Reanibit

1.

“The problem Mr. Petty . . .

“uh no, Abdul,

“It’s ‘Pretty.’

“What? Pretty?

“Yeah, I’m Beau Pretty.

“Ugh . . . yeah . . . sorry . . . okay, so you are. Well . . . well Mr. Pretty, you know – we can’t control her.

“It’s the AI – you know this Mr. Pretty. We don’t . . . as I said . . . we can’t protect you against AI – the contract is clear.

“But this morning . . .

“she was inside my bloody fridge, monitoring me – that’s her code – she did that before she . . .

“No!

“Impossible Mr. Pretty. It’s not her code. It’s rogue.

“We are careful, we take every precaution. As you know, our bots are the best in the field – we root out any precoding – no infections. Nothing gets through.

“She was hatched clean.

“It’s rogue AI and it must be picking up on your activities Mr. Pretty. You have been engaging with her somewhere . . . A lot! You need to check your own security Mr. Pretty – our rules are watertight – only engage in designated and cleared worlds.

2.

Beau, or Beaufort to his friends, knew implicitly to both trust and distrust Abdul. Nothing stuck to the smooth, albeit resigned countenance of the tallish, skinny, balding, Abdul. Everything within Abdul’s purview seemed to float and glide, as if elegantly guided by some ethereal force. Attention to detail, position, balance. A smooth clockwork vista was evidence of Abdul’s competency, and for that reason alone, he could be trusted as executive, executor and yes, executioner.

Abdul for his part, believed without doubt that he was serving the greater good. He felt driven to categorize Beau Pretty’s issues as mere irritations to be gently assuaged and disappeared, as tactfully as possible. This suited Pretty, yet, Pretty also knew, with an uncanny certainty that while Abdul was the Zen master of his reach, outside of that, outside of his limited purview, he fumbled and flailed as others did, and for that reason, Pretty knew he could only predict Abdul’s actions so far.

Pretty had all along suspected the problem was beyond Abdul, but nevertheless, he had to rule him and his cohort of officious functionaries out of the equation. Pretty’s upper hand in the matter was because he knew her intimately while she was flesh, and he knew in his bones that it was not her coding and engineering the presence of her Reanibit in his life. Someone else was behind it. But who and why?

Pretty also knew that Abdul, ostensibly calm and perfunctory, was nevertheless concealing alarm, and that Abdul’s provocation that it had been Pretty himself who had been deceitfully engaging with her Reanibit, without protection – as if Abdul would know, was merely his Abdul’s self-interested attempt to at once, rebuff and get more information from Pretty. Pretty felt assured his ruse was working.

Pretty needed Abdul to continue to view him as an unknowledgeable consumer, an uninformed oaf, all at sea, lashing out at the company. This provided the company with confidence to take an automatic stance, encouraging it to believe it was acting out in a well-trodden scenario. That part was easy enough. But Pretty also needed to sow enough seeds of doubt in Abdul that he, on a personal level, would feel it necessary to take it upon himself to run a check of his systems, without alerting anyone, even his own bosses, which would cause a public announcement, shutdown, or at least endless meetings. Beaufort had to sufficiently prime Abdul to act as if setting in motion an algorithm. Clearly, Abdul would not publicly admit anything, but in the privacy of his executive purview, out of the view of management, customs and regulators, he would work decidedly, assiduously, and secretly, checking his systems, routing out any inconsistencies. That was what Beaufort was counting on because Abdul’s check on the systems would involve a correction of something. They always did. That correction, no matter how slight, would show up in Petty’s security log, and it this would give Pretty the clear benchmark with which to compare the rogue reanibit. He was certain the Company itself was not behind the rogue but he was not certain that the company’s security had not been compromised either. If the correction showed up in the rogue, then clearly the Company was being compromised.

Ostensibly calm, Abdul was awash with violently shifting currents and eddies, albeit dampened somewhat by his meds. He clicked the release inside the webbing between his forefinger and thumb, feeling the gentle euphoric wave of the soothing hormones. He worried that Beaufort saw him click, even though his hands had been securely clasped behind his back the whole time. Did Beaufort spy the change in his manner? His expression? Probably not. Abdul was after all an adept, highly trained in customer service, one of the best in the field, but still he worried, always worried. The worry edged the soothing enough to allow him to appear a little edgy. The touch of edginess was Abdul’s trick, to engender an uncomfortableness in the customer without appearing rude, coercive or at fault.

Yet despite his expertise in customer service, Beaufort remained something of a mystery to Abdul. He suspected Beaufort was way smarter than the way he presented, but also, he had never, ever seen any evidence of that smartness. It was his gut feeling that was telling him not to dismiss Beaufort too easily. As he wondered about Beaufort’s ability to simply survive, a new wave of hormones began to shift him through the calming to a new mechanical alertness, with his mind shifting to focus on the problem of a possible rogue Reanibit in his system – which he knew had no alarms attached.

The hormonal shifts coursing through Abdul’s body were seamless and pretty much unobservable to the untrained eye. Abdul had been well trained in masking techniques by the company, who after all, had chosen him to be one of their customer service agents based upon his genetic match with their own hormonal coursing formula. Abdul was ready to embark on a high profile career a lawyer when the company approached him with his genetic profile in hand identifying him as a customer service adept. The genetics do not lie and with the contract offered, which was double what he might of earnt being a lawyer – even after a decades service, convinced him take on the company training. He nevertheless still found it impossible to control the somewhat dampened but urgent need to check and recheck his systems. He began to tire of worrying about the Janus-faced Beaufort, and clicked again for hormones to move him towards his usual, more comfortable, perfunctorily, staider self.

“Mr. Beaufort, I have reanibits to attend to, will you please excuse me, I am a busy man.

Beaufort thought to retort “no doubt you are Abdul,” but corrected himself to his ruse, and blurted,

“ah come on Abdul, help me man, this is doing my head in mate. She is coming up everywhere . . . what am I going to do . . . I am going shit-crazy . . . bloody woman won’t leave me alone . . . it’s not my fault.

“I am sorry Mr Pretty, I want to help, I really do, but you know the rules as much as I do.

“Don’t engage without protection! That is the only way Mr Pretty.  

At that Abdul, moved to go, gesturing to his assistant,

“Thank you. Janet will show you out Mr Pretty.

Pretty shot back – still in character,

“but Abdul please mate . . .?

Abdul had already disappeared – as had the assistant

. . . before she had shown Pretty out!

“Well, that’s an interesting hiccup – I’ll show myself out then, will I?

3.

Pretty, with confidence growing, now that he had sufficiently alarmed Abdul, stepped out of the cone, toying with the idea of going to a café.

As the cone faded from view he spied a little wren and suddenly about-turned, deciding instead to go early to pick up his little Isis from school. She would be wanting to come home tonight – having spent the last three days helping to remediate some desert country up north. He felt keenly for her. She hated the remediation and conciliation excursions, even though she accepted they were part of her civic duties. Pretty worried about that. He wanted her to accept her civic duties and obligations, improve her credit, but he was reticent to constrain her obvious energy, keen intellect and most of all, her curiosity. He wished at that point she would be more like the Abduls of the world, steady, machine-like manipulators of their environment, but fate it seemed had other plans. More than anything though, it was not so much her politics, but her distress over R & C that bothered him. He did wish she wasn’t so affected.

He’d told her so many times, “just do your time on the R & C and then focus on the studies that interest you.

He felt it was down to him but on this he felt like a fish out of water.

“Really, I am no different from poor old Abdul. But Isis . . .

He resolved to be more careful to monitor her engagement with the Dissident Disciples channel but even that was going to be difficult given there was talk of a merger between Warring Whistle Blowers and Courage through Amnesty, which was a worry, given the latter’s control over contracts for after school educational content. Everyone trusted CtA. After all, they had lead the way through the political crisis of the thirties with their acquiescence and appeasement apps, but the prospect of them getting into bed with the WWB set more than a few hearts racing – including that of Pretty.

The school came into view and Pretty – as he had done so many times before, stepped toward the gate – his face raised to be read. Within seconds he was inside and a cone appeared with the receptionist. It was Janet again. Hello Mr. Pretty, I see you have come for Isis. She will meet you in number 5 Mr. Pretty. Can I help you with anything else Mr. Pretty?

“Er . . . no Janet, it’s okay, just picking up Isis.

“Thank you Mr Pretty,

With that Janet was gone. Pretty spotted Number 5 about 10 metres across the hall and walked over to take a seat.

Before long Isis appeared from doorway . . .

4.

“Daddy you’re early?

“I can wait if you need me to

“No

“You want some chai?

“Yeah maybe

As Isis and Beau attempted to clear the gate check, Janet appeared wrapping them in a cone and announcing “Please wait. Isis’s pass is yet to process. “Okay hurry it along Janet, I need to get along, instructed Beau. Isis looked across at her father wondering why he was picking her up this early, and more to the point, why he was so edgy. She began to think about her mother.

It had been three years since her mother had passed. Her mother’s Reanibit provided something of a poultice for the grieving father and daughter, yet as with her father it also caused her to feel constantly unsettled. She could accept that “it” was “something” of her mother – for sure, and it was after all, what her mother had wanted, but sometimes, she just wanted to turn it off. But both Beau and Isis knew they both would never do that. “How do you just turn off someone like that? Obviously, it was only a Reanibit but it was also something of their mother. Her mother had wanted her own presence in their lives to continue, and for Isis this meant a lot, and it mostly suited. Beau found it more difficult however, especially so after he had met Regan.

With the pass now acknowledged, Janet cleared Isis and father and daughter passed through the gate onto the street. It was busy with cones and facades appearing and disappearing with chaotic monotony for as far as they could see. Beau engaged his pathfinder and Isis thought she spotted her mum.

“Daddy I . . .

“I know. It’s not her.

“Put her out of your mind . . . shoot your Celex . . .

“But daddy . . .

“Now Isis . . . it’s not her . . . shoot . . .

Isis obeyed and Beau followed.

They huddled in the protective Celex cone – 10 seconds, 20 seconds . . . the bill climbing, then a flash. Startled they found themselves face to face with Janet.

“Mr Pretty, Isis Pretty, you are both on your way to the River Cafe for some chai. Is everything Okay?

“Yes Janet, I am okay.

“Isis, are you okay?

“As usual, Isis cringed at the Janet’s motherly manner

“Yes Janet . . . do I look like I am not okay?

Isis hated the pretense but knew enough to play the game. She knew mostly that at all costs to avoid therapy. Chai was the goal – that is what she wanted.

“Please log a cause for Celex request Mr Pretty, Isis Pretty?

“Just bill us the full amount Janet . . . accidental request . . .

“That is the third time this week Mr Pretty. Do you require therapy?

“No Janet

“Isis Pretty, do you require therapy?

“No Janet, Thank you.

A few uncomfortable seconds passed and Janet, along with the Celex cone disappeared.

As Pretty and Isis gathered themselves and proceeded to carry on towards the River Cafe, a script from Janet appeared detailing Celex’s charges and an advisory that River Cafe were being informed to take special care of Pretty and Isis. This annoyed both Pretty and Isis, as it usually would, but what alarmed Pretty was that the charge for the Celex cone had again been waived.

“Why was Celex not proceeding with their cone charges? Pretty had admitted accidental request. He archived the script and father and daughter hopped into minicab.

5.