Cohesion Lost by Justin Tyme
I would be throwing away potential millions, but in making the world’s best network software free I would also be in high demand.
Hacking or staring man, the choice was easy.
Inside the library the chair in the corner hidden behind bookshelves was empty. Perfect. I plugged in my power and network cables -- WIFI was too slow for this -- and waited for my computer to boot. I wanted to design algorithms that allowed computers to evolve behaviors based on empirical data from databases and sensor data. I’d had some success with the AI-NOS learning from examples based on underlying probability distribution and then making intelligent decisions based on the data. The problem was getting AI-NOS to generalize with limited data sets. It was like teaching a child the difference between a bowl and a cup. Both were containers for food or drink, but what was the real difference? I could make some rules such as a bowl has a wider opening and shorter sides, but that would take forever if I had to do it for everything it could encounter. It would be better to teach the program how to make rules for itself given only a few examples of a cup and bowl.
With a few keystrokes from the command prompt, I accessed fifteen federal government servers. The data showed promising results. It compared AI-NOS speed with that of comparable servers using standard NOS. The latest version of my operating system showed over forty-three percent greater speed than the best NOS.
I typed the next command, but my fingers were numb again and hitting the wrong keys. I flexed and rubbed them.
“I can help you with that.”
I looked up and there was an attractive young woman. She had intense, almond eyes and long, silky black hair -- mixed African and Asian descent. She wore a bright red button-down shirt, khaki slacks and black leather boots. I had never seen the style before. Her un-tucked shirt was waist-high in the middle and flowed down on either side like tuxedo tails. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Her expression was tender yet earnest as if she really did care, but more than a stranger should and it made the hair on the back of my neck flare.
“Tenbu,” she said.
“Excuse me?” I asked. How long had she been there? She’s not a librarian. I’ve never seen her before.
“My name is Muna. I am not a librarian.”
I glanced at my screen and tipped it toward me to better hide the text. From where she was standing, she shouldn’t be able to see it. I turned and glanced out the window behind me. No one was there, just the trees and lawn.
“I can help you out,” she said, “but you have to trust me.”
I blinked.
“I don’t care about your AI-NOS. It’s your hands, you’re slipping.”
She is not a librarian. She is Micrel and Simco or Homeland Freakin’ Security. I closed my laptop lid and nearly yanked the cables from the wall. With an accent thickened by nervousness, I answered, “I am sorry. I am being late for appointment.” I threw the computer into the bag, hoping that guys in shades and dark suits leaning on black SUVs weren’t outside waiting for me. I stepped around her to leave, then remembered I left my power cable, returned, and grabbed it.
“Listen,” she said, “we need to talk.” I left her behind as I nearly ran out of the library.
To my relief, there were no black SUVs in the parking lot.
Scene 4
The experience had so unnerved me that I returned to my apartment instead of going to the unemployment office. That was a mistake. Instead of finding the ubiquitous black SUVs, I was greeted by a fuming wife. I was glad the boys weren’t home from school yet.
“What?” I asked when I closed the door and saw her cross-armed and fuming. Apparently, asking that simple question must have been a mistake.
“You.”
“Me?” I asked, “You’re supposed to be asleep, you don’t go to work for another five hours.”
“Who is she?”
I blinked.
“That young woman,” she clarified, “the Asian-African witch.”
“I don’t know any witches.”
“You know who I’m talking about.”
“Was she wearing a red shirt and black boots?” I asked.
She glared at me with enough force to flay me alive.
“I think her name is Muna,” I said.
“So you do know her.”
“No, I just met her at the library.”
“What were you doing at the library? You were supposed to go to the unemployment office.”
“Yes, but I was... Anyway,” I asked, “where did you see her?”
“She came here, here at my home, and knocked at my door.”
“Our door.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Oh. It’s not like that.”
“She knows too much about us, Alex.”
“I think she’s a government agent.”
She glared at me again. This time I felt the skin peel off my face. “Of all the lame, harebrained excuses. Government agent? Really, Alex?” She started crying. “What has happened to you?”
I reached out and pulled her in, hugging her. She resisted and then melted in my embrace. I whispered, “I have been working on a program at the library that may give me an edge. I didn’t want to tell you because it may not work. I had to break into government servers to do it, and this woman showed up today. I got scared and ran home thinking that if they came after me, you and the boys might be next.”
She stood back and wiped her face. “Alex, I almost wish it was an affair.”
“Really?”
“No.”
“But you believe me?”
“Only if they arrest us.” She sniffed and then smiled. “Yes I believe you. Only you would be so stupid to do something like that.” She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “So does it work?”
“The program? Yes, and that’s what scares me.”
“You’re being paranoid. She didn’t smell like government. She smelt like competition.”
“So ... you do think it was an affair.” I said.
“No, because you don’t smell like her. When you hugged me, I knew. Don’t be so paranoid, Alex. Go to the unemployment office before they close and fill out the medical form.”
Scene 5
Waiting in the unemployment office was like a cross between a doctor’s office visit and standing in a food line back in the old country. The walls and furniture were as colorless as the people’s faces. Most people waiting didn’t engage in conversation, which left the sounds of clicking keyboards, a ticking wall clock, and an occasional cough to fill the room. Fresh air wafted through the waiting area every time someone opened the front door. One would never come here unless one had to.
I leaned against the counter, filling out the medical assistance form. I was half-way through when a man came up next to me, but I didn’t look up. I had learned it was better not to. It usually led to unwanted conversation. With a heavy accent, I have to repeat myself or find other words to make someone understand. I needed the practice, but I didn’t have the time.
“Excuse me,” he said and I looked up. My blood ran cold. It was the staring man. He was tall, with a narrow face and squeezed features. He wore baggy clothes that made me think he was worse off than I was. I would have dismissed him if it hadn’t been for the intensity in his eyes.
In a hushed, raspy voice he said, “Everyone knows that Harshan are...”
I squinted and waited for him to finish.
“Everyone knows that Harshan are...” he repeated.
I looked around. “Who is Harshan?” Fears of government agents gripped me anew.
He drew closer and whispered more intently, “We can’t talk now.” He pointed up. “They’re watching.”
I followed his finger. “I am not understanding. There is no floor above us.”
“No, the Vantu. They will catch you if you aren’t careful. Follow me.”
“Why?”
“Idiot. Do you want the virus, or what?”
I stood back, I didn’t
want to add whatever this guy had to my tingling-finger-dream thing. Oh, I understood. Relieved. This man was in the wrong government office. He should have been in the mental health department. I smiled weakly and pulled a form off the counter at random. “I am filling out form now, okay?” I started filling in the boxes. Maybe he would get the hint and move on.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him move towards the door. When he reached it, he said, “You are one of us. I can’t pull you out and your hands tingle.”
I froze. A second later fresh air blew past me. I turned and he was gone.
How did he know? I didn’t show any symptoms. It wasn’t in any forms I filled out. Only my wife and doctor and the red government witch knew. Maybe there was something going around … no, the doctor said he hadn’t seen anything like it before.
I dropped the pen and dashed out the door. I saw him at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn. Traffic was heavy.
“Wait,” I yelled. “Mister!” Several heads turned, but not his. I ran after him and the light changed. I saw him step out, but his form was quickly covered by others walking with him and a cloud of diesel exhaust expelled by a bus. I ran harder, feeling my leg muscles tighten. I knew there was a reason why I should have exercised more.
I got another glimpse of the staring man weaving through the crowd. I kept my eyes locked on his form, not wanting to lose him. That was why I didn't see what hit me as I crossed the intersection. I felt a sharp jarring motion and the sudden firm press of asphalt. My ears rang and my vision went white. Pain seared through my left side and my head felt numb. Through double vision, as I stared up into the sky, a crowd gathered around me. A
Hacking or staring man, the choice was easy.
Inside the library the chair in the corner hidden behind bookshelves was empty. Perfect. I plugged in my power and network cables -- WIFI was too slow for this -- and waited for my computer to boot. I wanted to design algorithms that allowed computers to evolve behaviors based on empirical data from databases and sensor data. I’d had some success with the AI-NOS learning from examples based on underlying probability distribution and then making intelligent decisions based on the data. The problem was getting AI-NOS to generalize with limited data sets. It was like teaching a child the difference between a bowl and a cup. Both were containers for food or drink, but what was the real difference? I could make some rules such as a bowl has a wider opening and shorter sides, but that would take forever if I had to do it for everything it could encounter. It would be better to teach the program how to make rules for itself given only a few examples of a cup and bowl.
With a few keystrokes from the command prompt, I accessed fifteen federal government servers. The data showed promising results. It compared AI-NOS speed with that of comparable servers using standard NOS. The latest version of my operating system showed over forty-three percent greater speed than the best NOS.
I typed the next command, but my fingers were numb again and hitting the wrong keys. I flexed and rubbed them.
“I can help you with that.”
I looked up and there was an attractive young woman. She had intense, almond eyes and long, silky black hair -- mixed African and Asian descent. She wore a bright red button-down shirt, khaki slacks and black leather boots. I had never seen the style before. Her un-tucked shirt was waist-high in the middle and flowed down on either side like tuxedo tails. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Her expression was tender yet earnest as if she really did care, but more than a stranger should and it made the hair on the back of my neck flare.
“Tenbu,” she said.
“Excuse me?” I asked. How long had she been there? She’s not a librarian. I’ve never seen her before.
“My name is Muna. I am not a librarian.”
I glanced at my screen and tipped it toward me to better hide the text. From where she was standing, she shouldn’t be able to see it. I turned and glanced out the window behind me. No one was there, just the trees and lawn.
“I can help you out,” she said, “but you have to trust me.”
I blinked.
“I don’t care about your AI-NOS. It’s your hands, you’re slipping.”
She is not a librarian. She is Micrel and Simco or Homeland Freakin’ Security. I closed my laptop lid and nearly yanked the cables from the wall. With an accent thickened by nervousness, I answered, “I am sorry. I am being late for appointment.” I threw the computer into the bag, hoping that guys in shades and dark suits leaning on black SUVs weren’t outside waiting for me. I stepped around her to leave, then remembered I left my power cable, returned, and grabbed it.
“Listen,” she said, “we need to talk.” I left her behind as I nearly ran out of the library.
To my relief, there were no black SUVs in the parking lot.
Scene 4
The experience had so unnerved me that I returned to my apartment instead of going to the unemployment office. That was a mistake. Instead of finding the ubiquitous black SUVs, I was greeted by a fuming wife. I was glad the boys weren’t home from school yet.
“What?” I asked when I closed the door and saw her cross-armed and fuming. Apparently, asking that simple question must have been a mistake.
“You.”
“Me?” I asked, “You’re supposed to be asleep, you don’t go to work for another five hours.”
“Who is she?”
I blinked.
“That young woman,” she clarified, “the Asian-African witch.”
“I don’t know any witches.”
“You know who I’m talking about.”
“Was she wearing a red shirt and black boots?” I asked.
She glared at me with enough force to flay me alive.
“I think her name is Muna,” I said.
“So you do know her.”
“No, I just met her at the library.”
“What were you doing at the library? You were supposed to go to the unemployment office.”
“Yes, but I was... Anyway,” I asked, “where did you see her?”
“She came here, here at my home, and knocked at my door.”
“Our door.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Oh. It’s not like that.”
“She knows too much about us, Alex.”
“I think she’s a government agent.”
She glared at me again. This time I felt the skin peel off my face. “Of all the lame, harebrained excuses. Government agent? Really, Alex?” She started crying. “What has happened to you?”
I reached out and pulled her in, hugging her. She resisted and then melted in my embrace. I whispered, “I have been working on a program at the library that may give me an edge. I didn’t want to tell you because it may not work. I had to break into government servers to do it, and this woman showed up today. I got scared and ran home thinking that if they came after me, you and the boys might be next.”
She stood back and wiped her face. “Alex, I almost wish it was an affair.”
“Really?”
“No.”
“But you believe me?”
“Only if they arrest us.” She sniffed and then smiled. “Yes I believe you. Only you would be so stupid to do something like that.” She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “So does it work?”
“The program? Yes, and that’s what scares me.”
“You’re being paranoid. She didn’t smell like government. She smelt like competition.”
“So ... you do think it was an affair.” I said.
“No, because you don’t smell like her. When you hugged me, I knew. Don’t be so paranoid, Alex. Go to the unemployment office before they close and fill out the medical form.”
Scene 5
Waiting in the unemployment office was like a cross between a doctor’s office visit and standing in a food line back in the old country. The walls and furniture were as colorless as the people’s faces. Most people waiting didn’t engage in conversation, which left the sounds of clicking keyboards, a ticking wall clock, and an occasional cough to fill the room. Fresh air wafted through the waiting area every time someone opened the front door. One would never come here unless one had to.
I leaned against the counter, filling out the medical assistance form. I was half-way through when a man came up next to me, but I didn’t look up. I had learned it was better not to. It usually led to unwanted conversation. With a heavy accent, I have to repeat myself or find other words to make someone understand. I needed the practice, but I didn’t have the time.
“Excuse me,” he said and I looked up. My blood ran cold. It was the staring man. He was tall, with a narrow face and squeezed features. He wore baggy clothes that made me think he was worse off than I was. I would have dismissed him if it hadn’t been for the intensity in his eyes.
In a hushed, raspy voice he said, “Everyone knows that Harshan are...”
I squinted and waited for him to finish.
“Everyone knows that Harshan are...” he repeated.
I looked around. “Who is Harshan?” Fears of government agents gripped me anew.
He drew closer and whispered more intently, “We can’t talk now.” He pointed up. “They’re watching.”
I followed his finger. “I am not understanding. There is no floor above us.”
“No, the Vantu. They will catch you if you aren’t careful. Follow me.”
“Why?”
“Idiot. Do you want the virus, or what?”
I stood back, I didn’t
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him move towards the door. When he reached it, he said, “You are one of us. I can’t pull you out and your hands tingle.”
I froze. A second later fresh air blew past me. I turned and he was gone.
How did he know? I didn’t show any symptoms. It wasn’t in any forms I filled out. Only my wife and doctor and the red government witch knew. Maybe there was something going around … no, the doctor said he hadn’t seen anything like it before.
I dropped the pen and dashed out the door. I saw him at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn. Traffic was heavy.
“Wait,” I yelled. “Mister!” Several heads turned, but not his. I ran after him and the light changed. I saw him step out, but his form was quickly covered by others walking with him and a cloud of diesel exhaust expelled by a bus. I ran harder, feeling my leg muscles tighten. I knew there was a reason why I should have exercised more.
I got another glimpse of the staring man weaving through the crowd. I kept my eyes locked on his form, not wanting to lose him. That was why I didn't see what hit me as I crossed the intersection. I felt a sharp jarring motion and the sudden firm press of asphalt. My ears rang and my vision went white. Pain seared through my left side and my head felt numb. Through double vision, as I stared up into the sky, a crowd gathered around me. A