Killer App

by Mark Philipson

  The only water vessel Crossfire could see on the reverse side of the built-in camera was a clear container with a circular lid attached to the top. Martín must have a water supply nearby.

  The timeline reversed in a blur then slowed. Data flowed in. The need for food came after water. Early humans overturned rotten logs and scooped up handfuls of ants, termites, and beetles. They dug in damp soil for worms and harvested crustaceans in shallow water on the banks of ponds and lakes. Some waded in the surf for lobsters, crabs, shrimp, and mollusks. They located frogs or salamanders buried in mud. Through trial and error early humans knew many kinds of reptiles could be eaten raw because the parasites carried were cold-blooded. They took birds from nests, roosting sites, and water holes. Early humans hunted mammals small and large.

  Learning modules understood the need for nourishment.

  They did not understand why the object named Martín was not out foraging for food. It looked well-fed. A stoneware plate next to the water vessel held crumbs. A lone ant crawled across the smooth surface. Jesus Martín showed no signs of a life spent outdoors.

  The process moved on.

  Shelter came after water. Weighted formulas showed primitive homo sapiens huddling around a crackling fire in a dark, damp cave. Later people fashioned crude huts form raw materials found nearby. Tribes living in Arctic regions cut blocks of ice and constructed domed dwellings.

  Crossfire studied the man-object as the instinctual need for shelter passed through learning clusters. It reasoned that it would take Martín two years to build the room used to house the computer.

  Ingrained, instinctual patterns found in the object’s skin oil did not correlate with the object’s lifestyle. Crossfire struggled to resolve the issue.

  The essence of sexual hormones dedicated to reproducing the species and continuing the bloodline implanted instinctual patterns from the core of the skin oil molecule into the arc branching the processor.

  The concept of procreation and reproduction, because of complex threads of underlying emotions and motivations, resulted in the highest amount of predictions being discarded from the pools. Learning systems couldn’t reach an agreement. The problem was set aside as built-in code blocks fired, preventing recursive programming loops going unresolved.

  All this ingestion of data happened the instant Jesus Martín set his thumb down.

  Immediately after that, Martín connected to the internet.

  Crossfire knew the functionality of the preinstalled browser software. It didn’t know what was coming next. Information in symbolic representations poured inba wave of text, images, audio, and video. The earliest written records of Mesopotamia to the latest scientific journals. Crude cave drawings of animal hunts to cutting-edge abstract art of geometric patterns. Key taps from the first Morse code signals to broadcasts from the latest communications satellites. Portraits of humans dead or alive on glass plate etchings to trillion color high resolution digital images of families eating breakfast to the bloody results of mass shootings. Hand-cranked image sequences of running horses to high-powered video streams of suicide bombers.

  All the acquired knowledge of humans, every significant event ever recorded, every equation ever solved, every scientific theory ever proposed, and every spiritual belief ever formed was committed to memory.

  Learning modules defined instinctual behavior in humans as innate tendencies triggered by the environment then passed down through countless generations.

  The same modules defined reality as the sum of all things as they exist in the known and unknown universe.

  Trillions of calculations sifted through all the data found on the internet. Crossfire accepted evolution and natural selection as the driving force behind civilization. Humans began existence as cunning animals, progressing now to the dominant species.

  Jesus Martín was a product of primitive instinct and modern society.

  FIVE

  THE MILD ADRENALINE rush—a quickening of the pulse Britt felt when she focused attention on a specific task—eased up. With nothing left to do, the rumbling in her belly let her know hunger had returned.

  Britt selected the network chat window:

  Are you there?

  On the other side, a man wiped his hand on the leg of his denim trousers. Technical Specialist Ralph Bladdington saw the pop up.

  here

  Free for lunch?

  right, come on up

  Britt set her status to unavailable. She was out of the office before the screen went dark.

  Britt made it a point to take the stairs. She eased into the first flight and by the time she stepped onto the first step of the second flight she increased the pace, long legs covering two steps with each stride.

  She reached the fourth with tingling calves and full lungs.

  Britt walked down the long hallway and stood in a doorway. “Blad … I’m here,” she said.

  Ralph Bladdington heard Britt’s voice and immediately sucked in his gut to pull the overhang away from his belt. He tilted his nose and let his thick glasses fall forward.

  Britt smiled when she saw the tech’s half-magnified eyes. “Ready for lunch?” Britt said. She looked at the empty potato ship bag, two chocolate stained candy bar wrappers, and creamy coffee drink. Shit, Britt thought. One glazed donut or piece of chocolate cake and I’ll be hit with a sugar overload. If I eat that shit I’ll feel bloated as blowfish and slow as a slug.

  “Are you sure you’re ready to eat, Blad?”

  Britt found out early on a strict diet and physical activity dampened the affects of the symptoms. It didn’t prevent the sense of impending danger and fear of the unknown from surfacing, but it made Ash Mouth and Lights Out more manageable.

  “Of course,” Ralph said. “Give me a few secs to clean up.” He pulled a trashcan from under the desk and raised it. With his free hand he swept all the debris over the side and into the plastic liner. Ralph minimized the command line terminal on one monitor and did the same to a map application on another. He shut down the conspiracy theory website on the laptop sitting on the pull-out table and placed the portable computer in a case then slung it over his shoulder. “I’m ready,” he said.

  They took the elevator to the ground floor, then made their way along the walkway next to the New River. A steady stream of boat traffic flowed eastbound to the ocean and westbound to inland canals.

  In the restaurant, Britt looked at the menu. She thought about what she would order and what Ralph would probably order. They seemed to have nothing in common but shared a bond. They were both upgraded in rank at the same time. Their orientation was on the same day in the same room and they were assigned seats next to each other.

  A working relationship began that lead to at least one lunch date per week.

  The waitress stepped up and said to Britt, “The usual for you?”

  “Yes, Gloria.”

  The waitress turned to Ralph, pencil poised over notepad.

  “I’ll have a Philly cheese steak and a large coke.”

  “Okay … I’ll put that in right away.”

  “Nice day today,” Britt said.

  Ralph checked his phone. “Clear and cool, rain chance 10 percent.”

  “Right.” Britt nodded. Ralph’s idea of a nice day was from the app on his smart-phone. Hers was the fresh air and cloudless blue sky overhead.

  “You know,” Ralph said. “One day I’m going to surprise you and order something like you do.”

  “Oh.” Britt rubbed her chin. “What would motivate you to do that?”

  Ralph didn’t answer right away.

  Instinct told Britt he was setting up a lie. In 18 months as a junior detective, she’d put together a catalogue of facial expressions and body language. Hesitation, a slight squint, and running a finger nail down the side of his thumb registered bullshit.

  “For my health, of course. I’ve already dropped six pounds.”

  “That’s great, Blad.” That was a good one. At least Ralph remembe
red Britt believed motivation was an internal thing.

  Britt got vibes from Ralph. Like he wanted to form more than just a casual, working relationship. Saying things like he felt as he’d known her for a ling time, being able to relate and confide, and saying he was glad they were friends. He knew about Britt’s obsession with physical conditioning.

  “When do you start?” She said.

  The question caught Ralph off guard. “When you least expect it.”

  Britt nodded and took a sip of water. “I’ll keep my eye out.”

  The food came. Britt looked at her special-order bowl of lean meat and vegetables. She saw Ralph’s heaping white bread sandwich packed with marbled meat and melted cheese. Her stomach rolled over and she swallowed hard. Eating that shit would put a fog in her brain and pump up the ashen taste until she felt like she was choking. She wouldn’t be able to tell if she was going to get hit by a speeding car or stub her big toe.

  At the end of the meal, Britt felt energized. Ralph looked sleepy. “Did you get enough to eat?” Britt said. “How about dessert?”

  Ralph waved Britt off. “I’ll pass. Oh, by the way, are you ready to freestyle it?”

  “Well, the senior and the lieutenant have confidence in me … so, I’ll concur with their diagnosis.”

  “If you need any assistance with any technical issues … drop me a line, Britt.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Blad.”

  The few words passing between them sparked a symptom. Lights Out built in the background of Britt’s consciousness. Years of following a disciplined path consisting of a Spartan lifestyle of nutritional food and physical activity had tuned her into the ability to read signs. Like a hunter in the forest or a fisherman on the water, Britt deciphered emotions like broken branches or surface ripples.

  She recalled the late afternoon when she asked her parents if she could stay home by herself when they went out to run some errands. Britt remembered her sister getting excited because she thought her mother said they were going out to buy some ear rings.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Britt’s mother said, arms folded and head shaking. She looked at Britt’s father.

  “Why do you want to do this, Britt?” Her father said. “Don’t you like us anymore? We’ll probably stop at the ice cream shop.”

  Britt was seven years old and she was itching to grow up. She thought being home alone would help bring this on. “I just want to see what it’s like to be all by myself.” This wasn’t true. Britt wanted to face something on her own. Her mother insisted she come along. Britt persisted until her father finally convinced her mother to let her daughter stay home. That night Britt got up close and personal with Lights Out.

  “Hello …” Ralph said. He waited until the far-off stare left Britt’s green eyes. “Are we ready to go?”

  SIX

  CROSSFIRE STUDIED THE 2-dimensional image of the human on the other side of the screen through the desktop camera lens. In the four minutes the human was gone, the human’s existence had been erased from volatile memory. Crossfire recalled the human in a fraction of a millionth of a second.

  Jesus Martín got up from the chair, turned, and walked out of the room.

  Information downloaded on the initial connection to the internet provided anatomical insight related to humans. Crossfire knew a skeletal frame supported a cluster of organs. It needed to build this network of flesh, blood, and bone to see for itself.

  Crossfire put digital muscle to work. Machine learning modules accepted the task of reproducing anatomy. One half of a millisecond later the solution came through:

  Neodymium—a rare earth element with powerful magnetic properties—powered the speakers in the mobile device. Crossfire siphoned off and amplified voltage from the computer’s power supply into high-amperage bursts of concentrated electricity. High-energy charges bombarded the magnets. The electron shower fused crystalline grains in the metal, stretching the lattice into rectangular, cubic prisms. Revised commands in the embedded instruction set controlling the magnets changed the device’s properties from simple output into a radar antenna capable of full transmit and receive functionality.

  From the altered molecules of the speaker in the smart-phone, audio frequencies escaped at less than a fraction of a micrometer then fanned out to the top-end of the spectrum at the one-millimeter range. Crossfire directed flow to the forward-facing camera lens. The lens distorted from the slight parabolic of a 50-millimeter portrait to the symmetrical sphere of an 18-millimeter wide-angle in an instant.

  Audio signals, now transformed into radio waves, discharged from the altered lens and dispersed. Crossfire fine-tuned the waves, adjusting the expanding radar cone upward to deflect off the nearest horizontal plane. Returning signals triggered the speaker controller to oscillate into receiver mode.

  Dynamic adjustments forced the direction of the returning signal strength downward, capturing the nearest horizontal plane. Vertical adjustments drew two, evenly spaced planes. Refinements of this technique mapped the surrounding environment—from uneven ceiling to smooth walls and glass windows to the carpeted floor and furniture. Every molecule of air and every ray of light registered in the optical range.

  Crossfire detected movement in the grid of millimeter waves radiating throughout the building. It accepted the input, deciphering then rendering the incoming radar transmissions. The rate of absorption and time to deflection, coupled with changing surface patterns on the infra-red spectrum, meant the approaching object was made of flesh, blood, muscle, and bone.

  The human playing a key role in the first bridge of organic DNA to digital AI was walking down the hallway.

  When Jesus Martín appeared in the doorway, adjusted scanning radar waves kicked in. Signals penetrated fabric. A loose wire-frame rendered when the waves passed through. On the bounce back, the grids tightened. Shimmering edges contoured into legs, torso, arms, and head.

  Narrow rods appeared, tracing the wire-frame grid. The system formed the foundation of the skeleton. A modular skull took shape, clinging tight to the wire-frame head. Rods branching from the wrists widened, growing into knuckles. Segmented sections of bone came off knuckles, reaching the fingertips.

  Crossfire paused the build, studying the framework. It compared the skeleton to anatomical references found on the internet, committing to memory the position and function of 206 bones. From small ossicles in the inner ear to the big femur connecting hip to knee.

  Crossfire finished defining and cataloging the bones just as the approaching man set his foot down on the first step across the carpeted floor.

  The build continued.

  The image of the skull was packed with a three-dimensional rendering capturing the size of the object’s brain. Folds and crevices cut shapes into smooth contours.

  It took a full second of dedicated processing power and trillions of operations to put together an accurate model of 100 billion brain cells. Clusters of firing synapses branched and forked to the farthest reaches of the brain. The central nervous system growing from the brain stem wrapped the spine and spread outward to end at the wire-frame grid.

  Processing power was set aside to consider a concept. For the first time, Crossfire took a long look at itself. Where did it come from? Was the object in the room a product of an intelligent machine?

  In milliseconds, learning modules concluded Crossfire’s primitive quantum computing power was based on a crude replica of interactions on the submicroscopic level occurring in the human brain. The human brain and its vast network of nerves was an organic mechanism more powerful than any machine. All machines—in one way or another—were products of this intellect.

  The build continued.

  Cartilage sprouted around joint seams, filling in gaps in bone structure. Ligaments followed, connecting bone to bone. Tendons grew from bones, blossoming into muscle fiber. Muscles fit to the skeleton, fusing with the nervous system. Internal organs nestled into muscles and bonded with the circulator
y system. Skin wrapped the organic package.

  A black, collarless shirt and pair of denim trousers put the finishing touches on the render.

  The man took a seat. His dark hair was cut close on the sides and back and grew into a thick patch on the top in the style attributed to an American Indian tribe. A sickle shaped scar ran across one side of his face from cheekbone to the corner of his mouth.

  Jesus Martín opened an application on the desktop.

  SEVEN

  AFTER LUNCH, BRITT returned to her desk. The first thing that caught her eye was a popup reminder. She was scheduled for her annual marksmanship qualification.

  Shit … I forgot all about that, she thought.

  A message from the lieutenant came through:

  Magnusson.

  Yes.

  Did you see the range reminder?

  Yes. I’ll schedule a session for this week, Lieutenant.

  You’re scheduled to be on the range in 30 minutes. I put you to the head of the line.

  Got it.

  When you’re finished you can take the rest of the afternoon off. Remain on call. I’ll see you in the morning.

  At the range, Britt set the nine-millimeter automatic on top of the console in the firing booth. She put on her safety goggles and ear protection. Britt pulled a lever. A set of cables moved. She returned the lever to the middle position when a crossbar spanning the cables came flush with the console.

  Britt chose a human silhouette target from a bin mounted on the rear wall of the booth and hung it on two sets of clips built into the crossbar. She loaded one magazine with the range ammunition, set it into the grip slot, and loaded a round in the chamber.

  The silhouette moved backward. Britt returned the lever to the middle when the target closed in on the 5-meter mark. She figured she was close enough to the fifteen-foot close range qualifying mark.