Avogadro Corp

by William Hertling

  “No,” David said. “But we’ll be back.”

  Chapter 11

  Avogadro Launches Secure Hosted Email Service

  Government Complaints About IT Costs and Quality Lead Avogadro to Create Secure Applications and AvoMail

  PORTLAND, Oregon - January 6th, 2015 UTC - Avogadro Corp today announced a secure, hosted version of Avogadro Applications with AvoMail for Governments.

  The demand for ultra-secure, hosted Avogadro Applications with AvoMail came from national governments spending excessive amounts on IT services while receiving inferior products and services, said Linda Fletcher, Marketing Manager for Avogadro’s Communication Products Division. Avogadro Secure Applications with AvoMail will reduce IT spending by governments up to 80%, while providing cloud-based, feature-rich and easy-to-use communication applications, according to Fletcher.

  The hosted model is being adopted immediately by Germany, Canada, and Taiwan, with other countries to follow.

  For more information, please visit AvogadroCorp.com

  For two days after the conversation with Linda Fletcher, they were stuck in a holding pattern, waiting in deepening frustration for Gary Mitchell to return from a vacation that should have ended a week earlier. They spent much of the time clustered in David’s office, poring over Gene’s reports, and even printouts of source code which Melanie had made after many puzzled protests.

  During a bathroom break, Mike read through his personalized news alerts and his heart skipped a beat. Oh, man, this was worse than he ever imagined. He washed his hands and ran back to the office, AvoOS smartphone in hand.

  “Holy cow, did you see this press release?” he asked, holding the screen out.

  “Dude, you’re not supposed to admit to reading your phone in the bathroom. We all do it, but you’re violating some kind of social norm…” David trailed off as he noticed Mike’s face.

  “We, I mean, Avogadro, that is, I think, ELOPe has...”

  “Slow down.” David held both hands up. “What’s up?”

  Mike took a deep breath and forced himself to sit down as the others stared at him. “Avogadro announced a secure version of AvoMail and our other apps for government customers. They already signed up the first round. David, national governments using AvoMail. Germany, Canada…Do you realize what this means?”

  “ELOPe expanded its sphere of influence.” David’s face turned pale. “Now every government official who sends or receives an email via AvoMail will potentially have their message filtered, altered, or impersonated.”

  “This service must be what Linda Fletcher talked about in the meeting the other day,” Mike said. “Damn, she had to have known this was in the works. She’s actually making the problem worse!” He couldn’t help raising his voice.

  “Settle down,” Gene said, in his usual grumble. “The real question is who initiated this secure platform? Fletcher and the Marketing group, or ELOPe? The timing is awfully convenient.”

  “Come on,” David said. “It’s only been a month since I put the hack in the system. You really think ELOPe could make the company launch a new product in that time?”

  Gene shrugged.

  Mike held his head in both hands, staring down at the phone. “I believe it. The biggest problem with introducing anything new is getting everybody on board. If ELOPe convinced everyone simultaneously, why not? It’s not like we had to build the product from scratch. It’s just re-marketing what we already had to new customers.”

  “I’m freaked out,” David said, voicing what was in Mike’s head.

  Mike looked at him and nodded.

  The day after the Avogadro press release of the secure cloud services for governmental organizations, David, Mike, and Gene met again. At Mike’s urging, they gathered at Extracto in Northeast Portland.

  David entered the shop, found Mike and Gene sitting at a table along the wall. “Why here?” he asked.

  “Best coffee in Portland, bar none,” Mike said. “Perhaps the finest on the West Coast.”

  Gene nodded, holding a mug up.

  “See, Gene hasn’t even been here before, and he’s already convinced,” Mike said. “Get the Flores Island.”

  David walked over to the counter, where two insulated coffee dispensers stood next to the chromed bulk of the industrial espresso machine. The dispenser on the left was labeled “Flores Island” and contained descriptive text so flowery that David thought he was reading a wine review. “Subtle hints of carmel, chocolate, and cannabis?” David read out loud. “For real?” he called doubtfully to Mike.

  Mike nodded and smiled.

  So David got a cup, along with disapproving stares from the others as he loaded up on sugar and milk. He sighed.

  A large canvas tote sat at Mike’s feet. “What’s in the bag?” David asked.

  “Ten pounds of beans. They only harvest and roast the Flores Island once a year, and once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

  David sat down. “Did you make us meet here for the coffee? We’re eight miles from campus!”

  “We’re only two miles from your house, and yes, we came for the coffee. You have no idea how hard these beans are to get. A one-of-a-kind experience.”

  “Can we please focus on ELOPe?” David said, sounding whiny in his own ears. He couldn’t help it: he was frustrated with Mike, and had zero bandwidth for discussing rare coffee beans.

  “Okay, okay,” Mike said, but he and Gene chuckled in amusement. Mike went on, “You guys remember Pete Wong, the engineer from Internal Tools who wrote the email-to-web bridge?”

  David nodded. He took a sip of coffee, found it as good as Mike had promised. Well, the man knew his beans.

  “Well, I heard back from him. Bad news, more bad news, and worse news.”

  “Naturally,” Gene said, “because the situation isn’t terrible enough.”

  David glanced at Gene, trying to puzzle out whether that was sarcasm or an actual expectation. He turned back to Mike. “I guess you can start with the bad news first.”

  “Pete scanned computers for the digital fingerprint of ELOPe, as we asked.” Mike sipped his coffee. “He found traces on every server in the Communication Products pool, even ones it shouldn’t have been on.”

  David groaned. “And the more bad news?”

  “Pete found the fingerprint of his email-to-web bridge on the same servers as ELOPe. Also present on every one. He thinks the email-to-web functionality was incorporated directly into ELOPe’s code.”

  “How is that possible?” Gene asked.

  “The contractors,” Mike and David answered simultaneously, with a glance at each other.

  “Yup, Mike said. “The temporary engineers hired over the holidays made changes, and we don’t know what. We thought they were merely performance improvements, but ELOPe changed its own functionality as well.”

  David chewed over this new bit of information. ELOPe could be doing anything now, possibly far beyond its original programming.

  “We’ve built an artificial intelligence,” Mike said, wide-eyed. “A self-improving AI. It’s going to keep on accelerating out of control.”

  “It’s not an AI!” David said, unsure why the idea made him feel so hostile. “It’s just a collection of algorithms, manipulating us with emails.”

  “It may not be conscious like we are,” Mike said, “but it’s protecting itself, changing itself. That’s intelligence.”

  “It can’t be intelligent.” David pointed back and forth between Mike and himself. “We’re not that smart and we certainly can’t write software smarter than us. Where does the intelligence come from if we didn’t put it in there?”

  “Both emergent intelligence and collective wisdom. The algorithms we wrote improve themselves over time, testing better approaches to detect goals, match outcomes, and so forth. But the actions themselves come from the combined emails of millions of users. It’s crowdsourcing its own intelligence.”

  “It’s not an artificial intelligence!” Dave slumped in
his seat.

  Gene cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter what you call it, we still have to stop it. And the sooner the better, before it accumulates more power.”

  “This sucks,” David said. “What’s the worst news you wanted to tell us?”

  “I went to Pete’s office yesterday morning to find out what he’s learned, since we didn’t want to use email or phone. Before I left, I gave him my home address in case he had anything urgent. Then last night he showed up at my door after dinner. He’d been fired.”

  “What the hell?” Gene barked, slamming down his cup.

  “He was working late and looking for more signs of server infection, when his network access was cut off. A couple of minutes later, Security showed up at his office and told him he was fired. He wanted to call his manager, but the guards wouldn’t do anything other than let him pack a box of personal belongings. They escorted him off campus and he came straight to my place, figuring it was all related.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

  “By phone or email?” Mike said.

  “Frak me,” said David, realizing no electronic communication was safe. “We’ve got to do something! It’s been, what, five days? Waiting for Gary is not a viable option anymore.”

  The question facing them wasn’t just who had the authority to shut down the servers, but who would believe their story and the limited evidence they had. After throwing out alternatives, they came back to contacting Sean Leonov, a path they’d debated several days running.

  “We need an appointment with Sean,” Mike said. “He brought you on board to lead ELOPe, so you have credibility with him. I know we’re jumping right to the top of the management hierarchy, but this must be done. We’ve exhausted our other options and we’re in a race against the growing influence of this thing.”

  David closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his face. Mike was right, but, once again, he couldn’t get over the fact that this would spell the end of his career. He’d exhausted all his options. He’d trade anything, do anything, for a chance to go back and change the course of things. He opened his eyes. “All right, let’s talk to Sean. We’ll go together.”

  They carpooled to the office in David’s old BMW. From the Fremont bridge, they took the Avogadro exit leading directly to the underground parking garage. David pulled up to the gate, the blinking light above the scanner suddenly ominous. ELOPe would know he was entering the campus. He hesitated, badge in hand. Jesus, he had to get a grip. He stuck the badge up against the reader before he lost his nerve. To his slight surprise, the barrier swung open normally.

  They trooped down hallways, winding their way to Sean Leonov’s office with the solemnity of a funeral procession. The executive offices were located close together in the uppermost floor of Building 7B. As David looked around the hallways with their expensive ebonized hardwood flooring, he realized the executive floor was abandoned. One closed room after another.

  They finally found Sean’s office. Knocking brought no response, so David tried the knob. Locked. “Now what? No one is around.”

  “Sean’s traveling,” said an approaching woman carrying a cardboard box. “His admin, Rosie, will have his contact information. Talk to her.”

  Her tailored suit suggested she was one of the VPs, and David recognized her from his executive presentation more than a month earlier. “Marissa, right?” he said. “Any idea where we can find Rosie?”

  “She works from home when Sean is out of town. Send her an email. Rosie Fendell. She’ll be in the directory.”

  “Is there any way we could contact her in person?” he asked. “We, uh, can’t use email. The topic is too sensitive.”

  “Sorry, email is your best bet. Good luck.” Marissa continued past.

  David couldn’t help wondering about the cardboard box. “Are you leaving the company?”

  Marissa smiled. “Yes. An opportunity too good to pass up.”

  After she left, David broke the silence. “Just send an email. Sure. That’s so simple.”

  “Well, one email can’t hurt, right?” Mike clapped him on the back. “Let’s make it as vague as possible. We just need to meet Sean.”

  Back at his office, David sat in front of his desk computer. The others watched over his shoulder as he crafted an email to Sean’s assistant, taking special care to ensure the message sounded innocuous. They all read and approved the email before David hit send.

  While they waited for Rosie to reply, Gene went down the hall for coffee. The minutes ticked by as they sipped, each expressing anxiety in his own way. Mike bounced a leg with nervous energy as Gene paced back and forth. David gave Tux a little nudge, sending the springy penguin bouncing erratically.

  “I’m sure I’ve never been so much on the edge of my seat about an email before,” Mike said. He chuckled awkwardly, his voice betraying his nerves.

  “No kidding,” David said, stirring sweetener.

  Gene stood by the window, mug in hand, brooding.

  “Maybe you’re right,” David said, looking at Mike.

  “I’m sure I am,” Mike said with a smile, “but about what?”

  “The coffee. I always thought the stuff here was good, but it does seem off somehow compared to Extracto.”

  Mike sat back, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “That’s the lactone and indanes. More than a thousand volatile compounds in roasted coffee. I don’t want to say I told you so—”

  A sharp knock at the door interrupted him, startling them all.

  David jumped up. “All right, guys, calm down.” He gestured for them to stay in their seats, a slight tremor in his hand. “Whatever is going on is only happening in the computer. It might be real good at faking emails, but it can’t hurt us for real.”

  He cracked the door open. “Can I help you?”

  Outside, a dark-haired woman in a black suit stood with four uniformed security guards behind her. “Mr. Ryan?” asked the woman.

  “Yes, that’s me,” he replied, a sinking feeling in his gut.

  “Are Mr. Williams and Mr. Keyes with you?”

  “Yes, we’re all here.” David opened the door wider.

  “I’m Carly French, Director of Security. We’ve been contacted by several individuals who reported you harassed them. I’m afraid I must escort you off the Avogadro campus immediately, pending a full investigation.”

  David, Mike, and Gene glanced at each other. David’s assertion that the computer couldn’t affect them in real life had fallen apart before their eyes.

  “Ms. French, I’m Gene Keyes, in the Controls and Compliance Group.” Gene stood and shook Ms. French’s hand. “I’m conducting an internal investigation into financial fraud and other inappropriate behavior occurring just before the end of the year. Mr. Ryan and Mr. Williams are assisting me. We believe Avogadro employees are being manipulated through email. It’s called social engineering. The emails provide just enough information to seem legitimate. May I ask, were you informed by email of our so-called harassment?”

  “Yes, I was informed by email, but I’m well aware of what social engineering is. In any scenario with such serious allegations, of course I would confirm them directly with the individuals. In this case, I spoke by phone with your manager, Mr. Keyes.”

  “Brett? He could confirm what I’m working on.”

  “During our phone call he said you’ve been belligerent to him, acting strangely, and you’d blame whatever happened on the computer.” She shook her head, more sad than angry. “Look, I’m very sorry, gentlemen. You seem like nice folks, and I’d like to be able to take your word. But the standard operating procedure is that I escort you off campus and remove your access privileges as a precautionary measure, until a full investigation can be completed. If the facts don’t check out, you’ll have an apology from me and my manager, and you’ll be back on campus in no time at all. Now, please, let’s go without a lot of drama.”

  David couldn’t think of a thing to say. He felt b
oxed in, all available choices closed off one by one until there was nowhere to go.

  Out of options, they allowed Ms. French to escort them to the garage and David’s BMW. They climbed into the car, and as David drove away, the security guards walked alongside until the car exited the garage. In the rearview mirror, he saw the guards line up across the entrance.

  For once, Mike had no jokes to break the silence.

  David squinted on the drive, the sunny day somehow too bright and cheerful for the circumstances. Arriving home with Mike and Gene in tow, David entered the house, which—with Christine away at work—was quiet and still. David grabbed beers from the kitchen and passed them around. The sun might be straight overhead, but he needed something to take the edge off their unnerving experience with Security.

  He wanted to call Christine, but his phone wouldn’t turn on. He tried button combinations until he concluded the phone had died. Staring at the inert plastic and metal lump in his hand, he remebered the phone ran Avogadro’s AvoOS operating system and used the corporate Internet plan. It was totally dependent on the company, and the servers were fully aware of his phone: where it was, who he talked to, the data he sent and received.

  “My phone is dead,” he told the others in surprised relief.

  “Same here,” said Gene, looking at his.

  “Me too,” Mike said, checking his own phone and glancing over at Gene’s. “Dude, how’d you get a feature phone from the company? We don’t even make phones like that anymore.”

  “It’s not surprising they stopped working,” David said, “given that everything runs through Avogadro.”

  “We should be glad,” Mike said. “Otherwise ELOPe could have monitored our phone calls. Come to think of it, ELOPe might have been listening anytime they were powered on.”