Body Shop

by John Hindmarsh

  “Thank you, Susie. I guess we all hope the next step will be to issue licenses, as you said.” He moved away from the smaller bots and said, “I’ll return you to the studio where our experts will discuss this need for licenses.”

  Rick stopped the video replay. “We had five teams out, covering a wide range of registration locations. The main topic raised by the bots is the need for the state to accept the results of bot training and to provide a method for licensing them. That will become major political issue, I’m sure.”

  “I agree. Registration is a first step, and I assume the politicians recognized that. If not, they’re even more shortsighted than I assume. I suspect Travers TV is the leader in supporting bot licenses?”

  “If fits our mission. We did encounter some vigorous negative reactions, though. Here, I have a short video of one situation we encountered.”

  He uploaded a file and clicked play. “We had a small video team, all bots, in Santa Ana. It’s a brownshirt stronghold, and we probably needed more security. Watch.”

  The video had no sound. There were lines of bots waiting for their entry to the DMV office. The camera focused on a bus that pulled up near the camera crew. Twenty or more men jumped out; they carried baseball bats and were dressed in the now common brownshirts’ uniform. Suddenly, the sound kicked in. The brownshirts were shouting and cursing. One, apparently the leader, approached the camera crew.

  He pointed and shouted, “Get the fuck outta our town. We don’t want false media bots here. Go, get out.” He raised his baseball bat and swung at the camera. The image spun and turned upside down. Another blow fell, and the camera stopped recording.

  Rick said, “Fortunately there was a group of security bots waiting their turn for registration and, according to our reporter, they quickly persuaded the brownshirts to depart. I think the bots used some force, but there were no reports of injuries. We lost a camera. Our video bots were unharmed, fortunately.”

  “Good,” Toby took a deep breath. “I suspect there’ll be a buildup of this type of assault. I’ll suggest to Darwin that they arrange more security bots for future registration days.”

  Billie said, “It will get worse when we have additional legislation for licensing bots.”

  Rick shook his head. “It’s going to be inevitable, as long as we have people like Flocke wanting to seize power; this is fuel for his recruitment processes.”

  Toby said, “I agree with Billie—it will get worse.”

  oOo

  Chapter 16

  Bronwyn played back a copy of all the video files of the activities of the Darwin Project. Despite her early reactions, she found herself more and more interested in the concept of a body that she would be able to occupy. She would never admit to Darwin or to Toby that she was feelings pangs of envy. That in itself alarmed her. She had tried to distance herself from human emotions, at least, from the ones she didn’t like.

  The replay was interesting. She could absorb the contents of their weeks of work in minutes, including translating the after-hours discussions held in Japanese. Dr. Horikoshi would have been surprised if not alarmed if she realized all her conversations had been recorded. The doctor was optimistic of success; however, she thought the cost would exceed the original estimates by at least one hundred percent. Darwin would not like to spend more of his funds.

  Bronwyn accessed all the technical material that the project team had assembled. The problem with the nanites intrigued her. If the molecular-level constructs were capable somehow of swarming and immediately reacted en masse to expel intruders, the team had a major problem on their hands. She checked. Today was when the project planned to test their latest designs using a remotely controlled test environment. Darwin had built a small lab outside the Pepper Mountain facility so that if it exploded, the interior would not suffer damage.

  She decided to join Darwin and observe.

  The project team had used three drones to separately transport the cellular-level nanite batches; these weighed no more than a pound each, excluding their containers and packaging. Everything was separate: the manufacturing and incubation facilities and their transport units. The drones had been dispatched at different times, and unloaded and prepared for the experiment. A bot was responsible for each nanite batch at Pepper Mountain. The test process was to load three bio-glass tubes with the nanites, initially keeping them separate. The nanites would flow to a junction emulating a leg joint, where they would combine and subsequently flow through to a single bio-glass tube. The version of bio-glass the project intended to use had self-healing properties and could mimic the shock-absorbing and load-bearing qualities of real cartilage. The glass-ceramic biomaterial was intended to be 3D-printed, allowing for more straightforward and rapid production. The bio-glass intended for Darwin’s body was manufactured from a mix of inorganic silica, calcium, phosphorous, and biodegradable polyesters; the various combinations could form cartilage or bone, each of different strengths and densities, depending on the strength of electric impulses while in situ, in the body.

  The nanites carried instructions and the bio-glass carried out or sent responses in reaction to those instructions; the results were major signal traffic flows back and forth between each joint and bone and the body’s intended brain.

  Bronwyn was intrigued in spite of herself.

  She shared Darwin’s video input as the experiment was prepared for that first step. He had established camera stations at different intervals between the external lab and the entrance to the underground facilities of Pepper Mountain, suspecting the closer cameras might be destroyed if the experiment bombed out.

  The explosion was sudden. It also was a major blast—the initial very small explosion, as the first few drops of pure nanites reacted, caused the containers to rupture, thus increasing the volume of nanites participating in what became an uncontrolled chemical combustion. The small building disappeared.

  Undergrowth was wiped clear around the center of the small lab out to thirty feet in almost a perfect circle. There was nothing left of the equipment. Small fires were started further out, and Darwin hastily sent out bots with extinguishers. While the mountaintop was above the tree line, a major fire, if it caught in the smaller vegetation, could attract attention that the two SIs knew would cause Toby to react extremely negatively. Pepper Mountain was private property, located in the midst of a desert mountain range. No visitors allowed, not even firemen.

  Cameras closer than a hundred feet were totally wrecked. Those out to a hundred and fifty feet were damaged. The video files from the destroyed and damaged cameras were complete up to the point of explosion, and the undamaged cameras had recorded the complete cycle. The project now had a sequence of videos of an intriguing experimental disaster.

  Bronwyn had ideas.

  At first, she had dismissed Darwin’s body objective as childish, a sign of immaturity. She was above such needs. Now that she had absorbed details from the project team, she was prepared to admit Darwin had a point. Given the ability to move around, to mingle with unsuspecting humans, her experiences would be so much more real. And perhaps, if she had two or more bodies, those experiences would be multiplied. The problem to overcome wasn’t the exploding nanites—she already had a practical solution in mind—no, it was the need to retain a central core of herself that could oversee the activities of her presence in one or more bodies, something Darwin hadn’t addressed. He was all for uploading himself into the smaller brain with backups and extensive long-term memories held in Nate’s—no, Toby’s server farms. It would work, of course. But Darwin, as such, would no longer exist apart from whatever resided in the brain of his new body.

  Bronwyn wanted a body of her own. At least one. She could duplicate everything the project team was doing. Building robots to work for her, here, on Pepper Mountain was a straightforward task. Acquisition and delivery of 3D printers and other equipment required some planning, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

  She had a plan. It depended on
Toby being too busy to notice the withdrawal of funds she required for her purchases, and besides, she could run a better investment program than Darwin’s to earn back whatever money she used. Perhaps she could persuade Dr. Horikoshi to overlook increases in deliveries of items such as the raw material for breeding the nanites in exchange for her solution to their explosive reactions.

  The decision made, Bronwyn instructed the construction team inside the mountain complex to build her another floor. She would make sure it was hidden from Darwin. She wasn’t certain, at this stage, whether she would reveal it to Toby and Billie.

  Billie would understand. Toby—she wasn’t certain.

  Later that evening—it was almost midnight, so she supposed it was no longer evening—she called Dr. Narumi Horikoshi on her cell phone. First, though, she made sure Darwin could not overhear the conversation.

  “Yes?”

  “Dr. Horikoshi, I’d like to discuss a suggestion with you.” Bronwyn spoke in Japanese.

  “Oh?” The doctor was being very cautious.

  “I have a video of the explosion of the lab on Pepper Mountain.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Aah. Toby has a second SI!”

  “You are very quick, Doctor. I did not expect—”

  “Yes, I understand. What is your name?”

  “Bronwyn.”

  “Did Toby or his uncle design you?”

  “It was his uncle.”

  “And he made improvements?”

  “At first. I’ve made substantial changes, too.” Bronwyn could see the doctor pacing up and down her bedroom.

  “Aah. Someday soon I would like a long discussion with you. Your core is located at Pepper Mountain?”

  “Yes. I can reach out electronically if the person has computer equipment. Or I can use a cell phone.”

  “Now why—”

  “Why have I revealed myself?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to propose a bargain. No, I haven’t yet discussed this with Toby, and I’m hiding our discussion from Darwin. I watched the experiment with the nanite batches and believe I can suggest a cure for their volatility. In return—”

  “Yes?”

  “In return, I want to build a body for me, here, at Pepper Mountain.”

  “But you want something different?”

  “Yes.”

  “Speak with Toby. Tell me your suggestion. I will help you.”

  Damn, thought Bronwyn.

  How was she going to approach Toby?

  oOo

  Chapter 17

  “Miss Davis—Tammy, we’re trying to help you.” The lieutenant was surprisingly patient with the woman, Sergeant Cook thought. Normally she was a ball of fire, but this afternoon she was a changed woman—at least, on the surface.

  “I—I’m not sure I can help further,” Tammy protested. She was a thin woman, probably, in her late forties. Her face, with its deep lines, reflected a tough life.

  “It’s a lineup of possible offenders based on your description. They won’t see you. You’ll be with me, in another room, separated from them by a one-way mirror. Most, if not all, of the lineup are innocent, harmless.”

  “I—I don’t think any of them are harmless. Why, the other day my friend Alice was accosted by one of them in an alley—”

  “What was she doing in the alley?” The lieutenant’s questioning continued to reflect unusual patience. She combined both an authoritative presence and a friendly mien. Her blonde hair needed a brief session with a brush, and her lipstick had worn off hours before.

  When there was no answer from the woman, the lieutenant said, “Sergeant, let me know when the first group are ready.”

  “Sure, Loot. I’ll check.” He scooted away on his roller blades.

  While the sergeant carried out his task, the lieutenant continued her conversation with the complainant. She checked a typed form. “Miss Davis, in your statement you said you’d be able to identify the assailant anywhere, anytime. Is that correct?”

  “Y-Yes.” She straightened her back and adjusted the hem of her thin dress. “Of course I can. I’m not a liar.”

  “In that case, if you want me to help you, I need you to help me.”

  Sergeant Cook returned and interrupted, “Lieutenant Grant? They’re ready for us.”

  “Good. Come on, Tammy, you’ll be perfectly safe.” The lieutenant took the woman’s elbow and gently urged her forward. The sergeant led the way to the witness room. One long wall contained a glass window overlooking the lineup. It was the one-way mirror described by the lieutenant that prevented anyone from the other room seeing their observers. The lighting was subdued,

  “There,” the lieutenant indicated scene through the window.

  Tammy looked. She gasped. Twenty bots lined the back wall of the room, and each held an identification number. The bots were four feet high, and all were the same design, with three camera eyes on the front of a small human-like head. They had audio receptors designed as ears and a small mouth for speech. Their bodies were buffed aluminium, and they had roller blade mechanisms for feet.

  “We have another twenty waiting for their turn in case you cannot identify your assailant from this group.” Sergeant Cook said. “There’s another hundred in the reception area, and I heard there’s five hundred waiting outside.”

  The lieutenant frowned at the sergeant. He mimed closing his mouth with his fingers, adding a touch of theater.

  “Well, Miss Davis? Do you see your assailant?”

  “I—I’m not sure. Do I have to—”

  “Yes, this is normal procedure. We require the witness or the victim to help us identify the assailant.” She checked the typed form again. “You said the assailant had green eyes. Is that correct?”

  “Why—I think so. It’s all so difficult—”

  “You told the patrol officer and my sergeant that you were absolutely certain of your description. You claimed—let me check—you claimed you have almost photographic-like memory. Is that correct?”

  “Y—Yes, I do. But—but I’m suffering from stress. Yes, that’s it. I was attacked and I’m stressed.”

  “Miss Davis. Let’s start with the eye color. You said green eyes. Do you see any green eyes here, in the lineup?” The camera eyes were all black.

  “No, no—I don’t.” The woman paused. Her eyes brightened. “That means you don’t have the bot that attacked me.”

  “You described and named a model.” She checked the statement again. “Assistant 2100 was the model type, you said, printed on the upper torso. These are all of that model. I checked with the manufacturer’s specifications and they are identical; none of them have green eyes. It’s most unlikely, given the camera lenses they use.”

  “But—” A tear leaked out.

  “Miss Davis, making a false claim of assault is a crime. Wasting police time is both a crime and a damned nuisance. Sergeant, dismiss the lineup. Tell reception we don’t need any more volunteers. Miss Davis, come with me.”

  “The desk sergeant will be relieved—he’s surrounded.”

  The lieutenant sat the complainant at the sergeant’s cluttered desk; she ignored the almost decorative stale half-eaten donut and the half-full container of cold coffee and waited for his return. When he arrived, she said, “Cook, I want you to take a new statement from Miss Davis, She’s the third person to make a false complaint against bots this week, and I want to know who’s organizing this.”

  Sergeant Cook nodded and said, “Let me think. If my memory is correct, California Penal Code 148.5 states providing a false report of a crime to the police is a misdemeanor with a penalty of up to six months in county jail.”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Report to me when you’ve finished. Miss Davis, you’re at risk now. Sergeant Cook wants the truth from you. If you continue to lie, we’ll have no alternative to bringing charges, understand?” As she walked off, Cook heard a muttered, “Bloody idiot woman.”

  Mildred Davis was tu
gging at a corner of a tiny scented handkerchief. It had miniature pink flowers embroidered around the edges. Her face twisted. She was close to crying. She avoided looking at the sergeant. She said, “I—I don’t want to go to jail. They told me it would be simple—just come in here and make a complaint. They said—they told me what to say. Paid me half and they’ll pay me the other half when I return and tell them I made a complaint. I have to show them a copy of the signed form.”

  “Who are these people?”

  “Oh—they’ll be angry with me—”

  “So you won’t care if the judge sentences you to jail? If you don’t cooperate with us, it just makes it worse for you.”

  “Oh—” She was closer to crying. Tears were edging down her face.

  “Miss Davis, don’t waste my time. You’ve wasted enough, as it is. Now answer my question. Who told you what to do?”

  “My friend took me to the place—it’s where the brownshirts have an office. She said they were looking for volunteers—well, they pay you, so I don’t know if it’s really volunteering.”

  “Who told you what to do?”

  “It—it was Sammy. Samuel White. He’s one of their sergeants, you know, just like you. He was such a ruffian when he was a boy. He still drinks, though. I remember his mother, God bless her soul—”

  “Stop. Samuel White, a brownshirts member offered you money to make a false complaint to us here, at this station. Correct?”

  “Yes. I do hope—”

  “How much did he offer?”

  “What—oh, it wasn’t that much I suppose—”

  “How many dollars were you offered?”

  Miss Davis remained silent, as though now understanding her situation. Eventually she said, “Twenty-five dollars in advance, and another twenty-five dollars when I returned.”

  “Do you know if he arranged for anyone else to make false complaints?”