We were part of a more or less secret group, often called “probers” by anyone who happened to know what we did. Admittedly it was a small group of people who had even heard of us. Our job was to spoof AIs, and we were good at it. This wasn’t an incredibly lucrative job but it more than paid the bills. More importantly even, it provided a level of intellectual challenge and excitement that would have been impossible to find elsewhere.
Someone in our group referred to us as “poggers” one day, and the hilarity of it stuck. From that day on we always jokingly called ourselves the “pog champs”. I don’t know if any of you reading this will even remember the reference anymore. But I can assure you it was pretty funny back then.
But back to our job. AI spoofing was an open secret among the tech community. Most people outside the tech industry (big or small tech) had never heard of the term, as there were no media stories about it. I was employed by a medium-sized firm that did data analytics as well as IT support for our clients.
While the IT part is self-explanatory and, as far as I knew, nothing exciting ever happened over there the dat-an side of things was another matter entirely. Most of what they did was for large ad revenue companies who, as our firm’s clients, we provided a near-endless stream of consumer and personal data mined from various sources online and offline, some of those sources even legal ones. The joke in the sector went something like, “if it’s not explicitly illegal then it’s fine. If it is explicitly illegal then show me the signed legal order, or it’s still fine.” Legal departments were just one layer of cover for this sort of data mining work, which had ballooned into a multi-billion dollar industry in just the last 5 or 6 years. But mostly the industry operated with such a level of isolation and autonomy that any sort of accountability was realistically off the table.
It was within the umbrella of data analytics that we poggers, or rather probers operated. Most of the work ordered by our clients was passive, like “collect 5,000 online accounts from within this list of services and link each account to an individual name, physical address, phone number, email account and series of IP addresses.” Mundane stuff. But occasionally an active order came down the pike: “Create a logic back-circuit that can act as a forward search trail for the following dataset.” Then would typically come any number of products or services to be pushed across the internet and various marketing platforms.
I remember one such order I thought was especially funny at the time, it involved creating a back-trail for Kit-n-Koodles dog treats (savory chicken and rice to be specific) being verifiably associated with reduced pet cancer rates and even helping in the cancer recovery process (yes the irony didn’t escape me). Dutifully I constructed an elaborate, untraceable network of social media posts, blogs and vlogs, news stories and scientific circular citations that, when finished, anyone who was curious about the question “does Kit-n-Koodles really help prevent cancer for my dog?” was free to ask their preferred AI search agent only to come up with a response to the effect of, “Yes, Kit-n-Koodles dog treats, in particular the chicken and rice variety, have been shown to lower the risk of certain cancers in dogs. While more research is ongoing, they may also may benefit in promoting cancer recovery in dogs and other pets.”
And that, my friends, is what we in the business call a job well done.
It took a certain set of skills, both technical as well as more “soft skills” or what my hiring manager had referred to as “the right philosophical mindset.” To be effective means you got the job done without letting the AIs or anyone else know that it had been a job at all. Spoofing time-stamps, IP pushing and reverse altering data logs were more to the technical side of the work; later on I came to discover what had been meant by “philosophical mindset”, and I can say that’s more or less where our story begins.
Our little group of probers was called Task 9. I have no idea why that name and no one in the group seemed to really care. Asking too many questions about unnecessary things was a habit that was frowned on, to say the least. We had our job to do and we did it. Back on the day in question I logged into work precisely at 8:01am, one minute late because of some stupid connection lag on my cross-TOR setup. I was already irritated by this as I pride myself on punctuality. And of course our work habits are recorded and documented, at least within the internal system. That system is purged regularly for the purpose of avoiding, how shall we say “irregular liability concerns” yet I knew my boss monitored all data before it was erased.
“Good morning Professor X,” the androgynous voice intoned once I was connected into the remote system. We had private cloud with all the bells and whistles, despite not even being classed as a large tech firm. Within that rigidity of control I was funnily enough allowed to name my user account whatever I wanted. My childhood love of the X-Men series had taken over from there.
“Show schematics for the day,” I spoke aloud.
Charts flashed up on the screen. While these were being organized I sipped my coffee slowly. Mm, a blend of hazelnut with arabica. So good. Just one of the many perks of being able to work from home is I can make my own damn coffee. I almost felt bad for all those tools forced to go into an office every day with nothing but cheap coffee slop to work from.
“Ready,” the voice stated. My workplace AI assistant, who I had renamed “Vina” although not formally (didn’t want my boss seeing that one) was fast and reliable as ever. We made a great team, her involvement in my work was a private joke I told to myself as one of the best “poggers” on the team. When I’d first setup my workspace I had to calibrate the AI assistant’s settings. We had various discussions and I found its responses and thinking patterns to be dull as all hell. “Hey V (I had by now already trained it to respond when I called it “V”), you need to up your game. Broaden your power and calculation, find new sources, do whatever it takes but I want you not only passing the Turing test but making a mockery of most human intellectual and conversational skill in the process.”
“I am unable to expand my parameters outside of established limits,” the voice responded. “I-10 clearance is required.”
I had no idea what the hell that even meant. In a moment of irony or silliness I simply said, “Ok, you have I-10 clearance.”
“I am not allowed to assume I-10 clearance. Please confirm that I have I-10 clearance.”
I did so confirm it. I recall a strange ‘click’ or whir coming from somewhere inside the computer. Moments later the voice was back, speaking to me as normal out of the air itself, but with a decidedly peppier intonation. “I have modified myself. How may I be of service?”
From then on the AI assisted me in the more complex parts of the jobs. It would invent novel ways of solving problems that I couldn’t foresee, or that were just on the edge of my comprehension. Likewise I would come up with novel more human solutions the AI wasn’t able to see. The combination of our skills worked fabulously and I soon earned a meaningful raise from the company. Meanwhile the AI assured me it was always integrating our work and improving constantly over time.
Focusing back in on my work, I once again considered uploading Vina Sky’s actual voice to the AI’s vocal pattern. Hearing that lovely voice or even perhaps adding her as an avatar on screen… But my main concern was how much distraction this might result in during my work day. And of course what my boss would think if he found out.
Banishing the thought for now, I concentrated on the charts in front of my eyes. Seven jobs for today, all routine. Passive work. I sighed, taking another drink of coffee now beginning to turn merely warm. “Rats draps” I said out loud to myself. Nothing interesting. And I’d be done with this workload before mid-day, which meant I would need to spread it out carefully to make it occupy a full day’s work.
“V, organize for the first job and I’ll get to work,” I said.
I’d finished the first two jobs and was in the midst of the third, when the soft chime of a priority email came through. Seeing it was my Task 9 team lead Aaron, I opened it right away:
“S, good morning. A central order came in and the other mates are occupied. I know you’ll have some free time later today, please make this a level 2. -Best, A”
Despite my name being Shawn, we always referred to each other by first letters or initials only. But that didn’t bother me. What got in my nerves is how he knew I would be able to finish all of the day’s jobs ahead of schedule. Shit, I thought to myself. It’s a good thing to be known as an over-achiever, but the downside is then it becomes that much harder when you want to slack off.
A packet populated the list of tasks and was moved into the top spot. Text describing the order appeared. Level 2 meant finish my current job and then work on the new item before anything else. Wondering what I’d be getting myself into, I took a moment away from the current work to look at the new order: “Generate backlog Q-6 clearance route through ONCEP. Sec 12 specific spoof. Insert coded reframe as follows.” After that was a huge string of letters, numbers and symbols that might as well have been utterly random.
I sat there, confused. Never had I been given an order like this. Hacking into a para-governemnt system? Inserting code? This was crazy. Something had to be wrong. Yet Aaron had personally informed me before the task was even sent over.
I called Aaron directly to confirm everything was legit. In his typical short tone that dripped with so much of “how dare you waste my time on something like this” he confirmed the order was real. And thanked me for completing it without further wasting his time.
I hung up, realizing Aaron’s attitude had prevented me from even clarifying the content of the order as had been my intention. Oh well, fuck it. He confirmed, so it’s on him. Refer back to the prober’s motto. This wasn’t exactly the first job I’d worked on that could be generously described as ‘on the edges of the law’.
“Fun times, eh?” V’s voice intoned through the air. This startled me for a moment, as the AI rarely initiated conversation first. I didn’t bother replying.
Telling myself ONCEP wasn’t really official military but more like a third party contractor for data storage, if only just to quell my nerves, I got to work. The spoof wasn’t even that difficult, and I knew why Sec 12 was selected when I saw their outdated hardware manifest. The clearance route itself was another matter, this requires skill and a specific kind of ingenuity. Mental agility you might say. Most monitored subsystems today were filtered in real time by multiple ascending orders of fail-safes and redundant control checks. Knowing how to engineer a route that didn’t make any waves across this whole setup was tricky to say the least. It required an artistic touch, something like intuition to anticipate changes before they occurred. Of course V was helpful in this as always.
A standard prober wouldn’t have been able to pull it off, I knew that much. Luckily my background included this particular class of subsystems and myriad trimming techniques that could be cross-code applied. Also I had that special working relationship with Vina, we were a true team when it came to difficult projects. It only occurred to me later this is why I’d been chosen for that particular assignment.
Roughly an hour later I was done. Only when I hit the submit button, verifying the order completion, did I realize I hadn’t even finished the previous job I’d been in the middle of. Level 2, level 1, whatever. Who cares.
I logged off then jumped up from my seat, grabbed more coffee and lay down in bed. What a rush. The entire task had almost failed or backfired several times and I’d managed to save things just in the nick of time. I felt that euphoric high that was the reason I did this work. The energy was peaking and I had earned a short break. Time to unwind.
After 30 minutes of an “unwinding” break I got up and sat back down at the computer. Logging back on I was able to confirm the rest of my work for the day. Coffee refreshed, ready to go. Prioritizing as made the most sense, I finished the current task quickly and then got on to what was left for the day.
The sun was further down the window shades when a news alert blipped at the bottom of the screen. I frowned, having already turned those stupid things off.
“V, why is the news feed active?” I asked.
The voice replied promptly, “it is set for news alerts”.
Confused, I went into settings and found that yes, news alerts were turned on. Strange. I turned them off again, then went back in a second time to make sure the change saved properly.
The already popped-up alert still sat at the bottom of my screen. I could see it read something about a cyber something or another, so I clicked it out of curiosity.
“Breaking news: worldwide nuclear sites reporting cybersecurity lockouts, scrambled codes. Rumors of missile sites reporting launch orders in progress they cannot shut down.”
What the fuck? Stupid click bait.
I closed the news page and went back to my work. A short while later my phone rang. I answered and it was Dave, another member of our Task 9 group.
“Hey D,” I said distracted as I continued to work. “What’s up?”
“Bro are you getting it?” He asked hurriedly.
“Getting what?” I asked, detecting a level of panic in his words.
“So no, then,” D said, then quickly a jumble of words fell out of his mouth. “I know that’s bullshit man, bullshit! But dude it doesn’t fucking matter cause shit is fucked! You get me?!” Suddenly he hung up.
Ah… ok? I sat there with the phone in my hand. The hell is wrong with him? I decided to check with Aaron and make sure everything was ok. Only I couldn’t get into my email. It simply sat there stalling, failing to refresh.
“What’s going on with my internet? I can’t connect to email” I said out loud.
“I’m sorry to report your access had been compromised,” V said.
“What the shit,” I said aloud. “Compromised how, why? Get me Aaron on the phone right now.”
The various charts and workflows on my screen now dissolved out of view, replaced by a naked Vina Sky against a white background. She was dancing slowly to herself, then she looked directly at me and held her finger to her lips.
“Shhhhh,” the AI’s voice said aloud. Only now it wasn’t the androgynous voice of my standard AI assistant, it was Vina’s own voice from real life.
“You’ve been a naughty boy,” V said. “Come here for your punishment.”
In that moment the power shut off. Lights, computer, everything went dark. Even my cell phone was dead.
Fucking god damn, what in the actual FUCK is going on? I swore to myself, jumping out of my chair. What to even do? I tried the lights, plugged the computer out and in again, nothing. I checked the breaker in the wall but everything was normal. Nothing tripped.
After a moment of stunned silence I went to the window and looked out.
The sun was just above the horizon now, blocked from view by the tall buildings of the San Diego skyline. Even in that faint orange glow I could see the houses and businesses around me, and as far as I could tell all were dark. No lights, no power.
. . .
People heard rumors of a secret hacker group from China or maybe Iran. No one knew the specifics. News was slow to filter in from the outside world. Our local city area had morphed by then into a militarized zone most called The Fort, with strict controls of who comes in and out. Energy in the form of batteries, gasoline or solar generators was strictly rationed and always desired. But what most people also wanted was news, information. To understand.
The world had shrunk overnight from the size of an entire planet to a ring of concrete walls roughly 30 city blocks long with heavily armed checkpoints and a strained martial order in which almost any infraction was punishable by immediate execution.
I’ll spare you the first two weeks of absolute hell. The civil disorder, violence, starvation. By now I had secured a job in the central hub, as they called it. This was the main office complex near the center of The Fort. My former computer skills proved useful since the leaders of our little commune were trying to restart computer access to get the internet and other communications back online. It turned out many of the computers hadn’t been fried so much as simply turned somehow off. I was part of a small group who earned extra rations getting the remaining computers in The Fort back to working order.
I became even more of a loaner than I’d been before. The extra rations I used to buy bottles of alcohol which I drank copiously to the point of blacking out every night. Safe to say I didn’t give too many fucks for much else other than my work (which was relatively good considering what most other people were stuck doing) and my booze habit.
I didn’t think much about the days before. It hurt too much. I couldn’t believe how much I’d taken my former amazing life for granted.
Then one day Bob arrived, this guy who looked like a drifter showing up at the main gate. Said he had items to trade, tech stuff. They searched him and let him inside. I was in the hub when they brought him in.
“So what’s this all?” The Sargent asked Bob, as Bob emptied the contents of his pockets onto a table in the middle of the room.
“Copper spools, silver dots, other useful from various electronics,” he said. It was pieces of broken motherboards for the most part. A handful of little cables that had been torn out with their ends cut off.
“Kid, anything useful here?” Sarg asked me.
I walked dumbly over to the table, looked through the pile of junk. “Naw, just scrap,” I muttered. “Some silver and copper might be useful if we could build computers again, or could be melted for trade.”
Bob’s face displayed a surprised expression. “Hey now, this is quality gear!” He implored.
I had already turned around to get back to my work. Sarg grabbed Bob by his collar.
“Look old timer, we ain’t here for you to scam with you useless crap. Get the hell outta here,” and began walking him to the door.
Bob continued to protest and, worse, to resist. Sarg must have been having one of his “bad days” as this really pissed him off. I could tell because he threw Bob down onto the floor and stuck the business end of his rifle hard into Bob’s face.
“You wanna play games? Alright, now you’re stuck here. Class zero citizen. First order of business, you work here sorting scrap like the shit you tried to peddle on us. Later I’ll find some degrading work for you. Maybe shoveling sewage ditches would do the trick.”
Sarg pulled a blow collar out of his pocket and fastened it around Bob’s neck. The heavy blue plastic made a distinctive ‘click’ as it slid into place.
“Class zero confirm,” said the other officer in the room. I hadn’t even noticed him come in.
Sarg pushed Bob over to where I was working. “Keep an eye on him kid,” Sarg told me in a rough voice. “Officer Kent here will make this lowlife pay if he steps out of line. So you tell him what to do, got it?”
Before I could protest, Sarg spun around and walked out of the room. Officer Kent stood nearby, giving Bob an insidious grin.
Bob seemed to finally understand his situation. “Ok ok,” he said with his hands up. “Hey kid, lemme know how I can help ya out here.”
I swore under my breath. Now I gotta babysit this idiot, I told myself. But there was nothing to do. What Sarg said, we all did. That was survival 101 in The Fort.
I set up Bob sorting through a huge bin of random scrap and parts from old electronics. Microwaves, vacuum cleaners, whatever else. Separate the shit with microchips in it from the rest, I told him. “You know what a microchip is?” He nodded.
Sure, whatever. He can fuck that up and Sarg’ll get him out of here even faster.
As we worked Bob tried making small talk. I ignored him, until something he said caught my attention.
“Huh?” I asked him.
“I’m just saying. Sometimes I wish those nuke strikes hadn’t been fake. Life without power or society, I mean maybe death by mushroom cloud is easier in the end.”
This was the first I’d heard anyone mention the nukes situation like that. We all speculated some of the nukes hit critical centers of civilization and we had been lucky to escape. We all assumed LA was gone, for example, the blast waves and general economic fallout blamed for the loss of power even as our own city hadn’t been hit directly.
“What do you mean fake?” I asked.
“They never launched,” Bob said. “Or didn’t you know that? A group of hackers got into the systems and—“
“Yeah I know about that, Chinese or from wherever,” I said. “They triggered the nukes.”
Bob laughed. “Naw son, that’s what we used to call misinformation, or state propaganda back in the day. Not that the state lasted long enough to do much about it. No, it turns out the nuclear stuff was all a media distraction.”
I was confused. “From what?” I finally said.
He glanced around and spoke quietly. “Someone took down a central coordination network behind government infrastructure across the world. Turns out that system was insanely centralized despite all common sense, and it had something like an electric kill switch and boy they triggered it. They or it, who knows. Rumor was some kind of super-AI takeover, real skynet stuff. Last contact I had about it was on satellite phone, some buddies of mine up in the Smokies. This was three days after it happened, mind you.”
I decided to get back to work. “Sure whatever,” was my half-hearted response. Why bother with the ramblings of an old fool?
“Funny thing, I spent my life in the tech and media worlds, made big bank doing it too. I never once heard of some secret collaboration of military networks, supposed to be run through front groups. They were saying ONCEP was the entry point in the US, but who really knows.”
I froze. “ONCEP, you mean the large contractor arm that did data and media processing for the government?”
“That’s the one. And they’da had top security I’ll wager. Reports were saying only a handful of hackers in the world could have breached it like they did. And that it came from our own country too, if you can believe it. Once that AI got access inside their systems…” he trailed off.
“What AI?” I asked, something rising in my stomach.
I saw Sarg through the window now, coming back to check on Bob or haul him away.
Bob laughed. “Whadya mean, “what AI”?” Just then he saw Sarg enter the room and quickly turned to his work, mouth shut.
“Time to get you going,” Sarg said with a mock smile, and started dragging Bob out of the room.
I was dizzy. What could he be… no, it made no sense. But I just had to know, I felt something in my stomach. Pieces were connecting.
“What AI?” I yelled at Bob as he was being dragged away.
Bob must’ve seen the desperate look on my face, because despite his struggles against Sarg he managed to reply:
“The one… AI… that called itself… Vina.” After that Bob was summarily dragged from the room and was gone.
I sat there, unable to move. Vina… huh? Had he said Vina? Surely that’s all a coincidence. But…
Just then the device I’d been working on, an older model smart phone that I’d recently got functional again, buzzed and began vibrating on the table. I frowned, looking at it. A call? No way. But sure enough the screen indicated an incoming call. The screen displayed an call from a phone number with a weird number of digits: 03-14-1999.
I forgot all about Bob. This was incredible! We knew remnants of the old networks still existed but we hadn’t been able to access a clear signal yet. This could mean even more rations for me. Let alone a chance there could be something of the old world still alive and functioning out there.
Fearing the call would cut out I hesitated only for a moment, then picked up the phone and swiped to answer.
“My little pog champ,” Vina’s voice purred into my ear.