Mystery!

by Chantelle Aimée Osman

  “So, where are the glasses and which company did you steal them for?”

  It wasn’t until the next evening that it occurred to Audrey to try the glasses on. They powered up the moment she’d settled them in place, and she felt a strange tingle as some kind of static field surround her head, and then…nothing. She’d expected a short delay before receiving an input prompt, but other than a brief flicker in each lens there was no sign that the glasses were active. She touched the frames at various places along the sides and even at the bridge of the nose, hoping to find some kind of galvanic switch. She hadn’t seen any such thing in the scans, but that’s how “Datawoman!” activated a lot of her gadgets.

  Voice command maybe? Audrey said, “Command,” and immediately felt stupid for doing so. The glasses were clearly meant for black-ops work and no sneaking spy was going to want a user interface that required them to speak loudly and clearly. Something about the sound of her voice caught in the back of her mind though. In spite of how silly she knew it would feel, she tried again. “Command…test…test.” Her voice had an odd quality, kind of like how a head cold could make everything sound distant and buzzing. She knew there were audio pickups built into the frames along with some kind of sonic field projectors along the sides. Maybe they were processing her voice somehow. She took the glasses off to get another look under the scanner and then it hit her. She’d had the day’s commercials playing at the lowest allowable volume while she was working, and when she’d been wearing the glasses the stream of jingles had been completely silent. Audrey took the glasses on and off again, and judging by the lens flickers the room went silent at the exact moment the glasses became active.

  “Soundwave cancellation?” she asked herself, her voice buzzing oddly. But no, the commercials picked right back up where they’d left off. It was almost as if she’d stopped time. She put the glasses back on and glanced the wall clock, relieved in a way to see the seconds ticking along like normal. The only other possibility was that the glasses were interfering with the sensors on the apartment’s comm system. She set up a small AV pickup and monitor on her workbench and put the glasses on once more.

  The image in the monitor surprised her. She’d briefly seen her own face, then the lenses flickered and the person in the monitor was a complete stranger. Her skin and hair were several shades darker, her eyes were now completely black, and even the oval of her face had become more rectangular. There was some obvious blurring and distortion so it wasn’t a disguise that would fool anyone, but it certainly would prevent an AI from correctly identifying her.

  But how did it work? Was it an active attack against the camera or some kind of field effect? A quick check in the bathroom mirror answered that; the face she saw there was the same one on the monitor, distortions and all. The glasses were projecting a field around her head that was distorting light, and apparently sound as well. That covered all the standard ways to identify someone except one. When the computer pickups in a room couldn’t get a good visual or voice match, an IA would confirm identity using the transponder embedded in the mastoid bone of her skull. A quick hour of work later she had rigged up an RF unit and proved what she already suspected. The signal from her transponder was completely blocked when wearing the glasses. What’s more, the glasses put out their own signal, though she couldn’t get any information on who that was. She assumed it was some kind of throwaway ID; Datawoman! was always swapping out her IDs to keep the corporate scanners from knowing who she was.

  Audrey thought about the ramifications and her mind reeled. She could hide from the Z&E computers any time she wanted. She could go see any movie she wanted, including those made by Consumeristics or Panoptico, without it showing up in her reviews as being disloyal to the company. She could even cross borders and visit “unfriendly” cities and resorts without setting off corporate espionage alarms. Audrey smiled, happier than she’d been in years. “This is the greatest toy ever!” she said in a voice that sounded like someone else.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Audrey said.

  Briggan scowled at her. “Look, my time is billable at a rate that’s ten times yours. Let me be clear, we don’t care that you killed Kolodny and dropped his body in a swamp. In fact that’s one less loose end for us to clean up. We just want the equipment back. Tell us where you hid it and we’ll get you out of here with as clean a record as possible.”

  “I…how clean is that?”

  “Not very, I’m afraid. They have system logs that show Kolodny at your apartment and dozens of financial transfers between your accounts. Since Kolodny’s background is clearly faked it strongly implies you’ve been working with a non-affiliated entity. You’ll certainly be branded as a security risk and probably won’t be able to work anywhere above a Grade 2, but all of that is still better than being sent to a corporate work camp for murder.”

  Audrey looked at Briggan as she considered her words. There was no doubt that she was in trouble, but not for the reasons she’d been given. Z&E didn’t send out their top people to retrieve stolen equipment, and there was no way Panoptico would lift a finger for a freelance enforcer, even if it was a case of murder. Both companies wanted the glasses for some reason, and they would happily feed her into recycling bin the moment she was no longer necessary.

  No, that wasn’t quite it. The glasses were just hardware. Yes, they were cutting edge stuff, but nothing that couldn’t be replicated. They were worried about the data. There must have been information stored in the glasses. Z&E wanted it to protect itself and Panoptico wanted it to use against Z&E. Her only chance would be to appear more useful alive than dead.

  She sat back in her chair and made a conscious effort to relax. “I’ve put all the data I extracted from the glasses into a foreign escrow. If I don’t send out the correct signals on schedule, it will all be dumped to the public.” As an afterthought she gave a knowing half-smile that she hoped implied she knew something. It was a half-truth. There was no automated task to check for signs or dump data, but the escrow existed and the story fit with what little the company could independently verify.

  Audrey could almost see the blood draining from the lawyer’s face. She might actually get out of this after all.

  The next few days were the most fun she’d had since graduating from Evans Technical. Audrey used the glasses each night to go out on the town, figuring that the low light of the strip was enough to hide the distortions from the disguise field. It must have worked because no one bothered to give her a second glance. The thing that really amazed her was how walking down the strip was so much quieter. The few adbots that noticed her at all played low-key pitches for really high quality items. Whoever was associated with the glasses must be pretty high in the Grades to be exempted from the constant selling.

  It took her a bit to work up the courage to try a purchase, but it worked. A Bubbaloo machine gave her a Mango-ade and politely informed her about her low balance. Through successive trips to two different Autobanks, the first without the glasses and the second with, she purchased a hundred-credit tab and then deposited it into the glasses’ account. That night she gleefully bought three movie discs made by Consumeristics, along with a five kilo bag of Coffeesque.

  It was on the fourth night after she’d booked a trip to Florida and was about to buy a pack of EnviroCrisp Strawberry that the glasses signaled something troubling. A flashing text in the upper right of her field of view read, “Message Waiting.” Audrey walked away from the vending machine and found a quiet bench away from the street. She knew the glasses weren’t triggered by touch or sound. That left some kind of visual trigger maybe? The flashing message got her thinking about optical detection and after a little experimenting she found that a double left wink caused a menu to pop up. The options were very limited but she soon found a path to display messages.

  CHIANG STILL ALIVE. ELIMINATE TARGET AS CONTRACTED OR FACE IMMEDIATE SANCTION.

  There were dozens of older messages there as well
. Audrey skimmed through the titles noting places, names. The word “target” appeared far too often. She gave herself a mental kick in the butt. The glasses weren’t just some plaything for a High Grade, they were a tool for espionage. She’d been going around buying snacks and entertainment using tech that was custom made for corporate enforcers. They were expecting her, or at least the proper owner of the glasses, to fulfill a contract and would take action if she didn’t. There was probably a tracking chip in the frames as well. At least she’d have put one in if she were designing them.

  They probably didn’t even know what the proper owner looked like. She could point to the body that security had found back at the MetaMart but the identity of the corpse would certainly not be connected to the fake ID code transmitted by the glasses. Then again, there was no link between her and the fake ID either.

  Chiang. There was a Tech VP named Chiang at Panoptico. She’d recently read a memo from Opp Research on his protein reclamation project and how it would make the current Z&E process obsolete. Targeting upper level employees went against all sorts of corporate laws. The last company that had been caught at it ended up bankrupt from legal bills and all of its top brass were sent to mining camps in Siberia. Of course with millions of credits on the line and enough of a chance that Z&E could get away with it…

  The decision came easily; she’d have to get rid of the glasses.

  Audrey rushed back to her apartment and put the glasses back into their little anti-static box. That was only good in the short term though. Whoever sent the message would certainly have tracked the glasses to her apartment. She could try to destroy them but the components were likely all tagged at a molecular level. If even the tiniest scrap were found it could be identified. She could dump them, but it would have to be somewhere no one would look and packaged well enough so it would never open up and activate the tracker.

  It was tempting to just run away, maybe to take that trip to Florida and not come back. She wouldn’t be able to hide there for long, though. Even though the state was mostly controlled by EnviroRama. Z&E still had an office there. They’d track her down in no time at all. Still, the idea of running off suggested another solution. She had already booked the trip so why not take it? There were thousands of square kilometers of unoccupied swampland out there. If she sealed the glasses in the right container and weighted it down well enough, no one would ever find it.

  She had an old cloth-sided suitcase that would work for the container, and a copper mesh bag around the anti-static box would be guaranteed to block the signal completely. That left sealing everything in. Audrey tapped her lab screen and brought up the density figures for potting compounds. Most were a bit too light, but she found one that would work nicely. She ordered twenty kilos of Acrylicoat-40 for delivery the next morning and then went out to the communal garden for a couple of decorative rocks.

  The four hour magrail trip was almost relaxing, and the thopter flight over the swamp was downright soothing once she’d disabled the thopter’s AV system. She kept the craft skimming just over the treetops to stay off radar. When she found a section of open marsh that looked remote enough she shoved her suitcase out the door.

  Security was waiting for her when she landed.

  Audrey did her best to match the lawyer’s poker face. “I want a promotion to at least Grade 15 and an unlimited project budget. After that we’ll see where things go.”

  “Be reasonable, Ms. Zipperer. Give the company back its rightful property and you’ll be taken care of.”

  “I think I’m being perfectly reasonable. Z&E doesn’t give a damn about the property or even the operative they gave it to. They do give a damn about their own skins, and that means they will give a damn about me.”

  Briggan sat quietly for a moment, with just a hint of a scowl. Clearly the interview hadn’t gone as she’d planned. Finally she gave an almost imperceptible nod and stood up.

  “I will inform head office of your request,” she said, and walked out of the room.

  The moment the door shut Audrey slumped in her chair. She hated uncertainty and having incomplete information, and that was pretty much the sum of her current situation. Briggan’s leaving the room could be a stalling tactic, or it could mean she actually was going to call management. The lawyer did seem a bit off balance though. She’d even left her spy-jamming comm unit behind when she left. Audrey picked it up for a closer look. The only features on the small, black box were the button on the side and a little green light. The case was a generic project box like the ones she used in her lab. She longed to open it up and identify all the components.

  There had to be more to the glasses than she’d found in her scans. If not Z&E would have just let her rot in a Panoptico cell somewhere. Was it bluffing if you might actually have all the cards? Turning over the data to Panoptico would probably get her out of the cell but not much more. They’d certainly never trust her enough to let her do any serious work. She’d be much better off staying with Z&E even if they didn’t trust her, assuming they came even close to her demands. They’d spy on her constantly, of course. Enhanced monitoring of her comm use, optical and audio bugs in her apartment, and taps on all her computers were to be expected at the very least. They would always be watching her. No, that wasn’t quite right. They had always been watching, but now they’d be paying attention too.

  Audrey stared at the comm’s green light and it stared back. Was it simply blocking RF signals or did it somehow tap into the software of nearby devices to disable them?

  She still had the scans of the glasses in the escrow. With a bit of time she could work out the components and build a version of her own. She’d be able to hide from her watchers and escape if she needed to. With the right equipment she could even get into the restricted labs in the sub-basement at work. She’d always wanted to see what they were up to down there. And then what? Maybe nothing, just a hack here and there, and access to the toys. But just maybe she could do something useful. Maybe she could start watching the watchers.

  Audrey pushed the button on the side of the jammer and the little green light blinked out. The wall screen flickered back to life and Dr. Spectral was zapping some Malbogons with his Spectral Ray.

  “Close,” she said to whoever was listing, “but I’d rather be Datawoman.” She smiled ever so slightly at the thought, and as surreptitiously as possible slipped the jammer into her pocket.

  Back to TOC

  DuckBob: Hunting Apartments

  Aaron Rosenberg

  “It’s not fair!” My cell phone drops to the table, narrowly missing my sandwich. A few heads turn—Katz’s Deli isn’t usually where you hear people complaining, unless it’s because they couldn’t get a Cel-Rey Soda or got stiffed on the pickled tomatoes. Me, I’m so despondent I’ve actually got my head in my hands, or as near as I can manage. It’d take hands the size of forklifts to cradle my entire noggin, duckbill and all.

  “What is wrong?” Mary asks, reaching over to take my hand. “Is it concerning the apartment you were hoping to rent?” Yes, this is how my girlfriend talks, thanks to augments from the same Grays who abducted me all those years ago. She’s like a sexy but super-proper schoolmarm crossed with the stiff but hot alien chick in every sci-fi movie ever.

  It’s good to be me.

  Except right now. The call is still echoing through my head: “Mr. Spinowitz, this is Satore Cosmeah from C-Ten Easy Day Realty. I am sorry to inform you that you were not chosen to sign a lease with us. Thank you for your time and your interest. Have a good day.” How can someone be that chipper while delivering such awful news? It’s like when the weatherman cheerfully declares, “We’re about to get another blizzard!”

  “Yeah, I didn’t get it,” I finally manage to answer. “Which makes zero sense. I mean, it’s not like they’re gonna find somebody with a better credit rating than mine. Two stars!” That’s two actual stars, mind—when you’ve got a Galactic card like mine, the rating is in star systems. Hey, being Guardi
an of the Matrix that protects the galaxy has to come with some perks. Including the craziest pad ever, right at the heart of the galaxy, which is awesome and all, but I share it with the Matrix, which like having a roommate who never sleeps and is always standing there staring at you every time you turn around. That’s why I wanted a little place on the side, preferably one back here in NYC. And I’d thought I’d found it, too. But evidently it was not to be.

  Mary pats me on the arm. “I am sorry, my love. But I am sure some other residence will turn up, one that is even more suited to you.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I agree slowly, lifting my head. “Everything happens for a reason,” Except for TV development and ice cream flavors. I’m pretty sure those are random, unless they’re designed specifically to screw with me—“Look, a new show or flavor you love! Oh, too bad, we’ve canceled it!”—and even I don’t think I’m that important.

  Mary doesn’t reply to that—she’s way too logical to believe that, and too honest to lie—but she does grace me with a smile that makes me forget pretty much everything else. Including my name and how to speak. “Perhaps we should finish our dinner,” she suggests slowly, “and then make our way back home?”

  But even as I lift the rest of my pastrami on rye and take another glorious bite, a part of me can’t help thinking, “Yeah, but that’d be a lot easier if ‘home’ was here.”

  “Why torture yourself?” my best buddy Tall asks, keeping pace easily as we stroll down the street. “Done is done. It was a week ago. Move on.”

  “I am,” I reply, not meeting his gaze. “I am. I just—I just want to see it one last time.”

  He’s right, of course. Going back to look at the place after not getting it, what good does that do? But I can’t help it. It’s like returning to the scene of the crime. Only I’m not the criminal, I’m the victim. Which makes this a zombie flick, and me the braineater. Okay, that analogy got loose in a hurry. This is why I never write poetry. Though now I wonder if there’s a market for zombie poetry? Maybe a zombie haiku? “Blood black as cinders/eyes red as a fire in bloom/crumbling teeth to bite.”