Auto

by David Wailing

Joanna: “Hmm... well, I can sort of see your point, Mr Thorpe. I guess that explains all the one-star reviews you used to leave for all those self-published books. But I’m kind of confused, though, how you became such a big fan of AB Foster. I mean, she was the most successful indie writer of all! How come you made an exception for her?”

  “She was different.” Even to his own ears, it sounds weak. Derek shifts his weight, trying to come up with more. “She... back then, she meant something to me.”

  That beautiful cottage, surrounded by quiet countryside.

  Derek closes his eyes and remembers...

  ...standing alone in the field, beneath the night sky...

  He blinks and forces the image away, like he has to hide it from Joanna. For a second it’s as if she can hear his thoughts, like in the telerotica trash her sister reads. She knows so much. It’s almost intimate, how deeply she’s probed into his life.

  The car is slowing. He waves aside the webcast, on which AB Foster is demonstrating more ieBook features, and peers through the windscreen.

  The Volkswagen prowls down a dark, quiet road. On either side are rows of old buildings, brickwork stained with rain and grime. He’s in East London, having turned off Commercial Road a little way back. There are tower blocks and apartments all around, but this area used to be one of industry and commerce. Multi-building complexes, wide and low, squat beneath taller Victorian warehouses. Many have been converted into flats or studios, but some remain derelict, abandoned for decades. Crisscrossed windows in rotting wooden frames, with rusted cranes and pulleys jutting out from upper levels.

  Derek can’t help but think how much this looks like a setting from one of his own novels.

  The electric engines power down with a falling whine. The Volkswagen glides to a stop, directly outside the gates of an old industrial estate.

  Joanna: “You’re there. The feed is coming from somewhere within thirty metres of your position. This is it.”

  Her voice is slightly hushed, as if she’s sitting in the car next to him, staring out into the night.

  “It’s dead in there. No lights at all. Doubt there’s any power left on in this place. You sure this is right?”

  Joanna: “Definitely. Whoever’s sending AB Foster’s feed is doing so from a masked IP address geo-tagged to this location. There’s plenty of 5G hubs in the area, you’ve got residential streets not far away, so they – whoever they are – are probably drawing their power from there. Most likely siphoning it off in micro-packets from multiple sources, so there’s negligible power drain, won’t get flagged on the grid. That’s what I’d do, if I was undercover.”

  Derek’s surprised to feel a smile tugging his face. “You know all the tricks, Joanna.”

  Joanna: “Absolutely, Mr Thorpe! You need any material for your next book, you come talk to me, okay? So are you ready to go in?”

  His KindleBlaze goes dark as he rolls it up into a tube. He opens the glove compartment and jams it roughly inside, then pulls out something else but with greater care, not quite sure how fragile it might be. Sleek, transparent, wraparound shades, with slender arms designed to curl around into the ears.

  Derek’s never worn a pair of Vades™ before. Never seen the point. But Joanna had convinced him these would be vital. She’d demonstrated how they worked a few days ago, during their meeting at the Global Investigations offices in Farringdon. She said they’d allow her to ride shotgun with him every step of the way.

  The Vades™ activate as Derek slides them onto his face, recognising their owner. A second later, his auto transfers off the car smartwindow and appears inside the lenses, overlaid onto his view. Remembering Joanna’s training, Derek focuses on a tiny icon and double-blinks. His profile minimises. Blinking on another icon causes the open phone line to be fed into his ears.

  Joanna: “Okay Mr Thorpe, if you’ve got your Vades™ on, then just tell your auto to share all inputs with mine, and I’ll do the rest.”

  Derek says the words she taught him and his auto responds. Icons flash and rotate in thin air, or so it seems. He’s now transmitting whatever he sees and hears to Joanna, through the Vades™. As she explained, it would be the easiest way for her to record everything. As soon as Derek witnessed enough proof that AB Foster was being faked, she could include it in the public webcast they had prepared. There’d be no time at all between finding the evidence and blowing the lid off this conspiracy.

  He remembered thinking at the time: You make this sound so easy.

  Joanna: “You’re still happy to go ahead with this then, Mr Thorpe? Don’t think there’s any chance you’ll be walking in on the real AB Foster?”

  “No,” grunts Derek as he reaches into the back of the car and hauls a large rucksack onto the passenger seat.

  Joanna: “I meant to ask... what with you being such a big fan and all, did you ever actually meet her, back in the old days? Like at a book signing or something?”

  “She was a recluse. You know that. Never left the house, nobody ever got to see her.”

  Joanna: “Oh yes, of course. Although I’m sure with the right resources, it would have been possible to find out where she lived. Don’t you think? You’d be surprised what a little digging around online can reveal these days.”

  “No I wouldn’t. Not any more. You’ve opened my eyes on that score, Joanna.”

  Derek unzips the rucksack and starts filling it, grabbing items scattered around inside the car and stuffing them inside.

  Gaffer tape.

  Pliers.

  Clawhammer.

  “I imagine it’s fairly easy to find records of all the train tickets I bought to St Buryan, even if it was years ago.”

  Thick gloves.

  Coil of rope.

  Plastic sheeting.

  “And I’m sure you’ve picked up the rumours that AB Foster used to live in one of the little villages down there, or maybe in a detached cottage nearby.”

  Stanley knife.

  Bolt cutters.

  Blackhawk UK Special Forces combat dagger.

  “Lots of her fans used to roam around Cornwall back then, trying to work out where she lived. But as you can probably tell, I only ever went to the same place, again and again.”

  Three bottles of cheap vodka.

  Oil-stained rags.

  Small hand-held blowtorch.

  There’s a sharp gasp in his ears. She can see everything he can, through his Vades™. The rucksack bloated with tools and weapons.

  “Sometimes it feels like you can read my mind, Joanna,” says Derek, “but I can read yours too. I know exactly what you’re thinking right now. That your suspicions about me are correct. You think that the reason I’m so convinced this AB Foster is a fake is because I know the real AB Foster is dead. Yes?”

  The silence in his ears makes him smile.

  “And the reason I know she’s dead is because it was me who killed her. Am I right?”

  He can hear a faint scuffle of movement. “Don’t reach for the phone, Joanna! I wouldn’t if I were you. Not if you want to get a lead on what you’re really looking for.”

  Joanna: “...What?”

  Derek stares at the windscreen, focusing on his own reflection in the glass. “This is more than just another job for you. Much more. That’s why my original case officer at Global Investigations was taken off it... he told me you’d specifically requested my case, but you never gave him a reason. You’re after something, and you suspect I might lead you to it. And that’s also why you’ve performed some very questionable actions, that your superiors would be shocked to hear about. There’s at least three violations of client confidentiality in all the digging you’ve done into my timeline.”

  Joanna: “Mr Thorpe, I was only – ”

  “So you really don’t want to call the police, or tell your bosses what you’re up to. You’ve already broken too many laws to open yourself up to a proper inquiry. But... actually I don’t think you’re so bothered about that. It’s more that you�
�ve picked up the scent for something, haven’t you? You’ve come too far to stop now.”

  When there’s no reply, he adds “I write about people like you, Joanna. I know how detectives think. I know a hidden agenda when I smell one. And you bloody stink of it.”

  He can hear her drawing deep breaths, as if to steady herself. It’s easy to imagine her in some kind of high-tech office or operations room, surrounded by smartscreens and monitors, biting her lip and looking worried as her client proves he’s not so stupid and transparent after all, isn’t that right you nosey little bitch?

  Joanna: “All right then, Mr Thorpe. I’ll come clean with you. You’re right, there is something I’m after, and yes, your case might well be an important lead for me. There’s some new blackware out on the market that’s... well, having a weird effect on people’s autos. I know they’re coming from one of the countries that aren’t signed up to the IIR, but I’m trying to trace them back to the source. It’s... well, it’s a bit of a personal thing for me, to be honest.”

  “Want to grab the glory all for yourself?” guesses Derek, but as soon as he says it, he knows it’s wrong. That’s not her character. “Or maybe you don’t trust all of your colleagues? Think they might be taking backhanders to look the other way?”

  Joanna: “Something like that. It’s not a Global Investigations job, officially, so I need to keep things low-key for a while.”

  Derek nods. He suspects he’ll never know the full story, but he can hear the truth in her voice. She doesn’t sound like a flirty little girl any more, she sounds like a woman on a mission.

  And he understands ‘personal thing’. He understands ‘crusade’.

  “Stay with me, Joanna,” he says, zipping up the rucksack. “I need you to get the truth out to the world for me. And you need me too. Even if you think I’m a murderer.”

  Turning his attention back to the windscreen, he says “Transfer webcast to Vades™.” His auto clears the smartwindow, and a second later the webcast appears in miniature form, hovering on the left hand side of his vision. He can see AB Foster’s static, smiling sim-face wherever he turns his head.

  He closes his eyes for a second, and can still see her. Been seeing that face for years.

  Derek touches the door handle. It unlocks and swings open, as the seatbelt detaches and retracts from around him. The steering wheel spirals back down into the dashboard.

  He steps out of the Volkswagen into the pouring rain, which soaks his face and hair. After hauling the heavy rucksack out, he pulls on a jet-black Duckback coat and flips up the hood. Instantly the rain sluices right off him and patters onto the pavement. This is a new purchase, only a few hours old, and something Derek would never have wasted five hundred pounds on before today. But it doesn’t really matter what he does with the rest of his savings, now that he’s so close.

  Hefting the rucksack over one shoulder, he looks up and down the deserted street. He’s standing in front of two red and white striped iron gates, one hanging open. Beyond them is a path leading into the industrial estate.

  He slams the car door shut. The Volkswagen Cross Coupé SE turns off its lights, powering down. Apart from the hazy yellow bulbs of the streetlamps, the entire street is dark.

  Rain washes across the ground in waves. He’s completely alone out here.

  Joanna: “Keep walking. Straight ahead.”

  Derek smiles at the familiar voice in his ears, riding shotgun.

  Cold wind blows against his back, almost pushing him through the open gate. The path stretches ahead into a wide open yard, marked with the faded white lines of car parking spaces. No vehicles left, only two ancient rusting skips, piled high with masonry and rubbish. The buildings surround the yard in a C-shape: flattened warehouses only two storeys high, marked with giant signs saying E1, E2 and so on. Some have huge folding doors of dark blue steel, loading bays for trucks, while others have man-sized entrances and office windows. All the doors are sealed. All the windows dark.

  As he walks, Derek uses double-blinks and eye movements to drag the live webcast into the centre of the Vades™. It seems to glow in the empty air as if projected onto raindrops.

  AB Foster: “...but the last thing about ieBooks is perhaps the most interesting of all. Oh, I’ve been waiting to talk about this for such a long time, it’s so exciting!”

  He wants to shout into the wet sky, I’m here! Coming to get you! Better stop talking and start running!

  AB Foster: “I’ve always said that it’s the characters which make a book come alive. Readers love Box and Slow George and Black Glove and all the rest, and like to think of them as real. With old printed books you had to use your imagination all the time, which made reading so tiresome for many people, but of course now eeBooks allow you to see and hear characters in a number of ways. The only thing you can’t do is interact with them... until now!”

  Derek isn’t even aware of his feet dragging. He slows to a halt in the middle of the central yard, not seeing anything except the webcast.

  Crown: “Is it really tiresome to use your imagination? I’d have thought – ”

  AB Foster: “Actually, John, studies show that more and more readers, especially young people, are attracted to interactive content as a way of feeling connected to the story. So now we’re going to give them what they want! As you can see in this demonstration, when reading an ieBook you’ll notice certain points where an ‘interact’ icon is prominent. Next to that you can see one or more faces or symbols, which represent certain characters. Now, if you make a choice...”

  The demonstration video shows a young girl reading ‘Box Clever and the Shadow’s Challenge’ on a KindleBlaze. Her fingers touch an interactivity icon hovering beside the text, and then choose from a list of faces. The ieBook shunts aside as an auto profile appears... but it’s not a normal profile. The main image has a patterned border, marking it out as artificial. And the face in the picture isn’t of a human being.

  *Box Clever*

  Sim-auto 00529470

  Gender: *Male*

  Age range: *21-25*

  Orientation: *Straight*

  Relationship status:

  *Single/Unavailable*

  Current location: Chapter 9,

  Box Clever and the Shadow’s

  Challenge [Box Clever Book 1]

  Status update: We’ve found a

  clue relating to Polly’s

  disappearance. I’m heading to

  Brixton Labs to run an analysis!

  In the video, the young girl sends a friend request to the profile, which is instantly accepted. Then she sends a private message by saying aloud “Hi Box, how are you?”

  The profile responds by typing out a response, and also replying in a deep but well-spoken voice. “Hello Susan! Right now I’m terribly worried about my friend Polly. According to my observations, she was intercepted at 10.17pm precisely by a two and a half ton vehicle heading in a north-easterly direction. I need to find out who’s taken her.”

  “How are you going to do that?” asks the girl.

  “By analysing the skin and hair traces I detected at the scene, in the laboratory. If I can positively identify the abductor’s DNA, I can track them down. Did you know that everyone has DNA inside them, and each person’s is unique? Find out more about it here!” A link pops up for a science website.

  “I will, thanks Box! What’s going to happen next?” asks the girl. “Is Polly okay?”

  “I don’t know yet, Susan, but rest assured I shall be doing everything I can to find her. Keep reading!”

  Derek swears viciously. He can’t believe it. Now the books talk back to you!

  He understands how this works. Autos have been pretty universal for years, but sim-autos are relatively new. They’re always clearly identified as artificial, so they can’t be confused with real people, or the unliving autos of the deceased. There’s usually a team of people running each one, coming up with their ‘personality’ and crafting the language they us
e when they talk. Local authorities use them as customer service agents, and many companies now have sim-auto mascots.

  Not that Derek has ever wasted his time with the stupid things. It was bad enough having to wade through all the crap that real people sent or shared or linked to him, before he culled his entire Circle. Now he just gets friend requests from cartoon people. He especially hates the MyJesus™ sim-auto, which is probably the most well known. That pious little shit is constantly popping up, asking if Derek’s happy, if maybe he’d be happier hanging out with the Online Church, inviting him to check out what they could offer him... bloody hell, he can’t stand it.

  And now Box Clever is a sim-auto too. Which means he can be liked, friended, followed, talked to, made part of your Circle... all the things your auto would do with a real person’s auto.

  AB Foster: “As you can see, for the first time, a reader can directly talk to the characters in real life. You can ask Box questions, get him to clarify anything you didn’t understand, and he can deliver additional enhanced content such as music, videos and puzzles... there’s an educational slant too, as you saw.”

  Crown: “But what about the actual story? How can you – ”

  AB Foster: “As in the demonstration, a reader’s relationship status with a character is determined by how much they’ve read of the ieBook. Our sim-autos know how much of the story the reader has read, and will never reveal any plot points or spoilers in advance. But they’ll make the reader feel as if they’re really inside the story, even when the story’s over! You can, if you wish, keep getting messages or invites from Box, or Slow George or any of the others... they’re all permanently online, just like a real auto!”

  Behind the Vades™, Derek squeezes his eyes shut. Imagining every fictional character in the Box Clever series talking by themselves. Made-up characters making up their own dialogue, acting like they’re real.

  No need for a writer.

  “Where are they?” He reaches into his rucksack, finds the huge combat knife, yanks the nylon sheath off the blade. His voice climbs to a yell. “Where are they, Joanna?”

  Joanna: “Shh, Mr Thorpe, they could be anywhere in this estate, I can’t – ”