cubicles equipped with sound dampeners and every imaginable learning device that the average student couldn’t afford. It even included a small museum on the first floor dedicated to paper books. On the seventh floor in a round alcove that descended two steps, we manipulated an old matrix holographic display. It simulated rates of change based on variables we entered. The work was tedious. I abruptly shut it off. No one objected.
“I feel like we should be celebrating or talking to reporters,” I said.
“I feel like getting drunk,” Haji said. He looked at me. “Oh yeah, you don’t drink.”
Muna pulled out her pad. “I’m going to scan the news for a heightened security threat.”
I pulled out my pad and said, “Maybe there’s someone else at National Security that will be a little more sympathetic for the mentally disabled.”
“Hey,” Haji said. “That’s my line.”
Muna must have cast a reprimand to him because he jerked back and said to her, “He said it, not me.” When she didn’t respond, he sat back, crossing his arms. “OK then, you two look at your pads, I’ll get drunk for everyone.”
“Nothing in the news yet,” Muna said.
“It’s too early,” Damisi said. “They haven’t had time to even verify what we sent.”
“Maybe I can get a hold of a real person at NS,” I said. I looked up the NS site and within seconds had a flesh and blood response, sans patriotic music and subtitles.
The holo display on my pad showed a man in his late thirties with south Asian features and a short-cropped haircut. I set him the “Report a Cyber Threat” form. He looked it over and said, “The bot designation you gave, B911, is in this department, but there is no record of you contacting it or submitting this form. The address you sent this to looks suspicious. Just a moment.” He looked down. “Sometimes, you can reverse engineer an email address by looking at the patterns. It should have the bot’s number and something like ... there. The link doesn’t go to the Department of National Security. It’s a Bono Manso University address.”
“Whose address?” Haji asked.
“A Dr. Danjuma. Do you know him?”
“There has to be a mistake,” Muna said. “Is there more than one Doctor Danjuma?”
“No.”
We looked at each other.
“So then, where did you get the fake address?” the agent asked.
“The security bot,” I said, “and I got the bot’s National Security link from Doctor Danjuma.”
“Listen. I believe this is a credible threat. Do not, I repeat, do not get involved. Do not contact this Doctor Danjuma. Do not go to any of his classes. I want contact information from each of you, including your pad IDs. I will contact you if we have any questions or if he has been cleared so you can resume your classes.”
We gave him the information and he terminated the call.
Damisi shook her head. “I can’t believe Doctor D is involved in this. It must be a mistake.”
“Actually,” I said, “It makes sense. Do you remember how crappy B911 looked?”
“Yes,” Muna said, “a low-rez animation -- someone could render it on the fly.”
“And,” I said, “there was a recorded message that anyone could copy from the real National Security site and replay.”
Haji nodded slowly. “The security bot did act like it was trying to get rid of us.”
“This is too much to believe,” Damisi said. “You’re saying that Doctor D purposefully sent you to a site that just happened to look like the real NS site? And then he set up a bot like a puppet?”
Haji took Damisi’s hand and spoke tenderly, “We all took the Alexander Sevik sim, so we can all create an AI-NOS. Doctor D is a simulation specialist. He’s a bio-mechanical wizard.”
Damisi pulled her hand away. “Stop patronizing me. I just think we’re taking this a bit fast. I find it hard to believe that a professor just happened to have a fake NS site ready to hand out.”
Haji sat back, arms folded. “She does have a point,” he said.
“Maybe,” Muna shrugged, “but if I were an anarchist, I would have a backup plan like a fake NS site. Doctor D wasn’t here when the security bot contacted us. I bet the bot was the Doctor.”
“How could he do that?” Damisi asked. “He was upstairs at the clinic filling out forms.”
Muna shrugged. “That’s what he said. He could have gone upstairs and used a pad.”
“Whatever,” Damisi said. “I think we should at least talk with him.”
“That would be stupid,” Haji said. “That NS agent told us not to.”
“I’ll take my chances,” she said. She stood up and pocketed her pad. “We all know Doctor D. We don’t know that,” she pointed at my pad, “that bureaucrat.”
“Don’t, Damisi,” I said, reaching out to her hand. She jerked away -- just like Jana.
“I’m going to his lab,” she said. “He deserves a chance to defend himself.”
Scene 13
Being foolish, intrepid, ignorant college students, we promptly ignored National Security instructions under the pretense of protecting our friend from an anarchist. Inside the Ya Moyo Medical Tower, we rode the elevator up to the ninth floor in silence. The air smelled faintly of body odor -- too warm and closed-in. The exhaust fan must have broken.
You OK with this? Muna cast to me alone.
If you mean saving lives? Yeah. Risking my neck? Yeah. Finding out Doctor D is an anarchist? No.
I’m worried about Damisi.
Damisi stood in front of me and all I saw was the back of her head. She stared at the floor and her shoulders sagged.
She respects Doctor D, Muna continued, and I think she’s taking this pretty hard.
We really shouldn’t be doing this.
Damisi would go on her own if we don’t.
I think the three of us can hold her down long enough for the NS to do their thing, don’t you? I cast.
Don’t you want to find out for yourself?
I didn’t answer. The elevator doors opened onto the ninth-floor atrium. It had a balcony that overlooked the main lobby below. If we were going to turn around, this would be the best place. Two locked, glass doors lead to the labs and they would only open for those registered as biology students or staff. Doctor D used a level 1 biohazard lab at the end of the first corridor to the right with general access to biology students.
Haji opened the glass doors. It clicked, unlocking when he pulled the handle. No one spoke as we walked down the corridor, passing other labs and refrigerated storage. The corridor was empty and brightly lit by sunlight from a window at the end. We had visited his lab at least a dozen times in the last semester, but those fond memories now stung with the thought of betrayal.
Haji was still in the lead. He held out his hand for the rest of us to stop, and he slowly peered through the little window on the door next to the sign that read, “Lab 9E Non-Pathogenic Bacteria, Spores, and Viruses”. Wait, Haji cast. OK, I don’t see anyone.
Is it locked? I cast.
Impatiently, Damisi reached around him and opened the door. Boys, she cast, this is stupid.
We all entered. The lights turned on automatically. The lab’s been empty for at least five minutes, Haji cast. The lights timed-out.
The lab was about half the size of our classroom with two doors and three long counters equipped with mixers, shakers, spectrum analyzers, DNA re-sequencers, a cryogenic cell-freezing system, incubators and a refrigerated centrifuge. The odor of disinfectant, the state of general disarray, and the active incubators verified the lab’s recent use. One state-of-the-art lab bot sat inert at the end of each counter. Unlike the medical bot at the clinic, these fully mobile versions could walk around the lab with four arms and an array of optical sensors capable of conducting menial tasks, accessing the nexus for information, and collecting and analyzing samples.
I saw one used pair of gloves and a facial mask on the nearest counter -- the minimal precautions ag
ainst biohazardous materials. It sent a shiver up my spine. If this was the making of a bio-weapon of mass destruction, simple glove and a mask protection would not be enough. Either the work here was harmless, meaning Doctor D was innocent, or the work was hazardous, which would make him suicidal. Next to the gloves were three growth chambers with Petri dishes stacked inside. Though the chamber’s glass door, an amber light shown on the dishes, and I watched in fascination as the culture’s patterns blossomed. Somebody set the chamber’s acceleration to maximum and is mass-producing cultures, I cast. Any guess what it is?
Modified T. gondii, Haji cast.
Should we be worried? I cast.
Well if they were a level 2 hazard, Muna cast, he didn’t handle them well.
And level 2 requires what? Haji asked.
I’m glad I’m not your lab partner, Muna said. You have to be certified to work with level 2, the doors would be locked, you have to use safety cabinets, yada, yada.
And 3?
Only one lab here is rated as level 3 biosafety, and don’t ask because we’ll probably never even see it.
OK, now what? Haji asked.
Why don’t we just call him? I cast. I don’t feel right with all this snooping around.
It’s better this way. Damisi cast. We don’t have to confront him directly, but if we find anything incriminating, we’ll know.
Like this. Muna cast, holding a pad.
I looked over her shoulder. It’s a copy of what I sent to the fake National Security link, but is there more? Did he make notes?
She shook her head. No other entries.
Haji laughed. You don’t think he would just leave a note