, which featured a golden sculpture of the MuseFam logo. It was at least ten feet high. Walt had an errant thought: Was the dog waiting for something to crawl out of the gramophone?
“Have you been in New York long, Mr. Scruthers?” Andi asked.
“No, I just arrived this morning.
“Did you fly?”
“No, I have the means, but I prefer to travel by more . . . conventional methods. I took an overnighter on the Maglev.”
“The bullet train?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know why they call it that, since it took eighteen hours to get here. I wasn’t too keen on traveling through the Ohio Valley with the . . . radiation and all, so I took the southern route.” Walt looked at his watch. “Speaking of slow, how long does it take to commandeer an elevator?”
“We are going all the way to the top, so it can take a while.”
It took several minutes, but eventually an elevator opened, and several people filed out. Walt and Andi stepped inside. Andi held out a hand as several people tried entering with trays filled with food.
“I’m sorry, this lift is occupied,” Andi said.
Andi took out a golden key that reminded Walt of an old skeleton key; it had an ornate webbing pattern on its handle. She inserted it into a slot near the elevator’s button panel that Walt hadn’t noticed. As the door closed, Walt could see his reflection in the polished glass that coated each surface of the elevator car. Then the surrounding glass dissolved into a steel-gray color, and a giant, genderless, metal robotic face appeared on all glass surfaces. It was an eerie sight, because the robot was literally staring at him from every direction. Soon they were ascending faster than Walt had expected.
“Whoa now,” Walt said as he tried grabbing onto a handrail.
“Welcome to MuseFam headquarters, honored guest,” the robot said.
The elevator seemed to go faster now; Walt lost his balance and almost fell.
“You are in one of the fastest elevators known to man. We should be at the 70th floor in no time, partner.”
Walt couldn’t be sure, but he thought the robot winked at him.
Less than a minute later they were stepping off the elevator and onto a marble floor, which was so shiny that Walt could see his reflection. Walt noticed several gold and platinum awards on the walls as he followed Andi to Mr. Morris’s office.
“Wait here, please,” Andi said while pointing to a couch nearby.
Walt watched as she walked into a nearby office. He waited for several minutes. He thought of what he would say to the man who had tried to kill human culture in America’s original “Music City.”
What gives this man the right to replace our Jubilee singers with robots, anyway? Walt fumed—but then he stopped himself. Calm down, Walt, don’t let your feelings get the better of you.
“Mr. Scruthers, he will see you now,” Andi said, emerging briefly from the office.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Walt said as he steeled himself and walked into Brenton Morris’s office.
Mr. Morris’s office was not what Walt had expected. Besides the lack of furnishings, Mr. Morris didn’t have a desk; he seemed to be hovering in midair with several translucent screens floating nearby. As Walt approached, he realized that the furnishings were transparent. Mr. Morris was using hand gestures to control something on one screen.
Let the battle begin, Walt said.
“Mr. Scruthers,” Brenton said, turning slowly to face the man. “I’m Brenton Morris. Now have a seat.”
Brenton pointed at Walt, and a robot with a chair appeared.
Where did this robot come from?
“I think I will stand if that suits?” Walt said.
“Fine. What do you want, old man!”
The robot stood with the chair for a moment before Brenton gave it a “go away” gesture. The robot left the office with the chair.
No respect, not even for your own creations, you bastard.
Walt smiled. “Howdy, Mr. Morris—we spoke on the phone last week.”
“Did we? My assistant quit without notice last week, so I’m afraid that I’m a bit out of sorts. Care to refresh my memory?”
“Let me tell you a story, Mr. Morris. Several months ago, a music company based in Nashville, Tennessee, called the Confederated Music Company—CMC for short—was approached by a Yankee-based company in New York City.”
“What did the company from New York want?” Brenton asked in a condescending tone.
“The Yankee company went to CMC’s largest shareholder and offered to buy them out at a significant profit. The shareholder in question had experienced significant losses over the past several quarters and was in dire straits. The shareholder in question gave the CEO of the New York company a verbal ‘yes’ without the approval of his compatriots.”
Brenton leaned back in his chair and smiled.
“Oh! Tell me, what happens next? I’m dying to hear what happens next!”
“The shareholder in question—the one with the largest portion of CMC shares—sold his stake to the Yankee company in New York. The shareholder had 34 percent of outstanding shares,” Walt said contentiously.
Brenton seemed unfazed.
“In theory,” Walt continued, “he would need to contact another shareholder to gain a controlling interest in CMC. Then the Yankee company could initiate a hostile takeover of the small music company in Nashville.”
“What else happens in this fairy-tale of yours?” Brenton chided.
“The current CEO of CMC blocks the Yankee company from taking over a family-run company.”
Brenton laughed.
“How in the hell are you going to do that? I have verbal agreements from CMC’s largest shareholders that, when executed, will mean the Yankee company known as MuseFam will own 52 percent of that Nashville music company.”
“There is one thing that the arrogant Yankee CEO miscalculated,” Walt said.
“What’s that? The deal is as good as done, old man.”
“I may be old, but I’m still well connected in Nashville. Let me draw you a picture.”
Brenton’s smile evaporated.
“The guy with 18 percent of CMC shares is married to the sister of the largest shareholder. If the deal goes through, the sister will lose the right to operate her business in the historic downtown location that she so desires because the building is owned by the largest shareholder,” Walt said, smiling. “Also, the second largest shareholder, the guy with 34 percent of CMC shares, received a package—or rather, his wife did. The contents of that package show her husband in the arms of several younger women. I believe he was caught on camera with some pig costume. If he wants to stay in the good graces of the missus, he will sell his shares to the largest shareholder: me!”
Brenton said nothing for several moments. Walt couldn’t read him; it was almost if the man had set aside his emotions somehow.
“There is a flaw in the largest shareholder’s plan,” Brenton said at last. “He doesn’t have enough cash to buy up all of those shares. Plus, the contingent value rights—or CVR—give the shareholder more shares of the acquiring company, whose
shares are worth more. So why would those shareholders be beholden to some old guy who has some handshake agreements in place? It makes no sense.”
Walt’s jawline clenched, his eyes narrowed, and his hands balled into fists. He closed his eyes to regain control of his temper.
“Look, Mr. Morris, you’re not buying my company,” Walt said. “I have agreements from those shareholders.”
“Are you sure about that? When is the last time you checked your messages?”
Walk took out his oversized, ancient-looking smartphone and tapped a few times, reading new emails. What he saw wasn’t good.
“You bastard!” he snarled.
“When you left Nashville, your deal was all set, but I worked all night on a deal that undid all of your hard work,” Brenton said, smiling.
“How?” Walt demanded.
“I don’t like revealing my methods, but I will make an exception for you. I expected the sister’s price to be high, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t that hard to figure out she is your cousin. She didn’t want to sell at first, but I found her price,” Brenton said.
Walt stared at Brenton in disbelief, then stormed out of the snake pit that was Brenton Morris’s office.
Meanwhile, in Newark Heights, New Jersey
Despite getting to bed late, Alice awoke early the next morning; she had things to do.
Alice walked into the kitchen where Lindsey was preparing breakfast. Brian was dressed and reading the news on his tablet. He was one of the few people who didn’t use a visor. Alice pulled up a seat at the table across from Brian.
“Hey, Brian, I never see you wearing a visor. Why not?” Alice said.
Brian put down his tablet and gave Alice a thoughtful look. After several moments, he said, “Besides being a huge time sink? If I wore a visor all day, I would never get any focused work done. Not with all the alerts, advertisements, and other junk. Not to mention those useless AIs reminding me to do basic tasks. A tablet or computer is good enough for me. I need not be hardwired into the system. Besides, I want to be difficult to track,” Brian said as he winked at Alice.
“This guy is trouble,” Doris said in Alice’s earpiece.
“Well, I find it very useful for my job, because I need to research while in the field,” Alice replied. “Get local alerts when interesting bands are playing, or where live events are happening. I might know where I want to look for talent, but the visor helps me refine it. I also like my AI!”
“It’s a little early for you, isn’t it?” Lindsey said.
Alice glanced at the clock; it was after eight.
“I guess, but whatever,” Alice said. “I’ve had a rough couple of weeks. Yesterday I got locked out of a city council meeting at city hall, and then I found out that a mysterious hacker is trying to ruin my life, but otherwise I’m good.” Alice stared at Brian as she spoke.
“What were you doing at city hall?” Lindsey asked.
“I was trying to protest against a new city ordinance that forces local human-only clubs to accept robots as patrons.”
“I never understand your feelings on this issue, Alice,” Lindsey sighed. “So why is this a problem?”
“Because it’s wrong! Robots have a lot of knowledge because they ingest all sorts of data, but when it comes to making the correct decisions for humans, they don’t do it well. The robots lack empathy and don’t understand complex human decision-making. For example, suppose a poor and starving parent steals food to feed their family. A robot might make the logical decision of calling the police and prosecuting the parent, but is that the best choice? What about the children of these parents? Without someone like a social worker there to offer compassion to these children and try and figure out the best solution, the children would just carry the emotional impact of being separated from their parent. Morality is a human concept, and robots will never understand it. And when it comes to music, robots will never understand what music is on an emotional level.”
“I think you’re making a big deal out of all of this,” Lindsey huffed. “So what if a robot is drinking next to me at a bar?”
“You’re missing the point, Lindsey. Human rights are still being violated.”
Brian suddenly got up and put his coffee mug in the dishwasher, making a lot of noise, irritated.
“Well, I’ve got to go. You ladies have a great day,” he said.
Alice got up and blocked Brian’s path, boxing him in.
“Brian, why did you prevent me from entering the city council chambers yesterday?”
Brian gave Alice a cool look.
“Is this true, Brian?” Lindsey said.
“I saw her there, but I didn’t prevent her from entering,” Brian replied.
“What were you doing at the city council meeting? Why was it closed to the public, anyway?” Alice asked.
“I was there for a client. I can’t talk about it, and I have to leave. See you tonight?”
Alice frowned, then said, “Yeah, this should make for some fun dinner conversation.” Alice stepped aside and let Brian pass.
He made a move for the door and was halfway there when Lindsey said, “Brian, aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?”
Brian went back and gave Lindsey a quick kiss, then left the house as fast as he could.
Lindsey gave Alice a hard, stone-faced look.
“What’s your deal?” she asked. “Why are you questioning my husband like that?”
Alice crossed her arms and snarled. “Because he’s behind all of it. The AI Copyright Protection Act, the new city ordinance, everything!”
Lindsey closed her eyes for a moment as she took in a few deep breaths.
“What did you want to talk about, anyway?” Alice said, interrupting Lindsey’s impromptu meditation session.
“Oh—what?” Lindsey said, as if she didn’t understand the question.
“Your message mentioned something about talking to me, so what is it?”
“Brian and I decided that it was best if you would get your own place at the end of the month.”
“Brian said he would give you the money to get set up in a new apartment now that you have a job—”
“I don’t want your charity,” Alice said, cutting Lindsey off. “I’ll leave tonight!”
“You don’t have to leave until the end of the month.”
“No, no, I got it—you and your traitorous husband don’t want me around anymore. That’s fine.”
Lindsey scowled. “It’s not like you’re here much anyway, Alice! You treat us like a pet-sitter for Alfred.”
“Well, you won’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“Alice, don’t be such a pill. At least stay until the end of the week. I know how hard it is to get an apartment in Manhattan on short notice. Sit down, I’ll make you breakfast,” Lindsey said as she poured Alice a cup of coffee and handed it to her.
Alice took a seat and drank the warm brew. Her heart was still racing.
No sooner had she taken her first sip than her visor chirped; she slid it down from her forehead and answered. It was Nigel.
“Find out anything?” Alice asked.
“I did. It is confirmed that Mister K is working for MuseFam. He has several interactions with a Mark Olaf. Mark is Brenton Morris’s head of security, and Simon’s boss,” Nigel said.
Lindsey set a plate of eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast in front of Alice.
“You’ve been helpful, thanks Mr. Watson,” Alice said as she disconnected.
“Do I even want to ask what that was about?” Lindsey said.
“It’s confirmation that your husband is working against me.”
Lindsey broke eye contact, then busied herself in the kitchen.
Alice started eating her breakfast.
Lindsey has been a genuine friend, she thought. I should go easy on her. Too bad her husband is a jerk.
Alice tasked herself with wolfing down her breakfast as fast as she could; she had business in the city. But something
was bothering her about Lindsey’s behavior.
Something’s off about Lindsey—but what?
“You didn’t seem that surprised when I mentioned the repeal of the AI Copyright Protection Act, or the new city ordinance,” Alice said.
Lindsey didn’t respond.
“You know something, don’t you?”
“I’m not sure what you are insinuating,” Lindsey said as she played with her hair.
Alice recognized that look; she’d known Lindsey since they were both children, and Alice knew when her friend was hiding something.
“Brian is working a . . . related case. I don’t know all the details. His firm hired me as a music consultant.”
“What would a law firm need with a music consultant? Let me guess—you can’t talk about it!” Alice said.
Lindsey gave Alice a pained look.
“Well, since the press release is out, I can tell you I worked for Brian’s firm. A few people asked me questions about music composition and what tools we use for musical production and stuff like that.”
“Did they ask anything else related to me?”
Lindsey thought about it for a long moment, then said, “Now that I think about it, they asked if I knew of any all-human clubs. I gave them information about Roxy’s club.”
“That’s just great!” Alice said.
“What? I didn’t tell them about you specifically.” Lindsey started walking out of the kitchen, then paused. “Oh, before I forget—Brian’s firm is taking me out for a nice steak dinner to celebrate. I will be home late, so please make sure you take care of your cat.”
“No problem, I’m not planning on staying out late . . . if I can help it.”
Lindsey nodded. “I’m done arguing Alice, and my offer stands—you can stay here until the end of the month, which gives you almost three weeks to look for an apartment.”
Lindsey left the kitchen and headed to her bedroom.
She handed Roxy’s club over on a silver platter, Alice thought. Does she not realize what she’s done?
7
Alice left earlier than usual that morning and made her way to the train station. About halfway to the city, her phone rang. It was Charlie. She picked up the call on her visor.