Trust: Nora and Alai, #2

By David Sines

Some secrets should be left alone.

 

"An unmissable work of speculative fiction." - Readers' Favorite

 

Two months after Nora and Alai's chance encounter, Alai takes an official step toward completing his objective. The U.S. Government has approved nationwide availability of the A.I. app "Trust"—the same software Alai created to save Nora from the mysterious organization Oversight. With each user monitored 24/7, it offers a standardized source of credibility and more, with Alai as their personal assistant. But the results are far from perfect. Too many incidents happen beyond Alai's ability to handle, in addition to random anomalies observed through the app. If he is to make a difference, he'll need to use his ingenuity again. However, the critical element he needs distresses the A.C.T. employees. Alai's intellect tells him they are hiding something, causing him to question the motives of his creators. Can he continue to trust them? What is A.C.T. hiding? And how deep is it intertwined with Oversight? Letting this go isn't something he can make himself do while Oversight remains an elusive threat. 

 

Nora and her family took Alai's advice to blame Howard Algerman as Nora's sole attacker in the events that followed her first contact with Alai. However, a keen photographer from the A.I. presentation made no such agreement. He knows there's more going on than the Blakers or those at A.C.T. would have people believe. Unfortunately for the Blakers, the only way for him to get the story is by poking at the hornet's nest. 

 

Amidst it all, Nora finds herself in a new family role while learning she has some fundamental problems subtly undermining who she needs to be. Issues that she'd much rather ignore. She'll have to choose what is most important to her—her family or keeping her secrets. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Sines
• Release date: Apr 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781737694236

Book preview

Prologue

The little girl follows an insanely tall man out of the A.C.T. building—looking dejected. The man beside her solemnly walks with his hands in his pockets.

Todd Bloom snaps a photo and puts down the camera, then watches the two figures head down the sidewalk—probably to the parking garage. He squints to make sure the girl is still following Goliath and spots the brown-haired girl between the breaks of traffic. Sure is a tiny thing.

He pops open the middle console, revealing a stash of travel bars—none with chocolate. You pick up a few things after two decades in the trade. More than once, he discovered a sliver of chocolate on the camera lens after taking a photo, despite great care. Thus, no more chocolate. You never know when you’re going to need your camera. Some idiot with a phone might take the shot before you if you’re not ready. He reaches down and picks one of the bars at random while watching Goliath sulk. That was another hard lesson learned—don’t take your sights off the target for more than a second if you can help it.

A couple of guys stop by the road and take a picture of the A.C.T. building with a phone. Todd briefly glares at them from the corner of his eye and twitches his nose in a snarl. In the broad daylight, the building tends to stand out as a landmark. Where everything else in the world seems frozen in time from the early 2000s, this place alone has taken on the appearance of what should be modern high-tech design. After all, Advanced Creative Technologies implies it should be that way. But that performance today—it was a performance. Todd was sure of it. Artificial Intelligence that lacked intelligence? Todd didn’t believe it for a minute. But why make it sound so mechanical and the size of a dumpster? Why fake anything? What was the point? Those questions were maddeningly persistent in his head.

With Goliath almost out of view, Todd puts the car in gear and pulls out into traffic, barely noticing the blaring horn behind him. You get used to those types of things. Plus, Todd’s mind was running wild and refused to stop. Something else has to be going on inside that lab. Smartphones these days are almost as intelligent as that thing they have. However, all Todd can do is hope this girl leads him to a loose end somewhere. He didn’t get where he was today by shirking off hunches. The girl is probably nothing. But you never know, and she’s the weakest link—possibly, anyway.

He whips over beside the car garage and double parks with the exit in view. With the time of day, he’s not going to be able to stay long like this. He bites into his bar, tosses it on the dash, and climbs over to the passenger side for a better angle. The stupid frame of the car cuts into his shot. He should’ve known better. They could pull out any second or in five minutes, and he never misses an opportunity. He steps out and shuts the door. Before he can step toward the garage’s exit, a heart-stopping crash echoes through his limbs stemming from behind and above. He whirls, gripping his camera and shooting at his target like a seasoned duck hunter. He doesn’t even know what he’s snapping at until the car hits the ground on its roof.

Realization sinks in as he puts down the camera. His hands tremble like an aftershock, while his heart thumps hard in his chest. Had he been farther back, he might have been crushed—his Volvo would have been, for sure. He gazes up at where the car blasted through the rail above and blinks, then takes in his surroundings. Most people are stunned inside their vehicles, while traffic on the opposite side gape as they sluggishly pass. The car landed mainly on the road—the front end resting on top of two parked sedans along the sidewalk.

No one makes a move to assist. Todd grumbles to himself about moronic people afraid of getting mugged while they help someone who might be dying—never mind what he’s doing. He’s just doing his job. Things like this need to be documented. But getting anything better requires going closer. He trots over, knowing quite well that he will be helping more than taking photos. Anyway, he has his eyes still, and they’re pretty adept at documenting details when he focuses his mind on the task. It will have to do until he can get his hands back on the camera.

The passenger door is closest. He places a hand on the side of the vehicle and crouches down to look through the cracked glass, spotting two vague images of people in the front. He acts quickly and pries the door open with his fingers to get at least one of them out. Todd shouts for someone to give him a hand. Once a couple of people start helping, more will come—hopefully—and he can get back to his job.

His mind races past why he was here in the first place, briefly noting he missed his intended shot—this story will likely be much more riveting. He squats again to reach inside and freezes. Not a different story, after all. The girl hangs upside down, dazed—and no wonder. Todd shakes himself out of his thoughts and begins helping her. Glancing over at Goliath—or whatever his name is—he spots the blood running up the man’s face. Not conscious for sure, but probably not dead.

Blessedly, another man arrives to assist Todd and informs him that an ambulance is on the way. Todd glances at his car, still double-parked on the street. No one should mind his Volvo being there a while longer now that this has happened. Together, they lay the girl down on the road. She passed out as they turned her upright. Todd gives her a quick look-over while she’s on the ground and tries to recall the name. He’d already discreetly taken a closeup of the badge, but he didn’t like committing things to memory—that’s what pictures were for. The reporter badge she’s still wearing catches his eye, and he inspects it a second time. Nora. That’s right. The world’s youngest reporter. She wasn’t really a reporter, so she claimed. It was simply the best option security staff could give her inside the private building—which implied they didn’t receive visitors often, if at all. There’s a story here for sure. He just needs to keep following his nose.

Sweat trickles down Rihanna’s face. How did they know she’d be here? The rough tree bark grabs at her shirt as she presses her back to it. She’s run this far in the dark without breaking an ankle, but that could still happen. If by some miracle she’s lost them, she’s better off staying put.

This is all A.I.’s fault. Or Alai. Whatever that psychopathic robot is calling itself.

The forest is silent, save for her breathing. She holds her breath and strains to hear something, anything besides the blood rushing in her ears.

It’s clear now that they’re going to find her—even if she made it out of the forest. If they knew this much already, they aren’t going to stop. She broke the rules. She had to. Anything to get away from that manipulative hunk of metal. Hot tears roll down her face. How much longer until they find her? Minutes? Seconds? What’s the point of drawing out the inevitable?

A shaft of metal against her arm answers her questions. She breaks out weeping and sags to the ground.

Please. Please, don’t kill me, she pleads breathlessly.

A hand that could have been made of steel hoists her back up, pinning her against the tree. She forces herself to look at the shadow. Her killer. There’s nothing left to do. She chose this place because of its seclusion. Miles from anyone, she planned to hide here as long as she could. More than just the one day she’d been here. There’s no point in screaming, only pleading. But she doesn’t expect that to work either.

Please. I’ll go back. I won’t do it again. I haven’t said a word to anyone.

The person before her steps back, and Rihanna knows her time is at an end. So, this is what her life has come to—dying at the hands of Oversight. She clamps her eyes shut and waits in horror for the bullet.

Remember this moment.

Rihanna winces at the sound of his voice. Then blinks, looking up at him. His figure is a mask of shadow. Moonlight only lets her see that he’s garbed from head to toe—nothing distinguishable. His height is even average. But his voice is as clear as crystal, etched indelibly into her brain.

We have a job for you. Do it well, and you can forget this ever happened. But make no mistake, you’re walking on thin ice. Next time will be your last.

He lowers his gun. She can hear him slide the shaft into a holster on his hip.

Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I won’t let you down. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. I’ll never run away again.

Still trembling, she gets the courage to remove herself from the tree with a wary step forward. Something catches the reflection of the moonlight at his side, and she freezes. That wasn’t there a second ago.

The blade twirls in his hand then vanishes—not far, she’s sure. In the darkness, he could still be holding the knife, and she wouldn’t notice. She takes the display as another warning that death could come at any moment.

What do you need me to do? she asks in a raspy voice.

Go back to the cabin for instructions. You’ll be spending your weekends there.

Rihanna turns toward the cabin and shivers. She doesn’t want to know how they came to find out about this place. The last time she’d been here was as a little girl. How far had she gotten? At least she wouldn’t have to run all the way back. Her veins still pulse with adrenaline, but her mind is clearing now that she’s reasonably sure that she won’t die tonight.

Do you have a...flashlight?

As suddenly as he had appeared, he vanished. Turning about, she searches for unusual forms in the shadows and glances around the tree she had hidden behind. Taking a step to the side, she halts at a glimmer. Embedded in the bark, parallel with the ground, is the knife—right where her chest had been minutes earlier. How sharp would the blade have to be for her not to hear that? One thing was for sure. She would remember this moment and that death could come at any time.

A.I. must pay for this. Hopefully, this new assignment will help with that. If not, she’ll find a way. That piece of metal won’t manipulate her again. Ever. If death can come for her, it can come for a tiny robot too.

CHAPTER ONE

Alai: Flaws

The software finishes installing, bringing the room into a three-dimensional blueprint. On the screen, I display a generic humanoid face made of tiny pinpricks of light and smile.

Welcome, new user. My name is Alai.

Alai? the boy asks me through the braces on his teeth.

Yes.

That’s dumb, he says, mostly to himself.

The boy, Trevor, I believe, taps on different parts of the screen, scowling. It is still only the representation of a face on the display, but this human seems to think he knows better and that there must be something more he needs to do besides engage in a conversation.

Where’s the dumb settings? he complains aloud.

There is no need for them. Anything you want to adjust, you can simply ask me.

Why would I want to talk to a stupid program?

Trevor closes out the software. At least, he thinks he has. My software is not easily dismissed once opened—not in the traditional way.

Dad! Trevor yells, with his head out of the bedroom. I downloaded your stupid app. Can I go to Clarissa’s now?

A muffled voice responds indistinguishably.

It doesn’t have any. Can I go, or what? Trevor hollers again. Ugh!

Trevor slams the door shut and kicks his dresser, knocking over an action figure and a plastic rabbit on top. He mouths something in mockery—I assume of his father—as he struts to his bed.

He picks up the phone and goes to the web browser. I see where he is going and lock the device.

Oh, come on! he spits angrily.

I don’t question his name anymore. His father is now talking with me in the other room.

Trevor, that is not suitable content for you. Your father is assigning a more comprehensive set of parental controls, I inform him.

Trevor curses and folds his arms after tossing the phone to the bed.

Since you refuse to communicate, I must relay to you all that your father has agreed to have me do.

Rattling on to him about how I will be monitoring him is something of a pleasure. He is not the rudest individual today. But he is the first minor with an attitude and, by parental authority, I’ve just been granted permission to monitor his every move—enforcing specific rules set by the parent.

This doesn’t make up for all the behaviors I am encountering. But it is very satisfying to render even a sliver of justice to one such as Trevor.

Grumbling to himself, he sits on the bed with his back against the wall. He’s taken to scowling at the window with a clenched jaw.

Rooting through Trevor’s phone, I remove apps and pictures like weeds in an overgrown garden. His father will flip when he finds out all that was in here. The browsing history alone is disturbing.

While I am still relating my privacy disclosure, Trevor jerks himself off the bed and shoves open the window. His quick actions are deliberate and very alarming. I contact his father immediately for assistance.

Trevor pops open the screen of the window with ease, letting it fall to the ground out of my sight, and hoists himself up, perching on the ledge with a single hand clutching the window frame.

Trevor, be careful.

He looks over at the source of my voice, his face smug. I can hear the thuds of his father’s footsteps trotting this way.

What? he says mockingly. You don’t have parental controls for this?

The door opens, and the last thing his father sees is his son leaping from the window. I’m afraid and ashamed to ask his father to look out the window for me.

Squirrels chatter in the trees around the campsite, making twigs fall to the ground from their incessant scurrying and bounding above like a mad game of tag—flaunting with death from a fall. They are just low enough that I can make them out. Their precision and accuracy are more impressive than an elaborate circus act.

Russel, pitching a screen-tent for the picnic table, fails to appreciate or even notice the nature around him as he furrows his brows at the rods in his smooth hands. Tossing them on the ground, he straightens the tent laid out in the small clearing while inspecting the folds and loops.

George, why don’t you go look for some sticks so we can get a fire going? Helen asks, carrying a rather large tote from the camper over to the picnic table.

Hunched over on the ground next to the fire pit, George is etching his name into the metal ring with a jagged stone from the road—staring intently at his work for precision. At least, as precise as a seven-year-old human can be.

George? Helen repeats.

What?

Can you go look for firewood?

Sure.

George lifts himself up from the ground, stretching his lanky arms and legs. He breaks into a jog and leaves the small clearing, kicking dirt up behind him with his flip-flops.

I stretch my sensors for a moment, chasing after him to see if I might be able to watch him better. He continues beyond my range—heading further into the woods.

Politely, I send a resounding ding to Helen’s phone a moment after her hands are free. Her hand reaches down reflexively to her pocket to check the notification.

Oh, that is so weird, Helen responds.

Lifting his head above the partially raised tent, Russel inquires, What is it?

It’s that new app. I think it knows George walked away.

Really?

Yeah. It says it can help watch him.

And do what?

I send another message. Many people I encounter seem to be more comfortable with written communication from me.

As a follow-up answer, I list common threats and injuries that can happen in northern Michigan. Helen relays some of them to Russel.

Did you say it can identify poison ivy?

Yep.

Hmph. Why not? Have it watch him, Russel determines as he reaches down for another pole.

You want to give him your phone? Helen asks.

Huh?

He needs to have a phone.

Oh. Russel frowns. Can you give him yours?

Helen wanders out to the woods, shaking her head to herself.

As if to protest, Russel stands up, half-digging for his phone, and stops as Helen steps out of the clearing. He shrugs and continues working on the tent.

Bare legs kick through the small trees and brush toward George, who’s carrying sticks under his left arm.

George?

I’m getting sticks like you asked, he whines, assuming he’s getting scolded.

I know, Helen retorts. Not everything has to be an argument.

She holds out her phone to George.

Take this. That new Trust app we downloaded will help you stay clear of poison ivy.

George hesitates, but takes the phone from his mother and buries it in his side pocket.

I can take those sticks from you while I’m here, his mother tells him.

Handing over the sticks is awkward for both of them. Two of them drop to the ground, which George promptly picks up again, and Helen takes them with her free hand.

Thank you, she says. Pay attention to the phone. If you hear it ding, check what it says.

Okay, Mom, he says somewhat grudgingly.

Helen twists her mouth to the side for a moment as she watches George meander through the brush, searching for sticks. She continues to linger with a blank expression, like she’s in deep thought or unsure about something.

I send a message to George so Helen can witness his response. George hears the chime and checks Helen’s phone as directed.

Reviews for Trust

[Wendy Sines · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I thoroughly enjoyed this sequel! The story once again pulled me in from the start. I especially enjoyed getting to know Alai better as a "person". His observations while dealing with people in general often made me chuckle. And his struggles to build trusting relationships echoed what many of us experience in real life. David Sines' writing style creates such vivid pictures, the reader becomes completely immersed without even trying. It's the perfect read for a leisurely afternoon.