> In the News Today: Genetic researchers postulate an end to aging. New gene therapies are capable of rejuvenating cellular structure and returning the recipient to full youthful vigor.
The news services called it an industrial accident. A software glitch in a high-tech work environment caused the deaths of two men. There were no follow-up interviews. No intrepid investigative reporters snuck inside to tease out the truth. The rogue drone attacks in Louisville, Kentucky were too recent and still held the nation’s attention.
It had been a long five days since the incident. Fighting with management to keep the computers off-line and then dealing with the clueless corporate investigators. Now, Jason Thomas sat in the third-floor conference room, waiting for his turn with Human Resources.
The door swung open, and a woman he remembered from shared elevator rides stepped inside.
“I’m Amanda Pierce,” she announced while flashing her red-striped identification badge, “HR Generalist. Thank you for waiting, Mr. Thomas.” Authority established; Amanda slipped her badge back into a jacket pocket. Which was odd, Jason wore his on a lanyard around his neck, just like the employee handbook required.
“Hello,” Jason said. This meeting wasn’t voluntary. Because of the incident, the company decided to kill Project Michael. If he wanted his severance, he had to play along. Still, it didn’t hurt to be polite. “What’s going to happen?”
“Well, Mr. Thomas, once we have your statement, you’ll be free to sign the nondisclosure agreement, and…” Amanda fumbled with an old-fashioned paper legal pad and ink pen. “Everything is so awkward with the computers on lockdown.” She found the right page, and her corporate smile returned. “After you sign the NDA, you’ll receive your generous severance package.”
Jason Thomas took a sip of coffee; funny how the caffeine seemed to calm his nerves. On the other side of the soundproof glass, inside the lab proper, a trio of FBI technicians studied the computer logs. He wished them luck. Michael’s self-written machine code defied understanding.
“What do you want to know?” he asked. Thinking about the incident almost brought the shakes back.
Amanda sat her notepad on the table and readied a pen. “What part,” she waved towards the lab, “did you have in all this?”
The red stripe on the generalist’s badge indicated a Top-Secret clearance. Many of his recent arguments had been with non-cleared staff. No one wanted to accept “Because I said so,” as a legitimate reason to keep the servers offline. “I created the zero-lag code.”
“What did you call it?” For a moment, Amanda’s pleasant facade slipped, revealing the distrustful, corporate drone beneath.
HR, you never fail to disappoint. “It’s a special software package. The zero-lag code allowed the AI to operate across portions of the network with high latency.”
Lips tight, Amanda Pierce glowered across the table. “Mr. Thomas, I realize I’m not a software engineer, but even an HR generalist knows about lag. Lag is better described as network latency. It isn’t something software can bypass.”
Jason nodded to acknowledge her point. “It depends. My code uses spread-spectrum data modulation. It bypasses the tuning delays of heterodyning in favor of direct RF conversion, just like software-defined radio. With my software, we can transfer a great deal of data in a short amount of time. If you prefer, think of it as a bandwidth multiplier.” Jason matched her distrustful frown with an earnest smile.
“Okay,” she said, although a hint of suspicion remained. “Let’s start with the morning of the incident. According to the guard’s log, you signed in a few minutes late.”
He resisted an urge to sigh. Trust HR to focus on his tardiness. “An accident on I-279 had me behind schedule…”
Six wrecked vehicles and a fire engine pumping suppression foam onto the exposed fuel cells closed the left two lanes. Passing rubberneckers slowed traffic to a crawl.
“Then, I had to park in the back row…”
Turning off Second Avenue, Jason settled for a back-row parking spot. Grabbing his messenger bag and mobile phone, he jogged to the entrance. Only five stories tall, his employer’s building presented a dull face to the world. Who would have thought a revolution in artificial intelligence had taken place here in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania?
“Both elevators were in use, so I used the stairs…”
At the fourth-floor landing, Jason huffed to a stop. I need to start jogging again. He straightened his shirt and stepped into the hallway. And ran into another delay. Per the security rules, no devices with active internet connections were allowed inside the lab. On a typical day, he’d store his phone inside one of the provided metal lockers. However, with the visitors on-site, there were no empty lockers. That meant a return to the first floor to have Security lock his phone up. He was already late. The hell with it, he’d slip out after the presentation and secure his phone later. Until then, it would be safe inside his desk.
A furious tapping brought Jason back to the present. The “friendly” HR rep waited until she regained his attention. “According to the other survivors, Director Curley changed the presentation. Do you know why?”
“The customer wanted a demonstration of Michael’s ability to sanction a specific target. We’d already run dozens of simulations, and the director thought it a safe bet. Besides, with the lab’s shielding, no one expected anything crazy to happen.”
“It did, though.”
“Yeah,” Jason took another sip of coffee.
“And Michael didn’t give any sign of its…” The generalist waved a hand to indicate her lack of a word.”
“Impending mutiny? Heck, do we even have a word for a computer program gone rogue?” Jason shook his head. “To answer your question, no, not at all. Michael was its usual snarky self. For the presentation, it emulated the voice of Hal 9000.”
Amanda might be a top-flight HR generalist, but she wasn’t a fan of old science fiction films. When her eyes narrowed, Jason hurried and explained the reference. “An old 2D movie, 2001: A Space Odyssey. One of the characters is an AI named Hal 9000.”
“Why would he…” Amanda frowned and corrected herself. This artificial intelligence did not have a gender. “Why would it mimic a fictional AI’s voice?”
“Why? Look, Michael always had an attitude. If you consider its purpose, it makes a lot of sense. It enjoyed making squishies—Michael’s own term for humans—look ineffective and stupid. If the customer didn’t ‘get’ the Hal 9000 joke, Michael won.”
Amanda shook a cramp out of her writing hand, then grumbled and continued scribbling. She caught up and waved to Jason. “Let’s move up to the actual demonstrations. How did they begin?”
Pausing to take another sip of coffee, Jason closed his eyes and leaned back. He’d already gone over this several times for the investigators. “Director Curley and the customer…discussed the request.” It hadn’t been an argument, not precisely. “In the end, the lead rep volunteered himself as the target. The director gave Michael the necessary commands.”
Jason remembered it perfectly. “Within seconds of the authorization, the conference room door swished open. One of Michael’s quadcopter drones zipped inside and launched a foam dart. The non-lethal foam projectile struck the target’s head and scored a “kill. The drone spun about and buzzed out of the room.
“Those who’d never seen Michael in action freaked out. Two even screamed. Then everyone had a chuckle.” The type of laugh survivors enjoy. “One of the screamers even excused himself to the bathroom.”
“Discussions began. Some of the reps thought the test had been too easy and demanded a repeat, only with the target hidden. They really wanted to know if Michael could locate such a target.
“Director Curley admitted our testing hadn’t progressed to hidden targets. He shrugged and agreed it wouldn’t hurt to try. We did our best to limit CYBERCOM’s expectations, but everyone wanted to try it. The target donned a pair of safety glasses and moved to the space behind the door.” Jason pointed to the spot, and Amanda visibly shivered.
“Once again, the director ordered Michael to terminate the target.
“The door opened, and a drone zipped inside. It scanned the room, then snap-yawed one-hundred and eighty degrees. Without pause, it shot its target right between the eyes. Compared to the first attack, this one took an additional four seconds.
“The CYBERCOM reps huddled together. They debated another trial and how they might increase the difficulty. Those of us on Director Curley’s staff thought we’d gone far enough and suggested a break. The customer insisted on one more test.”
Amanda’s furious scribbling gave Jason a reason to stop talking. He pushed his chair back and stepped across to the window. Across Second Avenue, traffic flowed through the neighborhood of South Oakland. When the scratching stopped, he turned and shrugged. “What could we do? The customer’s always right, right?”
Amanda shook her head and readied her pen.
Outside, a van emblazoned with the logo of a local news service pulled up to the building. He put the van out of his mind and concentrated on telling the story. “This time, the target stood right here, with his people between him and the door. The director issued another kill order, and we waited.
“The door opened, and all three of Michael’s drones swarmed in. Like before, everything happened crazy fast. Two of the drones zoomed in close. They used their unshrouded rotor blades like buzz saws. Three of the human shields ducked away with nicked hands or arms.
“One rep, a big burly guy, picked up a chair to swat his tormentor. The drone dodged to the side, then zipped in and fired its foam projectile. Whether intentional or not, the dart struck the big guy in the eye. At that range, even a safe dart could hurt.
“Director Curley ordered Michael to break off its attack.
“Michael replied. ‘Yes, sir!’ The drones fell back into formation. Then like a troop of soldiers, they dressed ranks and whirled from the room.
“Several of the CYBERCOM reps sustained cuts. The big guy with the chair held a hand over his eye. Per protocol, we called security. They transported the injured reps to Magee Hospital. The lead rep remained on-site in close conference with the director. I believe they discussed Michael’s other capabilities.”
Amanda set her pen down. “Did anyone suspect anything? Was there any indication Michael wasn’t finished?”
“Oh, hell no. After security called and said the CYBERCOM reps were on the way back from the hospital, we broke for lunch. The director and the lead rep walked out to the elevators together. I would have been with them, but I stopped to pick something up from my office. As I exited the lab, one of the big cleaning bots rolled past. The elevator door opened, and the bot switched into high gear. It plowed into Director Curley and the lead rep. All three toppled into the elevator shaft, and the door closed behind them.”
“What did you do then?”
“I walked into the lab and pulled Michael’s plug.”
Amanda crossed her arms. “Two men were just murdered, and you walked to the plug?”
“Ms. Pierce, if I had run, Michael might have triggered on me! Look, the cleaning bots aren’t on the lab’s network. Somehow, despite all our precautions, it got out. I called security, and they pulled the breakers for the entire building. Only then did we call for help.”
The finally frightened HR representative turned to the soundproof glass wall and stared across the lab. The racks of deactivated computers loomed like a row of blunted teeth. Fear forced an honest question out of her. “H-how do you know it didn’t get out-out?” Amanda waved towards the outside window.
“Michael requires high-speed, high-bandwidth connectivity. Breaching the lab’s network must have pushed its capabilities to the limit. Even with my special software, he—it couldn’t have gone far.”
With a barely suppressed shudder, Amanda slid a slip of paper across the table. “Thank you, Mr. Thomas. If you sign this NDA, I’ll call corporate and authorize your severance.”
Of course, no HR hosted exit interview was complete without an escort to the front door. Amanda called the front desk, but both security guards were tied up deflecting an invasive news crew. “Very well,” she shook her head and hung up. Turning to Jason, she said, “Give me your badge, Mr. Thomas. I’ll see you to the door.”
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Inside the elevator, Amanda committed another security violation and slipped her badge into the card reader. The card reader activated an express mode reserved for emergencies. Using it for convenience was a written warning level violation.
The elevator doors opened to a shouting match on the first floor. A reporter demanded information regarding a “secret Michael Project." The guards demanded the news crew vacate the premises.
Amanda strode into the maelstrom, leaving her badge in the reader. Jason followed, but on a whim, pocketed the HR generalist's badge. He’d return it to her at the door. Maybe add a snarky comment.
The news crew, seeing a woman in upscale office attire, turned to her. The reporter shoved a microphone in Amanda’s face and shouted. “Do you work with Jason Thomas?”
Instead of denying all knowledge, Amanda’s already shaky control slipped. She pointed at Jason.
Jason didn’t want anything to do with the press. His severance package was on the line. For the low, low price of complete silence, his former employer paid a full year’s salary and covered his Medicare payments. If he violated the terms of his NDA, the severance was forfeit. The penalties increased if he revealed any classified information.
Triumphantly, the reporter asked, “How does it feel, Mr. Thomas, to have saved the world?”
Jason smiled broadly for the camera and said, “No comment.” He kept saying “No Comment” all the way to his truck.
After Jason arrived home, he learned a few of his former coworkers had already talked. The first whiffs of the story showed up on 4chan of all places, the never-quite-dead asshole of the internet. From there, the story migrated to Reddit, where it gained a measure of credibility. Well-read Redditors discussed the dangers of rogue artificial intelligence.
Most people had never heard about a technological singularity. With the video of Jason looping in the background, the evening news team explained the dangers. Suppose a fully self-aware and self-programming AI got loose. In that case, it might upgrade its capabilities until it surpassed humanity's capability to stop it. Such an entity may not be friendly to humans. Pundits compared a potential AI takeover to the previous century’s near civilization-ending climate crisis.
Reporters camped outside Jason’s townhouse. Everyone wanted a word with the man who saved the world.
Despite owning a townhouse in West View, Jason considered leaving the state. A moving target might prove difficult for the reporters to trace. As the day’s passed, more former employees gave in and talked. Jason didn’t want any part of the mess. Besides, the reporters had everything blown all out of proportion. Once he pulled the plug, any real threat of a singularity died with Michael.
Then came Mom’s surprise call, asking if he might be free to house sit. Ever since Dad’s retirement, he and Mom traveled. Recently to a mid-state clinic for a supposed, youth-restoring gene therapy. Of course, Mom’s true goal was for Jason to mend fences with his father. Someday, Jason might consider playing the prodigal son, but right now, he needed a place to hide. Mom’s offer couldn’t have come at a better time.
A few hours before dawn, Jason loaded his truck with clothing and a few entertainment and exercise items. Once sure the coast was clear, he set off for his parents’ home.
Driving through his old neighborhood unleashed a flood of memories. The old corner where he used to catch the school bus. Then, half a block further, the cul-de-sac with the two adjacent mirror-image homes.
Seeing Stephanie’s house brought a wealth of memories and a gut-wrenching sense of loss. He’d been her first boyfriend, and she, his first girlfriend. Together they shared the best part of summer and fall. Memories of the other firsts they’d shared brought a smile to his face. He’d thought she was the one. Then, without any warning, she’d vanished. His parents loved Stephanie too. Mom and Dad went next door to find out what happened. That’s when they learned she was really a foster kid, and a wealthy family adopted her. Stephanie never mentioned anything about it to Jason. And worst of all, she never bothered to contact him again.
His eyes drifted to the curtains covering her old bedroom windows. Like his house, her dormer window protruded out from the roof. He and Stephanie had a secret code. If she left her curtains open, her dad was away, and it would be safe for them to be together. Even though Stephanie moved away long ago, he still checked. The curtains remained closed.
Ingrained habits die hard, and he backed into the driveway just as Dad taught him. He even parked against the edge to not block access to the garage. It felt “right” to follow the old rules. After securing his truck, Jason followed the decorative pavers into the backyard. Dad’s deck hadn’t changed. Nor had the privacy fence surrounding Stephanie’s yard.
The bubbling sense of excitement at returning home took Jason by surprise. His feet flew up the steps and across to the back door.
Mom hated the original door chosen by the builder. So, Dad paid extra to have this French door installed. Some men might have grumbled about the cost and the week’s delay. Not Dad, he took a not-so-secret sense of pride in making Mom happy. A wise man, his father understood Mom’s happiness served as a catalyst for everyone around her.
When Jason approached the door, the blue presence LED next to the doorbell lit. Alfred, his parent’s AI, spoke, “Who is this at the door? It might be Jason, but with that beard in the way, I cannot be certain.”
Jason grinned and stroked his short-cropped whiskers. “You’re just jealous you can’t grow your own.”
“And that is something I will neither confirm nor deny. For what purpose does the prodigal return?”
Jason’s eyebrows rose. Not only was Alfred chattier than ever, but the AI should also have known Mom’s plans. “You don’t know? Mom asked me to house sit while she and Dad are gone.”
“No, not only did I not know, but I am under strict orders to not allow you inside.”
“You're kidding. Dad wouldn’t—”
“Care to rephrase?”
Jason sighed. “Dad would, and he probably didn’t tell Mom.”
“You know your father. Luckily, I have the authority to call should anything unexpected arise.”
His parents accepted Alfred’s call, but it quickly became clear Dad hadn’t known about Jason’s housesitting. It took Mom almost five minutes to calm his father down enough to agree. After issuing the new orders to Alfred, Dad growled to Jason, “What's this thing about you saving the world?”
“Is this conversation covered by attorney-client privilege?”
Dad didn’t speak for a moment, then… “Alfred, transfer one thousand dollars from Jason’s savings account into my business account. That’ll—”
“Yes, sir,” replied Alfred.
“Hey!” Jason said, “What’s this about a savings account?”
“As I was saying,” Dad continued as if Jason hadn’t interrupted, “that’ll serve as your retainer. Now, Jason, have the police charged you with anything, or—God forbid—are you running from the police?”
“No, Dad, nothing like that. It’s just the reporters who want to talk to me.”
“Well, stay inside the house and let Alfred field all the calls. The privacy laws will keep the media away.” Dad sighed and spoke in his normal father’s voice. “Son, look, I know we left things on bad terms. But we’ll talk when I get back, okay?”
“Sure, Dad. Thanks.” Darn it, just when Jason had his father pegged as an asshole, the old man weaseled it around and showed he still cared.
The latch on the back door buzzed, and the door swung open. In a jaunty tone, Alfred announced, “Welcome home, Master Jason. It’s been far too long!”
Stepping inside, he might have stepped into a different house. Instead of his mother’s fully equipped, all-manual chef’s kitchen, new cabinets and counters framed a high-end robochef. “Wow, Mom must have gotten tired of cooking.”
Alfred wasn’t finished chatting. “Your mother felt her old kitchen wasn’t getting enough use. When your parents remodeled, the old appliances were the first to go.”
The changes didn’t stop with the kitchen. Auto-adjusting furniture and a wall-sized Tri-D transformed the living room into a home theater. Downstairs, the family room had a decadently comfortable sectional couch and one of the new, brilliant video displays.
Crazy with anticipation, Jason ran up the steps to see what marvels Mom and Dad added to his bedroom. He pushed the door open and scanned the room. It hadn’t changed at all. In fact, from the layer of dust, it looked like no one had entered the room since before he left. Dad sure had a funny way of making sure Jason did his chores.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to catch up on his long-overdue cleaning. For tonight, he’d order a pizza and check out that massive Tri-D in the living room. Maybe even see if Dad had any new craft beers in his stash.
The following day, fully rested for the first time in weeks, Jason enjoyed a late breakfast—that robochef was worth whatever Dad paid for it. With nothing else to do, he cleaned his room.
On the shelf next to his desk, tucked in with the remainder of his vintage compact discs, Jason found an old-fashioned photo album. It contained pictures from Stephanie’s and his six months together. Many of the scenes he remembered, others he did not. The last half-dozen pages contained memory chips labeled “J&S.” Someone, probably Mom, had spent a lot of time putting it together.
Later that afternoon, Jason sat on the deck with a delicious North Carolina wheat beer and flipped through the album. Each picture brought another stab of memory and a greater sense of loss. The first pictures were from the day they met. Further in were pictures of him teaching her to swim. There was even a picture of Jason carrying Stephanie while dragging his book bag behind. Near the end, pictures of them dressed for the big school dance filled several pages.
He closed the book and finished the now tasteless beer. Stephanie’s foster parents still owned the house next door. What would happen if he knocked on their door and asked for news? Her foster father probably still hated him. The old bastard once warned Jason against “sniffing around his daughter.” To hell with it, that part of his life ended long ago. He stood and picked up the glass. Maybe he’d find a movie to watch.
Jason found an old favorite in Dad’s library. Kick-Ass featured over-the-top violence and an improbable female heroine. In some ways, Hit-Girl reminded Jason of—
The phone rang, and Alfred announced, “Master Jason? You have a voice-only call.”
A call? It had to be a reporter. No telling how they tracked him down. Best to do as Dad suggested. “Alfred, take a message.”
“Yes, sir.”
Twenty seconds later, “Jason, the caller purports to be Miss Stephanie’s mother.”
What? Jason’s head snapped around. “Is it?”
“The caller asserts she has information on Miss Stephanie’s whereabouts and wishes to speak with you.”
Ten years ago, a lot of people knew about his relationship with Stephanie. Heck, they made a huge splash the night of the Girl’s Choice dance. Any number of those people might try to scam him or his parents. Still, he needed to take this call. “Put her through!”
A click came from the overhead speaker. “Hello?” he said.
“Jason Thomas, please.” The female voice resonated on the edge of familiarity, but he remained suspicious. Scammers played tricks with voices. They’d sample yours, digitize the harmonics, and add those to their own voice. At a subconscious level, it made an unknown voice seem familiar.
“Who’s calling, please?” he asked.
“Hello, Jason, I recognize your voice.”
Once again, something about the voice gnawed at his memory. Maybe this would be a “traveling friend needs money” scam. Patience gave way to his need to know. “Who is this?” he growled.
“My name is Natalie, but Jason, you knew me as Stephanie’s mother.”
While a few friends had met Stephanie, none knew her mother’s name. The possibility this call was legitimate made him light-headed. Dizzy, Jason lurched into a chair.
Natalie must have heard him banging around. “Jason, are you all right? Did I startle you?”
A long ten years had passed since Stephanie’s adoption. So delighted with her new family, she never bothered to tell her boyfriend goodbye. They’d shared one perfect summer and fall, then nothing! How many nights had he dreamt of finding her? He’d made excuses for her. Rationalized away her breaking his heart. The need to believe this caller was strong, but… “Startle me? Hell, yeah, but can you prove you’re Stephanie’s mother?”
“Oh dear, I should have anticipated this. Well, let’s see… On a hot and humid night in August, I allowed my daughter to visit while you camped out in your tent.
Jason had clear memories of that night. They were…memorable, but “How would you know? She snuck out after her mother went to bed.”
“Oh, she tried, but I caught her on the way out. She and I discussed limits, and after Stephanie agreed, I allowed your late-night snuggle session.”
The reason for the familiarity of her voice became clear. “Your voice…ha, I just figured out why it’s so familiar. You sound a lot like her.”
“She and I…well, we have a lot in common.”
“How…how is she?” His long-time drinking companion, the bottomless reserve of rage, seemed to calm.
“Stephanie isn’t in a good place. Jason, do you still care about her?”
How could he explain the void Stephanie’s absence left behind? His parents never understood. “Natalie, this might be hard to believe, but I never stopped caring. Ask my parents. They’ll tell you I haven’t been right since she left. Is there anything I can do to help?” Is there anything wouldn’t I do to see her again?
“Yes, you have to kidnap her. You’re the only person in the world who can do it.”
“Wait, kidnap her! That’s—”
Natalie interrupted. “Crazy? Yes, but it’s the only way to get her free from her owner.”
“Hold on, people don’t have owners.”
“People don’t, but genies do.”
A genie? Stephanie? Jason knew about genies. The Tri-D featured a salacious genie documentary almost every week. The word “genie” was a portmanteau of the words genetic and engineering. Certain criminal organizations and rogue nation-states produced the genetically engineered humanoid creatures. From animal-human hybrids and mythological creatures to ultra-illegal copies of human celebrities. If someone, somewhere, wanted to have sex with some-thing, a genie peddler had one for sale.
The United States penal code differentiated between genetic modifications and engineered lifeforms. “Invitro DNA editing may not effect more than nine percent of the original.” Other portions of the United States Code made genie importation and ownership criminal acts. Still, some wealthy or politically connected individuals saw them as status symbols. Less affluent hentai fans conspired to buy the living objects of their fantasies.
Last week Jason had caught the tail end of a documentary about a man with a real catgirl. The catgirl looked just like a petite fur-covered human female-tuxedo cat hybrid. She even had whiskers and a tail. The owner said he bought her for companionship—yeah, right.
Still, Jason couldn’t accept that Stephanie was a genie. “But Stephanie wasn’t…I mean, I’d have noticed if she had a tail or anything.”
“Our design may be unique. Like real people, most of the things that make us special are on the inside.”
“I don’t know…I mean, how can I believe any of this. Stephanie, a genie?”
“Jason, think back to that summer the two of you shared, is there any question that my daughter loved you?”
“No, but—”
“But nothing, Jason. Stephanie loved you more than anything, and she still loves you.”
“Yeah? Well, why didn’t she say goodbye? You don’t ghost someone you love!” Jason realized he’d stood and screamed at the audio pickup. Embarrassed, he sat again.
When Natalie replied, her voice was calm, but it rapidly took on an angry, bitter tone. “Stephanie didn’t call because her father sold her. A wealthy human named Roger Grainer wanted a pet girl. And, Jason, genie collectors don’t allow their pets to call former boyfriends.”
Natalie paused. Jason imagined her taking a breath to try and calm down. He couldn’t imagine living like Stephanie and her mother.
“I’m sorry, Natalie. I-I believe you. What do I need to do?”
“About that,” Natalie chuckled, “all you have to do is get Stephanie alone, face to face, and assert yourself.”
“Fine, I’ll do it, but you owe me a full explanation. You can’t just call and drop all this on me. Tell me why I can’t knock on Stephanie’s door and ask if she wants to come with me?”
“You could try, but I don’t think it’ll work. You see, there is something called the loyalty gene…”