The Installed Intelligence Trilogy Collection

by Phoenix Ward

  Isn’t there something you can do? Karl asked. You got us out of the lab. You got us out of prison. Can you get us out of this?

  “I’m certainly open to suggestions,” Maynard said. “I’d jump in their C.C.s if they were implanted, but they’re cavemen, so we’re outta luck.”

  Isn’t there anything else you could jump into?

  Maynard was quiet for a moment. It was less than a second, but it was still longer than Karl was comfortable with.

  He could hear the Leddites approaching him, their feet scraping over the concrete. The gunfire had stopped entirely at this point.

  Maynard!

  “Aren’t their guns computerized?” the I.I. said.

  Their guns?

  “Like yours,” Maynard said. “Your gun has a computer in it that identifies your biometric data and controls whether or not it can fire. Theirs probably do, too.”

  They hate technology—why would they have smartguns? They probably have old pre-Connectivity weapons that work for whoever squeezes the trigger.

  “But they get their supplies from Stewart, and he wouldn’t go through all the legal trouble to get them illegal antiques. He probably gave them smartguns, assigned to them just like yours was to you.”

  But we don’t know that, Karl argued. I can’t remember what kind of guns they had. I wasn’t really paying attention.

  “Well, it’s our only chance!” Maynard insisted.

  Alesha shouted to her two companions, “Move in!”

  “Karl!”

  Alright! Karl thought. What do I have to do?

  “You’ve got to peek out and look at their guns,” Maynard replied. “We need to get them all in one shot.”

  Oh God.

  Karl squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel the blood pound its way across his temples. Sweat had accumulated just under his bottom lip, giving him the impression that he was drooling.

  He tried to listen for the Leddites, to tune out all other sound and hear even their breathing. They were getting close, and starting to split up so they could come around both sides of his cover. Soon, it would be impossible to see all the guns in one gaze without getting a hole blown through his head.

  With a quick jolt, he spun out of cover and faced the Leddites.

  Surprise stole their faces and they stopped in their tracks. It was clear they hadn’t expected Karl to expose himself so deliberately. But the delay was minor. Their expressions straightened out and they took aim with their weapons.

  And nothing happened.

  Karl could hear the guns clicking as the Leddites squeezed the triggers over and over. The surprise returned to their faces.

  The psychologist raised his own gun to eye level. All three of the townspeople ducked or jumped aside as he opened fire.

  He let loose six shots at the fleeing Leddites, but none of them hit. He wasn’t aiming to shoot them, though he doubted he’d be able to even if he wanted.

  The Leddites turned into an alleyway, their arms over their ducked heads, and out of sight.

  Stewart peeked out from the recessed doorway in which he had taken cover. His face was still contorted in terror, but his eyebrows were cocked. The silence followed by a few gunshots lulled him into a sense of safety. He must have thought the Leddites had gotten the drop on Karl.

  When he realized how wrong he was, all of the color drained from his face. He hesitated for only a second before bolting out of cover and toward his parked car.

  “Stewart!” Karl cried out as he adjusted his aim.

  He squeezed the trigger another two times, but his aim hadn’t improved.

  There wasn’t much cover between Stewart and his vehicle, so he ran in a sort of zig-zag manner.

  Karl fired again, and on the third pull of the trigger, his gun clicked. He didn’t have a spare magazine, and Stewart was reaching his car. He wouldn’t have enough time to reload the magazine with the loose bullets he had before Stewart would escape.

  He started to run after the traitor.

  “What are you doing?” Maynard said. “Why are you chasing him? Let’s get out of here!”

  No, Karl said. I’m not letting him get away.

  As he ran, he noticed a pickup truck parked on the edge of town square. The bed was packed with camping and hunting supplies, which he guessed the Leddites used when Stewart’s supplies were delayed. It looked old, maybe even without a computer inside.

  Stewart threw open the driver-side door of his car and climbed inside. For a moment, Karl forgot he was out of ammunition and tried to shoot at the traitor again, then swore in frustration.

  The car started up and Stewart turned it around without a moment’s hesitation. With a cloud of dust, he drove out of the town square and down the dirt road he’d arrived on.

  Karl pushed his legs as hard as they could go. He didn’t take any time to review his options or to discuss the plan with Maynard. He just climbed in the truck, thanked heaven that the keys were inside, and took off after Stewart.

  Chase

  It had been decades since Karl had been in a vehicle that wasn’t autonomous. It wasn’t unheard of for people to still drive themselves, but the option was always available. In fact, almost all modern autonomous vehicles would take over if the driver was putting himself or anyone else in danger. There was no concern of crashing, as the computer could react thousands of times faster than the human mind could.

  That’s why anxiety choked Karl’s throat as he pushed the accelerator down even farther. His fingers trembled as he clutched the steering wheel. His vision seemed to blur if he focused on the road too hard.

  “Turn around, Karl,” Maynard said. “We can still get away.”

  That’s not happening, Maynard. We’re going to stop him or die trying.

  “I don’t like that one bit.”

  That’s okay.

  Karl looked over at his gun, which he had thrown into the passenger seat. He reached over and pressed the magazine release button at the top of the gun’s grip. There was a click, but the mag stayed inside. He gave the weapon a bit of wiggling until the magazine slid out about half an inch. Keeping his eyes on the road, Karl retrieved the magazine and set it in his lap.

  The vibration of the tires made the task of reloading even harder than it was already, considering he’d only ever done it once before. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a loose handful of rounds. Karl dumped them into his lap as well, and took a wide turn to stay on Stewart’s trail.

  “He’s outpacing us,” Maynard said.

  Karl looked ahead at the cloud of dust between them and the traitor’s vehicle. It was growing thinner and more translucent, meaning it had had more time to settle.

  The I.I. was right. Stewart was going to become impossible to catch soon as his modern car approached 200 miles per hour without strain. Karl was struggling to push his own vehicle past 100. It was just skirting 120 mph, but the truck shook violently with effort. It would only be a matter of time before he blew the engine.

  He pushed the gas pedal to the floor even farther, digging it into the carpeted floor of the cabin. With a quick look down, he pinched a bullet from his lap and popped it in the magazine. It took a couple of tries, as the road had turned into a sort of washboard and shook some of the other bullets onto the floor.

  With a quick glance up, he realized that Stewart had spun out into a shallow ditch. The traitor must be using manual driving, since an autonomous car would have never made such an error at high speeds.

  Karl slammed on his own brakes to keep from plowing headfirst into the back of Stewart’s car. He used the moment to slide the magazine back into his handgun and take aim. Before he could draw a bead on Stewart, however, the car managed to claw its way out of the ditch and back onto the road.

  I can’t hit him! Karl thought.

  “Then don’t waste the bullet,” Maynard said. “If we’re set on chasing him, we have to run him off the road.”

  If we can even catch him.

  As the
thought ran through Karl’s mind, Stewart was accelerating back to maximum speed. The dust the tires kicked up concealed the entire car, blotting out a good portion of the horizon. Karl followed after him with a less impressive start.

  How do we stop him if he can consistently double our speed? Karl asked.

  “Maybe you can shoot out his tires?” Maynard suggested.

  This isn’t an action movie, Karl pointed out. I’ve barely even used this thing before. You saw me try to hit three stationary targets just a minute ago; what makes you think I can shoot out a tire?

  “Then we’ll have to rely on an error on his part,” Maynard said. “The only way we’ll catch him is if he spins out again or crashes.”

  An idea hit Karl.

  Maynard, can you jump into his C.C.? he asked.

  “From here?” the I.I. said.

  Yes. Maybe you can blind him, or force him to swerve off the road. Do something that will stop him!

  “You don’t think I’ve tried?” Maynard said. “With the way he’s speeding and the way you’re steering, I haven’t been able to get a good lock on him. It’s not like I can just jump in his general direction and hope the C.C. catches me. I have to open up a connection first, and I can’t do that with something as delicate and complex as a cerebral computer.”

  Then we lose, Karl said. There’s no way we can catch him.

  “We can still escape with our lives,” Maynard said.

  I don’t have a life anymore, Maynard, Karl thought. As long as that man runs free and my story remains distorted, I will never be at peace. I will never be alive. I’d rather die than allow him to escape.

  The I.I. kept his “mouth” shut while Karl turned to avoid a cattle guard. The engine was starting to make erratic sputtering noises. He knew the truck had mere minutes of life left if he maintained this speed.

  When Karl was about to squeeze his eyes shut and give up, Maynard spoke.

  “I can’t jump into his computer, but maybe I can commandeer the car’s computer,” he said.

  Karl’s face lit up and hopelessness ceased its total seizure of his heart. A slight smile formed on his lips.

  Do it.

  There was no change, but somehow he could feel Maynard leave his own C.C. It was as if there had always been a constant hum in his ears, and for just a moment, it stopped.

  He couldn’t see much past the cloud of dust, but he could hear a sudden screeching and tearing noise, like someone was opening the world’s rustiest can with the world’s rustiest can opener. He lessened the weight on the gas pedal almost out of instinct. Once he cleared the dust, if only for a moment, he saw the final moments of Maynard’s action.

  Stewart’s car was rolling through the air, tossed up with a heap of dirt as if it had been tripped. It rolled like a crocodile in a death spiral, thrown by its own force, halted suddenly at 200 miles per hour.

  Karl slammed on his own brakes as Stewart tumbled to the ground, bouncing off the road a couple of time. The car crumpled with each impact like a discarded ball of packing paper. It spread debris all over the road like some sort of shedding animal. Karl started to doubt Stewart’s survival more and more with each roll.

  Eventually, the mangled thing came to a halt in the ditch on the left side of the road. So much dust had been thrown up into the air, one could swear an explosion had taken place.

  Karl took a moment to observe the scene in awe before stepping out of the cab of his truck. He noticed the subtle presence of the I.I. in his head once more, which gave him a measure of comfort.

  “Whew, that worked better than I’d expected,” Maynard said.

  Did you kill him? Karl asked.

  “No, but I can see why you’d think I did.”

  Good, Karl said. He took the magazine out of his handgun and popped a few more bullets into it. Then he clicked it back into place inside the gun’s grip.

  Because he’s mine.

  Lies

  Stewart yelled out in pain once consciousness returned to him. Blood flooded into his eyes and smoke flowed into his lungs. His screams were cut off by intermittent bouts of coughing.

  With intense effort, he was able to unfasten himself from the driver’s seat. He fell to the roof of the car with a low thud, and the wind was knocked from his lungs. He writhed in the upside-down vehicle as pain took every nerve available.

  He reached his hands up to his face, which stung worse than anything else, and felt loose skin. When he pulled his fingers back and looked at them, he saw a thick layer of blood covering them. With some effort, he managed to catch his reflection in a shard of mirror that remained in place near the windshield.

  “No,” he muttered, his mouth full of blood as well. “No, no, no, no, no!”

  He shrieked like some wild animal caught in a painful snare. With all the strength he could muster, he flipped himself over onto his stomach and started to crawl out of the opening that had once been the driver-side window.

  Karl approached the wreckage just as Stewart was crawling free of it. He held his pistol loose in his hand as he took in the scene.

  Stewart noticed the new presence and spun around to look at Karl.

  The psychologist couldn’t help but wince. His former co-worker’s face was torn to shreds, the flesh dangling in loose clumps like a maimed Halloween mask. Bits of bone could be seen peeking their way through the gore. He no longer had a nose, and one of his eyebrows had been scraped clean off.

  Stewart shrieked some more, his head eerily like a screaming skull.

  “You ruined my face!” he cried. “My beautiful face! All the work, all the effort. Ruined! Mangled! MY FACE!!”

  “He looks better without it,” Maynard commented.

  Karl didn’t speak. He couldn’t help but feel a little weak in the stomach at the sight of Stewart’s mutilated expression. The man didn’t look familiar at all anymore.

  “It’s over,” Karl said aloud. “Get up.”

  Stewart was shaking with sobs and sheer adrenaline. “What?” he asked.

  “Get up,” Karl repeated.

  He didn’t wait for the traitor to react. With one smooth motion, the psychologist reached down and heaved Stewart onto his feet. Stewart wobbled a little, trying to stay balanced. It was clear that his left leg had been shattered.

  “So, this is how it ends?” Stewart said once he could catch his breath. “You’re going to kill me now?”

  “Not until you admit to everything,” Karl said. “Confess your crimes while I record you, so I can walk free.”

  “You think you’re getting away with this?” Stewart said. “You’re never going to see daylight again.”

  Karl ignored the comment.

  “Confess,” he said. After a moment of quiet, he felt his temper rise. “Now!”

  “Confess?” Stewart echoed. “To what? To the attack on the I.I.-human summit that never happened yet?”

  “To the lab shooting! To killing those anti-I.I. activists! To framing me! To ruining countless lives!”

  Stewart made an expression like he was about to laugh, but the agony stole the chuckle from his lips.

  “Oh, Karl,” he started, shaking his head. “You fool! You’ve got it all wrong!”

  Karl raised his gun in a threatening manner, but waited to hear what the man would say. Maynard remained silent.

  “I want you to admit it,” Karl said.

  “So you want me to lie,” Stewart replied.

  “I want the truth!”

  “You are asking for two different things,” the mutilated man began. “Do you want me to lie and confess to two shootings I had nothing to do with? Or do you want the truth? The truth that, like you, I am being framed.”

  “Liar,” Karl hissed.

  “About many things, yes, but not in this matter,” Stewart said in between winces. “Though I don’t see the point in clarifying. You seem to want to believe what you’ve been told, so all that’s left to follow is my death and the victory of your real traitor. Since we’v
e both lost already, what does it matter?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve got the wrong guy, you idiot.” Stewart spit a bit of blood out onto the dirt. “The only thing I’m guilty of is hypothetical. If I’m to be condemned for that, then I suppose we should lock up every embryo that might one day grow into a murderer. I’ve done nothing. I’m not your traitor.”

  “That’s not true,” Maynard said inside Karl’s cranium. “He killed me.”

  “You murdered Maynard Batiste,” Karl said to the mutilated man, raising his gun a little.

  That seemed to catch Stewart by surprise. His eyes managed to widen more than they normally could due to his mangled eyelids.

  “Batiste?” he said. “You know about that?”

  “He’s in my head, Stewart!” Karl said. “He’s here right now. Of course I know about the murder. I know everything he knows.”

  Stewart bowed his head.

  “Certainly,” he said. “I should have realized that. Karl, you have to understand, that was when I was young and naive. It was an accident; a mistake. I never meant to kill Batiste. I just shoved him and—and he fell. That was a past life to me, now. I’m not that man anymore.”

  “Why did you do it?” Maynard asked.

  Karl echoed the question aloud.

  The mangled man sighed. “It was the mindshare process. Back in the early days of installation technology, Batiste wanted to be the first to develop it. He wanted my help making C.C.s compatible with installed intelligences. I couldn’t allow that to happen.”

  “So you killed him?”

  “I’ve already said I didn’t mean to! We were just having a discussion at his place late one night. An argument, really. He didn’t want to hear my concerns. I didn’t want to shut down his work entirely, but I needed him to understand that mankind wasn’t ready for the mindshare yet. If we opened our minds up before we even truly understood them, we’d be offering up our free will to anyone—or anything—that wanted to take advantage of it.”

  “You say all this in the past tense,” Karl said. “You now believe we are ready for the mindshare process?”