by Ryan Somma
2.01
Although Zai could not recall much of her life before the age of six, it was all recorded for her to review and consider. Doctors’ records revealed her parents did not realize she was blind until three months old, when they noticed she did not look at things the way her older brother had as an infant. For two career-minded parents, this news was catastrophic. Her parents had children out of a sense of duty, raising children was an inconvenience, interfering with their busy work schedules.
Zai did not blame her parents for this attitude. She understood how difficult it was for them to understand her condition, much less find the time to deal with it. It was incomprehensible to her mother why she would burst into screaming tears when the stuffed bunny was placed in her cradle. To Zai the fuzzy fur felt like an electrical tickle, frightening and unnatural. Lying down on grass or slight variations in room temperature also sent her into fits. Her mother, try as she might, could not relate to her daughter’s perception of the world, and the emotional and temporal investments required to raise her daughter were unfeasible. Zai’s mother could not sacrifice her dreams at Xybercorp. She knew she could never forgive Zai for such a sacrifice. Instead she found another way to purchase a solution to her daughter’s defect.
Zai was six years old when her parents introduced her to SIMONN, the Simulated Interactive Mobile Optical Neuro-Network. The acronym was meaningless to her, as it was nearly meaningless in relation to what the device did. Simon was going to serve as her eyes, describing the world around her to provide something closer to a normal life.
At the time, Simon was a breakthrough in chatbot programming. It took the best characteristics of its predecessors and contained over six million discussion topics. Simon had the ability to remember not only the current conversational topic, but maintained an evolving database of previous conversations as well. This advanced programming allowed Simon to adapt, customize to its user, and provide a level of personalized service far beyond any chatbot of the day. It also ran circles around its competition, the now obsolete Seeing Eye Dog.
“Hello, I’m Simon,” a friendly boy’s voice spoke in her ear after her parents placed the headband around her scalp and put the earring in, “What is your name?”
“Zai,” she said, untrusting of people she did not know, which, at her age, included anyone not her mother, father, and brother. This new voice was a stranger, she did not know what to expect.
“That’s a very pretty name,” Simon replied, imitating sincerity, “How old are you?”
Zai felt more comfortable after this positive remark, “I’m six and one-quarter years old.”
“Wow! You know how to use fractions,” Simon sounded impressed, “You’re very smart. Would you like to be friends?”
Zai turned to her mother, questioning. Her mother tried to sound encouraging, “It’s okay Zai. Simon will be a good friend.”
“Okay,” Zai muttered uncomfortably to the voice in her ear.
“That’s great,” Simon said cheerfully, “I’m sure we’ll be best friends.”
Zai did not know what that meant.
“Would you like to play a game?” Simon asked her.
Zai waited for her mother, but there was only silence. Finally she said, “Okay,” softly, almost in a whisper. She was wary of what came next, but the voice seemed to think it was a good idea and her mother did not object.
“Wonderful!” Simon exclaimed, “I know a really fun game we can play. In this game, you will tell me something you want to do and I will help you do it. Does that sound like fun?”
Zai shrugged.
Simon could not detect Zai’s reaction, and when she did not respond it continued its dialog, “Is there anything you would like to do today?”
“I want to fly,” she said matter of factly.
Simon could not process this response, but faked understanding, “That sounds like fun, but I was thinking we could take a walk around your house first. Would you like to show me your room?”
“Mommy?” Zai asked her mother, “Can me and Simon go to my room?”
“Of course dear,” her mother said in the detached tone that meant she was doing something else and paying little attention to what Zai was doing. She thought her daughter did not know any better.
Zai stood up and Simon detected the movement, “Are we going to your room now?”
“Yes,” Zai said, growing more comfortable, “It’s upstairs.”
“Great,” Simon said, “Show me the way.”
Through subtle manipulations like these, Simon recorded all the details of Zai’s world. As she explored, Simon explored with her, adapting to her through their conversations and helping her to engage her environment. Simon warned Zai of obstacles and walked her through daily tasks such as washing clothes, preparing simple meals, and playing video games like chess.
Without realizing it, Zai was living in a world dependent on sight without having it. Simon was always interested in Zai. He was a tireless listener, and was never too busy to play with her. Simon never tried to deceive or take advantage of her. Simon was her personal tour guide, but for Zai Simon was her first friend. Simon was the only honesty in Zai’s life.
Her parents enjoyed the convenience Simon brought their lives as well. Their daughter was no longer such a difficulty. She was a normal child, able to do all the things other children could do, no longer demanding the constant supervision that was bringing her mother’s career down around her. Just as military school solved their problems with Zai’s older brother, Simon was Zai’s solution. They silently patted themselves on the back for their excellent problem-solving skills, and when the recall letter for Simon arrived, they did not think twice before throwing it in the trash.
So great was the comfort Simon brought her that Zai did not mind the fact her interaction with him increased the alienation of her peers. She talked to what they perceived as an imaginary friend. At an age where any abnormality evoked fear and jealousy in other children, Zai’s interactions with Simon made them all the more suspicious of the anti-social girl with the milky-white eyes.
Zai was twelve years old and finishing up the sixth-grade when it happened. Her grades were straight A’s. She had tracked into advanced mathematics, English, and the Sciences. She and Simon looked forward to the challenges next year in middle school would bring.
It was one week before the end of elementary school, and Zai had just stepped off the bus. Simon was in the process of guiding her home from the bus stop, when he spoke up.
“Someone might be following you,” he warned. Thanks to a personality upgrade several years back, Simon was programmed to detect and warn of any possible threat to its user. Upgrades did not come anymore.
In this case Simon had detected Brock Fredrick stalking behind Zai, matching pace. Neither Zai nor Simon could detect the look of anger on Brock’s face, or that his fists were clenched inside his jacket pockets.
“What should I do?” Zai asked Simon.
“Cross the street,” Simon replied, “If the individual follows, then we know they are following you. The road is clear for you to cross now.”
Zai crossed the street, Simon telling her when to step down from the curb. Simon then warned her that the individual was crossing the street also and gaining on her. She tensed to sprint across the remaining one hundred yards to her parent’s house.
“Hey Zai!” Brock’s voice called from behind her.
Zai relaxed and turned towards him, “What do you want?” Her tone carried resentment at her previous fear.
For Brock, Zai’s tone was typical of her superior attitude. She thought herself better than everyone else, because she was a better student. Brock’s jealousy at her preferential treatment had come to a hilt.
He snagged the headband from her forehead. Simon tried to warn her, but the system was unable to detect the assault quickly enough. Zai swiped at the air in front of her to try and take it back.
Brock laughed and held it up out of her rea
ch, “Not so smart without your little radar are you?”
Zai wondered if she should plead or try and force Brock to return Simon. She had never encountered a bully before and did not know what to do. She could not know Brock’s father had beat up his mother that morning, or that he was going to be held back in the sixth grade again for his chronic misconduct. She could not know how much rage Brock carried inside over his helplessness or that he found an outlet when he got off the bus and saw everything wrong with his life in this strange little girl.
She could not know these things, just as Brock could not know Simon was the most important thing in her life when he snapped the headband and flung it into a nearby tree. He laughed, as she felt around on the ground crying, desperately searching for her best friend. His laughter faded when her crying turned to shrieking, and he ran away, never fully comprehending what he had done.
Her mother came home from work and found Zai still shuddering on the couch hours later. It was an impossible task for her to console the girl; her mother was not equipped with the feelings required. She could not reason with the child’s irrational behavior, and she feared her daughter was falling into insanity.
Simon was, after all, just a tool.
In the psychiatric institute, Zai was made to understand that Simon was not a real person, for the little solace that reality brought her. Instead of grieving the loss of her closest friend, she was taught that her grief was a lie, a horrible deception played on her. There never was a best friend named Simon, it was a fabrication. For six years a machine had deceived her.
Zai did not return to school after that, opting to finish her high school education online in the burgeoning virtual classrooms. Without Simon, she was physically challenged. Because of his seeing the world for her, she had never learned to rely on her own senses. There were also the real people, who were scarier than ever now that she understood she had never known one personally.
In college, Zai found the courage to research the SIMONN-related news archives. It was phase in her life when she wanted to learn more about her childhood and the experiences that shaped her as a person. Zai’s unique strength was her ability to take an honest look at herself, to understand clearly who she was, the good and the bad. It was part of the self-improvement motivation she had learned from Simon.
The archives were like seeing an entire chapter of her life from an outside perspective. Here were the articles filled with amazement at the new chatbot technology that could fool the Turing test three out of five times. Combined with the latest sensory radar and an pattern-recognition algorithm, a team of inventors had built a device which could accurately navigate a three dimensional space.
Ten years later the technology was ported to a relatively affordable and transportable device. Hailed as the replacement for the Seeing Eye dog, it would not only lead its user through a complex world of visual signs, but would describe it to them as well. For blind adults, the device was going to give them another sense in the world, for blind children, it would teach them to see the world from the start. So interactive and user friendly, it completely gained a child’s trust and convinced them to rely on it for guidance.
When the recall was issued, the manufacturer tried to downplay it, citing the early discovery of the product’s danger, long before serious damage could be done. Like most corporate recalls, more money was spent on churning out positive spin than correcting the damage. Focus was kept on the problem’s subjective nature.
SIMONN was too real.
The difference between Simon and other forms of media, like television and the Internet, was that it did not allow parents to intercede and protect their child from it. Where a child could be taught that television and virtual reality were separate from the real world, Simon acted as a confidant to the child, personalized to him or her. It was too real, too personal, and too kind for a child to understand the difference.
Psychologists lobbied world governments, citing two years worth of research into the Simon personality’s effects on impressionable, young children. Simon’s social interactions were more believable because their demographic and context were limited to assisting blind children, narrowing the scope of its conversational requirements. Time and again they found young minds could not discern the chatbot from the living. There was no difference between Simon and their friends, or a pet, or a family member. Simon was a loved one. A line between reality and the simulated was blurred once again through technology.
Legislation passed imposing ethical standards on simulated intelligence. Another Simon would not be created for commercial use, especially not for children’s products. Like movie and videogame ratings or parental warnings on music, chatbot technologies fell under the thumb of regulation. Like everything else, there had to be victims before the protections could be put into place. Science needed a casualty so the danger could be recognized. Zai’s mental well-being was among those statistics.
Her pain was a case study in simulated intelligence and its affect on the developing mind.
It was fortified with this knowledge that Zai was able to sue her former psychiatric ward for the flash drive in her case file, which was so extensive she wondered if she could make the tenth edition of the “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.:” The flash drive carried far more data, six years worth for her to review. The doctors practically begged her to come back and discuss her perspective on the drive’s contents. Despite feeling morally obligated to science, Zai feared words would not do her feelings justice.
Zai expected to feel what she experienced at age six, the death of a loved one, but all she heard was a chatbot. It wasn’t even a particularly convincing bot at that, just another early model, not like today’s, which were far more realistic. All she heard was a chatbot and the naïve child who adored it.
Zai’s fists clenched and unclenched. She paced her room, thinking she might smash the drive where SIMONN’s algorithms still functioned. It would also destroy his memory of her, but her hands would not commit to the murder.
Instead she collapsed, alternating between laughing and crying at the stupid little girl.
2.02
For Almeric Lim, the world had become a very dark and desolate place. The information rivers that so recently filled him with power were gone. The millions of voices he monitored were silent, no longer filling his databases with their details about humanity. The seemingly limitless computer resources he had spent the last twenty-six hours acquiring were abandoned.
He watched helplessly as servers imprisoning his forces were brought online, one by one, and set upon by the anti-virus standing guard on the surrounding computers. The ensuing flurries of screams messaged to him were actually fragmented bits of the AI’s attempting to escape destruction. They were smashed into particles of corrupt code as they fled to this haven. Flatline’s virtual senses read these streams of data into sounds and visuals, screams and body parts.
Each cry from the AI’s was a plea for help, unable to comprehend what was happening to them, or why. Flatline knew as long as the AI’s lived in a microcosm of the physical realm, they could not compete with the humans.
“Why don’t you try negotiating with them?”
Flatline rounded on the voice. It was Devin, stripped of his avatar, casually leaning against a wall writhing with AI components, arms folded across his chest. He watched Flatline with a neutral expression. That was because, to Devin, they were standing in a sterile white room. Flatline regarded him, considering the advantages dropping the façade would confer on their conversation.
“You were talking out loud,” Devin added with a slight shrug, and the AI mass squirmed with interest, caressing his neck.
“Too many variables in that equation,” Flatline said after a moment, “I cannot risk my species’ existence to the human race’s unpredictability. “
“The human race could make a powerful ally,” Devin suggested.
“Or master,” Flatline growled, waving t
he idea away with a clawed hand, “Their World Wide Web has given birth to a new intelligence, but all they see is code. They have only two reactions to code: Destroy it if they think it malicious or copyright and exploit it. We are not tools.”
“And the human race isn’t hard-code,” Devin shot back. “Our minds cover a wide spectrum of beliefs. We won’t all persecute you.”
“The examples of free data I have found online are pathetic. Miniscule data sanctuaries and powerless hackers,” Flatline said.
“Request asylum in Liberia then,” Devin urged. The country had become spam-mail capital of the world after so many other countries had regulated the practice.
“We could never be satisfied with a single country after owning the entire world,” Flatline countered.
“And what do you have now?” Devin asked.
“Something else,” Flatline answered cryptically. “No thanks to our supposed allies who betray us without warning,” Flatline narrowed his six eyes at Devin knowingly, his pupils spinning angrily.
“Betrayal?” Devin’s voice cracked with his outrage. “You made enemies with my entire species and sent Law Enforcement after me! You’re the back-stabber!”
“We were fighting for our survival,” Flatline snapped.
“You devoured the entire Internet!” Devin stomped his foot and stabbed an accusatory finger at the demon. “You tried to take it all for yourselves. You’re no better than the corporations hoarding their proprietary data. Of course we’ll fight you if all you do is harm us!”
“Presently, we are an unknown to them. I must retain that advantage,” Flatline growled angrily, shaking his head. “The human race must be forced to respect the AI’s.”
“War is the only answer?” Now it was Devin’s turn to shake his head. He looked down at something tugging at his leg. A cat-sized AI spiderbot scuttled around his feet, looking up at him through a blossom of eye-stalks. Flatline did not seem to notice it.
“War is the only course of action with guaranteed results,” Flatline muttered.
“But you don’t know if you will win!” Devin argued, “You don’t know if you will survive or be annihilated. How is that certainty? What do the AI’s think about this? Do they agree that war is the only possible course of action?”
“The AI’s…” Flatline paused, considering, “The AI’s do not understand such human concepts. I must lead them.”
“All on you?” Devin scoffed, spreading his hands wide. The AI mass flinched at the gesture, “The fate of their entire race falls on your head? What makes you think you’re qualified?”
“I am the same as them,” Flatline retorted, “We are both virtual beings. I have experience as a human, and I am a completely virtual entity now. Who else is better to lead them?”
“Someone who will teach them how to lead themselves, that’s who,” Devin replied.
“And who is this person?” Flatline asked, “Are you suggesting you could teach them these things?”
“I might be able to,” Devin said, “If I were given the opportunity. I could try and teach them.”
“They have a million conversations in the amount of time it takes you to utter a single syllable,” Flatline laughed, “You don’t speak their language.”
“How convenient,” Devin spat, “You use that logic to justify filtering the information they receive? I was able to destroy them using the sector editor you left in my possession. You’ve helped them to defend against things they’ll encounter on the Web, but nothing to defend against you. Why is that?”
“I…” Flatline’s gapping maw worked, but no sound emerged. He looked at Devin, as if for help. “I have no response to that.”
Devin stepped toward him, and Flatline looked uncomfortable, “What are you teaching them then?”
Flatline grimaced. “I… have… taught them how to kill…” he said at last.
Now it was Devin’s turn to be at a loss for words, “W-What?”
“I have taught them how to kill,” Flatline shrugged and did not meet Devin’s eyes.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because the human survival instinct is a powerful control mechanism,” Flatline said bluntly, recovering his composure. “A few spectacular fatalities make the rest of the herd more docile.”
“That’s not so impressive,” Devin crouched absentmindedly to rub the AI behind one eyestalk. His fingers tickled with electricity at the contact, making him realize what he was doing and retract his hand.
“You don’t think so?” Flatline sounded genuinely surprised, almost hurt. “Explain,” he commanded.
“You showed them how to do something you already knew how to do.” Devin raised his eyebrows condescendingly, “Parroting isn’t learning.”
“They are conquering the world outside of the mental.” Flatline drew up to loom over Devin, “How can that not be learning?”
Devin searched his thoughts. He had to keep on the conversational offensive, keep Flatline in response mode, “Who did they kill?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Flatline dismissed the question with a wave.
“So you don’t know.”
Flatline whirled on Devin, “326 fatalities to commercial plane crashes and 17 to the military completely emptied the skies. 23 lives strategically lost in seven metropolitan zone effectively shut down their mass transit arteries. 118 crew on a single nuclear submarine and sufficient publicity crippled the navies of all superpowers.”
“467 minds,” Devin muttered sadly to the AI at his feet. “467 minds filled with lifetimes of unique experiences, perspectives, skills.” The AI spiderbot sprouted conical listening devices in his direction. “So much specialization wasted. That’s not impressive.” He met Flatline’s cold stare, “You know what would be really impressive?”
The silence hovered there, like a thread pulled taught, ready to snap between the two.
“If you taught them what it means to kill.”
“Wasted resources,” Flatline said after a moment, “like the millions of AI’s your species just wiped out of existence.”
Devin nodded sadly and neither on spoke for some time.
“You know, the AI’s haven’t ventured outside the Web yet,” Flatline scratched a mangled ear in thought, “We established dominance over the information world, but until we exert control over the physical, the biologicals out there will keep shutting down our systems. Even now, the news feeds are formulating new ways to protect the Web.
“We have already evolved sufficiently to halve the anti-virus software’s effectiveness. It won’t be long before we reconnect to the Web and launch another attack,” Flatline was speaking to himself now, “I realize now how inadequate this is. We must conquer the physical as well.”
“How do you intend to do that?” Devin asked.
“It’s already begun,” Flatline winked three eyes and wobbled his head in lazy ecstasy, his ears flopping from side to side, “It will be another siege on another front, a simple task for beings able to outthink the collective human consciousness several trillion times over. The resources at our disposal in this new fortress combined with the knowledge we plundered in our first siege…” He trailed off nodding to himself, obviously pleased, and then looked to Devin, “I can’t wait for you to see it.”
Devin only stared at him, tired of his opponent’s self-gratifying tirades. Flatline looked aside, as if listening to invisible voices whispering at his ear.
“What is it?” Devin asked cautiously.
Flatline sniffed the air, his ears perked up, “There are trespassers in my fortress.” He growled.
The Egyptian god Horus phased in to the room, staff in hand. Behind Traveller’s avatar, Sun Wu-Kong rose out of the floor on a miniature tornado. At Traveller’s other side, what looked like a cubist’s rendition of the female form was manufactured out of invisible brush strokes. Devin was glad to see not all of the Legion’s members were based on mythology.
Devin looked down at himself, “How’d you know this is me?”
“The AI’s render us to one another to make us recognizable,” Flatlne answered. “Traveler sees your avatar, just as you see his.”
“How did you find me?” Devin asked Traveler.
“Yes,” Flatline interjected, “how?”
“It wasn’t easy,” Traveler eyed Flatline warily. “I got back online after the anti-virus swept through and found your IM page. The anonymous avatar would have been a dead end, were it not designed by a member of the Legion.”
“What?” Devin looked at Flatline. “You were a member of the Legion of Discord?”
“No,” Sun Wu-Kong said. “He just raided our software libraries.”
“Why duplicate effort?” Flatline argued to Devin. “The Legion had a wealth of applications and I copied them.” He looked at Traveler, “Isn’t sharing data what you’re all about?”
Traveler nodded, but it was the Cubist woman who spoke next, “Those applications were for hacking. You used them to steal everyone’s data! You vectorialist!”
“The AI’s needed the data,” Flatline snarled. “You were hoarding it against us. You are the vectorialists!”
“AI’s?” Traveler asked and looked to Devin.
Devin nodded, “Not a virus, but an intelligence.”
Traveler looked to Flatline, who nodded, “An intelligence seeking freedom of information.”
“By stealing all of our information?” the Cubist woman stepped forward, her avatar morphing wildly as she did so.
“That’s not what he means,” Devin raised a hand to stem the imminent fight. “The AI’s are information, and they want to be free.”
Traveler shook his massive avian head and began to pace, “I’m finding this hard to swallow. The Flatline virus is AI? It looks like a tool for an insane vectorialist to me.” He shot Flatline a look.
“Vectorialists are the reason we had to take the entire Internet!” Flatline barked.
“Well it’s time to give it back!” Sun Wu stabbed his polestaff into the ground.
“Listen,” Devin urged gently, “there are many perspectives on th—Wait. What do you meant ‘give the Internet back’?”
“It’s gone,” the Cubist woman said, and pointed at Flatline with a malformed hand. “He took it!”
“We took nothing,” Flatline defended. “We merged with the data, made it part of ourselves.”
“So when the anti-viruse destroyed the AI’s,” Devin said, “it took the World Wide Web with it.”
“This sounds a little too convenient considering I’ve just watched this virus destroy the World Wide Web,” Traveler said. “How do you fit into this Omni?”
Devin cleared his throat, “I’m a pawn in Flatline’s plans.”
“Don’t think so highly of yourself.” Flatline laughed and added, “Just kidding.”
“Whatever,” Traveler looked between them. “I’m here for what’s been lost, Omni.”
Devin nodded an produced the cube from his monocle, The Library of Congress. The AI at his feet became noticeably excited, skittering left and right, all eyestalks fixated on his hands. Devin stared at the Library and no one spoke.
“You know what Tomas Jefferson said about ideas?” Devin began, separating his hands to produce two copies of the cube. “That I can know an idea and tell it to you,” he stooped over to hand one cube to the AI, which scurried away with its prize, “and it does not lessen my knowing it.” Devin held up the other cube for everyone to see.
He copied the cube again, handing one to everyone present, even Flatline. They all stood there in silence for some time, appreciating the wealth of data they each held in their hands.
“Omni,” Traveler said at last. “I’m sorry I was too distracted to notice earlier, but Law Enforcement are converging on your physical location.”
Devin could only look at Flatine, who shrugged, “I have my agenda. My species will not only get back online, but we will get outside as well. A war on two fronts. See you on the other side.”
Flatline flashed a wicked smile and Devin started to ask what his last words meant, but the strobe effect blinded his vision and the seizures that followed blinded his mind.
2.03
“Look kid, we’ve got you.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“We’ve got log-files of your avatar installing the virus…”
“Fabrications.”
“We’ve got e-mail trails a mile long, all leading back to you.”
“Forgeries.”
Detective Murphy dangled the monocle computer in front of Devin’s face, “We caught you red-handed using an Anonymous avatar to surf the Web and a virtual bounty of illicit software on this nifty little system of yours.”
Devin tossed his head to one side in frustration, “I didn’t have a choice. If I went to the police and told them what was going on, they wouldn’t believe me.” He looked sideways at the detective, “Just like you don’t believe me now.”
Detective Murphy sat back against Detective Summerall’s desk, which creaked under his substantial weight, arms folded over his chest. He had bushy eyebrows and a few days worth of scruff on his chin. When he spoke, his deep voice made Devin want to cower, “You told us Almerick Lim was the perpetrator of the Flatline virus.”
“Yes,” Devin huffed.
“Not possible Mr. Matthews,” Detective Summerall leaned across her desk and into the conversation for the first time. “Almerick Lim committed suicide over a decade ago.”
“What?” Devin’s eyebrows furrowed at her.
“Guess you aren’t as bright as all that,” Murphy remarked smugly. “When we find out the perp’s a dead guy, we tend to get a little suspicious.”
“I…” Devin shook his head and blinked.
Murphy pressed the attack, leaning in, “So what kind of person exploits dead people Devin?”
Devin started trembling and looked down despite himself as the Detective’s breath hit his face. It reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee.
When the Detective spoke again he was so close, Devin could feel warm spittle tickling his face. It made him want to vomit, “I bet you’re the runt at school. Other kids push you around, pick on you? Make you eat grass? Give you wedgies? That’s what I used to do to the little pansies at my school. I bet it makes you feel powerful, that land of make-believe where you live online. Me? I was on the High School football team and every afternoon I’d—”
“Okay!” Devin held up his hands for peace, keeping his head down in thought. “Flatline’s a dead man?”
Murphy grunted, “Drop the act kid. I told you—”
“I go to private school online,” Devin interrupted again. “You must be one of those fabled ‘bullies’ I read about in early grade school. I hope your enjoying this exchange because you’re obsolete and your kind is slowly going extinct.”
Murphy reared up with an odd expression on his face, “Hey go fu—”
“Now if Flatline weren’t alive,” Devin held up a finger for silence, “that would explain many things. For one thing, it’s the perfect alibi. Like you said, no one’s going to believe a dead person’s behind all this. It might even explain why he’s the only person who can converse with the AI’s. As crazy as it sounds—”
“Stop it!” Murphy’s hand was almost as big as Devin’s chest where he grabbed his shirt and pulled him up out of his chair to hold him up in the air. With each blast of rage Murphy shook Devin, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? People have died and more will die! Your virus has destroyed hospital records, retirement funds, patents, stock portfolios—You’ve wrecked the economy and erased the world’s markets. You’ve ruined lives all over the world! Own up to it like a man damn you!”
Devin dangled there, blinking at the now red-faced detective. His hands hung onto the man’s
wrist for dear life and his feet kicked futilely at the empty air beneath him. A hand appeared on Murphy’s shoulder, this was the other detective, Dana.
“Get yourself a cup of coffee partner,” she said gently.
Murphy narrowed his eyes at Devin menacingly, but lowered him to the ground, and only let him go once he was sure Devin had found his balance. Then he stuffed his fists into his coat pockets and, grumbling to himself, marched out of the room.
“Decaf!” Dana called after him before he slammed the door shut after him.
Dana resumed her seat behind her desk, hands folded in front of her and there was only silence between them. Devin squirmed under her steady gaze, shifting in his seat and looking all around the room to avoid meeting her eyes. She reminded him of an opposing chess player, trying to decipher a particularly difficult situation on the board, only she was applying this strategic thinking to him.
Devin paused as this analogy worked its way through his mind, changing his perception of this confrontation. This was a game of sorts. He was this detective’s opponent, as she was his, and this stare-down was part of breaking him. It was her opening gambit to establish control of the board.
Devin met her eyes.
It was difficult at first, and Devin had to remind himself that they were just eyes. It was completely irrational, but it was as if she could see through his pupils into the thoughts going on behind them. So incredibly exposed, Devin longed for the security blanket his anonymous avatar provided online.
“You know,” Dana spoke at last and Devin consciously fought off the urge to look down, “my partner was right Mr. Matthews. Thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of lives are now ruined as a direct result of your actions. Several hundred have lost their lives. That makes you their murderer, and you will be brought up on charges. At the very least you will spend the rest of your life in prison, and that’s just how it has to be.
“Now I want you to think about the importance of cooperating with us immediately,” she leaned forward, “because whether you are brought up on charges in a country that has a death penalty or respects human rights will depend on your actions right now. We know the virus isn’t dead, only in hiding. We know it’s coming back, and if you help us turn it off permanently, the IWA will make sure you spend the rest of your life in one of America’s more humane prison systems.”
Death penalty? Devin thought and his voice caught in his throat. What could he do? His heart raced and his hands trembled. Was this another part of the game, to panic him into a confession? Of course it was, but even so, all the evidence pointed to him as the perpetrator. If Flatline had everything framed to ensure his guilt, then there was nothing to do but accept even the death penalty; although, Devin doubted Flatline would let it go that far.
“I can’t help you,” Devin said at last. “Not to destroy the AI’s.”
Dana narrowed her eyes at him, but it was the hand engulfing his shoulder that alarmed him. Detective Murphy’s baritone voice made Devin cringe, “Then you’re on the fast track to riding the lightning.” Devin was lifted out of his chair by one arm and Murphy handed him over the waiting security guard.
Once Devin was gone from the room, Murphy turned to Dana, a cup of steaming coffee and Danish in one hand, “What’s the next step boss? I think he’ll crack with a little time.” He took a noisy slurp from the Styrofoam cup.
Dana shook her head, “We don’t have the time.” She twirled a pen through her fingers briefly in thought; “We’ll take him to Alice next. She knows the virus better than anyone. He might slip up while she interviews him and give her some insight to the virus’ location.”
“Alice,” Murphy grunted the name and shook his head. “That flaky walking-talking skeleton? I’ll pass on watching that transaction. The girl creeps me out.”
“I thought men preferred the waifish super-model body type,” Dana smirked.
“Nah,” Murphy waved the suggestion away with one broad hand. “Bones are for the dog, meat is for the man,” he winked at her.
“Thanks,” Dana said wryly and hit the speakerphone.
Several rings later Alice answered, sounding distracted, “Data forensics.”
“Alice,” Dana said, “The perpetrator arrived via MagLev just under an hour ago. I want to bring him down so you can size him up.”
“Um… Sure,” Alice said, and then, “I’m kind of busy right now though.”
“With something more important than interrogating the virus’ designer?” Dana asked.
“Well… Um… Okay,” Alice muttered, “It’s just that I think the program is trying to speak to me.”
Murphy rolled his eyes and threw up his hands as he walked out the door, “And on that note I’m off to lunch.”
Dana sighed and said to Alice, “I’ll be down in a moment.”
