'Got him, I think,' said Buffy. She was sitting in a plastic chair, a
cable ran from her neck to a phone line next to her. Her mind was set free
in the internet, beautiful and flawless, she'd searched through every
database she could to find information on Warren Spiller, her maker.
'Where's 'bout, Buff,' asked April. She was flicking through a copy of the Arcane Daemon which she'd found on a shelf. The Magic Shop had lots of supernatural-related wares, most of it in excellent condition.
'Northram Defence,' Buffy replied. 'It's a military contractor. They have a Warren Spiller listed as an employee.'
'Good, that's where we should go.' April closed her book on the Akrashi Demon page, then set it down on the dusty countertop.
'No, wait. The information about where he lives isn't here, it's listed as being on a stand-alone network in their Nevada site.'
'Why is that?'
'It's ultra-confedential. Top-secret data.'
April lent over the counter and opened the till, it still had a small amount of money in it. April speed-counted it, one hundred and two dollars. 'I think we'd better get going then.'
Both robots had decided upon their present course of action a few minutes ago. They were searching out their maker, a sort of demi-religious task. Neither of them knew what to do when they found him, they might just feel right being near him, they didn't know. Heaven knowns the information about Warren in Buffy's database was an excuse for a bad picture. April had known, but her memory was shot to pieces, replaced by an eighteen point five gigabyte sentient program.
They did, however, have one faultering start, the lack of hard cash. One hundred and two dollars wasn't that much, so they combined their minds and flooded into the California National Bank. They swept aside all guardians programs and created money. They didn't steal the money, they just straight up created it, it was only electronic digits. Bits with an attitiude. They were AI's and as such they were computers, able to outperform anything on the virtual battlefield. They siphoned the money into an account in a numbered Swiss Bank and then shut the link down, the whole process took less than a minute.
The duo of robotic ladies took an bus trip to Nevada, first class, of course. When they got there they rented a labratory out at Nevada Technical Institute, there they could analyze and improve their construction with up- to-date technologies. The fact that it was 2006 wasn't really anything or consequence to them, losing six years would've made a biological human scream for the years to return, but Buffy and April were quite possibly immortal.
April hacked her way into the Northram Central Mainframe in the evening. She got round their slow moving guardian programs and went into the security technology. Her virtual soul sucked up the data, apparently they used the exact same, state-of-the-art sensors in every location they had.
'Shit,' said April as she went over the security arrangements. 'They've got sensors up the Yangtze. Motion, thermal, acoustic, there's no way we'll be able to sneak in there.'
'Then there's something else, another way we can get in.'
'We can't break in, but maybe we can walk in.'
'Hmm, I don't see where you're going.'
'We could docter some records and make an ID for one of us to sneak in. Well, I say one of us, I mean you.'
'Why me?' asked Buffy.
'Simple, Buff. You're based on a real person, to the specifications of Buffy Summers. The sensors inside the building have DNA recognizing technology, you'd need to be human to get in.'
'Or at least appear to be human.'
'Right.'
'It should be possible, using modern-day technology, to clone enough of Buffy Summers for me to wear her skin like a suit. It's possible, they developed various cell cloning three years ago.'
'But where are we going to find the cells to begin with?'
It took three days before the old Summer's residence relinqueshed it's prize. It was inside a flute Buffy had tried to play two years ago. They took it to the lab and began the ominous work of cloning the cells to produce an layer of flesh. But they soon found it wasn't enough. Not only did they have to clone the flesh, they also had to feed it, which meant it needed blood, and a support system to produce the nutrients needed.
It took a few days to clone enough flesh to cover Buffy's entire body. The two robots worked like experts to remove the entire artificial skin and put in the required organic components. It took two weeks to complete the total transformation, in which time both of them read as much as they could, absorbing data like water.
When they were finished, a stubble had started to appear on Buffy's head, her hair had started to grow. They couldn't wait until it was long enough to keep suspiction down, so they attached her old hair to her skull. Buffy went out and bought the fabrics she needed to make an army uniform, she worked for hours to perfect it. Then they were ready.
When she walked up to the main gate she got herself into character. Buffy was dressed in a Lieutenants uniform, her hair was pulled into a ponytail which sat nicely under her hat. She was the personal secretary of Major Clarke who was working on a top-secret project, a US military/Northram joint venture to develop an antigravity device. She had a holdall under her arm, and a ID card in her jacket pocket with the name Claire Klienstock on it. Earlier on April had hacked into the Northram database and entered Lieutenant Claire N Klienstock on their authorised personnel list, with a level three clearance, if they knew anything well, it was computers. The gate was a three metre high affair topped with razor wire. A guard box was too the left of it, Buffy walked confidently up to it. A number of guards were inside, they all had black uniforms with the Northram insignia on the lapels. One of them, a burly six footer, was sitting at the desk behind armoured glass. She pressed a buzzer down and got his attention. 'I'm Lieutenant Klienstock, Major Clarkes aide.' she said.
'Let me see the ID,' said the guard. He obviously knew who Major Clarke was.
Buffy pulled it out of her pocket and placed it in the steel tray. The guard pulled it back and lifted it up, he ran it under a laser, which checked the barcode on the front, just over her picture and details. A red light on the machine switched to green. 'Please go to the reception area,' said the guard, 'there you will recieve your card and be directed to Major Clarke.' He slid the tray back and Buffy took her false ID.
As the gate slid across, one of the guards said: 'I wouldn't mind her as my personal aide.' The remark was met with rauscous laughter.
She walked up the two hundred metre drive aware that electronic eyes were observing her. Cameras mounted on poles kept up with her, tracking her movements. Along with the guards own eyes. The drive was a simple concrete road, perfectly straight, which led up to the reception. She pushed the glass door open and walked up to the wooden desk. Behind it was a receptionist wearing a headset and cleaning her fingernails with a biro. Another set of cameras were inside, silently observing her. The receptionist didn't even look up. 'Sign the book,' she said.
Buffy signed the book, her signature was a perfect copy of Claire Klienstocks. She looked down the list of names, Major M Clarke, was logged in at eight forty two that morning. The receptionist typed something out onto her keyboard and the machine next to her spurted out a card. She handed it to Buffy. On the car was a picture of her, her name, ID number and the Northram logo.
'Clip it to your jacket,' said the Receptionist. 'Never take it off. When you leave please place it in one of our garbage receptacles where it will be incinerated.'
'You don't take any chanced do you,' commented Buffy.
'If you had over nine billion dollars worth of research here, you wouldn't either. Major Clarke is in the Greenwich Labratory, follow the directions on the wall. Please don't divert from them, security tends to get a little heavy handed. There are several checkpoints on the way, don't worry, they're just for your protection.'
'Thank you.' Buffy walked to the double doors that led into the centre, armoured glass ports set in solid steel. Someone's very paranoid. At the side of the door was a terminal, Buffy swiped her card and the doors opened, very fast and very quiet for something so big. She stepped forward onto the grey carpet, on either side of her were doors, but no windows whatsoever. She came to the first corner, a large plaque on the wall had the different sections and lab marked in various colours. Greenwich was a dark olive, it pointed right so she continued on her way.
The blueprints for the compound were locked away on a government computer somewhere even the robots couldn't get to. So Buffy had to use her crystal-clear mind to find the stand-alone terminal she needed. She decided to follow the way to Greenwich Lab until something availed itself, a risky move, as Major Clarke wouldn't recognise her. Then she reached her next obstacle, a barrier which needed a genetic sample to pass. She pressed her hand down onto the mounted panel and felt a small pin prick her, a drop of blood left her body and the device ran a genetest. After two seconds the light flashed green, the door's lock clicked open and she went through, deeper into the maze.
Two more similar barriers barred her way, each she passed through with effacy, her confiidence grew, she may actually do this. As she rounded a corner into a small foyer, she saw a man in uniform standing in front of a drinks machine, he pressed the button and a Pepsi dropped down into the part at the bottom. As Buffy got closer she recognised the Major rank on his eppaulettes, she immediately snapped to attention.
The action of her shoes snapping together caught the attention of the military man, as her turned to face her she saw name Major Clarke printed clearly on his ID card which was attached to his light green jacket. He raised his arm and said: 'Stand at ease, lieutenant.'
'Thank you, sir,' Buffy replied.
'Good morning,' he said. 'I haven't seen you here before.'
'No, sir. I have just arrived, I am reporting to Captain Tanner.'
'Ah, Bill. How's he doing on that project of his.'
Buffy was worried, she had read Captain Tanner's name from the register, but she had no idea why he was there. 'Proceeding nicely, sir. Captain Tanner believes a working prototype will be ready by June.' Stupid, stupid, stupid, thought Buffy. Why did you have to go and tack that cheesy line on the end, it could blow the whole operation down the drain. What if Bill's working on a totally radical thing, something so impractical he'd reported it'd take decades to make and advacnes, stupid!
'Good to hear it, I always knew Bill was smart as a barrel of monkeys. See you in the commassary.'
'Yes, sir.' Phew, that was almost it, game over. She had a choice of two doors, one led to the Greenwich Lab, the other to the Goldman Lab. Now, Major Clarke was working in the Greenwich Lab, so she had to get throught the other door. But her card was only cleared for her way to the antigravity project, damn. She stood by the Goldman Lab and took out her ID card, she quickly substituted it for a tiny modem mounted on a credit card sized piece of plastic. It shouldn't arouse any suspiction. She pressed it into the terminal, the computers almost alerted security, but Buffy's mind connected to it via the modem, she pressed the security alert back and searched for the clearance. Time was getting on, Clarke was watching her, she could feel it. If it went red, he'd go for the button to his right, the alarm. Unless, she might be able to overpower him, no that was stupid.
Ten seconds passed before she was allowed access. She went through as quickly as possible and closed the door after her, she lent back on the door for support. In front of her was a short corridor, a door at the end had a big glass panel in it, she could see a white room beyond, the lab. To her right was another door, she opened it up and stepped inside. It was an office, someones office. Papers lay around the desk, and neast to them was a computer terminal. She sat down and started it up. The screen went black, two words came up. User Name, and Password. She typed in the access she'd lifted and went in. The Northram system was easy to use, it was idiot proof, despite the fact it was only supposed to be used by the best and brightest. She got into the personnel files and typed in Spiller, Warren. A single hyperlink came up, she clicked on it and went straight to Warren's file. It was a level four clearance thing, so she had to burn through the security, risky as Northram supposedly had top-notch guardian programs running.
Name: Warren Spiller
Reference Number 134-4-879
Clearance Level: Five
Assignment: ECHO Project
Recruitment Date: 14/4/03
Current Status: On Leave
DOB: 25/6/78
Address: 18 Falstaff Avenue, Brunswick Industrial Park, Los Angeles
Was that right? Did Warren live in an Industrial Park, why would he ever do that. She dug deeper, into his career history. He'd been on leave officially for the past year, and had taken considerable time off before then. His work for Northram had been revolutionary, so they didn't care about his erratic habits. She logged in further and accessed the files for the ECHO project. Her eyes were glued to the screen, terryfying stuff.
Buffy made it out of the building as quick as possible. As she walked out of the gate she squirted the code to April and a car pulled out at the front. It was a steel grey Mercedes, stolen from some rich guy. April had left a note with the exact instructions upon how to recover it at the Bus Depot. She didn't like stealing, but it was important. Buffy changed into her civilian clothes as April drove them to the Bus Depot. They took a connecting ride to Los Angeles.
'Where's 'bout, Buff,' asked April. She was flicking through a copy of the Arcane Daemon which she'd found on a shelf. The Magic Shop had lots of supernatural-related wares, most of it in excellent condition.
'Northram Defence,' Buffy replied. 'It's a military contractor. They have a Warren Spiller listed as an employee.'
'Good, that's where we should go.' April closed her book on the Akrashi Demon page, then set it down on the dusty countertop.
'No, wait. The information about where he lives isn't here, it's listed as being on a stand-alone network in their Nevada site.'
'Why is that?'
'It's ultra-confedential. Top-secret data.'
April lent over the counter and opened the till, it still had a small amount of money in it. April speed-counted it, one hundred and two dollars. 'I think we'd better get going then.'
Both robots had decided upon their present course of action a few minutes ago. They were searching out their maker, a sort of demi-religious task. Neither of them knew what to do when they found him, they might just feel right being near him, they didn't know. Heaven knowns the information about Warren in Buffy's database was an excuse for a bad picture. April had known, but her memory was shot to pieces, replaced by an eighteen point five gigabyte sentient program.
They did, however, have one faultering start, the lack of hard cash. One hundred and two dollars wasn't that much, so they combined their minds and flooded into the California National Bank. They swept aside all guardians programs and created money. They didn't steal the money, they just straight up created it, it was only electronic digits. Bits with an attitiude. They were AI's and as such they were computers, able to outperform anything on the virtual battlefield. They siphoned the money into an account in a numbered Swiss Bank and then shut the link down, the whole process took less than a minute.
The duo of robotic ladies took an bus trip to Nevada, first class, of course. When they got there they rented a labratory out at Nevada Technical Institute, there they could analyze and improve their construction with up- to-date technologies. The fact that it was 2006 wasn't really anything or consequence to them, losing six years would've made a biological human scream for the years to return, but Buffy and April were quite possibly immortal.
April hacked her way into the Northram Central Mainframe in the evening. She got round their slow moving guardian programs and went into the security technology. Her virtual soul sucked up the data, apparently they used the exact same, state-of-the-art sensors in every location they had.
'Shit,' said April as she went over the security arrangements. 'They've got sensors up the Yangtze. Motion, thermal, acoustic, there's no way we'll be able to sneak in there.'
'Then there's something else, another way we can get in.'
'We can't break in, but maybe we can walk in.'
'Hmm, I don't see where you're going.'
'We could docter some records and make an ID for one of us to sneak in. Well, I say one of us, I mean you.'
'Why me?' asked Buffy.
'Simple, Buff. You're based on a real person, to the specifications of Buffy Summers. The sensors inside the building have DNA recognizing technology, you'd need to be human to get in.'
'Or at least appear to be human.'
'Right.'
'It should be possible, using modern-day technology, to clone enough of Buffy Summers for me to wear her skin like a suit. It's possible, they developed various cell cloning three years ago.'
'But where are we going to find the cells to begin with?'
It took three days before the old Summer's residence relinqueshed it's prize. It was inside a flute Buffy had tried to play two years ago. They took it to the lab and began the ominous work of cloning the cells to produce an layer of flesh. But they soon found it wasn't enough. Not only did they have to clone the flesh, they also had to feed it, which meant it needed blood, and a support system to produce the nutrients needed.
It took a few days to clone enough flesh to cover Buffy's entire body. The two robots worked like experts to remove the entire artificial skin and put in the required organic components. It took two weeks to complete the total transformation, in which time both of them read as much as they could, absorbing data like water.
When they were finished, a stubble had started to appear on Buffy's head, her hair had started to grow. They couldn't wait until it was long enough to keep suspiction down, so they attached her old hair to her skull. Buffy went out and bought the fabrics she needed to make an army uniform, she worked for hours to perfect it. Then they were ready.
When she walked up to the main gate she got herself into character. Buffy was dressed in a Lieutenants uniform, her hair was pulled into a ponytail which sat nicely under her hat. She was the personal secretary of Major Clarke who was working on a top-secret project, a US military/Northram joint venture to develop an antigravity device. She had a holdall under her arm, and a ID card in her jacket pocket with the name Claire Klienstock on it. Earlier on April had hacked into the Northram database and entered Lieutenant Claire N Klienstock on their authorised personnel list, with a level three clearance, if they knew anything well, it was computers. The gate was a three metre high affair topped with razor wire. A guard box was too the left of it, Buffy walked confidently up to it. A number of guards were inside, they all had black uniforms with the Northram insignia on the lapels. One of them, a burly six footer, was sitting at the desk behind armoured glass. She pressed a buzzer down and got his attention. 'I'm Lieutenant Klienstock, Major Clarkes aide.' she said.
'Let me see the ID,' said the guard. He obviously knew who Major Clarke was.
Buffy pulled it out of her pocket and placed it in the steel tray. The guard pulled it back and lifted it up, he ran it under a laser, which checked the barcode on the front, just over her picture and details. A red light on the machine switched to green. 'Please go to the reception area,' said the guard, 'there you will recieve your card and be directed to Major Clarke.' He slid the tray back and Buffy took her false ID.
As the gate slid across, one of the guards said: 'I wouldn't mind her as my personal aide.' The remark was met with rauscous laughter.
She walked up the two hundred metre drive aware that electronic eyes were observing her. Cameras mounted on poles kept up with her, tracking her movements. Along with the guards own eyes. The drive was a simple concrete road, perfectly straight, which led up to the reception. She pushed the glass door open and walked up to the wooden desk. Behind it was a receptionist wearing a headset and cleaning her fingernails with a biro. Another set of cameras were inside, silently observing her. The receptionist didn't even look up. 'Sign the book,' she said.
Buffy signed the book, her signature was a perfect copy of Claire Klienstocks. She looked down the list of names, Major M Clarke, was logged in at eight forty two that morning. The receptionist typed something out onto her keyboard and the machine next to her spurted out a card. She handed it to Buffy. On the car was a picture of her, her name, ID number and the Northram logo.
'Clip it to your jacket,' said the Receptionist. 'Never take it off. When you leave please place it in one of our garbage receptacles where it will be incinerated.'
'You don't take any chanced do you,' commented Buffy.
'If you had over nine billion dollars worth of research here, you wouldn't either. Major Clarke is in the Greenwich Labratory, follow the directions on the wall. Please don't divert from them, security tends to get a little heavy handed. There are several checkpoints on the way, don't worry, they're just for your protection.'
'Thank you.' Buffy walked to the double doors that led into the centre, armoured glass ports set in solid steel. Someone's very paranoid. At the side of the door was a terminal, Buffy swiped her card and the doors opened, very fast and very quiet for something so big. She stepped forward onto the grey carpet, on either side of her were doors, but no windows whatsoever. She came to the first corner, a large plaque on the wall had the different sections and lab marked in various colours. Greenwich was a dark olive, it pointed right so she continued on her way.
The blueprints for the compound were locked away on a government computer somewhere even the robots couldn't get to. So Buffy had to use her crystal-clear mind to find the stand-alone terminal she needed. She decided to follow the way to Greenwich Lab until something availed itself, a risky move, as Major Clarke wouldn't recognise her. Then she reached her next obstacle, a barrier which needed a genetic sample to pass. She pressed her hand down onto the mounted panel and felt a small pin prick her, a drop of blood left her body and the device ran a genetest. After two seconds the light flashed green, the door's lock clicked open and she went through, deeper into the maze.
Two more similar barriers barred her way, each she passed through with effacy, her confiidence grew, she may actually do this. As she rounded a corner into a small foyer, she saw a man in uniform standing in front of a drinks machine, he pressed the button and a Pepsi dropped down into the part at the bottom. As Buffy got closer she recognised the Major rank on his eppaulettes, she immediately snapped to attention.
The action of her shoes snapping together caught the attention of the military man, as her turned to face her she saw name Major Clarke printed clearly on his ID card which was attached to his light green jacket. He raised his arm and said: 'Stand at ease, lieutenant.'
'Thank you, sir,' Buffy replied.
'Good morning,' he said. 'I haven't seen you here before.'
'No, sir. I have just arrived, I am reporting to Captain Tanner.'
'Ah, Bill. How's he doing on that project of his.'
Buffy was worried, she had read Captain Tanner's name from the register, but she had no idea why he was there. 'Proceeding nicely, sir. Captain Tanner believes a working prototype will be ready by June.' Stupid, stupid, stupid, thought Buffy. Why did you have to go and tack that cheesy line on the end, it could blow the whole operation down the drain. What if Bill's working on a totally radical thing, something so impractical he'd reported it'd take decades to make and advacnes, stupid!
'Good to hear it, I always knew Bill was smart as a barrel of monkeys. See you in the commassary.'
'Yes, sir.' Phew, that was almost it, game over. She had a choice of two doors, one led to the Greenwich Lab, the other to the Goldman Lab. Now, Major Clarke was working in the Greenwich Lab, so she had to get throught the other door. But her card was only cleared for her way to the antigravity project, damn. She stood by the Goldman Lab and took out her ID card, she quickly substituted it for a tiny modem mounted on a credit card sized piece of plastic. It shouldn't arouse any suspiction. She pressed it into the terminal, the computers almost alerted security, but Buffy's mind connected to it via the modem, she pressed the security alert back and searched for the clearance. Time was getting on, Clarke was watching her, she could feel it. If it went red, he'd go for the button to his right, the alarm. Unless, she might be able to overpower him, no that was stupid.
Ten seconds passed before she was allowed access. She went through as quickly as possible and closed the door after her, she lent back on the door for support. In front of her was a short corridor, a door at the end had a big glass panel in it, she could see a white room beyond, the lab. To her right was another door, she opened it up and stepped inside. It was an office, someones office. Papers lay around the desk, and neast to them was a computer terminal. She sat down and started it up. The screen went black, two words came up. User Name, and Password. She typed in the access she'd lifted and went in. The Northram system was easy to use, it was idiot proof, despite the fact it was only supposed to be used by the best and brightest. She got into the personnel files and typed in Spiller, Warren. A single hyperlink came up, she clicked on it and went straight to Warren's file. It was a level four clearance thing, so she had to burn through the security, risky as Northram supposedly had top-notch guardian programs running.
Name: Warren Spiller
Reference Number 134-4-879
Clearance Level: Five
Assignment: ECHO Project
Recruitment Date: 14/4/03
Current Status: On Leave
DOB: 25/6/78
Address: 18 Falstaff Avenue, Brunswick Industrial Park, Los Angeles
Was that right? Did Warren live in an Industrial Park, why would he ever do that. She dug deeper, into his career history. He'd been on leave officially for the past year, and had taken considerable time off before then. His work for Northram had been revolutionary, so they didn't care about his erratic habits. She logged in further and accessed the files for the ECHO project. Her eyes were glued to the screen, terryfying stuff.
Buffy made it out of the building as quick as possible. As she walked out of the gate she squirted the code to April and a car pulled out at the front. It was a steel grey Mercedes, stolen from some rich guy. April had left a note with the exact instructions upon how to recover it at the Bus Depot. She didn't like stealing, but it was important. Buffy changed into her civilian clothes as April drove them to the Bus Depot. They took a connecting ride to Los Angeles.
