The pawnbroker cleared his throat. “You didn’t tell me what kind of rounds you wanted, so I gave you hollow-point for the .40 caliber, armor-piercing for the 12 mm, not much point otherwise. I only had six of the guided rockets, and you couldn’t have afforded more anyway. As for the .22, I gave you five hundred standard rounds, and a hundred HMX rounds.” He leaned forward. “Makes a normal .22 green with envy.”
Cat gaped at the huge mound of weapons and ammunition in front of her. What had she been thinking? She knew nothing about guns.
She left carrying two heavy bags and sat down at the bus stop, waiting anxiously. When she got on she imagined everyone would stare at her bags full of dangerous things, but they paid no attention to her. She took the bus to the Gaslamp Quarter, and walked up to the fanciest hotel she saw, the U.S. Grant. Standing outside the main entrance, she hacked the reservation database, inserted an entry, and backdated it so it would look like she checked in three days before.
She walked up to the registration counter. “Mary Margaret,” she said. “I forgot my digikey somehow. Can you upload me a new one?”
A few minutes later she found herself on the third floor. She liked being low enough to make an exit by stairs if needed.
Sitting on the bed, she took a quick peek into one of the bags and then looked away. Well, she’d bought the guns because she thought she needed them. There was no point having them if she didn’t know how to use them. She lay back on the bed and downloaded instruction manuals and half a dozen training programs. Halfway through the first program, it hit her that this was no different than learning karate. She kicked off her boots, cleared floor space, and spent five minutes in standing meditation. With her mind clear and focused, she pulled out the first handgun, checked that the chamber was empty, and started the combat training program again.
Just before bed, she decided she’d go out to the desert tomorrow and practice with live ammo. Exhausted, she still tossed and turned, wondering who Adam was, and why Tony was so scared of him.
32
“Please hurry,” Shizoko urged.
Leon glanced back, saw Mike slowly climbing the stairs. “Why the sudden rush?”
“The pace of events is increasing,” Shizoko said, shepherding them toward the roof with both right arms. “The crowd has doubled in size.”
“I thought you said the building was secure.” Mike called, out of breath
“It is, but please keep moving. There’s been a new development, disturbances in the San Diego net.”
Leon stopped. “And that’s important, why?”
“Get on the plane, and I’ll explain.” Shizoko zigzagged around Leon, leading the way onto the roof. Six aircars waited, their long fuselages and streamlined shapes indicating that they were long distance models, really glorified airplanes. “Take the second one from the left.”
Leon climbed inside the large cabin. The executive model had no driver’s or pilot’s seat, just eight bucket seats with room to move and a small wet bar. His pulse beat quicker at the sight of glass windows all around. “Aren’t we a little exposed in this?”
Shizoko pivoted his head 180 degrees to look at Leon. “The windows are transparent aluminum, bullet-proof and able to withstand a bird impact at a thousand miles per hour.” Shizoko levered himself into the cabin. “Now please be seated.”
Leon picked a seat next to Shizoko in the middle row. Mike sat closest to the back, eying a coffee maker in the wet bar.
Shizoko fired up engines on all six aircars simultaneously. The pack rose as one and flew north.
“I’ve masked the transponder IDs,” Shizoko said. “Even if they track us visually, they won’t know which car to follow. In half an hour we’ll will diverge and head west for San Diego. Total flight time will be three hours.”
“Fine,” Leon said, “now tell us what the last-minute rush was for.”
As the aircar leveled out, Mike headed for the back to fiddle with the coffee maker.
“There’s a limited number of Class IV AI. Each of us has a specialty. It’s part of the permitting process. Mine is network traffic analysis, the pattern of bits that flow across the fifty billion nodes of the net. That’s why I spotted the unusual bandwidth use associated with the murders.”
“So this is a lead? It’s similar to the other deaths?”
“Yes and no.”
Leon sighed. Why couldn’t anything in this mess have a simple answer?
“I don’t mean to be obtuse,” Shizoko said, “but there are multiple factions at play. There is encrypted traffic that bears similarity to the network conditions at the murders. But there’s also someone replaying network packets, and I believe it’s a woman named Catherine Matthews.”
Mike brought a coffee back to Leon. Then he took a seat in the front row, holding his own mug, and swiveled to face them.
“Catherine,” Shizoko continued, “was a suspect in a triple murder in Portland, Oregon. However, a robot later came forward saying that Miss Matthews defended him in a life-or-death situation. If true, she could use a defense-of-others justification that would excuse her from responsibility. But it’s never been tested whether that legal defense applies to AI.”
“Fascinating,” Leon said, pondering the idea. “I’ll be interested in the outcome. But how is she relevant?”
“She appears to be able to manipulate the network. According to a statement from her housemate, she’s able to see and sever people’s data feeds. She’s successfully evaded police for a month. And there’s a series of crimes, first petty theft of payment cards, then a hundred thousand dollar piece of jewelry.” Shizoko floated up a photograph of a diamond necklace. “All are data crimes, either classic man-in-the-middle or packet replay attacks.”
“I thought those security holes were closed up,” Mike said. “We have a whole department at the Institute focused on information security.”
Shizoko raised all four arms in a shrug. “Among the Class IV, we’re aware of millions of security holes. There’s an old saying that locks don’t stop thieves, they just keep honest people honest.”
Leon smiled. “Meaning that it’s the reputation system that stops you from exploiting security holes.”
Mike clenched his fists. “If you’re aware of these holes, why don’t you close them?”
Shizoko was quiet for a moment. “With all due respect … you invented the first artificial intelligence, and designed the architecture that’s allowed my generation to exist.” He bowed his head to Mike.
Mike leaned forward. “What is it?”
Shizoko raised his head and peered into Mike’s eyes. “I don’t think you see reality. You’ve created a system in which we are second class citizens.”
Mike was incredulous. “Are you crazy? We’ve done everything to ensure you can exist. You vote on who gets permitted and who doesn’t.” Mike shook his head. “Wait, what are you saying?”
“We don’t tell you about the security holes because we don’t want them closed.”
“But security holes create the opportunity for bad things to happen.”
“Bad individuals make bad things happen. It’s no different from humans and your firearms. If you wanted to eliminate violence, you could eliminate guns. But you keep them around in case you need them.”
Mike sat back and smacked his head. “I can’t believe we’re having this discussion. I’m not even in favor of guns.”
“But you own one. A twelve millimeter Beretta, a caliber designed specifically for stopping armored bots.”