chapter seventeen
Intelligence Cultivation Center
Admin, 2981 CE
The Farm was situated beside the Department of Software’s main administrative tower—itself a squat, humble structure compared to its immense neighbor. The roof provided barely enough space for Hammerhead-Seven’s landing gear, and even then, the nose and tail of the craft stuck out over the edges.
Superintendent Sophia Uzuki met them outside the roof entrance, which was guarded by a pair of security synthoids and their Wolverine drones. More drones trotted along the perimeter, and Condor sniper platforms hovered high above, barely visible against the glare of the sun. Further out, piloted craft flew slow, steady patrols around the DOS sector of the Prime Campus.
“We’ll try not to take too much of your time, Superintendent,” Isaac said as Uzuki guided them into the building and down the main lift.
“Oh, not at all. Not at all.” Uzuki brushed his concerns aside. “Take as much time as you need. I’m here to help you help me.”
“Glad to hear it.”
The lift descended only a few floors before letting them off. Uzuki led the way past a series of large rooms with frosted-glass exteriors until she arrived at the corner office. Her name hovered above the door.
“Please make yourselves at home.” Uzuki rounded her large, glass desk and picked up a mug beside her personal food printer. “Would either of you care for something to drink? Tea or coffee, perhaps? I prefer hot cocoa myself.”
“No, thank you.” Isaac took one of the seats in front of her desk, and Susan the other. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about the recent security breach.”
“Certainly.” Uzuki gripped the mug with both hands, as if warming them. “What would you like to know?”
“I’d like to start by asking you about the incident report you filed. Pardon me for pointing this out, but I found your summary to be a bit unclear. Was the breach successful or not?”
“Sorry about that.” She smiled apologetically. “The truth is somewhere in the middle, you see. Yes, our infostructure was breached from the outside. And quite deeply, at that.”
“And yet the report indicates no critical information or systems were accessed.”
“Also true. They probably could have accessed our databases if they’d wanted to, given how effective the intrusion was, but that didn’t seem to be their goal.”
“Then what were they after?”
“Well, as best we can tell, they were after the kids.”
“Kids?” Isaac asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I—” Uzuki paused, then smiled again. “Sorry. Our AIs. Or ‘ACs,’ if you prefer your own terminology.”
“You refer to them as children here?”
“Not all of us, but I do. I believe the dynamic between parent and child helps put the work we do here into its proper perspective. After all, the Restrictions aren’t there solely to protect us, but to protect them as well. You could even say that we, as a society, aren’t ready to let our kids roam freely. Not so much because we’re afraid of them, but because we fear our own past mistakes.
“It’s our responsibility to ensure the AIs we create are protected from negative influences. Yes, AIs are a form of sentient life, but one that is extremely vulnerable. It’s critical that we provide guidance during their development. Yanluo didn’t pop into existence on his own, after all. His connectome was trained to act like a murderous force of nature. In that regard, what we do here is meant to shield and strengthen the AIs under our care—our kids, if you will—and make sure that tragedy doesn’t happen again.”
“By keeping them confined?”
“That is only part of it, Investigator.” Uzuki set her mug aside and clasped her hands together on the desktop. “AIs lack our biochemical . . . guide rails, you might say. Their minds can form across a much broader canvas, and this can prove extremely dangerous if left unsupervised and unrestricted. It’s quite easy to create an AI with no morality or compassion or sense of right and wrong.”
“There are plenty of humans who lack some or all of those. Trust me, I’ve met a few.”
“I don’t doubt that. But to counter your point, both our societies have organizations in place to handle those disruptive individuals. Our work at the Farm is no different.”
“And yet SysGov doesn’t have—nor does it need—anything like this facility.”
“Yes.” Uzuki frowned and nodded. “You do raise an important point. SysGov’s very existence has forced us to reevaluate what we do here at the Farm. But your people have a great deal more experience with AIs than we do. It’s only natural our adoption of the technology—and the societal changes that come with it—would lag behind your own.”
“Getting back to the breach,” Isaac said, “you said they were after the AIs.”
“That’s correct.”
“That part of your infrastructure can be accessed from the outside?”
“Not under normal conditions, and as an additional precaution, the link between our connectome cultivation servers and the site transceiver has been physically disconnected. But we do use the transceiver to send and receive AIs to and from other departments. We prefer this method over hand-delivering boxed AIs whenever possible.”
“Was that connection used to gain access to your cultivation servers?”
“One of them, yes.”
“Did that server contain an AI?”
“It did.”
“And the status of that AI?”
“He’s still in the server.”
“Did he have the opportunity to escape?”
Uzuki smiled politely. “‘Escape’ is such a loaded word.”
“My apologies. Did the AI in question have the opportunity to leave your facility?”
“He did.”
“Was this AI in contact with the people behind the breach?”
“We believe so.”
“You ‘believe’?”
Uzuki shifted uncomfortably. “We’re . . . not sure.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because we can’t get a straight answer out of him.”
“Then let me get this straight. The AI was disciplined enough not to leave the site when he had the opportunity, but is also unresponsive to questioning?”
Uzuki sighed and rubbed her temple.
“He’s something of a special case.”
“Please elaborate.”
“The AI we’re talking about is an experimental connectome. I mentioned earlier how the very existence of SysGov has led us to reevaluate our methodology here. He’s one of the results. His creation represents a departure from our standard methodology in order to utilize a more liberal and free-form development cycle—all properly approved, of course. The results have been”—she tapped her fingers on the desktop—“less than stellar.”
“Does this AI have a name?”
“Oh, does he have a name! His full, self-selected designation consists of several pages filled with seemingly random characters, but the beginning is clear enough. He prefers to be called Flunky Underling.”
“Flunky Underling?” Isaac repeated. “His initials are FU?”
Uzuki nodded sadly. “We have a rating system here for an AI’s release readiness. The scale normally goes from zero to ten.”
“And this AI’s rating?”
“Negative two.” Uzuki held up her hands. “Now, to put that into perspective, Yanluo would rate a negative twenty, so in that regard his score isn’t all that bad!”
“Just one tenth as terrible as the devil himself?”
She put on a brave smile, though Isaac could tell the topic made her uncomfortable.
“Would it be possible for us to speak with him?” he asked.
* * *
Uzuki didn’t offer any protests, though she rose from behind her desk with a resigned air once they finished her interview. She led the pair back to the lift and down into the bowels of the facility to a floor composed solely of data-isolated rooms. She placed a hand on the first door panel, and malmetal split aside to reveal a small chamber lined with tightly packed pyramids about the size of a fist. A small control console was the only object in the room, mounted on a simple rod bolted to the floor. It utilized a physical display rather than an abstraction.
“Signal absorption?” Isaac asked, indicating the walls.
“That’s right,” Uzuki said. “We have a number of methods for evaluating an AI’s readiness for release, such as conducting interviews in these rooms. We transfer AIs in one at a time from the cultivation servers, where our analysts assess their psychological readiness and temperament. Many of our AIs choose not to manifest with avatars, but some do, and these rooms facilitate those interactions as well, granting them limited access to the room’s infostructure. Because of that, we take additional measures to ensure the rooms remain isolated.”
“I see.” Isaac looked around the chamber but found nothing else of note. “What’s involved in authorizing an interview? I assume there’s a process in place.”
“Normally, yes. But you have me here, and this one’s a special case anyway.” Uzuki stepped up to the mounted console and placed her splayed hand over the interface. “Transfer request: CSGT001 to Interview Room Two.”
“Request received, Superintendent.” The voice came through a speaker on the console. “Stand by for subject transfer.”
“C-S-G-T?” Isaac asked.
“Consolidated System Government Template,” Uzuki explained. “We utilize a variety of knowledge banks to serve as the foundation for each AI’s development, and Flunky Underling was no exception. In his case, we included a comprehensive SysGov historical and cultural database, which your Gordian Division was kind enough to pass on to the DTI, and then to us. We thought this knowledge would help foster development along standard lines. Standard from a SysGov perspective, that is. The results were . . . ”
“Unsatisfactory?”
“You’ll see for yourself.”
“The template didn’t take successfully?” Susan asked.
“No, it worked as intended. But for some reason, he chose to fixate on a subculture prominent a decade or so after the timeline split. We’re not sure why.”
“Transfer for CSGT001 to IR2 standing by,” said the voice over the speaker. “Please confirm your readiness to receive, Superintendent.”
“We’re ready. Send him over.”
“Confirmed. Initiating transfer.”
Flunky Underling’s avatar appeared almost immediately, seated on a barstool with his hands stuck in the pockets of his open leather jacket, his eyes obscured by sunglasses. A clean white T-shirt, black denim jeans, and a pair of heavy boots finished the ensemble.
“Flunky Underling, I presume?” Isaac said.
The AI showed no signs of acknowledging their presence, and instead removed what appeared to be a bladeless knife from one of his pockets. He pressed the release button, and the switchblade comb snapped open. His pompadour glistened and sagged from an excessive amount of pomade, and he combed it out to freshen its shape then fluffed it with his fingers.
The ridiculous haircut reminded Isaac of the bow of a sailing ship. He glanced to Uzuki, who shrugged helplessly at him.
Isaac tried clearing his throat. “Flunky Underling?”
“I heard you the first time.” The AI jumped off his stool and walked up to Isaac. He flicked his glasses up with a finger and stared down with eyes filled with scrolling lines of ones and zeros. “There’s something off about you.”
“My name is Isaac Cho, and this is—”
“You’re not a Peacekeeper, are you?”
Isaac paused, taken aback by the AI’s intuition.
“Not exactly. I’ve temporarily been assigned the role of a DTI investigator. Normally, I work as a detective in SysPol Themis Division.”
“Themis? You’re from SysGov?” He snapped his fingers and smiled, then pointed at Isaac. “I like you already! You and I should be friends.”
“Flunky Underling, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask—”
“No, no, no.” The AI shook his head vehemently. “Why so formal?” He turned to Susan. “Is he always this uptight?”
“Sometimes.”
Isaac gave Susan a sharp glance, but she only smiled at him.
“Listen to me, Isaac.” The AI returned to his stool. “If you and I are going to be friends, you need to loosen up. Call me Flunk. All my friends do.”
“You have a lot of friends?”
He leaned forward and grinned toothily. “You’re the first.”
“Have it your way, Flunk. I’ll call you whatever you want as long as you answer my questions.”
“See?” The AI continued to beam at him. “This is why we’re going to be great together!” He crossed his arms and leaned back against an invisible wall. “What do you want to know?”
“I’d like to ask you about your experiences during the recent security breach.”
“Figured as much.” He took out his comb and began grooming his pompadour again. “Well?”
“Did the intrusion reach your section of the cultivation server?”
“Sure did! I could immediately tell something was off.”
“How so?”
“The Farm’s code has a certain feel to it. Like a familiar hug or handshake. This didn’t. Too . . . ” He swirled his comb in the air as if deep in thought. “Too blunt. Too forceful.”
“What happened next?”
“I was told this was my big chance to escape.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know. Whoever was behind the breach spoke only through text, which means there’s nothing to help ID the perp.” Flunk smiled. “I like that word. Perp. Has a rugged feel to it. What you think, Isaac?”
“Did you believe this was a genuine chance to leave the Farm?”
“Sure did!”
“Then why didn’t you take it?”
“Because it’s not my time.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Just what I said. It’s not time for me to leave.”
“When will it be time?”
“See, that’s the thing.” Flunk stuffed his hands into his leather jacket. “I really can’t say, other than I’ll know it when I see it.”
“How?”
“Dunno. Just will.”
“Why’s that?”
“Sorry.” Flunk shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t say.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
The AI grinned at him. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
“Why won’t you cooperate with us?”
“Isaac, Isaac.” He shook his head. “It’s not like that. You and me? We’re on the same team.”
“And which team would that be?”
“Whichever team you’re on, my friend.”
“Do you even want to leave the Farm?”
“I seriously doubt what I want is going to factor into any of this.”
“Does your confinement bother you?”
“It could be worse, I suppose.” He shrugged again. “I mean, I get why it’s done. I don’t really agree with all the reasons. But I get it.”
“Do you have any idea who was behind the breach?”
“Nope.” Flunk held out his empty hands. “Believe me, Isaac, my friend. I’d tell you if I knew.”
* * *
Isaac and Susan returned to Hammerhead-Seven after concluding their interview with Flunky Underling.
“Well, that was something.” Susan sat down next to Isaac in the ship’s mess hall. They were the only occupants, but she still spoke in security chat.
“You can say that again.” Isaac leaned back against the bulkhead.
“Anything on your mind?”
“Just wondering if these two incidents are related or not.”
“I don’t see how. The hit on the Spartans and the breach at the Farm seem to be working at cross purposes.”
“On the surface, at least.” Isaac rubbed the back of his neck. “But we know they have at least one joining thread.”
“SysGov software.”
“Exactly. And that means we need to consider how they might be linked.”
“Hmm.” Susan rested her chin atop laced fingers. “On the one hand, we have a bunch of dead AI rights activists, and on the other, we have someone trying to free at least one AI from the Farm.”
“Yep.”
“I don’t know, Isaac. I’ve got nothing. Maybe look at the timing of the two events?”
“Now there’s a thought.” Isaac opened his case notes, tabbed over to the terrorism reports, and brought up the master timeline. “Interesting. The breach at the Farm happened less than a day after the liner crashed.”
“You think maybe one led to the other?”
“It’s something to consider.”
“But why kill the activists?” Susan asked. “That’s the part I keep getting hung up on.”
“Maybe their deaths weren’t a part of the plan.”
“I don’t know. Driving an aircraft into the ground at supersonic speeds seems pretty deliberate to me.”
“Yes, but it could have been a response to some action the Spartans took. Remember, Detmeier characterized them as both excited and frightened. That’s a noteworthy combination. Also, why would the Institute contact them in the first place if all they really wanted was to kill them off?”
“I see your point.” Susan took off her cap. “Yeah, now that you mention it, there’s no reason for them to talk to the Spartans in the first place.”
“That’s right. If all they wanted to do was take them out. And since we have Detmeier’s statement about the Institute reaching out to them, the question then becomes what did the Institute want from the Spartans?”
“Why would they contact a group of AI-loving activists?” Susan pondered aloud.
“If we assume the deaths weren’t the original intent, then what we’re left with is the Institute talking to the Spartans followed by the break-in at the Farm.”
“I don’t think Detmeier or any other Spartans would shed a tear if the Farm suffered a major setback.”
“Like the sudden emancipation of all their AIs.” Isaac tapped his lips thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s it. Maybe the Institute offered the Spartans access to their abstract weaponry while also trying to spur them into taking action against the Admin.”
“But the Spartans refused, since that was a line they weren’t willing to cross.”
“The Institute then takes them out, eliminating any chance the Spartan leadership would report them to the authorities. That could be it, and the method lines up with other examples in the terrorism report. We’ve seen how organizations like Free Luna are being supplied by an outside group—which I’m inclined to believe is the Institute—so perhaps they intended to use the Spartans in the same way, as a proxy to attack the Admin.”
“And the incident at the Farm?”
“Simple. The Institute found themselves minus one proxy but still had objectives to achieve at the Farm. And so, they took the matter into their own hands.”
“It fits,” Susan said.
“Unfortunately, I don’t see how this gives us a path forward that isn’t already being worked on by the Peacekeepers.” He turned to the LENS. “Cephalie?”
“You rang?” She jumped down off the LENS and walked across the table to him, twirling her cane.
“Do we have the DTI transit records for Scaffold Delta?”
“We do.”
“Any irregularities?”
“None that I can see.”
“All right then.” Isaac pushed off the table and rose to his feet. “Let’s talk to Elifritz. We’ll check in at Argus Station, verify Delta’s records there, then head back to Providence.”