“Which is?”
“Building self-assembling micro-machines and infecting her followers with them.”
“A cyborg cult?” Kids had been plugging all kinds of tech into their bodies for years now.
“Of a sort,” he said.
“So we’re back at square one,” Adam said. “Except we have a woman who should be in her forties who looks early-twenties and my reporter has been invited into the cult she’s got going. Oh, and you’ve made several incredible claims about how it’s okay to screw your students.”
He stopped and faced Adam again.
“Look deeper.” He looked into Adam’s eyes. He really wanted Adam to understand his innocence. “She’s changing the world in ways we’re none of us prepared for.”
Adam wasn’t buying it. Oh, he heard what he said alright, but he assumed it was all noise covering the real story somewhere in the deep background. A small, dirty little secret of a story.
“Your identity in a network is your location inside the network, where you are in the network, much like our identity is based off of our bodies and its fixed place in this world. We can’t just suddenly become conscious in another location, we have to move our body there. So we are fixed and our physical path through life becomes our limitation, creates our sense of time, progress, death but that doesn’t exist in the Stream ... ”
While Mannerheim wound his way back through his absurd story, Adam made eye contact from step to step but followed his own train of thought. Take out the specifics, the details, and Mannerheim’s story looked like the classic scenario for fraud or illegal collusion. Boy meets girl. Girl and boy do something illegal. Feds get curious and start investigating. Boy obfuscates illegal act with absurd story. That doesn’t work. Feds start questioning people directly about Mannerheim and Celestine spying on people, say, invading their privacy over the StreamNet, or defrauding Mannerheim’s own company, stealing resources, money ... Girl blamed for dragging boy into illegal activity. But what about the court order? Feds blocking their interference? The words “grand jury” popped into Adam’s mind right then. A grand jury would explain a lot, since they often investigate in secret, barring everyone one involved from revealing even the existence of the jury.
“… and, like a shark swims the ocean with a superiority far and above a human swimmer, she uses the StreamNet far better than we do and we don’t know where she gets her access, her system-wide, unlimited access. There’s a lot at stake for everyone. Another crash and we’re back to a purely analogue world. Congress would nationalize the StreamNet again if these companies can’t manage it. The infrastructure is too important to everything society is built on, so they have to prove they can protect it or the whole private construct dies and billions upon billions of dollars go up in smoke.” He paused, looked out the window.
“Grand jury,” Adam barked, startling Mannerheim. “Grand jury.” He looked hard into the computer scientist’s eyes.
“What?” His tone told Adam that he had either got it right and surprised Mannerheim or he was as baffled as everyone else and just making shit up.
“You’re being investigated by a grand jury, and that’s what all of this is about.”
“I’m under investigation by a grand jury?” Mannerheim squawked. “What the hell for?” He jerked his arm out of Adam’s grasp.
“You tell me,” Adam spoke louder to rattle Mannerheim.
“Well, I can tell you I didn’t create those things. I have no idea where she got the design or energy to make them. She must have overcome a lot of roadblocks to make even a small amount of them let alone the clouds of them she evidently uses. I’ve been trying to get into a session, but she won’t let me in.” His face showed exhaustion bordering on fatalism.
He was putting on quite a show, Adam considered.
“You’re being investigated by a grand jury,” Adam launched into the darkness, “and are enjoined from talking about the case and this crazy ass story is your way of getting information out. You two get Natalie to come to a party, set it up as some sort of cult freakout as a cover, an alibi. We publish a story about your involvement with a cult and how this Celestine or whatever her name is, used you, blinded you with lust. Then you’ve got cover and she gets indicted by the grand jury.”
“She’s way out in front of us. You got that part right ...”
Adam cut him off. “Ah, she’s part of it. She goes to the grand jury, admits to being a brilliant nutcase ... But what did you do?”
“This isn’t about me …”
Adam stabbed Mannerheim’s chest with his index finger. Sue me, he thought. “What did you do?”
Mannerheim stepped back and started to turn away.
Adam didn’t follow him but said with menace, “Don’t run or I’ll go to the feds right now and tell them you told me everything and that’ll blow up your little scheme fast.”
Mannerheim turned back toward Adam. “I gave it my best shot. No one can say I didn’t try.”
These people were desperate and nuts and that’s not a good combination. Mannerheim turned toward the steps again. Adam got his phone from his coat pocket, hit recent calls, scrolled and dialed Natalie’s phone. His call went directly to voice mail.
“Mannerheim!” But, he was gone from the steps.
Adam jumped over to a window and saw a black town car stopped at the doorway. Mannerheim exited the tower and got in the back of the car. As the car started around the curved drive, he could just make out that the back license plates were white government issue. It was too far to make out any numbers.
“Now things are really getting interesting.”
His phone dinged. A name appeared on the stream screen, “Katharine Gramm.” It wasn’t a text message, just the name. When Adam slid the arrow to open the phone, the name disappeared. His legs felt weak going down the steps, like they might buckle at each step. He was excited and jittery. Now all he had to do was start picking away at the little details to find the real story.
X
Adam believed his grand jury theory would at least get him in the direction of the truth. Mannerheim and Celestine, or or just her, stole that technology, those micro machines or whatever, and are trying to evade accountability. The first thing he had to do was draw up a plan of action and get Beach to commit some serious resources to it. The probability that everyone on all sides of this story, whatever sides those might be, were trying to use him and the paper for their nefarious purposes made him almost giggle with love for his job. Beach would get a thrill out of it too. In his glory-blind haste, he had even forgotten to unfurl the umbrella. The rain ran off his head, down his neck and soaked his shoulders by the time he thought to pop open the bumbershoot.
Two blocks later, he waved down a cab and commanded a ride downtown. As the hired vehicle lunged into traffic mixed throughout with thousands of electric vehicles of all sizes and numbers of wheels, like an aviary of treehopper insects in an evolutionary scramble for a dominate camouflage, the thought crossed his mind that he should drop by the cult house to see if Natalie was there. See if she was okay. Maybe seeing him would toughen her up, buck her up one way or the other, that sort of thing. He’d be the elder gentleman editor who shows up in the field unexpectedly, who pulls the troops back on track with a warning of the dangers lurking just in the shadows as he twirls his umbrella at the rustling bushes. Adam laughed at himself. Maybe it was the rain that made the idea grow with noir-like absurdity. The dangers looming over her, if there were any, wouldn’t be frightened off at the sight of an elderly fat man. Adam caught glimpses of his shiny head reflected in the dirty car window. How did that happen? At two in the afternoon, it might as well have been eight at night for all the light getting through the cover of clouds. The wet city scattered by. The windshield wipers flopped across the glass for his sake. Ye car didn’t need it. But, they were onto a story, goddamn it. A news story. Who knew how far this went. All the way to D.C., he teased his own vainglory.
The autocab cr
ested the ridge and descended Capitol Hill and rocketed down Denny Way over the interstate. Mannerheim. Adam figured Mannerheim was trying to go insane to avoid taking responsibility. If Celestine had stolen something from him, he would have gone to the police or Feds. If it was classified work, whoever had funded the project would have nabbed her already. Besides, Adam no longer believed in purification by insanity. Researchers like his mother had taken the mystery and romance out of losing one’s mind, turning it instead into an injury, something to be treated like an STD instead of admired.
By the time they hit downtown, traffic had slowed to a crawl and two news helicopters circled over the dense high-rise core. A shooting maybe, or a pileup of e-bikes. It wasn’t a fire. No smoke. The cab’s radio played a kind of symphonic trance music, so whatever it was, it wasn’t enough to break up the programing and that meant the general assignment desk would handle that story.
The cab inched forward enough to pull in at a charge station. The auto-driver spoke through the car speakers: “You want to just walk from here? Just a couple more blocks.”
“Oh, yeah,” Adam said, surprised he hadn’t thought of it. “Not like I can’t use the exercise.”
He started down the sidewalk. Getting free of the cab made it seem as if the day had brightened, despite the rain. He loved walking in the Daily-Record’s entrance under the gothic masthead. On the way in, he reviewed his pitch to Beach for more resources. Mannerheim and Celestine have defrauded the government or the university or Beta Launch or all three. With a couple of reporters they can find out just how far this thing goes. Could be that Mannerheim was on the indictment hot-seat all by himself for something or other related to Celestine and her new machine tech, or something he did to either or both or didn’t do but should have. From the door to the newsroom, he walked straight to Beach’s office.
“There you are! Boy, have I got some news for you.” Beach, sitting behind her desk, hung up the phone without saying goodbye.
Adam took one of the ancient leather seats in front of her desk. “And I have news for you, too.”
“Well, I’m the boss. I get to go first.” She folded her hands on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk.
“Shoot.” He reclined, threw his right leg carelessly over his left.
“The lawyers were impressed by it. They’d never seen anything like it, and one of them even whistled.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. A big smile on her face. “They sent a legal aid to the courthouse to find the documentation to prove this thing is real and they’re there. This thing is a fully registered, pure-bred, honest-to-goodness, dyed-in-the-wool prior-restraint order from the U.S. District Court for the Western District of Washington signed by Visiting Judge Stephen Roarke, who no one has heard of but of course we found him easily enough. His home court is the Eastern District of New York. Not surprisingly, his visitation is up. We’ve left phone messages everywhere and library is right now running a skip trace and hunting for any other public records, housing and whatnot.”
“Wow. Nice.” Adam felt a glow rising up though him.
“And that’s not the best news!” She was excited and that was a wonderful thing to see in a city editor.
“I’m all ears.” He opened his arms to receive the glorious news.
“Our attorneys say we should ignore the thing and make them try to prosecute us.” She leaned back and put her hands on the back of her head.
“That is exciting news and well timed …” Adam sat up. It was his turn. What she had in concreteness, he had in potential.
“Do tell,” a pleasureful lilt in her voice.
“I met with Mannerheim this morning.” Boom.
“Oh?” Her face clouded over, it seemed to Adam. He had a dog in this fight after all. She thought she had the most interesting information of the morning, and while there wasn’t much in Beach as a boss to complain about, she still did desire to be the best reporter in the building. It made her sulky now and then when one-upped or, heaven forfend, proven wrong. Hell, Adam even liked that about her. It kept her genuine. She was willing to keep some skin in the game. All to the good, if you could hold up under all the fighting.
“I met him in secret in Volunteer Park. My conclusion is that he’s being investigated by a grand jury.”
“And we’re being warned off because of the investigation?” She rolled forward on the chair’s seat swivel and leaned on her elbows. Meat on the table. The scent of blood in the water.
“Given the range of nonsense he laid out for me, my guess is that Mannerheim is under a great deal of strain and is doing his damnedest to muddy the waters around him. Hell, his lawyers may have asked for the injunction just to tip us off. He met with me readily enough.”
“What did he say?”
“Well,” he began, confidence building in his voice, “he basically said he was having sex with one of his students. She discovered something useful in the old Internet data realms of the StreamNet or in one of his labs and they either used it to defraud their company or each other or the feds or someone. The student is the woman Natalie took the photo of. I think that club of theirs is something like a hacker club or cyborg cult. She’s apparently a very skilled engineer, according to Mannerheim. Who knows? Maybe they were selling information to or even hacking for China or Russia.” Adam felt he had gone too far with that last international part and the energy sort of seeped out of the interaction.
“Well,” Beach said in a forgiving tone. She started moving stuff around on her desk, a signal that she was back to being the boss. “We better find out.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Two and half reporters,” he said.
“Natalie and what other two did you have in mind. Maybe we should hand this over to the investigative team.” She struggled to hold back her smile.
“Don’t you dare. This is a cops and culture story.”
“Okay and don’t tuck your chin at me like that.”
“Robert and Carol.” He lifted his chin. “Robert to the court house and Carol to sniff out someone who’s involved somehow. Name’s Katharine Gramm. She’s the only real lead I got from Dr. Crazy.”
Beach grilled Adam over whether he thought Mannerheim was really crazy or not.
He puzzled over that with her, concluding: “I can’t tell. He bragged fast enough about screwing a student. Is that erratic or foxlike?”
“Guys always want validation of their sins. Wow, what a story! Okay, hit it. I want reports. This is too much fun just to let you keep it all to yourself. Where’s Natalie?”
“I am unable to raise her.”
“Well. Rock and roll.”
Adam stood. “It’s what we do.”
XI
Adam left Beach’s office and went straight to Robert’s desk and then Carol’s, letting them know they were being pulled into the story and gave them a quick rundown. Both reporters bitched that they had their own stories to work on. Adam listened and then dismissed their quibbles and sent them on their way. Meanwhile, he had two other big projects to ride herd on. Not to mention several short daily stories. By 6 p.m., he finally caught up enough to check back into Natalie’s note document. She had updated the file, signaling that she still lived and continued to pursue the story, even though she could have had the day off. He opened the file:
I’m at my neighborhood cafe and desperate for sleep. I’m about to embark on a data dump into these notes, but I wanted you to know that I am thinking about what you will be thinking as you read them.
They call it Mind Hive, an AI program they can interact with theatrically, like a piece of performance art.
They said the form they made out of that black sand is how they reprogram something the Mind Hive made for them in order to evolve humans. An arrangement of molecules (or micro-machines they call them nanites) that are part of this AI setup. They are small machines that interact with the body’s nervous system and brain tissue on
a cellular level. Definitely some radical cyborg shit going on. The two made it clear, once the structure of the sand reaches peak complexity, the ‘Mind Hive’ opens up and receives the consciousness of the participants. The Twins appear to be at odds with Celestine over this process. They like to think that what Celestine ran into early in Mannerheim’s lab and the consciousness that accepts them in those sessions are part of a universal consciousness or mind. Batshit for sure. Celestine views the event as a mechanical change in the machines and their interaction with the participants is imposed symbiotic cyborg interactions. The Twins think something more cosmic is going on, that pockets of the StreamNet reached the complexity necessary to generate consciousness and that spark grew into the Mind Hive. Celestine agrees that the Hive, a human mental hosting system, might not have a single location like a server farm but is distributed everywhere. The Twins think the first “self-assembling micro-machines” were already here, either naturally or made by god-like cosmic beings and left here for when humans evolved machines to the point of superintelligence and when the Hive came along, it melded with them.
I remembered about half way through their explanation to record the interview with the ST’s. Here’s the transcription of it:
“(The shape was) oscillating through rhythms and vibrations sent to it from the Clan members and at various times becomes a self-conscious being, and you can tell because the oscillations stop for a period of time and holds and you can feel it ... sort of hear it. Our physical brains after all create this thing we call consciousness and it lasts, relatively speaking, for a very brief time. We take shape out of the molecules of the world and at some point during our maturation, as the prerequisite molecules gather in the right shape and volume and experience, a blob of biological material becomes conscious. Through our channeling, our vibration to the silicone in the jar, we do create arrangements that the molecules themselves remember and a being that was conscious briefly becomes conscious again, a combination of us all.”
Mind Hive Page 6