Law Com / Terminal 273347

1.    Year 2050 First fully successful cranial implant to computer interface: An implanted device which allowed direct computer interface via simple thought.

2.    Year 2060: First report of criminal activity aided by cranial implant: Theft of 18.5 million euro from bank of Geneva / status unsolved.

3.    Year 2068: Cranial Net Link Chip perfected: Primary function internet access and communication via implant made available as a consumer product November 1 2068.

4.    Year 2073: Launch of the World Wide Cranial net: Designed to replace the formerly known World Wide Web and designed for C.N.L.C specific compatibility.

5.    Year 2085: International Techno Ban Treaty (TBT) signed: Purpose, the ban of specific CNLC offshoot technologies and their further development. (Classified Confidential: Secondary purpose is to prevent general public knowledge of the existence of same technologies.)

6.    Year 2090: Formation of Federal Agency for Net Crime Investigation (FANCI): County U.S.A. / Purpose: To investigate crimes committed using the WWC, violations of the now ratified TBT, and to uphold Court of Nations (CON) rulings within the United States and aid in worldwide enforcement when called upon. First chartered by the 45th constitutional amendment February 10 2090

End Report: Current Date June / 10 / 2175

Snap, Snap, Snap rings out as three more bullets clattered down the alley behind him.

How had it come to this, in a firefight, low on ammo, and cornered. I thought I was better than this; letting myself get made by a tech dealer’s bodyguard and armature hit man. Where the hell is my backup anyway?

The shooting pauses as a chilling quiet descends on the streets of the old city. Police detective Fergus O’Malley huddles behind a bullet scared dumpster as his attackers, free to maneuver, attempt to gain better shooting positions.

The detective spotted the deal about 15 minutes ago and crept into a nearby alleyway to shoot some video.

Ever thing was going just fine until I stepped on that damn cat! It howled I jumped, and they saw me; damn I hate cats!

The dumpster, O’Malley’s only cover, suddenly lurches toward him as an ear splitting boom and blinding flash numb his senses. He staggers backwards losing his footing and his weapon. The gunmen approach the dented smoking dumpster cautiously as one of them reloads a nasty looking shotgun like weapon. Stopping just feet from him they level their weapons for the final deadly salvo.

 “what’ve we got here, neighborhood watch?”

Stunned and disorientated he answers weakly “No. A cop and killing me will get you in a world of hurt.”

“A cop, gee-wiz Joe maybe we better not…”

“Damn it man I told you not to use my name; you jackass” Joe snaps as he backhands the man sending him reeling to the ground.

“Now what did you go and do that for J… I mean boss?” the third gunman asks as he reaches for his fallen friend.

“Listen you two idiots I don’t care if he is the chief of police, we’re gonna do him, RIGHT NOW!”

The three deadly expert assassins regroup focusing on O’Malley ready to deliver their coup de grace. The sound of cocking hammers and crashing slides cuts through the cold night air like thunder claps.

I wonder why they always need to reload in such a dramatic fashion just before they kill you. I thought they only did that in movies, I mean don’t they come to the fight with the damn things loaded. I mean really guys just shoot me and get it over with!

Buzz, buzz, buzz, thunders from some unknown distant recess of the city like a giant bumblebee inside the detectives head. As the gunmen bear down on him a blinding white light begins to fill the alleyway.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, O’Malley sits up suddenly smashing his head on the outstretched arm of his nightstand light knocking it to the floor and himself onto his pillow. Dazed, sweating, and rubbing his recently bruised forehead he quietly listens to the oddly soothing sounds of his modern automated apartment. As the dull soft glow of the nightstand light now illuminates the ceiling he can hear the autonomous food processors begin beeping and chattering. While another system softly creaks and clatters as it automatically warms to cooking temperature.

Buzz, buzz, buzz a third time replaces his blank stare with a look of sarcastic distain as he realizes it is his implant and somebody wants to communicate.

 What a way to start the day. O well at least it kept me from being murdered by the three stooges. If only it could control dreams…No maybe not.

“Answer communication active mode” he says even though talking is not necessary, but it somehow makes him feel less part of the machine.

An electronically generated female voice rings out in his head as he recognizes the central law-net computer. “This is law comm. unit 273347 to Detective O’Malley you are needed at central station immediately; please respond.”

No I’m not coming to work today kiss my ass

“Acknowledge message detective Fergus O’Malley 05:30 hours scheduled to report 06:30 central station, law-com 273347 signing off.”

It never listens, not really anyway. I could swear I had today off, I put in for it and I got it. Typical that’s what I get for being head of the old city beat. That’s a laugh “divisional head, me” only because no one else would take the job so I got stuck with it. 

Dragging himself out of bed staggering to the kitchen he pours a large cup of double extra strong coffee. As he drinks the aromatic black juice of consciousness he allows his gaze to wonder around his little apartment. Before him spreads out an eclectic mix of antiquated technology tinkered together to work in a very modern and normally Spartan world.  He realizes his apartment would not be a cluttered mess if he’d just give in and let his new implant do its job. A situation the detective is still trying to come to terms with as he has only recently been implanted.

The precinct doctor assured me it would make me a more affective law officer; I have my doubts. Of course when she told me it was the implant or a new line of work, well it seemed to be more appealing then.

I miss the good old days of wearable links and real display terminals. Well it’s the future now and we can’t slow the wheels of progress cu’s we’re just supposed to let those run us over. Or was it conform or get run over, perhaps it has… become pointless to continue this solitary debate anyway now where’s my breeches it’s getting late.

As the detective disembarks the super high speed elevator he is immediately confronted by the well organized chaos of 55th floor of the Sky Crest Towers. The hover port is the jumping off point and destination for some 12,500 of O’Malley’s neighbors. In addition to being a hover-bus terminal and long range transfer stop it also houses over 2,000 personal hover craft. The terminal is a busy nonstop hub of activity with hundreds of arrivals and departures every hour of every day. He stands at the edge of the pickup curb watching the mechanical ballet of hundreds of people and vehicles moving with clockwork precision narrowly avoiding one another.

Moments later a familiar looking vehicle glides quietly up to the curb and opens just in front of the detective. As he takes his seat his implant tunes into hover control sounding as if suddenly he was in a room with hundreds of whispering people except for a single voice above the rest asking for destination.

Drive by mind, I liked having to push a few buttons it always made me feel in control. Not like this, now I am truly a passenger in a pilotless craft. O well, uh … yes take me to ….

“Central station acknowledged Detective O’Malley” The computer answers before he can finish his thought.

I do not like heaving my mind read “Computer, go to voice mode.”

“Voice mode engaged C.N.L.C. vehicle control offline.” A tinny sounding voice replies from a small metallic box which looks out of place on the clean white console. A device that he had gotten away with installing in his department issued vehicle, along with a manual view screen and a couple other creature comforts. O’Malley was grateful that the antique dealer down on 42^nd street had found him an early 21^st century voice control module and compatible flat plasma display. It had cost a week’s pay and a few hours of over-time to get them installed, but it was all worth it not to have to drive by implant alone. How very bland had things have become now with new mandatory C.N.L.C. control. They just refitted the hovercraft two months ago, removing all manual controls and display screens except for the emergency escape system. All the old flashing lights, buttons, levers, and gauges have been replaced with a stark white console cover. It’s more of a giant drink tray than anything really useful. As long as it didn’t need servicing no one at the department need know about his unauthorized modifications.

As the craft emerges from the 55^th story the sight of a metropolis gone crazy, a city of over twenty-three million souls spreads out before it. Sky scrapers two hundred stories tall, hovering restaurants and shopping arcades stretch out in all directions. Huge hover busses filled with two hundred work bound nameless people rush by. Building maintenance personnel on small hover platforms perform all manner of jobs, Zipping from window to window in an acrobatic display of reckless purpose. It seems that every space between the towering buildings is filled with bright billboards and signs hovering everywhere, all the while hovercraft pass right through them.  In the background is the electronic chatter of the hover traffic communicating with central traffic control. All this set within dozens of levels of hover traffic and massive skyscrapers. The most notable of which is the two oxygen recycling towers at city center, extending nearly half a mile into the air. 

The world has gotten too loud and to bright He thinks to himself and orders his implant into personal communication mode.

The endless stream of electronic communication is replaced by the dull hum of the hovercraft’s motor. The thousands of electronic signs and billboards disappear from view, replaced by bland but gleaming buildings of plastic-crete and metal-glass. The detective can make out a few of the very old buildings far below, in the old city, that still have real signs. The old city is anything below the 50^th story and is considered to be in a ghetto by the affluent masses that live above. Even the new towering, monolithic sky-scrapers didn’t usually have floors below 50. That space is taken up by the gigantic skeletal supports that straddled older buildings and roads. The city planners decided not to demolish the original down town for fear of riots so they just built over and around it. Of course all the extra weight meant filling in the subways, which caused a transit riot anyway. O’Malley had wanted to go on living in the old city when he joined the force. He’d lived there for several years when he first came to Urban Development 125. The department however had other ideas and relocated him to one of the new super-high-rise towers. In many ways he fit into the old city better than the new one. He often felt out of place amongst the new city inhabitants who try their best to act as if nothing exists below the “magic 50th floor.” 

It always amazed me how many of the officers in the department have the “us and them” mentality when it comes to the old parts of the UD 125. In fact it has been difficult to recruit for the old city beat within the department. The rest had to been assigned causing a great deal of resentment, towards me of all people. It seems I was the only one who actually volunteered for the position and ended up being department head. Another fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into Fergus. I never wanted to be in charge of a bunch of malcontent elitist new city cops who never liked me to begin with.

O’Malley, unlike his contemporaries, was raised outside the big city. It was rare indeed since most areas outside the modern cities where considered uninhabitable by today’s standards. His grandmother had raised him on a small piece of farmland about 20 miles outside U D 125. Even though the farm was managed with technology developed after the turn of the 22^nd century it was still considered old fashioned.

He had not come to live in the city until his 17^th year after his grandmother had died and the farm was sold by greedy bickering relatives. He never truly acclimatized to the new surroundings or the new technology. Being used to less technologically intense surroundings he felt more at ease in older buildings closer to the ground if he felt easy at all in the city. He had never had aspirations of becoming a police officer or really any interest in law enforcement at all. It was more circumstance than any real planning that actually led him to his current occupation. Still he had had some success early on and that more than anything caused the resentment for him from fellow officers.

O’Malley had reached detective faster than usual, having been involved in exposing a major criminal organization, almost by accident. It turned out to be an important federal case that had stalled. The Fed was impressed and pulled some local strings promoting him to detective. Most in the department resented what they considered “a county rube,” being promoted early. Since then he had spent the last 8 years trying to prove worthy of the promotion. Being the butt of a constant running joke about being the “token hillbilly,” didn’t help either. No one would say it to his face as it seemed no one really wanted to confront him. Instead it was more of a “you’re not included in the ranks of real cops, we just tolerate you” attitude throughout the department. It probably didn’t help that he liked ancient detective stories or had a pension for long overcoats and wide brimmed hats. He often dressed himself in what could be politely called a retro fashion looking like something from a 1940’s mystery novel. Most of his fellows simply did not consider him to be a real cop. Constant turmoil and resentment pushed O’Malley toward working the old city full time. As time went on he began to prefer it being both closer to the ground and further from the uptown snobbery. There were also many more places in the old city where he could satisfy his passion for antique technology.

Besides overcoats and brimmed hats are practical in the old city, since the monolithic skyscrapers blocked light and condense water making a perpetual twilight and constant drizzle.

“Destination Central station, eta 30 seconds” the computer blurts out abruptly ending O’Malley’s long contemplation.

The Metro Central Police station is located atop a free standing super-high-rise tower. The monolithic structure is made up of a plasti-crete supporting tower 1000 feet tall on top of which stands a gleaming 30 story complex of modern law enforcement. The only access to the building is from roof top and is protected by automated air defense.

O’Malley’s craft settles gently on the roof as the door opens automatically to reveal the not smiling face of police captain Daniels.

I wonder if I have ever seen her smile. Come to think of it I wonder if she can, maybe it’s genetically impossible for her to … 

“Don’t just sit there daydreaming detective, we‘ve work to do!”

“Uh… right chief right behind you”

With little more than a further dirty look Daniels turns and heads into the complex.

The security lobby of central station is its usual panic of activity filled with an assortment of freshly apprehended minor offenders. A motley group of junkies, prostitutes, net hackers, and petty tech dealers fill the air with loud banter and cries of justice miscarried. As they pass through the security corridor into the bureau of detectives, O’Malley can’t help but notice the complete change in atmosphere. The ever present lack of conversation as detectives and inspectors silently commune with their electronic universe. In fact the whole station seems so Spartan now that all the display terminals and electronic billboards have been removed, no “most wanted,” pictures or display screens. The walls are just flat, featureless, and gray until you activate your implant, then the network creates it all for you. Pictures, and display terminals appear on the walls. Windows appear out of nowhere, and the walls and carpets become whatever color and texture you want them to be. Virtual computer terminals appear on every desk, alongside family photos and calendars. Even the signs on the restroom doors do not appear until you activate your link.

A situation which caused me some embarrassment in the past no doubt an attempt to keep our implants active. I liked it better the old way, before everyone walked around in perpetual cyberspace. And no matter what the techs say I’m not giving up my office terminal or my potted plants, at least not till they outlaw real water.

“Detective”, Captain Daniels bellows, “Sit down! Tell me Inspector, what you do know about C.N.L.C. based practical manipulation technologies or PMT’s?”

 “Only that they’re illegal, expensive, and what I’ve been able to learn on the street in 10 years”

“Well then you probably know more than most around here. None-the-less I’ve been instructed to show you this so activate your link detective and we can get on with this.”

Instantaneously the room changes as O’Malley’s implant makes manifest all the trappings of a modern computerized conference room complete with tabletop 3D hologram.

“This is central computer historical archive number 76846.67 security clearance granted Inspector O’Malley. Please stand by…

In the year 2100 a series of illegal technologies related to the C.N.L.C. began to see widespread use. Although the technological development of “practical manipulation,” was outlawed under the TBT of 2085 many nations refused to sign and continued development. The users of such banned C.N.L.C. technology became popularly known as Virtual Magicians because of the seeming magical nature of the technologies application. Through a series of implant modifications and augmentations they were able to manifest controlled energies, access protected networks, and manifest super human strength. There were many reports of thought influence and mind control although no such reports were ever confirmed. 

The technology became popular among criminals worldwide which spawned international pressure on nations that did not sign the treaty of 2085. The threat of embargo by some of the larger nations eventually brought about the ratification and worldwide acceptance of the 2085 techno-ban. The Court of Nations (CON) was granted worldwide authority to allow “cross national border pursuit,” of those who misuse practical manipulation technologies.  The increasing international pressure eventually brought about an end to the widespread use of the technology. However its development and use still survived in remote locations of the world and in countries that lacked the resources to effectively enforce the TBT.

Some isolated groups of researchers and scientists began to undergo a sort of social-philosophical metamorphosis. They began forming themselves in to guilds, many with religiously guided motivations. The basis of some of these guilds was the belief that mankind could and should evolve through the use of bio-technological implants as part of “the great cosmic plan.” Some actually believed that man was given the ability to develop technology as part of the some great galactic design. However many others simply believed that technological development should and could not be adjudicated and refused to recognize the international authority of the CON.

The most notorious of the groups called themselves Followers (or guild) of Shimon and attempted to create the free nation of Antarctica. They believed that if recognized as a nation they would hold a non-signatory status to the TBT of 2085 and be entitled to unrestricted technological development. Due to a well funded and very cleverly presented case the court of nations took nearly a decade to pass judgment. The long delay by the CON gave temporary national autonomy to the region allowing unrestricted technological development which attracted scientists from around the world. The followers of Shimon were accused of supporting their would-be nation through international criminal acts, which they fervently denied in a flurry of world court appeals. It was also believed that many nations and corporations secretly used the guild of Shimon to supplement their own espionage efforts. Among the guilds most sought after talents was its rumored ability to anonymously eavesdrop on the WWC evading all but the most aggressive security measures. 

The wealthier nations of the world considered the free nation of Antarctica to be nothing more than a haven for terrorists. In the year 2135, under ever growing international pressure the Court of Nations finally ruled that Antarctica was still the property of the world community and no one nation or group could claim it. The CON ordered the Followers of Shimon to comply with the TBT. The guild refused and attempted appeal. After several months of noncompliance the CON ordered an International military taskforce into Antarctica to require compliance by force. The taskforce besieged the once city state of Shimon whereupon several days of fighting ensued. The Followers of Shimon destroyed their own underground city with a small nuclear device apparently to avoid capture.

After the guild of Shimon was destroyed, the international task force turned its massive resources to eradicating TBT violations throughout the world. By 2145 large scale use and development of practical manipulation technology appeared to be ended. I t was decided that local law enforcement and national agencies could deal with limited criminal violations of the TBT allowing the CON to disband its international task force. Since the stand-down of the CON-TBT task force no major violations of the TBT have been reported.

End of report...”

As the report comes to its end O’Malley gives the command to switch his implant to standby mode and all is quiet once more. The central station conference room resumes its Spartan, plain gray walled appearance.

“Well detective?”

“Interesting history lesson, but I don’t get the point.”

“Two weeks ago the central banking system mysteriously lost six billion credits.”

“So?”

“The Ministry of Banking Fraud was unable to trace the transaction, so they contacted the Federal Agency of Net Crime Investigation; the agency contacted us, they asked for you detective, by name.”

“Me? But it sounds like a federal crime.”

“Apparently the Fed is still impressed with that little problem you solved for them eight years ago.”

“I swore after that I would never work for the Fed again, EVER! Besides that was a long time ago, and I’ve been on the old city beat since then. Nothing exciting or noteworthy just doing my job…right?”

“Well this might change your mind,” she states dryly as she hands O’Malley an official looking document.

“What’s this?”

“It is a federal warrant for your arrest, under statute 1897.5 section C. of the international security act of 2135.”

“They wouldn’t dare! Would they?”

“I don’t know what this is all about. Only that I have orders from above to serve this warrant if you don’t take this assignment. Somebody wants you on this case, or else.”

“O I see,” O’Malley replies sheepishly knowing there is no way out since a federal warrant means almost certain imprisonment. No lawyer in their right mind would defend against an international security act statute, since to do so, and lose, would make them an accessory after the fact. 

“So who is their prime suspect, and what does it have to do with the file you just showed me.”

“It is on a need to know basis,” Captain Daniels says with a frustrated glance at O’Malley, “and they figure I don’t need to know. I was instructed to show you the file and give you the basics of the crime and that’s all I know. Your hovercraft has been programmed with the coordinates of the F.A.N.C.I. headquarters; from this moment on you work for the Fed. Good day to you AGENT O’Malley.”

Arriving back on the hover port level he is greeted by a pimply faced young man in a translucent lab coat. “Hello detective, I have installed an upgrade to your navigation system. Uh sir I uh, well that is…” the young man pauses looking lost for words.

“Yes, Joe, you have installed an update and?”

“I, uh, left everything else alone, uh I made the update compatible, with, uh you know the stuff.”

O’Malley leans forward speaking softly as if not wanting to let the secret out, “you mean my illegal technology?” he states sarcastically raising an eyebrow and looking side to side like he is afraid of being overheard.

“Uh yes sir, I made no video log. I uh don’t really think, uh well it’s not really illegal is it?”

Laughing slightly O’Malley grabs the touch pad from the young technician and signs for the ship.

After all Joe was one of the few that treated me with nothing but respect. Perhaps it was because he was once an old city denizen like me. It’s odd that I only lived there for a few years and they, at least up here, treat me like I was born there.

The door of the hover craft seals itself and the motor runs up to speed, leaving O’Malley now feeling quite uneasy and alone with his thoughts.

What do they want from me? I don’t know anything… well not much about this magical technology stuff. Oh sure I can crack the logic circuit on a food processor to make it give me extra whipped cream, but that’s a long way from mind control and net hacking.

“Computer control, this is O’Malley,”

 “Recognize O’Malley Agent security access granted.”

O’Malley is momentarily startled, the computer system of his personal hover craft seems to have been totally reprogrammed to the point that even the voice is different. The craft begins lifting off without his instructions via implant or otherwise making him squirm slightly in the seat.

“Uh where are we going?”

“That information is classified,” the computer answers in its new typical security computer manner.

“Classified? Can you at least activate the view screen?” he asks sarcastically.

As the view screen slowly comes on, O’Malley is shocked to see the edge of the city pass underneath as the hovercraft moves out over the open expanses of countryside beyond the city.

“Uh computer… I thought this thing couldn’t go off the city grid.”

 “This unit is programmed for this destination and is now operating in autonomous mode”

Well Fergus another fine mess you’ve gotten me into. I suppose I’ll just have to enjoy the ride. Damn I hate working for the Fed. They’re always like this, all halo-field and laser-beam, top secret this and security clearance that…it’s a damn wonder of the modern world they get anything done.

*********