CHAPTER FIVE
“Who’s this ‘Pinball Wizard’?” Susan asked once they were alone in Velasco’s office.
Parks had transferred back to the quadcopter, clearly relieved to get away from Susan.
“That’s not easy to explain,” Isaac replied. “How familiar are you with the Near Miss?”
“Not terribly. I think I came across it in my cultural notes. It’s a formative event in SysGov’s past, right?”
“More like the formative event. The Near Miss was a massive industrial accident that turned a lot of China into pinballs.”
“I’m sorry.” Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Pinballs?”
“Yeah. Pinballs. The Chinese were experimenting with self-replicating systems and one of their tests got a little out of hand. And by a little, I mean a lot. The swarm could have killed off everyone and everything on the planet if no one had intervened.”
“But why pinballs?”
“I’m not sure, actually.”
Cephalie poofed into existence on Isaac’s shoulder. “Here, I’ll field this one.”
“Be my guest,” Isaac said.
“Okay, pay attention, everyone. Class is in session.” A small chalkboard with a map of Earth appeared next to Cephalie, and she tapped the center of Asia with her cane. “The outbreak started as a manufacturing test in One Asia, the unified Asian government of the time which later became one of the founding states in SysGov. Industrial firms wanted to see if they could produce simple objects quickly and cheaply using a self-replicating system with very loose requirements for base materials. They chose a pinball as the target output for the test and then let the system rip!”
“After which, the swarm grew out of control,” Susan concluded, a dark edge to her voice.
“Right you are. Back then, there were almost no protections in place against microtech mutations. In fact, we now know the design team was actively encouraging adaptive mutations in an effort to improve the system. Unfortunately for them, one of the mutations rendered all their shutdown commands useless.
“So, after the swarm ate the design team and turned all their bones into pinballs, it then chewed its way out of the test compound and expanded from there across mainland China. Millions died as the swarm carved its way across the continent, creating a trail of carnage a thousand kilometers long and seventy-five kilometers across at its widest.”
“Did the swarm continue to mutate?” Susan asked.
“You better believe it did, growing nastier and more resilient with every iteration. One Asia’s military threw everything they had at it, but it proved too tenacious for anything short of nuclear bombardment to even slow it down.
“Fortunately, the United Territories of America and the European Cooperative sprang into action around that time, and together with the brightest minds from One Asia, were able to formulate and deploy a nonnuclear solution to the swarm. Basically, a counter-swarm that modified and turned the original swarm against itself. The team that developed the counter-swarm was led by two leading pioneers of AI integration: Doctor Horace Jeong and his personal AI assistant, who chose the name Pangu after achieving self-awareness.”
“The Pinball Wiz-ards?” Susan asked.
“More or less,” Cephalie said. “Back then, those two were pushing the boundaries of integration between the physical and abstract, charting new territory for connectomes, both organic and artificial. They became the first instance of full integration between two connectomes, and most histories reference him in the singular, either as Horace Pangu or the Wizard.”
“The Near Miss,” Isaac said, “led directly to the formation of SysGov in . . . ” He paused in thought.
“2455,” Cephalie stepped in, “with the signing of the Articles of Consolidation by the five founding states: the United Territories of America, the European Cooperative, One Asia, the Federated States of Africa, and the Lunar State.”
“So then,” Susan said, “there might not even be a SysGov if Horace Pangu hadn’t stopped the swarm?”
“Pretty much,” Isaac said.
“And the Horace Pangu from the Near Miss is the same one here at Atlas?”
“That’s what Parks said.”
“Wow.” Susan shook her head, her eyes growing distant. “That’s so different from how events played out back home, though there are some interesting parallels.”
“How so?” Isaac asked.
“Where you had the Near Miss, we had the Yanluo Massacre.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“As it should. Yanluo was a weaponized AI that went rogue, took over a microtech swarm, and slaughtered its way across China, Mongolia, and parts of Russia. It was eventually put down by a ruthless campaign of nuclear bombardment.”
Isaac opened his mouth to say something like “Why am I not surprised?” or “Of course the Admin was formed in response to an evil, genocidal AI. Makes perfect sense!” but then he thought better of it and stopped himself before the first sound escaped his lips.
“You looked like you had something to say there,” Susan observed.
“It’s nothing.”
“You sure? I’ve seen you make that face before.”
“I’m not making a face,” he replied, more out of reflex than anything else, but then he asked, “What face?”
“It’s the one you make right before you poke fun at me.” She shrugged. “Or the Admin.”
“Okay, granted,” he said with a frown, “I may have had a thought along those lines. But, I’ll have you note, I didn’t say anything.”
“This time,” Cephalie chimed in, and Susan chuckled.
“You are not helping.” Isaac glared at his IC. “Look, how about we get back to work? Cephalie, would you mind setting up the first round of interviews for us?”
“Boaz, Traczyk, and the Wizard?”
“That should do it for now.”
“Anything else?”
“I’d like you and Nina to go through Velasco’s infosystem. There might be more to find than what Parks turned up.”
“You’ve got it, sir!” Cephalie snapped off a salute with fake enthusiasm and vanished.
Isaac shook his head and sighed. Susan stepped up beside him.
“So,” she began with a crafty smile on her lips, “what were you about to say?”
“I’m keeping that to myself!”
* * *
The first thing Isaac noticed about Julian Boaz was the smile, sad and “sincere” and just a little too perfect for the moment, as if Boaz wanted everyone to know he was there for them, his shoulder ready to accept anyone who needed to let it all out after Velasco’s suicide. He might even pat them on the back and say “There, there.”
It was such a sincere smile.
Or rather, a “sincere” smile.
Isaac placed deliberate mental quotes around the descriptor because he knew a social mask when he saw one. Whatever was going on inside Boaz’s head, none of the thoughts or emotions reached his face muscles without his permission. He might be grieving or laughing or raging on the inside, but that sad, “sincere” smile would stay fixed to his face until he decided to change it.
The forced expression didn’t tell Isaac much on its own. People hid their true feelings for any number of reasons, plenty of which were perfectly legal. But even so, that smile set Isaac to wondering what was really rattling around inside the bald, broad-shouldered CEO’s brain.
“Mister Boaz, thank you for agreeing to speak with us,” Isaac said, taking his seat in front of the oval, smoked-glass desk. A second chair formed out of the programable-steel floor, and Susan sat down next to him. The LENS settled into a holding position behind their backs.
Boaz’s office was roughly the same size and shape as Velasco’s except for the natural view of the Saturn sky through the side wall. The storm thundered outside, and wind whistled past the window, shrouding the view with a thick haze like tan soup. The window’s vacuum insulation prevented most sounds from penetrating, but the window seemed to be configured to pass through a muted version of the outside soundscape. Three diffuse lights from Janus’ Third Engine Block thrusters glowed in the distance above their position, serving as the only indication of the immense bulk of the megastructure’s trailing edge.
Physical awards and virtual pictures covered the wall across from the window, showcasing Atlas’ project history and accolades, with the early periods in Janus’ construction displayed prominently along the top.
Boaz smoothed out the front of his black business suit with a large hand.
“It’s no trouble, Detective. I’m just a little shaken up, that’s all.” The smile grew sadder and more pronounced for a moment. “Didn’t think the day would take such a terrible turn.”
“Of course,” Isaac replied neutrally.
“Also”—that smile grew warmer—“I’m sure you’re aware of this, but I’ve already been interviewed.”
“Yes, by the state troopers.” Isaac opened the case log and pulled up the relevant file. He adjusted the position of his interface, which only he and Susan could read due to the privacy filter.
“I answered all their questions,” Boaz assured him.
“I’m aware of that.”
“Which makes me wonder why the three of us are sitting down for this chat.” He held up a hand. “Not that I’m complaining or trying to be critical of how you do your job. Investigating suicides isn’t my wheelhouse, after all.”
“The reason is simple enough, Mister Boaz. SSP has asked us to review Velasco’s death, and so that’s what we’re here to do.”
“But why? I mean, the man shot himself, right? At least that’s what it looked like to me.”
“All suicides are treated as homicides initially. Beyond that, it would be inappropriate for me to comment on an ongoing investigation. Now, if you don’t mind, shall we proceed?”
“Certainly, Detective. Please.” Boaz spread his open palms. “Ask away. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Let’s start with your relationship with the deceased.”
“Easy enough. I’m his boss.” He paused, and the sad smile grew sadder. “Was his boss, I should say.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“I’m the Atlas CEO, so my responsibilities generally involve high-level management. I set our goals, determine our overall corporate strategy, deal with how our company is organized. Those sorts of things. I keep an eye on our relationships with our most important customers, often state or federal government entities. I also take a leadership role in key projects, such as the expansion into the Fourth Engine Block and the bidding war for the Dyson Realization Project. Bear in mind, that’s not always the case, because I delegate the management of most projects to our senior engineers.”
“What determines whether or not you take an active role in a project?”
“Mostly it’s a judgment call as to how important the job is. I also take into account our overall capacity. The macrotech industry has a history of going through a sine wave of feast-or-famine periods. Sometimes we’re scraping the bottom for whatever work we can find, while others we’re so swamped we’re rejecting jobs we know our competitors will pick up and earn a ton of Esteem on.
“We’re currently going through what you might call a ‘minor famine’ period, so I’m directly involved in the Fourth Engine Block. On top of that, I want this install to go in extra smooth because some of our recent projects for the Saturn State have experienced a few bumps. Nothing too serious, but not up to our standards either. This company made its first big break with Janus, and that’s a legacy I don’t want to see tarnished. For the Dyson Project, well, I think the scope and historical significance of that one speaks for itself!”
“Which projects was Velasco working on?”
“He was dedicated full time to the Dyson Project. Essentially, he was the number two on Dyson right under me, though I should specify that hierarchy is from a management perspective. For engineering decisions, he was the lead. On Dyson, I took care of the budget, scheduling, head count, customer negotiations, and so on, while Velasco took the lead on the design work and prototyping.”
“Why was Velasco assigned to the Dyson Project?”
“Seniority and talent. His designs have helped shape us as a company. Have you heard our motto?”
“I have not.”
“Premium macrotech solutions!” Boaz spread his arms grandly. “With an emphasis on the macrotech part. Most of our competitors utilize microtech and nanotech swarms for large-scale construction projects, but we take a different approach. We use macrotech to build even bigger macrotech. In fact, we’re one of a handful of companies who take this approach. Velasco may not have invented our macrotech constructors, but he most certainly contributed to their refinement over the years. Sure, self-replicating swarms are an easy to use, versatile, and scalable solution.” He smiled slyly. “When they work without defects. But all that generalization comes at a price.”
“Jack of all trades?” Susan suggested. “Master of none?”
“Precisely!” Boaz beamed at her. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Yes, most self-replicators suffer from a bad case of overgeneralization while also running the risk of mutation, which SourceCode demonstrated quite spectacularly during their last test. If you want to build big, you need to think big. And self-replicators, with all their advantages, aren’t always the right tool for the job. Far from it, in fact.”
“Then why do most macrotech companies use them?” Isaac asked.
“Because it’s easy, not because it’s better. It also doesn’t help that a lot of our competitors—SourceCode included—have large numbers of ACs working for them.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing on its own,” Boaz added quickly. “I don’t have any problems with us hiring ACs. We have a few among our ranks, after all. But we’ve had our share of ACs not work out over the years, and that makes us leery of hiring more.”
“Why didn’t they work out?”
“It’s hard to pinpoint one consistent reason, but I think it’s part of their nature. An abstract citizen is, by definition, separated from the physical. And the physical realm is where we at Atlas do our business. The physical is our wheelhouse, you could say. Not only that, but we conduct that business on a grand scale. ACs are often . . . ” He smiled without warmth. “A lot of them are too detached from reality to fit into this line of work. If you don’t interact with what’s real, what business do you have demolishing planets and terraforming atmospheres? That’s one of the reasons why almost all Atlas employees have a physical body, and integrated companions are a rarity among us. I know Velasco didn’t have one, for instance.”
“Getting back to Velasco, did you notice anything unusual concerning either him or his work on the Dyson Project?”
“Unusual.” Boaz leaned back and took on a thoughtful expression. “Not really. I mean, the man was strung out. That much was clear, but we have phases like that in this industry. Feast or famine, remember? We all can get stretched thin from time to time, but I don’t recall anything alarming about his behavior.”
“Do you believe Velasco was overworking?”
“Perhaps.”
“And yet you said Atlas was in the middle of a workload famine.”
“I did, yes. A mild one, though.”
“Then why was Velasco overtaxed? Why not divert more resources to the Dyson Project?”
“Because my options were limited without additional income streams,” Boaz said. “The Fourth Engine Block was our only large-scale project until we won the Dyson bid, so it’s not like I was in a position to hire tons of contractors to supplement our workforce. Not if I wanted to keep the books balanced. We had to make do with the people we had until we secured more work. Which we did, I might add, so Velasco’s workload would have tapered off if he’d . . . ” Boaz trailed off. His demeanor calmed somewhat, and that sad smile came back. “I’m sorry. I think you know the rest.”
“Did Velasco say or do anything that led you to believe he might commit suicide?”
“No, nothing that told me he was stressed out any more than the rest of us.”
“What about the quality of Velasco’s work near the end?”
“I didn’t notice any problems there, though again, the technical side of the business isn’t where I spend most of my time. I don’t recall any complaints, either from the project team or the customer, so let’s go with no news is good news on that front.”
“Fair enough.” Isaac jotted down a few notes. “What will become of the project’s leadership moving forward?”
“We’ll move on as we always do. This isn’t the first vacancy I’ve had to fill on short notice, though the cause is a bit more dramatic than I’m used to.” He let out a somber sigh. “Anyway, Horace Pangu will take over as engineering lead, though in truth that’s a bit of publicity sleight of hand.”
“How do you mean?”
“Unofficially, I’m going to have Leon Traczyk take over Velasco’s responsibilities. Traczyk will head the day-to-day project work while Pangu will continue to act as a figurehead for the project. I hired Pangu as more of a PR stunt than anything else. The Pinball Wizard himself, working for Atlas! Even managed to poach him from SourceCode two months back. I needed to do something to turn around our public image after the Society sabotaged one of our trials, and Pangu had reached out to me, expressing an interest in our company. So I took him up on it.”
“Why is Traczyk taking over?”
“Two reasons. He’s already on the project—he was part of Velasco’s team—and he’s a hell of an engineer. I almost chose him over Velasco when I was putting together the team to handle Dyson.”
“One more question, and then I believe we can move on for now. Do you know or have any reason to suspect why Velasco committed suicide?”
“I’m sorry, Detective, but the answer’s no. We’ve already touched on the stress he was under, but his demeanor didn’t seem unusual to me. Tired, yes. Stressed, absolutely. To the point of suicide? No. Every project has its rough patches, and we’ve all had to push ourselves to clear them, Velasco included. On top of that, we’d just been awarded the project! Velasco would have received some well-earned downtime while I worked to bulk up the project team. Thinking of it that way, his death doesn’t make any sense.”
“Understood. Thank you for the information, Mister Boaz. That’ll be all for now. Would you be so kind as to send for Mister Traczyk next?”