by Aaron Frale
A photograph was a stagnant image. Street corners had buildings, people, and cars. There were sights, smells, and sounds. There were vibes, sensations, and feelings. The sensory input of one human at any given moment in time was mind blowing. The buildings all had different shapes, colors, and floors. The people wore different clothes, had different facial features, and displayed different attitudes. One human perceiving a street corner involved massive amounts of data. A photograph couldn’t transfer all the information on the sensory experience, only the impression of the experience. Humans found a way to transfer direct experience, vivid in every detail, by linking neurons in two people’s brains. Vacations weren’t told through stories and photographs, but rather they were uploaded to each other’s minds.
Her interconnectedness to every human’s public information was precisely the flaw in her thinking. She was used to having access to all the endless amounts of data streaming into her cerebral cortex at any given moment. She could stand on a street corner and describe every building, what was in every window, and even conjecture who lived in those windows. She could perceive massive amounts of data because her consciousness wasn’t limited. But she didn’t need all of the data. She just needed one important piece of information.
She needed to find 07760. She thought if she could recreate the transfer of the briefcase, she could run scenarios to his possible whereabouts. She was thinking in terms of crunching large amounts of predictive data. She didn’t need to recreate the initial briefcase hand-off because there was a more passive source of data most people of her time period would dismiss as being too vague. She just needed to crunch data on photograph usage. The thumbtouches had one advantage—people didn’t know that they were being used. So a person could end up in another’s photograph unaware they were in it. The recording technology of her day was sophisticated. If a person didn’t want to be in someone’s records, they could mark themselves private. When a person shared an experience of a crowded event, the computer would create facsimiles to replace the private individuals to maintain the illusion of a crowd. But with photographs, there were no facsimiles. Anyone in the photograph would have been there when the picture was taken. People couldn’t be edited out in real time. All she needed to find fugitive 07760’s whereabouts was find a photograph with an unwitting 07760 in the background. She understood Jerry’s obsession with ancient forms of data transfer.
The task of going through the historical records to find photographs of 07760 was monstrous for a human. Computers still had advantages over humans despite the increased power of her brain. Computers could crunch large amounts of repetitive data. Despite the advanced perception and intuitive abilities of humans, the humans made mistakes with long repetitive tasks. Here grayspace would handle the task of searching through the historical archives for photos of 07760 with ease. There must be a photo from the old social networking sites with 07760. Thumbtouch devices were popular back then. She would wait for the computer to find her solution and decided to clear her mind. While the grayspace ground away in the background, the street corner began to shift into Victorian-era England. She would hunt some werewolves in a completely silly fiction. She knew it was inane, but it was better than waiting for the grayspace. She loaded silver bullets into an old style projectile weapon.
Event 3 - R
Dawn crept into the city. The daylight slipped through the cracks long before the sun was visible. The city began to wake up. People set about their morning tasks. Some were on their way to work while others were getting coffee and other various morning treats. Shopkeepers opened their establishments. The smell of warm baked goods and roasted coffee filled my nose. I wasn’t hungry, but I felt that I should eat. It had been at least eighteen hours since I ate more than fruit if my guess that I had appeared on the street yesterday around noon was accurate.
Lucky for me, I was in a fairly relaxed city, so what I was about to do should be pretty simple. The coffee shop had an outdoor seating area. A seat facing the rest of the patio was perfect for me. I hadn't slept but didn't feel tired. I did use a public restroom to tidy myself up a little but didn’t need much tidying. I looked good for having been up all night. At least I didn’t look homeless. I didn't want the authorities to know about me. I lucked out last night. I was able to avoid getting arrested and the inevitable questions about my lack of IDs and identity.
A lady with a small dog set her bagel sandwich monstrosity on the table. She went back in with her coffee, presumably to get cream and sugar. She left her small dog tied to the table to defend her bagel. Another man left his coffee on another table close by. I checked to see if anyone was looking then swiped the bagel from the dog defender and the coffee from the other table. The dog’s entire body shook while it barked.
The funny thing about barking dogs is that people have a tendency to look at the barking dog, and not at what the dog is barking at. If the middle-aged couple pouring over a tourist map bothered to look at the man walking away and not the dog nearby seizing with yips and yaps, they might have been able to vindicate the dog from being scolded for eating “mommy's yummies.” Instead, my theft went unnoticed, a pretty impressive feat for what felt like my first time intentionally stealing.
A while later, after enjoying my caffeine and my breakfast, I decided that I needed new clothes. I was sure at this point people had to be looking for me and changing my clothes wouldn’t hide me entirely, but it was a start. The briefcase had a file with my name on it. Some organization had to create the file from the case. Therefore, somebody knew who I was. The question was, did I want to know them? I found the nearest clothing store appropriate for my age. I guessed late twenties, early thirties.
After tearing the tags off in the fitting room and stashing my old clothes, I stuffed my wallet of blank cards, the key, and the mints into my pocket. Even though the wallet was pretty worthless, I kept it anyway. Any clue to my former identity would help. I guessed the blank cards were intended for a fake ID machine. I theorized that they would be fed into a device, and the fake ID would print on the blank card. I needed these rather than any old blank card because these must contain a microchip embedded into the plastic. While printing could be faked easily, microchips could not without a sophisticated process.
All the clues led me to believe I must be a secret agent: the strange well-dressed man, the file, a key, and blank cards. I am here to do something. Maybe the file in the briefcase was not about the real me, but maybe it was information on the fake me. Perhaps my mind was wiped, and I would use the information in the briefcase to form my new identity. The key was probably to some storage unit that had my mission objectives, perhaps even an ID printing machine. But something must have gone wrong. I was probably brought to the drop point prematurely. I did feel drugged yesterday.
I stepped out of the fitting room. A clerk smiled and complimented me on my choices and offered some accessory suggestions. For such a relaxed city, the clerk seemed a little too attentive to the customers. I had not seen a cop since the bookstore. The clerk in front of me probably has never been in a fight in his life. I decided to test the city and see if it was truly relaxed. I was also pretty sure I knew the surrounding streets well enough to disappear. I ignored the clerk and walked out of the store.
At first, the clerk was surprised and then moved into anger. He called after me. He was a skinny hipster-looking dude. The man wore a scarf. How was I supposed to know that he knew martial arts? I didn't even have time to raise my legs in defense when he kicked them from underneath me. I thought I would respond with some super secret martial arts moves, but instead, my face connected to the pavement. I heard a crack and my head spun. He grabbed me and pulled me to my feet. I was dizzy and felt a little like vomiting. The feeling cleared very quickly. It was like my body was supercharged. It’s a shame my skills weren’t.
He dragged me into the back, and my pocket stuff was displayed on the break room table as the clerk searched me for other stolen goods. I wished those cards in th
e wallet had been real. If I had one of their fancy credit cards for elite members, I could have gotten a free water bottle with my purchase. The other employees watched because the incident was probably the most excitement they had all week, probably all year. His manager charged into the room and chewed the clerk out, “You could have seriously injured that man. You are lucky he doesn't sue...”
“I'm fine,” I said, anxious to leave.
“But he shoplifted the...” the clerk interjected.
“There are proper channels to deal with shoplifters.” The manager glanced over to me. “Not that I was implying...”
“I pretty much intended to steal it,” I said bluntly.
The manager didn’t know how to react. The clerk smirked, vindicated by my backup. If I showed the manager how nervous I was about him calling the police, he probably would call them. If he did call the cops, I guess I could run. There was an emergency exit within my line of sight. If the police came, maybe I could double back and scope out the place. I could see who might be looking for me who wasn't part of the local police.
“Take the clothes. Free of charge,” the manager said to me. The clerk huffed in anger.
“Thanks,” I awkwardly replied.
“You are lucky he doesn’t sue us,” the manager repeated to the clerk.
Not what I was expecting, but I should probably move on. It's best not to call too much attention to myself. I stuffed my pocket items back into my new pants. The manager handed me a bag with the clothes I’d left in the dressing room. I turned to leave the room when the manager stopped me.
“I have just one question,” the manager said as he looked at me.
“What?” I said.
“If you had money to pay for the clothes, why did you steal them?” the manager asked earnestly.
“I…” I didn’t have an answer for him.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I saw an Elite Platinum Plus card in your wallet. You could have bought pretty much anything in the store and gotten a free water bottle.”
I pulled out my wallet, and an Elite Platinum Plus was in the slot where one of the blank white ones used to occupy. I pulled out the card, and it looked like a valid payment method. My brain was having trouble justifying what happened, so I said the first thing that came to mind. “You passed! Carry on.”
The manager gave me a funny look.
The clerk piped in, “You’re from corporate?”
Another employee chimed in, “I heard corporate sends secret shoppers but secret shoplifters?”
“Just make sure you file a thorough report.” I winked at the manager and left. I may not have ninja-like attack skills, but at least I’m pretty smooth.
Out on the street, I ducked into an alley. I pulled out my wallet, and the cards were blank again. They were just white pieces of plastic that didn’t mean anything. Something strange was happening. I spied a coffee shop across the street. All the adrenaline from this morning got to me. I carried a sandwich and juice up to the register. While the barista rang up the total, I noticed a gold card application. I wondered if the card would be a gold card. I pulled out my wallet and gave her a gold card with the coffee shop’s logo where the platinum one had been.
“Will you take this?” I asked.
“A gold card? Of course.” She swiped the card and handed it back to me.
Event 4 - J
Jerry stood in a grayspace. He half expected to be in a prison. The grayspace was certainly a surprise. He only had a few minutes by the fruit stand and hoped that he set 07760 back on track. Because of his escape from the interrogation room, they took no precautions this time around. There was a collar around his neck. It prevented him from teleporting. He could not travel back or forward. Since the grayspace was a doorless box, he was stuck. There was a faint coffee smell as the grayspace began to shift, but he wasn’t doing the shifting. Nanette stood behind him.
“How long have you been there?” he asked.
“The bathroom diversion was a nice touch,” she replied.
The street began to appear around them. The building shimmered into clarity. The people were reconstructed. The cars faded into view. Jerry was now standing next to a coffee shop instead of an empty grayspace. It was part of the city, but he had not seen it before. The light indicated it was the next morning. There was a small dog tied to a table, a couple of patrons, and more importantly, 07760 was walking toward the table with the dog.
“But how did you reconstruct this scene?” Jerry was surprised. She obviously discovered a method to track 07760's movements through the city. Jerry disabled all the conventional methods of tracking through nanomachine signatures. He knew her tactics. She was using something new.
“I've reconstructed this scene from a photograph,” she said as if it would explain everything.
“How? Photographs don't have refined detail.” He was still confused.
“07760 appeared in the background of this couple's photograph.”
There was a tourist couple stuck in a loop. They took a picture of themselves with a thumbtouch and then pulled out a map. A screen appeared on a social networking page marked “archive” displaying the couple’s original photograph. The well-dressed man was impressed with her detective work, and he couldn’t hide it. She never ceased to amaze him. And he saw it again, the hint of emotion on her face. During their training, all the agents were taught to bury emotion incredibly deep. A good agent always looked at the situation objectively. They still had emotion. It wasn’t genetically removed. They were just trained to use it when they needed it. For example, when they were trying to intimidate a suspect, anger was a useful emotion. Human emotion was a utility tool for an agent rather than a fact of being. But he knew all the emotional tricks in the book. Her emotion was something different. He was sure of it.
She directed his attention to the couple. She began to explain, “The device you see is a cell phone. They were sort of miniature computers of the time. The people used to use a database called a social network to catalog their journeys. This couple, in particular, is on their honeymoon.”
“So you have a time, place, and date. I'm sure there is a time window near to this event. Yet I don't see him shackled here with me.”
The scene morphed and changed again. It was a different street corner, a different time of day, in front of a clothing store. 07660 was frozen in time wearing a different article of clothing with the tag still hanging from the clothes. Good boy. At least 07660 suspected something and began to take steps for secrecy. Though, he obviously hasn’t figured out everything yet.
“A government CCTV network picked this up. Since the store never reported a robbery and no one was watching this particular feed at the time, the incident went unnoticed by city officials. But our computer noticed. In fact, the computer is running through every bit of historical photograph and video feed. It’s only a matter of time when we narrow in on his objective. For now, we are attempting to narrow down the search by reconstructing a timeline of events.”
“You’re spying on him.”
“The best informant doesn't know he is an informant.”
There was the emotion again. She had him this time. There was very little Jerry could do. Because of the time period, cameras were on every street corner and in every pocket. Finding a liquid moment to cross the time barrier didn't matter now. It wasn't a question of finding a time window, but a question of which time window does she want to use? Jerry let defeat slip on his face. With a spy network tracking 07760's every move, Nanette will be able to pinpoint the perfect time, date, and location to travel back.
“I wanted you to know before I have to do this and that I’m truly sorry.” She pulled a smooth tube from her pocket.
The well-dressed man’s eyes became wide with fear. She was about to cut him off. She placed a tube on his exposed skin, and there was a tiny prick. The data flowing into his mind began to trickle to a halt. The millions of voices, mounds of information, and even the devices of hi
s home that changed temperature and brewed coffee began to slip away. She disconnected him from the network. She pulled the collar off. It was no longer necessary because he could no longer control anything. He was alone in his thoughts. He understood the emotion in her eyes. It was pity.
Event 4 – R
I was in a luxury suite of a high-rise hotel dying my hair. I stained the sink with dye, but I didn’t care. The dye should throw anyone who wasn’t scrutinizing my face. A contact in each eye changed their color. My look was completely different, but the look could be the person I normally looked like for all I knew. Maybe the identity I was trying to avoid was a persona created by whoever left me here. At least I was left with a few useful tricks. The “wallet of any card” was pretty fun, I had to admit. Apparently, another one of the blank cards was my Citizen ID card with a picture to match the newly dyed hair. My name didn’t seem to matter much because it appeared as a different person each time I needed to produce a card.
I stopped to look at myself in the mirror. I was pretty fit, and I should have been able to take out that clerk. Where are all my fighting skills? I am certainly smart enough, but I really couldn’t do a thing to save myself in the fight. My tussle with security guards at the bookstore was limb-flailing luck. The secret agent hypothesis felt like it was losing traction. I certainly wasn’t here to defraud hotels and coffee shops, though the unlimited cash flow was a perk. At least I’ll be able to sleep in a warm bed tonight. I still wasn’t tired, though. It was like I could go indefinitely without sleep, but I decided to try sleeping anyway. I was never hungry but still ate because I didn't want to crash.
