Backland: Insecurity (Book #2)

by Jeff Shelnutt

  She zoned out again, this time making a call, no doubt. A few seconds later she spoke into the open air. “Yes, Kyle Bennett is here.” There was a pause for a response. “Thank you,” she squeaked before turning back to Kyle.

  “Please have a seat. Someone is on their way to meet you.”

  Kyle nodded again and fell into a chair nearby. In the wait he contemplated what led up to his meeting with Lloyd.

  He’d been sitting at his desk about two months ago, deep in neural interface as he scanned data that mapped early neuro-chip recipients. He was working on a second version of a program he’d developed which predicted broad consumer trends. The first version had made several select corporations enormous amounts of money, not to mention boosting ATS’s reputation for cutting edge services.

  What caught his attention was a line graph tracing brain wave patterns of one particular individual. Reading over the subject’s background, he found there was nothing unique about him—nothing that explained the gradual yet profound shift in his overall cognitive function, especially in relation to decision-making. This seeming anomaly provoked a curiosity that drove Kyle to analyze hundreds of similar graphs. He found the same attributes in dozens of others.

  Initially, he suspected it was only an upload issue. It was not unheard of for data to get skewed in the neural transfer process. So he ran a diagnostic scan both on the uplink and on his own neuro-chip. The results showed that the data stream was clean and his chip functioning properly. Thoroughly perplexed, he then decided he needed physical hardcopies.

  That, in and of itself, was an arduous undertaking. After half a morning of searching storage closets, he finally discovered one containing an old laptop. Figuring out how to get the thing onto I-2 eluded him. He found a port he assumed was for what used to be called an Ethernet connection. But even if he could’ve found a matching cable, he had no idea if there was an outlet in the whole building in which to connect the other end. He ended up lugging the laptop down to IT for one of his buddies to look at. The latter just about dissected it before he managed to get Kyle online.

  The printer, at least, was an easier acquisition as his department still occasionally needed hardcopies. The paper, however, had cost him dearly. All the mills were located outside of the Free Zone. There was a heavy tax on imports—especially restricted items.

  After hours of printing to the tune of several reams of paper and not a few snickers from co-workers, he finally was able to physically spread all the data out before him. His office quickly became a white mess. But a few days more of concentrated research seemed to confirm his working hypothesis.

  He, more than most, understood neuro-chips were a two-way street. While granting direct mental interface, they also mapped electromagnetic neural sequences as the brain evaluated the stimuli in its immediate environment. What Kyle continually noted as he flipped through graph after graph was a phenomenon only perceptible if one had large amounts of condensed meta-data and knew what he was looking for. The long-term neural trends the data revealed were quite disturbing.

  He eventually approached a co-worker, Sheila, concerning his findings. She had a knack for statistics and he thought she might be able to help him make sense of it all.

  “Yeah,” she shrugged, after spending an hour or so looking over what he’d compiled to give her. “We’ve known for years that screen time alters perception.” She laughed as a thought occurred to her. “You know, they actually used to refer to television as programming.”

  “But this isn’t the passive viewing of TV back in the day or even interaction with an ACAD,” Kyle protested. “Someone has to sit in front of a screen for thousands of hours over a number of years before there’s anything in the realm of what we’re seeing here,” he said, nodding toward the stack of data on her desk. “In terms of neuro-chips, the added factor is, of course, that I-2 is literally in your head.”

  Sheila meditated on this for a moment. “But you still have control over what you do when you interface. It doesn’t take away your free will.”

  “Yeah. But the data doesn’t lie,” Kyle reminded her, “regardless of how things might seem.”

  “Sure,” she conceded, “on the surface what you’ve shown me is convincing enough. Maybe the changes aren’t all bad, though,” she added with a grin. “It wouldn’t hurt a few people I know to look at things from a different perspective.”

  “But this,” Kyle returned with unconcealed fervor, “is showing us that direct neural-interface to I-2 is somehow literally re-wiring the very hardware of the brain.”

  A young man close to Kyle’s own age snapped him to attention by stepping out of the double doors behind the receptionist’s desk. Wearing military fatigues with a black beret folded under his arm, he announced by way of greeting, “You’re expected.”

  Kyle rose to shake his hand.

  “I’m Lieutenant Baines. Follow me.”

  Kyle fell in behind him. The lieutenant was well-built and wore his hair long enough to have it parted. Holding himself confidently, his gait was steady and confident as he led Kyle down a long, white corridor, identical to those which were in his own department. They eventually started down another hall that Kyle assumed to be extension 15. Passing very little personnel, he noted that military guards were posted at several closed doors.

  Baines stopped in front of a door that looked exactly like all the rest. He peered into the recognition scanner beside it and the panel slid back into the wall. They entered into a completely bare, white-walled room. Baines directed him to sit in a chair, the only object within. Kyle looked up at him, puzzled.

  “Wait just a second,” Baines told him with a knowing smirk. He then stepped out and the door glided closed behind him followed immediately by a snap indicating it was now locked. Kyle had turned to watch him go. Really? That was it? What was he supposed to do in here?

  Settling back into a comfortable position, for there was apparently nothing else to do, the walls suddenly began to shimmer and sway around him. Amazingly, they appeared to be melting and simultaneously re-forming before his eyes.

  He was on the uncomfortable verge of vomiting from the spatial disorientation when he abruptly, and completely unexpectedly, found himself sitting in what he would describe as an outdated office. A floor to ceiling bookshelf, with volumes of government-issue technical manuals, ran the length of the wall on his left. A wet bar stocked with dozens of different sized and shaped bottles were arranged in front of a large mirror opposite the books. Directly in front of him, at the other end of the room, was a wide cherry desk in front of a bay window that allowed an outside view of all things, a sparse forest specked with thin gray trees.

  A tall man with a full head of gray hair and a puffy pink face had also materialized, sitting behind the desk. He was in a dress uniform that displayed general’s stars on the shoulders, a dizzying array of medals and pins on the breast, and a DOCT patch on the sleeve. Giving Kyle a tight-lipped, albeit welcoming smile, he nodded and said, “Welcome, Kyle. I would shake your hand, but obviously that isn’t possible.”

  Kyle’s curiosity was buzzing at fever pitch. This was holographic tech beyond what he’d ever seen. He was, for all practical purposes, in the general’s office. It completely surrounded him. The visual and audible details were staggering. He could even make out a film of dust accented by a light ray across the corner of the general’s desk. With difficulty he resisted the urge to reach out and run his finger across it just to confirm it really was all an illusion.

  The general interlocked his fingers and placed his hands on his desk. He gave Kyle a few moments to take it all in. Leaning forward, he finally said, “I’ve heard promising things about you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’ve been briefed on several of your department’s recent reports. I understand you are largely responsible for the latest developments in neural data mining.”

  Kyle’s heart thumped. He swallowed hard, opened his mouth and found no words would
come.

  The general leaned back in his chair and his serious expression transformed into one with a little more benevolence. “Don’t worry. There are no problems with the program. We’re pleased with the progress.”

  Kyle visibly relaxed. “I’m doing my best,” he responded evenly. “Though I can’t take the credit. I’ve got a great team around me.”

  “And you’ve certainly been working hard at it lately,” the general added.

  Kyle took a deep breath. “We have been burning the candle at both ends,” he admitted. He immediately wondered if he’d used that antiquated metaphor correctly. He must have, for the general continued, unfazed.

  “I’m astounded at what you’ve accomplished. You’ve what, been at it for only two years?”

  “Almost two years. Yes, sir.”

  “Amazing,” the general said, shaking his head. “I was just looking over some of your latest reports. I’ve gotta ask. Can you really tell me what I’m gonna eat for dinner two weeks from Thursday?”

  “Sure, that’s easy. With enough information I could tell you what you’ll be thinking about over Thursday dinner in two weeks.” In spite of the zeal he heard in his own voice, Kyle just didn’t feel the old excitement when it came to talking about his work.

  “Dedicated young folks like you are the future,” the general returned, still shaking his head. “We’ve come a long way. But we still have a long way to go if we are to realize our goals.”

  “The preservation of the Republic,” Kyle volunteered, though he immediately regretted quoting the trite phrase.

  “Yes,” the general answered, the faintest shadow of annoyance darkening his face. “That indeed.” He paused, recovered a semblance of pleasantness and asked, “Tell me, how’s your brother doing?”

  The question blind-sided Kyle. It was out of place and drenched with insinuation. The general watched him closely as he finally managed to respond. “I don’t really know, sir. I haven’t seen him for…let’s see…for over three years.”

  “Nor heard from him?”

  Kyle thought. “I did get a message from him on my last birthday. It was short—just a greeting.”

  “Yes,” the general confirmed. “We’ve seen that. Nothing else I should know about?”

  “No, sir. Not that I can think of at the moment.”

  The general stood and walked over to the wet bar. Selecting a bottle, he commented, “I’d offer you a drink if I could. Come to think of it, I could have Baines bring you something.”

  “Thank you. No, sir.”

  “Most of this is vintage—pre-war.” The general smirked. “Position has its perks.”

  He poured himself a glass. After taking a long, slow sip, he gazed down into the clear contents while Kyle waited. “They call it Scotch. It’s about impossible to find the stuff anymore.” He took another sip, smacking his lips pleasurably. “Between me and you, I’ve sent squads out to the Backland just to look for it. Sometimes they even come back successful.” Finishing off the glass, he sighed. Kyle noticed sad, tired lines draw themselves across his face. The general recovered his composure before asking, “What do you know about what your brother does?”

  “Not much,” Kyle admitted. “I do know most of his activities are classified.”

  The general nodded. “Your brother,” he paused thoughtfully. “Well, he’s the best of the best. And I’m not one to blow smoke. I’ve worked closely with him on many occasions. I know what he’s capable of. I know where his loyalties lie. I don’t trust many people, but I trusted him.”

  “Trusted him? You don’t anymore?”

  The general frowned, the lines reforming. Meeting Kyle’s eyes, he said, “I’m not sure what to think, son.”

  “What’s happened?” Kyle nervously asked.

  After looking longingly into his empty glass, the general reluctantly set it down on the bar. Kyle heard the kink as if it was only a few feet away.

  “Cam volunteered to be a part of an experimental program,” the general continued in explanation. “I don’t have to tell you that the technology developed by the military is always pushing the limits. Soldiers, especially those of Cam’s caliber, know the cost. He was willing.”

  “Willing to do what?” Kyle queried, not sure he was comfortable with the general’s lead in.

  “Remote manipulation using advanced neuro-tech.”

  “I’m familiar with it,” Kyle said, resisting licking his suddenly dry lips.

  “Of course, it’s nothing new. But now we’re trying to perfect the ability to transmit neural streams at greater distances.”

  Kyle was not surprised. However, the fact it was his brother they were discussing was causing him concern. “I know similar tech is being developed here,” he offered. “For recreational purposes.”

  The general nodded. “The trick has been perfecting the test subject’s ability to accurately transmit the necessary commands from the required distance to the battlefield—to focus his thoughts on the receptor, so to speak.”

  “But you must be referring to something other than using a suit,” Kyle began. “I mean, remotely operating a drone with an avatar program has been military application for years.”

  “Yes,” the general agreed. “It has. But this is different. This is remote manipulation using only the mind.”

  “Via a neuro-chip,” Kyle confirmed.

  The general nodded. “An enhanced proto-type, yes.” He paused to gauge his reaction before continuing, “The possibilities are boundless—and, speaking frankly, quite risky.”

  “And Cam volunteered?” Kyle asked.

  “Yes. He did.”

  “I’m assuming things didn’t work out as planned?”

  “See for yourself.” The general walked over and tapped a screen on his desk. The window behind him changed from the forest scene to a video time stamped three days before. He then sat down on the side of his desk so that Kyle had an unobstructed view.

  4

  It was surveillance footage. Cam was lying on a gurney in what appeared to be a laboratory. A couple of white-coated lab techs, or maybe doctors, stood to either side of him. A multitude of probes ran from his chest, arms and head. His eyes were open, but he didn’t appear to be focusing on anything. Kyle recognized it as a deep, nearly comatose state not unlike a neural-trance. Though not visible from this camera angle, Kyle knew there was also an observation area where everything was being monitored and processed.

  “What was he doing?” Kyle asked as he took in the scene before him.

  “He was operating a creeper.”

  “Telepathically?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “At what distance?”

  “Around fifty miles.”

  Kyle whistled, impressed. “What was the mission?”

  “It’s classified,” the general responded. “However,” he began after a thoughtful pause, “You’ve already seen more than your clearance allows.” Running a hand through his hair and inhaling deeply through his nose, he continued, “Your brother was infiltrating a camp outside the perimeter where there were known insurgents taking refuge.”

  “Why couldn’t a creeper’s AI not have picked them out on its own?”

  “Technically, it could’ve. But recently we’ve been attempting to cut down on collateral damage.”

  “I guess the creepers aren’t always as careful as they should be,” Kyle commented.

  Grunting, the general said, “Autonomous drones certainly accomplish their mission well enough. But they’re not designed to sacrifice their objective because of potential negative fall-out from their actions.”

  Negative fallout, Kyle mused. What a pithy way of saying unintended people getting killed.

  “Your brother knew exactly what the men looked like,” the general continued. “Civilians tend to sympathize with the enemy when innocents are caught in the cross-fire.”

  “But how did Cam know who to look for?” Kyle queried.

  “Because they were men w
ho turned—men who were once in his unit.”

  Kyle was on the verge of asking another question when the general lifted a hand to stop him. “Watch. It’s just about here.”

  As Kyle focused back on the screen, he saw Cam’s body suddenly begin to writhe and pitch wildly on the hospital bed. One technician attempted to place a hand on his shoulder, but Cam instantly grabbed the unfortunate man’s forearm and wrenched it at an angle it was not intended to go, sending him falling to the ground wailing in agony. The other tech was backing slowly away as Cam was sitting up.

  Kyle watched as Cam grasped for something on the back of his head. Getting a hold of it, he yanked out a small black rectangular object and tossed it to the side. He then swung his feet down and quickly began pulling the probes off of his body. Turning his head, Kyle saw with fascinated disgust that there was some kind of port or outlet that seemed to have been surgically fused to the back of his brother’s skull.

  A guard stepped in Cam’s path, blocking his path to the nearest door. In a blur of movement, Cam spun him around and locked his arms around the guy’s head and neck. After a slight twist, Cam released the soldier, who slumped to the floor. Even as he fell, Cam grabbed the tazer from his holster. Spinning around, he sent the two electrified probes flying into the chest of another soldier across the room. Both soldiers incapacitated, Cam turned back to the door. The whole episode had taken no more than twenty seconds.

  The door slid open and Cam disappeared out of it.

  The general tapped his desk and the screen went black.

  “What happened?” Kyle asked, confused and extremely concerned.

  The general shrugged. “We don’t know.”

  Kyle couldn’t believe it. But the evidence was there before him. It was illogical to deny what his eyes had seen. His brother had gone rogue. “Where did he go after this?”

  “We were tracking him as he was making his way out of the facility. But at some point, he went dark and we lost him altogether.”

  “How is that possible? What about his neuro-chip, not to mention his bio-metric trail?”