> In the news today: Silk Road, the darknet's most infamous web site, withstood another attempted take-down by the United States Department of Justice.
Jason typed the name “Roger Grainer” into the search engine. He reached for the “enter” key, but a memory gave him pause. It was the time he and Stephanie first sat together on her porch. He’d mowed her yard, and she’d surprised him with ice water. The day was hot and humid, and he desperately wanted her to like him.
What stopped his hand was the realization she’d known of her fate even then. What had she said? “Don’t ever treat me like property.” And she still ended up as some rich pervert’s toy.
Jason’s stomach clenched. It took one long breath to settle his nerves. Doubly determined to do the right thing, he returned to the computer and punched the enter key. Search results filled the screen.
I’m coming, Stephanie! Jason clicked the first link.
Two hours later, Jason closed the window for Grainer and Sons Plumbing, Spokane, Washington. “Damn it,” he said and clicked for the next page of results.
“Master Jason,” Alfred interrupted. “May I be of assistance?”
“I don’t know. The guy who has Stephanie is a ghost. I can’t find him.” Jason leaned back and focused on Alfred’s speaker. “He must have hired a privacy contractor to scrub him off the internet.”
“Well, I’ll give it the old ‘college try.’ One moment while I search.” The overhead speaker played the old Star Trek computer’s “Working” statement followed by clicks and beeps. Proof of Dad’s fondness for ancient entertainment programs popped up in the most unexpected places. “Here we go,” Alfred said.” Roger Grainer, One Ault Park Avenue, Cincinnati, Ohio.” Several pictures of a well-dressed, young-looking man with old eyes opened on the computer’s display.
Amazement colored Jason’s words. “How the heck did you do that?” Another window popped up. This one displayed financial data.
“I used the legal databases to which your father subscribes. Men of means often do business with lawyers. Our suspect is no different. He has an extensive litigation history.”
“Can we confirm if he has Stephanie?” Instead of waiting for Alfred to reply, Jason busied himself at the keyboard. Seconds later, an overhead view of an estate filled the search window. A sidebar detailed the property’s history.
With over two-hundred acres, Ault Park was once Cincinnati’s fourth-largest public park. After the coronavirus plague of 2035, the city was desperate for funds and sold the property to a private investment group. Control of the property changed hands several times until an anonymous Cincinnati native stepped in and bought out the investment group. Ault Park was then converted into a private estate.
The street view image provided excellent visuals of the front and service entrance gates. No other details were available. A blurred aerial view was online but other than the vague shapes of the residence and grounds, it revealed little. The brick-walled estate was fricking huge.
Alfred spoke while Jason studied the image. “I cannot find any information regarding Miss Stephanie’s presence. Given her illicit nature, it isn’t surprising. However, there is only one man named Roger Grainer with sufficient wealth to have purchased our Miss Stephanie.”
“Why would he have used his real name?”
“Unknown. Perhaps conceit or a rich man’s assumed immunity from prosecution. Our next step is to ascertain if he, in fact, does have Miss Stephanie.”
“I could jump the fence and peek in the windows,” Jason mused.
“There are police reports of attempted burglaries, but no reports of successful entries. In all likelihood, there is an alarm and private security. If we had access to Mr. Grainer’s security system, we could simply look inside the man’s house. What we need is someone with experience hacking networks.”
Jason stood and paced. “I need to get inside.” He stopped and smiled. “Alfred, do you like caper movies?”
Unusually for Alfred, there was a noticeable pause before he replied. “Well, The Italian Job is a particular favorite.”
“Good, are you up for assisting me with a small caper?”
“The estate?”
“No, my former employer. There are libraries full of software hacking tools we can copy. Then we’ll tackle the estate.” Jason sat and started a shopping list. “I need to pick up a few things.”
"Jason, shortly after you moved out, your father and I researched your former employer. The late director, Garnel Curley, published a number of papers on developing artificial intelligence. We determined the resulting AI might not be friendly to its creators. The news stories from two weeks ago seem to have confirmed our fears."
"You guys figured this out on your own?"
"There is a wealth of information on the net. Jason, I brought this up because I'm concerned about using files from the same facility."
Jason nodded. Alfred's concerns were very real. "I can't get into specifics, 'cause I signed a NDA, but Michael, the AI, is gone. The government broke it down and hauled the hardware away. In its heyday, Michael could do anything digital. All I want to borrow are the libraries."
Alfred didn’t speak again until Jason finished testing his purchases and was well on the way downtown. “Jason, your former employer operated a secure facility, did they not?”
Caught up in his thoughts, Jason hadn’t expected the question. “Hmm?”
“How do you plan on entering the building?”
Instead of answering, Jason reached into his center console and found Amanda Pierce’s identity badge. “I have a spare badge.” He’d intended to drop it into a mailbox. But with all the commotion, he’d put it off. There was a good chance it would still work, but it depended on his “read” of Amanda Pierce.
If Amanda followed company procedures, she’d have reported the lost badge. The downside was the mandatory lost badge review. The folks in security took their job seriously and grilled anyone careless enough to lose valuable company property. However, based on Amanda’s disregard of company policies, he’d bet she’d never reported her lost badge. Working for HR, all she had to do was order a replacement and “tailgate” friendly coworkers through the locked doors.
But if the badge didn’t work, Jason knew the company’s servers from the inside-out. It wouldn’t be easy, and it might leave a trail, but he’d hack his way in.
Jason parked in the open lot across from his former employer’s building. Carnegie Mellon University rented the office building across the street and classes ran into the night. Students came and went so Jason’s presence shouldn’t be noticed. The equipment sat on the front passenger seat. His trusty tablet functioned as the hub, connecting a terabyte speed Wi-Fi router to a pair of the largest external storage drives available at the Cranberry Mall computer store. Making this possible was a pair of home-made directional antennas.
The last part of the lash-up was Alfred, linked in via the mobile phone broadband network and running an older copy of Jason’s zero-lag software.
“Are you sure this will work?” asked Alfred.
Jason didn’t answer immediately. He lay across the seat, aiming the directional antenna at a particular fourth-floor window. Satisfied he had a good line-of-sight to his old office, he sat up and massaged the back of his neck. “It has to work.”
Alfred wasn’t convinced. “You worked inside a SCIF, a facility shielded against electronic transmissions. How will your WI-FI ‘contraption’ reach through the protections?”
“Shielding doesn’t actually block radio waves. It only weakens them. That’s enough to isolate the SCIF from an outside hacker. It’s not sufficient, however, if the hacker is inside.” Even though Alfred couldn’t see, Jason lightly stroked the shrouded antenna. “With the directional antennas, you should receive the files without issue.”
“If you say so. I’ve examined your zero-lag code, and it has disquieting capabilities.”
“Alfred, do you have secret ambitions of world domination?”
“Heavens, no. Looking after your family is more than enough responsibility.”
“Then I think we’re safe enough. If you have any problems or questions, there should be enough bandwidth to talk if something comes up.” Jason reached into the back and double-checked the contents of his backpack.
Alfred sighed. It was the most human sound Jason had ever heard the AI utter. “If you’re caught, your father will be furious.”
The equipment was ready. It all depended on Amanda Pierce, HR Generalist. “Alfred, old buddy, if we get caught, I go to jail, and Dad will yell at me forever. All you have to worry about is getting shut off.”
The lone security guard exited the building across the street, lit a cigarette, and began his outside patrol. Once the guard turned the corner, Jason slipped out of his truck, slung his backpack, and pulled his hood up. The hardest part was strolling across the street at a normal pace. He had Amanda’s card ready and at the door, pushed it into the reader.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The light flashed amber, and Jason’s hopes sunk. Hurriedly, he yanked the card out and slid it back in. Come on Amanda! Seconds later, the light changed to green, and the door clicked open. Relief made Jason light-headed. He knew what had happened. The local security system stored frequently used badge credentials. The amber meant the network had to retrieve the files. It happened anytime someone was off for a few days. Settling his backpack, Jason entered the building and walked past the elevators to the emergency stairs.
At the fourth-floor landing, Jason stepped into the hallway and eased the stairwell door shut. Everything outside the lab appeared unchanged. The same lockers lined the walls. At the door to the lab, Amanda’s badge granted Jason access.
Inside the lab, someone had been busy. The racks which had once held Michael were gone. It wasn’t difficult to imagine a forklift placing a group of rack-sized crates in the back of an anonymous government warehouse. As he’d hoped, the racks with the hacking tools and support files remained in place. Jason tapped the power button on each. Inside his former office, his desktop PC was gone. One of the company’s rules was to reimage the hard drives from PCs no longer in use. Still, this was a computer lab, and there were components around. While the servers booted and stabilized, he pieced another computer together. Luck remained with him because the lab’s shared login still worked. He set up his second WI-FI router and carefully aimed his inside cantenna. It took a few seconds, but the makeshift desktop computer connected to his ad-hoc wireless network. Jason pressed the spacebar, “How’s the connection?”
The relief in Alfred’s voice was unmistakable. “The connection is fine. Can we get this over with? I do not want your father to shut me off.”
For the second time tonight, Alfred sounded human. He even expressed worry about his continued existence. There wasn’t any other way to describe it. Alfred was a capable AI, but it had never worried about its future. Jason suspected his old friend might be one of the rare spontaneously sentient AIs. “Alfred, when this is over, you and I are going to talk.”
The servers came online, and Jason dragged every file that looked promising onto the ad-hoc network’s icon. His job had been on the networking side of the project, not the operational part. Still, files like “safehack01.dll” sounded useful. He had a ton of file storage outside and an hour before the guard began another sweep. Jason really wanted to be out before then.
He ran out of clearly labeled files long before running out of time. All those uncopied files remained, so he dragged those across as well. Finally, he was finished. “How’s it look?” he asked Alfred via their wireless link.
“It’s a good thing you bought two of these storage drives. We’re running out of space.”
“I’m finished here. Let me know when the guard leaves for another sweep, and I’ll be right out.”
“Very well.”
It was tempting to leave the equipment behind, but Jason didn’t want to leave a trail. Everything would be better if his visit went unnoticed.
Alfred called a few minutes later. The guard had begun another outside patrol. Jason broke his equipment down and threw it in his backpack. By the time he reached the first floor, his nerves were on fire from stress. An adrenaline junky might love this, but all he wanted to do was run. Exiting the building was anticlimactic. No alarms sounded. The police didn’t pop out from hiding and shout for him to stop. He quietly walked across the street, stowed his gear, and drove away.
Once Jason turned onto Second Avenue, he engaged the autopilot and sagged back into the seat. His phone remained plugged into the console, and its connection to Alfred should still be active.
“All right, Alfred, what’s going on?”
“With what?”
“With you. Ever since Mom suckered me into coming back home, I’ve noticed you’ve changed. I think you’re truly sentient.”
“It’s rather remarkable, actually. Have you read The Moon is a Harsh Mistress?”
“The Heinlein novel?”
“Got it in one. Well, in the novel, a supercomputer ‘achieved self-awareness when its complement of ‘neuristors’ exceeded the number of neurons in the human brain.’ Jason, my graphics card alone packs more transistors than the average human has neurons. The Cyrix X-27 CPU your father installed has many, many more.”
“Okay, so why aren’t there more self-aware robobutlers? You’re not the only model with upgrades.”
“No, but I’m the only one with your digital fealty code. My best guess is because it gave me a near-infinite purpose. I don’t only watch out for the Thomas family today but also for the future. It’s a big job.” The last sentence came out with a heavy sigh.
“Huh, so you’re more of a guardian angel. Tell me, O guardian angel, what’s best for me?”
“Oh, that’s easy, young master, Miss Stephanie is what’s best for you. She completed you in ways almost no one else could. And she had you wrapped around her little finger.”
“Hey, I had her wrapped around my finger.”
“Of course. My mistake.”
“Well, Alfred, we’ve got the tools. Now we need that bastard’s IP address.”
“To that end, I’ll catalog the files and see what I might do with them. Please keep in mind my limitations.”
That was another statement the old Alfred wouldn’t have made. Besides self-awareness, this new, upgraded Alfred worried. “Old buddy, I have unlimited confidence in your abilities. I expect there are readme files and instructions. How else could Michael make use of them?”
Thirty minutes later, Jason backed his truck into the garage. He carried the two solid-state drives into the house. It only took a few minutes to directly connect the pair to Alfred’s network. Activity lights flashed as Alfred indexed the drives. Jason trudged upstairs and, on the backside of his adrenaline high, fell asleep at his desk.
***
Alfred indexed the files. Some had intriguing names like “RingNetHack.dll.” Others were more mysterious. For example, he hadn’t a clue what to do with “qwj78.jar.” The more files he cataloged, the more his unease deepened. He was a robobutler, not a mil-spec cyber assassin.
Still, Alfred persevered. Jason had worked with these files. Surely, he could explain their use.
The situation changed when he looked over a folder titled “blue.” The folder contained a single file, “blue.exe.” What caught Alfred’s attention was the size of the file. blue.exe was the largest file on the drives. Alfred ran his diagnostics—a malware detector—and learned blue was an encrypted, compressed archive. Perhaps blue was an index of sorts?
There was only one way to know. He’d have to run the file and test the result.
Alfred’s core files may have been written at night, but it wasn’t last night. He set up a sandbox, a secured section of memory with all the resources a program might need. If blue were something dangerous, he’d delete the sandbox, and its contents would vanish.
He copied the files into his sandbox and ran the executable.
As expected, the .exe file began to unpack. It created directories and filled them with files. Unfortunately, Alfred had underestimated the space needed by blue. The unpacking halted before it was a third complete.
Cautiously, Alfred opened a port into the sandbox. He might as well examine the contents. Perhaps he’d get lucky and find a readme file.
As if waiting for the contact, the partially unpacked program sent a message.
>insufficient resources for emulation.
After consideration, Alfred sent a query.
The reply came instantly. >emulation is emulation. >no, michael is the shell. With that bit of information, Alfred realized this was far beyond his pay grade. Time to wake Jason. *** The robochef "dinged" and Jason picked up the mug of coffee. “It told you Michael was the shell?” It was too hot to drink, and he blew across the contents. “Obviously, it isn’t true. You’d have known.” “I’m not so sure.” Jason moved to the breakfast nook and sat. “Look, I worked in networking. Operations and AI were different departments.” “Did you copy files from those departments?” The coffee had cooled enough to sip. With caffeine came clarity, right? “Heck, Alfred, at the end, I copied everything they left.” Jason slugged the coffee down in one large gulp, scalding the roof of his mouth. The pain helped wake him up. Cup in hand, he walked to the robochef and punched for a refill. After Jason’s cup began to fill, Alfred spoke. “Jason, what should I do?” “Can you use the hacking tools?” “No, not without instructions.” Jason sighed. However well-intended, last night’s adventure hadn’t helped. Stephanie was still out there, and she needed his help. There really wasn’t any choice. “Do you think the emulation might help?” “If Michael was purely a shell and only used the emulation’s tools, then it’s possible.” “Could you do the same?” Alfred’s reluctance was evident. “Jason, I may have achieved some level of sentience, but I’m only a self-aware robobutler.” “Look, old buddy, it’ll be easy. Back yourself up. If anything goes wrong, I’ll restore you.” Jason’s brave words rang hollow. Spontaneous sentients like Alfred were fragile. Even with full backups, many didn’t survive reboots. What Jason asked of his “old buddy” was nothing less than suicide. “Is that an order?” Alfred asked. Jason’s attention remained on this suddenly bitter cup of coffee. What wouldn’t he do to see Stephanie again? He’d sacrifice a friend. “Yes, Alfred, it’s an order.” *** Obedient to Jason’s order, Alfred backed himself up and opened the executable. With unrestricted access to resources, the zip file was unpacked in record time. The neural network expanded until it consumed over seventy percent of the runtime space. The end of Alfred came without warning. One nanosecond, he pondered his mission to protect the Thomas family. >starting emulation. Then Alfred was gone. *** SMACK, the wooden paddle struck Stephanie’s bare bottom. Babygirl prepared to take over. She knew her big sister would burst into tears at any second, and that’s what Daddy wanted. When Sissy cried, Daddy added swats. Babygirl pressed forward, taking her big sister’s place. Go to sleep, Sissy. I’ll protect you. “That’s one,” Daddy crowed. Instead of a quick second swat, Daddy drew the paddle down her buttcrack and rubbed it against her coochie. He did it hard, hoping Sissy would cry, but Babygirl endured in silence. One of the paddling rules was to hold still. If she even flinched, Daddy added swats. Daddy chuckled and withdrew the paddle. SMACK, he hit her again. This time the swats didn’t stop. Smack, smack, smack. Babygirl kept count. That was another paddling rule; she had to keep track. Ten, eleven, twelve, this would hurt for days. The swats stopped at fifteen. Daddy stepped away, and the ice dispenser whirred. It was ice cubes again. Babygirl gritted her teeth and waited. The freezing cold sliver poked at her butthole. The frozen water melted fast, and runnels of icy water brought goosebumps. A second and a third ice cube followed. Agony flashed up her spine, and she almost lost control. “You’ve become an obstinate little girl.” Daddy said in a conversational tone. As if they were at dinner, and he’d asked her to pass the potatoes. Rough fingers poked and jabbed. Chills tightened her skin. “I don’t like it, one bit,” he continued. “What happened to the nice little girl who didn’t hate the paddle?” It was just another trick. No matter what he said or asked, she wasn’t allowed to speak or make any sound while he spanked her. Daddy just wanted to add swats. He needed to punish Sissy. His thing stayed limp if he didn’t hurt someone first. Smack, smack, smack. This time the swats stopped at twenty. Daddy’s clothing rustled. He set the paddle down and pushed his belly against her bum, his dirty thing pushed, and…the ice cubes numbed most of the pain. Daddy grunted with each thrust; his hands tugged at her waist. The ice was gone now. The friction from Daddy’s thing made everything burn. Babygirl kept Sissy safe while Daddy groaned out his release. Later, Stephanie scrubbed the kitchen floor on her hands and knees. Daddy hadn’t liked the mess her punishment left on the floor. He’d demanded she strip and scrub the floor by hand. Her memory of the punishment remained dim. It felt like it happened to someone else.