Philip Kerr - Gridiron

'My stomach's rumbling like the San Andreas fault,' said Levine. 'Bob?

You want something from the kitchen?'

Bob Beech pushed himself away from the dumb terminal, stood up and went over to the window.

'Bob?' said Mitch. 'Is there something we need to know about?'

Appetites went on hold as Beech replied: 'I think we need to revise our expectations of rescue,' he said coolly. 'Radically.'

The time was almost nine o'clock.

'None of us is the kind of person who keeps regular hours, right?' said Bob Beech. 'Take me. Sometimes I work until midnight. A couple of times I haven't gone home at all. I'd say that's true of just about everyone in this room. Sergeant Curtis?'

'A cop works all kinds of hours,' he admitted with a shrug. 'Get to the point.'

'Does the name Roo Evans mean anything to you two gentlemen?'

Nathan Coleman looked at Curtis and nodded. 'The black kid from Watts,' he said. 'The drive-by.'

'We're investigating his murder,' said Curtis.

'Not any more, you're not,' said Beech.

'What's that supposed to mean?' said Coleman.

'You're both suspended on full pay and held for questioning at the 77th Street Station by your own internal affairs department on suspicion of being involved in Evans's murder. At least, that's what your Captain Mahoney believes.'

'What the hell are you talking about?' demanded Curtis.

'I'm afraid it's not me who's been doing the talking. Someone has tapped into your central dispatch computer over at City Hall. Done a pretty good job of it, too. If you don't believe me take a look on the terminal there. Nobody's expecting to see you back at your desks in Homicide for quite some time. Maybe never. As far as the rest of your brother officers are concerned, you're both personae non gratae . That's Latin for You're fucked.'

Curtis turned and stared blindly at the computer.

'Are you shitting me?' he said. 'Is this straight up?'

'Believe me, Sergeant, I wish I was.'

'But wouldn't someone from I.A. have to call Mahoney and tell him?' said Coleman. 'Wouldn't they?'

Curtis sighed. 'That used to be how it worked. But now the computer handles everything. It's supposed to guarantee objectivity, y'know? Make sure the criminals get a fair shake at us. That stupid bastard Mahoney will just sit there on his fat ass and accept what's written on the computer print-out like it came down from the Almighty himself. Probably even call my wife and tell her not to expect me home for a while.'

'Like I say,' nodded Beech, 'it gets better. Someone has also faxed the airline and cancelled the Richardsons' seats on that flight to London. Even cancelled your dinner reservation at Spago's, Tony. Thoughtful, huh?'

'Shit. I had to wait four weeks for that lousy reservation.'

'Faxed or E-mailed wives, girlfriends, boyfriends. Told them the phones are down here, that we're all working on through the night to get this mother finished.'

There was a long, stunned silence. Finally David Arnon said, 'Do you think Grabel would call Mastercharge? Wipe out my debt?'

'Nobody is expecting us home tonight?' said Jenny. 'And nobody knows we're stuck here? With a madman?'

'That's about the size of it,' said Beech. 'But it gets even better than that.'

'What could be worse than that?' shrugged Coleman.

'Allen Grabel isn't responsible.'

'What? Who is then?' said Helen.

'Nobody.'

'I don't understand,' said Curtis. 'You said "someone" had tapped into central dispatch…"

'The "someone" we have all assumed is Allen Grabel is Abraham itself.'

'Are you saying that the computer is responsible for what's happening?' said Marty Birnbaum.

'That's precisely what I'm saying.'

'What the… I don't get it,' said Curtis. The only criminal minds I understand are the ones filled with guns, and drugs, and shit like that. Why would a computer do such a thing?'

'Oh come on,' interrupted Marty Birnbaum, 'you can't be serious, Bob. The integrity of the system may, as you say, have failed. But what you're suggesting is absurd. Alarmist, even. You're being quite irresponsible. Really. Why should Abraham intend harm to anyone? I'm not sure you can even talk about a computer having an intention at all.'

'Well, there at least we are in agreement,' said Beech. 'Not why, Sergeant. How. Why implies a motive. This is a machine we're talking about, remember?'

'Why? How? What fuckin' difference does it make? I'd like to know what's happening.'

'Well, it could be there's been some kind of brown-out.'

'What the hell's a brown-out?' said Coleman.

'A low voltage level rather than no voltage at all. The back-up generator is supposed to kick in if there's a major power failure. There could be just enough power so that the Powerbak system doesn't come on-stream, but not enough so as to let Abraham run things properly. Could be it's starved of power. Like a brain without oxygen.' He shrugged. 'I dunno. I'm just guessing, really.'

'Are you sure about this, Bob? About Abraham?'

'Mitch, there's no other explanation. I've been reading the transactions on the terminal as they were made on the Yu-5 downstairs. The speed of the transactions alone convince me that there's nobody in there operating the computer. I'm sure of it. No pre-programmed instructions either. Abraham is doing this all himself.'

'Bob? Maybe there's another explanation,' said Mitch.

'Let's hear it,' said Beech.

'This is a very complex system we're dealing with here, right? And complexity implies an inherent instability, doesn't it?'

'That's an interesting possibility,' admitted Beech.

'Come again?' said Curtis.

'Complex systems are always on the edge of chaos.'

'I thought there was some kind of law that prevented computers from attacking humans,' said Coleman. 'Like in the movies.'

'I think you're talking about Isaac Asimov's First Law of Robotics,'

Beech said thoughtfully. 'That was fine when all we had to deal with were binary systems, computers that function according to a sequential yes/no system. But this is a massively parallel computer, with a neural network that functions according to a system of weighted maybes, a bit like the human mind. This kind of computer learns as it goes along. In the established church of computer discipline and practice, Abraham is the equivalent of a Nonconformist. A free-thinker.'

'Maybe so,' said Marty Birnbaum. 'But that's a whole different ballpark from the one you guys are batting in. Initiative's one thing. Intention is something entirely different. What you're suggesting here is

-' He shrugged. 'No other word for it. Science fiction.'

'Shit,' said Beech. 'Mitch, this is unbelievable.'

'Could it be,' Mitch argued to Beech, 'that Abraham has passed a certain threshold of complexity and become autocatalytic?'

'Auto what?' said Levine.

'A computer self-organizes from the chaos of its various programmed responses to form a kind of metabolism.' Beech was looking more and more excited.

Jenny stood up slowly.

'Whooa,' she said. 'A kind of metabolism? Are you saying what I think you're saying, Mitch?'

'That's exactly what I'm saying.'

'What's he saying?' demanded David Arnon. 'Bob? Do you know what he's saying? Because I don't have a fucking idea.'

'I tell you something,' said Beech, 'I'm not a religious man. But this is the nearest I've ever come to experiencing a revelation. I have to admit the possibility that, for want of better words, Abraham is alive and thinking.'

What Bob Beech had to say left Willis Ellery feeling more nauseous than before. Believing that he was going to throw up, he went to the men's room, closed the cubicle door and knelt before the toilet bowl. His own shallow breathing and the cold sweat starting on his forehead seemed to underline the turmoil that was taking place inside his stomach. Only nothing happened. He belched a couple of times and wished that he had the nerve to stick a couple of fingers down his throat like some bulimic, adolescent schoolgirl. But somehow he could not bring himself to do it.