Neural wraith 2, p.2
Neural Wraith 2, page 2
part #2 of Neural Wraith Series
Even if his efforts worked, he’d also need to worry about the new prototype soon enough. While Rie wasn’t going to be returning hand-in-hand with her baby sister, Ezekiel’s arrival was mere weeks away.
Nick knew this because the commissioner had been planning an overwrought induction ceremony to celebrate the event. The entire central island was going to be transformed into an event center to show off the police force’s new smiling, sexy symbol of oppression.
At least, Nick assumed Ezekiel was sexy. The Mark 3s were based on her, and his life would be in mortal danger if he ever suggested they were anything but.
In the meantime, that left Nick to manage himself. While he was officially in charge of the Archangel Division, he wasn’t crazy enough to try to do everything himself. He worked closely with Rie to manage things. With her gone, he felt lonelier, and not just because his bed was much colder at night.
Much, much colder. Rie had been keeping his heating bills low over winter. Not that he told her that.
Nick arrived at the elevator right as one of the three central lifts ascended toward the massive structure floating above them containing a gaggle of employees. The Archangels refused to allow anyone in the line to go any farther, breaking many of the workers from their mindless routine. They began to protest about why they weren’t moving forward.
“Detective Waite, we have reserved the next elevator for you,” one of the Mark 1s told him.
He grunted and stepped past the dolls. The protests subsided. Many of the employees stared at him in disbelief, as if unsure he was even real. None of them said anything.
Presumably, they were chattering to each other using their neural implants. This sort of reaction was rapidly becoming a new normal whenever he showed up in person to a scene.
Nick studied the elevator shafts while he waited. While they were transparent, and the cars were the same, a variety of devices appeared to be built into the door frame. A small panel outside each entrance had been ignored by the Archangels and workers, but was presumably for the use of neanderthals like Nick who lacked a neural implant.
After a short wait, he stepped into the next elevator and ascended along with Chloe, Meta, Juliet, and Rosa. He didn’t bother using the panel.
Once inside the glass walls and away from prying eyes and ears, he asked, “These are public access, right? Anyone can walk up and use one of these? Even at night?”
“Without authorization, the elevators only go to the atrium and the shops beneath the building,” Chloe explained. “After 6PM, public access is curtailed. Automated security systems are deployed and Guardian G5 security dolls are utilized to keep the vicinity clear.”
“G5s, huh. Figures that GWT are using older security dolls. Cheapskates. We’re checking their memory banks from last night?”
“Permissions are being requested.”
He narrowed his eyes. That sounded a lot like GWT was unwilling to cough up the data.
With a wave of his hand, he gestured for Chloe to block out any spying from the hidden cameras in the elevator car. If she hadn’t already. She nodded at him. Given her eyes hadn’t glowed, he suspected she had already done so.
“I’ll admit I’m not up to speed on how well megacorps can control their own data. What happens if they wipe the dolls and any backups?” he asked.
“It is unlikely that the sensory data of local security dolls is backed up on any meaningful schedule. However, hardware logs would show evidence of tampering.”
“What about mainframes? This is GWT’s HQ. There must be like 7 mainframes here.”
While small organizations could run off the back of a single mainframe, the same couldn’t be said of larger ones. Sophisticated network structures had been developed to distribute workloads across multiple mainframes, maximizing efficiency and minimizing downtime impacts.
RTM had standardized structures that it endorsed, and they had created a global industry of consultants and contractors that existed to build, maintain, and upgrade mainframes using their standards.
For reasons that Nick had never understood, it was popular to name RTM mainframes after the Jewish sefirot. Almost no individual location needed more than 10 mainframes, and it included a useful hierarchy to segregate various functions across the business.
When he’d first heard about this, the obvious question had been how an international company handled a hundred branches, each with their own mainframe named Malkuth. Obviously, the individual mainframes would be tagged according to location, but it was an extremely dehumanizing structure for the mainframes. And a confusing one.
To humans, they probably didn’t think much of it. What did it matter what they called their machines? But the mainframes needed to communicate efficiently, for much the same reason internal hierarchies were necessary in individual locations.
RTM’s answer was to implement specialized “super-structures” that treated groups of mainframes as a single unit in a layered system.
So this HQ might be a high-level mainframe—likely a Keter—in a larger system, and other branches acted as lower-level mainframes. The structure was flexible, and Nick only knew the general gist of the idea rather than the specifics. Neither Tartarus nor Neural Spike had ever been anywhere near large enough to consider the idea.
Hell, the only reason he knew about the stuff was that Neural Spike had moved to a complex mainframe system in its final days, and Tartarus had been considering upgrading to one before it was shut down. Nick had been one of the few Ciphers with the training and experience with larger mainframe installations due to his time in Neural Spike.
What he did know was that, as the HQ, this GWT branch would have separate mainframes for local management and for the broader work, and then likely one mainframe that integrated the two. Depending on the size of the organization, the integration mainframe would be called either Yesod or Tiferet. The primary management mainframe would almost certainly be called Malkuth.
His business was with the local mainframes. He didn’t care much about GWT’s backend.
Chloe didn’t answer Nick’s question, so he followed up with more.
“I can’t imagine that the mainframes wouldn’t be mirrored somewhere, or at least have regular backups. A hiccup with one could crash the global financial system,” he said. “Who are we dealing with? I’m assuming this is a standard RTM structure.”
“Correct. However, we have been restricted from interacting with any mainframe other than Tiferet. Given GWT’s influence in Babylon, we have been unwilling to push matters,” Chloe said.
“A Tiferet?” He scratched his head. “GWT has a local Tiferet? I thought the whole role of them was to integrate different layers of mainframes.”
Nick had never even dealt with a Tiferet before. RTM’s emotion engine mainframes had been relatively new in the latter days of Neural Spike, and he’d mostly interacted with them while visiting other companies on cipher business for Tartarus. Tiferets were the definition of “mainframe glue” in that they existed to hold together larger, more unwieldy server structures.
He’d expected to deal with a Yesod, Malkuth, or Netzach. When he’d been trained on RTM structures, they’d been fairly explicit that Tiferets shouldn’t undertake major organizational roles. The few times he’d dealt with mainframes in the past few months had involved those low-level models.
“She is not assigned to the local level of the HQ. The official contact for the department is Yesod, but Tiferet responded to communications in her stead.”
“Well, that bodes well.”
So GWT’s HQ used a standard RTM structure, except not quite. They were barring access to data that might determine who had been in the building last night. And the murder was apparently a mystery.
Oh, and their security chief was wholly unconcerned with this whole murder business.
Nick didn’t need to be a detective to smell a rat. And he was, even if he hadn’t been trained as a detective.
The atrium was a palatial affair, if a little claustrophobic. Continuing the theme of physicality, Nick noted the lack of LED displays or imprinted overlays. The elevators opened into the middle of the space, and receptionist dolls stood immediately in front of him.
A waterfall cascaded down the far wall and currents of water ran along glass channels beneath the floor. Burnished gold facades joined dark wood paneling to give an old-school but elegant appearance. Almost all electronics appeared to be hidden away. Nick might think he’d stepped back a century or two in time, if it weren’t for the glass elevators and the glowing LED exit lights.
Oh, and the gun turrets in the ceiling corners. Only so much could be done to hide them.
The building’s security appeared inactive but remained visible. GWT wanted guests to feel welcome, but secure, and for those with sinister thoughts to know they were an electronic signal away from vaporization.
“Mister Waite, we were not expecting you. Do you have business with the Trust today?” one of the receptionist dolls asked while beaming at him. “Given your accessibility needs, I can organize a face-to-face meeting with a funds maximization master to discuss whatever you wish.”
Nick had no idea what the hell a “funds maximization master” was, but he suspected it was some pompous title for a doll who would act as a relay between him and a mainframe for basic account administration.
He did, however, know what she meant by “accessibility needs.” His lack of a neural implant meant he couldn’t use the vast majority of devices in the city. Most of the damn lifts in the police department didn’t even have buttons and every appliance in his apartment cost a small fortune for the privilege of having clicky things on it.
“Wait, I have an account here?” he asked, his mind catching up to the meaning behind her words.
His escorts stared at him, and Chloe smirked. The receptionist merely tilted her head in confusion.
“The Grand Westphalian Trust has been the Neo Babylon Police Department’s financial partner of choice since its inception,” Chloe explained. “Upon your induction into the department, I took the liberty of opening the necessary accounts.”
“Mister Waite, did you know that all purchases made through your Trust Facilitation Account using direct settlement earn a 10% cashback in the form of Primum credits? You have yet to utilize your account in this manner—or at all, in fact.” The receptionist seemed annoyed on behalf of her owner at Nick’s refusal to use his heretofore unknown transaction account.
Not that he cared much. He didn’t have a great head for money, but he knew that all the cashback deals were related to strange Altnet stuff. Primum credits were a digital currency used exclusively for buying digital goods and therefore useless to him.
While somebody couldn’t turn Primum into cash, or at least not legally, the opposite was very much not the case. Absurd amounts of money vanished into the Primum black hole every second—a fact Nick knew because his friend Sung held down a solid job thanks to it.
“I’ll think about it,” he said. “I’m here on police business, not personal.”
The receptionist stared at him. After several seconds, she nodded. “Understood. I have been informed that Tiferet will be here shortly. Please make yourself comfortable. Do you desire refreshments?”
“Coffee?”
“That is unavailable at present.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Water,” Chloe said flatly.
Nick rolled his eyes at Chloe’s look. She’d been on him lately about not drinking enough water. Her recent coffee kick was lapsing and now she seemed worried about his health. If she tried to get him into superfoods, he’d put his foot down.
There was nothing wrong with a burrito and coffee for breakfast, and he stood by that.
Under Chloe’s watchful gaze, he chugged down the glass of water the receptionist returned with. If this kept up, he’d ask her for a ring.
Not that he would tell her that. Somehow, he felt that she’d take it seriously and the Host would riot. Rie might also be upset. Or worse, she’d ask for her own ring.
They waited for several minutes in the otherwise lifeless atrium. Several elevator cars full of employees rose past them, and then descended without their cargo sometime later. Nick remained the only living soul here. The wealth on display here would bother him, but he’d begun to get used to it over the past few months in the Spires.
Not to mention the fancy apartment he lived in. Sure, by Neo Babylonian standards he was firmly middle class, but that put him in the upper 10% of the city.
Things had been very different six months ago. He’d lived in a derelict apartment, tied by law to a dead-end job that paid below-market rates, and his glory days had seemed well behind him. He’d been coasting toward retirement by his late 20s. A truly sad existence.
Then everything went a bit nuts. His life had been upended in circumstances that, by all rights, should have landed him in jail—or a secret underwater lab, at any rate. Now, he owned a brand-new upscale apartment, had a full-time job that paid far too much, received retirement benefits, and even had exceptional health insurance.
One of the elevator cars slowed, and it wasn’t empty. Nick rose from the square wooden bench he’d been sitting on.
Before he had a chance to even dust himself off, the woman inside the elevator exited and blitzed toward him.
“Mister Waite, I do apologize for making you wait,” she said. “On any other day, I could easily have arranged for a private suite to discuss matters, but I’m afraid today is—”
“A murder investigation,” he said flatly. “I know. I’m here to investigate it, not query my account. You’re Tiferet?”
He couldn’t imagine she was anybody else. Silver bands on her wrists and the barcode and serial number engraved in golden ink beneath her left eye were clear indications that she was a physical interface for a mainframe.
Her model looked custom. Her white and gold jacket and miniskirt contoured perfectly to her hourglass figure. Thick tresses of platinum-blonde hair billowed down her back and over her shoulders in dense curls that would require hours of daily maintenance if they were organic. Only a hint of cleavage and thigh flesh peeked out, as if somebody had scientifically chosen the amount to be shown.
Which was probably the case. This interface probably cost as much as his apartment. He imagined it could probably outperform most dolls without drawing on the immense supercomputer that acted as its brain somewhere in this building.
Said supercomputer likely had as much invested into it as most mid-sized companies held in market cap. While mainframes could be bought off the shelf, there wasn’t a chance in hell that a bank the size of GWT wasn’t using highly customized emotion engines in their HQ. These mainframes managed innumerable trillions of dollars. They were the company.
“I am Tiferet. It is a pleasure to meet a valued and honored member of the Trust such as yourself,” she said. Her beaming smile had probably cost as much to develop as the net worth of lesser banks.
“Thanks,” Nick drawled. “As I said, I’m here as Lieutenant Cipher Nicholas Waite, not an account holder. GWT reported that one of your cipher analysts was found murdered this morning. I’m here to investigate.”
She blinked at him, then slowly pivoted her head to look at Chloe.
“I believe that you are more than familiar with the detective’s position,” Chloe said, and Meta nodded next to her as if to amplify her words.
Tiferet tilted her head to the side and her eyes glowed momentarily. “Your personnel are presently with our security staff at the incident site. Internal measures are being conducted to address police requests for additional data to assist with your investigation. As I do not believe you have the forensic skills necessary, would it not be best for us to step aside into a meeting room and discuss additional matters?”
Nick shot Chloe a look. Her eyes glowed as she checked in with the Host.
Rather than speak openly, she used her neural net to talk directly into his earpiece, “Other Mark 3s are already undertaking forensic analysis, as she said. They are personally dealing with the HQ’s head of security, one Lucida Harm.”
Harm… Nick knew the name. She hung around in some of the cipher circles dedicated to mainframes. He’d always placed her as a black company piece, but she must have gotten a better offer from GWT. Going legit had too many benefits to overlook.
Anonymity was dead on the Altnet, so he knew the identities of basically every Cipher he interacted with, even briefly. His memory wasn’t good enough to remember if he’d ever helped her, though. Chances were he’d provided some assistance with some esoteric errors or directives at some stage.
Few enough black company ciphers dealt directly with mainframes in any capacity for him to remember them. If Lucida’s name came to mind, it meant she was the real deal.
“That will be fine,” he told Tiferet.
She smiled at him. A moment later, an elevator car rose into the atrium and came to a stop. It was full of bewildered employees. Before any of them had a chance to react, the receptionist dolls shot forward and began ushering the workers out. A few of them froze up, half-expecting Chloe to arrest them.
“After you, Mister Waite,” Tiferet said, gesturing to the now-empty elevator car.
Bemused, he stepped inside. The Mark 3s, Meta, and Tiferet followed, and soon they were rocketing upward to one of the uppermost floors.
Given the elevator shaft stood inside the center of the building, there shouldn’t have been much to see through the glass. That’s when the embedded electronic panels roared to life and showed a view of the building’s exterior.
“I don’t usually see actual electronic glass,” Nick mused.
“We strive to ensure the optimal experience for all members, whatever their age, disabilities, or backgrounds,” Tiferet said, clearly reeling off some corporate spiel.
Age was likely the key there. As good as neural implants had become, they still couldn’t be installed in prepubescent children. If GWT wanted to remain the premier institution for the spoiled rich brats from the Spires, it needed to look good to them when they were too little to think for themselves. That way the bank could mine them for nostalgia for life.
