Flight or Fight (The Out of Dodge Trilogy Book 1)

by Scott Bartlett

  “Okay, but I don’t see how this helps us. Our blogger is clearly one of means, given the mid-level net-neutrality subscription. I’m almost certain he or she also has, at the very least, a subscription to basic human rights. Meaning it would be illegal for us to leverage his or her information outside the purposes of the city’s smart systems.”

  “Not if we buy it using funds I provided to SafeTalk.”

  Carl burrowed his brow. “How is that less illegal?”

  “Insurance companies have full access to customer lifelogs, and they offer rebates to those who allow their data to be ‘shared’ with third parties. Of course, ‘share’ in this context really means ‘sell’. That’s how insurers make most of their money. The data’s usually just sold to advertisers, and everyone’s already used to that, so almost everyone goes for the rebate. Most people want to save money; get a little closer to that Air Earth ticket. Chances are our blogger is the same.”

  They got to work. Xavier gave Carl control of one wall and, being more experienced with the tech, he took over the other three. First, they had to unmask the blogger. FutureBrite had over two thousand employees, and watching that many lifelogs was unfeasible.

  “Looks like there’s only one employee whose lifelog we can’t access,” the Hand said. “Just found her employee file. She’s a geezer. Illiterate, too. Probably not our blogger.”

  That didn’t narrow it by much, so they started searching through employees’ browser histories. FutureBrite allowed workers full net access through individualized accounts, but Xavier had access to a tool that searched all their histories at once. They used search terms like ‘blog’, ‘abuse’, ‘neglect’, ‘Xavier Ofvalour’, ‘Hand of the Market’, ‘SafeTalk’, ‘despicable’, and ‘morally bereft’, several of them pulled from the blogger’s latest post.

  “Looks like a lot of them have been reading the blog,” Carl said.

  “Mm. A little concerning, but to be expected, I suppose. They would be interested in how people view their employer.”

  “What about the children and youth in FutureBrite’s care? Do you think they’ve read it?”

  Xavier looked around at him. “How does that affect our investigation?”

  “It doesn’t. I was just curious.”

  “I doubt they have,” Xavier said, turning back to one of his walls. “Their net usage is closely monitored and restricted.”

  “Right.” Carl flicked through another page of results. “So, can we narrow our search, then? To just people who’ve read the blog?”

  “No.” The Hand sighed. “I don’t think this is telling us anything. It doesn’t look like the blogger has actually logged into the blog from work. As far as browser history goes, maybe the blogger’s visited the blog from work, to blend in with the others doing so, or maybe not. We can’t tell anything from these histories.”

  Carl ambled to the pole and leaned a shoulder against it. He stared at the floor for a while. Xavier stood with his left hand gripping his right elbow and his right hand tucked under his chin in a fist.

  Carl looked up. “What if we ran a search on the employees’ social media profiles, to see who makes posts from mobile devices while at work? I can connect to my SafeTalk workstation from here and access tools designed for the job.”

  “What purpose would that serve?”

  “The blogger might be logging into the blog from work, but using his or her phone network instead of FutureBrite’s. Once we figure out who posts to social media during work hours on a network other than FutureBrite’s, we’ll have a much smaller pool. And that pool will probably contain the blogger.”

  “Good thinking, Intoever.” Carl’s heart swelled.

  It turned out only four FutureBrite employees used social networks on their phones. Telecom companies charged a lot for data, so most people would be happy to connect using the work network. Unless they had something to hide.

  One of the four employees was a twenty-nine-year-old male named Chuck Erything, who frequently complained about his employer on social media. Most of the time he didn’t actually mention FutureBrite by name, but by consulting SafeTalk records Carl learned that two of Chuck’s posts had been removed in the last year for violating the company’s trademark.

  “That’s our blogger. Has to be. What do you think the other three are hiding?” Carl said.

  “Porn, probably.” They didn’t bother checking.

  On their way out of PlanITSmart, Xavier clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “You did well in there, Intoever. Morrowne was right about you.”

  That night, alone in bed again, Carl woke to an acrid, smoky odor that permeated the whole house. Seconds later, the smoke alarm went off. Racing into the kitchen, he found every appliance turned on, including the oven, with both stove-top burners turned up to max. A steel pot still sat on one of them, its bottom now a charred mess.

  The wall behind the sink turned on. “YOU MUSTN’T BE SO FORGETFUL, CARL. YOU COULD BURN DOWN THE ENTIRE RESIDENCE BLOCK.”

  “I’m going to the reps about this,” Carl said, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice.

  “GOOD LUCK WITH THAT.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  FutureBrite terminated Chuck Erything immediately, and it didn’t take much longer than that to destroy his reputation. Once again, Carl quietly approached the SafeTalk partners who ran the entrenched sites that appeared first in searches. They proceeded to publish articles filled with incriminating details harvested from Erything’s private communications. Xavier had been right about the insurance rebate, and the sites purchased access to Erything’s lifelog from his insurer. A wise investment. This story was blowing up, as was their advertising revenue.

  The articles mostly began by mentioning Erything’s girlfriend, whose family phrase did not match his. That lent him an air of unscrupulousness, and served to ensure everything that followed was interpreted in the worst possible light. “No wonder he blogged anonymously,” the Gawp article said. “Readers would never have trusted someone with such little respect for equality.”

  Some of the articles implied that Erything was mentally unstable. And almost all of them cherry-picked his browsing history, casting the sites he’d visited in a suspicious light. “He regularly frequents sites focused on children, and periodically he even checked out children’s fashion blogs. Could Erything’s interest in the little girl he cared for have exceeded what was required of him as a caregiver? A chilling prospect.”

  None of that surprised Carl. What did surprise him was being called “the heroic SafeTalk investigator Carl Intoever,” who “singlehandedly identified FutureBrite’s rogue employee.” He hadn’t asked them to include that. In fact, he would have expected Xavier to ensure they didn’t, given his advice about never giving credit.

  Of course, by allowing him all the praise Xavier could make certain Carl also reaped any negative consequences that might emerge later. It also explained why Gregory Stronger hadn’t been the one chosen to accompany the Hand to PlanITSmart. They’d chosen Carl as the fall guy for any negative press that resulted. Ingenious, really.

  But would Xavier really treat him that way, given Carl was the messiah?

  Yes. He probably would.

  A public outpouring of sympathy and support for FutureBrite ensued. Back at SafeTalk, the Youth Dignity Department’s workload lessened rapidly. Thousands of people were posting on the networks about how horrible it was that someone would try to destabilize the system that cared for Dodge’s underprivileged youth, and many of them declared they would donate to the foundations from which FutureBrite derived its funding—and its profits. Xavier would be pleased.

  Detractors remained, of course, and Carl put his subordinates to work tweaking algorithms, to make sure the bots only took down posts that portrayed FutureBrite negatively. The bots weren’t used to navigating an environment comprised of such a high volume of praise.

  He instructed his workers to leave some of the dissenting posts online—the ones that were a
ttracting a lot of reproachful comments. The risk of enduring the righteous indignation of their peers would discourage anyone else thinking about criticizing youth care companies. Carl considered this the sort of inspired move that had convinced Morrowne to promote him.

  During all this, Gregory Stronger remained in his office.

  It occurred to Carl to wonder what would happen once Youth Dignity’s mission was accomplished. His bank account hadn’t begun to approach the amount necessary to afford a ticket to the New World. Would he be promoted once more, or would his betters let him slide back into obscurity, the promise of his new position unfulfilled?

  After work he went to the customer service station in the Air Earthport and asked to speak to Spenser, the rep who’d screened him for the ability to turn off his lifelog. For someone with Carl’s LifeRank, getting the reps to care about a hacker attack was usually next to impossible. He hoped to improve his chances by dealing with someone he’d already met.

  A ninety-minute wait later, Spenser admitted him to his office. Carl sat in the same chair as before.

  “You’re stressed today,” Spenser said, before Carl said anything more than hello.

  “I am. How did you know?”

  “Had a bot run a quick analysis of your Unfurl usage. Looks like you failed to favorite a couple posts that normally would have amused you.” Spenser smoothed back his hair with both hands, short red bristles flicking forward as he did. “Have a seat.”

  Carl sat. “Wow. I didn’t know favorites were that reliable.”

  “For adults they are. Youth tend to be more unpredictable. But that’s why we have companies like FutureBrite, right?” Spenser’s eyes crinkled as though he was smiling, even though he wasn’t.

  “Yes,” Carl said. “Um, I’m here about—”

  “The hack attack. Appliances left on. Yes. We’ll look into it.”

  “How did you know?”

  “When you buy a LifeRank subscription you give Air Earth access to your lifelog. It’s in our Terms of Service.”

  “Oh. I wasn’t aware.”

  “You should really read contracts before agreeing to them.”

  “Yes.” That was horseshit, of course. The LifeRank Terms of Service Agreement was over a thousand pages and contained a clause that said it was subject to change at any time without notice. “Anyway, I wanted to bring this to you, since I’m concerned about my family’s safety, as well as—”

  “We’ll look into it, Intoever. I said that already.”

  “Right.”

  “What we do find curious is why the hacker’s so interested in you. We’ve decided to increase our surveillance of your house and lifelog in order to uncover what it is that makes you such an appealing target.”

  Carl squeezed the arms of his chair involuntarily, his heart pounding in his ears. “That’s wonderful,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  With his awareness of the reps’ increased scrutiny, Carl found himself censoring his speech even more than usual. Often he would pause for an unnatural length of time before giving an answer, going over it in his head a couple times. It drew weird looks, but it beat ending up on a prison barge.

  He returned from work Monday evening to find the house empty. Maria often wasn’t home lately, and they hadn’t had a real conversation in days. Even mention of Natalie Lemonade failed to elicit a reaction. Something was going on with his girlfriend, he felt sure. He would have watched her lifelog if he had more time and energy.

  At any rate, she didn’t show up for supper. If he was going to eat alone, he would at least do so surrounded by other lonely people. He slid back down the pole and walked to a restaurant nearby that played endless footage from the New World on the walls. On Mondays the restaurant gave fifty percent off to customers with a certain LifeRank. After his role in uncovering Chuck Erything, Carl ranked just high enough to get the discount.

  Even so, he didn’t order much. His recent successes did not mean he could afford to satisfy every craving. Not if he ever wanted out of Dodge. He did order a bottle of Sleep, however. That would take the pressure off to make sure everything he uttered was perfectly orthodox.

  No one ever spoke here anyway, except to order food, and he’d done that. The tables weren’t arranged for speaking. Carl sat at a long table with chairs on only one side, facing a wall that played New World footage. He tried to make himself forget everything else in his life for a while.

  His favorite clip was playing. It showed a bustling crowd filled with smiling faces. Parents holding their kids’ hands. And, perched on the horizon, a magnificent castle loomed, spires thrusting up into a clear blue sky. It was such a festive scene, with everyone looking so relaxed, that it helped Carl relax. He would never have children in Dodge, but in the New World? Maybe. And if he did, he would take them to see that castle.

  The waiter arrived with his meal, and he accepted it with quiet thanks, without looking up. Then he noticed his Sleep had failed to arrive. “Excuse me,” he called. “Waiter?” The man turned. “My Sleep.”

  “Apologies, sir.” The man turned to fetch it.

  The next clip showed an elderly man struggling to get his walker up onto a sidewalk. A woman around Carl’s age approached the man, smiling, and lent a hand. They wouldn’t call old people “geezers” over there, Carl supposed. Being old in the New World wasn’t a mark of failure like it was in Dodge.

  His phone rang, high and shrill—the ringtone for urgent calls. A couple of other diners shot him hostile glances. Carl quickly silenced it, and in doing so saw that Morrowne was calling. He swallowed his food, drew a breath, and answered it.

  “Intoever. I just got an alert that you’re chewing with your mouth open.”

  “Uh…”

  “Your Public Conduct metrics are veering into the danger zone. Overall rank is up, thanks to the Erything success, but little things like this ruin reputations. Right now your reputation is bound up with SafeTalk’s. I expect better of you, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Keep your damn mouth shut, Intoever. They’ll start fining you, next.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Morrowne hung up.

  Carl tried to return to his prior state of relaxation. He focused on his breathing, and on the scene before him, of a throng of people all facing a blond-haired woman standing at a podium. They pumped their fists in the air and shouted their support for her. In the New World, people selected leaders from among them, who then sought to do what was best for everyone. It seemed alien to Carl. He had no idea how it worked. In Dodge, systems took care of everyone’s needs. The market, and technology. He didn’t see how people could trust individuals over systems that had evolved over centuries. But clearly they did, and clearly it worked.

  Something to his left distracted him from the images on the wall. A woman approached, walking between the wall and the diners, who coughed and cleared their throats in disgruntlement. She stopped in front of Carl. It was Natalie Lemonade.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said. Behind her, the New World’s fabled seawall appeared, glistening wetly, metallically.

  “Can it wait? I’m eating.”

  “Please, Carl. I need to talk to you now.”

  Her dark eyes were filled with worry, and she gently chewed her bottom lip, a gesture that caused him concern but also made his heart race.

  “Okay,” he said.

  The waiter appeared, carrying the bottle of Sleep, and Carl asked the man to box up his food for him. “I’ll have to send back the Sleep. I’m sorry. I have to leave.”

  “It’s nothing, sir. And the takeout box will be charged to the restaurant’s consumption record, due to your elevated rank.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  They switched off their lifelogs as soon as they left the restaurant. Natalie was authorized to turn hers off too, since she regularly helped with Youth Dignity work. Carl leaned close to Natalie and whispered in her ear. “H
ow are we going to find a place we can be sure we aren’t being surveilled, even with our lifelogs off?”

  “My place. My security is excellent.”

  “Even if a geezer tried to hack it?”

  She pursed her lips. “I’m as good as any geezer.”

  “If you say so. Is this really about SafeTalk?”

  “Yes. Mostly.”

  He’d never been to her block of residences before, but it looked exactly the same as his. He respectfully averted his eyes as she shimmied up her access pole and hung from a handle to unlock her hatch. Carl tossed his dinner to her and then shimmied up after her.

  She gestured for him to sit at the kitchen table. “Coffee?”

  “No. I’ll just eat my dinner, I think. Mind if I reheat it?”

  “Sure.” She set about making coffee for herself.

  The coffee made, and his supper heated, Natalie sat across the table from him and stared into her mug for a few moments.

  “Chuck Erything didn’t write that blog,” she said.

  “What?”

  “That isn’t his blog. It’s my blog.”

  He blinked, feeling his brain cough like an engine and slowly start to transition to a higher gear. “That’s not possible.”

  “It is. It’s my blog, Carl. You have the wrong person.”

  “The blog is written by a FutureBrite employee. You work for SafeTalk.”

  “I work for FutureBrite, too. I do night shifts.”

  Carl’s hands had become very sweaty. He wiped them on his pants.

  “I’ve been working there for years,” Natalie said. “I got a job there because I think they’re disgusting.”

  “What? Why would you work for someone you hate?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me that? You?”

  “This doesn’t add up, Natalie. Stop this foolishness. Okay? How would you ever get any sleep if you worked for both SafeTalk and FutureBrite? You’d be a wreck, all the time.” He considered what he’d just said. Natalie was a wreck all the time.