Absence of Mind

by H. C. H. Ritz

  Mila takes a deep breath and then nods.

  “We might as well have a good breakfast while we wait,” Phoebe says. She gestures toward the restaurant.

  Inside, there are virtually no customers or wait staff. The hostess seems surprised to see them. “Business is way down with this HAD thing going on,” she says.

  Phoebe orders a full breakfast, but Mila orders toast and doesn’t eat it. She gives monosyllabic responses to Phoebe’s attempts at conversation, and after a while, Phoebe turns to her Navi to pass the time. Mila just stares into space, waiting.

  Eventually, as pale morning light comes in through the windows, Mila gets up and pays their bill. When she returns, she says, “So far, so good. We might as well sleep.”

  “Okay,” Phoebe said.

  They walk slowly to the entrance, and Mila pauses just outside. “You didn’t have to do this, and it was a lot of trouble for you, but you did it anyway. So, thank you.”

  Phoebe touches her on the arm and smiles slightly. “Hey, what are friends for?”

  Mila puts one hand on Phoebe’s arm and squeezes lightly before she turns away.

  Late the next morning—Tuesday morning—Mila shows up at Lovely Pines rest home. Two police cars are parked out front with their lights on. Seven geriatric folks wait for pickup at the curb with boxes of their possessions around them. A large impromptu sign says, “Lovely Pines remains open for business and appreciates its customers.”

  Inside, Jerry Armstead is standing at the security desk, telling a middle-aged couple that they have nothing to worry about. “We’ve had two cases here. Two. It ain’t no problem here at Lovely Pines.” The woman in the couple insists that they want to bring Dad home just as soon as someone is available to help them.

  Jerry’s gaze catches Mila. “Hey, what’re you doin’ here? I didn’t figure I’d ever be seein’ you again with your mama gone.”

  “I know, Jerry. I need to ask the facility manager on duty some questions about that.”

  “Ms. Peterson? Sure, I can call her over if you want. Things are a little crazy, though. People movin’ out.”

  “Yes, please.” Mila leans on the desk and runs her hands through her hair with a forlorn expression.

  Jerry glances at his Navi display and then looks back at Mila. “Everything goin’ okay?”

  Mila shakes her head and turns away. “Long story.”

  The man looks as if he’d like to inquire, but then he seems to think better of it.

  A moment later, a graying woman approaches with an unsmiling face. She stops in front of Mila. “Yes, ma’am, what can I help you with?” Her tone is defensive.

  “I need all the details you can give me regarding the transfer of my mother, Joanna Bremer, out of your facility.”

  “Well, Ms. Bremer, I’m not clear about what you’re asking—since you’re the one who authorized the request?”

  Mila’s eyebrows go up and then back down. “Would you mind humoring me and printing out the request?”

  “Of course. As her legal guardian, you’re entitled to all your mother’s records.” Ms. Peterson gives Mila a sidelong look, as if doubting her sanity.

  As if on cue, a printer on the reception desk begins to whir.

  “That’s all I needed, Ms. Peterson. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” the older woman says, and she turns and walks away.

  Jerry has been looking back and forth between the two women with interest. Now, as he hands her the printout, he asks, “Is something goin’ on?”

  “Were you on duty yesterday when she was transferred?”

  “You mean this morning?”

  “This morning?” Mila’s voice rises. She scans the date and time of the request. It says that Mila made the request by Navi at 3:28 p.m. the previous day. That was during the time the three men were at Mila’s apartment. The request is verified by the normal biometric signature used by Nonnies. The paperwork released Mrs. Bremer from the Lovely Pines into the care of a Bruce Donovan, no company name listed. “What time did they come?”

  “About nine-fifteen, I’d say. About… two hours ago.”

  Mila groans and rubs her face.

  “What’s going on, Mila?”

  Mila sighs. “Can you forward me a photo of the people who came and took her? And the vehicle they were in?”

  “Well, sure.” His eyes flit across his display.

  As he does, he speaks slowly. “It was two men that came for her. White men with short, dark hair. Dark suits. And there was a nurse with them. Dark-haired woman.”

  He pauses as he focuses on his task.

  “They told me about the transfer request, and I called for Ms. Peterson, told her about it. She sent out a nurse with a couple boxes of Mrs. Bremer’s personal effects and then another nurse with Mrs. Bremer.”

  Stopping again, he tilts his head as if looking at something that’s angled. “I asked your mama where she was headed, but of course she didn’t know. She acted like she was okay with it all, though. I asked the men where she was going, and they said it was a private facility closer to you. I thought it was funny that you weren’t here, but I figured you just wanted her out on account of HAD, like all these other folks.”

  He glances rapidly from one spot to another. “That was all. They loaded her up into a van and took off.” His eyes focus on Mila again. “What’s your email address?”

  Mila gives him the address “mab287a239@anony.net,” and a few moments later, he says, “Sent it off.”

  “Thank you,” Mila says and turns to leave.

  “Wait, wait—hold up. You can’t leave like that. What’s going on with your mama?”

  Mila hesitates. “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t think you ought to worry about it.”

  “If something’s goin’ on with your mama, I want to know about it, you hear? Hell, I’m the security guy.” He taps his badge. “If something happened right under my nose, I damn sure want to do something about it.”

  Mila looks away, her eyes darting about as she thinks. “I have no reason to believe that she’s in any danger. And I don’t know of any way that you can help. But if I think of something, I will tell you, all right?”

  Jerry nods slowly. “All right, Mila. All right. If that’s what you want.” But his expression is unmoved.

  Mila walks out with her shoulders bowed.

  I sleep late into the afternoon that day. I wake up thinking of Mila. I know I dreamed about her icy eyes and her pale, drawn face, but the dream slips away as I open my eyes.

  I saw a new side of her last night. It’s sort of a relief to discover that she does have emotions. And in a moment that she was plainly terrified, she turned to me.

  I wonder whether she has anyone else to turn to. I know she isn’t talking to anyone by Navi while we’re working, and I’ve never seen her place a phone call. In any given evening, I talk to dozens of people. She talks only to me.

  I call her while I shower. She doesn’t answer, and I’m forced to wonder where she might be if she’s not at home. I never think about that with any of my Collective. It doesn’t matter where they are or what they’re doing because they’ll get my message within a few minutes, usually.

  As I get out of the shower, I receive a notification that James Bernhardt has been issued a transfer order to detention facility #110. Immediately, I’m on the phone with hospital staff even as I’m getting dressed and driving to the hospital. I can’t let Jamie go to one of those places—partly because I won’t be able to continue my research and partly because I don’t trust the idea any farther than I can throw it.

  The administrator I talk to is sympathetic and quickly places a call to Dr. Abadi to verify my research project. By the time I arrive, they’ve confirmed that neither Jamie nor any of the other four patients will be transferred.

  “They’re doing this across the country,” the staff person tells me. “The hospitals are running out of sedatives, and apparently, these detention centers have the
security they need to manage the patients. So all HAD patients are going to the facilities. But you do have a legitimate exception. Dr. Abadi has gotten approval to use some of the remaining sedatives at Browning on your five patients, too.”

  I feel as if we’ve dodged a bullet.

  When I arrive, Mila is already there, working. She has more color in her cheeks than she did yesterday. I tell her that we nearly lost all of our patients, but she doesn’t react. She never reacts.

  Once she gives me my instructions, we settle down into our normal routine—me on the foldout bed with my eyes closed and her in the chair with her silver laptop. As usual, Jamie sits and stares into his Navi. And as usual, within half an hour or so, I’m having to dose up on the Tylenol with Codeine and Dramamine.

  I decide that I’m officially going to get looked at. I message my regular doctor.

  < Doc, can I get an M-MRI approved? Recurrent migraines, dizziness, nausea, flares in vision, for about a week, almost daily. >

  I don’t expect a response anytime soon. Not with our current health care crisis.

  About four hours later, Mila performs one of her arresting catlike stretches and declares, “I’ve solved it.”

  I set my Navi to text mode to give her my full attention.

  “The malware allows servers to give new instructions to the nanobots to alter their behavior and location in the brain. The new instructions are cached—and it’s lucky I was able to find them before the RAM was overwritten. Probably something the hackers overlooked during development. I will give you one guess as to the nanobots’ new location.”

  “The amygdalae?”

  “Correct.”

  I look at my mindless, emotionless brother sitting placidly in his hospital bed, probably watching another movie, and I feel a flush coming up my neck and cheeks. My heart pounds, and my fists seem to clench of their own accord. “Someone is deliberately doing this?”

  Mila nods. “It is deliberate. There is no doubt.”

  I stand up and begin to pace, my fists still clenched. My face twists. “How are the nanobots doing harm to the brain? Abhishek said that the stimulation was weak.”

  “That’s part of how they’ve been reprogrammed. They’ve been set to deliver much stronger electrical impulses than is normal.”

  I stare at Jamie. “They’re frying his brain.”

  I rub my temples as the constant migraine threatens to overcome the medication. “But why? Why would anyone do this to random people? Is it terrorism?”

  Mila is looking at her laptop screen with a raised eyebrow and a new expression—a flat, blank glare that seems out of place.

  “It isn’t random,” Mila says slowly. “It’s directed.” She pauses. “But I haven’t figured it all out yet. I need to make a call. Excuse me.”

  She snaps her laptop shut and hurries out. I’m too busy being freaked out about my brother to pay much attention.

  I reach out to the nurses station.

  < Do you have a Navi installation technician at this hospital? I need #223’s Navi uninstalled right now. Immediately. >

  I sit down and try not to wring my hands. I try to tell myself that it won’t hurt him any more to have the Navi in for another hour or two. It’s already been… God, it’s already been two weeks. I try not to hyperventilate.

  << We don’t have any Navi technicians available right now. We’ll send his doctor to evaluate. >>

  I glower at no one.

  < When? >

  No immediate response.

  I message Dr. Abadi, closing my eyes to try to ease the migraine.

  < We found out that HAD is definitely caused by the Navis. The Navi installation nanobots have been relocated to the amygdalae and are providing extra-strong stimulation there. We need to get every one of those Navis uninstalled right away. >

  << How many patients have you confirmed it with? >>

  I pause, taken aback, but I understand her question.

  < Jamie so far. We’ll start confirming in other patients immediately. >

  << Please do and keep me posted. Let me know when you’ve reviewed all five patients. >>

  < Please tell me you are going to act on this information immediately? >

  << Uninstallation is not that easy or quick, and people will be resistant. I can’t justify advising this if we aren’t sure. >>

  I clench my fists again.

  < They are having their brains fried, Doctor. As we speak. >

  I wince. I probably shouldn’t have shouted. I wait for an angry response for several painful moments, but all I hear is the humming of the air conditioning in the hospital room, and all I feel is the damned throbbing in my head.

  < Sorry for shouting. We’ll confirm as quickly as we can. >

  When Mila leaves the room, she goes to the nurses station and asks Nurse Thompson to give her a phone and some privacy. Once the nurse steps away, Mila takes the card from her purse and dials with trembling fingers.

  The phone rings only once.

  A man’s voice. An unfamiliar one. “Hello?”

  Mila doesn’t speak at first.

  “Hello?” the man asks again.

  “Yes. It’s Mila Bremer. I got an email telling me to call.”

  “You aren’t following instructions, Ms. Bremer.”

  Mila says nothing. Her face is pale and pinched.

  “Seems like you didn’t take us seriously. I guess you didn’t know we were watching you.”

  “Through Phoebe’s Navi,” Mila says.

  “Can we trust that now that you know you can get away with nothing, you’ll keep your end of the bargain? Or bad things will happen to your mother?”

  Mila closes her eyes. “Yes.”

  “Do what you’re told. And keep working on seducing Ms. Bernhart.”

  “I want to speak to my mother. Every day.”

  “We’ll put her on tomorrow.”

  The line goes dead.

  Eight

  Mila comes back in with an unusually stormy expression on her face. I’m still busy freaking out, and the increased blood flow from the adrenaline is making my head pound worse than ever.

  “Mila, how quickly can we confirm the same problem in the other patients?”

  She thinks for a moment while she looks at her screen and heaves a sigh. “Assuming that all the patients are using the same code and the same security algorithms, it should only take a few… days.”

  “A few days? Jesus.” I wanted it to be a lot faster than that. I rub my temples.

  << Dr. Abadi: Is hacking involved? >>

  < Yes. >

  << Can your programmer stop the hacking instead of removing the Navis? >>

  “Dr. Abadi wants to know if you can take out the virus or whatever it is,” I say.

  She closes her eyes for a moment. “Yes, I… think I will be able to remove the malware. It will take some time to be sure, and then it will take longer to accomplish.”

  “How much time? To be more specific, will removing the malware take less time than confirming the hacking in four more patients?”

  Mila shakes her head slowly. “Unknown, but unlikely. The malware is written into existing code using overloaded variables. It can’t be taken out like taking meatballs out of a pan. It’s more like trying to take a specific strand of spaghetti out of the whole pot. Everything’s tangled together, and everything is fragile.”

  “Damn it!”

  | You have donated $10 to Exodus International. |

  “Oh, shut up!”

  Mila raises her eyebrows.

  “Not you. My Navi.” I heave a sigh. That order I gave my Navi, to auto-donate to an organization I despise every time I curse, seems ridiculous with everything that’s going on. So I’m cursing. Well, it’s a good thing thousands of people aren’t dying from a bizarre pandemic. Oh wait, they are.

  I started pacing, and now I stop because it’s making my head throb worse. “So, are you saying that we can’t remove the malware?”

  “I’
m saying that it’s difficult. I can start by removing the malware from the version on my virtual machine here on my laptop and looking for any unintended consequences of what I do. It is risky to perform the same operation on a live subject. I would want to replicate it at least a dozen times with other cases on my virtual machine before I attempted it on a person.”

  I grind my teeth. Dr. Green was jumping the gun before, but this degree of operation on a live subject without oversight probably would be illegal and unethical. “What are the proper channels for this sort of thing now that we’ve identified the problem?”

  I answer my own question. “If we can get it confirmed in enough cases, Dr. Abadi will help us get the Navis uninstalled for all the patients, and I imagine she’ll spread the word to the CDC, who will relay it to everyone else. Uninstalling or even just turning off the Navis will stop the problem, right?”

  Mila nods. “That’s assuming you can convince people to go without their Navis.” She sounds a little bitter. “Good luck.”

  “Shouldn’t we alert the manufacturers or software programmers who normally work on Navis? I mean, no offense, but wouldn’t they be able to solve this a lot faster than you by yourself?”

  She stares at her laptop screen. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s say that’s probably not going to work and leave it at that for the moment. I’ll work on confirming the malware in the other Navis in order to satisfy your Dr. Abadi. I think that’s the best thing to do right now.”

  I don’t understand why she’s dismissing the manufacturers, but Navi hardware and programming is her domain, not mine.