Wen Jing said, “Yes, Martha, I’m right here. It was about four hours ago when I was finally able to talk to you.”
“Honey, how much longer until I can see again? I’m going crazy!”
Alana continued, “We’ll get you reconnected to your body as soon as possible, but it might be another day or two—”
The synthesized voice jumped several decibels, “I want to see now! Wake me up! Please!”
“We’re doing the best we can, Martha. Please bear with us. We’ll be sending you to the shopital right after the interview, and they’ll be able to hook you up to a vision device. But now, I need to know what happened to you the day everything went black. Can you remember where you were? What you were doing?”
Martha said, “It was Sunday morning. I remember, because I had just put on my dress to go to church. I was sitting down. My shoes were on the chair next to my bed. I was reaching for my shoes...”
Alana asked, “Is that when you lost consciousness?”
“No... I was awake. It was just that everything was dark—has been since. Did I do something? Is God punishing me for something? I swear, I don’t know what I did to deserve this!”
Alana nodded to Wen Jing and motioned for her to unplug Martha from the speaker, “Thank you, Martha. Just hang on for a little while longer and we’ll get you more help. Next.”
Wen Jing plugged the cable into another brain case, and said, “This is Mister Jeremy Benford. How are you holding up, sir?”
Jeremy’s voice was considerably calmer than Martha’s had been. He had a deep, resonant voice, not unlike that of Detective Washington, “I’ve had better days, but I think I can hold out a little longer. Can you tell me how I got into this mess?”
Alana said, “Jeremy, I was hoping you could tell us. Did everything go black for you, like it did for Martha?”
“I’m speakin’ to a policewoman, right?”
“Yes, Mister Benford. I’m also a retiree, like you.”
“Of course, unless I can see you, I’m gonna have to just take you at your word. You can understand why I might be a little... wary.”
“I understand fully, sir. Please continue.”
“Yes, ma’am, it happened just like she said. I was out shoppin’ for a brand new video wall monitor when it happened. I was starin’ at this top-of-the-line 5-D screen with a bunch of nice lookin’ young ladies playin’ beach volleyball in slow motion on it, when all of a sudden, blackness. Just like that. I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. Hell, I couldn’t even feel my feet. It was just like the minute before you get resurrected. You know what I mean, right, ma’am? When you first wake up in the dark, just before they turn on your ears and eyes. You’re just in this big, black nothing. The black hit me out of the blue, and I was stuck in it for I don’t know how long until I heard this sweet, young voice callin’ to me like an angel, tellin’ me that everything was gonna be okay soon.”
Wen Jing blushed in silence.
Alana asked, “Do you ever remember dealing with the Flash-Drive Taxi Company?”
Jeremy said, “Hell, no, ma’am, I own my car. Don’t need no overpriced cabs.”
“Thanks, Jeremy. I know what you’re going through, and I know just how maddening it can be. Can you hold out a little longer while we move you to the shopital?”
“Yes, ma’am. I had a hard life ‘fore I died, and this ain’t the worst. But if you can hurry up and get me back into my body, I sure would be thankful.”
“We’ll move you soon. Hang in there.” Alana motioned for Wen Jing to swap cables again, and she quickly asked the other two victims the same two questions, what happened to them and did they ever call one of the suspicious taxicabs. The answers from Martina Rodriguez and John White were the same. After the black box was unplugged, Alana said, “I’m now concluding the interview. Wendy, please see that these people are rushed to the shopital as soon as possible.”
Wen Jing said, “I’ll have them transported over right away. Do you want to interview any more of the victims, or can I just send them as soon as we scan them?”
Alana said, “Go ahead and send them when you’re done. Has your team been able to get anything useful out of their subprocessors?”
“Useful, no, but maybe interesting? Check with Srinu upstairs for the details.”
“He’s still here?”
As she replaced the cover on the crate and locked it in place, Wen Jing said, “As work ethics go, he sets a good example for all of us. He just likes to make sure everyone knows when we’re pulling extra duty.”
Alana nodded and pulled Rhys behind her as she returned upstairs to the cyberforensics lab. Srinivas was directing four other technicians as they examined a stack of the brain case containment crates. At the far end of the room, another stack had been placed against the wall, perhaps those which were already examined? Alana asked, “What are you working on specifically, Srinu?”
Srinivas slapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously, “I am doing the work of ten men!”
Rhys asked, “Could you be somewhat less abstract?”
“Anything for my dear friend, Chief Inspector Graves! We’re cataloguing each brain’s transponder and scanning its electronic memory prior to remanding the victims over to your care!”
Alana wasn’t in the mood for trifling, “Anything useful?”
“Just one thing. Every one of their subprocessors has been hit with a moderate-level EMP that wasn’t strong enough to disable their transponders, but it was powerful enough to scramble their memories. Like one of those antique magnetic media erasers, perhaps. A big electromagnet on a stick. The upshot is that there’s not much to go on except what’s in their organic memories.”
“As you continue sorting this out, I want you to ponder something. I think these people were hacked somehow.”
Srinivas shook his head, “Not possible.”
Rhys asked, “Why not?”
“Physics.”
Rhys reversed Srinu’s snark upon him, “Could you be somewhat less abstract?”
Srinivas said, “Not until you return with at least a BS degree in both robotics and information science. Otherwise, it would be like trying to explain thermodynamics to a toddler. You’re just going to have to take my word for it. It is impossible for a remote hacker to gain control of a cyborg.”
Rhys persisted, “What about malware? Things like that baseball application your department analyzed for Crabtree’s murder case. I know that a cyborg can voluntarily grant control of their body to an app like that, or run macros.”
Alana added, “Srinu, what we’d be looking at is something that could cause a cyborg’s consciousness to black out, to go into sensory deprivation, and then take over their body.”
Srinivas pursed his lips, and then bolted over to the lab’s wall monitor. He opened up some schematics of what appeared to be cyborg architecture. He pointed to the brain case and began explaining, “Unlike robots, cyborgs control their functions through their brains, which is obvious if you’ve ever had a battle of wits with a vacbot.” He then pointed about a foot down, to the small of the back, “This is where the subprocessor resides. It is the only direct connection between the brain and the firmware. Any and all contact with the brain goes through it, but it cannot directly access the body controller. The brain case blocks it.”
Rhys asked, rubbing his chin, “Then, how do android apps work?”
Srinivas pointed again to the subprocessor, “The application bin is also inside the subprocessor, but it has a different connection to the brain. But neither has a direct connection to the body controller...,” he pointed to a large box just below the twin battery packs, about where the stomach would be in a living human. “Since there is a direct connection from the brain to the body controller, nothing in the subprocessor can block the brain out.”
Alana asked, “Then how does an app take over the body?”
“It doesn’t, ‘take over the body,’ as you say. It sends analog impulses through
the brain on a subchannel, which the brain then passes along to the body controller. This allows the brain to give an application or a macro program the ability to do automated functions, but the brain is still in the loop, and can abort the app at any time because it has hard-coded access that overrides any app.” Alana and Rhys stared silently at the schematic. Srinivas asked, “Did you get all that? Or should I wait for you to finish your BS degrees before I continue?”
Alana tried a different tack, “In theory, if you wanted to do so, how would you hack a cyborg body?”
Srinivas crossed his arms and stood defiantly, “With an axe. It’s the only way. Anything else?”
Rhys asked, “Could there be some kind of backdoor in cyborg security? Something that a hacker could exploit?”
“No. That’s one of the core principles behind cybernetic design. It’s built from the interface up to be unhackable. There are no backdoors.”
Alana said, “Is it possible that there was some special app inside these people’s subprocessors that could have been the reason the choppers tried to scramble their data cores? To destroy the evidence of malware?”
Srinivas sighed, “I’m pretty sure that they were only trying to erase any log files that would have been on them, but would it make you feel better if I did a low-level scan for digital ghosts on them?”
Rhys replied, “If someone has figured out a way to hack cyborgs—and everything we’re uncovering in the chop shop case says they have—don’t you think you should at least eliminate that possibility?”
Srinivas huffed, but then said, “I’ll try to squeeze it in.”
On the way out of the lab, Alana turned and shouted at Srinivas, who was already halfway across the noisy room, “Just one more thing, Srinu. Didn’t you say that Greg Veedock’s subprocessor had been wiped of log files too?”
Srinu shouted back, “It wasn’t something crude like a zapper. Someone used administrator access to wipe his logs. That could mean someone from Zumpco’s administration division. Or maybe someone from Security Division?”
Rhys shouted, “Yes, but who specifically?”
Srinivas shrugged, barely holding back laughter, “I don’t know! They erased the log files!”
Alana was quiet as she and Rhys walked back to the situation room. Rhys told her that she needed to get some rest, but she didn’t seem to hear him. She opened the door intending to spend her next block of time getting organized for Wednesday morning’s briefing, but she found Security Division Special Agent Jack Derringer sitting in one of the seats with his feet propped up on another chair. She stepped inside, holding the door for Rhys, who followed her.
Derringer, in dress slacks with a white, long sleeve shirt and black tie with silver diagonal stripes, asked, “Got a minute?”
Alana said, curtly, “Who let you backstage?”
“I have an all-access pass. You’re holding three prisoners that I want. I’m coming to ask permission to retrieve them.”
Alana said, “Since you probably already know everything they know from interrogating their comrades—”
Rhys added, “Under duress, no doubt.”
Alana continued, “Your only reason for vacuuming them up would be to silence them. Am I correctly guessing your motives?”
Derringer smirked, “I’m afraid that information is classified. But I want those men placed in my custody, regardless.”
Alana said, “You can have two of them. Neither concerns my task force anymore. One’s still in Long Beach Hospital. You’ll need to fight with the hospitalist to get him released. The other’s downstairs in the lockup. You can pick him up on your way out.”
“Two of a kind may not be considered a bad hand in most cases, but in this one, I’m holding out for a flush. I want all three men.”
“Sorry. Number three already has a formal plea bargain. He’s going to a civilian court. Is there anything else I can decline to do for you?”
Derringer placed his hands behind his head and interlocked his fingers as he stretched, “Is that your final answer?”
Alana shrugged, “Looks that way. Do you know the way to the parking deck?”
Derringer stood, his grin still gracing his face, “I was going to offer you something important in exchange for him. However...,” he allowed his voice to trail off.
Rhys said, “Are you really going to withhold ‘something important’ simply to get your way? That violates the borders of petulance.”
“You have something I want. I know something you need to know.”
Rhys looked at Alana, “How binding is that plea bargain?”
Alana was still holding the door open, long after Rhys had followed her inside. She opened it even wider and stepped in front of it, leaning against it to prop it wide open. She said, “This is a matter of principle. I gave a promise, and I don’t do that lightly. Whatever SD knows that it thinks I don’t—I’ll figure it out sooner or later without their ‘help.’”
Agent Derringer looked at the ground and shook his head as he walked toward the door. Rhys stepped aside, allowing him to pass. Derringer grabbed the doorjamb with his left hand and paused in the doorway long enough to say, “We’re both on the same team, so this isn’t a threat, but remember that Zumpco slogan, ‘Save early, save often.’” He smirked and walked away down the corridor, shoving both hands into his pants pockets and whistling the music to, ‘When Johnny Comes Marching Home.’ Alana and Rhys poked their heads outside the room to watch as he boarded the elevator.
Rhys asked, “Arrogant little prick, isn’t he?”
Alana said, “For what it’s worth, Ben, he helped get me acquitted of breaking the Cyber Commandments a while back. Helped us get you exonerated and resurrected as well. What do you think he meant by that?”
Rhys crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, “Something he knows that we don’t.”
Wednesday, 12 July, 08:35
Alana awoke in her bedroom Wednesday morning, having gotten a full night’s rest for the first time in days. She would have taken more, but an incoming phone call prompted her Vira to ping her until she snapped back to consciousness.
Bob Smith, the attorney helping her sort out Gabriel Stone’s case, spoke before Alana had a chance to say hello, “Chief Inspector Graves, good morning. I’ve got some news about yours and Gabriel’s resurrection options that you’ll want to hear.”
Alana was still mentally fuzzy. She kept her eyes closed, “I will?””
Bob said, “Yes, indeed. Since Gabriel did not leave a will, and you’re his next of kin, if you wish to do so, you can have his save profile uploaded to a surrogate brain. Then, we can ask him what he wants to do, and it will be legally binding in lieu of a will.”
Alana said, “Bob, I already told you I don’t know of any save profiles that Gabriel recorded. I can’t upload what doesn’t...”
Bob waited several seconds before asking, “Chief Inspector? Are you still there?”
Alana said, “Yes. Yes I am. Hold on the line while I check something.”
Alana’s eyelids flicked open. She threw the sheet back from her body and ran downstairs naked, through her living room, past the kitchen, and into her home office. She activated her electronic whiteboard and connected to the police database. She said, Vira, search for the police record for Pastor Gabriel Stone.”
“One match found.”
“Display it on my whiteboard.”
Gabriel’s police dossier opened in a window. Alana paged through it until she reached the page that detailed the transcript of Gabriel’s interrogation in the wake of his father’s, Aaron Stone’s, death. She remembered correctly. The interview was conducted by Security Division using a surrogate interrogation brain. For them to do that, Gabriel would have to be saved. Alana punched the wall beside her whiteboard, causing the entire room to shake, “Derringer! You son-of-a-bitch! Vira, put Bob Smith back on the line!”
Following a faint click, Bob said, “Hello? You back?”
Alana had
stopped yelling, but Smith could tell that her voice was stressed, “Yes. Gabriel does have a save profile, but Security Division is sitting on it.”
“Hmmm... If you can get a copy of it, I think we can use it.”
Alana was fuming. She wanted to hit something else, but she didn’t want to demolish her home. She said, “Bob, I’ll call you back. Bye.” She didn’t wait for Bob to reply, instead barking, “Vira! Call Security Division Special Agent Jack Derringer.”
A few seconds later, Derringer’s voice spoke into Alana’s ears, “Good morning, Inspector Graves. Have you reconsidered?”
“Give it over.”
Derringer said, matter-of-factly, “You know what I want for it.”
Alana said, “A fat lip and a limp is what you deserve.”
“That matters not. I want Tremblay. I’m willing to give you Gabriel Stone’s surrogate interrogation profile in exchange.”
Alana imagined herself twisting Derringer’s head until it popped off in her hands and then punting it into the Pacific Ocean. “Why didn’t you tell me about this last night?”
Derringer goaded her, “Why didn’t you tell me about the transponder you lifted from the Chinese limo on Sunday? Look, I have more time than you do. What’s Tremblay to you anyway? He’s the man who shot Gabriel. I’d think you’d leap at the chance to betray him.”
Alana snapped, “I could go over your head.”
Derringer remained calm, as if he knew he held a decisively superior position, “My boss’ name is classified. Try again.”
“I could arrange to let you interview him before he’s remanded over to the federal marshals.”
“Not good enough. We want him.”
Alana was puzzled. If SD didn’t want to simply interview or interrogate Tremblay, why did they need him to be in their custody? “Why do you want that mercenary so badly? Is he one of your deep cover agents or something?”
Derringer said, “My reasons are also classified, but I’ll give you this much. They’re good reasons. So... What’ll it be? Your son or an international scumbag. That should be an easy one.”
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