Idempotency (28 page)

On the left side of the room, Simeon stood next to an attractive woman with platinum hair. They were almost arguing, but their heated debate was occasionally tempered by a soft laughter from one, or a gentle touch to an arm by the other—a kind of dance that could be performed only by a pair who have had ample practice time together. Nimbus wore a tight-fitting business suit, contrasting Simeon’s rock-star faux leather pants and subtle gray aniFabric shirt, which displayed a single black-and-white eyeball, subtly bloodshot with a deep red—the eyeball blinked only enough to be off-putting to the observer. Sindhu was surprised by Simeon’s wrestlerlike build.

“Um, hey,” Sindhu said sheepishly, a blanket still draped around her shoulders. She raised a wrapped hand in the air and waved.

“Hey! She’s alive!” Simeon wailed. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and yelled something, or clapped, or both. “Excellent. Great to see you up, but we don’t have time for introductions. We have to get your story out ASAP.”

Simeon walked over to her and led her by the arm to the vidWall with the android’s data.

“You know Grepman already, and this is Jay-san.” Jay-san shook her hand awkwardly. Simeon continued, “You know Jay’s work, you just don’t know that you know it. He’s one of the preeminent coders of our time. You probably studied some of his mapping algorithms in school. You are going to work with him to decompile the android’s code. Then we’ll send out your message to your feeds. I’ve already got something written up; you can tweak it to match your voice. We have to go quick; NRS is probably already in this area looking for our android friend here, and you, Sindhu. If we don’t get this released soon, they could quiet us all. So, you have thirty minutes. Whatever we have at that point, we release. We can release more later.”

Simeon stopped talking, clapped his hand together, and began rubbing them vigorously. He looked at everyone in the room and they all looked back at him expectantly. He smiled, then said, “That’s all! Go! Do . . . stuff.” He made a shooing motion with his hands.

Grepman had already authorized Sindhu for access to the internal network, and it didn’t take long for her to catch up to Jay-san’s progress of analyzing the data from the android. Their goal was to decompile this data into source code that developers throughout the darkNets could study and learn from. Releasing only the binary data would be akin to releasing a book in a language that only the author of the book could read.

The process took low-level binary data stored on the android and analyzed how that data reacted as it ran through the android’s various proprietary processors enacted during decision making. This required Grepman to turn on the android’s subcomponents, allowing Sindhu and Jay-san to gain a modicum of understanding around the flow and processing of the data.

It was an arduous task. The binary data on the android, as expected, had been put through numerous techniques to abstract and obfuscate the true nature of the code. After thirty minutes they had generated only an outline how the data might be logically organized, coupled with slightly more understanding of a few of the more important processors within the android. As she began to decipher bits of the source code, she had to resist the urge to study it; there would be time for that later.

“Time’s up!” Simeon bellowed.

Ignoring Jay-san’s and Sindhu’s impassioned supplications for more time, Simeon instructed them to immediately release all binary data, their initial thoughts on the outline of the code, and any processor instructions they had deciphered. In total, the submission was a grab bag of mostly unusable information, but it was enough to validate the veracity of their claims.

Sindhu did not have time to be frustrated with the quality of her work, as Simeon immediately pivoted her onto rewriting the note that would soon be published to her many social feeds. And rewrite she did—nearly every word, though it took her only ten minutes. The finished product read as follows:

Hello fellow colleagues . . .

My name is Sindhu R. (My father’s name was Ramachandran). I am a computer scientist. I graduated with my master’s from Stanford just two short years ago. I was highly recruited by dozens of the worlds largest software firms—NRS and EGC among them. I ignored these offers to follow my conscience and my passion. I come from a small, destitute fishing village in Southern India where I defied the odds of poverty to reach the position I am in today. I have been working these past years for a small nonprofit based in San Francisco that is focused on data analysis and algorithmic projections of the divide between lower and upper classes. But I am not writing this post as a political request.

I am writing today to describe an experience that happened to me in the past few hours. An experience that frightens me and should frighten everyone who values their privacy, safety, and freedom. These are important beliefs we once held dear and they have slowly been chipped away in the face of our ignorant society.

Yesterday I took the train through various stops in California, to see the sights as a tourist, nothing more. I realize most corp-employed workers or financially sound citizens would never entertain the idea of using public transit these days, but where I come from,
this is how we travel. After visiting several small towns by various trains, I ended up in Pismo Beach, my final destination. I chose to travel to Pismo Beach, because I was feeling homesick and I thought that the expansive dunes there might remind me of the beaches near my homeland of Tamil-Nadu, where I grew up helping my widowed father to fish. Tamil-Nadu is home of the world’s second largest beach (and no, I don't know where the first largest beach is).

After wandering through Pismo Beach for several hours, I realized that I was being followed. I confronted the man and was immediately attacked. I am a trained master of Kalaripayattu. It was a difficult fight—I have the scars to prove as much—but with the help of the locals, I was able to incapacitate the man. I’ve uploaded a portion of my fight, as seen through my ocular implants.

I came to discover that he was actually an it: an android. I’ve attached internal schematics of the machine. I’m not sure which corp this machine belongs to, though I could guess. But it doesn't matter. I've already begun the process of reverse-engineering the code, and I’ve uploaded my progress along with the binary bits to various popular darkVirts; as you no doubt have already heard. Have at it, OSS'ies.

Why was I attacked? I’m unsure, but I suspect it has to do with my open-source activity within darkVirts.

Finally, as I now have a healthy fear for my life, I will henceforth be blogging once per week, posting every Saturday afternoon. If I do not publish a post by Saturday 20:00 GMT time, you will know that a terminal fate has befallen me. As for my theory on who’s behind this, I have suspicions and will write more on this at a later time.

Should I miss a post, I implore you to make a martyr out of me. We must wake up to the powers that are manipulating us, destroying our privacy, controlling our society, and endangering our security. Even if you have no compunction for the plight of the poor, then do this for your own sense of self-preservation. You are not alone anymore.

Privacy is fiction.

Stay tuned,

—Sindhu (aka SinTh3t!c)

The SOP team members seeded the popularity of Sindhu’s post by sharing it from their own infamous pseudonyms. They then passed the post along to many of the most influential CS and tech-media personalities with whom they had direct lines of communication. The snowball didn’t take long—within twenty minutes, Sindhu’s post had gone viral across the darkNets; recommended by tens of thousands and read by millions. The android data had already been accessed by thousands of developers. Sindhu had become famous faster than the eyeball on Simeon’s T-shirt could blink.

The team retired to an early but lengthy dinner for which Simeon instructed everyone to avoid talking shop. Everyone helped out in preparing dinner (pasta with pesto), and the food was served in a room similar to Sindhu’s but larger, overlooking a weathered rock that jutted out of the ocean and buffered the waves just enough to allow the seagulls to dive into the froth below them, hoping for a dinner of their own. The room was both a kitchen and a dining room, and was in stark contrast to the rest of the complex, as there was no technology to be found anywhere. The room housed only a chef’s stove and a large stainless-steel dishwashing sink. The table was long and simple, with a very used cloth atop it. A dozen old metal chairs lined the table. The chairs creaked and the table wobbled.

Most of the dinner conversation revolved around Sindhu and her experiences as a child in India. Not used to being the center of attention, she was genuinely surprised that people would be interested in her story. After many leading questions that she answered only in short bursts, and at Mitlee’s blatant prodding, Sindhu finally began opening up and expounding on her life. Memories—many of which she hadn’t thought of in years—began to flow faster than the wine they were drinking.

Grepman had (rather obviously) found a way to sit in the chair next to her. He laughed too hard at her every joke, looked slightly too compassionate as she discussed her father’s passing, and smiled far too broadly as she discussed graduating with honors. Sindhu was flattered, though she hesitated to admit it to herself.

At some point after dinner but before dessert, Simeon had snuck out of the room. As the conversation began to die down and the party became slaves to the alcohol numbing their brains, Simeon walked back in carrying a holoJector. He placed the small cube on the table and brought it to life with a wave of his hand.

“Sindhu, you are a smashing success. Your post is viral and comments are exploding. It’s trending across all major darkNet techMetrics,” Simeon said evenly as he flipped through several copious statistical displays beaming out of the holoJector cube.

The rest of the crew was slumped in their chairs with the exception of the twins, who seemed to be arm- and thumb-wrestling at the same time. Simeon reluctantly pulled his attention away from the holo and joined the group, slumping himself into an empty chair. His dense body impressed itself authoritatively into the cushion.

“So, ’bout what you were expecting, Sin?” Simeon asked.

Sindhu laughed melodically in response, her laugh echoing around the tiled floor of the kitchen. “Oh, yes, Simeon—precisely.”

“Well, welcome aboard. I can’t imagine you’ve had a more exhilarating interview before. If you thought the interview was fun, wait until you start the job.” Simeon clasped his hands together and rubbed them. “And on that note, let’s discuss why you’re here. We have obtained information that NRS is doing trials with several governments—”

Nimbus cut in: “US, Mexico, Canada, and South Africa being the largest and furthest along.”

“Right. These trials are focused on taking lowCasters out of the slums and moving them into NRS-owned facilities.
Facilities
isn’t exactly an accurate word. These places are massive, self-contained, societal compounds; gigantic, expansive, technically advanced, self-sustaining civilizations. And the security on these compounds is unprecedented to match. Satellite images are obscured. Network traffic is nonexistent, or so well tunneled that no one is detecting it. You can’t physically get closer than a kilometer before security drones show up. Even the energy resources are locally created. Now, this kind of program can’t be enacted entirely without notice.”

“Especially when a government is involved,” Jay-san piped up. He had been slouching so far down in his chair that Sindhu thought he might have been napping.

“Right.” Simeon looked back intensely at Sindhu. “Our government sources are claiming that these compounds are testing a humane, living ecosystem for former slum dwellers; improving the quality of life for the poor. Once operational, the societies will sustain themselves—in other words, not at taxpayer cost—while providing a humane living space for the poor. The company, NRS, is claiming that these programs are tax write-offs that provide a ridiculously profitable corp a way to give back to humanity. So . . . benevolence wins, problem solved—right?”

Sindhu shrugged. “Right?”

“Wrong. There are two gigantic issues with this idea. First, the cost of creating these massive, self-sustaining provinces is astronomically high. And that doesn’t even include the pragmatic costs of simply moving the slum dwellers into these things. No government has the funds, let alone the public mandate, to make this large of an effort a reality. The second ridiculous aspect to this idea is that no publicly traded, for-profit company—least of all NRS—has the backing of their board or stockholders, to put up with this level of social spending. Now, NRS is still privately owned, but they are a huge corp and they do have many investors, and a profit-driven company just doesn’t have the inherent benevolence to enact this level of an investment merely for the sake of a tax write-off, especially when corps of this size rarely pay taxes to begin with.”

Simeon leaned back in his chair and looked at his feet. He was commanding the discussion. He raised his flame-tickled arm up to his chin thoughtfully, looked back at Sindhu, and asked, “Have you heard of Edward Coglin?”

“Sure. Cofounder and CEO of NRS,” Sindhu replied quickly.

“Right. Are you aware of his history before NRS?”

“He was in media, yes?”

“That’s selling him short. He was a commentator in the States, quite popular during the first quarter of the century . . .” Simeon let his words trail off.

And Sindhu picked up on his point. “First quarter, which would make him over one hundred years in age?”

“Exactly. He was part of the second wave of extended-life participants. He was in the group that followed the First Seventy-Three—Garrett Hawpe’s group. For the better part of twenty years, this guy was a talk-show host, a political commentator. He often played the role of a religious zealot, some may even say prognosticator, and his followers might say prophet. Coglin amassed a small fortune doing this, and, while his popularity declined precipitously during the 2020s, he was still making good coin when one random day, he announced at the end of his show that he was retiring from public life and would be trying to help deliver his message more effectively through the private corporate sector. You probably know the rest: He founded NRS, and after decades of research, the company solved the issue of skin regeneration; so we can look as young on the outside as we had become on the inside. And that single product has fueled billions in profits for NRS.”