Burn-In

by P. W. Singer

Keegan watched a pair of armored Coast Guard inflatables race upriver, leaving wakes in the bloody red water, like white scars. “Any further incidents?”

  “Similar incidents have occurred in multiple other plants, indicating a system-wide episode related to a software update corruption.”

  “Anything law enforcement related on it?”

  “An Environmental Protection Agency investigation file has been opened.”

  Good luck getting the companies to pay that fine.

  “It’s really strange looking. Has it ever happened before?”

  “Yes. A similar incident in Siberia occurred in 2016, when . . .”65

  Half listening to TAMS, Keegan pinged her husband, wondering what he might have heard on his feed. His company’s open-source intelligence network—though they never called it that—allowed its workers to have a real-time picture of everything from demand for services to breaking news, anything that could influence whether somebody needed to be ready to engage with a customer. It was also usually better than anything she could pull from the FBI network on an event like this because it was faster, had cleaner data, and was easier to query. She swiped the Watchlet, rotating through the icons, until it landed on a personal network tunnel.

  “That’s enough,” Keegan said to TAMS, instructing it to cease the summary.

  “Would you like the collective insight from my social network analysis?”

  A faint pulse at her temple indicated the creation of a secure connection with Jared’s account. “Well . . . fine,” she said to TAMS. “Go.”

  “There is an unevenly distributed but seriously considered theory coalescing around the likelihood of copper-nickel concentrate waste illegally released by a factory in West Virginia. Another trend line focuses on the secret role of government officials in poisoning children.”

  “Don’t go all Deep State on me now, TAMS,” she said.

  As she did, she typed into her app. Everything OK?

  All good, Jared wrote back. Then her screen burst with a video of an overweight calico cat sliding backward down a house’s stairway bannister, then landing perfectly.

  She laughed. Jared must have been having a really good day, lots of points again, probably.

  “A third theory believes it to be a sign of religious significance . . .” the robot continued on.

  Keegan tuned TAMS out, starting to type out a reply when her Watchlet buzzed slightly.

  The three pulses meant it was Haley, her daughter.

  Keegan swiped the band to route the call to her glasses. “Hi, butterfly! How’re you doing?”

  “Fine. Um, where’s the almond butter?”

  “The cupboard? Why?”

  “I need to make my lunch.”

  “Just get Daddy to grab it.”

  “I tried.”

  “Try again. I’m at work, honey, so I can’t help now. Daddy can do it.” She wondered if TAMS would register her rise in blood pressure. If Jared had time to send her cat memes, he could at least take a five-minute break to make Haley a sandwich.

  “No, he can’t.” Haley with a voice of finality, as if it should be obvious to her.

  “Why not?”

  “Daddy’s been sleeping all morning. I told him that I was hungry, but he wouldn’t answer.”

  Wait.

  That hadn’t been Jared—he had set up a chat bot to respond to her.66 Another offering from his employer. Keeping connected with a customer was more important than a live connection with a spouse or child at times, the theory went.

  “How long has he been sleeping?” she asked, trying to keep it casual.

  “I don’t know,” the girl replied. “I keep telling him I want lunch and he wouldn’t get up.”

  “Haley, I’m going to come home right now and make you a sandwich. Sound good? Just wait for me. Why don’t you start a Tag-Box game?” Referring to one of the mixed reality games that Haley loved so much, the cameras projecting colorful little 3-D boxes around the room that she would chase down for points.67 “And you know what? Today, you can play as loud as you want, get all the boxes as quick as you can.”

  “But Daddy is sleeping. He’ll get mad.”

  “That’s OK. If he wakes up from it, tell him Mommy said it was OK. I’ll be right there, sweetie.”

  “Alright,” Haley said, then obviously running off to boot up the game.

  Keegan pulled up the surveillance feeds from her bot on the shelf to try to see what the hell was going on with Jared. She saw what looked like a close-up of a brown rug. She switched views to a cicada she’d placed on another shelf for the cross-room view and got a black circle surrounded by orange fuzz around the top half of the screen. Haley appeared to have attached the cicada to her bear, Baz.

  Keegan put the vehicle in pursuit mode, which turned on the Suburban’s red and blue lights, nested behind the grill and in a tiara-like strip along the top of the windshield. Immediately, a Hyundai sedan shifted out of their way, the SUV’s signal electronically moving any autonomous vehicles.

  “Change of plans. We’re going to my condo,” said Keegan. “Family matter.”

  “I will notify emergency services,” TAMS said.

  “What . . . no!” said Keegan. “I never said anything about 911.”

  “Your actions indicate that this is a serious matter. Do you require any other aid?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Keegan. This was something she needed to handle on her own. “This is a personal matter. That means it is not to go into any FBI incident report.”

  “OK,” said TAMS.

  But, like every sensing machine, it would still record everything.

  Ballston Neighborhood

  Arlington, Virginia

  Keegan reached for the door handle, her stomach knotting in the familiar way it had in front of other doors years ago in a far different place. That queasy feeling of not knowing what was on the other side. Opening it could risk nothing. Or it could set off a bomb. In many ways, it was the same now.

  Jogging down her building’s hallway, she had come up with a plan: Grab Haley first and put her in her bedroom. Then go to Jared and check if he was breathing. Leave TAMS outside to limit the exposure.

  Opening her door, there was no explosion other than the sounds of Haley’s game still playing. A few 3-D boxes still hung in the air, another projected onto the kitchen counter. Haley had apparently played so long that she’d gotten bored and was now chasing Baz around the room. Keegan forced a wide smile and scooped the girl up into a hug. As she tucked her daughter into the crook of her neck, she squeezed her extra tight. Haley’s weight started to hurt her back, but she ignored it, carrying her daughter into her bedroom, whooshing her down the hall as if it were a game.

  “Stay here for a minute, OK?” Keegan said. “You play with your animals and I’m going to surprise Daddy. And I have a new friend to show you, but he’s waiting outside for now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this is family time.”

  “OK . . . I missed you,” said Haley, grabbing a following Baz out of the air, not to play with but to hold tight in solace. No matter what you said, kids always knew when something wasn’t right.

  “I missed you too,” she replied. “We’re going to be fine. Promise.”

  Careful not to slam the thin door, she closed it behind her and then spun quickly, going down the hall to the living room. She could see Jared on the couch, nested in blankets, motionless. He was clearly not active in the feed, his hands dangling loosely, fingers brushing the ground. Worse, she saw one of the tiny aerosol spray cans on the floor, tipped over on its side.

  “Jared,” she hissed. No reply. No movement.

  “Jared!” she said louder, but still not yelling, to keep Haley from worrying more.

  Her feet got heavier and heavier with each step closer to him. She put her hands on his shoulder, but he didn’t react.

  Kneeling down, she held up her Watchlet to just above Jared’s mouth. Thankfully, his breath fogged t
he dark screen. She then lifted his hand and pressed two fingers on the thumb side of his wrist. A heartbeat, but way too slow.

  “Jared! Wake up,” she said, pulling off the VR headset. It beeped angrily at disconnecting from its user so abruptly.

  Jared’s face was placid, almost expressionless, and his head rolled back onto the couch. His damp hair smelled faintly of sweat, and his forehead had a band of dots from the rig. She traced the marks left by the VR headset, her fingertip drifting down his cheek.

  There was no reset button to push. Not for his body. Not for their marriage. There was nothing she could do except think of all the reasons this should not be happening. To Haley. To her.

  “Jared, wake up,” she said, shaking him by the shoulders. “You need to wake up. Now.” She yanked Jared up by the arm, blinking back the pain that shot down her lower back and leg from tugging at him in an awkward position.

  Jared finally stirred, his head jerking up slightly.

  “Hey, hey, it’s me, wake up,” said Keegan softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

  “Hey,” he sighed, eyes still closed. One eye opened, then closed again. “My head is killing me.”

  “You can’t be doing this, Jared,” said Keegan, picking up the nasal spray, feeling its emptiness as she put it in her pocket.

  “What?” he said, slowly waking up to where he was, who he was. “Where’s Haley?”

  “Where’s Haley is exactly right,” she said. The resentment started knotting her throat and she swallowed it. “She’s in her room, safe. She called me.”

  Groggily, he said, “I was offline because a neighbor stopped by Harlan’s and—”

  “Save the explanation for later,” Keegan said, helping him stand. “Let’s get you a shower first, to wake up, and then we can talk.”

  She would take the high road for now. Get him back to himself and then they could talk reasonably. The two of them walked toward their—his—bedroom, Jared leaning slightly on her. At the doorway, his Watchlet buzzed, one of the sleek all-white Apple versions that she’d gotten him as a birthday gift right before the fall, and Jared stiffened with energy, as if finally waking back up. “Shit,” he said. “I gotta get back on.”

  Keegan kept them moving through the door. “Stop. Just stop. You can miss this one. Get a shower and I’ll make you some coffee.”

  “We’re out of coffee,” he murmured.

  “No, I ordered a delivery last night,” she said.

  He went into the master bathroom, leaving the door open, and she sat on the bed, propping herself up against the long, flannel pillow. Her pillow. Or, at least, it had been when she used to sleep in the bed. He started to undress, pulling off his shirt. Then, he must have realized she was there, and closed the door behind him. It was a sign that he was coming out of his fog, but it stung all the same.

  She listened for the shower to come on and then yelled out, “Take it easy for a bit and I’ll come check on you once the coffee is ready.”

  Then came a squeal of excitement in the living room. Haley. Kids never listen. At least her dad wasn’t there now, passed out.

  Then Haley squealed joyfully.

  Keegan got up and went to the living room. TAMS knelt in front of Haley, knees tucked underneath its body facing the girl. Whoever had programmed it must have had kids, knowing that they trust those who engage them at eye level.

  “Hello, I am TAMS,” the system said, but in the nasal twang of one of Haley’s favorite cartoon characters, a pink panda with Pegasus-like wings. It held out its hands, palms open, and Haley instinctually placed hers down on top of them. That’s when Keegan realized it was doing a health assessment. Each sensor on the bot was reading her daughter’s state, down to the blood pressure flowing through her hands.

  “Haley, this is my new robot,” Keegan said warily, not sure how to handle introductions. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. He looks silly,” Haley said.

  Keegan tried to read her daughter’s expression for any sign of discomfort, but the uncanny valley’s differing effect on children made it completely normal to see a robot in her den.68 “I’m not sure it’s a he,” she said. “Are you still hungry?” she added, wanting to change the subject, so as not to have that confusing conversation right now.

  “Yes,” Haley said, her attention totally shifting. “Can I have some ice cream?”

  “I don’t think we have any,” said Keegan.

  “There are approximately 400 grams of chocolate ice cream in the freezer,” said TAMS.

  “Haley, sweetie, it’s wrong,” Keegan said. “We’re out of ice cream. Why don’t I make you a grilled cheese instead?”

  Haley looked quizzically at TAMS, then at her mother, as if deciding whom to trust on the matter of the ice cream. “OK, Mommy. Grill cheese.”

  “Grilled cheese, please,” Keegan corrected, stretching out the rhyme, as the girl giggled and then started to run around the room, chanting the rhyme.

  “TAMS, come here,” Keegan said.

  The bot unfolded its legs, stood to its full height, and walked over to her. It could not register emotion, but it seemed to move with a cowed dog’s hesitancy.

  “Why are you in here? I did not order you to come in,” said Keegan.

  “Available information indicated a child in distress. Your stress and pain markers showed elevated levels. These combined factors required me to assess the environment,” the robot said.

  “OK. Whatever. We’ll have to fix that later.” Keegan went into the kitchen to start Haley’s sandwich.

  A buzzing started from the couch—Jared’s damn VR rig, vibrating gently in a steady pulse that sounded like a bee.

  Haley ran over to pick it up. Shooting a quick glance at the closed bedroom door, she put the rig on her head like a crown, chin tilted high into the air. The oversized harness slid down her face, onto her nose. She used two hands to hold it up as she walked over to TAMS, where she plopped down on the floor.

  “Haley. Take it off,” Keegan said. The girl had trouble lifting it, so Keegan called to the robot. “TAMS, help her get the helmet off.”

  As the robot plucked the VR rig off Haley’s head, Jared walked into the living room. He was in sweatpants and a T-shirt, his wet hair combed. “What the . . .” he blurted out. “Get the hell away from my daughter!”

  TAMS continued to pull the helmet off the girl. But now, at her father’s anger, Haley held on to the rig. The robot swiveled its head to look at Keegan, away from Jared. It was waiting for her command, or even nonverbal direction, on what to do next. Not Jared’s.

  “It will only listen to me,” she explained, coming into the room to stand between him and TAMS. “Yelling at it won’t do anything. That’s the way it’s programmed.” She turned to the machine. “TAMS, stop helping Haley.”

  “OK,” the bot said and stood perfectly still.

  “Get out!” said Jared, pointing his finger at the machine. “Out!”

  “It’s going to be OK, Jared,” Keegan said. “TAMS, go wait out in the hallway.”

  As TAMS soundlessly left the room, Haley walked up to Jared and wrapped her arms around his legs. Keegan knew it wasn’t that she was scared; it was more the kind of hug that kids gave when they saw their parents hurting, mimicking them. It still pained her as a mother to see that she’d gone to him first. She told herself it was just because of her job, because Haley was around him all day.

  Rubbing Haley’s back with one hand, Jared pointed angrily at Keegan. “I don’t want that thing to ever be close to, or touch, Haley again. OK?” He was almost sputtering in rage. “And if it broke my rig and cost me my job . . . What were you thinking bringing it here?”

  Keegan knew Jared’s outburst was the product of much more than an explosion of anger at a machine. TAMS’s very existence hurt him; it spoke to the absence of meaning that he felt after losing the job he’d worked for his whole life. It still didn’t give him the right to yell.

  “What was I think
ing? I’m thinking that you’re pissed off not because a machine came in the house, but because it filled in for you.”

  Jared shook his head, incredulous. “Never talk to me like that again around Haley.”

  “Around Haley?!” Keegan yelled. “Your inability to stay off the spray around Haley is the reason we’re here! Decide whether you want to be a dad or have a job, cause you clearly can’t do both!”

  Haley’s gaze was locked on to her mother’s face, then her father’s. Then she started to cry, a low wail that built up into a “no” that stretched out over ten seconds.

  “Now see what you did,” Jared hissed, and pulled the crying girl in close.

  “Honey,” Keegan said in a soft tone to Haley and began to step toward her. “It’s OK. I didn’t mean Daddy really had to choose.”

  At that moment, TAMS came back inside. It had an alertness to its posture—how its hands were positioned and the bend of its knees—that indicated it was again scanning for trouble. It immediately stood to Keegan’s side as she knelt down to hug Haley, but Jared pulled Haley away and stood between his daughter and the robot.

  “You need to get that thing out of here, Lara. Now.”

  Who’s scaring Haley more now? Keegan wanted to shout. But she didn’t say anything at all, as much for TAMS as for Haley. “Fine, we’re going,” she said.

  “And keep it away from here. It’s for your own good too,” Jared said. “You better watch out, Lara. That machine is going to find out more than you want it to.”

  CityCenterDC Development

  Washington, DC

  “This old hammer killed John Henry.”

  Todd spun away from the cloth-covered gap he had wedged himself through at the back of the abandoned store. It was a woman’s voice singing. He took a step backward, feet crunching on broken glass, searching for the voice. He saw nothing but rays of evening light coming in between the cracks in the plywood covering the windows.

  “Easy,” the voice said. “We’re safe . . . Unless you don’t know the rest of the song.”

  Emerging from a door built flush into the wall of pink marble—a portal that he had somehow missed—was a woman in a black hooded jacket over a pink tufted dress that looked like something for a high school prom. No, he thought, more like a quinceañera dress. Fortunately for her, in that getup, the weather had done one of its usual spring swings.69 In the high nineties just two days before, now it was in the low fifties. A gray silken scarf covered most of her face, and the drape of the hood hid everything but her watery blue eyes and crow’s feet. Maybe late thirties. His eyes were drawn downward, where her right hand was in her jacket pocket, the outline of a pistol stretching the fabric.