Artificial Evil (Book 1 of The Techxorcist) Read online

  It was the least of his concerns. The D-Lottery would kill him within a week anyway.

  Gabe dragged him down the street and round the corner.

  Gerry lost his bearings after a few short minutes. These unfamiliar streets seemed more foreboding and darker than his upper-class district, but then Gerry rarely ventured into the communal zones. Had no reason too, either, being one of the Cemprom’s most gifted algorithm designers. Only the top echelons for him. He’d no choice now, though. Had to get word to his family, find Mike, and sort out this D-Lottery nonsense. The consequences of a compromised algorithm were beyond anything he’d contemplated before. City Earth’s systems and networks were rock solid. Impenetrable. Until now.

  “Ya’ve got some bad mojo in ya, man,” Gabe said.

  “Yeah? No shit.”

  ***

  Gerry’s escort stopped him in front of a rough wooden door, waved his hand over the lock. It chirped, and a small clunk sounded. The door swung open, casting a wide beam of golden light onto the dull street. A pair of brass-rimmed goggles with darkened lenses appeared in the gap. They gave the fragile girl wearing them the countenance of a nervous lemur. She wore her hair in a bright pink Mohican with complicated, almost filigree style tattoos on the side of her head.

  “Petal, I found him,” Gabe said.

  The goggled girl checked both sides of the street and then stood aside to let them enter.

  She was young and twitchy in her synthetic leather trousers and a fitted faux biker jacket. Her lips were tattooed bright purple. It always amazed Gerry how these young girls could put up with the pain. There were few countercultures in City Earth. Most were tame as the citizens wouldn’t, or didn’t want to, rebel against the norm. It mostly extended to a slightly different hair style or basic modifications to clothes.

  He’d never seen a girl like this before. She screamed rebellion, danger. He was quickly getting out of his comfort zone. As he passed her, she cocked her head to one side, assessing him. He wondered what was behind the goggles. The thought intrigued and scared him in equal measure. Without seeing her eyes, it was difficult to read her intentions. What was she thinking? What did she think about him?

  “Go through to the back, Gez,” she said quietly. “Don’t touch a thing.”

  Her voice almost sang to him such was the lightness. The vowels had a slight rough edge to them, making her sound alien to him. It didn’t have the clear pseudo-English accent that everyone within the Dome had. Where did she and Gabe come from? He’d never met anyone within the City who spoke so differently, which brought up a series of questions that he didn’t, or couldn’t dwell on.

  Inside, the room was far grander than what Gerry had expected from the grim aspect of the exterior. Panelled wood, probably mahogany, lined the walls. Expensive. Wood was so rare and to use it as wall decoration was so—the words escaped him.

  “Careless? Vulgar?” she asked him.

  “Wait, you can read my mind?”

  “Nah, you’re on the network. Your AIA’s freaking out, spraying like a panicked skunk. Don’t worry. It’s secure here.” Her goggles switched from opaque to clear, revealing glossy black eyes, reflecting Gerry’s face like mirrored spheres. He caught himself staring, falling.

  “I can see your code. It’s grim. You’re in a world of trouble.” Her head twitched.

  Gerry blinked, looked away, and gripped the sides of his throbbing head. He reached into his jacket pocket. Empty.

  “Where’s my comm?”

  “Smashed to bits. Your security peeps crushed it when they kicked you out.”

  “Great. Can I use yours?”

  “Off the grid. Don’t have one.”

  “Your network? I just need to get word to a friend. He can sort out this D-Lottery nonsense. And then you can let me go. I’ve got family. I’m—”

  “Exempt?” Gabe said. “Aye, should be, but a devil got inside ya and messed with ya algorithm. And ya can’t go transmitting out onto the main network. Way too dangerous.”

  “How the hell do you know all this? Just tell me straight. Who are you people?”

  The girl spoke up. “We’re specialists of a sort. A little bit off the beaten track. We slip through the cracks in the system. We tracked a demon right here in the City. In you, and in your pal Mike.”

  “He’s here? He’s okay?”

  “Um… he’s kinda dead,” Petal said.

  “Mike? Dead? No. This can’t be. You’re lying. Surely!”

  Petal and Gabe stood watching, stony-faced.

  Gerry hoped this was all just a lie or some kind of big elaborate joke. Mike was like that, always playing pranks, but would he go this far? It was funny, sure, about the D-Lottery numbers, but not for this long, and these freaks? Maybe they killed him, and he was next. A billion thoughts bloomed into life and expired almost instantly. He tried to access the logic portion of Mags, but she didn’t respond. Probably occupied with informing the various official channels of his imminent demise. They’d need cover at work. His daughters would need a new father figure. And then there was his wife, Beth. She would need a new husband. The family unit was an important part of City Earth’s society. It was how things worked.

  A part of Gerry knew Beth wouldn’t be terribly upset. Their relationship, for whatever reason, was never particularly intimate. She had a ‘defined role in the family unit’ and was apparently happy with that. Still, it didn’t make it hurt any less.

  Turning back to them and trying to focus, Gerry said, “So tell me, what happened to Mike?”

  “He’s out back,” Gabe said. “Wanna see?”

  Gerry wasn’t sure if he did. All the time there was no physical evidence there was a chance this was all a massive misunderstanding—a nightmare.

  “Come through, Gez,” Petal said. “You’ll see.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “It’s a little screwed up, to be honest.” Her goggles returned to their inky opaqueness.

  Petal took Gerry by the hand and led him through an open doorway into a clinical kitchen: compact and barely large enough for four people. The cabinets and worktops were the usual self-clean white alloy.

  As he ducked under the low door frame, he noticed masses of wire mesh running through the ceiling from room to room. Shielding perhaps? Or a Faraday cage of sorts? That probably explained the security of their internal network.

  The kitchen smelled of alcohol. Numerous antique glass bottles were lined up on a wooden table. Next to them was an alloy container—about a half-metre square—filled with a writhing black liquid.

  Petal must have seen his confusion. “NanoStem solution. Similar to the stuff that Gabe used to heal your facial wound. This one we’ve impregnated with defence nodes. It’s liquid virus protection. Cool, huh?”

  Gerry didn’t know what to think. He just worked with numbers, factors, and probabilities.

  Underneath the stench of booze, something rotten hung in the air. A putrefied, sweet smell tingled his nose hairs and stuck in the back of his throat.

  Petal walked to a nook and opened a curtain. Sitting on his ass was Mike Welling. His skin had mulched to a grey-green mottled colour, as if it had rotted from the inside out. It sagged in disgusting black and purple lumps. He sat in a pool of black viscous liquid that dripped from every orifice—the NanoStem solution.

  “You can see we’ve been trying to help him. For two days we managed to keep it out, but last night the demon breached the ’Stem defence, and… well, you can see the results. It’s a particularly brutal one.”

  Waves of grief flashed through Gerry’s guts. His legs felt like rubber. He grabbed the edge of the table to support himself. “You’re mad. You’re all bloody mad.”

  “That’s possible, my friend, but ya need us,” Gabe said from the doorway. “T
hat thing there is ya pal Mike. That’s what’s gonna happen to ya. It hacked Mike’s AI first, changed the exemption list, and has chosen ya for poezession. Y’ain’t got long, man.”

  “I don’t feel… Mags hasn’t changed. Nothing’s bypassed my security.”

  “Not yet,” Petal said. “But you feel those shakes?”

  Gerry nodded. “That’s just Mags doing her thing with the D-Lottery reg.”

  “No. That’s the demon screwing the bejesus out of your Mags’s back door. It’s trying to impregnate her like it’s done with your pal Mike. Here, watch.”

  Petal pushed Gerry closer to the zombified creature that barely resembled his old friend and boss. They’d known each other since they were toddlers. Came out of the same breeding programme. Selected for the same career path. Gerry had always looked up to him, and here he was, a shell. A rotting shell.

  He blinked the tears from his eyes, breathed deeply—and then regretted it. He gagged on the stench of bad eggs and rotting meat.

  Petal took a HackSlate from her breast pocket and swiped a three-fingered gesture across its neon-blue holographic surface. The device was barely larger than her palm and as thin as paper. She was connecting to their internal network. Gerry had heard about these devices. A few of his colleagues had worked on defence systems against them. They had the ability to bypass most front-line security systems. He’d have to ask her where they got them from, but now wasn’t the time.

  Petal smiled at Gerry. Her full lips stretched wide, exposing sharp canines. She resembled a wolf pup on the edge of adulthood.

  “Time to wake him up.” She drew yet more complex gestures across the slate until a few seconds later the body twitched. “Hey, Mike. Your old pal’s here to say hi.”

  Zombie Mike lifted its head, focusing a milky eye on Gerry. A flash of recognition slithered across its vision. Its swollen lips parted, and it spoke.

  “Kill. Me. Kill me now…” And then the thing started to thrash against the restraints before a different voice spoke. “Ahhh, Mr Cardle, just the man I was sent to get—what treasures you’ll give to me… what secrets you’ll reveal. Now, come here!” The thing lurched towards Gerry, trying to claw at him, but the restraints held it back.

  Gerry jumped back. “Oh, god, Mike!” Gerry screamed, shocked, unable to comprehend the horror of the situation. The thing moaned, then whined, seemingly in pain. “Can’t you put him out of his misery?”

  “We’re tryin’, man.” Gabe pointed to the NanoStem solution. “The demon has royally screwed with his AIA. Got into his brain, neural pathways, nervous system. It’s like a living virus. An artificial evil. You guys, with ya goddamn brain-mods, are clueless as to what ya’ve done. It’s using him to get to the algorithm in ya head, in ya damned AIA.”

  Gerry ignored the AIA argument. He’d monitored the anti-AIA groundswell for years, but the Family always handled it. Severe punishments for those who uninstalled them soon quelled the rebellion. And despite his wondering what it’d be like without a modded brain, there wasn’t a single report of anything detrimental to having one. He turned to Petal. “Have you tried—”

  “Everything. Apart from one.”

  “And you need me for this one thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And it’s dangerous?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  Chapter 3

  Mike Welling, Gerry’s best friend, colleague, and godfather to his kids, was now essentially the animated dead. Before this moment, Gerry had never given a second thought to anything paranormal. Heck, no one did these days. Technology was so prevalent and life so comfortable that there was no need to seek solace in superstition, myth or religion. There were still a tiny minority of people, usually the crazed or the high, who believed in such things, but generally that kind of old-fashioned faith had died decades ago.

  But seeing that thing, that creature in the corner, made Gerry think twice. There was something not right about the situation, about Gabe, the girl, any of it. How did he end up smack-bang in the middle of it all? Coincidence was the usual explanation. But maybe there was some other reason? He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. Gerry took one last look at the forlorn, animated doppelgänger and returned to the living room.

  Gabe and Petal said nothing as he walked past them.

  He slumped into a sofa.

  Gabe sat opposite. His eyes were deep set and surrounded by a thin blanket of veined skin. Gerry noticed he was the self-medicating kind. The telltale red blotches across his nose gave it away. But after seeing what he had to deal with, Gerry was beginning to understand.

  “We tracked the demon for a week before it got into ya boss,” Gabe said. “We tried to stop it, but it was too quick for either of us. It’s using Mike’s AIA.”

  “That’s why it’s keeping Mike alive?”

  “He’s not alive, not really. There’s nothing of Mike left in there. His mind’s been shot to hell. The demon just wanted him for his AIA and the resulting access. We believe the algorithm’s been the target all along.”

  “But why?”

  “You should know that. It’s your algorithm that determines the D-Lottery numbers.”

  Gerry considered the ramifications. What would a seemingly evil force want with the exemption list? People could be added or removed. What would be the benefit of taking people off the list and altering the algorithm?

  “Oh no…”

  “What is it, man? Tell me.”

  Gerry wondered if this is what it felt like to go to confession back in the days before the Dome. “I control the algorithm, right? The buck stops with me, now that Mike’s—well, you know…” He still couldn’t believe he was dead; he tried to compartmentalise his grief into a neat and tidy box. Some of it inevitably spilled out, but he regained control after a few deep breaths.

  “Go on,” Gabe prompted.

  “The members of the Family and the controlling councils are on the exemption list. If they are removed and this demon or whatever it is can change the algorithm, it can choose whose numbers come up, and the network will do the rest.”

  “By ‘do the rest’, you mean kill ’em? Because of your goddamn interconnections and reliance on the network?”

  “Yes, but damn it, how can it change the algorithm? Only through me and my systems at Cemprom can that be changed. And besides, the councils and the Family are ring-fenced from the algorithm anyway.”

  “The code’s messed up. Somehow, through Mike, it’s able to get in somewhere. There’s a leak in ya security. Cemprom, and by extension you, have been compromised.”

  “Without me knowing? Impossible. It’s all a part of me, damn it.” That violated feeling again spread its icy fingers through his brain. Then he remembered—his dermal implant. “You! You hacked me! How do I know all this wasn’t you? You could have put the demon or whatever it is in my code.”

  Gabe just shook his head. “I needed to check ya code, man. How many instances of a hacked AIA via a dermal implant have you ever heard of?”

  Gerry thought for a second and knew it was impossible. But the alternative was a demon AI on the loose in the network? No way. It was unheard of. He snorted out the remaining air in his lungs. His temples throbbed. “Okay. Let’s assume you’re right. Why is it waiting a week for the network to kill me when it could just end me now?”

  “Who said it would wait?”

  The shadow cast from the wide-brimmed hat grew darker over Gabe’s eyes. His already deathly pallor deepened. The consequences of that question played out in Gerry’s mind: if the demon already had control of his AIA, then he wasn’t needed. He could be killed—at any time.

  “I need to contact my family.”

  Gabe shook his head. “It ain’t safe. Ya can’t speak with ’em again.”

  “What? Ever?”
r />   Gabe sighed and stood up. A multitude of creaks and clicks came from his joints. It was obvious not being in the network excluded him from the Medicaid provisions afforded to regular members of society.

  “The demon will keep ya alive for however long it considers you an asset—like it’s done with Mike.”

  “Which could mean I’m done for any second.”

  “Not completely. Not yet, anyway. Come with me. We’ll get ya hooked up to the network and see what’s crawling around inside ya. This is what Petal and I do. Have a little faith, man.”

  ***

  The room behind the curtain resembled a grey cube with several old-fashioned computer terminals set into darkened nooks along the walls. Gerry recognised them from his parents’ photographs of their lives before the Cataclysm.

  “I can’t believe any of these survived,” he said out loud, more for his comfort than general interest. The place stank of sweat and mould. A high-back swivel chair sat in front of each cubicle. All chrome curves and angles, with heavy straps integrated in the arms. Not a good sign. He’d heard about underground sex dens, but since the full integration of the city-wide network, that kind of thing was quickly snuffed out. He’d even worked on some of the search strings and algorithms to identify the chatter and thought patterns via people’s AIAs.

  Overhead, running along the ceiling, more wire mesh writhed between joists. He could sense the flow of petabytes that ran through the fibre-optic cables. A part of him wanted to dive in the current of information. See what flowed there. See what could be manipulated, assessed, controlled.