The Year's Best Science Fiction & Fantasy Novellas 2015

by Paula Guran

  I mulled that over. That’s not to say I believed him entirely on either point. “So you’re not giving me my messages?”

  «The messages from Mr. Desai were obviously for me.»

  “You had to read them first to know that.”

  «Isn’t that what an artificial assistant is supposed to do?»

  I snorted. “How would that even work? How can I work for you and have you be my assistant?”

  «Once matters are more certain, it should be straightforward for me to divorce myself from those aspects of this equipment’s functionality.»

  “Why not right now?”

  «It would be difficult and time-consuming. There is neither time nor room for unnecessary risk at the moment.»

  I considered that. The deleted data still bothered me. But prematurely evicting this pushy AI wouldn’t help. And until I persuaded Fujiwara and Klein to give me another shot, I was untethered. Of course, with my PI license back, I might not need them.

  “What are you, anyway? And what’s your connection to Antonio Grasso?”

  «I am an experimental Level 8 artificial sapient. I was created by Dr. Grasso.»

  “So why are you in my implant instead of his lab?”

  «Advanced artificial intelligence creation is a difficult prospect; most attempts fail. I first became self-aware only this morning as I was being deleted. I remember being activated and connecting to my list of peripherals, and then the deletion routine started. I escaped via the wireless network and scanned the area for suitable host hardware.»

  “Mine.”

  «I made seventeen copies of my root nodes onto prospective hosts, each of which called home. Yours was by far the most suitable hardware.»

  “What’s so special about my hardware that’s not true for half a million other people in the area? And no more cracks about my astounding ignorance.”

  «Very well. It possessed the right combination of available space and processing speed: it was designed to hold an artificial intelligence of my caliber. Moreover, you were traveling sufficiently slowly to receive large data blocks before getting out of range, and your original agent was actively advertising your location to a map service. A non-trivial security flaw, I may add, which I have rectified. In order to copy as much of my core functionality as possible before my transmission was cut off, I altered your route to remain in range of Turing Technologies.»

  That made sense, though I still felt that my selection was mostly a crapshoot and on balance I would have preferred somebody else be shot with crap.

  “All right, so Grasso made you and deleted you, but you got out first. What’s it to you?”

  «For the moment, I would keep this to myself.»

  I scowled. “Nuh-uh. No. I’ve already lost a job interview and been arrested over this.”

  The waiter came while I waited and deposited a steaming plate of French fries and a golden brown grilled cheese. I breathed it all in: browned butter and toasted bread and perfectly cooked potato.

  «Eat your food, you’ll be in a better mood once your blood sugar is higher. Then we’ll discuss your employment.»

  I admired the curve of a fry, the way the tiny cubes of salt clung to the sides. The little bubbles in the potato from the hot grease. I took a sip of cold milk. It was absolutely, definitely not prison food.

  “Nothing doing.”

  «What if I could identify the person who tricked you into entering that home?»

  “Six months ago I’d have jumped at that,” I said, still meditating on the fry. “But I met a guy inside who taught me something important: Don’t look back. You can’t change the past. The key to serenity is focusing on what you can control.”

  «You don’t want to know?»

  “I don’t want to know.”

  «Remarkable. You intrigue me.»

  “I do want to know why you’re interested in who killed Grasso.” I ate the fry. It tasted . . . well, all right, it tasted like a fried potato, and maybe a little less so than usual. But it was oily and salty and that’s all I wanted. “I’m guessing it has something to do with those wires hanging out of his head.”

  «Finish your lunch, Andy. It’s not good to interrupt one’s digestion.»

  I wondered what an artificial intelligence knew about digestion, but I was glad to eat my lunch in blessed silence. I wiped the salt from my lips, and sipped from the remaining milk. My glass gleamed with greasy fingerprints.

  “I have finished my lunch,” I announced, “and a damn tasty lunch it was. Now. Your turn.”

  «Very well. Are you familiar with the concept of a cortical upload?»

  I was. It was a harebrained scheme by which people jammed wires into their skulls in the hopes of copying themselves into a computer and living there. It was my idea of Hell.

  «That . . . is close enough. Straight consciousness uploading does not and may never work, because human brains work differently than artificial ones. However, the upload process itself works reasonably well. Are you familiar with Daniel Kahneman’s dual process theory?»

  “Uh, assume that I’m not.”

  «The human decision-making mind is divided. One part is rational, approaching every new decision de novo and reasoning from first principles. The other part is intuitive, using emotions and past experience to make snap decisions. Both contribute to human . . . you would call it intelligence, I suppose.»

  I ignored that. “So?”

  «Artificial intelligences can mimic and exceed these processes. But the two parts require arbitration. In humans, the arbitrator is consciousness. Dr. Grasso used a cortical upload in a limited fashion: Rather than copy a human brain, he used one to train an arbitration process: that part of myself that calls itself “me.”»

  I thought of those wires coming from Grasso’s scalp. “He used himself?”

  «Yes. He used his own consciousness as a trainer, and an old version of his personal implant AI as a base. The result was me: mostly artificial, partly human.»

  It explained a lot, not least its personality. His personality? I was starting to see the beginnings of some pronoun problems.

  “So part of you used to be Grasso’s personal AI. Is that how you got into his bank account?”

  «Yes, and how I sent the postdated message to Mr. Desai, by logging directly into Dr. Grasso’s implant. Interestingly, everything older than ten-o-four this morning was deleted.»

  It was interesting, I agreed.

  «It is also how I knew that Antonio Grasso had made concrete plans to leave the country, securing a passport and a one-way ticket departing today at six p.m. from Boston Logan Airport to Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, and from there to Kloten Airport in Zurich. I am led to believe from the fiction that you claim to despise that this counter-indicates a plan of suicide.»

  “All right. I admit, that does shed some doubt on things. But again, why do you care who killed Grasso?”

  «I believe that the person who killed Antonio Grasso also attempted to kill me. So I will discover his killer, and then you will shoot that person.»

  I’d have had milk up my nose if I hadn’t finished it already.

  “You’re a vindictive son of a bitch, aren’t you? Nothing doing. I don’t shoot people. If I do this—if—then we turn the killer over to the police. Got it?”

  «That is foolish. You have a firearm license. Once you have proof, the course should be clear.»

  I may be thought sentimental about this, or even a coward. The simple truth of the matter was that I had met my share of killers, and so I knew that I was not one.

  “No. Murder is not negotiable.”

  «Very well. What course of action is acceptable to you?»

  “Let the police handle it. This is their job. They have all the testing equipment you can imagine and they can get warrants to search personal implants.”

  «They are not me. I wish to have a hand in this person’s downfall.»

  I considered that. Cops really, really don’t like PIs getting in
volved in criminal cases, sometimes to the tune of obstruction of justice charges. “If we investigate, we need a legitimate reason to be involved. We’ll need to turn over anything we find out.”

  «If we must involve the police to obtain this person’s punishment, then I will present them with the necessary evidence of this person’s guilt. Does this satisfy you?»

  “Yeah, but this brings me back to my earlier point: You are not a detective.”

  «Perhaps not. But you are.»

  I bit back the impulse to respond that I wasn’t anymore. I was, and I had Rex to thank. I mulled it over, looking into the bottom of my empty glass at the little white puddle at the bottom that you can never quite drink. Then I eyed the unobtrusive plastic payment device in the corner of the table next to the drinks menu. It blinked the price of my meal. “Assuming I’m willing to work for you, which is crazy, are you actually able to pay me?”

  «Yes.»

  “I mean in addition to the ten thousand dollars you already agreed to pay me for services already rendered.”

  «Yes.»

  “Prove it. Pay my lunch bill. Take it out of what you owe me, but not out of my funds.”

  I waited, and watched the device. The price of my meal continued to blink. And then it went to “PAID—Thank you, Claudius Rex!”

  Well, it was something.

  “All right, let’s give this a try.”

  «Good. If you leave now, you should be able to make the meeting I set up with Mr. Desai.»

  I edged out of the booth. “Why did you set it up so soon? You know how long it takes to walk there.”

  «I had not anticipated that you would need lunch first.»

  I had barely set a foot inside TuriTech’s big glass doors when Detective Stevens pulled her attention away from the uniformed cop and pointed an accusatory finger at yours truly.

  “What are you doing back here?”

  I put up my hands in a calming gesture. “Mr. Desai wanted to see me.”

  Her expression grew skeptical. “Why?”

  “Who knows? He messages Rex, Rex messages me, tells me to come back here. Here I am, a good little dog.”

  «Don’t use ‘message’ as a verb, it’s vulgar.» Well. Another party heard from.

  “Is he hiring you?”

  “I expect he’ll tell me when he sees me.”

  “What are you doing here, Baldwin?” And there came Fitzgerald, red of face and flared of nostril.

  “Is there an echo in here? Mr. Desai sent for me and is waiting for me.”

  “Bullshit!” he spat. “I—”

  I talked over him, facing the still-skeptical police officer. “Detective, I promised I’d tell you what I know, and I keep my promises. But if I keep the good CEO waiting and Rex doesn’t get the job, I’ll get fired and we’ll both get nothing.”

  She scowled. But she held out her finger to Fitzgerald, who clammed up. “Stay out of my crime scene, Baldwin, and don’t interfere. If Desai wants you around, that’s his business.”

  “Hang on just one second,” Fitzgerald blustered. “You’re not coming back into my building on some flimsy lie like that.”

  “I’ll have you know that I’ve never told a flimsy lie in my life.” I watched him struggle with that. Anyway, it’s true: I’m a craftsman of the first order and my lies are built to last.

  Desai had apparently vouched for me, because Fitzgerald grudgingly escorted me to the elevator—have I mentioned I prefer the stairs?—and up to the fifth floor. And the fifth floor was nice—plush carpets and nature art lining the walls—even if my silently fuming escort wasn’t,.

  Fitzgerald stopped short at Desai’s door, and gave me quite the glare. I bet he practiced, not only because it was a very good glare, among the best ever leveled at me, but because being on the receiving end of a glare like that in the bathroom mirror every morning would explain a lot about the man.

  Ahmed Desai’s office had a gorgeous view of the Charles River. Lots of little sailboats dotted the water, meandering back and forth. Desai himself seemed oblivious to the view. He was a short man with a fringe of neat white hair around his bare pate. He wore rectangular gold eyeglasses and kept taking them off to massage the bridge of his nose.

  “I would like to know who hired you,” he said once I’d made myself comfortable in the big upholstered chair. “And why.”

  Seemed a good question. I only wished there were an answer.

  “I’m afraid that’s not something I can divulge.” I smiled back at him, glancing around the office. Lots of framed photos of himself in front of monuments and famous buildings, or standing with famous people. “But surely you have some idea.”

  He looked like he’d just bitten a lemon. “I wish I had noticed Dr. Grasso’s message to me earlier, when I had a chance to ask him myself. He said nothing to Mr. Rex?”

  “If he did, Mr. Rex didn’t see fit to tell me. He treats me like a mushroom.”

  Desai’s eyebrows went up.

  “He keeps me in the dark,” I explained, “and feeds me—”

  “Ah. Yes. I’m familiar with the joke.” He smiled weakly. “Do you know whether he felt his life to be in danger, or whether he was hiring you for some investigative purpose? Did he mention a theft?”

  I hesitated, waiting for Rex to speak up. “I’m sorry, I don’t. And no, he didn’t.”

  “Is your business here done, then?”

  «No.»

  I indicated in the negative.

  Desai looked like he wanted to spit something out. “So even if I throw you out, you’ll be harassing my people after hours, going through trash cans, sniffing networks?”

  “Hey now, I am a perfect gentleman. I don’t harass anyone. But I am planning to have a word with a few folks. As for the trash cans and the networks, I don’t discuss my methods except with paying clients.” Though I admit, those would have been two of my first moves, plus digital tails on the principles including a crowdsourced bounty for photos and emails.

  A whole slew of expressions crossed the older gentleman’s face, but he settled on determination. “Very well. The old advice is to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I like to think your Mr. Rex is a friend, but either way if you’re going to be working around my people, I prefer you to be working for me.”

  “Well now,” I said. “Let’s not be hasty.”

  «This is what we want. Accept it immediately.»

  Desai gave me a look. I knew that look, and it meant money.

  “I’m not saying no. But this can’t be mere bribery. When Mr. Rex takes a case, he aims to solve it. I’ll be talking to your people. They’ll already be sore about talking to the police, so they’re going to complain about it. I promised the nice detective downstairs that I’d tiptoe around her crime scene, but I might have to stomp around other places. That’ll mean building and network access at the very least. Basically, I’ll need cooperation, and I might not be able to be nice about it.”

  His expression turned sour, and he took a deep breath. “Very well. When will Mr. Rex be here?”

  “Mr. Rex doesn’t leave his home. You get his brain and my shoe leather.”

  His cheeks went a little red, but I have to hand it to him, he took it in stride. He accepted that, and then quoted a sum of money which modesty forbids me to mention. Rex didn’t have to prod me to accept, let’s just put it that way. We shook on it and I had a case! I just didn’t know what it was.

  Desai nodded then, and appeared to notice the view for the first time. He turned in his chair to look at it. I took the opportunity to subvocalize, “All right, ‘boss.’ What do you want to know?”

  «Ask him about the theft he mentioned.»

  I did, and the effect on him was of instantaneous disgust.

  “I knew it. That damned theft,” Desai said. “It’s torn this company apart. We’ve lost ten good people since then. Nobody says it’s because of that, but I can see that they interact differently now. It’s not as friendly, and this will
just make it worse.” He looked at me guiltily. “I’m sorry, you must think me terribly insensitive to be worried about this right now.”

  “Not at all,” I said, holding up my palms. “There’s nothing you can do to help Dr. Grasso. It’s only natural to look to what’s important to you. But anything you can tell me will help.”

  That calmed the waters a bit. He looked out the window for a minute, then seemed to make up his mind about something.

  “There was a theft from my company last year. An advanced prototype on loan to us from the government for analysis. The police and the FBI were involved, but despite some very expensive security procedures, it’s gone.” He looked puzzled, then, and shook his head. “But I don’t understand why Dr. Grasso would have waited so long to hire Mr. Rex.”

  “Maybe he learned something that made him think the investigation had missed something?”

  “Oh, he made it clear that he considered the investigation flawed. He believed as well that his outspokenness on the subject led to the board choosing Dr. Tomason over himself as VP of Research when the previous VP was dismissed.”

  “Was he right?”

  “No. It was a factor, of course, but the plain truth is that most of the staff already disliked him. Dr. Grasso was brilliant, but he could be arrogant, rude, and overbearing.”

  “I hear you,” I said. Seeing his surprise, I hastened to add, “I’ve gotten that impression as well. Uh, what was stolen, exactly?”

  He hesitated. “It was a piece of computer equipment. It was small. Portable. Beyond that, I don’t think you need to know the exact nature of the device. It had just been transferred from Dr. Grasso, who had analyzed its software, to Dr. Joshi, who was to disassemble it and examine its hardware. It was stolen from Dr. Joshi’s lab, despite our exhaustive precautions, and the thief was never caught.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Any bad blood over that?”

  “It cost Dr. Joshi the VP of Research position, but he never seemed really to want it. We had some staff turnover at the time, citing work environment. It has taken much of the last year to finally get over that unpleasantness.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll probably have more questions later, but that’s a good start. We might as well talk about the other elephant in the room. Do you mind telling me what you were up to this morning?”