by V. J. Deanes
“Stories about laboratories dedicated to harvest spare organs from human replicas surfaced in 2010.”
“Were those laboratories located in hidden government bases?” MacGregor asked. “The same bases where armies of clone soldiers lived before they went into military service?”
Bustafo shook his head. “From 2013 through 2017 the scientific literature documented several advances that I think your robot needs to understand. Start with human cloning, where DNA was successfully transferred from an adult cell into an unfertilized egg after the original DNA had been removed.”
“Go on,” MacGregor requested.
“Predictions that artificial human organs would be farmed as an alternative to using animals to test the effects of chemicals and drugs surfaced soon after. A timeline for ectogenesis, or pregnancy that takes place in an artificial environment, was proposed next. Experiments where animals were grown in artificial wombs were successful a couple of years later.”
MacGregor watched with interest as Bustafo chose what information to upload to the robot.
“Harvesting individual human organs that were grown in dedicated reactors was considered a viable means to satisfy demand for life saving transplants. Scientists then demonstrated that 3-D printed human cartilage could grow successfully in test mice.”
“A baby was born from a procedure that combined DNA from three people. Permission to use mitochondrial transfer for in-vitro fertilization to create babies from three people was first granted as well.”
“Here is something your robot should take note of,” Bustafo remarked. “Leaders of national intelligence agencies around the world proclaimed that genome editing increases the risk of creating of potentially harmful biological agents.”
MacGregor listened even more keenly.
“Genome editing, where DNA was modified in the genome of an organism to produce targeted mutations was awarded scientific breakthrough of the year. This technique was studied to switch off specific genes that control the development of embryos. Scientists then successfully edited embryos to remove faulty DNA that causes heart disease to be hereditary.”
“Editing genes inside a human body to permanently change a person’s DNA, in an attempt to fight an incurable disease, was demonstrated right around the time that the first human-form female robot was granted rights of citizenship.”
“Now for the finale,” Bustafo remarked. “The design for a nano-machine, built with DNA, that could change shape in response to external stimuli, such as a digital signal, was proposed just before scientists demonstrated that a movie could be encoded into living cells and subsequently retrieved at will. Imagine neurons as biological recording devices.”
MacGregor watched as Bustafo organized his source files then uploaded them through the FTP port. “That’s it?” he asked. “Only a few reference points. Will that be enough?”
“Will it be enough? That depends on your machine,” Bustafo replied. “With the system architecture in this robot I would be shocked if it couldn’t come up to an expert level of understanding of this subject matter within a couple of hours.”
MacGregor looked skeptical.
“All your machine needs are the basics and some context,” Bustafo remarked. “Capability to edit human genetics. Approval for babies to be born with modified genes. Reproducing mammals in artificial wombs. The potential threats that artificial humans pose. Granting human-form robots rights of citizenship. Storage of digital information in DNA. Using DNA as a digital switch from one state to another based on external stimuli.”
“You make it sound simple,” MacGregor remarked.
“Why are you so surprised?” Bustafo asked. “The information I uploaded is old news. Creating purpose-built humans with minds that connect to the Internet has to happen sooner or later. That thought never occurred to you?”
XXXX
The newest member of the Society for the Elimination of Artificial People immediately caught the attention of those in charge of the society. The militant young man promised to demonstrate an intriguing method for determining whether a person had a double that they did not know of. It could radically alter the Society’s effectiveness, if used wisely. In the wrong hands it could lead to the Society’s ruin, which led the founder to seek an urgent meeting with the young inventor.
“Are you Stone?
“Have a seat Mister Gedder,” Stone gestured.
“Why are you afraid to use my invention?” the younger man asked.
“We sought you out to join our Society after we watched you for a while. You know someone that we need to know,” Stone replied. “Besides, you seem dedicated to our cause. A little prone to extremist behavior, but dedicated. We had no idea that you would bring us anything more.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“You must not mix up what some of the members have told you with my interests,” Stone replied. “Their fears are well founded, but not insurmountable. Show me how it works.”
The young man set up his demonstration on the table. A tablet computer and mobile phone automatically searched social media sites, while simultaneously running a facial recognition program using a single still photographic image as a reference. If the software matched a face from an internet search to the face in a still image it searched for a mobile phone number. It also hacked into local area networks to access video footage and audio files, to verify names and whether the pair might be related. The underlying assumption, Vern Gedder explained, was that the people who resembled those in the still photographs were clones.
The algorithms could analyze demographics, once the software had uncovered a few hundred combinations of people who looked identical and yet appeared to have no relationship to one another. Even Stone was surprised to find that most of the individuals labeled as potential clones by Vern’s software lived in only three communities; Foxtown, Hadley’s Crossing and Polby.
“Why are you afraid to confront them?” Vern asked.
“I am impressed with what you showed me,” Stone remarked. “I admire your tenacity. Don’t confuse fear with caution, or discretion with inaction.”
The young man listened carefully.
“Our society works behind the scenes, as you must already know. We need to keep a low profile. The relationships that our older members cultivate with like-minded doctors and scientists supply an invaluable amount of knowledge about those who would attempt to clone humans and deploy human-form robots. Scientists who abide by the law depend on us to protect their identities. They count on us to work with authorities to bring the ones who seek to modify human form to justice.”
“Younger associates in our society are asked to befriend younger family members and friends of the scientists, to bring us even more information. It may seem like inaction to you, but we cast a ubiquitous veil of trepidation in this part of the country. We keep people honest.”
“Who do I know that interests you?” Vern asked.
“That is not important at the moment,” said Stone.
“I’m not afraid to use your invention,” he added. “I am intrigued by it.”
Vern looked relieved.
“You need to be patient,” Stone remarked. “Others have wrongly accused ‘cloners’ in the past based on what they thought were reliable facts. They were surprised to find that their ‘facts’ were carefully constructed bait that unwittingly, and successfully, lured a private society like ours to reveal itself and be destroyed. If some group has managed to clone humans in secrecy you should expect that they will be protected in ways that you have not yet imagined.”
Vern thought for a moment. “So if I am right and one of these communities is a haven for clones I probably can’t count on you for much support.”
“That depends,” Stone answered. “Don’t lose sight of the fact that machines with human characteristics have been around for more than a decade now. The newer ones are only built for special purposes. They are engineered so that they don’t become physically and intellectual
ly stronger than people. They are universally distrusted, which is why they are monitored through mandatory digital tracking systems, so they don’t become a threat. Real human clones living anonymously within a regular community of humans would be a breakthrough. If you are planning on barging into one of these communities on your own, then we never knew each other. If you have a different idea, I am ready to listen.”
“I tested my own photograph in the software,” Vern told Stone. “I don’t have a twin, yet the software found a positive result. Someone who looks and sounds exactly like me.”
It was a far less conclusive result than the ones that Vern had observed previously for other test cases. His double appeared to stay in different locations every few days, using multiple aliases. The double did not have a regular address. It had gone for weeks on end with no internet or smart phone communication that could be easily traced.
“I see,” Stone remarked. “Your interest in hunting clones is personal.”
“I feel threatened?” said Vern.
“I believe that the prospect of our identity being shared by an exact duplicate would frighten most people,” said Stone. “It is a visceral fear of the unknown that breeds perpetual insecurity. What if your double is stronger? Smarter? What if it is psychotic and you are held responsible for its actions? Individual identity was not meant to be shared.”
“I am having difficulty accepting that I have a double,” said Vern. “Perpetual insecurity. That’s what drives you to fight cloning?”
“Not entirely,” Stone answered. “Creating artificial life is against the will of God. He is the creator. Not humans.”
Vern’s computer began sounding an alarm.
“What does that mean?” Stone asked.
“It says that my double has resurfaced.” The signal only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to get a lock. “He is nearby.”
Stone grew more attentive. “This your moment to make history, so long as you are certain about your method. Find him. We must test him to be sure that he has your DNA. He is like you. Same strengths. Same weaknesses. Who better than you to know how to create the circumstances for him to meet with one us. Text this number when you are ready. I’ll make sure that the right people are in place.”
Stone stood up and left, leaving Vern to ponder how to confront his double.
Chapter 3
Water cascaded down the fountain in the middle of River Park behind the bench where the Inspector sat expectantly.
“You’re late,” the Inspector said to the man who sat down beside him.
“You look nervous,” Devon Granger remarked.
“No I don’t,” replied the Inspector. “I look concerned.”
“I’ve seen the reports. Small groups of opportunistic young men outsmarting terrorists. I don’t buy it.”
“Your chief buys it,” Devon said. “If you are no longer interested my group can leave. You will likely have to explain why an attack that could have been prevented was allowed to take place.”
The Inspector thought for a moment.
“You have authorization for half the payment, don’t you?”
“I’m not use to paying this kind of bounty,” the Inspector said. He pulled out his mobile and transferred half of the funds to an account number that Devon gave him. “These bombings and shootings are becoming too common,” he added in frustration. “Tell me your plan.”
“Our main man will be sitting at that table closest to the street,” Devon explained as he pointed to an outdoor cafe. “They are going to send two of theirs to meet him. We’ll have a couple of spotters in contact via mobile phones filming the whole exercise from the apartments on either side of the courtyard. Drones are too risky, they’ll blow our cover. One of our men will be in a boat in the river, right behind where our main guy will spring the trap. Just in case things don’t go according to plan. Once they hand over the money, our main guy and the two targets will walk over to the street. Your team will pick the three of them up in the van and take them to where the suspects think the weapons and explosives are. Our man will walk away when you collar the perpetrators. You will have saved the day.”
“It’s too easy,” said the Inspector.
“This is supposed to be the easy part,” Devon replied. “We’ve done the hard work already. Meeting them. Gaining their trust. Convincing them that we can get them the destructive power they require.”
The Inspector remained skeptical.
“Our story is simple,” Devon added. “We act as if we we are as radicalized as they are. We explain how we have the inside track to get the hardware needed for their cause. Law enforcement has clamped down so hard on the freedoms of people and movement of goods in these Red Zones. We present ourselves as a supplier most radicals will believe in. We get the explosives, the detonators, the special ammunition. We take all the risk. We look like we fit into the general population. Why wouldn’t they take the bait?”
The Inspector gave Devon a stare of displeasure.
“Don’t forget we called you when we figured out the plot. If your people had been tuned in my team wouldn’t be here to get paid.”
“Where is the rest?” the Inspector asked.
“Phone numbers, call transcripts, safe house addresses, credit card numbers, bank accounts they’re all here,” Devon said as he showed the Inspector a memory card. “You get these later today once you have the punks locked up and I get the rest of the money.”
Two hours later Devon emerged from one of the apartments. He went back to the park bench by the fountain. He sat down, placed a small receiver in one of his ears then checked in with each member of the team. The Inspector’s van had just rolled into position down the street to his right. Devon gave the word. A few moments later Kalan Mars emerged and took a seat at a table that overlooked the river.
A few stragglers extended their stay on the restaurant patios to enjoy the sunshine a little longer. Some patrons had come for a late lunch, to miss the crowds. Two men strolled casually in front of the patios, in a manner that tried to conceal that they were searching for something. One of them stopped when he saw the open vintage cigarette pack. That was the clue. The pair took a seat at the same table as Kalan.
“I thought you were trying to quit. Smoking is bad for your health,” one of the men said.
“I don’t smoke. These are for you,” Kalan replied. “Go ahead, take one,” he added as he pulled a lighter from one of his pockets. The coded message was complete.
The two men were convinced enough to sit down at the table. One nervously looked around. The other spoke to Kalan.
“We need to go. Where is the vehicle?”
“Don’t be in such a rush. Have a smoke.”
One of the men reached for a smoke. The other expressed concern. “We got no time.”
“Show me the money. Then we can be on our way,” said Kalan. The Inspector’s van started to move slowly beside the curb toward them.
One of the men pulled his phone out to make the electronic transfer. Kalan punched in the password, then watched the transaction finish. The man grabbed for his phone. It fell to the ground. Kalan leaned to one side and reached over to pick it up. Something whizzed past Kalan’s ear.
A gaping hole opened suddenly in the chest of the man across the table. He writhed backwards in pain, before lurching forward and crashing onto the table. Blood gushed everywhere. He fell from his chair then convulsed rapidly on the ground.
The lone suspect leapt to his feet. He looked around frantically for a place to run. Undercover officers piled out of the van and bolted toward him. Kalan crouched down. He looked back to where he thought the bullet must have been fired from. A man walked away slowly on the other side of road, far behind where the Inspector’s van was parked.
Devon retreated quickly and ducked down behind the fountain. “What’s going on?” he asked the spotters in a panicked voice.
“I don’t know,” came one reply. “Looks like the cops fired a shot. It c
ame from the direction of their van,” said the other.
Devon had to raise his voice, so that he would be heard over the screaming and commotion. “Where’s Kalan?”
“Long gone by now,” replied the spotter. “He made it to the boat. We’re out of here. Cops are heading your way Devon. You don’t have much time.”
Devon and the spotters disappeared down different side streets in the small city of Birchstone while the chaos ensued. They made their separate ways to an old warehouse on the outskirts of town later that evening.
“Anyone heard from Kalan or the boatman?” one of the spotters asked. Blank stares gave him the answer.
“What do we do now?” asked the other spotter.
“Let’s figure that out after we understand what happened today,” Devon remarked quietly.
One of the spotters furnished a small, thin computer. “I shot some wide angle video of the whole area for about ten minutes leading up to when Kalan arrived.” Devon and the other spotter devoted all of their attention to the screen. “Look down the road a few seconds after the police van pulls into position.” The video ran in slow motion.
“Looks like some guy crossed the road,” the other spotter noted.
“Now look at it magnified.”
“Some guy carrying a long case walks towards a hedge wall and then doesn’t come out the other side,” Devon remarked.
“Here is short clip right after the shooting. ”
“The man is walking away from the hedge wall wearing a different jacket, the same pants carrying a backpack. It’s blurred,” the other spotter remarked. “Can’t quite make out his face.”
“Yeah, I was a little shaken at that point,” said the first spotter. “Couldn’t hold the camera straight. Check out this still image. It’s a side by side comparison of the mystery man at five times magnification. Before and after the shooting.”
Devon gazed at the image in disbelief. “It’s grainy, but that guy looks just like Kalan.”
“That’s what I thought,” the first spotter added.
“So the cops planted a sniper,” said the second spotter. “They had their own plan to take down the suspects that was less expensive than working with us.”
