Tidelands: I-Two (5)
Sentiment.
Caulden doesn’t really like Friedler; less the man himself, actually – though there is certainly not much to like there, either. More what he represents: a throwback, a vestigial function of the body politic, like its appendix or tailbone. Their meeting will prove to be similarly redundant. Whatever he has to say could have been a text, a voice or video message, securely encrypted for Caulden’s later attention. But the man’s antiquated sense of procedure, and his old-school suspicion of written communication, dictate that he must deliver his sensitive news in person – though not literally so, of course. Which makes all these precautions a mite ridiculous. Nevertheless, Caulden humours him. Beneath his Luddite eccentricities, he’s a nasty piece of work, and he wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of that.
He sits down at his desk – well, its virtual equivalent – accepts the call, and Friedler’s form manifests in the chair opposite.
He does dress well, for a public official; more in fact like a high-level corporate executive – which is more or less what he is; a competing corporation, but one with which the Arc is compelled to have dealings, for now. His hair is subtly styled, his suit of a fashionable cut, the mayoral badge of office a discreet and modestly sized pin on his jacket’s lapel. It is all very tastefully done – nothing that shouts power or status, that advertises wealth and privilege – even (he notes with amusement) the digital filters that have trimmed from his avatar ten pounds and five years (but no more), some algorithm having whispered in his ear what he might plausibly get away with. But Caulden notices. As a creator himself, he has an eye for artifice – not for hairstyles or suits, it’s true, but an eye instinctively drawn to those details that have received the benefit of someone’s careful time and attention.
“We may have a problem, Director,” Friedler opens.
“Of what sort?”
“I’d … Would you mind if we …?”
For crying out loud.
“Azimuth. Could we have some privacy, please?”
“Certainly,” the AI responds, its voice made to echo artificially through the virtual space.
Caulden gestures, both arms held out, palms up: Satisfied? Though the very idea of the AI “leaving the room” – of any sort of privacy at all, really – is both quaint and ludicrous. Whatever Azimuth wants to know, neither Caulden nor anyone else could thwart. But Friedler seems mollified.
“There’s been a data breach,” Friedler continues. “An engineer. On the Project.”
With a capital P.
“How?”
“Outside. In the market. A professional, we think.”
Caulden regrets now involving Friedler’s people in the construction work – in fact, any people at all. But there are limits to what even Azimuth can achieve, undetected by the company’s quartermaster. And he has good reasons for keeping the project from his bosses – for the moment, anyway.
“But what about his encryption?” Caulden asks.
“On his Project work, unbroken, as far as we can tell. Some minor personal data loss, but nothing confidential.”
A silence.
“Well, then?” Caulden prompts.
The man sighs. “We both know there are other means of intrusion. And if he’s been stupid enough to expose himself to the first sort …”
“But the man himself doesn’t even know he’s worked on the Project. We don’t know for certain that anything else has been compromised. And if his encryption has held, then we probably have nothing to worry about.”
“Probably.” Friedler shrugs, and begins chewing at a manicured fingernail. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Just covering all the bases.”
Just doing his job – not his official one, of course. But one that would be better handed over to something more competent, something less encumbered by primitive emotions and human biases.
“And the intruder? Do we know anything of them?”
Friedler snorts. “They’re like rats, out there – a hundred lurking unseen for every one you spot. But I am making enquiries.”
“Well, keep me posted.”
“Will do.” He recommences chewing at his fingernail. “So what do you want me to do? About the engineer?”
“What do you mean?”
“We should deal with him, don’t you think?”
“What do you …?”
“You know, as a precautionary measure.”
“Is that … is that really necess—“
“Man’s obviously a liability. A weak link. They’ve already got in once. And who knows what the intrusion may have done to his . . .” Friedler wiggles the fingers of his right hand to one side of his head, as if the motion will summon up the word – then gives up. “Let’s just say I’d be happier if he wasn’t wandering around such places as the market with a bucketful of our secrets in his head. But I mean, if you think the risk of exposure is minimal …?”
“Well, I … Of course, if you really think …”
But deal with? Christ.
“Then leave it with me,” Friedler says, and ends the call.
On reflection, maybe in fact that’s why such human vestiges as Friedler still exist. For all of the misconceptions and prejudices that surround machine intelligence, it is most often humans that display the greatest capacity to act without sentiment, scruple or qualm.
Tidelands is a weekly sci-fi & fantasy serial that publishes every Friday, emailed straight to your inbox. Part 1 is free to read, but you can keep up with the story by signing up for exclusive access, or buying ebook or paperback editions of the collected instalments as they appear.