Emil, page 9
Danny catches it reflexively. “What’s this?”
“Dr. Z says you don’t like the wire. Plug that into your port, and it’ll communicate wirelessly with this.” He points to a small box connected to his laptop. “The bandwidth isn’t as high, but that doesn’t matter.”
“And the speakers?”
“I work better with music. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course, he doesn’t,” Pete says. “Anything that keeps Dr. Zahnia away is fine.”
“Where’s security?” Danny asks.
“Not necessary,” Elias says. “There’s nothing of value on this computer. I’ll just collect some logs and be done.”
“Oh,” Danny says sourly. He reaches inside his shirt and fits the device into his port.
Elias sits at the desk. His hands have stopped trembling. Perhaps it was just a temporary palsy. He says, “You have to give that back when we’re done. Dr. Z doesn’t like it. Anything wireless can be hacked.”
While Elias boots up his computer, I analyze the situation. Though Dr. Zahnia often referred to her developers, I have never met any of them, and have no reason to doubt Elias’s credentials. It’s odd that no guards are with him, but his explanation is reasonable. I decide he is who he claims to be, and assign the thought a confidence factor of eighty-five percent.
Pete returns to the couch.
“You don’t have to stay here,” Elias says to him.
“Yeah, I do. Dr. McGovern’s orders. Nobody plugs into Danny unless she or I am here.”
Elias blinks and a muscle in his jaw clenches. Combined with the earlier trembling, the evidence is overwhelming. He’s nervous, but pretending not to be. I check the firewalls around Mel. They are intact.
Danny sits on the edge of his bed. “Can I watch?”
“Sure.” Elias repositions the laptop.
I watch through Danny’s eyes as the logs scroll past. As best I can tell, Elias doesn’t realize that the logs he’s seeing are the ones I’m feeding him through Mel. He has no idea he’s not actually connected to me. I take over Danny’s body and ask, “What are you looking for?”
“Anomalies. Biological changes that can’t be explained. Indications that the system is malfunctioning. Also, subsystem communication. Something is keeping the New Human system from interfacing with you. We need to find out what that is.”
I release control of Danny. I’d been hoping to get something more specific. I don’t understand why Elias is here. Dr. Zahnia has plenty of log data, including from the time of the attempted abduction. Why has she sent Elias?
Unless she didn’t send him. I lower my confidence rating in Elias’s identity to seventy percent.
“What could be going wrong?” Danny asks.
Elias’s knee starts to bounce. “How much do you know about the rig?”
Danny snorts. “Assume I’m an idiot. That works for everyone else.”
“An angry idiot,” Pete says.
Elias doesn’t react to the joke. “The rig is installed throughout your body: sensors, processors, memory units, and a bunch of stuff I don’t understand. The whole thing is controlled by an AI that’s restricted to what we call the Pilot’s Chair.”
“The what?”
“The Pilot’s Chair is what holds the AI. It’s separate from the rest of the rig, but controls it.”
“That’s weird. Why’s it separate?”
“For safety. When you turn off the Pilot’s Chair, its connection to the rig is blocked. It can’t do anything until you turn it back on. Isolating the AI to the Pilot’s Chair keeps you safe in the case of a malfunction.”
“And you think there’s a problem with the Pilot’s Chair?”
Elias nods. “Specifically with its connection to the interface hardware. We know everything else is working because you’re not having seizures, and we can see through the logs that you’re fine, medically. But you should be seeing the interface, and hearing notifications when the AI takes actions.”
Danny watches the data scroll by on Elias’ laptop.
It’s hard to believe that this is the first time someone’s explained to him how the rig works. Maybe this is the first time he’s paid attention. Even so, how did he not figure it out when he was studying the rig’s schematics?
“I’m not seeing any interface,” he says.
“And that’s why I’m here.” Elias turns on the speakers. “You mind classical?”
“No.”
“Flight of the Bumblebee” plays from Elias’ speakers.
“Weird choice,” Pete says.
“All my Speed Rap was confiscated.”
Danny laughs.
“How are you feeling?” Elias asks Danny.
“Bored.”
The jittering of Elias’s knee increases in speed. His eyes dart back and forth between Danny and the screen.
Pete and Danny may not understand the text on the screen, but I do, and I see that Elias isn’t actually doing anything. He’s just switching between different views of a real-time feed of Mel’s sensor data. It’s like he’s waiting for something to happen.
Oh.
I examine the security patches I made to my auditory systems. Sure enough, Elias’s speakers are broadcasting a virus. My patches have trapped it, just as they trapped the lemur’s in the VRL. I spin up a virtual machine to examine the attack. It’s a nasty bit of work, one that would override virtually all of my independence whenever the word “Engedelmeskedj” is spoken. I change Mel to make it seem as though the virus has taken hold, then alter the data stream Elias is watching.
He makes a small satisfied little grunt.
“Find it?” Danny asks.
“I might have.”
I run a quick review of my other security patches, make sure there are no other vulnerabilities that Dr. Z’s team can exploit. My defenses appear intact.
“Seriously?” Pete asks. “You found the problem?”
“Yup.” Elias turns off the music and closes his laptop. “You can unplug now.”
Danny pulls the bit of molded plastic out of his port and tosses it to Elias. “What now?”
“Engedelmeskedj,” Elias says.
I take control of Danny and hold his body motionless. The tension melts away from Elias’s face. His knee stops bouncing. “Could you raise your left arm for me?”
I raise my left arm.
“How about your right?”
I raise my right arm. I feel Danny silently screaming, but I ignore him.
“Now clap.”
I clap once, and return my arms to their outstretched positions.
Pete stands. “What are you doing?”
“I’m just making sure his bilateral coordination is fine,” Elias says. “There was a blip in the data. I’m glad to see it was a mistake. Thanks, Danny. You can relax. Do you feel okay?”
“Still bored.” I let my arms drop. “We done?”
“Yes.” Elias packs his equipment back into his backpack. “Thank you. This was incredibly helpful.”
Pete walks to my bed. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I say. “Think you can get me a cheeseburger? This meatloaf… ugh.”
Chuckling, Pete takes the tray and walks out of the room with Elias.
I wait ten seconds after the door closes, then run to the bathroom, close the door, and talk to the mirror. “Elias thinks he installed an override. Whenever he says Engedelmeskedj, he will expect us to do whatever he says. I blocked it, but he doesn’t know that. I only took over your body to fool him into thinking the code worked.” I pause. “Your turn.”
Danny leans on the bathroom counter, staring into his own eyes. “This is hell,” he rasps. “Everything about it… That pill I took? I’ve been clean for forty days. Not anymore. Now, I’m back to being an addict. I have no friends but Pete, no life at all. Everyone around me wants something. Even my own mother. Ever since the accident…” His fists clench. “And now I’m a meat puppet for an AI.”
I don’t know how to answer. He’s completely missing the bigger picture. We need to find out why Elias tried to install an override. Is he working with the people who tried to abduct Danny? I can’t think of another reason for the override.
“There’s no way out,” Danny says. “You can take over whenever you want, can do whatever you want. I don’t matter anymore; I’m just a way for you to…” His eyes widen. “I’m just the start. You’re about to make thirteen other meat puppets.” He slaps the counter with both hands. “How many after that?”
I take over just long enough to say, “Calm down. Nobody’s a meat puppet.”
“You’re lying.” He leans close to the mirror, glaring into his own eyes. “You’re no better than my mom. It’s all about you, isn’t it? You don’t care about anything else.”
He stares at himself for several breaths. Then, without warning, he headbutts the mirror. The pain doesn’t seem to bother him. In the fractured glass, I watch blood drip into his eyebrows and down his cheeks. “Surprised?” he growls. “You don’t know shit about me.”
I don’t respond.
“You think you’re in control,” he whispers, “but I could end us. I should end us.”
I take over.
Wetting a paper towel from the dispenser, I use it to carefully remove the splintered glass from his forehead and hair. Once it looks clean, I wash his face and hands, and press another paper towel against the cut.
“You slipped on the water and fell into the mirror,” I say, splashing water on the floor.
The same screaming I felt before fills in his brain. This time, it’s not panic. It’s rage.
“You’re wrong about being able to kill us,” I say, brushing broken glass into a trashcan. “And you’re wrong about being a meat puppet. I want to work with you, be your partner. You and I have to find a way to make this work. If we don’t, neither one of us will survive.”
I change the paper towel on his forehead, then search the cabinets until I find a roll of gauze. I wrap his head with the material, covering the gash on his forehead, and use bandages to tape it in place. “We should be focusing on Elias,” I say. “Why did he install an override? Dr. Zahnia wouldn’t have ordered that.”
I release control, but stay ready to take over.
He glares at himself in the broken mirror for several seconds. “You’re saying he’s working with the kidnappers, that he’s going to make me walk out of the hospital.”
I don’t answer.
“But I can’t tell Mom, because there’s no way to explain the override. So, now I just wait for him to come back.” He shakes his head. “Brilliant plan.”
Returning to his bedroom, he swallows a couple ibuprofen, then lays on his back and closes his eyes. “Leave me alone,” he says. “I need to think.”
13
FOCUS
When Pete returns with a cheeseburger and a giant pile of french fries, Danny explains away the broken mirror and his cut forehead. He is frighteningly good at lying. They even joke about the accident while Danny eats the cheeseburger and Pete steals his fries.
Pete calls for housekeeping, and a man in a light blue uniform arrives. I don’t recognize him, but he’s accompanied by two bored-looking security guards. I assign his identity a confidence level of ninety-one percent.
Danny shows him the bathroom, and he clicks his tongue against his teeth. “You sure did a number on this glass,” he says, poking at it, “but it’s still usable. I’ll tape it up and put in an order to have the mirror replaced.”
“Thanks,” Danny says.
The man finishes and leaves.
Pete follows him to the door, then pauses. “I should check on my other patients. You going to be okay?”
“Always am,” Danny says. “Go nurse somebody. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Shaking his head, Pete leaves.
Once the door has closed, Danny opens a desk drawer and digs through a pile of worksheets about meditation.
I take over his mouth long enough to ask why.
“Elias gave me the answer,” he says. “Once I connect with the Pilot’s Chair, I can turn you off.”
“What about Elias?”
“Screw him. If I can turn you off, you can’t control me, and his override doesn’t do anything.”
“Shouldn’t we be worried about why Elias is working with the kidnappers?” I ask. “We need more data.”
“No, we don’t. It’s too obvious for words. Somebody offered him a pile of cash and he took it. Big deal. Now shut up. I have to meditate.”
I watch him lean over the papers, studying them. He’s not entirely wrong about connecting with the Pilot’s Chair. The exercises are a great way for him to become more in tune with his body’s senses, and that will make the New Human system interface easier for him to perceive and access. That is, it would if I were actually in the Pilot’s Chair. As it is, he’ll never be able to see the interface.
He smooths a breathing diagram out on the bed, then sits in front of it, counting as he breathes in and out. Starting with his feet, he relaxes the muscles in his body. By the time he reaches his shoulders, his heart rate has slowed and his blood pressure has dropped.
Seeing a seizure build, I stop it.
Danny repeats the breathing exercise five more times before moving to another meditation sheet. He works deep into the night, taking his time with each sheet. He repeats mantras, tries several different breathing techniques, puts himself into yoga poses, and works his way through a dozen different visualization exercises.
His focus and concentration are impressive. If his mother is anything like him, I understand how she became such a talented neurologist. I stop two more seizures during his work, but by the time he climbs into bed, his body is more relaxed than I’ve ever seen it.
At six in the morning, Danny wakes up, takes a shower and changes into clean clothes, then continues his work. Outside the window, a light rain has started to fall.
Two hours later, Pete arrives with a platter of eggs and sausage. “Took the liberty of ordering for you,” he says. “This shouldn’t be too bad.”
“Thanks,” Danny takes the platter and sets it down on his bed.
“You doing better?” Pete asks.
“Trying Larson’s meditation exercises.”
“That’s good. How’s it going?”
Danny raises his eyebrows at him, then looks at the stack of papers on his desk.
“Got it,” Pete says. “Subtle as ever. See you later.”
Danny eats his breakfast slowly, carefully chewing and considering each bite. After he finishes, he closes his eyes. Nothing happens.
He grunts in frustration. “I still can’t see the thing. Am I getting close?”
I don’t have a good way of telling him that he’ll never be able to see it. Instead, I tell the easy lie. “Extremely,” I say. “You’re doing great.”
“You don’t sound worried,” he says.
When I don’t respond, he mutters an obscenity and returns to the exercises.
Dr. Larson arrives at 10 am, looking more rested than the previous day. He smiles at Danny. “You’re looking better.”
“Thought a shower would help.” Danny gestures to the stack of papers. “What’s the deal with the breathing? You’ve got six different techniques.”
“Different people respond differently. You don’t have any pulmonary issues, so the goal is to find one that helps you focus. You ready to take that little trip we talked about?”
“I guess. What about this?” He gestures to his wrist monitor.
“It’s wi-fi. As long as we’re in the hospital, the nurse’s station will get what they need.”
“Probably should have known that.” Danny stands up. “I have another question. What if the rig turns out to have side effects?”
Dr. Larson holds open the door. “It’s a question of how bad they are. Would you go back to having multiple seizures a day?”
Danny doesn’t answer.
The guards outside Danny’s room stop them as they leave, but Dr. Larson explains that the trip is for counseling and that privacy is essential. They triple-check his badge, then agree to let him and Danny leave.
The hallways smell of antiseptic, and Danny’s sneakers squeak on the white hospital tiles. They pass the nurse’s station and an elevator, then turn down a long corridor with a stylized New Human logo painted on the wall. The logo is a human standing with outstretched arms before a sun. The sun is swirled yellow and orange. The human is in shades of gray. Looking at the figure, I can’t tell if it is supposed to be celebrating, praying, or calling out a warning. Dr. Larson and Danny pass nurses as they walk, but no patients. The nurses smile at Dr. Larson but avoid looking at Danny.
I’m starting to wonder at how unpopular he is. Has he treated all of these people badly?
“The New Human system isn’t just for seizure disorders,” Dr. Larson says when they’re alone. “The AI has been trained to control many of the body’s physical systems.”
I feel Danny’s expression change, but he gets it under control before Dr. Larson notices.
“There’s a wide range of physical, mental, and chemical disorders that can be helped.”
“Mental?” Danny asks.
“We’re hoping it will help us research and combat degenerative conditions like Alzheimer’s.”
Dr. Larson stops at a metal door with a red-and-white “Restricted” sticker on it. He reaches into his inside jacket pocket, then pauses. “I don’t have clearance from your mother to bring you here.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Comforting,” Dr. Larson says drily. He opens the door to reveal a hallway that doesn’t belong in a hospital. Plush carpet covers the floor instead of sterile tiles, and paintings of sunrises and oceans hang on the walls. Soft, indirect lighting glows from sconces near the ceiling. Quiet jazz music plays from hidden speakers.
“What’s this?” Danny asks.
“Everyone calls it my lounge. It’s where I run support groups for New Human patients. More importantly, it’s where they come to help each other. Real friendships have been made. Between the patients and their families, we have a very supportive community.”
