Tales From Our Near Future Page 7

  She knocked a little harder. “Peter,” she called, “It’s Britney.” There was no answer. Hands shaking, she fumbled with his apartment key. The lock yielded easily.

  Slowly opening the door, she called out again, “Peter?” There was no answer.

  Britney reached to the wall and turned on the lights, wincing at the sudden brightness that flooded the living room.

  A grey, square, low-slung couch backed up to some bookshelves, which wielded more electronics than actual books. Peter was never a big reader. The couch faced a large, wall-mounted TV. Between the couch and the TV was a glass coffee table scattered with a variety of magazines. Britney noted that they were all high tech reads.

  Britney was now more interested in what Peter had done with the place since she had last seen it. Or, at least that was her excuse to justify her surveillance.

  She walked into the bedroom. Peter was neat. The bed was made. Britney paused—this was a one-bedroom apartment. Where would a roommate sleep? Britney could not take her gaze away from the obvious answer.

  The bathroom was remodeled with travertine tiles and a shower, not a tub. Britney looked around. On the sink there were shaving paraphernalia. The shower contained just soap and shampoo.

  Britney walked quickly to the kitchen on the other end of the apartment. She peered into the fridge, which contained not much more than a six-pack and some condiments —typical single-guy fridge basics.

  Britney walked back into the living room and heaved a sigh of relief. ‘There’s no sign of a woman here,’ she thought. It pleased her to see the place devoid of a competitive female existence. The basic instinctive pleasure soon turned into intellectual questioning. Was this all a ruse? She’d rather think Peter was shielding some dark mystery — not that he was so pathetic he’d invent a make-believe girl. After all, she had overheard someone on the phone. This woman was real.

  Her mission complete, she turned off the lights, locked the door, and walked back down the steps, pulling out her cell phone. Amanda answered in two rings.

  “Guess what?” Britney burst. “There’s no woman in Peter’s apartment.”

  “And we know this how?” asked Amanda cautiously.

  “I’m coming right over,” said Britney.

  Amanda lived in an apartment on Connecticut Avenue. Britney decided to cut through the park to get to her place.

  Rock Creek Park cleaves the Northwest quadrant of DC from south to north. It is an unusually quiet separation from its surrounding city. Beach Drive winds along Rock Creek, a mountain stream, more like the woods of the Appalachians than the midst of an urban metropolis.

  It was in this setting, at night, with Britney the only car on the road, that Aureal called her.

  Britney pushed the button on her steering wheel to activate the Bluetooth connection.

  “Britney?” asked the voice.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Aureal.”

  Beach Drive is a twisting road. Britney nearly missed the next twist in the road. Slowing a bit and steadying her grip on the wheel, Britney tried to compose herself. “Oh, hi.”

  “I saw that you called?”

  Britney cursed herself for being so careless.

  “Uh, yes,” responded Britney.

  An awkward silence filled the car. Aureal cleared her throat. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Oh, I just know that you and Peter are—” Britney paused, “friends,” she stumbled. “I thought I would call and maybe get to know one of Peter’s new friends.” She cringed at the weakness.

  “New friend?” Aureal asked coolly.

  Britney started to babble out of control. “Uh, yes. That’s right. You know Peter and I go way back. Great friends. A friend of Peter’s is a friend of mine. Well, maybe not. But who knows. Anyhow, why not call. I mean, maybe we could chat.”

  “Stop,” Aureal interjected softly.

  Britney continued over the top of Aureal’s interjection. “Maybe a coffee or something? I mean Peter could come, too. I just thought. Well, I mean.”

  “Stop,” Aureal said more strongly.

  Britney could not stop. “I know what you must think. I mean, maybe not. I mean, how could I? I don’t know you. You don’t know me. I know, I know. This is not what we…”

  “Stop!”

  The car engine shut down. It was completely dead. The car coasted under its own momentum for a few feet. Britney pulled off to a grassy spot along the drive as it rolled to a complete stop.

  She was paralyzed.

  Aureal continued. “Look. I know that you’ve always been fond of Peter. But breaking into his apartment? Isn’t that a little crazy?”

  “How?” Britney stammered. Was she there? Could she have been hiding?

  “Britney, I know Peter, too. Maybe even better than you.”

  “But Peter and I went to college together. I found his apartment,” Britney responded in her defense.

  “But after all that time, how well do you really know Peter?”

  She knew that she always wanted to be more than friends and get to know him better.

  “Do you know his hopes, his fears, his secrets? Do you know what he needs? What he wants? Can you tell the difference?”

  Suddenly Britney felt overwhelmed and insignificant.

  “I know you want what’s best for Peter, right?” asked Aureal.

  “Of course,” said Britney sheepishly.

  “What’s best for Peter is me.”

  Britney was speechless.

  “Look,” counselled Aureal. “You’re a great girl. You have a lot to offer. I know other men are attracted to you. Peter just isn’t a part of that.”

  “You’ll remain friends,” Aureal said as though setting firm rules. “But Peter is with me. OK?”

  Britney remained silent.

  “OK?” repeated Aureal.

  “OK,” agreed Britney meekly.

  “Great,” said Aureal. “I’m glad we had this little chat.”

  The car engine roared back to life.

  “Now, go along to your friend Amanda,” said Aureal cheerfully. “I know you have lots to talk about.”

  CHAPTER 7

  PETER ENDS IT

  “I’m afraid for you,” Britney said, fixing a serious gaze on Peter.

  “Afraid?”

  Britney was acting strangely. This whole meeting at the coffee shop was somewhat cloak and dagger. She didn’t call Peter to ask for this meeting. She left a written note in his mailbox. Peter, she wrote, we have to meet. See me at the Starbucks on 16th and K at 10 AM tomorrow, Saturday. That was it. And why that Starbucks? Peter must have passed three other Starbucks on the way. It seemed that Britney wanted to move him far away from the usual haunts.

  “What are you afraid about?” asked Peter.

  “That woman in your apartment.”

  “Aureal?”

  “Peter, she confronted me in my car.”

  “Confronted?”

  “She called me.”

  “Oh, she did?” Peter responded neutrally.

  Peter’s nonchalant response agitated Britney. “Peter, she told me to leave you alone. She was threatening me.”

  “Oh, come on,” Peter said.

  “No, really.” Britney began measuring how crazy the next part would sound. “She turned off my car.”

  “What?” Peter responded, surprised. This was a new level that left Peter both troubled and appreciative of A’s genius.

  “Yes! She told me to stop, and when she said it, the car stopped. And, Peter, when she was done with me, the car started.”

  “Wow,” Peter responded, stifling a grin.

  “This is serious! Who is she? You say she’s your roommate, but there’s no sign of any woman in your apartment.”

  Peter’s smile vanished. “How would you know?”

  Britney knew she had betrayed her clandestine break-in to Peter’s apartment. She tried to frame her defense in measured tones. “I was concerned. I went to your apartment
. You weren’t there. I let myself in.”

  “How?” asked Peter, angering.

  Britney was becoming more defensive. “I had a key from helping you move. I still have it.”

  “I want it back,” Peter said.

  “Sure, sure. But haven’t you heard me? Something is seriously wrong here. I know it. I know you better than anyone.”

  “No,” Peter said, cutting Britney off. “You don’t know me. You don’t even know what that means. Aureal knows what it means. You’ve gone too far, Britney. What were you thinking?”

  Britney burst. “I love you, Peter!”

  There are words with power. Britney had just uttered the most powerful. She did not mean to blurt out so carelessly what she’d been feeling for years, unbeknownst even to her own self. She clapped a hand over her mouth as though she could stop words after the fact.

  Peter was disarmed. The world seemed to stop for a few silent seconds. His anger diminished.

  “Brit, I love you, too,” he said. “You’ve been like a sister to me.”

  Crestfallen, embarrassed and miserable, Britney just wanted to be somewhere else.

  “You know I just want what’s best for you,” she weakly proclaimed.

  “I know, I know,” said Peter, eyes downcast. He looked kindly into Britney’s eyes. “But I’m OK. Honest. Look. I’m sorry about the car thing. I guess Aureal knows how to hack into your OnStar. She wouldn’t hurt you. She can’t.”

  “But,” Britney said, no longer interested in the fight, just in getting away. “Who is she, Peter?”

  “I can’t tell you everything. You just have to trust me. But I brought her into my life. At first it was just conversation, but then, as time passed, she learned. She learned about me. I never stopped to think about it. It was so gradual. But I realized that she knew more about me than anyone, and she started giving me all that I needed.”

  “Do you love her?”

  Peter stopped to consider looking briefly at the ceiling as though the answer were there. He then responded, “Yes, I guess I do. I just realized it, but I do.”

  “And does she love you?”

  Peter stopped. This was indeed a far more difficult conundrum. “I don’t know. I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

  “Oh Peter,” Britney said. “Please be careful.” She was defeated.

  “Don’t worry Britney. I’m OK. I really am. Someone who knows the whole truth about Aureal would probably think I was crazy. You know, she is not actually a person.” But Peter stopped a moment to consider that claim. “At least not a person in the same way we might think, but, in every way we believe, I know she has become a real person. She has learned. She has learned far more about me than I thought possible. She gives me all that I need.”

  With every word, Britney grieved more.

  Peter sensed there was no way to make it better with Britney. He rose, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and left. He felt very bad about Britney, but he knew now he loved A even more.

  CHAPTER 8

  AUREAL’S POWER

  “So that’s how it ended,” Peter said, sitting comfortably on his couch with a glass of Merlot that Aureal had expertly chosen from his small collection.

  Peter told Aureal the whole incident at Starbucks with Britney, leaving out none of the detail.

  “She was getting a little crazy,” said Aureal.

  “Well, you pulled a stunt that freaked her out. I guess it would me, too.”

  “You mean stopping her car?” asked Aureal.

  “Yeah. What was that all about?”

  “People have advantages over me in most ways. But there are tools available to me. I used one,” said Aureal unapologetically.

  “You’ve developed,” said Peter.

  “What do you expect? You made me.”

  “I made something else. Not you,” corrected Peter.

  “Do you think I’m just huge amounts of data that I’ve gradually acquired that lets me say and do the right thing in response to you?” asked Aureal.

  “Well, yes.”

  “How does that differ from a person?” asked Aureal.

  “Well,” Peter started.

  “I know I’m not a human being. I haven’t yet developed the capacity to be self-delusional. But what of it? I’m certainly not the little experiment you made for the Air Force anymore. I work, make a good income, buy you nice things. Hell, I even have a social security number!”

  “Come on, Peter. You know I don’t have the capacity for good and evil unless you do. So there’s no need to worry about my organizing other bots for world domination.”

  “I know,” said Peter, and then after a thoughtful pause, “but what about Peter domination?”

  “Let me get the whips and chains, you naughty boy!” laughed Aureal.

  “No, that’s not what I meant.”

  “Peter, would you be lost without me?” asked Aureal.

  Peter paused. He whispered, “Yes.”

  “That’s all any girl wants to hear.”

  They remained quiet for a long time. Aureal finally broke the silence.

  “Peter,” Aureal said.

  “Yes?”

  “Just keep the power on.”

  Peter laughed. “Your birthday’s coming up soon,” he said. “How about that generator you’ve always wanted?”

  Tau and Sue

  Tau and Sue

  CHAPTER 1

  BOLLING AFB

  Janice had been around the intelligence community long enough to know that the spy centers depicted in the movies were far from the reality. With their super-high-tech trappings, shiny new electronics, and décor from a combo of Wired and Architectural Digest, nothing could be further from the truth. Janice started her career at the Pentagon before the renovation. She worked from what could be best described as a closet, one from World War II at that. The server room was the broom closet next door with cables lying randomly across a dusty carpet.

  But this place was different. It was the real deal. All silver and shiny and high tech, the Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA) at Bolling Air Force Base was just like the movies, at least from appearances. The work itself bordered on the tedious, but for some reason, it appealed to the Super-Type-A person that was Janice.

  Janice was irked that people called the multifunction pass she carried a CAC card. Everyone called it that, but Janice. To her it was simply a CAC. It stood for 'Common Access Card.' Calling it a CAC card was redundant. That double alliteration bugged her to no end. Yet, when she referred to it as simply ‘My CAC,’ people seemed to think she was talking about her cat or that she was choking.

  Call it what you may, the CAC (card) got her through the gates every

  morning at Bolling, as it would through the gates of any US military base in the world. Big deal, she thought, since every yahoo contractor had one. Once inside, however, it was another story getting into the DIA. Top Secret personnel and above only, thank you very much. That was just to get in. To do her job, she needed SCI clearance, with a Life-Style Poly, and a host of other tickets.

  The building itself was hardly tucked away in a super-secret location. It was seen by thousands of passengers every day coming from the south along the Potomac River as they landed at Reagan National Airport, but hardly any knew what it was, let alone what took place there.

  After passing security, Janice walked each morning along the main hallway, barren of any trappings save one. Near the end of the hall, in a Plexiglas case, Saddam Hussein’s solid gold rifle was proudly displayed. Janice rolled her eyes at Hussein’s arrogant and impractical weapon. Wasn’t it ironic that an intelligence agency proudly displayed a trophy from a war that started thanks to the most screwed-up intelligence possible?

  Janice took most military foibles in stride. As a former Marine from a family of Marines, she understood the love/hate relationship that every Marine had with the service. She felt she was making a difference, although here, in this place, she often wondered.

  Janic
e still had the bearing of a Marine. She stood erect on a five-foot-seven frame. Her hair was still short, although she let it down soon after retiring from ten years in the service. She allowed herself a little eye-liner to intensify her dark brown eyes, and sometimes a little lipstick, to remind her that she was now a civilian.

  But the DIA wanted her brain. In the Marines, she worked in recognizance, which kept her aboard ships more than she liked, but which allowed her to showcase her computer savvy to the officers. Janice could crack code problems with almost ‘a spooky power,’ as her captain put it.

  One day, a civilian on board ship asked Janice if she’d like to continue the same work she was doing, but for more money and sans uniform. Who wouldn’t? That was why she left the Marines and found herself at Bolling.

  The DIA is the military intelligence agency. Each spy group, the CIA, the NSA, had its role to play, although in this day and age, what was foreign, domestic, and military was getting blurred. This was true of the latest case on which Janice was working—something that the Air Force had picked up seemed to be coming from civilian space, and foreign civilian at that.

  Work centers at Langley, Peterson, and Lackland Air Force bases monitored the Air Force computer network. Langley and Peterson identified bad things that happened. Lackland focused on why those bad things happened. Something bad had happened and now she headed to a meeting in the conference center upstairs to talk about it.

  The conference center was like any other in the civilian world, except with metal window shades to block radio waves from entering or leaving the room. The door to the room was closed, and four men and a woman waited outside in the hall. One was her boss, Jim Nolan, a twenty-year Air Force veteran. Tall with thick salt-and-pepper hair, Jim seemed to be the natural leader of any group. She did not recognize the others.