Phoenix Ward
The Installed Intelligence Trilogy Collection
Copyright © 2019 by Phoenix Ward
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To my friends and family - and the future.
Contents
Foreword
I. INSTALLED
Preface
Columbine
Today
Karl
Lecture
Feedback
Stewart
Threat
Presentation
Mindshare
Maynard
First Impressions
Compromise
Progress
The Lab
Rescue
Judgement
Caged
Escape
Shelter
Thompson
The Calm
Undercover
Encrypted
Second Nail
Hiding
Stalward
Decision
Black Market
Fort Leddy
Negotiations
Confrontation
Spark
Chase
Lies
Truth
Resist
After All is Said and Done
II. CORRUPTED
Preface
Launch
Headlines
The Couple
Theories
Simon
Trishilan
Coffee
Murder
Vicky
Greetings
Offer
The Hunt
Deceived
Warning
The Mall
Danger
Off the Grid
Radar
Rendezvouz
Rubik
Lobo
History
Surrounded
Standoff
Rescue
Resistance
Dr. Miller
Insurrection
The Stranger
Paranoia
Refuge
Propaganda
Nathan
Broken
The Holdout
Attack
Hard Storage
Failsafe
Questions
Answers
Martyr
Defeat
III. DELETED
Preface
Slumside
Game On
Patrol
Scoreboard
The Motel
Gauge
Sympathy
Challenge
Shedding
Birthday
Orders
Cattle
Eviction Notice
Disconnect
Captured
Afterbirth
Calvary
Waking
Interrogation
The Furnace
Outside
Briefing
Reception
The Naming
Nidus
King Hum
A Shell Without a Snail
The Decision
Determination
Homecoming
Joker to the Thief
The Councilman
Déjà Vu
Counteroffer
Divinity
Red Pill
No
Godliness
Layers
Unplugged
Gaslit
Free
Final Bet
Purple Pill
Faithless
Scheming
Raid
Vigil
Envoys
Orange
Ghosts
Gearhead Guild
Truck
Battalion
Warplan
A Short Refrain
Revolution
Powder Keg
Tides
Deleted
Shift Change
Heads up!
About the Author
Also by Phoenix Ward
Foreword
The three novels contained in this collection follow over a hundred years of conflict between humans and installed intelligences. Each novel follows a new set of characters all living in the same timeline, charting the entire course of the I.I. wars.
I
INSTALLED
Preface
An installed intelligence (I.I.) is a digital backup of a human mind which can think and act of its own accord. Legally and practically, I.I.s cannot be activated until after their organic counterpart — their bodies — have died. At first, they were created as tools to run machines designed to clean up the terrible aftermath of World War III. Once their original purpose was served, they became mere novelties of computer engineering. Eventually, when their sentience became clear to the general public, they were granted equal human rights. For some, however, that wasn’t enough.
This is the first act of the Installed Intelligence saga.
Columbine
I could use a vacation, Susan thought to herself as she walked through the front door. Somewhere warm and quiet.
The lights over the entrance cast arched shadows throughout the tiled floor of the lobby. A crimson banner hanging above the doorway spelled out the name of the Columbine Installed Intelligence Bank in a small white font. It was humble—the type of business that wasn’t accustomed to walk-ins.
Susan’s heels clicked over the shiny floor as she made her way through the lobby and to the reception desk. She gave the woman behind the desk a short, friendly smile before digging around the inside of her purse for her security badge.
The woman waited patiently while Susan rummaged through her belongings. The receptionist tossed her strawberry-blonde hair over her shoulder and gave the smile she had been trained from day one to show customers. She made that expression that scrunched up a girl’s face and made her eyes sparkle. It was almost like she was pressing her lips together to whistle, but that’s just how she smiled.
Susan found the badge and slid it over the scanner on top of the reception desk. The device beeped and gave a green flash.
“So how was the weekend, Susan?” the woman behind the counter asked.
The older woman needed a moment to return some things to her purse.
“Good, good,” she replied. “Got to relax with the kids for once. They seem to never be able to meet in one place these days.”
“Kids can get busy,” the younger woman commented. Her phony countenance never diminished.
How would you know? Susan thought to herself. You look barely old enough to date my youngest son.
“They sure can,” she replied. There was no reason to drop her facade of politeness this early in the day. “Still, they could make time for their mother—since I was the one to feed and raise them and all.”
“I love my mother,” the receptionist interjected. “I always go to see her whenever I can.”
“Well aren’t you sweet,” Susan replied.
Once the security door to the offices finally swung open, she made off for it like it was a departing train. She wanted to leave the tension of the conversation with the new girl. Susan wasn’t cold, she just didn’t c
onnect to girls of that age. They couldn’t remember a time without cerebral computers or automated transit. They didn’t recall a time they weren’t connected to everyone else, every second of every day.
The receptionist wished her a good day, but she was too far to return more than a thankful wave. She sighed a little when the door closed behind her.
After working in the farthest office from reception for over seven years, Susan had learned to wear only the shortest heels she had. That didn’t prevent her from putting on a different pair of shoes for every day of the week, however. It was one of the few things that gave variety to her work.
“Susan!” a warm voice called from behind her.
Meredith walked up to her with such speed, yet grace, that Susan almost thought she was skating. The two women exchanged a hug in greeting before diving into the latest news.
“Yeah, there’s not much profit to be made from dead customers,” Susan said with a chuckle.
Meredith pulled up her tablet and examined one of the numbers on her records chart. Unlike Susan, Meredith didn’t have a cerebral computer and relied on external devices to manage her work. Still, Susan preferred the monitors and tablets over her internal retina display. She used her C.C. as seldom as possible.
“You know, your department is actually the one with greatest growth,” Meredith told her colleague. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. It’s working.”
Susan beamed with pride.
“That’s wonderful!” she said. “Is it the new model of display? Is that what’s moving the most?”
“Honestly, it looks even across the board,” Meredith answered. “I think it’s the variety, along with the range of prices that draws the attention. You’ve been pushing a lot of the more expensive stuff, I see.”
Meredith took a small sip from her portable coffee cup.
“Yeah, you know, people just love the new projection editions,” Susan said. “There’s something about being able to stand next to an I.I.’s avatar, full size, and see how human they look. It makes the experience so much more ‘real’ for the average customer.”
“Average wealthy customer,” Meredith corrected.
Susan shook her head, a bit of a smug smirk imprinted under her nose.
“Have you taken a look at these newer models for next year?” she asked. She didn’t wait for a reply. “There are so many different versions of the projection, and some are cheaper than you’d expect. There’s this new low-light display they’ve managed to work into a holographic rendering that lets it save an enormous amount of power.”
“Really?” Meredith seemed surprised by the information. “Where’d you hear that?”
“It was a hidden memo. Project leads only.”
“Oh,” Meredith said. Her tone dropped as if she had just been rejected from a cafeteria table. “Well that would be good news. Those things have been energy suckers from the get-go. I know electricity isn’t terribly expensive these days, but it’s still not cheap to replace the power units when they fry themselves.”
“They’ve added some sort of power regulator to help with that, too,” Susan continued. “The low-light displays are supposedly much more interactive, believe it or not.”
“How so?”
“Something about the light beams makes it easier to create a more natural interface. Customers like it so much better when you can gesture through some lights or press a holographic button. They prefer it to interacting with a keyboard or a cerebral computer, if they’re rich enough to afford one. There’s no external accessories required at all.”
“You don’t say,” Meredith said, stroking her chin as if there were a beard there.
“At least that’s what I’ve heard, but I trust my sources.” Susan gave a little titter, then pointed to Meredith’s tablet. “Any interesting new installations?”
Her friend nodded, humor twinkling in her eyes. “As a matter of fact, we got that Daytona guy,” she said.
“Daytona? The lawyer?”
“That’s the one,” Meredith confirmed. “The man on TV promising to protect your patent if you’re an inventor. Stands next to that heap of fake money that falls over onto him at the end of the commercial.”
“What was he doing here?” Susan said. She looked hungry for the gossip, eagerly gripping the strap of her purse like it was the seat belt on a rollercoaster.
Meredith’s mischievous expression before she started the story made it even harder for Susan to bear.
“Well, it just so happens he received a call the other night from some mystery man,” Meredith continued, scooping out each morsel of the story in precise bites for her friend to digest. “It was a voice he couldn’t recognize, and he’s pretty sure it was someone using a modulator. Apparently, this caller told him to watch his back, and that lawyers had a ‘nasty habit of falling into dark holes.’ ”
“Goodness,” Susan commented, raising her hand to her cheek. “And his first move was to come here?”
Meredith started laughing in rapid snorts. “It would seem so. You should have seen him. I swear, he was wearing that same burgundy suit from the ads, though he was a sweating mess, constantly dabbing his face with a little embroidered handkerchief like his life depended on it.”
“So you gave him the installation? What happened next?”
“Well, then he got really shady when we handed him those new Z-8 forms, then—” Meredith said.
“Ugh, people just can’t wrap their heads around those things,” Susan interrupted. “They act like a new form adds fifty miles to their commute. It’s just a simple paper, people!”
“Yeah, Daytona wasn’t really into it,” Meredith said. “He stared down over the form for at least thirty minutes before he even considered touching the pen. Even still, he acted like we were asking him to give away a kidney. All his original nervousness and fright turned to indignation, and he was more eager than ever to leave.”
“Celebrities are weird,” Susan said, shaking her head in befuddlement.
“Pseudo-celebrities are weirder,” Meredith said.
Susan gave a little giggle, then told her friend she had to get started on work.
Her coffee was starting to get cold. She turned her nose up a little when she took a sip. It should have stayed hot longer than this, she thought, annoyed. Stupid traveler’s cup. I need a new one.
Susan’s office was laid out with as few decorations as it seemed possible to work around all day. A small ficus sat in the corner, huddling up close to the tan filing cabinet. Almost all of her paperwork was digital, but she still liked the feel of real paper in real envelopes. It made her think of her mother’s office when she had been a real estate broker—all those years of playing with desk drawers and filing cabinets.
Her desk computer was one of the newer models. These ones actually maintained a holographic display that the user could pair up and use with their cerebral computer. She could be working on a file on the desk display while also reading sensitive patient information on her eyepiece. It had cost the bank a pretty penny, but it was nothing compared to her salary. Installation technicians were the most desired professionals in the world, and it was easy to see why. Unlocking human immortality was nothing to turn your nose up at.
Susan wasn’t just any installation tech, either. She was the head of the Interaction and Interface department of the Columbine I.I. bank. Once someone wanted to withdraw an installed intelligence, it was her job to set them up with some means of communicating with it. The less-wealthy customers often settled for a text and keyboard interface, while the super-rich wanted the full holographic projection with voice and gesture recognition. She made the most commission off those.
She sat down at her desk and started to thumb through the short stack of intake forms on her desk.
Part of her job was looking over new patients and figuring out what interface to push on them should the worst happen and a withdrawal was sought.
In order to authorize the release of an installed intelligence to a customer, Susan needed to see a death certificate. No one could own the I.I. of a living person—not until more research had been done.
She was just about halfway through her first file when a knock came at her door.
“Come in,” she yelled.
The mail clerk with the curly hair appeared, carrying a small brown parcel.
“This came for you this morning,” he said, setting the package on her desk.
“Thanks, Donny,” she said, watching him as he backed out of the office and returned to his cart.
Her brow furrowed. The parcel was about the size of a dictionary, maybe a bit longer. The label on the front was handwritten, her name and the bank’s address written in black marker. There was no return address.
“Are you sure this thing’s been cleared?” she hollered out the door. However, Donny was already gone.
She thought for a moment, then shrugged and reached for a letter opener in her pen cup. It took a little sawing back and forth to get through the thick packing tape, but she was soon peeling the brown paper off the parcel.
When she folded the wrapping back, all that was left was a plain black box made of some textured plastic. It looked like something a teen had 3D-printed in his basement with a bootleg blueprint. There was a single LED bulb in the center of the object, blinking green, a little pulse of color every five seconds or so.
Confused, she cocked her head at the black box.
She lifted the object and rolled it over, hoping to find some sort of label. It distressed her when she didn’t know what something was. The box was heavy in the center, but felt flimsy around the edges.
She examined the wrapping paper, seeing if there was something she missed. To her relief, there was a small index card that remained tucked in the packaging.
Susan pulled it out and read it. It said, “They will never be people.”
“What the hell?” she muttered to herself.
When she spun the thing back right-side-up, she noticed that the light had stopped flashing.
Then it blinked red.
The explosion was audible from over a dozen blocks away.
Today