by Erik Tabain
The fire crews weren’t left behind in the financial stakes either. As soon as the blast was acknowledged through their data systems, their messaging went to a wide range of crowd sourcing outlets, requesting €12 for their work to go out and put out the fires, under the Lifebook category of ‘Community Emergency Safety’.
Nor were the health and human rescue services left behind. Their task was likely to only be body retrieval at this stage, but it was €4 for their fee, under the ‘Emergency Medical Service and Retrieval’ category of Lifebook. The financial assets of all the deceased would be automatically accumulated by Biocrime and distributed to the service providers that exinguished the fire, the health and rescue services that retrieved the bodies, as well as contributing to the cost of rebuilding and rehousing the apartment block.
Despite the catastrophic nature of the blast, the Technocratic ethos was unemotional and pragmatic. Live was all about the living: the dead couldn’t contribute to the world any further. The clean-up was fast and efficient—after the embers died out and the building was deemed safe to inspect, all bodies would be retrieved within twelve hours, and the rebuilding would commence within forty-eight hours.
Banda looked on at the ensuing calamity from her position perched atop Anza Vista, and recorded every moment. The view was now more spectacular, given the flames had more fuel to furnish them and although the fire was under control, the top of the apartment block had a bright orange glow to it, almost like a massive cigar upended and embedded into the ground, exporting its smoke and fire into the sky. And like a cigar, the smells were unusual: the gases and chemicals; the human flesh; the fire retardant sprays used by the fire crew.
It approached midday and Banda switched off her recording device and left the scene, knowing there would be no blow-back to her or any evidence that linked the blast to Anika-6 and the Movement. She headed toward the nearest autotram to return back to her apartment, the sounds of the mayhem she created diminished with each step she took away from the blast site. There was a chance she might be stopped by Biocrime for a routine inspection, as they would under these circumstances, but it didn’t matter to Banda. Her job was done.
Eighteen
Framing a bomber
News of the bombing at Anza Vista quickly filtered through to Lifebook, and was accessed on many lightscreens, and displayed on messaging, news services and online hubs.
All city large-format lightscreens and holographs screened the footage of the bombing, with information that almost six-hundred citizens had been killed during a terrorism attack, and three suspects have been already arrested, and charged with multiple offences.
Of course, this was not true.
Within thirty minutes of the bombing, Biocrime data systems and the world memory bank had been scanned for events leading up to the bombing, and they couldn’t detect anything at all as far as how the bombing took place and who was involved. Their data systems had tightened up dramatically since Katcher’s crowd trial a decade earlier, and this was the first major incident since that time where they hadn’t been able to immediately detect who was responsible.
Less than one-tenth of a per cent of all criminal matters were, on prime face evidence, unsolvable, but it was usually because of a minor software malfunction, or what was called in the trade, ‘parallax error’, where genetic data recording was not entirely conclusive and the visual record disputed the actuality of events. The issue of parallax error was used in Katcher’s crowd trial defense a decade earlier, and Biocrime corrected many of the software malfunctions to ensure that type of technicality could never happen again.
However, parallax error couldn’t be reduced completely. For these cases where evidence still remained inconclusive, there was a specialist team within Biocrime that recreated and manipulated data to make evidence conclusive, a modern-day version of police verballing. Biocrime was an omnipresent edifice and was the strongest pillar of society. For it to have continued success, it needed to be seen as perfect and infallible, and in the absence of the real malefactor in the Anza Vista bombing, it allocated the crime to three other suspects—miscreants with a history of low-level violence—with reconstructed and fabricated evidence to link them to the crime, which then became available for crowd assessment.
All crimes needed to be allocated to someone—whether they were actually responsible for the crime or not—and in this case, the Anza Vista bombing was allocated to three low-level human activists. The three—now known as the ‘East End Bombers’—were Eva Alvarez, Yasmin Dominian and Paulo Mascerati—small fry, but they were active enough to have the crime pinned to them.
This solution would do for the time being but, for Biocrime, this incident was different. This was a major terrorism incident where almost six hundred Technocrats were murdered: a national emergency for Biocrime, and they didn’t have any evidence of who was responsible. In all other crimes where evidence slipped through the cracks because of a technical glitch or human error, such as the occasion where a Biocrime security officer forgot to back up a data from a major case before he went for a coffee break: at least that provided a reason that could be overridden or resolved through deeper datamining.
But in this case, there was no data evidence at all—Banda’s decoder app made sure of this—nothing that could be retrieved from genetic recording in the world memory bank; nothing on the surviving surveillance cameras; and nothing in the public domain. Pinning the crime on someone, innocent or otherwise, wasn’t the problem for Biocrime; fabrications of evidence were simple. Biocrime needed to find out why there was no record of the planting of the bomb, and they needed to find out who was behind it. Biocrime had the right people who could find out.
The leader of Biocrime’s Unallocated Incidents Team was Don Capone, a fourth generation human clone from the Southern Europe Zone.
He was sharp, ruthless and strategic and had been provided with the task of cleaning up the Anza Vista incident and finding out what happened. He was fourth in line in the chain of command at Biocrime and, because of this, was entitled to a windowed office on the fifty-sixth floor of the Biocrime building, a location in the heart of the financial district which provided views to half of San Francisco. The president, Michelle Luanda, was in the heavily fortified sixtieth floor, and as far as the hierarchy of control was concerned, Capone was close to the top of the pyramid.
His office was spacious, and had a vast array of lightscreens and other technological devices delicately poised throughout the workspace. It was clear and open, uncluttered in any way that could stultify his thinking or act as a deterrent to strategic thinking. He was a great believer in the principals of feng shui and allowing for the free flow of ideas in a working environment. It was a workspace that could accommodate several security officers and support staff, but Capone liked to ‘war game’ by himself and, on this occasion, was alone.
He was a powerful figure that had every available crime detection resource at his disposal—forensic specialists, coders and programmers, surveillance officers, finance, auditing and actuarial experts, problem solvers and strategic thinkers.
There was also another team he had access to, a team that managed digital clean up and propaganda—a collection of programmers, visual artists, speech writers and algorithm bypassers for propagandizing and manipulation of public perception. In this case, they were the team responsible for allocating the crime of the Anza Vista bombing to the three suspects, and creating the crowd trial so citizens could determine the guilt, or otherwise, of the suspects, with a closing date of fourteen days.
And with the amount of support material this team would fabricate against the three suspects, they would be found guilty, and sent immediately to a universal penal zone: there was no question about this. A major crime like this was going to attract a large number of ‘likes’ and ‘wants’, and would pay for all the deportation work, reparations to the families of the victims of the bombing, contribute to the rebuilding—which had already commenced—and generat
e a massive profit for Biocrime. For Biocrime, the guilty verdict was secondary to the income stream that was likely to arise.
But revenues and a guilty verdict aside, Capone needed to determine how Biocrime failed to detect who actually planted the bomb and if citizen stalking was a better method in this case to get to the heart of the matter.
He liked to ponder and after he stared out the window to look over the long horizon of the metropolis and collected his thoughts, he moved over to stand in front of his main lightscreen and summoned a list the highest ranked citizen stalkers in the San Francisco region.
Within seconds, the lightscreen displayed the long real-time list of the top-earners in citizen stalkers, with Marine Lestre heading the list, some twenty per cent higher than her nearest rival. Capone read through a number of profiles; collating, pondering, strategizing, working out which solution he should implement, and which option provided him with the clearest pathway.
Lestre was in her small apartment and watched two events concurrently on her lightscreen—her usual assessment and monitoring of Biocrime profiles, and the ongoing reportage of the Anza Vista bombing in the lower right part of the screen. There was an ongoing stream of video material—citizen journalist reports and analysis: who were the East End Bombers, what was their rationale and did they have links with other natural humans, or were they lone wolves?
Of course, everyone had a theory and a rationale, but the conglomeration of opinions, facts and theories added to the circus of the event. Lestre was almost immune from the charade and sideshow—but below the rolling visual footage from Anza Vista, she noticed a small advertisement for Amore coffee, and she wondered whether it was time for her to replenish her supplies.
Lestre then summoned her Lifebook account to switch over to BioLaw, which showed a list of the current crowd trials, and the trial of the East End Bombers headed the list. She zoomed in on the trial, and it showed the details for the case against the East End Bombers: footage of the bomb planted—fabricated by Capone’s team of propagandists—and Biocrime profile photographs with links to all the ‘evidence’ in the special part of Prosecution Zone, with the perfunctory Defense Zone for viewers who offered commentary for why they thought the bombers were innocent.
And, just like a computer-game simulation, there was a real-time bank of statistics—the current figure of 31,327,056: Guilty; 795,454: Not Guilty, with final projections and an advertising reminder for citizens to lodge their verdicts before the closing date. It was part pantomime, part revenge, part citizen jury; but for Biocrime, it was all about generating revenues. It had only been one day since the profiles of the East End Bombers went up and, at €2 per lodged verdict, Biocrime was likely to likely to recoup around €1 billion in revenue from the case alone.
On another part of Lestre’s lightscreen, an incoming datacall flashed up—it was encrypted at level nine—the highest—and she could see that was a call from Biocrime. As a former employee, Lestre was known within Biocrime, but the highest level encryption she’d ever had before was a seven.
With level nine encryption, no-one could intervene or overhear the conversation, regardless of where they were. D’Souza was within earshot in the next room, but high-level noise cancelling software meant he couldn’t hear the conversation, even if he was sitting next to Lestre.
Lestre summoned to accept the call, and Capone’s face appeared on her lightscreen.
He was dressed in the orange and black stylized Biocrime suit: smart, clean and slightly oppressive, as if he was shielding the rest of the world from the dirty nasty work that went on behind the gated community of Biocrime.
“Marine Lestre? It’s Officer Don Capone, leader of the Unallocated Incidents Team.”
There wasn’t a need for him to state this, as below the call display on Lestre’s lightscreen was an outline of all the key details for Capone—his position, his history, and his key role in the destruction of one of the Movement’s underground cells seven years ago. As well as a brief outline for the reason of his call. But basic human instinct remained intact: it was a rhetorical introduction and just plain good manners to someone he was meeting for the first time.
“It’s about the Anza Vista bombing,” Capone said, “and there’s been a few issues that we need to get to the bottom of.”
“Well, pleased to meet,” Lestre said, “but there’s not much to get to the bottom of. You’ve got your suspects, they’re on crowd trial and the way things are going, they’re about ninety-nine per cent guilty, and the good thing for you is Biocrime is going to make a motza. And, by the way, I hope I’m getting paid for this call.”
“We can look after that later, but there’s a few anomalies within the system.”
“Anomolies? You do get glitches occasionally but what’s up now?”
“Best that you come down to Biocrime and meet up,” Capone said. “You’ve already got the clearance here, but best to have you in here to go through it. You’ve been our best stalker for the past two years, and we want you in on this project. And bring Lumbardo.”
“You know of Lumbardo?”
“We know everything here, but we’ve psychometrically matched you with what we’ve got planned here, and you could probably do with his help. Have a five-minute think about it, but we want to move fast on this.”
Lestre didn’t need the full five minutes: she decided as soon as the encrypted call with Capone was over—she messaged Lumbardo immediately: ‘High profile work with Biocrime. Anza Vista bombing. Are you in?’ and within thirty seconds, she received Lumbardo’s smiley-face response, with a small emoji on her screen, and also reminded her the synth coffee, Amore, was available on sale at a vendor just three minutes away, or if she was too busy to venture out, she could summons a small drone delivery to be received in just thirty minutes.
On her lightscreen, a small flashing green screen bounced up and suggested six options for meeting up with Capone at the central Biocrime building, having registered her recent interactions with him, as well the responses from Lumbardo. Capone was available tomorrow at 14:00, but at the moment, nothing was available for Lestre. She summoned away some of her regular appointments for the afternoon, and summoned away until there was a clear space for her—she wanted to move quickly too—and her scheduler calculated the timing for the autobus trips, a likely briefing session with Lumbardo at The Old Soviet, as well as the walking distance, and reallocated all of her tasks according to her previous behaviour and actions.
She knew Lumbardo would always make the time for this type of high-level activity, so she confirmed the meeting to Capone on his behalf.
In the corner of her eye, Lestre could see the distinct profile of Lumbardo sitting in his usual spot at The Old Soviet. It was just a another short trip again to the Biocrime headquarters from The Old Soviet and her scheduler suggested a twenty-minute timeslot for coffee, and a small snack for lunch, but only if they were quick.
Lestre entered The Old Soviet, and was keen to move fast. “Same again for you Mister Lumbardo?”
“Sure,” Lumbardo said, “but we’ve only got twenty minutes, so we’ve got to be quick.”
Lestre summoned for their usual ‘quick snack’: cheeseburgers, with Slavic gherkins on the side, and the synth latte each, delivered to their table by robohelper.
“What do you think they might be up to?” asked Lumbardo impatiently, not even waiting for Lestre to be seated.
Lestre noticed Lumbardo’s shirt had its advertising zones switched off—which was a great relief to her—but showed that Lumbardo recognized the potential importance of this mission. Biocrime had a ‘hands-off’ approach to most of its dealings with the outside world and to bring outside people in to ‘discuss’ something meant a big case—and a potential big catch—was on the cards.
“It’s to do with the Anza Vista bombing,” Lestre said, “something about ‘not quite adding up’, or some ‘anomolies’, whatever that means.”
“I’ve heard they may have some dee
per software glitches,” Lumbardo said, “but why call us in? If it’s software, they’ve got a team of coders in there that can sort it out. And, haven’t they already got their guys?”
“They have, or so they say they have, but just said there was something different about this one. Ah, gherkins! Love these…”
Lestre and Lumbardo finished their snack, and were tagged with a €13 bill each. It was quick, nourishing, and cheap. It wasn’t good to go to a meeting on an empty stomach and they knew it hadn’t cost the earth.
The next autobus trip after The Old Soviet was a twelve-minute ride. There was a lunch-time crowd which meant they weren’t getting a seat, but to stand for the entire journey gave them a discount, so they weren’t too fussed, especially Lumbardo.
The autobus neared the Biocrime headquarters, and Lestre and Lumbardo were three minutes early. They slowed their walk when they got off the autobus: it wasn’t good to be early, or fashionably late—it had to be precisely 14:00.
The Biocrime building, contrary to the nature of the work that it performed, was not a hideous or overbearing building. It was a business, and the unusually welcoming features comprised sleek designs, a combination of modern silver metal styling, and a deep burnt rust orange color complementing the corporate black.
There was a lightwell at the entrance of the building, almost as though it was an enterprise that produced perfumed products or a benevolent society that provided good work and social support tasks for all citizenry.
In the lobby area, there was a collection of comfortable corporate seats and, on the wall, a large projected image of the current president of Biocrime, Michelle Luanda. The large three-dimensional Biocrime logo above the concierge was held by an invisible string, almost hanging like the sword of Damocles. Behind the concierge were the words of the company motto embossed in a sleek san-serif typeface: ‘Do not kill. Do no evil’.