The Brutus Code

by John Lane

  She snapped her satchel shut and hung it on her shoulder. Tania took one last glance around her small apartment and gave the shutdown order. That would keep her few possessions secure until she did, or did not return. She closed and locked the door to one darkness, and she walked out into another.

  *****

  Tommy still worried about finding his mother. Three more days had passed since he’d been released from the station’s holding cells. No word came from the regional marshals about any leads on the pirates who’d attacked Make-Haste Outpost station and kidnapped Annie Judson. He had more freedom on the station now since the attempt on their lives by the Reapers, but the Swift still sat in the Postal Service bay impounded. And they were not leaving without a Postmaster certification, a court order or the charges being dropped.

  On the plus side, Agnes was on the mend. Her gene treatments were almost complete. She had installed the holo-projectors aboard the Swift and an interface in the new medical bay she created in cargo bay A-1. Agnes kept very busy aboard the ship on various projects, all supervised by Alfred. With Tommy absent from the ship, she completed all the routine maintenance. He was allowed one brief visit to have Dr. Judson, Ai mend his ankle.

  One last plus was the meal that Tommy just finished. It wasn’t a bad deal, as a detainee, to have the sheriff looking out for you and cooking you a great meal. All this passed through his mind as he and Agnes helped clear the dishes from the table in Weltha’s quarters on the station. They weren’t extravagant. In fact, Tommy suspected that these few rooms suited Weltha and her daughter. Weltha did not strike Tommy as the kind of person who wasted resources.

  “Thank you for dinner,” Tommy said as he stacked the plates and handed Agnes the dirty utensils.

  “You’re welcome. It was nice to cook for someone who actually appreciates the effort.” Weltha smiled and nodded toward her seven year-old daughter. Holly Nicole Ditto was a bright, precocious little blond. Sweet as could be, she built mashed potato castles on her plate and ignored the grownups as she listened to every word they said. “Bedtime, young lady,” Weltha warned.

  “Ah, Ma!” the little imp exclaimed. “It’s early and there’s no school tomorrow, and you promised I could talk to Agnes more and…”

  “And not another word.” The look that Weltha gave her daughter would have sent Tommy to bed right then if it had been directed at him. “Say your good nights now or do I need to make your bedtime even earlier?”

  Holly capitulated, “All right. Good night, Captain Judson. Good night, Agnes,” she said formally. And then under her breath so everyone heard, she pulled Agnes down to her level and said, “Thanks for showing me how to beat Tommy at chess. You’re really smart.”

  “That’s alright. I don’t think you’ll need much help next time,” Agnes whispered back conspiratorially and gave Holly a big hug. “How ‘bout I tuck you in?” and the two grasped hands as they walked down the hall to Holly’s room.

  “She’s pretty good with kids, isn’t she?” Weltha commented.

  “Who knew?” Tommy replied honestly. “Everything Aunt Agnes does is new to her.” Tommy and Agnes had shared their story over dinner. Most of it appeared in the official reports with which Weltha was familiar. But Weltha always liked to hear the details from those who experienced them first hand. She not only gleaned details better, but she read the quality of the person sharing them. Tommy and Agnes were cut from a similar cloth as Weltha and she hoped Holly would pick up on the qualities honest people practiced.

  “Tommy’s not too bad either,” commented Alfred. He’d been invited to dinner, too. He set up a remote feed from Weltha’s wall screen. She’d asked to meet him and Alfred’s sophistication as an AI surprised her. In the course of the evening, she forgot his artificial nature and fell to treating him like a flesh and blood person. Even that thought sounded prejudicial in her mind. So, she decided that Alfred was a person. “I can speak from experience. He threw the game.” Alfred accused, calling Tommy out.

  Weltha now turned that mother’s look on Tommy, with one eyebrow raised, imploring him to tell the truth. He’d just been caught. “Maybe,” Tommy said. It was all the confession she would get out of Tommy, as he sat there grinning.

  “I heard that!” came a disbelieving shout from Agnes closing the door of Holly’s bedroom. “I’d say Holly did very well on her own. She really did not need that much help from me. She’s a very bright girl,” Agnes shared with Weltha when she returned to the dining table.

  “A chess game is honest,” Tommy began. “You know all the pieces and the possible moves they can make.”

  “True, that helps the opponents stay honest. There are still traps that can be set, but you can usually see them coming.” Alfred continued picking up on Tommy’s train of thought, “These Reapers are the most straight forward part of our mess. I fear pieces still hide with moves we cannot predict.”

  “What is it they want?” Weltha asked one of the many questions on her mind. “These latest attacks have been assaults on you. There was opportunity and means, but without the motive, it just doesn’t add up. Alfred, I don’t have any information on a gang of pirates this organized. Did you find anything from the databases I released to you?” Weltha had all but deputized Alfred by allowing him access to her criminal database. They also tapped into regional records from the licensed tattoo artist. Although the scythe and reaper design was not in those records, the Reapers had other tattoos that were. In the photos of the various designs they saw the scythe and reaper artwork.

  “I have been completing that analysis,” Alfred answered. “There is little new to add.” As he spoke he flashed through several photos of the tattoos taken from both those incarcerated Reapers and the database provided by Weltha. “Some of the pirates involved in the attacks had records, but most of the Reapers have stayed clear of the law. Those that Weltha has identified are ex-military from several sides of the Wars.”

  During this, Agnes focused on the photos with deep concentration. “Wait. Alfred, what is that in the background of some of the tattoos?” she asked.

  “There are variations in the design of each individual tattoo. We have been focusing on the commonalities, the scythe and the reaper image. The backgrounds all vary on those that have a background. What do you see?” Alfred inquired.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Let me see.” Agnes stood and crossed to the screen pausing it. She brought up a multiple slide image and scanned them until she found what she wanted. She enlarged it tapping the screen and then enlarged it even more. “There, see it? It’s a ship behind the image.” Behind the left ear of the reaper in this tattoo protruded the point of an old fashioned rocket. The fins and rocket stuck out the other side of his neck.

  “Now look at these.” Agnes brought up several others and arranged them on the screen. They all had part of a similar rocket design. Some rockets were small and over the right shoulder, others larger and showed only the fins and exhaust of the rocket over the image’s left shoulder. “Alfred, can you pull up all of these that have the rocket?”

  “I am scanning for that detail now,” he replied. “The majority of them do have the rocket. Many have what seems to be only a dot.”

  Weltha began to see the pattern. “What if you arrange them in an order where the rocket gets bigger? Include that dot.”

  “There are dots on all the images. I will isolate those that include images associated with the rocket’s movement.” Alfred paused, “Do you wish to see them all?”

  “Yes, but not at once.” Tommy now joined in, “Alfred, play them like a slide show.” As they watched, the rocket appeared to grow bigger and move across the image behind the grim reaper. “Faster, please, Alfred,” Tommy asked. Now the image flew across the background. A rocket unmistakably blasted from the background to the foreground. It looked like an old flip book cartoon. As the details of the reaper changed and blurred, the scythe and the ship remained constant. And that ship moved.

  “What have
we got here?” Weltha asked aloud, mostly to clarify her own thoughts. She added, “The amazing thing is that this image is tattooed to several hundred people.”

  “It is even more amazing when you compare the time and location stamps on the photos from the database. It indicates that the design was not inked on people in an order that creates the movie. Nor are they from the same galactic location. The rocket would jump around if put in chronological order according to when or where the person received the tattoo.” Alfred’s observation cast the group into silent consideration for a few moments as they tried to understand the implications.

  “What about the images from the pirate ships?” Agnes asked.

  Alfred displayed those images, and they also showed the rocket ship. “I have one more image of interest,” he said. This time Alfred displayed a ship sporting the PS logo and its own personalized logo. Painted on the Swift ‘s prow was the rocket ship, but no reaper.

  “Tommy, how does each Postal Service Ship get its emblem?” Weltha asked.

  “If it is a new ship, the first pilot has some input. That emblem stays with the ship until it is decommissioned,” Tommy answered. “The Swift came with that emblem.”

  Weltha, now in full investigative mode, pressed on. “Alfred, what is the service record of the Swift? Who was its first pilot?”

  Alfred paused slightly longer than it takes to do the search. In his virtual world, he cleaned house of the aberrant code he found in the electronic mail packets the Swift picked up and broadcast as it traveled on its route through the galaxy. Pieces of code hid in the mail that matched parts of Alfred’s own code. He had been chasing a particularly simple but difficult code when Weltha asked that question. This one might appear to us as a mouse with Alfred’s head. Alfred himself set several traps and kept it contained in the original packet. It had not spread to the rest of his code, yet. Alfred pictured himself as an exterminator.

  Prompted by the question, he began a search of the Swift’s construction records. This he visualized at the shipyards on an orbiting platform. For this search, he went back to the drawing board. Alfred now wore his ship’s coveralls again and a hard hat. He flipped through old fashion blueprints on a draftsman’s drawing board. As he did, the ship assembled from the laying of the keel to the applying of its skin and installation of the A/W drive around the hull. In Alfred’s virtual world, this all happened in a blur of motion next to his drawing table.

  There was a snap at his feet. He reached down and picked up the mousetrap. Trapped between the hammer and the platform squirmed the code Alfred had been hunting. “Gotcha,” Alfred grinned at the irritating code. He stepped on the waste bin pedal and dropped it in with the others he caught. Sometimes he needed a bigger trap, rat, opossum, or beaver size. He was thankful he hadn’t needed a bear trap yet.

  Turning his attention back to the blueprints, he continued to scan through them. Finally, Alfred looked at a rendering of just the ship’s logo. No artist’s signature appeared on the drawing and no designer cited. The design came with the construction materials but with no record of origin.

  Back in Weltha’s quarters, he appeared on the display next to the emblem. “Tommy,” he said in a soft tone. “The ship emblem was commissioned only one week prior to our assignment aboard her.” They all took a moment to absorb this. He then continued, “I can find no record of the emblem design, who approved it, or where the construction order originated. It was just part of the construction materials and was applied to the ship.”

  It was Agnes’ turn to put some pieces of this puzzle together. “Alfred. That symbol. Does it occur anywhere in reference to me?” she asked hesitantly. She held her breath as she waited, not sure she really wanted the answer.

  Once more from Alfred’s view, as a cub reporter from the 1930’s he ran down a lead. Camera and notepad in hand, he grabbed his hat in the city room and took to the streets of old Chicago, which represented the local network. Everywhere he turned, doors slammed in his face. Sometimes he’d get his foot in by the back door. He’d show the drawing and ask his question. Then they would toss him out on his keester.

  He tried a different approach and went to the art colony side of town. Once there, Alfred’s intrepid reporter showed the drawing, attempting to discover the artist. The art district Ai’s just shook their heads. It was a dead end.

  Back on the pavement, Alfred saw himself now posting copies of the drawing all over town. He even appeared as the newsboy hawking his paper on the street corners shouting, “Extra, extra. Read all about it. Search continues for mysterious rocket.” Strangely, as he searched the net at large and posted the drawing, he saw worms eating them. The worms devoured the stack of newspapers he was hawking on the corners.

  Alfred switched to scientist mode. In his white lab coat and tie, he knelt down to examine the worms. Using a magnifying glass and tweezers, he picked one up, and put it in a petri dish. Back at his lab, he placed the worm under a microscope. He adjusted the focus. Alfred was not shocked to see his own face looking back at him again.

  What seemed like days to Albert were moments to his human colleagues. He reported back what he found. “There is no record available for this design. I ran up against locked encrypted storage and a worm, similar to the code we’ve been plagued with previously. It destroyed any copies I posted on your net,” he concluded.

  “The Swift’s data is secure? I mean it’s you and you’d know if something had been wiped. Right?” Agnes asked.

  Tommy answered in Alfred’s stead. “Alfred has a specific back up that won’t let his code get corrupted.” He did not go into the details about the personal media players his father had made, but tapped a pocket on his shirt to signal Agnes his meaning. She got it.

  Agnes, now in full engineer mode, continued. “But operational Alfred aboard the ship wouldn’t know if he’s compromised until he was scrubbed, right?” Tommy nodded, conceding the point. “Alfred, please scan all current records aboard the Swift for any occurrences of this emblem.”

  “There are none,” Alfred replied.

  Concern flashed across Tommy’s face. Agnes took charge asking, “New request, Alfred. Please show records of the prow of the ship, and ships coveralls.” The requested record photos showed the ship with only its name emblazoned on the side, no emblem. And the ship’s coveralls had patches with no emblems either.

  “Alfred, you’ve got worms,” Tommy stated flatly. “Time for a shower.”

  Agnes now requested, “Alfred, please give us a live feed of those same items.” It took a minute for Alfred to get his avatar spiders in place to send a live feed. All photos showed the emblem right where it should be. Agnes now addressed them all, “I know I’ve seen that emblem before and it had to have been recently. My memory doesn’t go back that far.”

  “You haven’t been off the ship much.” Tommy suggested.

  “Maybe,” Agnes said. “Alfred, please rotate through normal feeds on the ship.” Alfred complied. His image on the screen gave a nervous look at Tommy to indicate his apology and concern about losing parts of his memory. Agnes caught this. “Alfred, you’ll be fine. Ask Dr. Judson, Ai. All intelligences lose track of a memory from time to time. Look at me. I’ve lost almost all my memories. We’ll get you cleaned up,” she said trying to comfort him.

  “Wait, stop.” Something had caught Agnes’ eye. “Go back to Christine’s casket in the new Med Bay.” The image appeared on Weltha’s screen. “I need to inspect this in person, but Alfred, can you move to the access panel on the back? The one that has the serial numbers from the manufacturer?” And there it was. The Zephyr emblem was a “Z” with that rocket ship poised to launch behind it. And there was a star scape stamped in the background of the graphic.

  “Aunt Agnes,” Tommy now realized he’d seen that same symbol recently. “We need to see your casket, too.” Alfred was already on it, trusting his colleagues to lead him through his blindness. He could not see the emblems they were seeing on the live feeds. “There i
t is,” Tommy said. It was the same cooperate logo.

  “Remember, I was on the design team,” Agnes added. “I helped design these according to the records Alfred found in Christine’s casket.”

  “There is no reference to those records now. I can see where they should be in my memory, but there are blanks where there should be a file.” Alfred was in a panic. He’d never experienced a memory loss. “Tommy, I have no explanation.”

  “I’ve got your back, Alfred.” Tommy referred to the media player again, and this calmed Alfred. Tommy had a thought, “If this refers to Agnes’ past and Alfred can’t find the records, maybe the copy of your sister can give us some answers?”

  “Dr. Judson,” Agnes understood. “For security, she has no direct link with Alfred or the ship’s systems. I’ve only integrated her into the Med Bay. It will have to be a real time discussion,” she explained.

  Once again Alfred was ahead of the reasoning. On Weltha’s home screen, a security shot of the Med Bay appeared. Alfred’s voice could be heard filling the room. “Dr. Judson, we need your help.” The hologram of Tommy’s mother, Annie, appeared.

  “Alfred? Where are you?” she asked.

  “The interface is not direct. We must ask you about Agnes and a symbol.” Alfred sent the live feeds of Agnes’ casket, the ships emblem and the ship’s suits.

  “That rocket and star scape is part of Zephyr INC. logo. It was our family’s bioengineering company. We focused on medical research and the cyber human interface. That’s why the cryonics units carry the logo. But there was more to our work. The company was poised to go galactic when Agnes disappeared. Our father was devastated. Jasper tried to keep the company going, but he was young. We didn’t….” the signal died.