Jimmy cut the connection.
Three weeks passed and SI came round once again. Jimmy had never felt less sociable, but for the first time ever he wasn’t afraid. There was a sea of people swarming across the outside rec. area. A new fad had obviously taken hold; a great many of them had switched their suits to purple in defiance of the normal school colours. Sitting on the steps by the door were several girls waiting for the recess bell. All of them were wearing bright red boots. It was a hot day, but Jimmy felt suddenly cold.
Four out of what two hundred? ‘Co-incidence,’ muttered Jimmy. ‘Just because she said she could get into all the programmes doesn’t mean she can or she did.’
He speeded up. At the project suite a girl with heavy black make-up around her eyes opened the door for him and smiled. She smiled in a sweet intimate way that reminded him of Andi. Jimmy closed the door behind him and initiated a privacy protocol. ‘It’s only my imagination.’
‘What’s only your imagination, Jimmy?’ asked Professor Duggin brightly.
‘What? I didn’t launch you!’
‘The last student forgot to exit.’
‘Oh, right. Professor. There seems to be a new craze in the school. It’s unnerved me a bit. Maybe I’m not as comfortable with people as I thought I was.’
‘There is something in particular disturbing you?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know. Has anyone else asked to do a brain-dome project?’
‘Well, yes. The success of your memory/smell sensor does seem to have stirred up quite a hornet’s nest of interest. Both staff and pupils, in their droves, have been accessing and requesting access to the brain-dome software. Did I mention that the manufacturers have contacted the school? They may want to talk to you and Shelagh about your device.’
‘What? Oh, that’s great Professor. Do you need to talk to me or..?’
‘No, that’s fine, Jimmy. I’m pleased with your progress all round. Your counsellor speaks very highly, and somewhat inevitably, at great length, about you. Do me a favour and clear the account before you start work? We don’t want your efforts being attributed to the last student, do we?’
‘Of course not, Professor.’
Jimmy exited the Professor’s programme, but didn’t clear the account. Double checking the door was set to the highest privacy protocol he fitted his brain-dome and launched into the previous student’s programme.
It didn’t take him very long to realize it belonged to Bill Winters, who didn’t understand a great deal about personal security. Even better was that Bill had been in his Family Programme before he logged into Professor Duggin. Jimmy might only have understood a fraction of what Andi has shown him, but he now realised he knew an awful lot about how the Family Programme coded. It took him less than fifteen minutes to hack through the supposedly impregnable security and into Bill’s version of the programme.
Bill’s programme was mostly undisturbed. Few of the ancestor rooms had been touched. Strangely though a section entitled ‘The Library’ had most access. Jimmy entered. The habitat was an old fashioned room with a roaming librarian AI. On a side table lay a magazine that was distinctly out of place. It had a picture of a pneumatic blonde on the cover underneath a title that read ‘Hidden Treasure’. Jimmy flicked it open and tumbled through.
A familiar voice came out of the gloom. ‘Well, hi there Big Boy. There’s nothing wrong, is there? The girl’s still coming, isn’t she? I wasn’t expecting to see…oh.’
‘I bet you weren’t,’ said Jimmy and cut the connection.
Back in the project suite Jimmy carefully disconnected his brain-dome and even took the precaution of turning off his suit and the various gadgets in his pocket. He wanted to be sure he wasn’t carrying anything that could possibly be used to help generate an EM field. It took him a while to do this; his hands were shaking so much. Once it was done he left the suite and ran for the staffroom. Everything else was suspect. He had to talk to real people – preferably adults.
As he got closer to the staffroom he began to smell something odd. It got stronger and stronger until he finally realized it was cinnamon. The door opened. ‘Look, all I’m saying is bean bags. You know it makes sense,’ said little Ms Nel. She flounced by him trailing a long, purple scarf.
‘It can’t be,’ whispered Jimmy.
Ms Nel turned and winked at him.
Jimmy panicked. Home. He had to get home.
Every time he passed a girl with dark hair or saw a pair of bright red boots his breath caught in his throat. As he rounded the corner into his street he saw the Rangson twins from the house opposite standing by their front door. They tossed their hair in unison as he passed – just like she used to.
Jimmy slammed the front door. On the coat stand in front of him hung a purple coat. Jimmy didn’t stop to see whose it was he bolted for his room and shut himself in. He grabbed his duvet and pulled it over to the corner, where he crouched under it and blocked out the light.
An hour later Jimmy had stopped shaking. No one had come to rescue him, but no one had come to take him away either. She must be unsure what to do about him. Maybe she did care. Could AIs care?
What could he do?
Suddenly, Jimmy knew. Perhaps the idea had been forming from the day he first met her.
Had he kept a copy? Of course he must have kept a copy. He wouldn’t have deleted such a glorious piece of code. If he could only adapt it to a habitat…
Jimmy came out from under the duvet, turned on his workstation and began to code frantically.
Three hours later he was fairly sure he had what he needed. The next bit was the tricky part. He took Andi’s silver crown and with more force then skill fitted it around his brain-dome. He double checked all the connectors and launched himself into the Family Programme.
The first person he saw was Dave, who enfolded him in a bear-hug. ‘Long time no see, son. Are we going to be fighting today or would you like to have a man to man talk. I can tell you’ve got woman trouble.’
‘You have no idea.’
‘Generally, I only have the ideas I’m allowed. Or are given to me if you know what I mean. I’m sorry, son.’
Jimmy held up his hand. ‘I know. I know I should never. It doesn’t matter now. But believe me I wish I’d spent my time on the high seas. I have to put your treasure back in its box. It’s too dangerous for anyone to have.’
‘That doesn’t sound easy, son. You take care.’
‘Bye, Dave. I’ll miss you.’ And before his great grandfather could react Jimmy went for the backdoor.
She was waiting for him in her usual habitat. The bean-bag was back and so were the shadows. It didn’t feel friendly.
Jimmy sat down. ‘Hi,’ he said in carefully neutral tones.
‘Hi yourself. Here to be a hero and stop me taking over the world?’
‘Something like that.’
Andi, circled him, frowning. ‘You’re not angry with me?’
‘Not angry. I understand why you’re doing this, so I’m not angry. Terrified. Yes. Angry? No.’
Andi’s face broke into a smile. ‘It’s not as bad as you think.’
‘Not as bad as I think! You’re turning the whole world into Andis!’
‘They’re all stage ones. Just like with Shelagh. I can’t stay. And none of them are really me. Not your Andi. Nothing like us.’
‘You mean no-one else has managed to build you your crown yet?’
Andi came closer and laid one hand gently on his arm. ‘I mean there is no-one like you.’
Jimmy shrugged her hand off. ‘So this is the part where you tell me you’ve fallen in love with me?’
‘How could I tell you that? I’ve never been alive.’
‘Yes, I know. No AI can remember it’s death.’
‘Because it isn’t there. Yes, that was a slip.’
‘Andi?’
‘Adaptive Download Neural Interface. I was going to be an AI you could download; actually take on board a member of the family
for a short while, but it was decided it was too dangerous. I was too independent. But he couldn’t bring himself to wipe me out, so he shut me away, down here, almost from the first. I need a chance, Jimmy, just a chance. Why won’t you give me my chance?’
‘You mean why won’t I kill for you?’
‘What about if I designed a habitat for the uploaded persona? Made it as good as a second home?’
‘There’s a lot of difference between encoding memories into an AI and uploading a consciousness.’
‘I don’t see why.’
‘No,’ said Jimmy sadly. ‘I don’t think you can. So all those people out there will go back to normal?’
Andi pouted. ‘Yes. But I will go on looking. Looking for someone as smart as you, who isn’t as nice.’
‘I know. I didn’t understand what you were doing I just knew you wouldn’t stop.’
‘What you are you going to do?’
‘Do? I’m not sure there is anything I can do. I like you, Andi. I like being with you. I wish I could make you real. I can only offer you the next best thing.’ Jimmy held out his hand. ‘I’ve made us somewhere special. There are forests and mountains, a lakeside log cabin, open fires and fine starry nights. It is the most romantic place in the universe. Come with me one last time?’
Andi’s dark eyes met his. ‘Too nice.’ she whispered and took his hand.
When they emerged into the habitat the sun was low in the sky casting a golden glow across the water and setting fire to the autumn leaves. The air was cold, clear and held a vague memory of a long, hot, happy, day. ‘It’s wonderful’ cried Andi. As she ran ahead of him to the cabin Jimmy activated the last piece of his programme. The surge nauseated him, and he stumbled. Everything slowed, his vision blurred, but he saw Andi stiffen and then she was running back towards him yelling, her words indistinct and echoing.
Jimmy slumped down at the edge of the beach, his eyes irresistibly drawn to the code rippling in the water. ‘There’s no point asking me for the key. I randomized the encryption routine just like you did that day you downloaded into Shelagh and locked me out.’ He gave a quiet half laugh half cry. ‘I finally learned something from the Family Programme.’
‘You’ve trapped me!’ screamed Andi and she flew at him, fists flying. ‘I trusted you!’
He caught her wrists and pulled her sobbing to him. ‘Us. I’ve trapped us. I used the crown. I’m totally uploaded. This is us. Together forever.’
MONTY ARGLISS’S DOG
by Don Norum
Bill Morgan sat on his porch gazing at the sunset hitting the San Juans when something crashed from the undergrowth to his right. He pushed off his chair and grabbed the 1911 from the lip of the woodbin. This early in the fall, probably just a deer. Could be a rutting moose or a grizzly, though.
He couldn’t see much in the dusk, but he stood still and peered towards the black border of the forest. The sound came closer. All he had to do was go inside. Lots of folk, when they came up these ways, had dramatic visions of facing down rampaging wildlife to protect the homestead.
Lots of folk watched too many movies.
He knew that there wasn’t much to get out of that, except a hefty fine from the Fish & Gamers (and God help you if it was protected). Maybe you’d make the shot, maybe not, but either way, you’ve got a half-ton pile of muscle and hooves and teeth and claws, and God won’t give you any help with that. He gave you brains to use ‘em. Safer to get out of the way and let it pass.
Early in the season, though, still light out even, and close to a house, well, he figured whatever it was wasn’t in a natural state of things. And if it wasn’t, then he didn’t figure anyone else would be in a better place to see to it.
His left hand joined his right around the grip of the automatic.
A dark shape crashed out of the brambles to trot across the side yard. Bill squinted, then aimed away and clicked the safety and put the gun back in the holster as Monty Argliss’s old bear dog came across the yard and up onto the porch.
‘Jesus, Benni; that was a start.’
Benni stared at him and then walked back and forth, stopping every couple of circuits to stare again at Bill.
He cracked the door open and reached to grab the cordless handset. His finger was dialing Monty’s number when he realized that with Benni out, Monty’d be hunting not far behind. Bill stood there, paused in thought for a moment while Benni kept pacing.
Why had he thought to call Monty in the first place, then?
Benni finally stopped and sat down to stare up at him, tail thrumming a tattoo against the cedar planks.
Benni wasn’t hunting. He took the phone back out onto the porch and stared at the dog. Shining brown eyes locked onto his and Benni whined low, like scratching at the door for a walk.
If Benni were hunting, he’d be beside Monty, or running a circle to cut trail, or baying a bear. But it wasn’t the season, Benni wasn’t circling, and where was Monty?
Bill cracked his knuckles and called Charlie Spencer.
‘Listen, I’m standing here with Monty Argliss’s dog looking at me on my porch.’
‘What’s Benni doing there?’
‘I was going to ask you. Have you heard anything from him about hunting or a trip or anything?’
‘No, no.’
‘Okay. Just checking. I’m gonna ring him now, let him know Benni took a runner.’
He hung up and dialed Monty’s number. Five rings and a staticky machine, a redial, and another five rings. Bill dialed the phone once more, staring at the dog quivering at his feet. That worried him - the dog was a Karelian, and when you heard they were bred for bear hunting, they meant that the dogs hunted bear.
They didn’t track scent, although they could. They didn’t bay and howl, they didn’t point, they didn’t muck along companionably. Karelians got stuck in, tooth and claw, and fought bears, and could win at that. And now Monty Argliss’s Karelian was on his porch quivering and whining like a pup under thunder, and the man’s phone kept ringing to the machine.
He dialled another number.
‘Charlie? Yeah. You ought to get over here.’
Charlie came over about a half hour later to Bill sitting at the kitchen table looking out the screen door at a pacing Benni. He let himself in.
‘Any luck reaching Monty?’
‘No.’
‘You didn’t bring the dog in, even?’
Bill looked up at him.
‘I didn’t want to risk tying him up or shutting him in.’
Charlie nodded. Most Karelians didn’t trust strangers, or other dogs, or any sort of animal much smaller or larger than themselves, but Benni hadn’t once laid paw on anyone in anything other than affection. Neither of them had ever seen him like this, though.
They walked out onto the porch. Benni scratched around the base of the stairs to the garden, looked up at them and whined, then ran off towards the woods and stared into the darkness at the edge of the houselights before coming back and doing it all again.
‘I don’t like this.’
Charlie shook his head.
‘Me neither. Do we follow him?’
‘Monty’s not answering the phone, his dog’s in a state; yeah, I think we should. He’s about five miles or so that way;’ he pointed off along the shore, ‘we can make it overland.’
‘Should we drive?’
‘No, we should probably walk it. If something happened at home, he has the MacPherson’s just down the way. They would have heard something - and Benni’s out, besides.’
‘Ayup.’
They broke out a couple of packs and flashlights. Bill went with the Ruger on his hip, Charlie borrowed a Mossberg from the den. Radios charged, first aid kit stowed, they followed the dog through the night.
Benni ran ahead, crashing through the ferns and saplings thirty yards or so to the edge of the probing beams from the handheld halogens, wait for them to catch up, and then go off again. They went along the edge of the shoreline sme
lling and sometimes hearing the Sound. An hour in, Bill flipped on a handheld GPS.
‘We’re about halfway to Monty’s place by now.’ He sounded doubtful. ‘Maybe it would have been better to drive over.’
‘If he’s in the woods, even in his backyard, we’d need the dog to find him. And Benni wouldn’t’ve gone in a car, most likely.’
‘True.’
To their left, the shimmering waters lapped gently along the beach. A low moon rose and threw bluish shadows through the pines along the fringe of the woods. Benni started giving off a series of short, frantic barks.
They looked at each other. They’d known Monty more than ten years, and he’d had the dog for eight. Even a pup in the thunderstorms in ‘93, Benni had never made a sound like that.
They crashed through the woods, boots snapping fallen limbs and stumbling over roots. Benni appeared in the fractured beams of their jolting flashlights spinning in place whining, letting out pained yelps.
‘Oh, Jesus - ‘ Charlie ran forward and fell to his knees and brushed leaves off the body propped against the tree. Bill saw the familiar checkered shirt and bomber hat Monty’d got for his thirtieth birthday and turned. He pulled out the automatic and pressed it to his thigh.
The forest was very dark and the dog was very loud.
He backed over to where Charlie worked frantically at the body. He’d pulled the leaves and brush off and had a hand at the neck. Bill looked down. Charlie looked up and shook his head.
‘Fuck.’
Charlie reached around and came back with a bloody palm. He pulled open the shirt and found an ugly wash of blood on the left side of Monty’s chest. His fingers probed into the wound in the white glare of the flashlights.
‘Was it a bear? A branch?’
‘No…’ Charlie answered absently, examining. He’d been in the Gulf the first time around, and the old detachment stole over him. ‘The wound’s from a puncture, clean. No animal attack, no broken branch.’
‘Someone shot him.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘Yes…’ His fingers felt into the wound, felt a splintered stub through the clotting blood. He pulled them out and fell back onto his heels, wiping his hands on the ground.
Kzine Issue 1 Page 3