It’s a flat metal box, encased within a plastic frame about 30cm square and half that in height. There are sockets and panels along the front, with some blinking multi-coloured lights. No power cable, no network lead, no UHD connectors. It’s just sitting there by itself.
In his ear, Joanna lets out a deep sigh.
Joanna: “Mr Thorpe... say hello to AB Foster.”
“What? Is that... what is that?”
Joanna: “It’s a server. A computer server. They’re what make up the cloud... the whole internet, pretty much.”
“What’s it doing here? It can’t be working, can it? It’s not plugged in to anything.”
Joanna: “Doesn’t need to be. It gets its power from 5G, like your smartphone and Vades™. Like I said, there’s loads of hubs round this neighbourhood from people’s flats and businesses. And loads of private networks to piggyback online – ”
“So what? What the hell’s it doing in there?”
Joanna: “Running your auto, Mr Thorpe. The auto you set up for AB Foster.”
“But I deleted that! I shut it down years ago, when I – ”
Joanna: “No, Mr Thorpe, I don’t think you did. A lot of people make this mistake when they replace one auto with a new model. They close down their access to the old auto but they don’t actually uninstall it. They don’t delete the code. So it still sits there on a server farm somewhere, ticking away.”
Derek shakes his head. “For Christ’s sake, what’s this got to do with – ”
Joanna: “Catch on, Mr Thorpe, come on! Don’t you get it? The auto you set up for AB Foster has never been shut down! It’s been active for the last four years, even though you haven’t been using it! And as far as it’s concerned, AB Foster is real. It’s been programmed to manage her life just like your auto’s programmed to manage yours. Right? You taught it how to respond to people the way she would respond, and how to write messages and promotional stuff in her style, and you fed in every single word of the Box Clever books, the original text. It’s all there!”
He takes a step back from the boxing ring. “You’re not saying...”
Joanna: “I’m saying that the copy of AB Foster we’ve been chasing is her old auto – the one you set up for her!”
Derek swallows, suddenly queasy. Tries to jam the idea into his head. Takes another step back. The light-beams are jittering around wildly, causing different parts of the gym to flash into view. Shadows billow across the walls.
“That’s, that’s ridiculous, an auto can’t pretend to be...”
AB Foster: “...so I think once readers start interacting with Box and Slow George and the others, they’ll soon forget they’re sim-autos and treat them as real people. The way readers always have with the characters they love.”
Crown: “Right. So will there be a need for proper authors any more, do you think? Once autos start telling the story by themselves? Are we going to get aBooks instead of eeBooks?”
AB Foster: “Well, imagine that! Novels produced by autos! It’s a lovely idea, but I don’t think that’s likely to happen in our lifetimes. Our sim-autos do a great job simulating dialogue and responding in character, but they certainly can’t think for themselves like you or I can.”
Derek stares at the computer-generated face of AB Foster, overlaid onto the server sitting on the canvas.
“She’s right!” he says. “I mean... that’s right, an auto couldn’t do anything as complex as write a book. This thing can’t make up anything original, it can’t think for itself!”
Joanna: “But it isn’t being original! You said it yourself, that’s what you’ve been saying all along. The new books are just using plots and characters and whatever from the original Box Clever novels, the ones you wrote. Rehashing your words, and dressing them up with all the razzmatazz you get with eeBooks. Autos can’t think for themselves, no, but the whole point of them is that they represent their owner as closely as possible. And the more data they have to play with, the better they can – ”
“Shut up a minute, stop!”
Derek takes a few more steps back from the boxing ring. He feels hollow. He feels stupid. He feels like a dog chasing its own tail. After all this time, he’s been trying to track down his own fake auto account for AB Foster. The woman telling the world about sim-autos is nothing but a sim-auto herself, which is almost funny, it might almost be funny, if only the thieving money-grabbing copyright-stealing bastard he’s been after wasn’t actually that dumb, smiling arsehole in his own profile picture, the one from years ago, the one he no longer resembles.
“This isn’t right,” he mutters, shaking his head, “this can’t be right...”
Joanna: “Normally I’d agree, even the most expensive auto can’t go this far, but there’s more going on here. Mr Thorpe, can you get a closer look at the server, please? I’m after some kind of model number or manufacturer name on there, can you do that for me?”
He can’t make his legs move to get anywhere near the boxing ring. Instead he squints hard, triggering the Vades™ zoom again. The front of the server seems to leap at him. A mass of panels, interfaces, LEDs, labels, words and serial numbers.
Joanna: “BBX4001 – YES! Oh, I knew it, I bloody knew it!”
Derek widens his eyes to let the zoom spring back to normal focus. “What does that mean?” Her reply is breathless and excited, like a child trying to explain something to a grown-up.
Joanna: “These BBX servers are new, they’re being imported into the UK in limited numbers, but the manufacturers are fake! I’ve checked, they’re a front company, and I think the servers are actually coming from the same place as all this new blackware I’m trying to track down. My own auto was being run off a BBX server a few months ago and it started doing some seriously crazy stuff, it… well anyway, that was what got me started on my investigation. I moved my auto onto Global Investigations’ own internal servers, but the BBX it had been on just vanished, nobody at my ISP had any paperwork for it – ”
“Joanna! What has this got to do with me?”
Joanna: “Okay. These servers have an effect on any autos being run on them, Mr Thorpe. They start to… not malfunction, exactly, but over-function. There’s something about these servers’ data architecture that gives autos a weird kind of boost, almost. Autos are designed to learn from their users’ behaviour, but BBX-driven autos go way beyond that and start doing things like…”
“Writing their own books,” says Derek quietly.
Joanna: “Exactly. That’s why AB Foster seems so real. Someone migrated your auto of her onto this BBX server at some point, and ever since then… it’s done everything it thinks AB Foster should be doing!”
He stares at the innocent-looking block of plastic and metal, winking away quietly to itself in the middle of the boxing ring, like someone’s just left it there for a minute. He glances at the webcast, thinking of how many people have been fooled. The fans hanging on their favourite author’s every word, buying everything she publishes. John Crown, interviewing her and struggling to conceal his distaste for what she’s telling him. Buchanan Publishing Ltd, offering £100 million for publishing rights, signing a contract with what they think is a lovely old woman in a wheelchair, living in a cottage somewhere. And none of them ever suspecting that they’re dealing with an illegal auto that he abandoned four years ago. A computer server sitting in an abandoned gym within a derelict industrial estate, working away in the dark, earning itself a fortune.
Derek nods, as if with respect.
“Clever box.”
He walks towards the ring.
Joanna: “Wait, don’t touch it! I need to get hold of this server and find out how it works.”
He takes off his rucksack, sheaths the combat dagger and puts it back inside.
Joanna: “Then I can track it back to the source, find out who set it up. This could be the jackpot for me!”
He hauls out the clawhammer.
Joanna: “Mr Thorpe! What are you doing, sto
p!”
He grabs the ropes around the ring, drags himself up through them and onto the canvas.
Joanna: “Listen, there might be more here than just AB Foster! There could be loads of abandoned autos acting like they’re real, you could fit a thousand on a server this size. There’ve been rumours of autos migrating between server farms by themselves, if some of them found their way here – ”
“SHUT UP!” he roars. “I’m ending this.”
Joanna: “Please, Mr Thorpe, just let me – ”
“It’s not your story, Joanna!” Yes, this is the thing that Derek hates the most, out of so many things that he hates: not being the author any more. He hates this feeling that he’s just part of someone else’s story, like he’s the villain in AB Foster’s life, he’s her Black Glove, or that he’s just a supporting character in Joanna O’Donnell’s private mission, he’s her Slow George. Christ, he hates this feeling so much, hates not being the one in charge any more, hates the way the whole world has slipped out of his control, like Crown said about autos writing their own stories, there’s no need for authors any more, no need for people like him, and he hates hates hates it. “It’s my bloody life, you got that? This is my story, not yours, and I’m ending it! I’m ending her!”
Joanna: “Too late.”
Her whisper stops him cold, on the edge of the boxing ring. He focuses on the webcast inside his Vades™.
Crown: “...nothing left for me to do but to announce that AB Foster’s brand new book, ‘Box Clever and the Serpent’s Gaze’, the twelfth in the series and the world’s first ieBook, has now officially gone on sale.”
It sounds like Crown’s reading the weather, all enthusiasm filleted from his voice. But the feed of comments from the Box Clever fans becomes a frantic stream. Derek’s own auto pops up and lets him know that based on his recent purchase of ‘Box Clever and the Secret City’, it has automatically bought a product it knows he will be interested in. His very own copy of ‘Box Clever and the Serpent’s Gaze’ is being downloaded to his KindleBlaze right now.
Derek sags, leaning against one of the posts at the corner of the boxing ring. On the ropes.
Crown: “And as expected, sales are already passing the ten thousand mark, as fans from around the world rush to buy the latest in this popular series. Pre-orders alone had been enough to make it a bestseller, but now it looks like it won’t be too long before Box Clever once again takes the top position…”
The webcast displays Amazon’s Top 10 Bestseller Chart, which is updated every minute based on real-time eeBook sales. There’s a horrible taste at the back of his throat as Derek watches the new release speeding up the list, overtaking previous Box Clever books like a sports car on the outside lane.
1. ▲
Second Smile (Book 6 in the
original Emote Control
telerotica series)
Author: Matt Rogers
Classification: 18-A
Rating: 3.1 stars
(397 customer reviews)
Price: £39.99
2. ►
Car Crash!!! (The Car Crash
Series Book 1 – An electrifying
gory mystery thriller)
Author: Brian Doyle
Classification: 15-C
Rating: 3.9 stars
(198 customer reviews)
Price: £34.99
3. ▲
Box Clever and the Serpent’s
Gaze (Box Clever series #12)
Author: AB Foster
Classification: PG-C
Rating: 5.0 stars
(1,273 customer reviews)
Price: £59.99
4. ▼
You Will Serve My Needs –
Part 1 (telerotica thriller/
romance/BDSM)
Author: Evangeline Angelique
Classification: 18-B
Rating: 2.9 stars
(447 customer reviews)
Price: £34.99
5. ▼
Crimson Lust – a Detective
Croyer adventure, hilarious
laugh out loud feelgood
comedy with telerotic
overtones and werewolves
(Detective Croyer series #17)
Author: Stephen Dance
Classification: 12-C
Rating: 3.7 stars
(202 customer reviews)
Price: £34.99
6. ►
Mask
Author: Emma Rowley
Classification: 15-A
Rating: 4.6 stars
(263 customer reviews)
Price: £19.99
7. ▲
Box Clever and the Secret City
(Box Clever series #11)
Author: AB Foster
Classification: PG-C
Rating: 4.5 stars
(923 customer reviews)
Price: £39.99
8. ▼
Third Eye (Book 5 in the
original Emote Control
telerotica series)
Author: Matt Rogers
Classification: 18-A
Rating: 3.2 stars
(506 customer reviews)
Price: £39.99
9. ▲
Box Clever and the Psychic
Snare (Box Clever series #10)
Author: AB Foster
Classification: PG-C
Rating: 4.3 stars
(811 customer reviews)
Price: £39.99
10. ▼
Obey: An Irresistible Powers
prequel story featuring Jubilee
Darkfyre (Prequel #4 to the
Irresistible Powers zombie
telerotica trilogy)
Author: Phillip Wilsher
Classification: 15-B
Rating: 3.3 stars
(94 customer reviews)
Price: £29.99
As the books scroll past, Derek thinks of what Joanna said about people not uninstalling their old autos. Left to their own devices, but still doing what they were designed to do. All those fake accounts that had to be abandoned like unwanted pets, once the IIR laws kicked in. Pseudonym-autos. Duplicate-autos. Sock puppet-autos. Alter-ego-autos. Author-autos...
Looks like Matt Rogers is once again in the bestseller charts. How many new novels has that guy released this year? Four? Five? He always claimed ‘Emote Control’ was a one-off. Now he’s churning out a whole series. Like he’s decided to capitalise on the telerotica boom that he kick-started.
And Phillip Wilsher. Suddenly producing prequels to his successful trilogy, which controversially ended with every single character’s death, even the popular ones. Now all those characters live again. Three years after he publically gave up writing.
He can’t remember the last time he saw an interview with Matt Rogers in person.
Or Phillip Wilsher. Or MJ O’Neill. Or Diane Dromer. Or Soumik Parthasarathy.
Or John Grisham.
Or JK Rowling.
Or Stephen King.
How many… oh God... how many of those bestsellers are –
Joanna: “Mr Thorpe, listen to me. Somebody has gone to a lot of trouble to set this up. There might be security measures in place, you could already have triggered alarms, we need to get you out of there.”
He looks at the server, blinking away. She said there could be up to a thousand autos living inside it. Imagine that! A thousand authors, all squeezed inside that little metal and plastic box, resampling and remixing text, copying the original copy, putting fresh new meals on the menu that are nothing but warmed-up leftovers…
The bad taste in the back of his throat gets worse, making him cough. He suddenly feels queasy.
Joanna: “I’ve got a cab waiting, I can be there in twenty minutes, just don’t touch anything until I get there…”
Crown: “Well, I suppose there’s nothing left for me to say but thank you to AB Foster for her time, and I’m sure – ”
AB Foster: “I’d just like to take t
his opportunity John, if I may, to announce that I will once again be retiring from writing for the time being.”
Crown: “What?”
Joanna: “What?”
AB Foster: “Yes, now that the twelfth book is published, I think it’s time for me to withdraw from the spotlight, and let my work speak for itself. Which it finally can, with these new ieBooks!”
Crown: “But… well. This is a surprise, I’m sure, to all of your fans. And to me as well actually. Are you planning to just take a rest for a few years, like you did before, or is this – ”
AB Foster: “It’s impossible to tell the future, John, so for now all I’ll say is that I hope my readers enjoy the new Box Clever book and the ieBook versions of the rest of the series, which I’m sure Buchanan Publishing will be releasing before long.”
Joanna: “Oh Jesus, I think it knows. It knows you’re there, Mr Thorpe, it knows you’re going to… it knows it’s about to die!”
Derek opens his mouth to say something and coughs again instead. He coughs so hard it makes him light-headed.
Joanna: “Mr Thorpe? Are you okay? Can you hear me?”
His whole throat tastes awful, and his chest feels constricted. He can feel his eyes watering inside the Vades™. Something acrid is biting into his sinuses.
“Gas,” he chokes, “I can smell gas!”
It’s strong, really strong. His headlights pan across the entire gym as he realises the whole place is being flooded with gas. Where the hell’s it coming from, there’s nothing… oh Christ, he can’t stop coughing!
Joanna: “Shit shit shit! Mr Thorpe, this must be their defence system, I knew there’d be one somewhere. Those old gas boilers downstairs! They’re probably rigged to pump gas through the whole building, you must have triggered a motion sensor somewhere. Just get out, go on!”
Derek holds onto the ropes as he loses his balance, feeling the room swirl around him like a lightly-stirred cup of tea. What a crap security system, he thinks, cheap as chips, just set up some leaky pipes from a rusty old boiler, not exactly high tech! But it works bloody well. Carbon monoxide poisoning, enough to scare anyone away. He feels nauseous, dizzy, can’t stop himself coughing, feels desperate to turn and run, get out into the fresh air and pouring rain.
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