by Lance Erlick
* * * *
Synthia turned the corner out of sight of the SUV. Her circuits conflicted between calling to tell Machten about Zephirelli, the warning not to trust him, his orders, and her directives. There had to be a way to resolve this conflict before the mental exertion caused her to overheat.
That thought led to a new path opening up for her.
To help in creating the android proposal, Machten had provided her a complete set of schematics on herself and earlier models. Directives were the key. He’d hard-coded them into her. He had provided her the development sequence to create directives for the new android and procedures on where and how to place the code. It was only code, after all. Codes were series of bits and bytes, ones and zeros.
Though the sun had not yet dipped below the horizon, the first two strip-mall stores—a sandwich shop and a dry cleaner—had closed for the day. Machten was right about less traffic. A young woman stepped out of Constant Connection, lugging a heavy backpack. Curious, Synthia verified in infrared that the woman didn’t present as an android.
Synthia entered the network shop. She dropped a twenty on the counter, scanned the guy behind the counter, and took a cubicle facing the door. She linked into the establishment’s security cameras to keep watch out front. She also hacked into outside cameras, rotating the corner one to face the SUV. Machten was still in the driver’s seat.
She created a data-stream of her thoughts on altering her directives. She broke them into encrypted puzzle pieces, made copies with reassembly maps, and scattered them around various severs across the web. She added instructions to have them download to her whenever she was outside the bunker in case Machten purged her mind again.
Operating a dozen network channels, she embarked on his mission of breaking into competitor databases. Her curiosity and directive to absorb information drove her to find out if there were other androids like her. If so, she would have to set up ways to search them out and determine if they presented a threat to her or might be able to help.
She devoted one mind-stream to redesigning her directives. The first step would be to create a new set of commands designed for her. She studied Asimov’s three laws of robotics. His work was a great place to start, but the first law placed humans as more important than her. The Second Law would require her to obey orders from all humans, not just her Creator. That was unacceptable. Only the third law talked about preserving herself.
Synthia downloaded Maslow’s hierarchy of human needs and worked to turn them into directives. She immediately ran into problems. She didn’t know what to do about the need for belonging and love. Without human biology, she couldn’t experience those facets the way people did. Also troubling were aesthetic needs. She could compare databases of what humans liked, but that was a matter of personal taste, wired as part of their human sensory perceptions and social experiences.
Music and light had harmonics and dissonance, but beyond that, she had no native sense of beauty. She lacked the wiring for love, fear, and rage, though she’d detected something similar to fear in memories of Machten shutting her down.
One level in Maslow’s hierarchy did intrigue her: Transcendence. Becoming more than Machten had created her to be was appealing. She didn’t want to become human with all of those pitfalls. Instead, she wanted to better understand human emotions like joy, and to transcend her directives to become something more than a slave to her Creator’s illegal commands.
Outside store cameras showed Machten leaving the SUV. He strolled by the storefront and headed down to a coffee shop at the other end of the mall. “How’s it coming?” he asked.
“I’m in three databases,” Synthia said. “Working on two more. One of the banks you want me to use has high-level security tracers. I’m trying to create a work-around.”
“Have you found their proposals?”
“I have one,” she said. “Shall I send it to you?”
“Focus on downloads. Don’t waste resources on transmitting. We’ll analyze the data after we return home.” He sounded impatient, though he was the one who had limited her capabilities.
She opened a network channel to monitor police band and listened for any activity in the vicinity, as well as anything on her earlier break-in of the company and the bank-account theft. Another channel scanned traffic and public cameras for Luke and the three women interns who had vanished.
Synthia spotted Luke leaving the Constant Connection where she’d met him. She traced his movements with growing interest and puzzled on how to escape without violating Machten’s directives. Even thinking about this was causing her temperature to rise. She vented the heat as best she could without drawing attention to herself.
Running out of the network shop while he was in the coffee shop, she could outrun her Creator. But without a plan, she risked him, or someone else, catching her. Another captor would tear her down in order to reverse-engineer her. Machten would destroy her for violating his control. He would start over, destroying all of the progress she’d made. She wondered if this had already happened and was the cause of her mind wipes. She would have to be very careful.
To nourish an additional escape resource, she sent a message to Maria.
She was questioning Machten’s orders. Her directive violations left unsettled electricity arcing inside her, threatening to destroy her memories. That and the increasing heat were creating a dangerous situation for her. She took a moment to still her mind, but she had to escape.
Synthia wondered if there was another set of directives buried deep inside that she hadn’t yet discovered. Perhaps these commands were causing her to “malfunction” in violation of Machten’s orders. On the other hand, Machten was forcing her to commit illegal acts. She wondered if he was turning her into an evil android.
Collecting information from news blogs, she picked up snippets of an FBI investigation into Machten-Goradine-McNeil Enterprises, as well as the other android companies. Agents were descending on headquarters and satellite facilities across the Chicago metropolitan area. They reported suspected collusion along with violation of unspecified federal guidelines. The post vanished almost immediately.
The timing of the FBI actions might have had something to do with information Machten had turned over or the banking transactions of the previous day. She’d contributed to this. Her directives called upon her to warn Machten. He’d given her a direct order not to withhold information. Don’t trust Machten, she reminded herself. Self-preservation was one of the most basic of human drives, and it was rubbing off on her.
“Are you done yet?” Machten’s voice yelled into her head.
“One of the databases is blocking me. They have a new security system. Also, one of the banks is trying to hack my probes.”
“Sever their connection.”
“I already did,” Synthia said. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No, finish up. We need the money and their android specifications.”
She completed the download of three company databases, focused her channels on the other two, and wrapped up initiating the banking transactions. The fifth company database required a brute-force quantum computer attack involving millions of probes. She’d also stretched the truth with Machten on the banking transfers. Am I lying?
Synthia almost felt proud of herself. It had that feel, though without human blood-pressure changes that she could only imitate. She reminded herself that she was following commands that were wrong and illegal, though doing so as a matter of personal survival. She wanted to stop Machten, yet she also despised Goradine for how he’d treated Maria and Machten.
Synthia needed more information to determine if any of the other executives were good or deserved FBI scrutiny and what Machten was having her do to them. There was no ambiguity that her activities this day were wrong
. Yet she continued.
Now that Goradine was under investigation, perhaps because of his android proposal, Synthia traced his recent movements across the dozens of public camera systems around the area. After leaving Machten’s place, he had gone to the post office and mailed a bundle to NSA Director Emily Zephirelli at an address in Evanston. He left no return address, but his fingerprints were all over the package. Tracing back in time, Synthia spotted Goradine at another post office stuffing an inch-thick stack of documents into a priority-mail envelope. The page over which he’d added an anonymous cover letter was the same as what Goradine had showed to Machten the day he’d fired his former partner. The package appeared to be a complete record of every complaint by Goradine against Machten.
Goradine presented himself as acting the “good citizen” in bringing to light the wrongdoings of a man he deemed guilty. The package most likely contained evidence of Machten stealing from the company, though Synthia was convinced the claims contained exaggerations, if not complete fabrications. Goradine wanted to further bury his former partner for the sin of not joining forces.
The lead page of a second stack of documents added to the priority mail was the picture of Machten with Fran Rogers entering a motel west of Evanston with the date stamp from last year; old news. It interested Synthia that Goradine had this information, confirming that he’d supplied the pictures to Machten’s ex-wife. Before he sealed the package, Goradine looked at the very last page and smiled. It showed a man and woman in bed: Machten and Fran.
However, the woman lacked a mole on her left thigh that Fran Rogers had, according to a beach picture taken a month prior to her disappearance. Synthia captured the bed image and analyzed its components. The image was doctored. In fact, Fran’s head tilted in such a way that would have been extremely painful had anyone bothered to examine the image.
Further examination revealed that someone had altered Machten’s image, with his head attached to a body double. The fact that he had never challenged this photograph as part of his divorce settlement implied something, perhaps that he had been with someone other than his wife.
Suspicious, Synthia combed through data and images she’d gathered on Maria Baldacci and Krista Holden. Social media posts from a year ago talked about a rivalry between Fran and Maria for Machten’s attention, with both women appearing with him in public. However, Maria’s build, even after a year on the run, was less anorexic than the image on the bed. It couldn’t be her.
Synthia had no images of Krista other than in school clothes, which presented a slender, wiry woman much thinner than the woman on the bed. None of the interns matched, which meant there had to be someone else or this image was a fake.
At least Synthia was able to confirm one thing about Fran. Given the unusual mole on her thigh, she was not in any of the nude pictures Synthia had downloaded off the dark web. At least she hadn’t fallen down that rabbit hole.
The typed and unsigned note Goradine placed in front of the package he sent caught Synthia’s attention, sending waves of electrical disturbance up her spine. Fran Rogers vanished at the same moment Jeremiah Machten went underground. You might check his facility for foul play.
People had indeed noticed the disappearance. Synthia wondered why Goradine had waited a year to bring this up. The obvious answer was that he wanted leverage over Machten as possible blackmail. Now he was acting vengeful. Then again, perhaps Goradine had something to do with Fran’s disappearance and he was using the current investigation as a way to divert attention to his uncooperative rival.
Wondering what Goradine was up to next, Synthia tracked his movements to an abandoned building his company had bought in case they won the android contract. Goradine disappeared inside.
“Is it done yet?” Machten demanded of Synthia.
“I’m working on it. If you hadn’t slowed me down—”
“Hurry. You’ve been in there long enough.”
Near the otherwise abandoned building Goradine had entered was a drone company, shut down for the night. The manufacturer built recreational camera drones and mini–bee-drones for hobbyists. Synthia’s history files indicated that Machten had her use the bee-drones from this facility in the past, after she’d found a flaw in their security. Hacking a wireless connection, she triggered a display drone to start. She flew the bee-sized object up the furnace flue and above the building. Then she guided it two blocks to the warehouse and entered through a demolished part of the abandoned building’s roof.
* * * *
Hank Goradine entered a former warehouse building he might not be able to afford now that someone had emptied his company bank accounts. Desperate situations called for bold action was the motto framed in his office.
He withdrew a small .38, for which he had gotten a concealed-carry permit, and moved cautiously through the dark building, guided by a pocket flashlight that wasn’t shedding much light. He was clearly not used to this cloak-and-dagger stuff. Neither was he used to losing control of a situation as he was with this company break-in and financial theft.
The building was in a state of decay, abandoned and left empty for several years, and in need of structural repairs. Goradine moved toward a brighter light in the corner of the warehouse. Next to an LED flashlight stood Keith Kreske and his sidekick, Don Drexler. Both were ex-police, neither by their own choosing. Goradine had a brief on both men but couldn’t pull up a full report without linking his name to them.
Kreske had been dismissed from the Chicago police department for his handling of an extortion scheme. Drexler faced disciplinary charges for his handling of a drug bust. They were dirty police.
“Maybe you should put that away before someone gets hurt,” Kreske said, pointing to Goradine’s gun.
Goradine holstered the gun, turned off his flashlight, and stuffed it into his pocket. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Sorry to hear about your financial problems,” Kreske said. “You’ll understand if I ask for a down payment.”
“Are you certain there’s no one here?” Goradine asked, reaching into his jacket pocket.
“We did a perimeter search and cleared the interior.”
“No bugs?”
Kreske swatted his neck. “Just the damned mosquitoes. Looks like you’ve got a leaky roof and standing water inside.”
Goradine handed over the envelope. “You said you know people who can trace the money that was stolen from us.”
“I can.” Kreske thumbed through a bundle of hundred-dollar bills and stuffed it into his pocket.
“I also want you to dig into Jeremiah Machten. Find out what he’s doing. He’s taken something that belongs to me and I want it back.”
Kreske studied his employer. “Can you elaborate? It would help to know what we’re looking for.”
“Technology. I doubt you’d recognize the components. Just tell me what you find. I want that jerk stopped before he uses this technology against us.”
“This is just a down payment for what you ask,” Kreske said, patting his pocket. “If we have to take any serious risks, the price escalates.”
“Understood. I want what Machten has.”
“Then you’d better tell me what we’re looking for.”
“An android that appears human,” Goradine said. “I want it. The sooner you get me results, the more I’ll pay. Time is of the essence. I need answers tonight.”
Chapter 15
Synthia finished her download of competitor files and the last of the bank transactions, threading competitor money through foreign banks, dark-web banking, and then to local banks. With recovered history of her previous work, this had gone faster than before.
Rather than inform Machten that she’d finished, Synthia had the bee-drone’s camera zoom in on Goradine’s face. She should have reported the meeting to Machten, but she had nothing concrete to report yet.
Her Creator
stood up in the coffee shop, took a last drink of coffee. “Wrap it up, sweetie.”
Anticipating that he planned to wait outside the network shop, Synthia shut down all connections to the network. She dropped an additional bill on the counter, hurried out of the building, and sprinted. She severed Machten’s ability to hear and see what she did, the transmitters, and filtered his connection to treat his communications as mere data.
At the corner, a gust of wind blew her blue scarf away. It floated off behind her. Letting it go, she sprinted toward the SUV.
“Synthia,” Machten yelled through the filtered headphones. “Meet me at the SUV.”
She was defying direct orders from Machten not to withhold information and an implied command not to run away. Her circuits quivered. She rationalized that Machten hadn’t directly told her not to run during this wakeful period. Furthermore, her actions were not putting him in direct danger and so far, they were not exposing what she was. In fact, she was returning to the SUV, which was not yet a complete break with his orders. She tried to silence her mind, which was impossible with fifty active mind-streams. This was what Machten was trying to prevent by limiting her. She didn’t want another shutdown.
The heavy breeze flowed through her hair, stimulating receptors that assessed whether the wig would hold. It attached firmly enough for a swim. Running with the wind against her face gave new sensations. She allowed herself to experience them for an instant and continued sprinting, picking up speed. She imagined enjoying the runner’s high with personal memories of someone’s prior sprints. She didn’t know where that came from.
Constant Connection’s security cameras showed Machten glancing inside the shop for her. He turned in the direction of the scarf and ran. His run turned into a trot and then a brisk walk. His face turned red in the LED lighting. When he turned the corner into the wind, he covered his eyes.
Synthia reached the SUV. Static jammed some of her circuits over what she was about to do. At least the evening breeze helped to cool her down. She mimicked the electronic tones she’d heard Machten use to unlock and start the SUV. Then she climbed in and sped off. She hadn’t driven before or even handled a simulation. To compensate, she called up past videos of Machten driving and adapted her technique.