Grasso fluffed his blazer and gestured to the seat on the opposite side of his desk. “Fantastic! Why don’t you take a load off? Though I promise this won’t take long.” Max wondered how many hours went into perfecting that shit-eating grin.
He reluctantly sat down in the seat and uncomfortably folded his hands in his lap. Grasso took his seat. He eyed his greased-back hair in the reflection of his computer monitor. He slicked back a stray hair and turned to Max. “So tell me Max, what brings you to SomniCorp?”
Max cleared his throat. “Well, I’m in law enforcement, as I’m sure you know. I have a lot of information stored up in the old noggin and…”
“Ah HA! You want to preserve your years of knowledge for future dissemination!” Grasso beamed.
Max bit the inside of his cheek. “Yes…”
“Totally understandable! That’s a growing area of interest in our company, as it would happen! Police, lawyers, doctors… All of them are turning to SomniCorp to preserve the unique and irreplaceable information locked away within their minds!”
“Right… Well, how… How does this all work, exactly?”
“Well of course I can’t tell you exactly how it works. That’s a trade secret!” Grasso chuckled. Max frowned. “A little humor, there. No, I can give you a very good idea of what to expect!
“There’s no special preparation necessary for our process. The whole thing takes less than half an hour. You’ll simply recline in one of our recording chambers and relax while our computer systems do all the heavy lifting!”
Max snorted. “I don’t know how relaxed I’d be wrapped up in a pod.”
“Oh, no worries, Max! We administer a very light anesthetic to relax you and keep you from moving.”
“Keep me from moving?”
“Yes! Our procedure is one-hundred percent non-invasive. The chamber has an array of sensors and scanners that map the state and location of each synapse in your brain. The system can correct for slight movements from blood flow and respiration, but motor movement would be detrimental.”
“Ah, okay. So after you um, scan me… That digitizes my brain, then? How do I read my memories?”
“Two very good questions, Max! The system will make a virtual copy of your brain patterns and functioning. Importantly, this is just a snapshot. We don’t want to go making an artificial intelligence with your brain, now do we?”
Grasso was chuckling again. Max was still frowning. “No, we wouldn’t. About reading memories…”
“Yes! At any given point in the future you, or someone you give permission to, can come in and access your own personal memory archive! You can even control the level of access, such as only police-related memories in your case.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a pretty sophisticated system to be able to sort all that.”
“Absolute state of the art stuff, Max! We’re quite proud of it. It’s advanced enough that even Synthetics International has shown an interest in our technology. You can read all about it in the May issue of A.I. Today!”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Okay. So let’s say I do this. I can take it all back, can’t I? Delete the capture, if I choose?”
For the first time since their meeting began, Grasso’s grin faltered. “Oh, well yes, of course. It’s all laid out in the agreement you’ll be signing. They are your memories after all.”
“Good. Fine. Um… One more thing.” There was a gleam in Max’s good eye. “Is there any way to get rid of memories in my brain? Things I’d rather forget?” Max rubbed his face near his fake eye.
“Ohhh…” Now it was Grasso that was looking uncomfortable. “We’ve done some research in that area. It’s something we can discuss after the memory-recording process…”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Max sighed deeply. “Well, alright. Sign me up, guy.”
Grasso clapped his hands together, the shit-eating grin instantly reappearing. “Fantastic! This really is a wonderful choice, Max! I’ll just need you to sign and thumbprint this for me.”
He slid a tablet across the desk to Max. The detective frowned harder. The bottom of the screen indicated page one of a thirteen-page agreement. “That’s quite a bit of paper…”
“No worries, Max! It’s the usual boilerplate agreement stuff you’d find anywhere else. No big deal!”
Max smirked. “Just don’t want to lose my mind.” Grasso laughed. Max didn’t.
“Welcome to the Mind Chamber.” The attractive young woman offered Max her hand and a smile. She wore a white leather catsuit, which paired well with her white hair and pale complexion. The bright turquoise irises of her eyes stood in stark contrast to all.
“You’re a Synthetic.” Max reluctantly took her hand. His last contact with a Synthetic hadn’t gone very well.
“That is correct.” She could have easily passed for human, save for the eyes. Her eyes, and the slightest hollow echo in her voice, as if she were speaking through a tube. Subtle, but detectable for someone trained to listen for it.
“Does this displease you?” She looked over her shoulder as she led Max to a bright-white pod. The entire front was made of rounded glass.
“No! Um, well… The last Synthetic I interacted with left me a permanently changed man. How about we put it that way.”
The Synthetic woman stopped in front of the pod and turned around. Her stunning eyes stared into Max’s own. “Is this why you have a synthetic eye?”
“Well… yes. No offense, I hope. It was a case I was…”
“There is no need to worry that I might injure you.” Max smirked. Typical Synthetic. “You were likely injured by a Mark three or earlier model. I am a Mark four.” She turned to the pod and touched a button near the bottom.
Max smirked. “I feel so relieved to hear that.” The face of the pod hissed and opened to the side.
“This pleases me.” The smile was back. She held out her hand. “Your trench coat, if you please.”
“Oh…” Max took off the coat and handed it over. The Synthetic woman hung it from a nearby stand.
“I will also need your service weapon.”
“Now, I don’t know about that…” Max unconsciously took a step backward.
“The scanning electron beams could inadvertently cause the weapon to discharge. I’m afraid I must insist.”
“How about I put it in my coat pocket for you?”
The Synthetic woman stared for a moment, her eyes almost imperceptibly twitching left to right as she considered the request. “Acceptable. Proceed.”
Max shook his head and paced over to his coat. He reluctantly placed the plasma weapon in his right coat pocket. He somehow felt more naked without his weapon than if he were actually standing there in his birthday suit.
“You are nervous.” The Synthetic woman placed a hand on Max’s upper arm.
Max jumped slightly. “You could say that.”
“I assure you that all will be well.” She led him back to the front of the pod and gestured to the seat inside. “Please enter the pod and lay back against the seat.”
Max took a deep breath and stepped into the pod. He nestled himself down into the oddly-shaped seat. He wasn’t sitting, nor was he necessarily leaning. The pod door suddenly swung shut, causing him to jump again. It sealed with a hiss.
“You will hear a quiet hiss as the pod fills with a relaxing agent. Please try your best to relax. The procedure will begin shortly.”
“Relax. Sure.” The need for anesthesia was making more sense with every minute that passed. Max almost welcomed the fuzziness that wrapped around his brain as the anesthetic gas filled the pod.
The Synthetic woman’s voice came from a great distance. “We will now begin the procedure.”
Max’s eyes sealed themselves shut. The hissing of the gas faded to a deafening silence. He could have sworn that he was hearing his own blood coursing through his veins.
Without warning, he perceived a kaleidoscope of colors twisting and streaking in front of and all around him. A
rumbling sound grew louder and louder in his ears, surrounding him in a blanket of sound. Brief glimpses from his childhood blurred past his vision in bursts of light and sound.
It was over as quickly as it had begun. Vision in his human eye slowly faded in but remained blurry. His synthetic eye remained dark.
The pod door swung open. The Synthetic woman leaned over him. She wore what looked like vague concern on her face. “How do you feel?”
Max rubbed his good eye. That’s better. “I’m a little groggy, but otherwise I feel alright.” He tapped the left side of his face. “You might owe me a new eye, though.”
A frown flashed over the Synthetic woman’s face. “There was an unexpected complication resulting from interference caused by your synthetic implant. We were only able to successfully map eighty percent of your brain.”
Max tapped the side of his face harder. He finally saw the Synthetics International logo appear in his left eye. “SYSTEM RESTORE,” it informed him. “Please wait…”
“Looks like you lucked out on the eyeball… So now what do we do?”
“We can attempt to retrieve the remaining twenty percent of your memories, if you wish. Please be advised that this could result in permanent damage to your synthetic eye and/or your brain.”
Max sat upright. “I think I’ll pass!” He struggled his way out of the pod.
Sam put a cup of coffee in front of Max. “Sweetheart, you look like you’ve just been through some kind of hell.”
Max smirked. “Not quite that bad, but I’ve been better.” He sipped at his coffee. Nature’s medicine. “I went through that whole memory back-up deal at that SomniCorp.”
Sam did a double-take. “You what? You’re worried those people scrambled that kid’s brain and then run off to have them do it to you? Why on earth didn’t you just ask them about it, Max?”
Max chuckled. “Calm down, Sam. You’re going to give yourself a coronary. I tried that route. As soon as their P-R department heard that I was a police detective, they shut down on me double-quick.
“His brain was already scrambled anyway!” Starla giggled as she wheeled past. Sam smirked. Max shook his head.
“I sat down with a representative a couple of hours later, hoping my reputation wouldn’t precede me. The mook that saw me didn’t have a clue what was going on. I got some answers, and a little firsthand experience.”
Sam leaned on the counter. “Alright. So what was it like, then?”
Max shook his head. He needed another sip of coffee. “It was like some sort of fever dream. Really short, but really intense. There were colors, sounds. The worst part was seeing my life literally flashing before my eyes.”
“God, Max.” Sam shivered. “So now what?”
“I don’t know. The lady… She was a Synthetic, by the way! She told me my eye of all things messed up the whole works. They only caught eighty percent of my brain.”
“A Synthetic! I bet that was a real comfort to ya.”
Max smirked. “Yeah, kind of threw me. That rep I talked to said Synthetics International was interested in their tech. He didn’t say they had Synthetics actually working for them. At least this one stayed away from my eye.
“Anyway, I guess that’s as far as I’m going with that. I’ll probably call and tell them to kill what they got. Could be corrupted, for all I know. The important thing is I got some information.”
“So you still thinking this kid’s just sick in the head, then?” Max nodded.
“You would know, wouldn’t ya?” Starla went by again, winking. Sam gave her a look.
Max ignored her. “I think it’s SomniCorps fault, though. I think it’s clear to see that they’re far from perfecting the whole process. I still need to look into these e-mails he’s been receiving.”
4
Heavy clouds obscured the sun as Max lazily steered his car towards the 29th precinct. He was keeping to surface streets today. His old jalopy had been giving him the runaround again. Better stranded on a side street than on the highway.
It was good to see all facets of the city, anyway. He had a history with these parts. Not quite the slums, but far from the middle class. These were the neighborhoods he had grown up in, run around in, got in trouble in.
Rain started gently patting the windshield. The old Ventura’s rain sensors flicked the wipers quietly across the glass. Max shook his head. He was a stuffed shirt. He used to give “fancy guys” like himself a wide birth when he was a kid.
A pair of children jumping in the light rain paused to smile and wave at him. He smiled and waved back. He wasn’t a stuffed shirt. These were still his people. Sometimes people could get a little money and a nice car without becoming a member of the bourgeoisie.
He smiled and waved to an old man sitting on a bench at the far end of the run down neighborhood. You know? He could almost hope to be that man in a few decades. He could think of far worse places to wind up.
The narrow streets gave way to the wide boulevard of the shopping district. The rain had stopped, the sun peaking out of quickly dissipating clouds. He hated to say it, but maybe the car acting up wasn’t so bad a thing after all, the car that was now making a series of clunking noises.
Max beat first on the steering wheel, then on the dashboard. “You god-damned no good piece of shit son of a…”
“Error! Check engine…”
“I know, error!” Max thumped the dash hard. The engine died. “No. No, baby. Come on, I didn’t mean it.” The old Ventura wasn’t buying it.
He looked around to find a good place to bail. Max smirked. Wouldn’t ya know it? He coasted his old jalopy once more into the service area of the Aero dealership that had last got him back on the road.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say the bastards were making my car do this on purpose.”
The grease monkey that helped him out the last time came walking up sporting a shit-eating grin. “Let me guess: Reflash the engine control module?”
Max tossed him his key fob. “Nailed it in one.” He sighed deeply. “Take your time. I’m about to put a smile on your boss’ face.”
As if on cue, Jeb Deveron the car salesmen popped around the corner. “Well hi there! Max, wasn’t it? Of course it was! That old piece of junk letting you down again?”
Max grimaced. Only he got to call his old girl a piece of junk. “She’s just showing her age a little. However…” He swallowed hard. “Maybe it’s time I take that four-twenty XYZ for a test drive.”
Deveron went blank for a minute, then laughed. “Oh! You mean the 640SL! Yes, that naming scheme is a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?”
“That’s one way to put it. I guess I’m interested in that sparkly red one over there.”
“You got it, Max! Give me one minute.”
Max wandered over to the 640SL he had looked at the last time he was there. Maybe it was time to upgrade. He couldn’t afford to be driving around in questionable transportation, after all…
“Here we are!” Jeb jammed the fob for the 640SL into Max’s hand and began screwing a dealer plate onto the back of the car. “There shouldn’t be too much unfamiliar tech in this one. That Ventura of yours was top-shelf in its day. Shares a lot of tech with this one.”
“That’s good to know. Can it be brought up to police spec if I decide to buy it?”
“Of course! We’re fully licensed for police conversions.”
Max nodded. “Good. Well…” He pressed the Start button on the key fob. The nuclear-powered turbine wound up to a whine before fading to near silence. “Not quite the same ring to it as a good old-fashioned gasoline engine.”
Deveron clapped Max on the back and smiled. “No, it’s not. But you’ll love the fact that you only have to refuel it about twice a year.”
Max raised an appreciative eyebrow. “Very interesting…” The car door swung open effortlessly for him. “I’ll bring it back in a day or two, say?”
“Not a problem. Keep it as long as you need to. We want you to
be confident in your purchase!”
Max shut the door and rolled down the window. He tipped his fedora. “Thanks, chief. I’ll see you soon.” Deveron waved as he pulled away. The acceleration was smooth as glass and completely effortless. “Maybe this was a good idea after all.”
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” Max sat in the parking garage adjacent to the 29th precinct. He was punching buttons with one hand and holding his temporary police dome light with the other.
“Wow, Max! You get yourself a new ride, finally?” Richard O’Connor let out a low whistle as he paced around the shiny new Aero.
“Not yet, Richie. I’m about to go running back to the old one, to be honest. This one and I don’t speak the same language.” Max pressed a button on the console. The dome light came to life for a second and went dark again. Max growled.
“I can see that… Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I was able to pull up that kid’s e-mails for you.” Daryl had called Max a while ago to tell him someone had erased all of his e-mails. Seemed kind of convenient.
“Good man. I had a feeling his ISP would have a back-up of at least a few of them.” Max had Richard do some data mining with Daryl’s internet account. It sounded like it paid off. “Find anything threatening?”
“Yeah, I did.” Max raised an eyebrow. “Here’s the kicker: The kid sent the threatening e-mails to himself.”
The dome light flashed on and off. Max growled again. “Son of a bitch!”
Richard tried to hide a smile. “The bubble light or the kid?”
“Both!” He tossed the dome light on the passenger seat. “Was there anything else?”
“Well, kinda. The e-mails also had some weird coding above and below the threatening messages. It might be nothing…”
“But it might be something. I better take a look, and I need to have a serious talk with that kid. In the meantime…” Max scooped up the dome light and held it out to Richard. “Wanna do me a favor?”
Richard took it and grinned. “I’ll see what I can do for you.”
Max kept going over the e-mails on the tablet Richard had left for him. There was a binary theme to them. The most prominent message would either be positive or negative. A message buried in the bottom of the e-mail would invariably be the opposite.
Preservation Protocol Page 4