by Saul Garnell
Choeng went to sleep as a large puddle of drool fell to the ground. It was sizable and a small mop-up crawler came by to clean it.
Hugo had all he needed and ripped off the gloves. “Why the hell did you guys call me out tonight? I can look over the recordings, but even without drugs I know he’s not responsible for tonight’s LS.”
“We didn’t call you out, detective,” replied the officer. “I’m just securing him until the de-foaming crew gets here. You can release him if you like.”
“Hell, no!” Hugo snapped. “He didn’t back down after he was warned. He’s obviously a threat. Incarcerate him!” Hugo looked to the side thoughtfully. “Still, if you didn’t call me out, what’s behind that workflow?”
Hugo tossed the gloves on the floor and used his wet hands to bring up the case order again. Drilling down, he saw that the initiator was a technician named Flip Weebles from Vitalli Payment Processing in Tempe, the company that had installed the POS scanners. Hugo grabbed Flip’s embedded phone number and got him online.
“This is Detective Hugo Kosterlitsky, from the SWCISA. You initiated a workflow related to LS tonight?”
Flip looked a bit dumbfounded. “Uhm, me? No, I’m just the maintenance technician. They sent me out to fix the downed payment system. But I reported all this to the office. Maybe the Sentient there changed the workflow status.”
There was that word again, Sentient. It stood for Sentient Being. Not only a perfected form of artificial intelligence, but a human-like artificial consciousness. Biological in nature, Sentients presided over people as administrators, managers, coaches, what have you, making all types of mundane decisions. For the most part, they did a good job. But some people had issues with them. They feared the Sentients’ growing influence over society. Or, seen the other way, they feared man’s diminishing role. It was a philosophical matter for the most part, and as Hugo saw things, an issue of perspective.
Hugo eyeballed Flip and huffed angrily. “So, there’s no LS activity going on here tonight.”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s LS, but it sure is strange,” Flip said, chuckling. “Never saw a system so messed up in my life!”
“What’s strange?” Hugo demanded.
“Uh, well, it’s hard to explain. Maybe I can show you.”
“Bring it here. I’ll send you my location.”
“Might be better if you come down to me,” Flip countered. “The system is too big to move from the machine room, and I still have a lot of work to do if you want this stuff online by morning.”
Hugo brought up his pathfinder and located Flip somewhere in the northwest basement. It wasn’t too far. Containing his frustration, he reluctantly agreed.
“Alright, I’m on my way. Don’t move until I get there!”
“Sure thing,” Flip replied.
Hugo dropped the call and started toward the maintenance elevator without much thought.
“Detective, you want me to keep this guy here until you come back?” the DPS officer asked.
Hugo didn’t look back. “No, he’s all yours!”
Following a hidden maintenance corridor, Hugo soon found a service elevator that unlocked immediately and whisked him to the basement. Crawlers infested the corridor and scurried about the dimly lit walls using low energy lights, their leg chatter buried beneath the din of thrumming air units. Stepping into the alien environment he looked around to get his bearings. The air reeked heavily of polyurethane and pneumatics.
Hugo checked the filtered map again and headed through a labyrinth of concrete corridors jam-packed with pipes, cables, and conduit. Water, air, power, sewage, waste, network, communications. It all came through the basement’s corridors and was maintained by specialized crawlers of every size and description. Humans intermittently did some work, but that was kept to a minimum. This was the realm of the automated.
Avoiding swarms of small multi-eyed inspection crawlers, Hugo located the secondary POS machine room and entered its secure airlock. Ventilation drastically altered as the door closed, and his eardrums adjusted to the controlled pressure.
The inner seal soon opened, exposing him to a dark cavernous hall filled with system racks aligned in perfect symmetry. It was almost pitch black, illuminated only by the glow of ultra-low-power black lights and flexi.
Flip sat cross-legged on the soft floor, accompanied by a pair of small maintenance crawlers providing spot lighting. Jiggling with care, Flip extracted a large circuit board from an unlocked rack. Odd sounds emanated as the board separated from its frame. Flip examined it with professional curiosity, then frowned unhappily before looking up at Hugo through bug-eyed technician grade filters.
“Hi there, officer. How are you this evening?” he said cheerfully.
Hugo corrected him. “It’s detective, Detective Hugo Kosterlitsky of the SWCISA.”
“SWC...?” Flip puzzled over the initials. “Sorry, I’m not familiar with that department.”
“The Southwest Criminal Investigation System Agency,” Hugo asserted. “We’re not a department. It’s a unit under the Union’s Cyber Crime Division. I’m here because someone raised an LS workflow. I hope I didn’t come out this late for nothing.”
Flip carefully laid the board on a work-mat and stood up. He was a small young man, thin, in his early 20s, and wore a nondescript green jumpsuit loaded with delicate tools. He didn’t care for Union employees. Most people in his social position shared that feeling, but he was careful to hide his disdain.
Wiping his hands with a towel he said, “Union, huh? Well, the Sentient back at our office will be able to tell you more.” He pointed down at the board. “But it’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You don’t say,” Hugo sniffed, then crossed his arms. “Look, just detail for me what you have. I only get involved if there are signs of premeditated LS.”
“Lebensstörung...right.” Flip scratched his head wondering where to begin. “How technical do you want this to be?”
“As technical as you’d like,” Hugo said, pointing to his filter. “It’s all recorded, and our technical Sentient will review everything.”
Flip carefully picked up a board and pointed to a lattice of pasty white films that looked like an ugly slug trail. “Ya see here? All the honey chrome on this thing is dead. It’s discolored and starting to drip.”
Hugo looked on skeptically. “A failed board... So why is that unusual? It happens from time to time.”
Flip smiled. “Oh, yeah, every once in a long while, but this kind of board is special. Touted to be non-stop—or failsafe, so to speak.”
Hugo smiled wryly. “I know what non-stop means, but from where I stand, it appears stoppable.”
“No, I’m not joking!” Flip asserted. “This thing is based on proven neural PCB technology.”
“That’s ancient!”
“Right, we’ve been using it for the past ten years. This has all sorts of redundancy built into it. They’re rated non-stop for a good reason. We don’t have more than one of these onsite because of that.”
Hugo was getting impatient. Nothing so far pointed to a smoking gun. Maybe this guy was just wasting his time. The profile was right for it. He’d seen many guys like this. Their lives are dreary and they like nothing better than some crisis to get attention.
“I need something that points to LS. Why is this special?” Hugo asked firmly.
“Well, that’s the funny bit. We had one of these go bad over in Denver a few months ago.”
Hugo squinted his eyes and became rigid. “Denver? I remember. Simple hardware failure was the cause. Christ! That retail riot was worse than the blackout of ‘72. Are you telling me it’s the same problem? On a non-stop board?”
That was what he was looking for. Two non-stop boards going down were virtually impossible. Hugo’s instincts were to treat this more seriously now.
“I’m not the one to make that call,” Flip went on. “The Sentient probably suspects it. All I’m saying is that t
his board will be of interest.”
Before Hugo could ask more questions, his phone rang. It was his Union commander Miguel. He gestured for time as he walked down the aisle for privacy.
Miguel of course was a Sentient, and like all Sentient Beings he received Hugo’s full attention. Unlike the masses, Hugo didn’t mind reporting to them. He found their artificially created minds calm and collected, a great relief from the chaotic world he was tasked to control. When Hugo hit pickup, Miguel’s crisp avatar face and blond hair came into view.
“Good evening, Hugo,” he said with expected calm. “I saw you were working, so I took the liberty to call. I hope you have a minute.”
“Of course,” Hugo said, glancing briefly at Flip, who was back at the system. “Always happy to hear from you.”
“Very good,” Miguel said, eyeing a document briefly. “I was looking at the Q4 budget and...well, I am a little concerned because you haven’t been moving the caseload along, at least not as planned.”
“Understood,” Hugo replied.
There was a brief pause. Here it comes, Hugo thought.
“I am not trying to put undue pressure on you, but I am unable to approve the next budgeting round unless you advance or close some of your cases. Tell me, have you made any progress?” Miguel pulled up a list and ran his virtual hand down the color-coded lines. “For instance, I see you still have a disproportionate number pended here.”
There was no reason to fight back. These sessions were systematic: every week, every quarter, one status session after another. It wasn’t servitude; it was how life was structured.
“Your concern is quite valid,” Hugo replied. “I’m not ready to change anything in my case-management list, but I’ve just got something of great interest.”
“Really?” Miguel said with curiosity. “What have you found?”
“At the retail riot in Tempe...two non-stops went down. I need to investigate more, but it feels like LS.”
“Feels?”
“And what’s interesting is that it may be linked to Denver,” Hugo continued.
“There’s solid evidence of this?” Miguel asked with raised eyebrows.
Hugo glanced at Flip again from the corner of his eye. “Well, not yet. I’m here in the machine room now with the technician. I’ll push the analysis in the morning and ensure that we have enough to update status.”
There were a few seconds of silence as the Sentient nodded with understanding. Clearly, this wasn’t good enough. Sentients only respected facts and certainty. Hugo understood this well.
He continued: “You know how tricky this is. These guys don’t normally leave us a calling card.”
“Yes, the nature of LS is rather unique,” Miguel agreed sympathetically. “I know you are working hard. All right, I will review things as soon as your changes trigger an updated workflow. We can discuss this matter and the budget from that point.”
Miguel’s face melted away and left Hugo staring at a long row of flexi display logs. He then looked back toward Flip, who cursed while yanking what looked like pink mucous from the inside of a damaged system rack. Hugo sighed, and walked over with somewhat elevated blood pressure.
“Listen, I’ll need that board. It’s evidence now,” Hugo said.
Reaching into his pocket, Hugo unfolded a large semi-translucent polymer bag. It gleamed with a silver holographic watermark and displayed instructions under a large image of the Union seal.
Flip pulled his hands apart and watched pink ooze drip into a catch pan. “What? But I’m supposed to get it back to our lab tonight for analysis. The Sentient is expecting it.”
Hugo flexed his neck in a futile attempt to relax. “Sorry, it’s now part of a criminal investigation. I advise you to comply.”
Flip didn’t appreciate the mild threat, but he knew better than to argue. “Fine, I’ll inform our office. I’m sure they can assist you further if you need the original manufacturing specs.”
Hugo frowned. “Was it made in Brazil?”
Flip looked up and thought a moment. “Ah, now that you ask, I’m not sure. The advanced stuff normally is prototyped down there, but this? Maybe it was developed in Chindo or the Sub-Saharan.”
Scanning the board’s embedded tags momentarily, Flip grabbed its spec sheet. Finding a schematic of internal components, his filter skimmed through layers of data, checking manufacturing and design signatures.
“Well, it seems mostly from Chindo,” Flip said, nodding. “But for some reason, I see design signatures from Japan, especially the bio-neural stuff. Could be you’ll need to work with some entity out there.”
“The Japanese?” Hugo groaned. “I hope not. That’ll make things more difficult.”
Flip shook his hands again and unhappily went back to his goo. “Could be, but I’m not an expert.”
Seeing little else that could be done onsite, Hugo wrapped up the board, said goodbye, and headed toward the exit. He walked quickly, mulling things over until he returned to the surface, where he immediately summoned an evidence crawler. Many still remained from the night’s post-riot cleanup, and one soon arrived with its canister wide open. With care, he placed the board within its secure case. Sealed and verified, Hugo addressed it to the SWCISA lab and watched it scurry off.
With the evidence taken care of, he headed back to his car, which unfolded as he approached. Falling down in the driver’s seat with a grand huff, he ordered the vehicle home. As it made its way past the thinning crowd, Hugo’s mind lingered on the possibility of dealing with the Japanese. Too many cases got pended while dealing with them, he thought. They needed to avoid that. His budget depended heavily on this current incident, and if it was LS it could also reopen and solve the Denver case too.
Then an idea struck him. He knew someone in his extended team who was not only qualified when it came to advanced systems, but was very well versed in dealing with the Japanese. With heightened interest, he skimmed through his address book until the name Shinzou Friemann scrolled into view. There was no direct dial, just a small program requiring a PIN code. Once entered, it generated a new phone number, which led to a simulated voice requesting him to leave a message.
“Hugo here!” he blurted. “Listen, I haven’t had a job for you in quite some time, but something is available, something for your unique skills. Contact me when you receive this message.”
Hanging up, Hugo leaned back and watched desert Saguaro flash by like green toothpicks. He’d be home in Globe within a few minutes. With the aid of medication, he could rest a few hours before getting back to the office. There was no choice but to work on Christmas day now, he reminded himself. His commitment to Miguel was binding. Anyway, the year was almost over and he really needed a break on this latest case.
Watching his own bio-readings, he slowly became drowsy as images of the Bollywood Santa came back to haunt him. God, he thought to himself, all those mindless slaves just doing what they’re programmed to do. What a shame they can’t see what they’ve been turned into.
And worse, he thought. What they’ve chosen to be.
At six the following morning, Shinzou Friemann awoke from peaceful slumber when his Sentient companion Henry entered the room and offered exuberant holiday sentiments.
“Merry Christmas, Shinzou! Did you sleep well?” Henry boomed in a fusty middle-aged voice.
Like all Sentient Beings who interfaced using visuals, Henry could wear whatever he wanted. To be more precise, he could appear in any shape or form he desired; there were no limitations other than the tolerance of the beholder. As he floated about the room, Henry’s image appeared only as a luminous face, his bushy neck-beard and scraggly hair giving him an air of homebred unsophistication.
Shinzou laughed and peered up at the wall. “Yes, I slept quite well, thanks.”
“I can have breakfast prepared if you like.”
Shinzou shook his head and began to pick up a new set of clothes that had been laid aside the previous evening.
&nb
sp; “No, thanks,” he said. “I’ll just make some coffee for myself.” He donned denim engineering work pants and a maroon raw-silk shirt. “So what did you do last night? Anything interesting?”
Henry smiled and moved closer. “I had a wonderful time reading Ethics, Spinoza’s treaty on nature and God.”
“Again?” Shinzou said, shaking his head in dismay. “It’s a little early in the morning, Henry. I hope we’re not going to start with another philosophical discussion.”
“A discussion perhaps, but...not very deep,” Henry said, following Shinzou out toward the kitchen. “You know, I was always fascinated by Spinoza’s rejection of dualism.”
Shinzou stuck his head in the refrigerator. “Oh, yes. Pantheism, right. That saying everything is created by nature is therefore the same as saying everything was created by God. That God and nature are, in fact, the same.”
Henry nodded and watched Shinzou pop a coffee canister in the dispenser along with a sausage and egg breakfast. “I thought you said you weren’t hungry?”
Shinzou screwed up his eyes like a child. “Well, if you want to talk about Spinoza at six in the morning, I’ll need to get my blood sugar up.”
“Indeed,” Henry snorted. “Anyway, what I found interesting was how everything arises from nature, even the consciousness of man.”
“Hmm...yes, how our conscious thoughts, so to speak, emerge from a complex system such as the brain.”
Henry nodded. “I pondered also how technology fits into this model – for example, where it emanates from.”
Shinzou paused for a moment and looked puzzled. “It comes from men, and is indirectly a product of nature.” The dispenser chimed, and Shinzou began preparing his tray as it steamed in his face.
“Perhaps, but not just man himself,” Henry said. “Still, let’s think about this example. What exactly is it about technology that makes it a result of man rather than of nature alone? I was thinking of a scenario to explore this point, say for instance with a small creature like...”
“A bunny rabbit?” Shinzou blurted jokingly.
“Fine, a rabbit then. Let’s say it defecates all around a field, after which grass grows profusely.”