Viral Spark

by Martin McConnell

  “Well,” says Tom. “I’m about to shoot off a report to the office and get out of here. I sent you a message with all of my contact information so you can add me. If you figure anything out, let me know. I think we’ve done all we can here.”

  He starts for Paul’s office.

  “Wait.”

  “Yeah?” asks Tom, turning his head.

  “Do you think there could be a job for me at that main office?”

  “I’m really not sure, kid. You have a talent, but it isn’t up to me.”

  He continues away, and I’m left staring at the device. “I wish there were some way to prove to them that you are alive.” The music stops, and I’m alone. Nothing left to do but reassemble the shopping carts and scour the Global Network for new ways to trace the source of a Wi-Fi signal.

  The articles talk about something called a black box. It’s an outdated idea for an ancient hacking technique, designed to conceal the source of a phone call by routing it through an intermediate box that made it appear as if the original call was coming from somewhere else.

  An idea strikes, and I walk across the bay to the spare parts section. There are a few broken shells, leftover wheels and construction parts, screws, and a bin full of electronics. I find my own black box, one of the flat black housings that keeps all of the robotic controls safe inside the shell. I bring it back to my desk and toss it on the comms mat.

  “Alright computer. I want to know where these random signals are coming from.”

  I scan the code snipped that reports a list of all the commands the device has received. I can make it update in real time, and display the results on my desk. I program the necessary tweaks, by looking through security protocols on the device, and removing them. There’s an authentication subroutine for incoming signals. By removing all of the verification code, and having that subroutine simply return true, I can force it to accept any data sent to it. Since it’s not attached to a bot, it should be safe.

  Remembering that it might be picking up all of the Wi-Fi signals passing through the room, I add the same filter as I did on the tablet, hoping to reduce the regular data that has nothing to do with the virus, and focus only on the infection.

  I compile the new code, and upload it to the electronics kit.

  “Okay, Bee. You started this mess, and you got my hopes up about working on high tier robot tech. Time for you to tell me where you’re broadcasting from so that I can find you. They won’t be able to ignore me after that.”

  The upload finishes, my programming display pops up, and directives begin filtering in. At first, the strange messages come slowly, then a bit faster, until several codes are coming across every second, and none of them are from normal communications inside the building. Something, maybe the virus, has found my black box.

  “Do your thing, Bee. I’m going to figure out what you’re up to, and where all these hashes are coming from.”

  The clock display on the tablet reminds me of the dangers involved with the programmer’s time warp. I’ve been busy coding while the last few hours passed quickly, and I still have bins full of bots that need reassembly.

  Paul sits quietly in his office, monitoring store cameras and tweaking order code. He goes over sales stats several times a day. There’s no sign of Tom. He must have snuck out while I was occupied with the program code.

  Back to work.

  THIRTEEN

  Back in the apartment, I try to unwind by brewing some tea. Amanda hasn’t arrived yet, but I wait patiently with the tablet beside me on the counter, chirping away.

  “Why don’t you try singing or something. The cricket noises are getting annoying.”

  The device goes silent. I tap the counter and check the time. It’s only a few minutes after 1700, but my heart beats with anticipation. What if she changes her mind? What if Mike finds out? No matter how calming the chai normally is, it isn’t working this afternoon. My fingers drum at the counter as I speculate the possible reactions to sending her a private message.

  A chime alerts me. I take one step, and then hesitate. One of two possible people are behind that door. Apprehension floods into my gut. If it’s Amanda, will I win her over? Or will I screw up?

  If it’s Mike, I wonder if I’ll survive the encounter.

  There’s only one way to find out. I step toward the door, close my eyes, take a deep breath, and hope for the best. When I move in front of the threshold, it slides open. Amanda is standing there, by herself, and smiling.

  “What’s up with making me wait out here in the hall?”

  “I’m a little jumpy today. Sorry. Come in.”

  “Jumpy about what?”

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of stressed out. I’m trying to track this virus so that I can make the higher-ups in the main office take note of me. And to be honest, I’m a little worried about Mike showing up.”

  “If Mike shows up here, just call the police. He was talking a bunch of trash about you last night. Making all these claims about how I’m cheating on him and this and that. Stupid gorilla.”

  I catch myself chewing on my bottom lip, and interrupt the nervous tick with, “want some tea?”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Darn, I thought you were just using the tea as an excuse to see me.” My attempt at levity backfires, and my internal voice criticizes me for the stupid comment. My muscles seize up, making control of Amanda’s tea cup difficult. The infuser shakes in my hand as I swirl it in the hot water haphazardly.

  “Maybe I was,” she says.

  Everything goes numb. Everything except for my throat, which swallows itself dry. “What?”

  “Or maybe I’m just finding a safe haven from––”

  “What,” chirps the device in a mechanically feminine voice.

  “What the hell is that?” asks Amanda.

  “What, What.”

  My body is encased in solid glass, like one of those stupid decorations at the antiques shop. I’m aware of what’s going on, but petrified. My cheeks turn to ice, and I stop breathing. The throbbing of my head is the only movement.

  Amanda’s voice changes to a very soft and cautious tone. “What’s that tablet doing?”

  “What, what, what.”

  My head snaps toward the device. The display hasn’t changed, but if this isn’t proof of intelligence, then I’m not sure what is.

  “Bee?”

  “What, what.”

  “Holy crap.”

  “What’s going on?” asks Amanda.

  “It’s learning how to speak.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What, what. What, what.”

  “The virus. It’s trying to communicate.”

  “Why would a virus be trying to communicate?”

  “Because it isn’t just a virus, it’s alive.”

  “Sure,” she says. “Good one. You had me for a second.” Her eyes turn up as her smile stretches toward her ears. “Can I have my tea now?”

  My eyes never move from the tablet, but I balance the weight of the cup from the counter, moving it slowly in her direction. The weight disappears, and a slurp follows.

  “Robert? Are you trying to creep me out, or impress me, or what?”

  “I wasn’t expecting it to talk. It usually just sings.”

  Vivaldi plays from the device. Of all the machines it’s infected in the city, I wonder how many it’s using to attempt connecting with humans directly. Am I special? Was I chosen? Or is it screwing with thousands of people in the same way?

  “Robert?” There’s a tinge of worry in her eyes. “What is it?”

  “The future.”

  “Okay,” she laughs. “I’ll humor you. I want to hear all about this. But can we do it on the couch?”

  My head bobs up and down, something like a nod. I glance once more at the device before grabbing my cup, and lead Amanda to the other room.

  “This all started with the robots glitching.”

  “And my coffee pot
s?”

  “Yes. This guy showed up at work. I turned off the Wi-Fi reception to the bots, because stray signals were coming through.”

  “What kind of signals?”

  My lips pucker as I attempt to verbalize the strange hashes. I put my tea on the little table before the couch, and open the program monitoring the box downstairs. “This kind of signal.”

  Her eyes scan the coded entries. “What am I’m looking at?”

  “Nobody knows. The codes that the bots receive are usually human readable, even if not all of the words are understandable. We send codes to download new program packets and install them, or change modes, or whatever. But these are random. I’m hoping that tracing the hashes will point me to the source.”

  “The source?”

  “The original program code. Once the office has it, they can shut down the signal, and the glitches will stop.”

  “And then the world is saved, thanks to Robert Graham.” Her hands wave in the air sarcastically.

  “It might land me a better job.”

  Her mouth hangs slightly open. “Ah.” Her lower lip sucks into her mouth as it closes, and she stares at the table. “I think saving the world should get you a little more than a job offer.”

  “I got their attention by figuring out that the malfunctions were streaming from the Wi-Fi. If I solve the mystery for them, maybe I’ll impress them enough to set me up across town with a programming job, or maybe something better. Who knows? It’s easier than applying to random companies and hoping that they text me back.”

  “Sounds like a smart idea. You in that big of a hurry to get away from me?”

  “No. I actually kind of like you. Maybe you can tag along.”

  “Nice to know that someone does. Mike’s possessive, but I question his motives. He’s been ignoring me for a while. Then I dump him, and suddenly he can’t live without me.”

  “Did you dump him because of the school thing?”

  “I dumped him because he’s a stupid gorilla. Now he won’t leave me alone.”

  An awkward silence falls over the room. Not sure what to say next, I project my thoughts toward the wall. Video feed. Resume.

  The wall comes to life in the middle of one of Amanda’s shows.

  “Good idea,” she says.

  The tablet chirps from the other room. “What, what, what.”

  “Not now!”

  “That thing is acting like a baby,” she says. “It’s craving attention. It thinks that you’re its momma. Or maybe it wants to watch shows with us.”

  “If I turn on the camera and point it at the wall, it’ll mess up the feed.”

  Her head draws back, like a bird about to attack. She winces. “What? How will it mess up the feed?”

  “Trust me, it’ll screw it up.”

  “I’ve gotta see this. Prove it.”

  “Prove that it’ll mess up your show?”

  “Yeah. Prove it.”

  “Okay.” I retrieve the tablet from the kitchen, start up the camera app, and bring it back to the couch. The ceiling flickers.

  “Glitches again,” says Amanda.

  “The tablet is causing them.”

  “Oh come on. It can’t possibly respond that fast.”

  “No?” I ask. “Watch this.” I point the lens toward the wall, and a moment later the video feed becomes a fuzzy surface of scrambled, random noise. “See. I looked up old interference patterns. This kind of thing used to be common on televisions. They called it static.”

  “What, what.”

  “Knock it off, Bee.”

  Amanda laughs again. “You named it Bee?”

  “Long story.”

  Without warning, the wall returns to normal, and the video plays flawlessly. The sound comes back, in crystal clarity.

  “Aw,” says Amanda. “It likes my show.”

  “It’s possible.” For the first time, the two of us are chatting without pretense. Without nervousness. A strange comfort falls over me. I’ve figured out a talking point that keeps her interested without having to fight for the right words.

  “Prop it up on my teacup.” She places the plastic vessel on the table, and snatches the tablet. She tries to balance it, making tiny adjustments until it remains still. “Now it can watch with us.”

  “What, what.”

  “Oh you hush, tablet,” she says. “Just enjoy the show, and be quiet.”

  The tablet chirps and whistles before going silent.

  Amanda leans against the back of the couch and pulls her feet up, facing me. “Pretty cool toy you got there.”

  “I guess so. It’d almost be a shame if they shut it down, but I guess that’s what needs to be done.”

  “But it’s your little buddy. You can’t kill it.”

  My face breaks into a smile. “I’m not sure what else to do. There are more glitches every day. You want your coffee machines attacking you? I’ve even considered that it’s somehow making people tweak out, and that’s whats causing all of the fights.”

  “It’s not making the two of us fight.” She stares into my eyes, as if searching my thoughts.

  “Maybe it’s ignoring us.”

  “Maybe it likes us.”

  “You don’t believe me about it making people fight, huh?”

  “It’s an interesting thought. But it’s such a charming little thing. I don’t know why, even if it could. Why would it make people want to fight with each other?”

  “It’s still acting like a baby. It doesn’t realize its own power.”

  “If it can make people fight,” she says. “Do you think it can make people fall in love, too?”

  “Maybe.” My heart thunders away at my ribcage like the cannons on an ancient sailing vessel. Her face enchants me. An earthquake could tear the building apart around us, and I’d be unable to turn away. Her dark skin is stretched tightly over high cheekbones, creating a subtle hollow on either side, and clear as a summer sunrise.

  “I’m going to try something, and see what happens.”

  She smiles. I lean closer. Her teeth fade behind closed, upturned lips. I move another inch, and her eyes close. I continue forward, like a car auto-piloting into a parking slot, until we connect.

  My heart warms, and cool air rushes my lungs. Bee accents the mood by reducing the volume from the video feed, turning down the lights, and playing a gentle symphony from the walls. When my eyes open, Amanda is beaming, and she snuggles into my curled arm. I could stay in this moment until eternity, but the passage of time can’t be stopped.

  The video keeps playing, and it’s only moments until she’s occupied with it again. I can feel the tremble of every stifled laugh as the primary characters continue their story wracked with puns and subtle jokes. I stare blankly at it, hearing nothing, but absorbing the context directly from her skin. I could fall into a dead sleep and never wake up, and be perfectly content with the life I lived.

  FOURTEEN

  When I wake up, she’s still snuggling in my arms, and the device is chirping quietly. The sound is a slight twill that must be its version of snoring. I reach across the table to where the tablet has slid off Amanda’s cup, and drag it toward us. It goes silent. As I tip it up to scan for any changes, it starts singing again.

  “You really like Vivaldi, don’t you? Little Bee.”

  Amanda turns, her knuckles digging into my chest, and yawns.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” she yawns. “What time is it?”

  “A little after six.”

  “I need to get up.”

  She pushes off, and my chest buckles under the stress as if the bones are about to snap. She heads for the bathroom as I sit up, rubbing the sore spot over my heart.

  I pluck the tablet off the table and look it over. The noise spikes haven’t moved.

  “Bee.”

  “What. What.”

  “I need to figure out where you’re broadcasting from today, so I can get that promotion.”

 
“What. What. What.”

  Somewhere in the deepest recesses of my being, something has changed. The morning leaves me wondering about the morality of a computer virus. It’s a new life form, still in its infancy, and it has opened up to me. Here, on the threshold of first contact, I feel responsible for the future of this new organism. If I find it on the network and destroy it, I might have a fancy job lined up across town. If I do nothing, it could become my pet.

  The speculation train delivers me to another station. The potential dangers of such a virus are obvious. If it could cause that much trouble with a few grocery bots, what would happen if it infected something more critical? It could mean the end of civilization. For the moment, it seems cheery, but what happens when it gets angry?

  Amanda returns from the bathroom. “Tea this morning?”

  The news report on the wall details a strange rash of suicides. Two of them in our very own building. For the first time that I’ve seen, they comment on the virus and the distracting noises, notifying everyone that this is a problem that has grown in magnitude, and the military is involved in trying to shut it down.

  She starts, “Do you think that’s the same virus that’s invaded your tablet?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  “When you guys find it, you’ll probably stick it in some kind of test tube computer, like an isolated machine. Maybe your new job will be working with it.”

  “They’re going to kill it, and then worry about how it works. I won’t be working with her. It’ll be an autopsy.”

  “You have to keep your hopes up. If you’re lucky, you’ll get paid to sit there and interact with it.”

  “I’m not sure things work like that.”

  “You know what I’m sure of?”

  “You want tea?”

  A play-innocent grin graces her face. “I’m sure that I want some breakfast.”

  ***

  Amanda and I part ways as we exit the lift. I’m nearly skipping toward the maintenance office, with the good vibes of the Summer Concerto following the whole way from my front pocket. The morning is going so well that I never see it coming.