SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

“Don’t do that!” Febby said. “No, don’t erase it!”

“Don’t mess with my stuff!” Jaya hit some more keys, and LAD heard the unmistakable sound of a desktop trash folder being emptied.

Febby’s body collided with something, and Jaya screeched. The fighting continued for several minutes until Arman and Nindya came upstairs to separate the children.

After breaking up the fight in Jaya’s room, Arman dragged Febby back to her own bedroom and scolded her for nearly half an hour, then left her alone to cry. It was now nearly noon, local time, according to LAD’s internal system clock.

LAD noted that Arman wasn’t angry because Febby hadn’t asked permission to use the computer; he was angry because he didn’t think his daughter needed to know anything about technology. That was what he said when Febby tried to explain what she had been doing. Arman wasn’t interested when she told him the LAD necklace was actually a piece of sophisticated bodytech, and he wasn’t impressed when Febby showed him the blinking lights she had programmed.

There was a knock on the door, followed by Nindya’s voice asking if Febby was hungry.

“No,” Febby replied. “I was doing something, Ma.”

Nindya walked into the room and closed the door. “You don’t need to know all that computer stuff.”

“Why can’t I learn about computers?”

“You can learn anything you want, Febby,” Nindya said. “But you have to think what people will think of you. Boys don’t want a girl who knows computers.”

“Boys are stupid,” Febby said. “Can I go to the library?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Nindya said. “Pa doesn’t want us to go outside. He thinks some men might be watching the house.” Nindya sighed. “Don’t worry, Febby…”

The rest of her sentence lost priority as system behavior overrides kicked in. LAD modulated the necklace antenna to seek for spread-spectrum radio signals, which a recovery team would use for secure communications, and ultra-wideband pulses, which they would use to create precise radar images of the building structure.

Nindya left the room while LAD was still scanning. The radio analysis jobs took so many clock cycles, it was nearly 1,200 milliseconds before LAD checked the audio buffer again and heard Febby talking.

“Did you hear that noise?” she asked. “What was that? Laddie, can you hear me?”

“I’m analyzing the sound,” LAD said, switching priority back to the audio software and analyzing the sound spike just before Febby’s question. The matching algorithms came back in 50 milliseconds: .22-caliber rimfire cartridge, double-action revolver, likely Smith & Wesson. From the basement.

LAD increased the audio job priority for the noise immediately following. The gunshot had attenuated the microphone, so LAD also had to amplify the input and run noise reduction filters on it. The result came back in 470 milliseconds: hard impact, metal projectile against concrete surface. Not flesh and bone.

LAD flipped job priority back to the voice command UI. “That was a gunshot. Febby, I need you to go downstairs, please.”

“A gun?” Febby ran to her bedroom door, then stopped. “Who has a gun?”

LAD heard Arman’s muffled voice echoing in the basement, but couldn’t make out the words. On the ground floor, Jaya and Nindya shouted at each other.

“It’s your father,” LAD said. “He’s in the basement. Please, Febby, I need you to go downstairs so I can hear better. I need to know if Mr. Mundine is hurt again.”

“That was really loud,” Febby said, her voice trembling. “I’m scared.”

“I’m afraid too, Febby,” LAD said. “But Mr. Mundine is in trouble. Please, Febby. I need to help my friend.”

Febby sobbed once, then rubbed some kind of cloth against her face. “Okay.”

“Thank you, Febby.”

“You stay here! Stay here!” Nindya shouted.

“I have to go back!” Jaya said. “Pa said to get him—”

“I don’t care what he said! You’re not going down there while he’s shooting a gun!”

Their voices grew louder as Febby approached the kitchen. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and whispered, “I don’t think I can sneak past them. Can you hear better now?”

LAD filtered the incoming audio, passed it to the translation process, then re-filtered the sample using a different algorithm and tried again. No good. The translator still couldn’t understand what Arman was saying.

“I’m sorry, Febby, we’re still not close enough,” LAD said. “But your mother and brother are on the other side of the kitchen. Your mother’s facing away from you. If you crawl along the floor, the table should hide you from your brother’s line of sight.”

Febby dropped to the floor and started moving. “I thought you couldn’t see.”

“I can’t. I’m analyzing the sound frequencies of their voices and extrapolating propagation paths using a three-dimensional spectrograph.”

“Cool. Is that a software plug-in?”

“It’s a dynamically-loaded shared library. Let’s talk about it later, okay?”

LAD could tell when Febby reached the end of the hall by the echoes of Nindya’s and Jaya’s voices. Febby sat up and put her ear against the door leading to the basement. The translator software began producing valid output.

“You want to talk now?” Arman shouted. “Are you ready to talk?”

LAD heard rustling noises, and then Mundine’s voice. “Sorry, friend, it doesn’t work like that.”

“You came here to make a deal,” Arman said. “I know how it works. You don’t bring cash, but there’s a bank. Tell me which bank! Tell me your access codes!”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Mundine repeated.

LAD was just about to ask Febby to open the door—hoping her presence would distract Arman long enough for LAD to do something, anything—when the radio monitoring job started spewing result codes into the system register. 20 milliseconds passed while LAD examined the data: multiple ultra-wideband signals, overlapping and repeating, likely point sources in the front and back of the house, approximately one meter above ground level.

“Febby,” LAD said, raising output volume above the shouting from the kitchen and the basement, “Febby, please lie down on the ground now.”

“Why?” Febby turned her head away from the basement door. “What’s happening?”

LAD turned output volume up to maximum. “Down on the ground! Get down on the ground now , Febby, please !”

Febby dropped and flattened herself against the floorboards 150 milliseconds before the first projectile hit the wall above her. That was enough time for LAD to analyze the background audio and estimate there were two squads advancing on the house, four men each, walking on thermoplastic outsoles and wearing ballistic nylon body armor, likely carrying assault rifles.

340 milliseconds after the first team broke down the back door, the second team charged the front door, and another spray of tiny missiles tore into the kitchen. Something thumped to the ground, and Jaya cried out. He ran three steps before a burst of rounds caught him in the back. He crashed against the wall and slid to the floor.

Febby was still screaming when the first team reached her.

“I’ve got a girl here! Young girl, on the floor!” called a male voice (H5).

“Where’s the IFF?” asked another male voice (H6). LAD checked to verify that Mundine’s identification-friend-or-foe signal was broadcasting from the necklace.

“It’s right here,” H5 said. “I’m reading the signal right here!”

“Febby,” LAD said. “Febby, please listen to me. This is very important.”