by J. Thorn
“Yeah.”
“And it’s dangerous?”
“Hell yeah.”
Chapter 3
Mike Welling, Gerry’s best friend, colleague, and godfather to his kids, was now essentially the animated dead. Before this moment, Gerry had never given a second thought to anything paranormal. Heck, no one did these days. Technology was so prevalent and life so comfortable that there was no need to seek solace in superstition, myth or religion. There were still a tiny minority of people, usually the crazed or the high, who believed in such things, but generally that kind of old-fashioned faith had died decades ago.
But seeing that thing, that creature in the corner, made Gerry think twice. There was something not right about the situation, about Gabe, the girl, any of it. How did he end up smack-bang in the middle of it all? Coincidence was the usual explanation. But maybe there was some other reason? He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. Gerry took one last look at the forlorn, animated doppelgänger and returned to the living room.
Gabe and Petal said nothing as he walked past them.
He slumped into a sofa.
Gabe sat opposite. His eyes were deep set and surrounded by a thin blanket of veined skin. Gerry noticed he was the self-medicating kind. The telltale red blotches across his nose gave it away. But after seeing what he had to deal with, Gerry was beginning to understand.
“We tracked the demon for a week before it got into ya boss,” Gabe said. “We tried to stop it, but it was too quick for either of us. It’s using Mike’s AIA.”
“That’s why it’s keeping Mike alive?”
“He’s not alive, not really. There’s nothing of Mike left in there. His mind’s been shot to hell. The demon just wanted him for his AIA and the resulting access. We believe the algorithm’s been the target all along.”
“But why?”
“You should know that. It’s your algorithm that determines the D-Lottery numbers.”
Gerry considered the ramifications. What would a seemingly evil force want with the exemption list? People could be added or removed. What would be the benefit of taking people off the list and altering the algorithm?
“Oh no…”
“What is it, man? Tell me.”
Gerry wondered if this is what it felt like to go to confession back in the days before the Dome. “I control the algorithm, right? The buck stops with me, now that Mike’s—well, you know…” He still couldn’t believe he was dead; he tried to compartmentalise his grief into a neat and tidy box. Some of it inevitably spilled out, but he regained control after a few deep breaths.
“Go on,” Gabe prompted.
“The members of the Family and the controlling councils are on the exemption list. If they are removed and this demon or whatever it is can change the algorithm, it can choose whose numbers come up, and the network will do the rest.”
“By ‘do the rest’, you mean kill ’em? Because of your goddamn interconnections and reliance on the network?”
“Yes, but damn it, how can it change the algorithm? Only through me and my systems at Cemprom can that be changed. And besides, the councils and the Family are ring-fenced from the algorithm anyway.”
“The code’s messed up. Somehow, through Mike, it’s able to get in somewhere. There’s a leak in ya security. Cemprom, and by extension you, have been compromised.”
“Without me knowing? Impossible. It’s all a part of me, damn it.” That violated feeling again spread its icy fingers through his brain. Then he remembered—his dermal implant. “You! You hacked me! How do I know all this wasn’t you? You could have put the demon or whatever it is in my code.”
Gabe just shook his head. “I needed to check ya code, man. How many instances of a hacked AIA via a dermal implant have you ever heard of?”
Gerry thought for a second and knew it was impossible. But the alternative was a demon AI on the loose in the network? No way. It was unheard of. He snorted out the remaining air in his lungs. His temples throbbed. “Okay. Let’s assume you’re right. Why is it waiting a week for the network to kill me when it could just end me now?”
“Who said it would wait?”
The shadow cast from the wide-brimmed hat grew darker over Gabe’s eyes. His already deathly pallor deepened. The consequences of that question played out in Gerry’s mind: if the demon already had control of his AIA, then he wasn’t needed. He could be killed—at any time.
“I need to contact my family.”
Gabe shook his head. “It ain’t safe. Ya can’t speak with ’em again.”
“What? Ever?”
Gabe sighed and stood up. A multitude of creaks and clicks came from his joints. It was obvious not being in the network excluded him from the Medicaid provisions afforded to regular members of society.
“The demon will keep ya alive for however long it considers you an asset—like it’s done with Mike.”
“Which could mean I’m done for any second.”
“Not completely. Not yet, anyway. Come with me. We’ll get ya hooked up to the network and see what’s crawling around inside ya. This is what Petal and I do. Have a little faith, man.”
***
The room behind the curtain resembled a grey cube with several old-fashioned computer terminals set into darkened nooks along the walls. Gerry recognised them from his parents’ photographs of their lives before the Cataclysm.
“I can’t believe any of these survived,” he said out loud, more for his comfort than general interest. The place stank of sweat and mould. A high-back swivel chair sat in front of each cubicle. All chrome curves and angles, with heavy straps integrated in the arms. Not a good sign. He’d heard about underground sex dens, but since the full integration of the city-wide network, that kind of thing was quickly snuffed out. He’d even worked on some of the search strings and algorithms to identify the chatter and thought patterns via people’s AIAs.
Overhead, running along the ceiling, more wire mesh writhed between joists. He could sense the flow of petabytes that ran through the fibre-optic cables. A part of him wanted to dive in the current of information. See what flowed there. See what could be manipulated, assessed, controlled.
“This network is secure, right?”
“As secure as it gets,” Petal said, with not a hint of exaggeration in her soft voice.
In front of the computer monitors, a series of cables with interface plugs lay like entwined snakes.
It was the ultimate crime to access one’s AIA so directly. And to do it off-the-grid, on a secure network, was akin to screwing an AIDS-riddled prostitute with no protection. Potential suicide.
Gerry’s skin crawled, and a cold spot spread throughout his spine. This was up there with blatant satanic worship or treason.
“This the only way?”
“Let’s just get a move on before you snuff it, eh?” Petal pushed him towards a chair.
No other options. Who knew how long he had? Could be struck down at any time. The dermal implants were fitted with concentrated Cyanide+ V2.0. All controlled by the AIA, of course—and by extension the Family. Guaranteed one thousand years of life—if you did what they wanted.
This was not what they wanted.
But he had other responsibilities: Beth, his wife, and his two girls. He thought about them. They needed him. He needed them. He had to do something. He couldn’t face the thought of not being there for his family.
Closing his eyes, he uttered, “Okay.”
Gerry mentally transferred his PIN. He was interfacing with Mags. It didn’t feel like it used to. Felt foreign. It responded like it should, but Gerry knew something had changed. A silence of data chatter. A neurotic silence full of tension, and expectation.
He requested a rundown of his inbox. Nothing.
Checked his soci
al networks. Nothing.
Searched his personal net for the latest news headlines. Nothing.
The demon broke down each node as it got closer to its destination.
Mags accepted Gerry’s PIN, and he was at root level.
Gerry turned to Gabe and Petal.
“Okay. Do what you got to do.”
Gerry’s arms thrashed against the restraints in the chair, and his body tensed like a rod: every fibre of his being rejected the process, but it didn’t stop. He thought he would experience something special, something enlightening. Mags had been a part of him for as long as he could remember, and he had a certain image of her sitting on a grand throne, tentacles manipulating computer terminals, but he saw nothing. He felt a great deal, though. A pain in the soul was the only way he could describe it.
“She’s been busy,” Gabe said, staring at the old CRT monitor inside his cubicle opposite Gerry.
“Poor girl got penetrated,” Petal said.
“Does it have control of her?” Gerry asked.
“Not yet. That’s the good news. Bad news is the demon’s got its claws into her.”
“The algorithm? Does it have full access?”
“I can’t see that far in,” Gabe said. “Petal, what can ya see?”
“The demon is using Mike’s AIA to interface with yours, Gerry. It’s screwing by proxy. Did you bridge your systems for some reason?”
Gerry thought back. “Damn it. Yes. Last week. We were experimenting with a new internode protocol. It was done entirely off the network, though. Nothing could have…” Then he thought of Jasper again. He’d started work just a day before.
“How can we stop it?”
Silence.
All three sat in the darkened room, strapped into the chairs, heads jacked into the local network. Their bodies acted as nothing more than servers and routers. Humanity was in short supply.
“Guys, just tell me. I doubt I’ve got long if it’s screwing with the algorithm.”
“You’ve got kids, right?” Gabe asked.
“Yeah, two girls.”
“A wife?” Petal asked.
“A wife, yes.”
“If you want to see them again, you need to open your AIA ports to the demon. Let it in entirely.”
Gerry wanted to turn and stare at the girl, to give her his best ‘are you mentally ill?’ look, but the restraints held.
Gabe spoke up and broke the harsh silence. “Once we have it in your AIA, we can trap it ’ere in our protection room.”
“And how do I do that?” Gerry asked.
“Hang on. I’m sniffing it and will tell you the port numbers to open up. It’ll jump in quicker than a hobo at a free food store.”
Pulses of information threatened to fry Gerry’s brain as Petal let down some of the walls of protection. The demon’s digital tentacles were all over Mags, searching for entry. Her subroutines launched into action but were instantly uninstalled by the demon. This made Gerry’s head twitch as if he were having a fit. His eyes fluttered in a frenzied motion. He wanted to call out, tell her to stop, but then he heard Petal’s voice over the communicator.
“Eighty-oh-one. Thirty-three-zero. Seventy-oh-eight-seven.”
Gerry heard a harsh feedback screech through his communicator, followed by the bizarrely calm voice of Gabe. “Good work, Petal. Punch those numbers, man. Let the beast in, and I’ll do the rest.”
Gerry’s hands thrashed uncontrollably against the arm rests. Jolts of pain mixed with overwhelming feelings of doom crashed through his system. He’d never experienced evil until this point. That thought caught him off-guard. Was it evil? It was just code, just another artificial-intelligence programme. Surely evil couldn’t be programmed…?
Ignoring this random thought process, he transferred the instructions to Mags to open the specified ports. It was easier than expected. No resistance, no warnings.
Petal was right. The demon was quick. The nanosecond the ports opened, that black mass entered Mags like an eager teenager beginning their first sexual experience.
There was no struggle, no last dump of security subroutines. It was quite the anticlimax. Gerry had expected something more explosive. Mags remained silent, running its various processes as normal: no reports, no alarms, no execution of disaster protocols or breach of defence systems.
“Did it work?” Gerry asked between panting breaths.
There was a long silence. Gerry could feel the tension in the room. Petal was unusually quiet. Gabe was busy at work, he knew that much. He could see in his mind the flow of traffic increase exponentially from Gabe’s terminal to his AIA.
After five minutes of furious typing, grunts and expletives. Gabe finally spoke. “It’s done.”
“Now what?” Gerry asked.
“I exorcise it. Ya need to get off the grid, though. Uninstall Mags completely.”
“Are you mad?”
“Possibly, yeah, but trust me on this one.”
“But if I uninstall her, I’ll—”
“Be a free man? Absolutely. It’s that or death—for you and for anyone else connected with you.”
“My whole life will be over. I’ll be a criminal, a rogue. My whole existence, and my family’s, is on the grid. I can’t do that. I’ll be—”
“Just like us,” Petal said.
Mags communicated to him, “Thank you for your sacrifice, Gerry. You have just one day left. Please inform the Council of your funeral arrangements.”
“It’s changed ya internal clock, man. The algorithm’s next. Think about ya contact list. Everyone on that list could have their numbers up. Ya family, friends, colleagues. Is it worth it?”
Gerry considered Gabe’s words while trying to ignore that he potentially had just one day left to live. Going off the grid was almost as bad as dying. He would lose the ability to work, to support his family. He’d be an outlaw.
He would have to leave his family behind. His entire life as he knew it would be over. The alternative was either death or this demon taking entire sections of society off the exemption list. Too much to risk. How could he willingly allow that to happen? His city, the only place he’d ever known, was precious. It was a virtual utopia—for good or bad—and he couldn’t just idly watch its destruction, regardless of the downsides.
Not much of a choice, though: his own life and an end to his suffering, or possibly an entire city’s stability. As difficult as it was, he realised in truth it was an easy decision when he thought about it: he couldn’t let the whole city down. Sure, the place had problems. The Family were maniacal with their control, but people still had good lives, safe lives.
The image of his daughters and wife conjured in his mind. He couldn’t let them suffer if he had the choice to stop it. Picturing them that morning around the breakfast table, he ignored the pain that stabbed at his heart and made the decision. He logged in at super-root level, meaning he could access the parts of his AIA that controlled how it worked at a fundamental level. It wasn’t something anyone could do.
He’d realised he had this ability while testing potential exploits at Cemprom. During the experimentation, he’d created a secret login procedure to his AIA, mostly out of curiosity. Like everyone in the city, he had no desire to leave the network. But this time he had a damned good reason.
Once logged in, he activated a piece of code that, as far as he knew, no one had executed before. He was just a few seconds away from living without the essential life support of the network.
Gerry closed his eyes, squeezed in the tears. Hesitated.
“Do it, man, do it now!” Gabe said.
“Let her go, Gez,” Petal added. “Let her fly.”
He could feel the colossal blackness manipulating Mags, trying to log him out. Trying to prevent
him from entering the fatal code. But he was at the base. Nothing could stand in the way of his release, the cease of support, the release of society, of being one of many.
Using his mind-interface, he moved a cursor over a representation of a door with ‘EXIT’ marked on its surface. All he had to do was open the door and walk his avatar out. The AIA would be uninstalled. The demon would no longer be in charge of his destiny. Mags would be free to exist in her limited silicon shell. Without a human to assist, he wondered what she would do. Just how much independent thought did they have?
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the interface. The door remained closed. It shrank and moved to the right of his view. A grid of thumbnail images of his family replaced it, and he scrolled through each one. He attempted to burn their happy, smiling faces into his brain. He would no longer be able to carry them with him once Mags was gone.
He cried uncontrollably.
Tears flowed down his face like small pebbles down a hill. Each image blinked out of view. The demon. It was wiping the photographs—his memories!
He reached out and gripped the handle of the symbolic door and pushed it open. Bright light flooded into his interface, and a cautionary paragraph of text hovered into view. It was the usual stuff: This process is not reversible… are you sure you wish to delete… criminal offence punishable by death…
He mentally marked the agreement checkbox and clicked OK. Nothing would ever be okay again. Never seeing his family was not okay. Never working at Cemprom with his now dead buddy Mike was not okay.
And then he was cut loose. Just a regular human again—whatever that meant.
He held his breath, expecting something different, expecting to somehow feel strange, as though his previous life was lived vicariously through his AIA. But he was the same old Gerry.
Then it hit him like a hammer: he could never return home. That’s what felt different: the detachment. A wave of loneliness coursed through him like a strong wind whipping through his clothes. He felt nauseous again and wanted to sleep, to dream, to pretend none of it happened.