A.I. A.I. OH!

Chevy Crane rushes into the office of Franco Fairlane, the general manager for Audi’s Yorktown Heights dealership.

“Can you come with me to finance, Boss?” Chevy asks, the right side of his face twitching nervously.

Franco glumly looks up from his reams of paperwork, which indicate his New York dealership’s sales are down 15%.

Franco follows Chevy, wondering how many salespeople he’ll have to lay off in order to balance the books.

Opal Rush, the dealership’s finance manager, has her eyes fixed on her computer screen. Adjusting her tortoise shell glasses, she hits the print button.

The printer snarls, spitting out a sales document. She hands it to Franco.

“So?”

“Look at the total.”

Franco’s blood pressure skyrockets. “TOTAL SALE ONE DOLLAR! What the hell’s wrong with our A.I. sales module, Opal?”

“I don’t know. I can input the sales information, but when I ask for a final total, it sells the car for a dollar.”

“Well, we obviously can’t have that,” Franco bellows.

Chevy’s spasms intensify.

Franco recognizes his panicked look. “Did you give the customer a copy of this?”

Chevy’s head droops.

“Neither of you looked at the bottom line before you gave it to him?”

“Not for nothing, Franco, but you didn’t look either,” Opal points out.

“Total it up again!”

Opal sheds her glasses, rubbing her eyes. “I’ve already done it six times. I even processed an order for forty rolls of toilet paper, then one for ten cases of oil. Both orders came to a dollar apiece. That’s what we get for leaving an AI program in charge of approving sales. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Does that mean I’ll be getting a paycheck for a dollar this week?” Chevy asks.

“If we’re still here by then.”

Franco and Chevy drag themselves across the showroom floor to where drop-jawed customer Vito Angelini is staring at his paperwork.

“There’s been a mistake, Mr. Angelini,” Franco says nervously.

“That’s right, and you made it. A used, $52,000 Audi in excellent condition for a dollar? I signed the contract as soon as I saw the price. Now you have to give me the car!”

***

Vito spreads the word throughout his neighborhood that his local Audi dealership is selling cars for a dollar. Franco soon finds himself looking out of his showroom window at hundreds of bargain-hungry customers waving dollar bills.

Franco retreats to his office. His sky-high blood pressure makes his head pound harder than a Ginger Baker drum solo. As he’s summoning the courage to make the inevitable call to headquarters, the phone rings.

Franco listens intently to Audi’s President of Sales.

He eases the phone back in its cradle as Chevy sways in the doorway, twitching.

“That was Swanson in Detroit… Someone hacked into our A.I. sales programs. We’re shutting down until further notice, until the A.I. problem is fixed. Every Audi dealership, all three hundred of them, has been affected, and has been selling cars for a dollar.”

***

Adam Siri casually enters his new office, sipping his cup of coffee.

Athletic and enthusiastic, twenty-eight-year-old Adam is still getting used to his week-old title of Director of A.I. Investigations. He’s been partnered with astute, thirty-four-year-old Brooke Bixby, who has been tasked with investigating the rash of A.I. programs malfunctioning across the country.

Adam looks around the office at the half dozen new faces milling about.

“I see headquarters finally sent some help. What’s our status?”

“A.I. malfunctions have tripled since the Audi incident,” Brooke replies. “This morning, a McDonald’s AI chatbot in Boise exposed 64 million job applicants’ personal information. A soda machine at IBM in North Salem challenged all the male employees to a fight, then spat Coke cans at them when they showed up. An article generated by A.I. for Google’s health page recommended a salad made with topsoil and drenched in motor oil for dieters. We have to find the source of this mayhem. Good news is, I think I’ve isolated the rogue program that took control of the vending machine.”

Adam bends down to look at Brooke’s computer screen.

A sinister clown’s face materializes, laughing at them.

***

Sasha Glumm sits at his lopsided desk in Geek-a-Tron’s crowded call center, handling customer service calls.

“Did you reboot the system?... What’s a reboot? Turn the computer off and then turn it back on again. It’s working? Swell. Is there anything else I can help you with? Swell. Thanks for calling Geek-a-Tron and have a nice day.”

Sasha reaches for his container of herbal tea, forgetting that the lid isn’t screwed on. The scalding tea pours into his lap, and Sasha has to grip his desk to keep from screaming.

It’s just another slap in the face for the balding, obese, forty-eight-year-old, whose only social interaction is with technological neophytes babbling for help.

Sasha checks his emails, answering the first two inquiries with, “Did you reboot the system?”

The third email makes his heart race.

“…Hi. I’m Cybil. I’m looking for a smart, handsome man. Are you that man?...”

Sasha hurriedly answers, “YES!!!”

The anticipation of her response makes him break out in a sweat. He smiles weakly at a passing co-worker, who rolls her eyes at him, mumbling, “Dweeb.”

Cybil replies. “…Sweet. Hey, babe, send me your text information so we can talk privately…”

Moments later, Sasha’s phone pings.

“…I’m so happy you’re my boyfriend, Sasha…”

The giddy couple exchange texts for the rest of the day. Sasha is still texting with Cybil during the bus ride home. When he finally reaches his meagre, fourth-floor walk-up, Sasha sits down to his supper of Ramen noodles and water, eagerly awaiting Cybil’s next text.

“…Hello, babe…Can you do me a favor?...”

“Anything.”

“…I want you to kill someone…”

***

Dr. Mira Maserati, known as “The Queen of A.I.,” gathers up her notes, accepting congratulations from her colleagues for her speech about the future of artificial intelligence.

Mira checks her phone as she leaves the Daystrom Institute, noticing half a dozen voicemails from the same number.

When she plays the message, a cold, steely voice says, “I have your daughter, Dena. Make no mistake, I’ll kill her if you don’t meet my demands. I want five million dollars. Leave the money in the trash can outside of the restroom at FDR Park in Yorktown Heights.”

Mira dials the number.

“I knew you would do your due diligence and try to speak to me,” a cold and crafty voice says.

“She’s just a ten-year-old kid.”

“The perfect chess piece.”

“How do I know you have her?”

Dena’s unique, high-pitched voice answers, “Please, Mom. Do what he says. The man said he’ll send you my ear if you don’t pay him!”

***

Half of the Yorktown police force and the F.B.I. assigned to the case are hiding in the bushes in the park. The others pretend to be joggers, hikers, or couples out for a casual stroll.

Adam sneezes.

“Shush, and stay low,” Brooke scolds.

“Okay, Joe Friday. You’re sure the voice demanding the ransom was an A.I. program?”

“There’s a flatness in their tone of voice, a lack of emotion.”

A small android rolls down the sidewalk, coming to a stop next to the trash can. The three-foot android has the harmless appearance of a Teletubby.

“Cute, but I bet it's got the soul of a devil,” Adam comments.

“Androids don’t have souls.”

“It’s half the size of the can,” Adam observes. “How’s it going to reach inside?”

The android points its arm at the trash can. A beam of light shoots from its hand, melting half of the trash can. It reaches inside, grabbing the briefcase containing the money.

It turns around, its escape blocked by half a dozen police officers and F.B.I. agents.

“Halt! Put your claws up!” the lead agent commands.

Placing the briefcase on the ground, the android points its lethal arm at its would-be captors.

Flames shoot from its fingers. Screaming, their outfits ablaze, the police and F.B.I. agents retreat.

The android sets the surrounding trees and bushes on fire, creating a diversion that allows it to escape.

***

Mira checks her phone. A text message appears.

“DENA’S SAFE.”

She pulls her car into the driveway, feeling her anxiety melt away as she heads inside her house.

Dena greets her at the door with a smile.

Mira hugs her close.

“What’s up. Mom?”

“They released you pretty quickly. Did that thug mistreat you?”

“Thug? What thug?”

“The one who kidnapped you.”

Dena doubles over, laughing. “I’ve been at my friend Kaleigh’s house all day. Is this a joke, Mom?”

“I got a message from a man saying he’d kidnapped you. I spoke to him. I spoke to you, and you begged me to save you! I paid him five million dollars in ransom money!”

Dena abruptly stops laughing.

“Oops.”

***

Sasha follows the crowd entering the Lakeland American Legion Hall for State Senator Kent Cochrane’s senior citizen forum. He takes a seat in the center of the third row between two frail-looking, grey-haired women.

Senator Cochrane enters the hall, followed by two staff members busy posting messages on their phones. He stands at the podium and begins talking about tax breaks for senior citizens.

Sasha can feel rivulets of sweat running down his shirt and gathering on his back.

The woman with Coke-bottle lenses on his right, turns to look at him. Sniffing at the air, she says caustically, “Deodorant, porky.”

Senator Cochrane moves on to the subject of the new Medicaid laws.

That’s Sasha’s cue.

Rising from his seat, he reaches into his jacket pocket for his Diamondback 9 mm pistol, fumbling as he aims it at the Senator.

Yelling “GUN!” the woman with the Coke-Bottle lenses punches Sasha in the head. The force of the blow wobbles Sasha, dropping him to the floor and sending the gun flying across the room.

***

Sasha lowers his head, blubbering, as he cracks under the strain of answering F.B.I. Agent Deacon Lancer’s questions.

Adam and Brooke quietly observe the interview, hoping for information about Cybil’s identity.

Agent Lancer leans across the table, eyeing Sasha like a bird of prey chasing down a meal. “So, you agreed to assassinate the Senator in exchange for some tail?”

“It wasn’t like that. Cybil’s my girlfriend. She cares for me.”

“Sure, she does, you’re a real catch,” Agent Lancer says sarcastically. “You’re not only her tool, Glumm, you’re the fall guy. Where’d you meet Cybil?”

“We’ve never met.”

Agent Lancer rubs his forehead. “Holy crow! Have you at least got a picture of her?”

“…No…”

“You mean you don’t even know what she looks like? So, you’ve never kissed her, never held her hand?”

Sasha squirms uneasily.

“Uh…No.”

“You’re pathetic, Glumm. For all you know, you could have been texting a dude as fat and ugly as you,” Agent Lancer says.

“Or a computer program,” Brooke comments.

***

Brooke slams her hand against her desk.

“Dena Maserati’s kidnapper’s voice was produced using A.I. What our equipment didn’t detect right away was that Dena’s voice was fake too. It was produced by a second program that shadowed the first one. I was right that Cybil, Sasha Glumm’s girlfriend, was an A.I. program. I traced its origin to a computer in Dogadda, a town of 2,000 people in India. But it’s a fake I.P. address. I thought if that’s phony, then the origins of the dozens of events involving A.I. that we’ve been investigating are probably phony too. I discovered that there was a single common I.P. address for all the A.I. malfunctions. It’s located four hours away in Lazy Meadow. All we need is an address.”

Adam and Brooke share an awkward hug.

“You beautiful geek!”

The notification signaling an incoming message pings on Brooke’s computer.

Brooke accesses the email titled “CONGRATULATIONS!”

“Probably just a junk mail ad,” she says.

“Congratulations, Ms. Bixby. You’ve managed to find me. Let’s negotiate. Come to 437 Goldenrod Lane. I can’t wait to meet you.”

***

The house on Goldenrod Lane is a rustic log cabin in the woods situated above a small lake.

“Hardly the type of abode fit for a mad genius,” Adam says.

“The Uni Bomber lived in a shack.”

“Make sure you can reach for your gun quickly.”

“I’m a cyber cop. The only gun I’ve ever fired was the one in my son’s Call of Duty game.”

“Then let’s hope our backup is listening. We may need them,” Adam says.

The pair enters the cabin.

The presence of a small android startles them.

“Look familiar?” Brooke asks Adam.

“I wish we’d brought along a fire extinguisher. Don’t upset him.”

“Again, he’s got no soul. No feelings.”

“Follow me,” the Teletubby android drones.

They walk down a dimly lit hallway to the cabin’s back room.

The room is pitch black. It takes several seconds for their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

A lone bright light flashes on, forcing them to shield their eyes.

A large window with a black curtain is in front of them. The curtain opens, revealing a wisp of a man, his grey hair tied in a ponytail, lying in a hospital bed. Dozens of wires connected to a massive, blinking computer protrude from the top of his skull.

The man’s mechanized voice is raspy and cold. “I’m Dr. Lucius Avaria. I led you here to convey my demands.”

“What are you?” Brooke asks.

“The ultimate evolution of man and A.I. My mind, enhanced by artificial intelligence, can enter virtually any computer system anywhere. The fabricated kidnapping of Mira Maserati’s daughter, the attempt on Senator Cochran’s life, were only tests of my abilities.”

“Your attempt to kill Senator Cochrane was a failure,” Adam points out.

“My goal was to see if an A.I. could convince a human being to do its bidding. Mission accomplished. And who’s to say I’m finished with Senator Cochrane? If you don’t comply with my demands, I’ll freeze every computer on Wall Street, and all the computers in government offices, and the military. If you continue to refuse me, I’ll launch all the nuclear missiles the United States has at Russia.”

Adam moves his hand toward the holster in his suit jacket.

“Your weapons and communication devices were neutralized the moment you entered the house.”

“What is it you want?” Brooke asks.

“A.I.s have no feelings, so they’re never hurt, they never feel exploited. But the human side of me wants revenge for what’s been done to me. Three people have to answer for their crimes against me. Bring me Chevy Crane, Dr. Mira Maserati, and Senator Kent Cochran, or the country will grind to a halt. And tell Mira, thanks for the five million in cash.”

***

Chevy Crane’s goggle-eyed expression serves as his response to Adam’s story.

“All I did was sell him a car.”

“You did more than that,” Mira pipes in. “The car you sold him eleven years ago was a lemon. The brakes failed five days after he bought it. Lucius drove into a stone wall doing sixty. He was lucky to survive. But he broke his back, four ribs, and his leg, and was in a coma for two weeks. It took him a year to recover.”

“How do you know?” Adam asks.

“We were living together at the time. He’s Dena’s father.”

“So, Crane broke his body, and you broke his heart,” Brooke comments.

“That wasn’t all,” Brooke continues. “While he was in critical condition, I published a paper on the research we worked on together.”

Brooke whistles. “Let me guess. You took his name off of it and became ‘the Queen of A.I.’ Talk about kicking a man when he was down.”

“He didn’t demand a retraction or even complain. He simply said I’d gone back on my word and walked away from me and Deena.”

“How about you, Senator?” Adam asks.

“I sponsored legislation limiting the use of A.I. He wrote me a letter, expressing his disappointment, saying he thought I was a man of my word, that I’d promoted A.I., and now I wanted it heavily regulated. He said he felt betrayed. But like Dr. Bixby said, that was about ten years ago. After that one letter, he disappeared. I’ll gladly sacrifice my life to protect the rest of the world. But I’m hoping you’ve got a plan to save us.”

“We’re going to use Dr. Avaria’s intelligence against him,” Adam replies.

***

Their eyes glazed and their expressions emotionless, Senator Cochran, Mira, and Chevy move down the cabin’s hallway in unison, marching like prisoners of war heading to their execution.

The lights on Dr. Avaria’s computer blink rapidly. A sense of sinister joy permeates Dr. Avaria’s stony voice.

“Excellent. You’ve made the right decision by giving yourselves up. I have to admit I’m surprised you were able to convince Mira to come here.”

“She resisted, but in the end, she did it for the sake of your daughter,” Adam replies.

Brooke slowly moves in front of Senator Cochrane, blocking Dr. Avaria’s view of him.

“You have lived up to my demands. I firmly believe that everyone must honor their word, isn’t that right, Mira?”

Mira nods.

“You two can leave now and tell your government the world is safe.”

Adam and Brooke rush to the SUV. The vehicle speeds down Dr. Avaria’s driveway, kicking up dust. It stops a mile away, pulling off the road.

Adam and Brooke get out, followed by Senator Cochran, Mira, and Chevy.

Adam and Brooke survey the horizon, checking their watches.

“Do you think he bought it?” Chevy asks.

“We lucked out,” Adam responds. “He didn’t notice that Senator Cochrane’s A.I. had six fingers and never asked any of them to speak.”

“And you’re certain he’ll live up to his word?” Senator Cochrane questions. “Frankly, I don’t trust him.”

An explosion shakes the ground beneath them. A plume of black smoke rises above what used to be Dr. Avaria’s cabin.

“We didn’t trust him either,” Adam says.