Cyber Noir Redux: (Book Six) (The Feedback Loop 6)

by Harmon Cooper

  “Who?”

  “Finally!” She laughs. “I thought that one would stump you. When I’m not working on cool inventions, I’m scouring the internet for things to say to you.”

  “Really?”

  “No, one of my professors had a dog named Ken Bone. It stuck with me. I have no idea who he is. Now, if you don’t mind, let’s get this done.”

  I see a few sliders move all the way to the right on her tablet. “Before you go any further, how much electricity are you using here?” I ask.

  “Lots, and stop asking stupid questions. It’s not like I’m going to fry the breaker.”

  I wish I could say that there was a single deep breath, or that that lights dimmed, or a magical aura formed around the Humandroid’s head. That, or a big bolt of lightning came from the sky, destroyed the ceiling, and brought the Humandroid to life to the sound of trumpets and war drums. Or that suddenly this was televised, and we were live in front of a studio audience on one of those late night talk shows and the studio audience and millions watching around the globe were all able to simultaneously witness the first NPC entering into a Humandroid’s body, amidst flashy lights, fireworks, play-by-play commentary, a live band, and scantily clad, gender-neutral cheerleaders.

  But nope, nothing that climatic happens.

  As if someone simply clicked an “on” switch, the Humandroid torso comes to life. Just like that.

  “This doesn’t really look a whole lot different,” the droid says, his eyes narrowing on me. “I was expecting something more along the lines of the difference between Kansas and Oz.”

  “Aiden?” I look to Sophia. She’s as jittery as I am when she sees the Humandroid nod. Over her shoulder, I see Frances and Chrono high-fiving on the holoscreen.

  “At your service and ready to murder.” Aiden’s voice is a few notes off, still masculine, minus the gruff and snarl of his Proxima voice. “Where’s Strata?”

  I clap my hands together. “Hot damn! Talk about cutting to the point.”

  “To confirm,” Sophia says for her iNet feed, “Aiden, Cyber Noir NPC 8-10 is the first NPC to dive into a real-world Humandroid avatar. The time is … ”

  I ignore her and take a step closer to Aiden. Sonuvabitch – he’s already got that wolfish grin plastered across his face.

  “Where are my arms?” he asks.

  “I dunno, dude – where’d you leave ‘em?”

  He gives me the look. The Humandroid physiognomy reproduces it quite exactly.

  “It’s for your own good,” I explain. “We already have one chronic master–” A quick glance to Sophia and I adjust my crude levels. “ – one chronic mass debater.”

  “Rocket?”

  “Me, but the kid is coming up nicely and hopefully, with hard work and dedication to craft, he’ll be as accomplished as I am one day.”

  “It’s for our protection,” the good Doctor immediately contradicts me. “In the highly unlikely event that things didn’t go quite as planned, I didn’t want to potentially unleash a Proxima assassin in an unencumbered RW avatar. If one of us gets killed here, there’s no respawning, and I haven’t published yet.”

  He considers this for a moment. “Fair enough. But how am I supposed to check my package then?”

  I snort in amusement. “Yeah Sophia – good question. And I’m not checking it for him. Um … do you think you … ”

  She huffs, rolls her eyes, shakes her head, and makes several altogether uncalled for and downright hurtful observations about adolescent male phallus fixations, the deplorable level of maturity in her male co-workers in general and me in particular, and how testosterone is very obviously not a brain chemical. She sets a small metal case onto the table and retrieves a Humandroid diagnostics monitor.

  “So, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, ol’ stick-in-the-mud, when are we heading out for a beer? It’s five o’clock somewhere, am I right or am I right or am I right?” I drop a hand onto his shoulder which Sophia quickly sweeps off.

  “Hands off the merchandise. You two can continue your bromance another time.”

  Aiden’s face twitches again and settles. “I’m down to hit the town, as soon as you get me some arms and legs, unless you want to wheel me around on this gurney, which I’m not opposed to, by the way. Say, Dr. Wang … ” Aiden looks Sophia over as she goes about checking his vitals, “I have to be honest with you. You’re the first Asian with a fro I’ve ever met.” He aims his head at me. “And you, it’s safe to say that you’re the first honky I’ve ever met. All in all, there are three firsts today, make sure to note that down, Doctor.”

  A blinking on the inside of my eyelids signals an incoming message.

  Doc: Ha!

  Me: Aren’t you supposed to be dealing with digital assets?

  Doc: Are you kidding me? This is some one small step for man, one giant leap for Humandroid kind type of shit right here. Tell Sophia to quit looking up and down so I can get more of this through her feed. All I see right now is Aiden’s Ken-doll chest.

  “Sophia, Doc wants you to quit looking at Aiden’s Ken-doll chest.”

  “I’m trying to do actual work here! This whole shebang, as you’d say, isn’t just for Doc’s entertainment!”

  Doc: Arnie just brought me an icy-cold brewski and buttered popcorn with melted white cheddar and cracked pepper on top. We were just about to watch the 3D version of Full Metal Jacket – The Musical when I got notification that Sophia’s experiment has had a positive outcome. Just kidding, I’m working.

  Me: So no beer and popcorn.

  Doc: Of course there is beer and popcorn. I’m working, like I said.

  “What’s up, Doc?” Aiden says. “Ken-doll chest? I’m sure ‘taut and chiseled manly assassin chest’ is what you really meant to say, see?” and he attempts to flex his Ken-pecs.

  “Stop wiggling!” Sophia snaps. “It is important for me to note all your levels over the course of the next five minutes to see if there … well, there could be a number of issues, from … um … well, issues, and you’ll distort the readings if you’re squirming around! If I need to send Quantum out of the room, I will.”

  “She always this bossy?” he asks.

  “You betcha, Swiss Army Man.”

  He gives me a puzzled look.

  “No? Armand Hammer? Lance Armstrong? Arms, knees, and boomps-a-daisy?”

  “There you go with your obscure pop-culture references that no one gets.”

  “The right people get them,” I mutter.

  “If I had a CN Cred for every off-the-wall reference you made, I could hire midgets to be my arms and legs. And maybe do something for your gimpy ass too.” RW Aiden is comic gold, but that last one cuts just a little too close to the bone. “Speaking of which, where’s the swordstick I’ve heard so much about?”

  I pick up my cane, shake it in his direction, draw the blade and let him get a good look at it.

  “Nice,” he says. “Is that the one you used to skewer Rollins?”

  “Damn skippy.”

  “Put that away.” Sophia squeezes between Aiden and me to continue doing whatever it is she’s doing.

  “You’re like a differently-abled Zorro with that thing,” Aiden says. “I mean, I knew you were gimpy, but I thought you’d at least be a bit taller and buffer. You could fit into a box of Milk Duds!”

  I sheathe the blade. “Take it easy, pal.”

  “And this is Frances’ real world crush? I thought you’d be way better looking, too.”

  “RW crush?” Sophia looks from Aiden to me. “I was unaware.”

  “I wouldn’t expect someone with your terrible social skills to pick up on a true human connection,” Aiden tells her.

  Doc: That does it; I’ve officially snorted beer onto my holoscreen.

  “Don’t make me unplug you.” Sophia barks. “How’d you like that?”

  “I’d like it better if you set me up with some arms and legs so I could put my feelers out. Your office is great and all – nice PhD in the WalMacy’
s frame, by the way – but I want to get out of here and get me some fresh air. I got places to be.”

  “And people to see,” I finish.

  “When did you become so loquacious?” she asks.

  “Since I learned what the word loquacious meant! I’m kidding,” he glances to me, “I’m just doing in your world the way Quantum acts in mine.”

  Doc: Seriously – make him stop saying that stuff when I’m trying to drink beer. I got Arnie with it this time, and he’s not amused.

  “Whose side are you on, anyway?” I ask Aiden under my breath.

  He laughs. “I already told you this; actually, I’m just giving both of you shit. I kid, I kid … I think I’ve heard you say that before. In all seriousness, this is definitely the bee’s knees. Care to spin me around? I’d like to get a look at the other side of the Good Doctor’s tastefully decorated office.”

  Sophia unlocks the wheels and I rotate the gurney.

  “Watch the cable,” she directs. It’s not as heavy as I thought it would be – actually, I had no idea how heavy it would be – but I can safely report back that it weighs about as much as mini-fridge. Once we’ve turned it around, I pat him on the shoulder and notice a small amount of wetness on my fingertips.

  “Humandroids sweat,” Sophia says before I can ask her what it is. “A very small amount, of course, but it cools the systems better than fans would. Quieter too.”

  I wipe Aiden’s droid sweat on my pants.

  “Plenty more where that came from,” he says with a laugh. He sticks his tongue out and wags it around. “Oh Ms. Wang, care to get me mirror? I’d love to see myself.”

  “Mirror?” She looks to me. “Do we have one?”

  “I think there’s one in Frances’ office.”

  I bolt out of there (as fast as a man with a cane can bolt) and I return with a rectangular makeup mirror that Frances had attached to the back of the door. A quick glance at the holoscreen and I see Frances and Chrono monitoring Aiden’s electrical readings, or whatever they are up to. Neurontricity? It’s starting to grow on me.

  “Looking good, pal,” I tell Aiden. He winks at himself and blows a kiss.

  “I was just about to say the same thing to myself.”

  Doc: If the assassin thing doesn’t work out, he may have a career in comedy. Tell him I said that.

  “Hold still,” Sophia tells Aiden. “I will be video-logging this starting in thirty seconds. Let’s keep the sophomoric humor to a minimum, if possible. Ultimately, a lot of very big noises in my field will see this and I need this to look good and not play out like a porn-com movie aimed at post-pubescent males – are we clear here?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Aiden and I both say at the same time. “But only if you give Aiden arms and legs next time,” I add.

  “Yeah,” he says, “I’d like to arm wrestle Quantum and go to Central Park, if that’s possible.”

  “Where do you think we are?” I ask him. “I mean, location-wise.”

  “Somewhere in America. Probably New York or Los Angeles.”

  It then dawns on me that most of Aiden’s knowledge of the real world comes from movies or conversations he has overheard. “We’re in a way shittier place than that,” I tell him.

  “Where? Chicago?”

  “Well, we aren’t in that shitty of a place, but it’s not far off.”

  “We’re live, in Baltimore” Sophia says, “Please behave.” She clears her throat. “This is Doctor Sophia Wang, Chief Research and Neuronal Science Officer of the Federal Dream Extraction and Management Team … ”

  I sit back and watch the show. She has Mrs. Ten’s little troublemaker introduce himself. “My name is Aiden and I am an alcoho … I mean I’m an NPC, originally from a discontinued Proxima world known as Cyber Noir. Through the magic of OMIB-porting, I now call Tritania home. Do you have any questions for me, Dr. Wang?” She has Aiden respond to a number of commands, which he does just to appease her, then she tells him that the floor is his. From her perspective, looking at his reflection in the mirror, it appears as if Aiden is talking directly to her iNet feed when he says, “Hello from the other side.”

  Sophia launches into another of her tech-speak soliloquys about the unprecedented-ground-breaking-worthy-of-all-kinds-of-kudos-funding-and-endowments work she’s done, and she even sells me – at least on what I understand of it. By the time she’s finished, I’m ready to make a recurring direct payroll deduction to fund her research if only the frickin’ Dream Team ever gets around to actually paying me!

  “What do you think of our world, Aiden?” she finally asks.

  “What do I think? Haven’t seen much of it, other than the inside of your lavishly appointed office.” He winks and gives her that notorious wolfish grin. “Frankly, I’d rather be living in Philadelphia, but I like what I’ve seen of it. I can’t wait to spend some time here with my meatsack buddy, the legendary Quantum Hughes.”

  “Mr. Legendary Quantum Hughes,” I remind him with a whisper.

  Chapter Eight

  Been a day. From island hopping to making history with the first NPC to Humandroid dive, or spawn, or whatever Sophia is going to call it. Frances and I discuss this on the way back to her crib, as she lets the autodrive take care of rush hour traffic. I try to hold up my end of the conversation, but I’m so hungry my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut, and the borborygmic burblings and gurglings from my nether regions are growing in volume and intensity. A freshly delivered pizza courtesy of an EBAYmazon drone awaits us at Frances’ place, and I salivate like some simile that doesn’t invoke bells, dogs, or Pavlov.

  “Heh—l-l-o-o-o, pizza, I hardly knew thee,” I say as I plop down at the table.

  “At least let me get you a plate.” Frances drops her key into an upturned seashell on a stand near her door.

  “It comes in a plate, a big fair-trade recycled cardboard one,” I remark through an already full mouth. Ah, pizza burn – you hurt so good. I’ve got my meat hooks into a second slice even as she slides a plate in front of me and sits. “Sorry,” I tell her with my mouth full, “I was Starvin’ Marvin over here.”

  “It’s fine.” She politely takes a piece and uses a knife and fork to daintily pizza partake. “I still can’t believe it actually worked,” she says, “that Aiden was able to spawn here.”

  “Yeah, and Sophia better keep her fly-catcher closed about all that because if this information falls into the wrong hands … ”

  Frances pauses with a forkful of pizza halfway to her mouth. “I’m 110% sure that Doc briefed her thoroughly, but you can check with him if you’d like.”

  “Might as well see what he’s up to anyway.”

  Me: What’s up, Doc?

  Doc: About to dive. Dinner with the missus and Arnie and Arnette. Green salad, bacon-wrapped filet mignon with a rich balsamic glaze alongside genuine mashed potatoes loaded with chives, sour cream, butter, bacon and covered in shredded cheddar. Chocolate pecan pie for dessert with a scoop of certified listeria-free Blue Bell vanilla bean ice cream on top.

  Me: I’m having a pizza. Looks to be an EBAYmazon healthbite pizza. GMO-free, organic, low-cal, fair trade, kosher, halal, karma-safe, soy pepperonis, ethically sourced spinach and onions, farm-raised cheese – whatever the hell that is.

  Doc: At least put some hot sauce on it. I can send you over a slice of pie, but it won’t get there ‘til way later.

  Me: Actually, it ain’t that bad. Anyway, the reason I’ve contacted you – I’m assuming you gave Sophia an epic briefing on privileged information, that you have thoroughly vetted the people she shared her recent discovery with, and that you approved them before allowing her to share her research.

  Doc: Yes and no. Yes, I briefed her and no, she hasn’t shared it with anybody yet. I know that she comes across as a less externally aware and way more annoying Sheldon Cooper, but she knows how big this is and how easy it would be to subvert it. In fact, she had a couple of unpleasant ideas that even I hadn’t come up with. Long story
short, she knows to keep her mouth shut and not discuss this with anybody – anybody, to include other Dream Team Members.

  Me: Good. We don’t the bad guys putting a bunch of RevCo Terminators out in the RW.

  Doc: Yeah, well they’ll find that a little tougher to do once Solon and I are finished running barefoot through the assets held in Strata’s storage world. We’re going to liquidate as much of it as we can, make some major, major charitable contributions, and sock a Fort Knox-sized chunk of it away for DT operating expenses and our rainy day fund.

  Me: Don’t we need to get that cleared?

  Doc: Yup, we sure do! Let’s see, it’d need to be somebody with the authority and responsibility for Dream Team operations, someone in charge of what we do and how we do it, someone who’s the actual head of the Dream Team … hmmm … where would I find someone like that? Oh, wait – that’d be you! What luck! Solon says we’re all nice and legal and tax-payed and above board, and Dewey, Cheatham, and Howard – the accounting firm he’s hired – are making sure it stays that way.

  Me: Methinks you’ve already cleared this in my name.

  Doc: Youthinks right.

  Me: Say, speaking of rainy day fund, does having one have anything to do with me getting a salary around here?

  Doc: Not in the foreseeable future.

  Me: But I thought I’m in charge here.

  Doc: It’s complicated.

  Me: Care to explain it?

  Doc: Ask Solon.

  “Sorry,” I tell Frances, “important talk with Doc.”

  “It’s fine,” she says as she leisurely noshes her za. “I’m monitoring the discussion.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Doc looped me in on his end.”

  Me: Welcome, Frances.

  Frances Euphoria: Hi. Continue please, I’m eating.

  Doc: Half the digital assets are held in, I shit you not here, Sphere Global LLC.

  Me: The shell company that RevCo is using to sponsor some Dream Team operations?

  Doc: Thanks for catching everyone up, yes, the shell company. And the way we’ve set it up, they’re still held in Sphere Global LLC, except that our new company has exclusive access to manage the assets. It is unlikely that this news will reach Strata until tomorrow morning as the paperwork was e-filed after hours.