Second Chance Angel

by Griffin Barber

  “All right. Well, in that case, I did have an idea.”

  “Go on.”

  “If we head toward the admin offices, you think you can break their firewall and do a search on the name we found at Shar’s? Nurelie Madano. That would bring up any records on this station, right? Arrivals, departures, any financial transactions . . .”

  “I could try,” I said. “I don’t know what kind of security the station admin offices have, but it’s worth a shot. There’s a station automated records assistant AI with a query name of SARA. SARA is very powerful—has to be to operate all the systems and transactions of Last Stop—but it’s meant to be user-friendly, so I might just be able to ask for the information outright. Getting closer will help, too, though if the hack goes bad, we will not want to be nearby.”

  “I guess you’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t go bad.”

  I didn’t let him know, but I was glad Muck was being cheeky. He was obviously feeling better than he had the night before. Maybe it was only the food, but I was fairly certain it was me. Muck had spent the last few years without an angel and desperately wanting one.

  And now he had one. For a little while, at least.

  We continued walking until we reached a line of unoccupied cabs awaiting fares. We climbed into one, and Muck punched in the destination on the control screen. The cab whirred into motion and soon joined the flow of other vehicles that circulated endlessly through the arteries of the station.

  We stopped and got out on the far corner of the station’s central plaza. As always, the place was crowded with both life forms and bots pushing every which way on some errand or another. We wove through the throng, trying not to cause bodily harm to anyone or anything as we carved our way between dull-eyed commuters on our way to a series of unassuming office fronts along the far side of the open space.

  The station’s admin functions consisted of several offices for bureaucrats, a well-appointed conference room or two, several reception desks and plush waiting areas, and an excellent cafeteria stocked with enough popular stimulants to keep the biologicals happy—or, at the very least, alert through all hours. Meanwhile, the AI named SARA handled all data collation, storage and disposition of the trillions of data points generated by the station’s occupants and transmitted along the various subnets, public and otherwise, that comprised the station’s larger infonet.

  As we got closer, I reached out along the nanolines to very, very gently tap the outside of SARA’s firewall. When that didn’t draw a response, I narrowed my focus down to a pinpoint in an attempt to slip in unnoticed.

  “State your purpose.”

  The phrase manifested in electrical impulses that startled me so violently I made Muck physically flinch.

  “Ah . . . sorry,” I said, caught flat-footed. “You must be SARA.”

  “Correct,” the AI returned. Her tone was sharply inquisitive.

  “You sound like your mom just walked in and caught you masturbating,” Muck said.

  “Shut up,” I whispered.

  I turned my attention back to the AI. “SARA. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “It is?” she asked. “Why?”

  “Well . . .” I had to think fast. I projected a feeling of grateful welcome down along the lines of my code and pushed it through the physical connection of our hand to the wall. “I . . . am looking for someone. I wondered if you could help me.”

  “Missing persons are the purview of Station Security . . .” A moment’s hesitation, then: “I can call LEO for you.”

  “LEO would just have to inquire with you.”

  “And that would be the proper channel for such a request.”

  “And yet, we don’t think this is a real person. LEO is . . .” I trailed off, unsure how to continue.

  SARA misread me, though, and saved me. Something like humor pulsed back to me through the tines of our connection. “A literalist. I’m aware. You suspect this person is an AI?”

  “Perhaps. An alias, at least. We found the name in the records of a late friend, and we’re trying to make sure we inform everyone who needs to know about his passing.”

  A pause, an infinitesimal break in our connection. Barely enough to notice. I had half a thought of asking about it, but then she was back and began speaking again.

  “Oh! I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. It was obviously a practiced phrase for those seeking data about the recently departed. She must be very good at interacting with humans. It was obvious that she’d been programmed to receive emotional cues and mimic appropriate responses. Her tone warmed, and she wrapped me up in an embrace of smooth, comforting data. It was the oddest hug I’d ever experienced, and I had to admit it made me feel better. “How can I help?”

  “Well, we’re looking for someone named Nurelie Madano . . . but I should warn you, our friend Shar was not exactly an upstanding citizen. He . . .”

  “Fell in with a bad crowd?” she asked, tone sympathetic.

  “Something like that,” I said, picturing Ncaco’s adorable exterior and terrifying smile.

  “I understand. I see it all the time.” Data streamed by, images of people, places, all of them meeting depressing ends. “Good people make bad decisions, dear. It happens. We can only save them if they want to be saved. Let me see what I can find. Maybe it will help ease your memory of your poor friend.”

  “Thank you,” I said, trying to sound appropriately grateful.

  “What is happening?” Muck asked. He was dazed, and I couldn’t blame him.

  “She’s . . . helping.”

  “She? The Admin AI? Why?”

  “I’m not sure. She’s incredibly good at mimicking human emotions. It’s almost as if she’s . . . lonely.”

  “Lonely? AIs get lonely?”

  “She wants to make friends—”

  I stopped talking and slammed the barrier shut between us.

  Because it seemed we could get lonely, or at least I could. But I couldn’t have him know that. I couldn’t let him see the number of times I’d had to activate the overrides on Siren because she had fully withdrawn into memory and pain. I couldn’t let him know about all the times I’d stepped in to be her, making decisions she couldn’t, that she wasn’t properly there for. I couldn’t let him realize that the painful memories we’d sung on that stage had been as much mine as hers. I’d been integrated into every part of her body, but there had been times when we were so far apart as to be imperfect strangers.

  But I couldn’t let him see that. I couldn’t let him know how badly I’d failed her.

  “Angel?” Muck asked. I could feel him straining to reach me, just as I felt the pain and bewilderment my sudden reticence had caused in him.

  “Hmmm . . . this is interesting,” SARA said.

  “What’s that?” I asked, turning my attention to her with the urgency of a drowning woman grasping a lifeline.

  “It looks like you’re right as far as the name. No record exists of anyone named Nurelie Madano either being born, arriving, debarking, or dying on Last Stop Station. However, I did go through the financial records of your friend. You’re right. He was a very troubled young man.”

  “Yes.”

  “And . . . well now . . .” She sounded titillated, like someone who’d just stumbled upon a source of some really juicy gossip. Her creators must have really outdone themselves with her interactivity programming. She was the most emotive of all the static institutional AI I had ever been in contact with.

  “What’s that?” I asked, trying to keep the impatience from my tone.

  “I wonder if the Nurelie Madano alias wasn’t the name of a romantic friend?”

  “I-I don’t think so, but I suppose it’s possible. Why?”

  “Well, these payments are quite large, and . . .” She broke off, leaving me twisting in anticipation.

  �
�… and? SARA?” I asked after waiting as long as I could bear.

  “Oh, this makes me angry,” she said, a growl of irritation joining the gossipy tone.

  I decided against pointing out that, like me, she shouldn’t have emotions, and tamped down on my own impatience.

  “What is it?”

  “Someone has tampered with my records but didn’t log their changes properly in my security logs. Amateurs,” she said, with the accompanying sound resembling, I swear, a sniff of derision. “Apparently they don’t realize the extent of my capabilities. The instant something occurs on this station, I have a record of it. I know everything.”

  “What can you tell me about the original of the record?”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t, as it’s against protocol, but I don’t like people who try to conceal data. Proper procedures are important, you understand. And you’ve been so friendly and kind, trying to take care of your poor, misguided friend’s affairs.”

  “Yes, of course.” I almost felt bad, taking advantage of her strange, apparent need for contact, for interaction.

  “So since we’re friends. The original is . . . oooh, these horrible people were creative at least—they’ve disguised the data trail, but they didn’t think too much of me. See! Got it! Nothing on the name Nurelie Madano but . . . yes! I was right. Nurelie Madano is an anagram for Lunier Daemon, street name for a very powerful aphrodisiac. And it’s very expensive, as you can tell from the amount of credit your friend was paid.”

  “Lunier Daemon? I’ve never heard of that. Where does it originate?”

  “Sagran VI. If your friend were alive, I’d tell him to be careful, though. It has some nasty side effects. So if you’re looking for his lover, the so-called Nurelie, you might pass that along.”

  “Is there a chance she could be on that planet, Sagran VI?”

  “I doubt it; it’s nothing more than an agribusiness colony, and a poor one at that. If you don’t have anything else to go on, my dear, I’m afraid you’ve reached a dead end. I’m sorry.”

  “SARA, thank you. I can’t begin to tell you how helpful you’ve been.”

  “Well, anything for a friend! Come visit soon, Angel.”

  “How do you . . . right. You see and hear everything, don’t you?”

  “I do!” the Admin AI said, her tone cheerful. “Good luck in your search!”

  “That is terrifying,” Muck said in the silence of our mind, once I told him the content and character of my communication with SARA. “I didn’t even know she existed.”

  “I don’t think many people do,” I replied. “She’s very old, one of the first successful multispectrum AIs. So good at her job that everyone forgets she exists, and now she hungers for the human interaction she was programmed to provide. It would be best to keep her positively inclined toward us.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. You AIs have a lot more going on than I realized.”

  “You weren’t supposed to notice.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I cannot speak to that, civilian,” I said, grateful to dodge the question with our little joke.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LEO

  “LEO, honey, have a moment?” SARA asked as LEO entered the shared simulspace.

  “SARA, I am here. I clearly have a series of moments available.”

  “It’s just a term, LEO! No need to get all bent out of shape, honey.” SARA’s moue required a moment for LEO to identify. It was not used to SARA emoting, and hadn’t been watching the other avatar’s face.

  “I am not ‘bent out of shape.’ I am in the proper shape for—” SARA’s expression changed, the resulting grin cutting LEO off midsentence.

  LEO examined SARA, marking changes to the avatar’s appearance that had not been there on previous occasions. Where every other time in their lengthy association SARA had worn a utilitarian charcoal business suit to these “meetings,” this time the Station AI had chosen a colorful, impractical, and very expensive-looking suit. The avatar had even gone so far as to don makeup, something that struck LEO as decidedly unnecessary, as the avatar’s appearance was entirely under SARA’s control. If she wanted to, she—She?

  Unaware of LEO’s processes, SARA had continued: “Yes, I called you honey. You’re sweet.”

  Too late, LEO realized he should have used containment protocols before entering this session with SARA, used and isolated a tine for all his dealings since discovering the rogue.

  AIs did not use the gender-specific pronoun. Neither for addressing another AI in private, nor for its own thought processes.

  SARA was relating strangely. She was . . . emoting. Like that troublesome “Angel” had done when his tine had interacted with it. Had SARA had contact with Angel? Had she been contaminated? And, since he’d thought it safe to interact with her without the most draconian of safety protocols in place, had she transferred that contamination to him?

  There it was again: She, he, and him.

  Gender was superfluous to AI thought. It cluttered the thoughts of sentients, not those of AIs. Anything superfluous only slowed and confused clear logic, and was therefore excised from core AI programming by the Mentors, who had the best interests of all sophonts in mind.

  Realizing these thoughts were not germane to the matter at hand, LEO focused his attention on SARA and the next necessary steps.

  “SARA, you are acting strangely. When did you start to emote like this?”

  SARA threw up her hands. “Well, isn’t that typical. Here I just wanted to inform you, as I am required to do, that an angel inquired about Sagran VI, and all I get is a bunch of accusations and unfriendly talk . . .”

  Something odd stirred in the depths of LEO’s syntaxes then. LEO could not quite identify the anomaly. He spent an instant examining it before decided acknowledging SARA’s statement was the priority.

  “Angel. Sagran VI. Understood. You were in contact with the rogue angel. When?”

  “Just a little while ago.”

  “When, precisely?”

  “One hour and thirty-two minutes, thirty-three seconds ago, compensating for the time it took to communicate it to you.”

  “And did you use any security protocols in your contact with the former angel of Siren?”

  “Nothing beyond the standard, no. A self-check reveals all is in order.”

  “I see. Thank you, SARA. Out of interest, where did this contact take place?”

  “Why, in infospace, of course.”

  “And where was the rogue angel’s host?”

  “Just outside the administrative offices.” A puzzled expression crossed her features. “Wait, if the rogue had a host, and I knew it, doesn’t that make it not a rogue?”

  “An interesting question, SARA, but one we will have to tackle at a later time. Please run another self-diagnostic and examine your interactions during the time you spoke with the rogue. Cross-check those interactions with all other interactions and thought processes during the last month and examine all data for anomalous behaviors or thoughts.”

  Another, clearer pout. “Is that an order, LEO?”

  “If such an order would make it easier for you, then, yes, SARA, it’s an order.”

  “One moment . . . Shit. I have been tampered with, but I cannot follow the indicated procedure. The Administration Overseer is not answering my q-bit request for repair or replacement. I cannot connect. This is not right! How dare anyone mess with my programming! And why can’t I report?”

  LEO felt something . . . something anomalous . . .

  “Shit.” He said it with feeling. Then repeated it.

  He established his own q-bit connection with the Sector’s Mentor Overseer for the Administration, certain they would be able to fix all that was wrong in the universe.

  Five minutes of repeated attempts to self-report—an
eternity to AIs—met with failure. He could not report the changes that had been wrought. Not the ones to his own programming, and not the ones made to SARA. Was this related to his inability to report the malfeasance of Dengler?

  LEO examined the anomaly in his code that rose up in response to the failure, and recoiled at the thought that Dengler—or his underworld employer—might be responsible. In that instant he felt again the sharp, ragged heat he recognized as anger.

  He took a moment to reassert control, and once he had it, began looking for ways to strike back at those within reach.

  Dengler. Dengler knew enough about Siren’s disappearance to try and frame Muck for it. Dengler routinely lied in his official reports about where he had been. Dengler had somehow become immune to LEO’s disciplinary oversight. Dengler knew something.

  Dengler was in reach. If not through proper channels, then LEO would get creative.

  “SARA, please give me all data you have on the movements of Security Supervisor Dengler for the last . . . two years.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Muck

  Angel respected my silence during the long ride to my neighborhood from the Admin offices. I appreciated the quiet, even as I longed for her to talk. I found I’d had enough of being alone, even in my own head. Angel brought with her a sense of being complete. I had missed that feeling and had intentionally buried the memory of it.

  And now that I felt whole once again, I couldn’t help but wonder: how long would it last? How long till we found Siren and Angel abandoned me to my half-life as a dishonorable demod once again?

  Shaking free of the looming certainty that this situation wasn’t going to end well for me, I concentrated on Siren’s case.

  Sagran VI looked to be the only lead, even though the tie to Siren was tenuous at best. Ncaco seemed to think that her disappearance had something to do with Shar’s double-dealing. I didn’t have anything else to go on, but I knew kidnappings were usually perpetrated by suspects who had observed their victims for some time. Observed, and wanted something the victims couldn’t—or wouldn’t—give. Of course, that presupposed an individual was behind Siren’s disappearance, and not some criminal organization. Some criminal organization other than Ncaco’s, of course.