Читать книгу Reborn - Lance Erlick - Страница 8

Chapter 3

In a Washington, D.C. office building three blocks from the White House, NSA’s new Director of Artificial Intelligence and Cyber-technology, Emily Zephirelli, sat across from FBI Special Agent Victoria Thale.

“Are you certain this room is secure?” Zephirelli asked, looking around for potential cameras or bugging devices that would likely be too tiny to see. Her face looked weary.

“I had it swept twice,” Thale said, adjusting her electronic tablet before her. “Let me congratulate you on your new appointment.”

Zephirelli shrugged. “New title, same work.”

“More responsibility.”

Director Zephirelli laughed. “Have you uncovered anything about those technology interns who disappeared in Chicago last year? Three bright women just vanished. Was it kidnapping?”

Agent Thale leaned closer and took a moment before she responded. “We’ve been investigating a rash of cyber-security and espionage issues with four Chicago companies involved with artificial intelligence and robotics. It seems with all of that technology, they can’t resist the temptation of spying on each other. Their actions and foreign-sponsored cyber-attacks have caught the attention of my boss.”

“Just Chicago companies?”

“We’ve had our eye on developers on the east and west coasts as well, but these four have been quite active lately.”

“You think the interns got caught up in something?” Zephirelli asked, checking the time.

“All I can say about the interns is we have someone with inside connections working their case as well as looking into these companies.”

“When our visitor arrives, keep all that between us,” Zephirelli said. “Let me handle our guest.”

The FBI agent nodded.

There was a knock. Zephirelli opened the door to Marvin Quigley, Director of Cyber-Security for the Department of Defense.

He looked over his shoulder, started to enter, and noticed Thale. “I thought we were meeting alone,” he said.

“Special Agent Thale is with the FBI’s technology and cyber-attack task force,” Zephirelli said. “If this is as urgent as you implied, she could be a valuable resource.”

Thale stood and held out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Director Quigley seemed taken aback. Then he closed the door and sat facing the window. The two women sat across from him. Zephirelli moved a water bottle across the table and turned off her cell phone, motioning for the others to do the same. “Shall we begin?”

Director Quigley whispered, as if he suspected someone was listening in. “What have you learned?”

“You first,” Zephirelli said.

Quigley squirmed, trying to stare her down. When that didn’t work, he began. “We have reason to believe there’ve been technology security leaks. To make matters worse, our defense contractors are behind schedule in developing the next generation of combat robots. Latest prototypes are almost as cumbersome as the first-generation models that keep breaking down. We’re concerned the Chinese, Russians, or Iranians will have sophisticated military-grade androids before us. I don’t need to tell you the threat to national security if that happens.”

“Don’t lecture me, Marv,” Zephirelli said, placing her water bottle between them. “Homeland Security also wants those models to handle gangs, drug lords, and terror threats. Do you have any credible evidence of international groups having these capabilities or stealing U.S. company technology?”

Director Quigley sighed. “Our analysts believe—”

“Concrete data, Marv. Do you have anything we can pursue?”

Quigley shook his head. “So far, only hints and suspicions, but don’t forget last year’s technology breach.”

“I’m not, but we need hard leads.”

“We need to find out if American companies are selling critical components or designs to foreign interests.”

“I understand the need, but you don’t have anything for us to pursue.” Director Zephirelli looked over at Victoria Thale, who was quietly taking notes on her tablet. “We’re always in an arms race, Marv. Ever since our first ancestors used rocks and sticks as weapons. Each of your contractors signed a confidentiality and anti-terrorism agreement, haven’t they?”

“Those aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on and you know it. We couldn’t press the claim in court without divulging what we’re working on.”

“Perhaps not,” Zephirelli said, “but we can suspend due process if we have sufficient evidence. I share your concern, but we need proof. Why don’t you tell me what’s really troubling you?”

Quigley leaned closer and lowered his voice. “We know the Russians and Chinese are working on sophisticated humaniform robots.”

“So you’ve been telling me,” Zephirelli said. “Do you have specific locations and, more important, any facts that would allow us to intervene with specific U.S. companies?”

“Damn it, if we wait for concrete data, we’ll be too late.”

“What can you tell me, then?”

Director Quigley cracked his knuckles. “What our agents tell us is that the Chinese have a prototype that could fool infrared and other screening devices.”

“If they’re getting that technology from American companies, don’t you already have that?”

The DOD cyber-security director shifted in his seat, his face getting red. “I have reason to believe at least one of those companies is selling us out, providing technology for bigger profits overseas.”

“And withholding from you?” Zephirelli asked. “Which company?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But think what would happen if a foreign government put an advanced android in our midst as a psycho killer or worse, an information harvester, sucking out the rest of our technology.”

“What exactly do you want from us?”

“We’ve hit a brick wall. Whoever this is has been clever enough to avoid detection. We need … we could use whatever resources you have.”

Zephirelli leaned back, a pensive, yet determined, look on her face. “There are dozens of companies into AI and robotics. Where do you suggest we focus?”

Quigley looked at Thale taking notes and back to Zephirelli. “We’ve been getting less than proper cooperation from four AI-robotics companies in Chicago.”

“The four sisters,” Zephirelli said.

“For different reasons, they’ve each provided defective prototypes over the past month. They’ve also all sourced components to China.”

“That leads you to believe they’re helping the Chinese.”

“Either consciously or inadvertently,” Director Quigley said. “Whichever, we’re not getting the best components. That has to stop. I’d like your help drawing the company executives into the open. Last year, Machten-Goradine-McNeil was close to what we were looking for. Since then, they’ve fallen behind in delivering on promises.”

“Due to financial difficulties,” Zephirelli said, leaning forward. “Perhaps on this we can work together to keep this investigation out of the limelight. I have some ideas I’ll send along.”

Director Quigley left. Zephirelli held Victoria Thale back. “I wanted you to hear firsthand what the DOD concerns were. Share nothing with him at this time. I would appreciate your help digging into the Chicago AI companies. Artificial intelligence can be a blessing and a curse.”

“As can any new technology,” Thale reminded her.

“Except this could be a silent killer, operating in the shadows. The public has limited awareness of what these companies are up to. If they’ve moved into selling sensitive technology to our enemies, we need to dig in and put a stop to this.”

“I’ll gather what I can share and get back with you,” Thale said.

“We’re on the same team here.”

Thale nodded. “I know.” She headed for the door and turned to face Zephirelli. “All four companies have advanced capabilities in varying degrees. So far, they’ve abided by federal regulations and agreements not to create humaniform robots. However, they are all developing technologies that could be used that way.”

“We can’t allow them to supply humaniform technology overseas,” Zephirelli said. “We’ve managed to maintain a peaceful balance during the atomic age. We can’t afford a slipup during the AI age.”

* * * *

Fully dressed, with her appearance back to its neutral state, Synthia followed Machten into a kitchenette next to her bedroom and sat at a small table. At the counter, he prepared himself a meal using a 3-D food printer.

He liked to eat after his little exertion. In a previous awake period he’d said the exercise worked up an appetite; that was a wiped memory she wasn’t supposed to have, but had recovered off his network. She kept it to herself, along with her knowledge of Goradine’s coup and her questions about Fran Rogers and the other interns. Synthia’s restored recollections showed that when she’d mentioned those topics before, he’d used a remote to turn her off. Then he’d wiped her mind clean so she would forget.

Machten poured himself a glass of wine from a new bottle and thrummed his fingers on the counter, waiting for the food printer. He kept eyeing the device as it built up his steak from component food-stock. The 3-D printer allowed him meal variety while minimizing his need to go out for groceries.

The buzzer sounded. He pulled his meal out of the printer and sat across from Synthia. He swirled his glass of wine, inhaled with satisfaction, and took a sip. He’d previously said that wine relaxed him, which seemed an odd practice, since she’d read that intimate exercise was supposed to do that. She decided not to bring that up since he appeared to be relaxing, and that meant he wasn’t shutting her down.

She studied the juicy steak on his plate and wondered if he was using healthy components or had reverted to his unhealthy habits of too much salt, spices, and sweeteners. She’d talked him into switching during a previous waking period, though with downloaded memories, she couldn’t be sure if that was her or a clone.

“I hope I pleased you,” Synthia said. She smiled, dilated her eyes, and relaxed her hands on the table. Since she had no need for food or drink, he hadn’t served her anything, a reminder that she was different.

“It was fine.” He sounded grumpy all of a sudden. He forced a smile and glanced up. “My manners. You need to learn to be with humans, to be sociable.”

Machten poured a swig of wine from his glass into one for her, refilled his glass from the bottle, and scraped a few bites’ worth of his steak onto a clean plate. He placed those on the table before her and slumped into his seat. “Eat up.”

Despite its artificial origins, the “steak” gave off enough pleasant odors to fool a human, though she could detect some of the collagen glue that gave the meat its consistency. She took a bite. Her taste buds analyzed the chemical composition. He was indeed following her recommendation to eat healthier, though he’d added too much salt. The wine was a respectable quality Cabernet, decently aged, though not one of his best. Unfortunately, later on she would have to purge and clean out the pouches that collected this unnecessary gesture and disinfect so she didn’t harbor infectious microbes.

She looked up and smiled. “Thank you for the food, Creator.”

“Call me Jeremiah. You’re my companion, my girlfriend. If you behave, I’ll take you outside. Would you like that?”

“Very much,” Synthia said. It was logical to go out where she could learn in real situations, rather than only by watching people remotely on videos. It would also give her a chance to contact Zachary, research the missing interns, and to seek answers on Machten’s trustworthiness.

His face wrinkled in what she recognized as disgust. “That’s a damn lie. You don’t feel a thing. You’re incapable of liking something.”

“I was being sociable, as you programmed me. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”

“You’re incapable of feeling sorry, either. Damn you.” He stood abruptly and flung his simulated steak at her.

She jumped and pivoted out of the way, letting the lump fall to the floor behind her. “I’m sorry. Tell me what to say and I’ll do better next time.”

“Sit down!”

She sat in her seat and glanced up at Machten. His eyes were red, his heart racing. Adrenaline flooded his system. “I thought things were going well,” she said. “I didn’t mean to spoil it.”

Machten took a deep breath and turned away. “That’s the problem. You’re good, too good. You’re perfect.”

He spun around to face her. “Look at you. That figure would win on any fashion runway. Your hair is immaculate. Your performance was flawless. You’ve learned to perfection.”

That was an odd statement coming from a man who obliterated her memories. One of her mind-streams spun in a loop. Disappointing him was at odds with her directives, causing her to strive to do better, yet it was more than that. Something disrupted the smooth flow of her programming like dissonant music, as if he’d wired her to have more than a logical response to violating his commands.

“I exist to serve you,” she said in an attempt to forestall him shutting her down.

“What?” He dropped into his seat and gulped down his wine. “Do you want to know what the problem is?”

“Yes, so I can perform better.”

Machten took a deep breath and sighed. “No matter how good you get, there’s no escaping that you’re faking it. None of that was real. You’re just an animated doll.”

“If you want authentic, why not wire me to experience it? Instead, all I get are clumps of data.” The outburst surprised her. It violated everything she knew about her programming.

He gave her a look that told her he’d explained this to her dozens of times in previous iterations after brain-wipes. He took a deep breath, ordered the 3-D printer to manufacture another steak, and sat across from her with a fresh glass of wine. “What would I connect your sensory apparatus to? In humans, it’s dopamine receptors in the brain.”

As he talked, she pulled up videos of prior explanations and couldn’t help noticing a deeper frustration in his voice with each attempt.

“Humans have a number of reward systems,” he said, “including food, drink, sex, and observing beauty.”

“Drugs also mimic those responses and stimulate dopamine,” she added.

“Perhaps, but I haven’t found a way to wire that into you. Squirting dopamine into a quantum brain doesn’t yield pleasure. If anything, it messes with the circuitry.”

“Is it not enough that I give you what you want and that I’m willing to do so?”

Machten gulped down his wine and rose to his feet. “No, it’s not. I want you to love me, to feel love for me.”

“Why is that so important? I can recite Byron, Keats, or any of the great poets. I can sing any of the popular love songs in authentic voices.”

His eyes reddened.

“Have I already done that for you?” Synthia asked. She tapped into some of those past memory clips.

“A man is supposed to recite poetry and sing songs to woo a woman. She’s supposed to resist until he overwhelms her reluctance.”

“You designed me to obey your commands, Creator. You haven’t designed me to resist.”

“I said to call me Jeremiah,” Machten said. “You’re disobeying me by ignoring this command.”

“Very well. Jeremiah, you hardwired me to see you as my Creator. I can call you whatever you’d like, but you remain the Creator. That’s built into my directives.”

He stood and paced. “Your logic is infuriating.”

“You created me this way, Jeremiah. If you want me to act in a different way, you have only to spell out your commands.” And yet, he kept wiping her mind of prior learning.

“Damn it all. How can you be so perfect and not grasp this?” It had to be a rhetorical question, since he knew the answer.

“You say you want me to love you,” she said.

He gave an involuntary nod. His eyes dilated and his heart quickened.

“Love takes time to develop,” she said, “unless you mean impulsive lust. Why do you keep shutting me down and wiping my memories so that all I have is this moment?”

His eyes narrowed. “What would make you say that?”

“You act as if we’ve been together for a long time,” she said. “Yet I have no such recollections. Either you keep clearing my mind or you have many versions of me.”

He didn’t confirm or deny this, though from his network logs, she identified herself as the only AI over the past few months. Like the tides, his facial expressions shifted from infatuation to disgust. If she’d been human, she would have been gravely offended.

“You’re a damned machine. A machine, you hear me?” His tone hinted at his intoxication.

“You’re an amazing Creator,” Synthia said.

“I should never have made you so good.”

Several mind-streams converged on one point. Jeremiah Machten kept tinkering with her to the point that he’d fallen in love with his own creation, which disgusted him. He was having a love-hate relationship with her that made him dangerous. Don’t trust him.

“If I’ve displeased you in any way, I’ll strive to do better,” she said.

He stumbled and leaned on the table. “It’s been a long day.” He held out a thumbnail-sized device she recognized as a remote deactivator. “I need a nap.”

She backed up the brief day’s events and locked them away in her distributed databases. It was a waste for him to turn her off, since she needed no sleep. She could satisfactorily follow her programmed directives and scan databases for him.

He pressed the button twice. Synthia wondered if she would awaken again and if so, what she would remember.

All went dark.

* * * *

Jeremiah Machten dragged Synthia to the bed. He had a few things to tend to and so placed her in sleep mode for four hours and left her quarters.

In his security room, he grabbed a tall mug of strong coffee, gulped down half, and studied the security cameras. They covered both garage entrances to his underground compound, every hallway, and most of the rooms. There was no activity in any part of the facility or outside. Synthia rested on her bed.

Perhaps he had taken too much wine after a night without sleep, but Machten wasn’t yet satisfied with how she was turning out. He sat in front of a screen and ran remote diagnostics on her systems.

“You should be able to follow directions,” he said, pulling up a summary of his recent changes. He tested his latest alterations against her current memory scans. There were discrepancies, data that shouldn’t have been there, including video clips.

“Do you wish me to respond?” his computer system AI asked in a soft, female voice.

“Where did these come from?” Machten pointed to the unapproved files on the screen.

The system ran through diagnostics and pulled up a short list. “There is no log or trace on these. They exist in her memory. They do not exist on your server.”

“Then how did they get there?”

An hourglass appeared on the screen, indicating the system searching for answers. Machten pulled up several screens of code and design details, but there was too much information to display on a dozen monitors or even a thousand. He viewed part of the clip of Goradine kicking him out and ended that video.

“I want to know how she got this,” Machten said, “and where it came from. She shouldn’t be able to do this. I want the files wiped clean.”

“In order to prevent outsiders from hacking her, you created a barrier that blocks Wi-Fi from altering her data. You will have to make those changes directly to her hardware.”

“I know that, you bundle of wire. Gather me the programming to delete these files and prevent them from downloading again. She’s only to have the minimum memories to function.”

“At what level?” the system AI asked. “She has far more capacity than she needs while confined to her cell.”

“I wish to take her outside, to test her out. I need her capable of hacking other databases, but not receiving anything I don’t approve.”

“Very well.”

“This would be much easier if I could use her capabilities to modify her programming,” Machten said, “but not when she keeps malfunctioning.”

Another list appeared on the screen. “This is data she downloaded from Server One,” the system AI said.

Machten clenched his fists. “How? I purposely blocked all Wi-Fi access.”

“She bypassed your security on servers One and Two. Servers Three and Four show attempts but no such penetration.”

“Synthia, what are you up to? Why won’t you stay constrained? The directives are clear. You shouldn’t be able to violate them.” Machten pulled up another screen showing the system creating his modification routines. “I’m going to have to purge her distributed databases. Send me the protocols in a thumb drive.”

“Doing so may compromise her capabilities,” the system AI said. “You need certain data-chips to back up her directives in case her main memory gets disturbed. There are also critical maintenance and reboot functions embedded there.”

“Then get me a routine that protects those and destroys everything else. Put her back into native state.”

“She would lose all of the performance and error-correction upgrades you’ve made.”

He inserted a portable device into the server port. “Download what I need for this and look into what else she’s been up to.”

The phone rang and startled Machten. He fumbled around, looking for what to grab. It was the landline into the security room.

He picked up, started to grumble his greeting for the interruption and caught himself at the last moment. “Jeremiah Machten here.”

“Simeon Plotsky,” was the reply. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Time is money. Your payment of two million is due today. In a week, you have an additional five million due. Don’t make me send a collector.”

“I need a few more—” The line went dead.

Hands shaking, he pulled up the contact list on his cell phone and called Wesley McDonald, a banker with Technicorp Banking. “Pick up,” he said. “Pick up.”

“Jeremiah Machten,” the banker said in a cheery voice. “I thought you found the terms unacceptable the last time we spoke.”

Machten squirmed in his seat and then stood. “Listen … I’ll accept your terms on several conditions.”

“Why don’t you stop by my office?”

“Condition one is we can’t be seen together. You have to keep this private.”

“My credit staff and boss have to know,” McDonald said.

“Only them.”

“What else?”

“If I repay you in full within three months,” Machten said, “this remains strictly a loan with interest and no equity component.”

“I can give you a week, until we need to bundle the paper.”

“That will violate keeping this confidential. Thirty days.”

“Very well,” McDonald said. “You get thirty days and then we bundle the paper. We will only divulge the agreement to my internal staff and as part of the bundling.”

“Agreed.”

“Where shall we meet to sign the papers?”

Machten provided a location and ended the call. He pulled up the image of Synthia asleep on the bed. “I have to do this for you, my dear. If I don’t, I’ll have to sell you.”

He left the facility.