Viral Spark

by Martin McConnell

  I apply a filter for random strings of data, and it cleans up a lot of the garbage. The wireless broadcast from the virus code is once again overlaying the not so audible high-frequency sound.

  Then my eyes catch the clock at the bottom of the screen. It’s hard to believe that I’ve been sitting here for almost three hours, but it’s time to don my smock and return to the world of cleaning robots.

  I dump my plate and cup in the washer, and the music starts up again.

  “Knock it off.”

  The music stops. The odds of coincidence are remote. First it was chirping, then singing, and now it appears to be interacting with my voice. The virus has taken a liking to the tablet. Is it possible that it’s trying to communicate? Has it attached itself to me? Could it really be alive?

  “What do you want from me?”

  Silence.

  “Oh, you’re going to be quiet all of a sudden. Okay, cool.”

  I tie the straps on my smock while staring at the device. The spike on the equalizer fluctuates.

  “Go ahead. You can sing if you want to.”

  The music starts again, softly. I drop the device in my front pocket, shaking my head, and walk out. The theme song follows me all the way to work.

  ***

  I burst through the double doors as the tablet clicks and pops before resuming the symphony.

  “Tom, your tablet is crawling with virus.”

  “Did it do something different?”

  “I’m not sure what it’s doing, but it seems like––never mind, that’s crazy.”

  “What’s crazy?”

  “Probably just timing. I thought it was responding to voice commands. Did you come up with anything on the high pitched frequency?”

  “I might have a lead,” says Tom. “But you aren’t going to like it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve heard of sonar, right?”

  “Yeah. Submarines and ocean bases use it.”

  He nods. “Along with bats and a bunch of other things. Anyway, active sonar operates on super high pitched sound frequencies. 60,000 is a bit on the low side for them, but it could definitely work, probably with lower resolution. Can I see the analyzer? How big did you make the sound spectrum?”

  “The device only went to 100,000, so that’s what it was set for.”

  “You were checking your overlay again this morning?”

  “Yeah.”

  He taps and swipes at the screen. “Just as I suspected.”

  “What?”

  “Harmonics.” He places the tablet on the work bench and draws my attention to another noise spike, louder than the first, and at exactly twice the frequency. “How much do you want to bet that the virus is creating an environment of high pitched chirps and buzzing to keep track of everything that is happening around us?”

  “How did you do that? It only went to 100 K for me.”

  “You can make changes in the config file. The microphone can theoretically go higher than the stated values. But that’s beside the point. Sonar detection from every device in the building. That’s a scary thought.”

  “Why would it do that?”

  “If someone wanted an inside eyeball on what’s happening everywhere, they could use sensors in all of these adaptive surfaces to both emit and capture sound. The virus could be tied into literally everything with an interface, and it could use them as eyes and ears to watch everything, and hear everything. Use of something like that might be above my pay grade.”

  “Wait. Hold on. The bots don’t have any adaptive surfaces on them. The shells are hard plastics, and they’re constructed of polymers and metals. No surfaces.”

  “Right, but the bots weren’t being controlled directly. They were getting bogus signals sent to them, and trying to respond to what they thought were commands. Besides, they have their own eyes and ears.”

  My eyes close, and his theory fills the void. The thought percolates, leading from suspicion to paranoia.

  “So. In theory. What are you saying? I’m following you, but I’m not seeing the big picture.”

  “The big picture, is that someone is spying on us, and the glitches with your robots, the music, and the building walls are being caused by surplus noise in the signal. This might be a government thing. We should proceed carefully.”

  The volume on the device peaks, and blares Vivaldi. I cover my ears and shout, “How does your theory explain that?”

  “I don’t know. It has to be some kind of glitch in the code.”

  “Shut up, Bee,” I scream, and the tablet goes silent.

  Tom’s eyebrows twist. “Bee?”

  “Long story. Anyway, government spying algorithm doesn’t explain some of the things that are happening. Especially with the tablet.”

  “One thing’s for certain, we aren’t getting anywhere with tracking and isolating. The thing has spread everywhere. I’ve been scanning individual devices all morning for traces of the virus.”

  He tosses the tablet on the comms pad, and hammers away at the bench display. The same face as before appears over my pegboard, with bright red hair, milky skin, and freckles.

  “Scott,” says Tom. “Send me a copy of the standard code profile for these analyzers. I need to restore this one to factory settings. It’s acting weird.”

  The guy on the wall nods. “Okay, sending now.” He disappears.

  “Wait,” I say.

  “What?”

  “What if this is something else? What if this is the origin of digital life? And it’s trying to interact with us?”

  “It can use someone else’s analyzer.”

  He punches a confirmation button, and I feel a twist in my stomach, like watching someone butcher an animal. He’s destroying a new life form just as it’s opening its eyes, or perhaps destroying a possible interaction with it through a privileged device.

  “Okay,” he continues. “Scan is done. No relevant change from the original programming. I’m copying all of the auxiliary files to my profile. Configuration files mostly. This is so weird.”

  “Configuration files?”

  “Analyzers are built on older devices with an old mindset. They don’t automatically update from your profile, so when you make changes on the device, they persist. They don’t back up to your profile. Lose the device, and the information is lost with it.”

  “Well, that’s dumb.”

  “It’s the way the world used to work.”

  The tablet burps and beeps, chirps, and then crashes like cymbals. After the burst, it repeats a low tone, like a bass solo, over and over again.

  “Now what?” asks Tom.

  “I’m telling you. This is no surveillance device. There’s something else going on here.”

  “There isn’t anything on the analyzer to cause it. Like everything else I’ve scanned, it’s being controlled remotely, but why?”

  “Can we find out where it’s receiving the pirate signal from?”

  “Maybe, but not from here. I might have some things at my office. I can start a trace running tomorrow. I’d call Scott again, but he’s backed up with programming updates for all the malfunctions. Not everything adapts as easily as grocery robots to being disconnected.”

  “Who is this Scott person?”

  “He’s kind of my boss. Coordinator for the programming department.”

  “Kind of your boss?”

  “Yeah. I collaborate with him, but don’t necessarily take orders from him. He gets paid a little better than I do.”

  I sigh. “So what do we do?”

  “I think you have some bots to work on.” He nods toward the line of shopping carts waiting for service. “I’ll get out of your way for a while. I might shoot over to my office for a bit and start some kind of trace. They’re having just as many problems over there.”

  I stare at the desk, and pull up my messages to rifle through them. There’s a congratulations from school about my successful graduation. I open it to see a fireworks
display surrounding a diploma, and little cartoon figures dancing at the bottom while throwing confetti. The next message is the usual daily maintenance schedule. Since we shut off the Wi-Fi, the list is empty, but the messages are still being sent.

  There’s also a message from Amanda: Robert, Sorry about last night. If you aren’t too busy this morning and want to grab tea, send me a message. Mike is still being an ass, so you might want to avoid him.

  I don’t bother replying. I can talk to her at lunch. I grab the first robot cart and strip it. The tablet continues its noisemaking between chirps and music while I work.

  TWELVE

  Once all of the components are in the bath, I turn my attention to the tablet.

  “I’m going to assume for the moment, that you are some kind of developing intelligence. So, little bee. If that’s what you are, then let’s see what happens when I try this.”

  I glance across the bay, hearing voices from Paul’s office. I imagine that they’ll be deaf to my little experiment. I set the controls on my desk to play some old-fashioned rock from the turn of the century. The harmony of the tunes filters through the bench, and the display on the tablet shows that they are loud enough for it to detect.

  One song plays through without incident. The second track comes with a flickering of lights above. I wait patiently for Bee to follow my lead. Halfway through the following song, the tablet clicks and chirps quietly. Some popping noises crackle from it, like the crunching of glass. And then, it emits a tone that could be called anything but musical.

  The crunchy tones of electric guitars and synthesized music aren’t replicated well, but I sense that the machine is trying to reproduce the sound. I thought synthetic instruments would be easier for it to mimic. Trying another tactic, I switch the playlist to a slow and steady violin solo. The tablet catches on immediately, and sings along with the tune.

  Like a ghost, Tom’s voice comes from behind me. “What are you doing?”

  I nearly fall off the stool, bracing against the desk. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

  “Sorry.” A glint of golden light reflects off a ring on his finger. “What are you doing?”

  “This is not a monitoring device from the government. Whatever it is, it’s trying to communicate through your tablet.”

  “Communicate?” He frowns.

  “I’m sure that spy software wouldn’t be designed to mimic the sounds it was trying to observe, and a high-tech hack to collect access codes wouldn’t either. Why would anyone want to make their nefarious activities so obvious? And if I’m right––”

  I reach for the volume controls on the desk, and swipe the scrollable controls to zero. The tablet keeps playing the sound of the violin.

  “Hmm. Not exactly as I expected.”

  The tablet lets out a loud screech. Tom and I jump back. My stool crashes to the ground between my legs.

  “Bee. How did I say it earlier? Go ahead, sing.”

  Vivaldi pours out of the tablet, and Tom’s eyes open wide. I pat him on the shoulder. “It isn’t spy code. It’s some kind of electronic life form. I’m sure of it. I’m not sure how it works, or where it came from. Humans don’t fully understand consciousness, so why should we understand a machine that’s becoming sentient?”

  “Why this analyzer? Why not some other device? Why can’t these things happen to someone else?”

  “I’m not sure,” I say. “The only thing that I can think is that infected devices send out the signal, and they search for responses to it. Nobody else is talking to malfunctioning electronics. It can see its own voice. Maybe that’s why all the cracks and pops, the music and mayhem. It’s learning its own voice, like a child playing with a toy.” Don’s words find me. “Or grasping for things to stick in its mouth, like a baby does. Um. I’m going to lunch.”

  “Okay. Take that thing with you. It’s creeping me out.”

  I dump the tablet in my smock pocket, and out the double doors I go.

  ***

  Amanda’s expression behind the counter is plain, showing about as much emotion as one of my robots.

  “How are things?” I start.

  “Hi Robert. Same sandwich?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Gotta eat.”

  She nods, and starts the industrial food printer to prepare a batch of wheat buns. The lack of engagement cripples me. I sort through a dozen things I could say to strike up a conversation, but sometimes people just don’t want to talk. Luckily, the busy bee in my pocket interjects its own bit of conversation. It lets out an annoying crunch, followed by more music, slightly louder than before. Amanda looks up.

  “Your clothes are singing.”

  I pull the tablet out and show her the display. “It’s this thing I’m working on.”

  “You’re working on blaring your music in public?”

  “It does it by itself. It has something to do with all the glitches.”

  “Music?”

  “It’s a little complicated. The virus is invading the network, and through this tablet, it’s mimicking what’s happening around, um. Itself? There was music playing at my desk, and it started singing.”

  “That’s crazy.” Her eyes fall on the sandwich as the slicer draws a diagonal cut across it. “So the virus that’s been messing up my coffee machines and food printers likes to sing? I wish all of us could be as upbeat as a glitchy piece of equipment.”

  “Is that what’s bugging you? Coffee machines?”

  “I’m just failing at everything this morning.” Her lips tighten and she places the sandwich on the bar between us.

  “I don’t suppose you want to make me some tea after work?” As soon as the words leave my lips, I’m sure that it’s too much. Like a sales bot that keeps you convinced that it’s looking after your best interests before sticking you with a sales pitch. Even Bee picks up on the tension, and goes silent.

  My one hope lies in a slight upturn at the corner of her lips. Her eyes lock on mine, but they’re hard to read. She maintains her robotic appearance: hair perfectly tied back, professional attitude, and a blank stare. Then she surprises me. “That might be nice. You going to be there after work? Or are you going to school?”

  “Finished school yesterday.”

  “Really?” her mood lightens. “You aren’t that much older than I am. I thought I was cruising, but I still have a lot left.”

  “Persistence, patience, a little every day. I haven’t made much of a life for myself here, though. No friends, just studying.”

  “So you don’t consider us friends?”

  “No. I mean, uh, yes. Um.”

  Her smile breaks open as I struggle to find the right words.

  “You’re the exception,” I say. “And the beekeeper guy on the roof, and maybe my boss, I guess. That’s it though.”

  “Yeah. Plus you don’t watch any good shows. Probably not much to talk about if you can’t break into a conversation about the latest happenings. Maybe if I stopped watching the feeds, I’d catch up with you on school work.”

  “Maybe. But you’ll finish in your own time, and finishing is the important part, not the time it takes.”

  “Definitely, if you want to have children. The government is stingy about giving out licenses to people who haven’t finished school.” Her head twists to the side. “There’s another customer. Enjoy your lunch.”

  I nod and grab the sandwich. I drop the tablet before me on the table, and the window display on the wall flickers, as do the lights.

  “What are you up to now, Bee?”

  As I’m eating, I tinker with the controls, and learn the device a little better. It’s equipped with several features I haven’t touched yet, such as the integrated camera. The display shifts to a recording view, and I prop it up toward the fake window. As I finger the back of it, a break in the plastic shell reveals itself. It’s a tiny kickstand, or at least can be used as one. I fold it out, and prop up the device so that it will have a clear view of the forest themed wall.

  The
holographic jungle view flickers once or twice, then faster. It begins to pulse with staticky nonsense. I turn the tablet the other direction, and parts of the the restaurant start to change. Tables flash, flicker, and produce strange textures. Plants and other accents change to cubes, orbs, and random structures coated in psychedelic colors.

  I shut off the camera and repeat the experiment. The flickering around me gets ten times worse, but as the device sits without a view, the restaurant theme starts to normalize again.

  “What are you trying to do, little Bee?”

  ***

  I finish the sandwich and return to my station. Tom spots me from the back room and walks toward my desk.

  “Anything new with the device?”

  “Yeah. Watch this.” I activate the camera and aim it at my desk. The desk flickers. Tappable items on the display move on their own. Files open and close. I flip it over and the display shutters. Three loud pops erupt, and everything returns to normal.

  “What do you think it’s doing?”

  “I don’t have any idea.”

  “So what am I supposed to tell the GM? That we’re tracking some kind of artificial intelligence algorithm?”

  “Did you start your own tracking thing from that office you talked about?”

  “Yep. Computer is chewing on it. And I’ve put a couple of our programmers onto trying to figure out how exactly it’s disrupting devices, so they can trace it back to the source. Maybe we can find a chain that will lead us to the root program.”

  The tablet spits and sputters, and the music starts again.

  “What makes you think it has a source?”

  “Every virus has a point of origin. We haven’t found code installed on any device we’ve searched. There must be a node somewhere broadcasting the signal.”

  I activate my message browser and set it to send alerts to my implant, just in case Amanda decides to send another message.