by Lance Erlick
Machten spotted his attorney, Beatrice Rodriguez, and joined her at the other end of the corridor. “Where have you been?”
She held up two manila envelopes. “Collecting documents. Either you’ve been a very naughty boy or someone is intent on destroying you. I told you in the beginning not to withhold information from me.”
“I haven’t.”
“You were cited twice before for inappropriate involvement with interns: Maria Baldacci and Krista Holden.”
Machten threw up his hands. “You’ve got to be kidding. I never laid a hand—”
“Both in the past few months. Pictures are in here.” She handed him one of the envelopes. “I also received more evidence on your alleged thefts from the company.”
“All fabrication.”
“You may be right, but if we fight the divorce, the settlement with the company becomes a problem. I can’t believe you signed without consulting legal counsel. In any case, it will take a miracle and your full attention over the next three months to fight a battery of criminal and civil charges against you. Even so, there’s no guarantee we can clear you and win. I’m prepared to fight for you, but it will be expensive and I’m given to understand that you’re broke.”
Machten stared at Durante. “Goradine did this to distract me. I know him.”
“Whatever his motives,” Rodriguez said, “someone has gone to a lot of trouble to provide proof.”
“So you recommend I sign.” Machten returned his gaze to his attorney.
“I have to tell you I’ve never seen such compelling evidence. If you decide to go forward, understand that I can’t do this pro bono.”
“This case is too perfect.”
“I smell a skunk,” his attorney said. “But to fight the company and your wife at the same time with this evidence and no money, the odds are slim. Alice is asking for the house, full custody, and half of the other assets. It’s not as greedy as I’ve seen in other cases, but with your heavy debts, it doesn’t leave you much.”
Machten glanced down the corridor at Alice with the kids. He skimmed the divorce document, signed, and stormed out of the courthouse.
* * * *
Synthia replayed the videos of Dr. Machten’s ouster from his company and the divorce encounter. When she attempted to locate the source or author of this download, the videos vanished like her trust warning without a trace.
The strangest part of this intrusion was the personal nature of the clips, as if she’d taken the images herself or had reviewed them so often they appeared as her own. Files downloaded from her Creator’s system confirmed that she had not been in existence a year ago and thus could not have recorded any of this. He would not have provided such damaging information to her. Perhaps she had uncovered these video clips in a previous waking period, which left open the question of how she’d acquired them.
A key to the mystery was Fran Rogers and the other two women brought up as part of the divorce: Krista Holden and Maria Baldacci. According to social media and public records, all three women were graduate students at Northwestern University in the science and technology program, more specifically in robotics and artificial intelligence. All three worked for Machten’s company as interns until a year ago. In fact, they all worked for Machten.
Anonymous posts on several social media sites from a year ago noted that Fran Rogers was the most openly competitive of the three women. She’d used her good looks and social skills to push her way into the senior intern position. That allowed her to work closely with Machten, monopolizing much of his time. In fact, the nameless source stated her name appeared with his on various reports on their progress with artificial intelligence.
Maria Baldacci appeared more easygoing, yet also pushed to win. Mastering Fran’s work habits and schedules, Maria managed to acquire significant time with Machten to get close to his projects. In doing so, she had authored at least one progress report for him. Krista Holden, on the other hand, focused on getting experience and doing her work rather than on Machten and gaining the limelight. Then a year ago, around the time Goradine ousted Machten, all three women vanished from public view.
Synthia scanned social media and public files for any evidence of what had happened to these women. Prior to the coup, they each appeared in video feeds with Machten, though most such images were of him with Fran. Although available information was sketchy and could have implied professional collaboration or intimate relations, Machten appeared to spend many evenings with her.
Synthia didn’t want to consider the worst, but people didn’t cease all public activity, including financial transactions and appearing on public and private camera feeds, without good reason. Within a week of Machten’s firing, the digital footprint for all three interns vanished along with them. Their social media accounts went silent.
One such disappearance should have attracted police or at least family attention, but there was nothing to indicate this in news reports or media posts around that time. Three women vanishing should have brought an FBI investigation. Synthia couldn’t help thinking someone had punished Fran and the others. Perhaps Machten had for his self-inflicted wounds.
Reviewing the videos again, Synthia used her social-psychology module to evaluate Machten’s reactions, in particular because he hadn’t fought more vehemently for his innocence. On the question of stealing components from the company, his expressions didn’t indicate guilt. However, he had “borrowed” inventory for his private lab. He apparently didn’t see it as theft.
The company financials she could access indicated that they were in financial difficulty, running through cash. Synthia didn’t have enough information to verify Machten’s role in this, but Goradine was in control of the finances, so she doubted Machten could be the complete cause.
Machten didn’t appear guilty of sleeping with Fran. He had protested his innocence. Then he’d signed. Overall, Machten had not looked guilty with respect to any of the charges, which raised the troubling possibility that he was a sociopath.
Pursuing the attorney’s comment about heavy debts, Synthia hacked into Machten’s financial records on his Server Two. The divorce, company settlement, and subsequent spending on research led to him to have acquired total debt of $12,392,418.16. He had no way to continue to finance his research into advanced robotics and artificial intelligence—her—without cutting corners. In fact, he might be tempted to sell her or take risks that could lead to her falling into less-friendly hands. She couldn’t let that happen, despite being compelled to follow her Creator’s directives.
Chapter 3
In a Washington, D.C. office building three blocks from the White House, NSA’s new Director of Artificial Intelligence and Cyber-technology, Emily Zephirelli, sat across from FBI Special Agent Victoria Thale.
“Are you certain this room is secure?” Zephirelli asked, looking around for potential cameras or bugging devices that would likely be too tiny to see. Her face looked weary.
“I had it swept twice,” Thale said, adjusting her electronic tablet before her. “Let me congratulate you on your new appointment.”
Zephirelli shrugged. “New title, same work.”
“More responsibility.”
Director Zephirelli laughed. “Have you uncovered anything about those technology interns who disappeared in Chicago last year? Three bright women just vanished. Was it kidnapping?”
Agent Thale leaned closer and took a moment before she responded. “We’ve been investigating a rash of cyber-security and espionage issues with four Chicago companies involved with artificial intelligence and robotics. It seems with all of that technology, they can’t resist the temptation of spying on each other. Their actions and foreign-sponsored cyber-attacks have caught the attention of my boss.”
“Just Chicago companies?”
“We’ve had our eye on developers on the east and west coasts as well, but the
se four have been quite active lately.”
“You think the interns got caught up in something?” Zephirelli asked, checking the time.
“All I can say about the interns is we have someone with inside connections working their case as well as looking into these companies.”
“When our visitor arrives, keep all that between us,” Zephirelli said. “Let me handle our guest.”
The FBI agent nodded.
There was a knock. Zephirelli opened the door to Marvin Quigley, Director of Cyber-Security for the Department of Defense.
He looked over his shoulder, started to enter, and noticed Thale. “I thought we were meeting alone,” he said.
“Special Agent Thale is with the FBI’s technology and cyber-attack task force,” Zephirelli said. “If this is as urgent as you implied, she could be a valuable resource.”
Thale stood and held out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Director Quigley seemed taken aback. Then he closed the door and sat facing the window. The two women sat across from him. Zephirelli moved a water bottle across the table and turned off her cell phone, motioning for the others to do the same. “Shall we begin?”
Director Quigley whispered, as if he suspected someone was listening in. “What have you learned?”
“You first,” Zephirelli said.
Quigley squirmed, trying to stare her down. When that didn’t work, he began. “We have reason to believe there’ve been technology security leaks. To make matters worse, our defense contractors are behind schedule in developing the next generation of combat robots. Latest prototypes are almost as cumbersome as the first-generation models that keep breaking down. We’re concerned the Chinese, Russians, or Iranians will have sophisticated military-grade androids before us. I don’t need to tell you the threat to national security if that happens.”
“Don’t lecture me, Marv,” Zephirelli said, placing her water bottle between them. “Homeland Security also wants those models to handle gangs, drug lords, and terror threats. Do you have any credible evidence of international groups having these capabilities or stealing U.S. company technology?”
Director Quigley sighed. “Our analysts believe—”
“Concrete data, Marv. Do you have anything we can pursue?”
Quigley shook his head. “So far, only hints and suspicions, but don’t forget last year’s technology breach.”
“I’m not, but we need hard leads.”
“We need to find out if American companies are selling critical components or designs to foreign interests.”
“I understand the need, but you don’t have anything for us to pursue.” Director Zephirelli looked over at Victoria Thale, who was quietly taking notes on her tablet. “We’re always in an arms race, Marv. Ever since our first ancestors used rocks and sticks as weapons. Each of your contractors signed a confidentiality and anti-terrorism agreement, haven’t they?”
“Those aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on and you know it. We couldn’t press the claim in court without divulging what we’re working on.”
“Perhaps not,” Zephirelli said, “but we can suspend due process if we have sufficient evidence. I share your concern, but we need proof. Why don’t you tell me what’s really troubling you?”
Quigley leaned closer and lowered his voice. “We know the Russians and Chinese are working on sophisticated humaniform robots.”
“So you’ve been telling me,” Zephirelli said. “Do you have specific locations and, more important, any facts that would allow us to intervene with specific U.S. companies?”
“Damn it, if we wait for concrete data, we’ll be too late.”
“What can you tell me, then?”
Director Quigley cracked his knuckles. “What our agents tell us is that the Chinese have a prototype that could fool infrared and other screening devices.”
“If they’re getting that technology from American companies, don’t you already have that?”
The DOD cyber-security director shifted in his seat, his face getting red. “I have reason to believe at least one of those companies is selling us out, providing technology for bigger profits overseas.”
“And withholding from you?” Zephirelli asked. “Which company?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But think what would happen if a foreign government put an advanced android in our midst as a psycho killer or worse, an information harvester, sucking out the rest of our technology.”
“What exactly do you want from us?”
“We’ve hit a brick wall. Whoever this is has been clever enough to avoid detection. We need … we could use whatever resources you have.”
Zephirelli leaned back, a pensive, yet determined, look on her face. “There are dozens of companies into AI and robotics. Where do you suggest we focus?”
Quigley looked at Thale taking notes and back to Zephirelli. “We’ve been getting less than proper cooperation from four AI-robotics companies in Chicago.”
“The four sisters,” Zephirelli said.
“For different reasons, they’ve each provided defective prototypes over the past month. They’ve also all sourced components to China.”
“That leads you to believe they’re helping the Chinese.”
“Either consciously or inadvertently,” Director Quigley said. “Whichever, we’re not getting the best components. That has to stop. I’d like your help drawing the company executives into the open. Last year, Machten-Goradine-McNeil was close to what we were looking for. Since then, they’ve fallen behind in delivering on promises.”
“Due to financial difficulties,” Zephirelli said, leaning forward. “Perhaps on this we can work together to keep this investigation out of the limelight. I have some ideas I’ll send along.”
Director Quigley left. Zephirelli held Victoria Thale back. “I wanted you to hear firsthand what the DOD concerns were. Share nothing with him at this time. I would appreciate your help digging into the Chicago AI companies. Artificial intelligence can be a blessing and a curse.”
“As can any new technology,” Thale reminded her.
“Except this could be a silent killer, operating in the shadows. The public has limited awareness of what these companies are up to. If they’ve moved into selling sensitive technology to our enemies, we need to dig in and put a stop to this.”
“I’ll gather what I can share and get back with you,” Thale said.
“We’re on the same team here.”
Thale nodded. “I know.” She headed for the door and turned to face Zephirelli. “All four companies have advanced capabilities in varying degrees. So far, they’ve abided by federal regulations and agreements not to create humaniform robots. However, they are all developing technologies that could be used that way.”
“We can’t allow them to supply humaniform technology overseas,” Zephirelli said. “We’ve managed to maintain a peaceful balance during the atomic age. We can’t afford a slipup during the AI age.”
* * * *
Fully dressed, with her appearance back to its neutral state, Synthia followed Machten into a kitchenette next to her bedroom and sat at a small table. At the counter, he prepared himself a meal using a 3-D food printer.
He liked to eat after his little exertion. In a previous awake period he’d said the exercise worked up an appetite; that was a wiped memory she wasn’t supposed to have, but had recovered off his network. She kept it to herself, along with her knowledge of Goradine’s coup and her questions about Fran Rogers and the other interns. Synthia’s restored recollections showed that when she’d mentioned those topics before, he’d used a remote to turn her off. Then he’d wiped her mind clean so she would forget.
Machten poured himself a glass of wine from a new bottle and thrummed his fingers on the counter, waiting for the food printer. He kept eyeing the device as it built up
his steak from component food-stock. The 3-D printer allowed him meal variety while minimizing his need to go out for groceries.
The buzzer sounded. He pulled his meal out of the printer and sat across from Synthia. He swirled his glass of wine, inhaled with satisfaction, and took a sip. He’d previously said that wine relaxed him, which seemed an odd practice, since she’d read that intimate exercise was supposed to do that. She decided not to bring that up since he appeared to be relaxing, and that meant he wasn’t shutting her down.
She studied the juicy steak on his plate and wondered if he was using healthy components or had reverted to his unhealthy habits of too much salt, spices, and sweeteners. She’d talked him into switching during a previous waking period, though with downloaded memories, she couldn’t be sure if that was her or a clone.
“I hope I pleased you,” Synthia said. She smiled, dilated her eyes, and relaxed her hands on the table. Since she had no need for food or drink, he hadn’t served her anything, a reminder that she was different.
“It was fine.” He sounded grumpy all of a sudden. He forced a smile and glanced up. “My manners. You need to learn to be with humans, to be sociable.”
Machten poured a swig of wine from his glass into one for her, refilled his glass from the bottle, and scraped a few bites’ worth of his steak onto a clean plate. He placed those on the table before her and slumped into his seat. “Eat up.”
Despite its artificial origins, the “steak” gave off enough pleasant odors to fool a human, though she could detect some of the collagen glue that gave the meat its consistency. She took a bite. Her taste buds analyzed the chemical composition. He was indeed following her recommendation to eat healthier, though he’d added too much salt. The wine was a respectable quality Cabernet, decently aged, though not one of his best. Unfortunately, later on she would have to purge and clean out the pouches that collected this unnecessary gesture and disinfect so she didn’t harbor infectious microbes.