WRAITH CASE STUDY AUGUSTA PINE #3
“Oh.” She glanced out the window. “I see lights on across the street.” She pushed herself upright. “I’m going to grab my dad’s phone to order dinner. Anything you want on your pizza?”
“I’ll eat whatever,” I said. I hoped I sounded normal, but even to me, I was a little breathless.
Becca gave me a searching glance, but then she walked out of the bedroom.
A few moments. I only had a few moments.
I couldn’t kill the AI. I just couldn’t. And I couldn’t let Becca lose what memories she had of her mom.
And I couldn’t let ISD know that I failed.
My brain whirled, sorting through possibilities.
Perhaps I could throw the AI and the frame outside so they might not be affected by the EMP.
But there was no assurance they would survive the fall or land far enough from the house.
Or perhaps I could put them in a microwave …
but that wouldn’t work. Most microwaves aren’t shielded on all sides.
Then my gaze fell on the metal trash can. It was the sort with a lid and—
Galvanized steel.
I drew in a quick breath. Then I snatched up a small cardboard box.
It was just the right size to fit inside the trash can.
I upended the contents—makeup spilling out—and then put the AI computer inside.
I picked up Becca’s frame. A new picture of her mom—this one of her making a face at the camera—stared back at me.
I made sure both were inside the cardboard, then I put them in the metal trash can. The lid had a pretty good seal—and it would have to be enough.
Decades ago, there were jokes about paranoid people wearing tinfoil hats to protect against radio waves.
It was wrong … but not wholly so. Tinfoil and galvanized steel will protect against electromagnetic pulses, so long as the object inside wasn’t directly touching the metal.
The cardboard box should provide enough of a barrier … or so I hoped.
I pulled the lighter from my pocket. I felt my lips form the word please as I flicked it open and pressed the two buttons.
There was no flash of light, no boom, no sign at all that anything had happened. I kept pressing for five seconds, counting them down in my head. Then I released the buttons and shoved the lighter into my pocket again.
I ducked to retrieve the frame and computer.
The latter was crammed into my backpack just as Becca walked up the stairs.
“The drone should be dropping off our order in twenty minutes,” she said, ambling in the room.
Her gaze fell on the frame and she frowned.
Then she reached down to move the frame an inch to the left—right where it had been before.
A picture of her mom glowed at her. My makeshift Faraday cage had worked.
She looked at me. “You all right?”
I would never see her again. Not after this. I would vanish.
Like a wraith.
That night, I returned to my dorm room. Prefect was waiting by the door.
“Here,” I said, and tossed the lighter to him. He caught it easily. “Mission accomplished.”
He looked over the lighter, then nodded. “We noted the EMP pulse from a nearby surveillance van. Good job, Augusta.” The corners of his mouth lifted. It was the first time I had ever seen him happy.
I entered my dorm room alone. It was the same as always: sterile, empty, and so impersonal that it made my molars ache. I waited a few minutes until I was sure Prefect wasn’t going to return.
I sat on my bed and unzipped my backpack.
The computer and bumblebee were still there. I picked up my visor. It could connect to most computers, acting as both screen and earphones. I looked for available signals and found an unlabeled one. Hoping I’d just connected to the AI and not to another wraith’s laptop, I said, “Hello?”
The computer whirred beneath my fingers, a small fan hissing out warm air. The bumblebee twitched. “Am I allowed to speak now?” it said. And if I didn’t know better, I’d think it sounded petulant.
“Yes,” I said. I settled with the computer between my knees. “You’re … well, you’re working with me now. Please restrict your programming to follow my commands only.”
The bumblebee walked across the computer, looking up at me. “Who are you?”
“Augusta Pine,” I said. “You can call me Augusta.”
“Where is Mr. Bergvall?” asked the AI.
I sighed. “At home, hopefully. Probably panicking about where you are.”
The bumblebee crawled over to my hand. “You took me.”
“I did,” I agreed. “Do you have a problem with that?”
It seemed to consider. “I have no ethical subroutines.”
Great. Not only did I now possess the world’s most advanced spybot, but it didn’t have any idea about morality. If this thing ever got loose—
No, I thought. It wasn’t a thing. It was learning. It could speak. It could think.
It wasn’t a human, but it was something. And I was done killing things.
Maybe I could write a few subroutines for it. Maybe I could help this burgeoning life become something better than what it was created for.
A second chance.
“Do you have a name?” I asked.
“I am 100 ED6 GR-4000,” said the AI promptly.
“Well, I’m not calling you that,” I said. “EDGR, huh? How about Edgar?”
The bumblebee’s wings flickered.
“That is acceptable,” he said.