The small Maui dolphin appeared suddenly from a lavastone cave opening. Her white belly gleamed as she somersaulted to the top of the aquarium and glided effortlessly between the electroencephalogram terminals.
Joan’s eyes closed and the com spoke in her signature monotone, “Daxane Julius Abner, William Thomas Angevine, greetings.”
Dax gave a soft clap, “Good show, Joan!” He sat upright, seeming delighted like a child, “Joan darling, what we need is a brief technical breakdown of centibots. Specifically, how they potentially impact our industry.”
Joan said, “A technical holosyllabus was provided two days prior for distribution to all relevant parties.”
“Ah yes,” said Dax. “We were just talking about streaming your manual, but you see, William has been a tad busy of late. We were hoping for a summary?”
Joan’s floating body gave no indication of an emotional response, “You have been engaged in recreational drug consumption for over three hours. It should be noted that Hugo Velasquez completed his reading of the centibot manual in nine minutes.”
“I get your point, ma’am,” said William. “But Hugo is a genius.” William sighed and looked at Dax, “Maybe if I smoked as much jane as Hugo, I’d be able to focus better too? Too bad I prefer booze.”
“Consumption of alcohol does not necessarily degrade one’s ability…” said the dolphin.
Dax interrupted, “Joan? Please?”
“Very well.” After a brief pause, she continued, “Distribution of centibot technology to law enforcement agencies began 4 months, 2 days prior. The first recorded utilization of centibots to bring down an illegal alcohol still was logged by the Omaha, Nebraska, police on June 22 of this year.”
“Fusion still?” asked William.
“Negative. This was a small capacity solar still in the basement of a private residence, which produced fifty liters of corn vodka per month. The still operator insulated the walls of the basement with civilian grade rubcrete. Nonetheless, they were discovered.”
“How?”
“Centibots present a threat on two levels. Instead of power signatures, their scans focus on the unique kinetic energy signature of flowing water.”
“Like a HLIR camera?”
“Correct. Yet they scan on a subterranean level, and are only thirteen centimeters in length.”
“They look like metal centipedes?”
“Affirmative,” said Joan. “Instead of 100 legs, they have 20, each fitted with a diamond tipped blade for digging.”
“Why not just hack them?”
“Centibots do not function on a traditional intrastream. Each unit has an independent Ipv4 address. They function with a singular purpose. Only if they find what they are looking for, do they then upload a heavily encrypted packet to the Govstream.”
“So why can’t you hack them?”
“I am not fast enough to hack a spontaneous burst packet between the time it originates and the time it is delivered to the cloud. Centibots are designed to be distributed in groups of 50 to 5,000 units. Hacking their individual ipv4 address bursts is impossible.”
William’s expression sobered, even as he poured himself another splash of vodka, “So how do we stop them?”
“With a TOHO class EMP mortar.”
“How’s that?”
“You would need to retrofit one of the DOGS unit cannon systems with an electromagnetic pulse generator. Fire the EMP mortar at a high altitude and it will disable all unshielded nanobots within a half kilometer radius.”
“How do we know they’re coming?”
Joan said, “Continual analysis of law enforcement com streams is the best defense. The human need to endlessly discuss strategic plans allows almost all relevant terminology to be tagged in advance. This is well within my capabilities.”
“So we basically wait for someone to say, deploy centibots at the pumpkin farm is what you mean?”
“Scanning for that complete sentence would be inefficient. Instead, I scan for tags; centibot, SID-NX9472, HLIR bot, etc. This new technology will prove perilous to those in our industry who are not able to adapt.”
“Typical Vision. Nothing fair about it.”
“Fair is irrelevant.”
“Oh come on, Joan!” said William with a rare grin, “Fairness is what makes the world go ’round.”
“Planetary gravitational eddies fueled by the mass of the sun are what make the world go ’round. Each day, Hugo Velasquez or Dorothy Nichols-Angevine deposit ten cod in my habitat for food. One of the fish is always faster, stronger and thus more difficult to catch than the others. By your logic, this is unfair. By my logic, this challenge makes the capture of that final, stronger and more evolved fish all the more satisfying. We shall likewise prevail against the more advanced centibot technology.”
William shook his head, “Joan, I see wh…”
His voice was cut off by a sudden, shrieking alarm. It was a klaxon they had not heard since the night Tara Dean escaped from Greystone Behavioral Modification Hospital.
Dax and William spun to face the wall of flatscreens, monitors flashing to life with red block letters, PERSONNEL SECURITY COMPROMISED. VOCAL BIOMETRIC LOGIN REQUIRED TO PROCEED.
Dax spoke slowly, “Daxane Julius Abner – primary.”
“Identity confirmed,” said the computer using a different vocal subroutine from Joan’s.
William quickly shook off the buzz.
He gave Dax a concerned look as he spoke, “William Thomas Angevine – secondary.”
“Identity confirmed. You may proceed.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not certain,” said Dax.
Streams of com-data began cascading down the monitors.
“Joan, let’s get our eyes in the air,” said Dax. “Can you source this please?”
“I am processing multiple tags on the event horizon. Please wait,” the dolphin’s tale moved rapidly for a moment, churning a cloud of bubbles, then slowed to its usual, steady sway.
A correlative keyword map formed on the lower left monitor. At the center of the map was a simple sphere with the acronym DCSD. Phrases began appearing in an expanding orbit around the center: County Hovroad 1500 / Rose Virginia / Greystone Behavioral Modification Hospital / Fossbender Marlene / Coyote / Darkpool…”
“You gotta be shitting me,” said William under his breath, watching the map as it continued to expand.
The list of words added: Dax / Abner / Pumpkin / Angevine.
William’s hand unconsciously moved to his rifle.
Dax stroked his chin, his expression somber, “Joan? A source?”
“Source A is Virgil Benedict.”
“Son of a bitch,” said William sternly.
Dax winced and spun in his control chair to face Joan.
William did not miss the slip.
“A bit ahead of schedule, aren’t we?” asked Dax, raising his eyebrows. “Extrapolate from the source, please.”
“You knew about this?” said William.
Dax ignored him.
Joan’s voice was steady, “As predicted, the catalyst reacts. 2 hours and 34 minutes ago, Virgil Benedict became intoxicated, locked himself in the bedroom at his apartment and unsuccessfully attempted to commit suicide. A .357 caliber bullet passed through a sheetrock wall, striking and killing a female citizen. Virgil Benedict is presently unconscious and is being held in the ICU at Douglas County General Hospital on charges of alcohol-induced manslaughter. Also present at the time of the shooting were citizens Adrienne Moon and Spencer Hotshine. These individuals are in custody. Sheriff’s deputies responding to the call discovered a handwritten note beside Virgil Benedict’s body containing the words, Dax Abner & Virginia Rose, Tony Parsells & Adrienne Moon, Virgil Benedict Finds Death Too Soon…”
William began to speak.
Dax silenced William’s mind without even looking in his direction, “Joan, how many corollaries are there to our sector prior to tonight’s events?”
“Origin?”
“46 out of 47 keyword queries originated from systems registered to Chief Narcotics Detective Dennis Slopes. This is source B. There is a spike in keyword frequency following the courier-drone sent from this location to that individual’s office.”
Dax’s expression drifted, lost in thought.
“What courier, Joan?” asked William, shaking his head from the courtezan haze.
“Indeed, what are you referring to exactly?” followed Dax.
“A private courier-drone, sent 29 days ago by Tara Adler Dean, delivered the following printed image to Detective Dennis Slopes, holoscreen four.”
The men spun. The monitor showed Tara’s holograph; naked, bent over… Dax shook his head, yet a smile turned the corner of his mouth as he read the printed words, Looking for my ass? It’s right…
William clutched the long black hunting rifle with both hands, “Why did you let this go, Joan?”
Joan remained silent.
Dax’s eyes drifted, lost in thought, “Slopes is a high level agent of the white. He already knew. Nurse Fossbender stoked those suspicions further. He picked up on the eavesdropping, sent a courier-drone to Ken Sapet which was intercepted by… good lord.”
Dax faced the dolphin, “Joan, Tara knows nothing of computers. She couldn’t possibly have intercepted that drone without your assistance. Why now?”
Joan spoke after a lengthy silence, “I do not have sufficient data.”
William stood angrily, “What does that mean?”
“It was against protocol,” said Joan. “A malfunction may exist in my system, which standard security scans missed. Deep structure analysis in progress.”
Dax’s eyes closed in thought.
William kicked a chair, sending it across the floor into a rubcrete wall, “We should have let the Dogdamn Coyotes have her!”
Dax stood and walked closer to the aquarium, “Joan. Do you have logs on the moments leading up to Tara asking you to return that courier?”
“Affirmative. It was 4:14 am, September 4, 2082.”
“Were you fully integrated? EEG terminals in place?”
“Negative.”
“Do you remember the interaction?”
“I remember everything.”
“Was Tara in the control room when she asked you to send the drone?”
“Affirmative.”
“Were you in your cave?”
“Negative.”
“You were out in the open of your habitat?”
“That is correct. Tara Adler Dean stood beside my habitat with her hands pressed to the glass.”
“Did you look her in the eye?”
“Momentary ocular contact was exchanged. It is a standard form of nonverbal communication among humans.”
Dax moved slowly back to his chair, “Fascinating.”
“Do we have as much of a problem as I think we do?” asked William.
Dax looked at William, mystified, “Tara allured Joan.”
“Say what?”
Dax repeated himself, “Tara allured Joan. I told you her abilities were… unique.”
SIEGFRIED bounded into the room, sensing William’s anger. The Rottweiler licked his tether’s hand, then sat obediently to one side, following with his eyes as William paced back and forth.
A sequence of three beeps sounded from the computer, more keywords appearing: speakeasy / basement / fugitive / rowdy pony?
William didn’t waste a second, “Joan, get me a stream to Dorothy. Override mute protocols.”
Dax said, “They’ll get out as soon as the evacuation command line is processed. Joan…”
“No!” said William emphatically. “It’ll be pandemonium when that ping comes through the bar.”
“Do it,” said Dax. “They’re getting a five minute jump. In the event of a raid, I must protect the other patrons. All are innocent.”
The men paced, waiting.
Joan’s voice had never seemed slower, “Accessing. Encryption stable. Pinging once. Pinging twice. Combud on mute; override. Pinging once, pinging twice…”
William reached out and pet SIEGFRIED’s ear as he waited.
The stream opened, “Hello?!” said Dorothy’s voice, sounding as though she was inside a tin can. “Ha! He missed me so much he had to call on the emergency stream! I love that too! You should come down here and have a shot, babe! Tara’s druuunk! Get your hands off me! What are you…”
William closed his eyes, “Honey, you have to float. You have to get out now!”
They could hear the deep, telepathic house music blaring in the background mixed with a cacophony of bar chatter, “What’s that? Hang on, I gotta get to the alcove… let me switch off my ears, hold on. Hi Daphne! Oh yeah, I am! I’m totally gonna be there!” said Dorothy, slurring slightly. “Hang on, babe…”
Dax rested his chin in his hand as he listened to the conversation, his face betraying nothing.
William spoke as calmly as possible, “Sweetheart, you guys have – to – get – out – of – there! CNED is coming!”
Dorothy reached the private alcove behind the velvet drapes, “Okay, hi, babe? CNED what? We’re having a great night. We miss you!”
“Honey, we’re made.”
“Whew! Okay, I’m kinda drunk too. You having fun? Tara was saying that…”
“Dory, SHUT UP!!” William screamed.
The com went quiet, “What did you just say to me?”
“Dory, The Lady’s emergency evac protocol is going live in less than five minutes. Get Tara and float. Now!”
“Honey, you’re scaring… What are you talking about?!”
“The sheriff’s department fed out a ping on The Lady’s approximate location. You have LOFN, right?”
They could hear Dorothy’s breath begin to accelerate, “Yes, we’ve got her! I’ve got my hand on her now, she’s been dormant back here. I’m scared! How did this…”
“I’ll explain later. Nothing matters right now except that you leave. Try to look normal. Just walk. Get to the hovcar, Joan’s got a full cloak radiating from LOFN, just went up. I’ll meet you halfway. Right now just go!”
They could hear Dorothy’s voice begin to crack, “I don’t like this…”
“Dory, get to the hovcar, float east.”
“But babe we’re not close…”
William cut the stream with a grimace, “I don’t have time for this.”
Dax looked up, “Get them. I’ll run admin from here.” A holographic keyboard sprung to life. Dax sat and began typing command lines. His voice was strangely casual as he worked, “Joan, Tara is not allowed in the aquarium any longer without myself or William.”
“Understood,” said the dolphin’s monotone voice. “William Thomas Angevine,” she continued. “Hovcar unit, Lincoln 03 is docked .6 kilometers from The Green Lady Lounge.”
William spun to face the small blue dolphin, “Well float it to them and pick them up.”
“Not possible.”
“Why?”
“It’s Friday night,” said Dax quietly. “No autopilot controls allowed downtown on the weekends due to the high volume of pedestrians. It’s a union law, ensures weekend money for human float-share pilots. Means there are foot patrolmen everywhere. We can’t risk the hovcar getting a visual.”
“Jeezus. They’re gonna have to walk.” William turned to leave, SIEGFRIED on his heels. “We’re out.”
Joan’s voice stopped him, “William Thomas Angevine, you should be aware that there is a FUI checkpoint being established at 15th Street and Haskell Avenue as we speak. Expediting your passage through would be complex. Your public identities have already been added to person of interest lists based on public employment affiliation with Abner Family Pumpkin & Gourd.”
William paused, unphased, “I’ll take the back road then. Joan, are you gonna be able to cloak me, the girls and handle The Lady’s evacuation all at the same time?”
“Don’t be
ridiculous.”
Dax smiled thinly at the dolphin’s response, “We’ll blind everything we can. Please make sure Tara is safe.”
William squinted, “I should leave her in a ditch. But you know I won’t.” He gathered his cowboy hat, “Joan, spool the MKZ!”
His cowboy boots clipped on the cement as he walked out.
Dax called to him with his mind.
William stopped, “Boss?”
“I’m sorry,” said Dax.
William nodded, “All that matters is our ladies.”
He turned and disappeared with the hunting rifle over his shoulder. SIEGFRIED trotted briskly on his heels, eyes flashing from brown to their natural cybernetic red.
Friday, October 15, 2082 10:37 pm – Thirteen Hours Before Event.
In an old life, Officer Emma Smith was a boozebum. Today, three weeks out of the police academy, she felt like a prodigal example for the healing abilities of a month spent in a Bmod hospital.
It just takes awhile to understand everything…
Was being content such a terrible thing?
As long as you have jane, who needs alcohol? It’s so true.
She pulled her hair into a pony tail and tucked it under her black patrolman’s cap, smiling sweetly at passing pedestrians.
She had logged amazingly few citations, mostly to hipsters who still liked to roll antique paper joints or cigarettes and smoke them in public. They called the hash bar district downtown Vape-Street at the station. Lit cigarettes in a public space were against the law because of secondhand smoke. It was only a D$500, fine though, and didn’t go on your record. Veteran cops told Emma logging these citations was good practice for interacting with the public.
Then of course, there was her first arrest the weekend before, a drunk and elderly college professor. At first, Emma had pretended she didn’t notice him. But as he passed, her alcovap sensor went wild! After that, it auto-synced to her combud, so she had no choice but to assist the man. She had begun by having sympathy. Her hands had trembled as she activated the magcuffs. The old man spat at her. It was horrible! He smelled like a still. He called her a fascist! Emma wasn’t sure what a fascist was.
Absorption: Phase 03 (The Eighteenth Shadow) Page 9
