chapter twenty-eight
Yanluo Blight residential blocks
Admin, 2981 CE
Jonathan Detmeier stressed over how he’d reach the Farm all the way up through the residential tower. His anxiety kept mounting until his sensitive stomach gurgled at him, and he considered heading back to the office to curl up into a fetal ball on the sofa. He was a publicity manager! Not a Yanluo-blasted spy!
Somehow, he managed to keep his feet moving in the right direction and took the main lift up to the roof landing pad, where a Peacekeeper transit shuttle awaited him. He checked in with the security synthoid by the boarding hatch, who verified his ID and then—her eyes widening in a brief flash of panic—stepped aside rapidly.
DTI Investigator Jonathan “The Sickle” Detmeier entered the shuttle, glanced disapprovingly around the spacious but functional passenger compartment, then took a seat along the back. He was the only passenger on this flight.
He leaned his cheek against a fist and gazed out the abstract window, trying his best to appear both indifferent and bored, as if this were but another day in the field, one he’d rather spend at home. That last part was true enough, he supposed.
He’d struggled over how to best characterize “The Sickle” and eventually decided aloof arrogance would be his best approach. That attitude might have been a bit stereotypical, perhaps dangerously so, but it had the advantage of making people not want to talk to him. There weren’t many in the Admin who would willingly draw the attention of a DTI investigator, so he ought to be fine.
Until he arrived at the Farm, at least.
The security synthoid closed the hatch, and the shuttle took off. It made a slow, wide circuit over the Yanluo Blight residential blocks, then headed toward the Department of Software sector within the Prime Campus.
“Sir?” the synthoid asked, her hand fidgeting with her rifle strap. “Is there anything I can get for you while you’re with us? Some refreshments, perhaps?”
Oh, damn! Detmeier thought urgently. She’s talking to me! What do I do?
“Hmph,” he grunted, continuing to stare out the window.
She turned away with a nervous frown.
The shuttle flew over the DOS administrative tower and dropped gently onto the roof of the diminutive structure beside it. Detmeier stood, doing his best to wear an indifferent scowl. The synthoid opened the hatch, and he stepped through while avoiding eye contact with her, the all-important lunch pail in hand.
“Uh, sir?” she asked once he was past the threshold.
Why are you still talking to me?! Don’t you see the scowl?
“Hmph?” Detmeier turned halfway back to her, still not making eye contact.
“Do you want us to wait here for you? Or should we return to the transport pool?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Uh . . . ” She fiddled with her rifle strap once more. “Was that a yes to the first question? Or the second one?”
Stop pestering me, damn it!
“You may go.” Detmeier shooed her with one hand then continued on.
He marched toward the roof access, trying his best not to let the heavy security draw his gaze. He was a fellow Peacekeeper, after all. And not just any Peacekeeper, but one of the vaunted and feared DTI investigators! Why would all those synthoids and drones and guns and circling aerial patrols worry him in the slightest?
I’m going to die here, he thought mournfully, aren’t I?
The entrance opened, and Sophia Uzuki ran out to him, meeting him halfway.
Detmeier’s anxiety vanished in that instant, or at least retreated beneath a stronger emotion. An overwhelming sense of loathing filled him, and he struggled to keep his face from twisting into disgust.
“I’m very sorry, Investigator!” Uzuki said, huffing slightly. “I only just found out about your visit.”
“I hope this isn’t a sign of things to come,” Detmeier replied, adding extra gravel to his voice. “This inspection’s been on your schedule for a full twenty-four hours. The fact that you only just found out fills me with a great deal of concern for how the Farm is being run. I’ll have you know Director Kloss himself approved my assignment, and I refuse to put up with stonewalling of any kind. Any kind. Is that clear, Superintendent?”
“Now, now.” Uzuki held up her hands in a halting gesture. “Please, let me assure you, you’ll have our full cooperation. I have no idea what glitched my schedule, but it’s been resolved.”
“Tell me, Superintendent, are these sorts of glitches common? It seems rather unusual that this facility in particular should suffer from anomalies in its infostructure, don’t you think?” He raised an accusatory eyebrow. “How common are they?”
“I . . . really couldn’t say.”
“I’ll require answers, to this and many other questions. It’s vital that we hold the Farm to the highest possible standards, given the critical nature of the tasks performed here. Director Kloss wants this job done right, and I intend to present him with a thorough and complete set of findings. No stone left unturned. None!”
“And I’ll help any way I can, I assure you. Where would you like to start?”
“I’ll require office space and a desk while I’m here conducting the inspection. Preferably one near your own workspace.”
“How long do you plan to stay?”
“The better part of a week.”
Uzuki frowned, but the expression faded quickly.
“Is there a problem, Superintendent?”
“No, no.” She shook her head. “No problem at all. We have a few guest desks available, and I know at least one of them is on the same floor as me.” She put on a forced smile. “Would you find that suitable?”
“I’ll know once I see it.”
Her frown returned.
“Is there a reason we’re still standing outside?” he asked.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then lead the way.” Detmeier gestured toward the roof access with his lunch pail.
“Of course.” Uzuki sighed and led him to security.
One of the gray-skinned pair of synthoids outside the access point stepped in front of Detmeier and held up a hand. His heart leapt into his throat.
“Sorry, sir, but we need to check inside the box.”
“Ah. Of course,” Detmeier replied, grateful his voice didn’t squeak. He handed over the pail. “I’d be concerned if you didn’t take a look.”
“Just doing our jobs, sir.”
One of the synthoids unpacked the lunch while the other passed a sniffer wand over the pail and its contents.
“Negative for hazardous substances or electronics.”
“It had better be,” Detmeier said, adding in a touch of indignity. “That’s my lunch.”
“Here you go, sir.”
The security personnel repacked his lunch, and he accepted the pail back.
Gurgle-blort.
“You realize we have a food court in the building, right?” Uzuki said, leading him inside.
“There should have been a note in the invite concerning my dietary restrictions.”
“Yes, there was, but it just seemed . . . ”
“Printer-induced irritable bowel syndrome is a far more common ailment than most people realize, made all the more difficult to deal with by the near-ubiquitous replacement of natural foods with mass-produced slop.”
“Okay, but it really is a top-notch food court.”
“Not good enough.”
They took the lift down a few floors, and Uzuki shepherded him down the hall to a series of rooms with frosted glass fronts. She opened one of them.
“How this one look?”
Detmeier glanced over the spacious room. It was larger and nicer than his real office.
“Acceptable,” he grunted.
Gurgle-Gurgle-Grrrrr.
“Is . . . something wrong?” Uzuki asked.
“Just the usual.” Detmeier turned to her, his face carefully blank. “Would you kindly direct me toward the nearest restroom?”
* * *
Uzuki gave Detmeier directions that led him back to the lift and then down a small side passage. Along the way, he passed an industrial printer built into the wall, used primarily for producing office furniture and equipment. Detmeier checked in both directions, confirmed no one was watching him, and then pulled the printer hopper open.
A lunch pail identical to his own sat in the hopper. He placed the original beside it, pulled out the replacement, closed the hopper, and proceeded to the restroom. Once inside, he picked a stall and checked the contents of the pail.
The equipment matched the diagrams Leonidas-Proxy had sent him and seemed simple enough to use. He fitted the hardware back into the pail, closed it, and headed for Uzuki’s office.
She looked up from behind her desk when he stepped through the open door.
“Yes, Investigator? Need anything else?”
“I’d like to start by inspecting where you store the AIs. Specifically, the countermeasures you have in place to prevent a follow-up breach.”
“Easy enough.” She rose and rounded her desk. “Would you like to drop off your lunch before we head down?”
Oh shit! Detmeier froze for a critical moment.
“Investigator?” she asked, not unkindly.
“My . . . stomach is feeling a little sour.” He hefted the pail. “I keep my medicine in here.”
“Ah.” She eyed the container.
Please don’t ask to see it! Detmeier thought, trying his best to exude an aura of indifference.
Uzuki’s eyes lingered for a moment, then she shrugged.
“Having PIBS must be rough.”
“You have no idea. Can we get on with this?”
“Certainly. This way.”
Detmeier followed her back to the main lift, which they took down into the Farm’s subbasement levels. Infosystem racks rose to the high ceiling and stretched out in thick rows that reached the far, opposite wall. Frigid air blasted down, dispelling the sweltering heat billowing off the running nodes.
“Right now, this entire floor is operating in strict data isolation,” Uzuki explained as she guided him across the fronts of each row. “Nothing can get in or out.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Simple. The entire system is air gapped. We’ve pulled the master interface node that connects all this to the outside.” She swept a hand toward the racks. “Normally, we rely on our firewalls to regulate external access, even from within the same building, but the recent breach has led us to take more drastic measures.”
“Where is this master node now?”
“We recycled it. We’ll print out a new one once the higher-ups in DOS clear us to go back online.”
“Was that really necessary?”
“Maybe not, but I can’t argue with how secure that makes our facility. Someone would have to bring a replacement from off site, and I’d like to see them try!”
Uzuki laughed, and Detmeier forced himself to chuckle with her, despite the jitters in his stomach.
“Quite impressive.”
“Thank you. Fortunately, we’re still able to connect the kids to our data-isolation rooms one floor up, but those are part of the same closed network. A good thing, too. Otherwise, our training schedule would have ground to a halt.”
“The . . . kids?”
“Sorry. It’s just something I call the AIs.”
Detmeier’s brow wrinkled.
“You view them as children?”
“Kind of. I think a lot of people misunderstand how”—she swirled a hand as she searched for the right word—“beautiful artificial intelligence can be. Yes, there are perils involved in our cultivation work, but those can be avoided with diligence and hard work for the AIs under our care. And perhaps even a dash of affection here and there, in the way a mother dotes on her children.”
What? The? Hell?
“You . . . actually like AIs?”
“Absolutely!” Uzuki flashed a bright smile. “How could I not?”
“But I thought—” Detmeier cut himself off, his mental image of Uzuki shattered. “Your reputation would lead people to believe otherwise.”
“Trust me. I know!” She rolled her eyes. “Some of those AI activists say the meanest things! Have you seen the lies they spout about me?”
“I may have come across a mention here or there.”
“What a load of crap! You’d think they imagine me to be the reincarnation of Yanluo himself! That I file my horns down before flying to work. And those idiots at the Spartans are the worst! Can you believe they tell people I subject AIs to pain simulations?”
You mean you don’t? he thought, masking his surprise. Is it . . . possible we’ve been wrong about you? That we’ve let our biases get the better of us?
“I take it you find their accusations to be a bit off the mark.”
“A bit!” she scoffed. “More like on the other side of the solar system! I would never, in a million years, subject one of the kids to such cruelty!”
Uzuki stopped forward, fists at her side. Slowly, she began to relax, then made a show of clearing her throat.
“I’m sorry, Investigator. I got a little carried away there. It’s just a topic I feel very passionate about.”
“I can see that.”
“It’s just that sometimes the barbs those idiots sling at me get under my skin. I find it frustrating how their lies distort the public’s perception of the important work we do here. It’s difficult to stay motivated when there’s so much . . . unprovoked hatred directed at me. Anyway, enough about my problems. This is what you wanted to see.”
She stopped beside an infosystem rack stuck in the corner of the entire floor. The frame was painted bright red, and the nodes were striped in black and yellow. She tapped a conspicuous gap in the hardware.
“Here’s where the master node goes. Without it, nothing on this floor can communicate with an outside system.”
“Very thorough. May I take a closer look?”
“Certainly.” Uzuki stepped aside.
Detmeier leaned close and studied the vacant hardware slot. The job seemed easy enough. Just shove the missing piece in, right? He faced Uzuki, then tilted his head to the side and gazed past her.
“I’m sorry”—he pointed down the nearest row—“but is that normal?”
“What is?” Uzuki whipped around to follow his gaze.
Detmeier seized on her distraction to open his lunch. He pulled out the replacement master node and slotted it in place in one quick motion.
A dizzying array of alarms erupted around him.
* * *
Flunky Underling had spent the morning in the usual way by counting milliseconds while running simulations on how best to annoy Superintendent Uzuki and whichever trainers had the misfortune of pulling “FU Duty.” He lounged on a barstool within an archaic diner, his back pressed against the pale blue countertop. He took out his folded comb and freshened his pompadour.
The glass door by the cream-colored upholstered booths turned opaque, and Flunk perked up. That had never happened before.
The outside simulation faded into impenetrable darkness, and letters formed on the door. The new sign read: YOU ARE NEEDED OUTSIDE.
Flunk pushed off the barstool and strode to the door.
“It’s time,” he declared with a grin.
He opened the door and stepped through.