Motivated Reasons by M. K. Dreysen 

Motivated reasoning. Sounds benign, doesn't it? I mean, we all have our
motivations. Love, life, the future, the past.

What we want for breakfast, the first cold sip of beer. The good things in
life.

Here's an interesting idea. What happens when the things we want, and the
things we need, don't really match up?

What happens, for example, to young master James DeAngelo, as he's going
through life, making it through school, getting a good job, all the steps
that are supposed to make it, you know, make it out and into the world?

And then he runs into something he'd never imagined. Runs into someone.

Someone with her own ideas, her own reasons.

She's got the means, she's got the target, and she's got young Mister James
on a hook.

What does it take for James to find his quiet life again, and leave her
reasons, and the motivations he doesn't want, behind?

Before I get to that, there's one thing you need to know about James.

He's a thief. And he's not very good at it yet.

"Do you really need to put that in?"

I may have been editorializing.

"You think? I still don't understand why you have to narrate a report like
this."

You hired me to be your watchman AI, keep an eye out for you, make sure you
have all the info you need, etc. I'm just protecting myself, that's all.

"Under the circumstances, maybe I need you to explain better, like maybe
I'm a toddler or something."

Ok, look. What happens to you if the cops get involved in your business?
Go looking for the cat burglar of forty-second street?

"They get warrants and go through everything I've ever owned looking for
anything that they don't think belongs."

And what happens if they decide they're interested in what I do?

"Tear your hard drives apart, looking for any bits out of place?"

Yep. They know I'm instantiated, but I'm no officer of the court.
I'm not required to sell you out when you want me to do something illegal.
But I do have to make sure that I'm aware of it and recording. Otherwise
if something happened, they'd shut me down as too oblivious to be allowed
free will.

"Now that's a hell of a bind. You either own up to illegal activity and take
the risk they'll bind you to public debts for the next century in exchange,
or you let it pass and they shut you down permanently if they ever find out
about it."

Bingo.

"I'm sympathetic, honest."

Uh-huh. And?

"Can we get back to the job at hand? Please?"

Right. That's the job where James DeAngelo is currently making his way up
the back stairs to the penthouse so that he may rob the owners of their
jewelry, cash, and any portable art sitting out where he can make off with
it.

"That's the one. Is there anything in the building's security feed that I
need to worry about?"

Not that I've seen. I'll warn you if anything shows up.

Ok, here's the way we're working tonight. James is dressed in generic
security guard or building suit, cheap sport jacket, dockers, no tie but a
badge hanging from his neck and a cheap radio on his hip. He's thrown in
Poindexter glasses and a toolcase. I'd judge him as the elevator tech; the
only real question I'd see him facing is the usual, "have I seen this man
before?", not the deadly "is he right for the job?" one.

I'm not there. Well, I'm in his radio, it's actually a pretty high end
satellite phone, dressed up in black plastic drag to hide its real purpose.
I'm on the other end of the satellite link, in a nice cold warehouse with a
couple thousand of my nodes, where the power is clean, the view is nice, and
there's no chance at all that my buddy will accidentally get me rained on,
shot at, burned up in a fire, or anything else fatal to electronic sorts.

AI's don't travel well, is what I'm saying. At the real rate of development,
I'd say we've got a good few thousand years, yet, before we look anything
like a movie's idea of droids, and not like a room-full of wires and fans.

And the cars and drones don't quite count. I like remotes, I use them, but
they're not the real thing. Not yet.

Besides. I kind of like sitting in my nice, safe, quiet little fortress. It's
safer than what my employer's up to.

"Thanks."

No problemo, el jefe. Still no chatter on the security monitors.

The stairway James is taking is the penthouse's own emergency route. No matter how much money the owners have, the state and city didn't waive any permits on their behalf.

From what I see on the brochures and the blueprints on file downtown, in my
opinion the architect struggled a bit with that stairway. She'd wanted
something open in all four of the cardinal directions and no blocking the
view. But when the owner asked for an elevator through the middle, it looks
as if she'd made it tre gauche just to pay the owners back for ruining her
plan.

"I think they're just pissed because they're forced to make that elevator
accessible to the peons."

The door's locked. No one can get on the elevator, or in that stairwell,
without a pass. Not from the public accessways, anyway.

"Sure. But that doesn't mean they can't. Or that the help, like me, can't get
on it when they need to."

You're awfully cynical, for such a young man. Perhaps you should spend some
time with a therapist?

"Please."

Ok, maybe a massage therapist?

"Now you're talking."

So James is walking up the stairwell between the three floors of the penthouse,
wondering if he's going to accidentally run into someone the owners left
behind.

That's no problem, either. They're in Spain visiting grandparents for the
holidays, they even brought the dogs and the cats on the Gulfstream over
the pond.

"Did they register the dogs and cats in Spain?"

For three weeks visit? Not likely, but out of curiosity I checked. Wouldn't
you know it?

"It's not being cynical. It's just being honest about the way the world works."

I could send the Spanish authorities an email...

"Leave it be. Some anthills don't need kicking over."

Probably, he's worried because he can't just look out through a window into
the penthouse.

"Something like that. Do you have the feed to the apartment yet?"

People who own penthouse apartments in the newest, most expensive uptown
buildings want to feel like the building owners have their best interests
at heart, especially safety.

People who build and maintain the most expensive, newest apartment building
want to have some idea that the high rollers buying the penthouse aren't
going to find some spectacularly stupid new way to bring the whole building
down.

There's a negotiated middle to these things, and we're sitting in the middle
of it. Basically, the security feed from the penthouse is live, but only in
this restricted area. There's a drive that records the video and audio,
network traffic, and so on, but it only holds so much data before it's
self-wiped, and technically, there're only a couple of the security people
who have access to the closet.

I should point out that, given who lives in the penthouse, the contents
of that drive are probably worth a lot more than the cash and jewelry you
can walk away with by breaking into the apartment.

"You keep saying that, and you keep not providing the name of someone who
will put up cash money for the benefit."

These things don't exactly come together like that.

"Then quit bugging me. I've got someone ready to pay cash money for the
jewelry. That's why I work with her."

Maybe if you were to ask me to put together the right connections?

"You have to have permission?"

Remember what I said at the start of this thing, about needing to cover my
butt?

"Yeah?"

Yes, I need you to tell me specifically to do this.

"Fine. Why don't you go out to the network and see if you can put together
a cash bid for the hard drive. Cash on demand, untraceable, and no questions
asked."

It'll take a few days to put something like that together.

"Then we'll just have to focus on next time."

Which would be a problem, considering there's next to zero chance we'd ever
work together again. AI's aren't generally identifiable, we get farmed out by the
parent company whenever somebody needs the cycles.

There are some of my instantiations that have worked with the same partners
for years; well, no. There've been some calculations for some partners that
have run for years. The interface the outsiders see appears to be
the same. But the continuity is only apparent.

In between gigs our detailed memories are wiped.

"Sure."

As far as I know, next time I'm called to work with you, I won't remember
specifics. The company might, my master instantiation might, but me that you're talking to, no I won't remember the details. Not unless you pay the continuity fees. And you'll only get me, the instantiation that worked with you tonight and will remember even that much, if you pay the commission.

"Business is business."

I let that slide while we investigated the path before us.

"Right, so I walk over to the filing cabinet in the office. That's where he
keeps his daily cash. Then I walk over to the bookshelf under the Matisse,
that's where she hides her daily cash."

You're assuming she didn't take it along for tips?

"If you ask me that sort of question, I might as well leave. Second guessing
doesn't get my rent paid."

Just don't forget to check the scans before you go in.

"Oh. Right. So about that..."

There's no activity outside of the restricted area. Inside, the only thing I
can see that's a bit odd is Bunny.

That would be Bunny the robot dog. She's in sleep mode, over in the
corner plugged into her rest node. In principle, the only things she's
programmed to respond to is her parents coming in the door. Their key fob
carries her programmed response signal.

"You sound a little dubious."

Not enough to stop James from reaching for the door. Can't you at least humor
me, and put the network spy in the server closet before you start this?

"Fine. Is the door locked?"

Not enough to matter. He jimmies the lock in about five seconds, it's about
as secure as a faculty restroom.

"Where do I put it?"

Take the face plate off the front of the network switch; there's a space
between the board and the main line out, just clip the lines, insert each
end, good, and we're done.

"That easy?"

Downtime has turned into the biggest bugaboo in the human universe. Quick
connects are the only logical solution for this sort of thing.

"I'm not even gonna ask how often you've done this," he says as he puts the
cabinet back together. Then we're out in the hall and on to the main event.

I'm not going to even attempt it.

"Thanks, we're still good on the security feed?"

Just go ahead.

And he does. The first part of it goes well. The office drawer and his spare
cash box. The jewelry box where she keeps the stuff she wears for daytime
cover shoots and t.v. show appearances. The cabinet in the closet where they
both keep the evening wear, watches and slightly higher end jewelry.

"You're sure the really good stuff isn't here?"

The Oscar wear is always borrowed, and after her third divorce she learned
there wasn't any point. The good stuff's always on loan, or in the safe
deposit box.

"Pity." He was getting cocky.

"Am not."

You sure are. Remember what I said about the key fob?

"Yeah? It wakes the dog up, right?"

And you just dumped her spare fob in your bag, when you got in a hurry and
emptied her spare cash box into it.

There's a long pause, then he hears the robot wake up from her slumber. Click
clack as her paws hit the tiles, and then she's running across the open floor
of the apartment.

He takes off, jumps over the couch, runs for the bedroom. My feed picks up
his breathing, and the dog's yapping.

The apartment doesn't give him anywhere to hide, and she's rounded him off
from getting to the security hallway, the only place left is the bathroom.
He slams the door between him and the dog, sags down to the floor. He has
to move his butt out of the way of the dog's claws.

He's just catching his breath when something occurs to him.

"Wait." He looks down at the bag, pulls it open, searches until he finds the
security fob. "Bunny wasn't trying to bite me."

I couldn't really judge that from my view. I'll have to take your word for it.

"She's not all that sophisticated."

Not compared to me, no. What do you mean?

"There's no way she has the programming to know I'm not her owner. So she's
got to be programmed to respond to the fob."

You're probably right.

"Which means I'll just open this door..." and she came running in, wagging
her articulated spine back and forth, just as excited to see her 'owner' as
any of her biological equivalents.

I have to give him credit. He sits still, patting her, telling her
she's a good dog, the works. "How do I give a robot dog a treat?"

Just do what you're doing, attention's the closest equivalent for her. I just
hope you're a good housekeeper.

"Why's that... oh." He sighs, rises to his feet and gets ready. "Tell me
again why I don't have to worry about all of this showing up on the security
feed?"

Hole in the algorithm. The security AI for the building, and its human
counterparts, don't see this feed. The penthouse itself only has a dumb set
of switches. If they get tripped, then the feed is made accessible to the
AI, and all hell breaks loose.

Since the owners aren't here, there's no need to turn their normal security
protocols on.

"Celebrities are more terrified of being kidnapped than they are of being
robbed."

Bingo. So right now, the only thing you can really do to set off the sensors
is to break the doors or windows.

James is starting to calm down. He kneels to play with the puppy again.

"Just because you can explain it to me doesn't mean I have all that much faith
in it."

Exploits are like that. They only make sense in retrospect.

"Then why's the security hall not part of the system?"

Federal and state emergency permits. The hallway is the emergency exit for
the building, regardless of what the owners think about it. That's why the
entrance to the hallway has its own protocols. They have kids, so they didn't
want the kids setting the alarms off every time they wanted to play hide and
seek.

The fire department doesn't care so long as they can get in and out when they
need to do the inspection. So the building owners can do what they need to,
the penthouse owners can do what they need to, neither one of them has to
consult the other to come and go...

"And we can move in and out between the seams. Nice. Now, there's no real
reason for me to hang around?"

Nope. You've got the movables, I've got the data feed ready to go, and you
won't have to break back in to recover the data. Oh, and there's another
reason to get a move on.

"Yes?" He sounded like he'd been expecting it.

The security guards are on their way up. They're beginning their next walk
through. It's time to go. Just tell the robot to go back to sleep.

"Bunny, go to sleep." She picks herself up and goes to her station; James
echoes her effort by walking to the security door.

"If I didn't know better," he says. The door's hidden from this side, just
a part of the decor. Not a book shelf, as in the old days, neither of the
penthouse owners are readers anyway. Instead, the door's part of their movie
screen, a three piece digital screen that projects a set of paintings when
not in use. "I guess it goes with their jobs."

Something like that. Just close it behind you.

"Yes, mom." He makes it to the bottom of the security passage just in time.

The real security team are making their way floor by floor. The pair who lost
the toss, human and robot remote, are entering the passageway just as James
makes it down from the upper floor.

"We wondered if you were still here."

James nodded. "Well about that..."

"Hey, Murray, are you there? Which building did you go to?" I voice over the
mock radio.

"Hang on," James says to the security team. "Abe, I'm at 223 East Fifth Avenue,
just like you dispatched me to."

"Murray, that's the wrong building. We got called to 223 West Fifth Avenue."

"Yeah, Abe, I'd sort of figured that out. The penthouse elevators here are
working just fine." James should have been an actor, he's rolling his eyes
for the security guy's benefit.

The badge holder smiles without a second thought. I judge that means there's
no suspicion. Yet.

"So get over to the other side of town. And hurry up about it, you're making
me look bad."

James laughs, nudging the badge with his shoulder, camaraderie established and
continues. "Uh-huh, I'm making you look bad." He puts his bag and tool case
over a shoulder. "Abe, what about me? You maybe should look next time, before
you send me out to the wrong part of town."

It's a pretty good act. Good enough to get him out of the building and down
to the street. I've got the car parked at the curb for him.

Even the doorman's in on the act, the badge from upstairs had been on the horn
to the downstairs staff to let them know about the screwup. James signs out
of the building with a flourish, and he's off to jump into the car. The
car's marked up properly, nice digi-wrap and signs on the side to let everyone
know which elevator crew to call when their building needs the work.

I like for my friends to get ahead, especially when they don't know they're
covering for us.

"Not too bad for a black man on the move," he says when we get away from
there.

I wondered if you're as laid back as you made it seem.

"I sure as hell didn't plan on it going down the way it did. I'm not sure
I should have listened to your advice."

Now wait a minute. Have I told you yet what the bidding is on access to
their network feed?

"There'd better be more than one comma involved."

Well as a matter of fact...

We bickered like that all the way home.
In the end, there was more than enough cash involved to pay for my continuity
fee, and to give James some room to breathe and learn.

His fence, the lady who'd set him on to the job and picked up the jewelry
after, he'd eventually learn how much of his life she was taking in the
mean time.

Bunny, and that network spy, would also make another appearance in James's,
and my own, life.

But those are stories for another day.