collecting social security, or making phone calls— the federal government had considered issuing single-identity numbers to each individual. Butwith the world's population continuing to spiral out of control, the effort had been abandoned.
It was the sheer overabundance of identification and account numbers that had given rise to occupations like data detective, for invariably someone would enter an incorrect digit, a personal number would be stolen, or some machine—glitched, virused, confused, overloaded, or crashed—would make a mistake.
Even the handful of artificial intelligences that served as information consultants for the world's major corporations were, for all their complexity, little more than calculators with personalities. But AIs—and their near cousins, neural nets—were improving all the time, and Felix figured that before too long artificial intelligences would be running for public office, offering movie criticism, and writing novels.
The Global One ATM displayed its menu.
Felix keyed “transfer,” then “transfer from an outside account.” When the machine asked for the number of the outside account, Felix slid the business card from his pocket and entered Gitana's account number.
Despite the knot in his stomach and his fears that the machine would begin to shriek like a slot machine or hoot like a siren, nothing unusual happened.
A message flashed on-screen confirming that the transaction had been completed, and the ATM spit out a printed receipt.
Scratching his head in perplexity, Felix steppedaside to permit the next customer access to the ATM. But he continued to watch from a discreet distance, if only to make certain that the machine didn't explode.
It was still functioning normally. The man who had stood behind him in line transacted his business and walked away.
Again, nothing unusual happened.
Felix breathed a sign of relief, walked briskly to the elevator, and rode it up to his floor. His office felt like a sanctuary. But he had no sooner sat down and put his feet up on the desk when the phone rang. He thought that it must be Gitana, but in fact it was the office phone that had rung, rather than Felix's private videophone line.
“Felix McTurk, Data Discoveries,” he said toward the phone's microphone.
“Thank goodness,” a woman said in an agitated voice. “Mr. McTurk, I hope you'll be able to help me. I just went to transfer money from my bank account and the machine told me that my account was
empty.
I—”
The phone's second line rang.
“Can I put you on hold for a minute?” Felix said.
“Yes, but please get right back to me. I'm desperate.”
Felix hit the second-line key. “Felix McTurk, Data Discoveries.”
“Mr. McTurk, I got your number from Frankie Blumen,” a man began. “I hope you're not too overwhelmed to take a priority case, because I'min real trouble here. My bank account has been wiped clean. I tried calling the central office, but I couldn't even get through.”
“Which bank?” Felix asked carefully.
“Global One.”
The phone's third line rang.
“Can I put you on hold?”
“If you must.”
Felix depressed the appropriate key. “Felix McTurk, Data Discoveries.”
“McTurk, my bank has totally swindled me!” a man said gruffly. “I'm sorry for raving, but I just heard from the bank that a down payment I made on a new house has disappeared, and the bank has no idea where it went.”
“Would that be Global One?”
“Yeah, Global One.”
“I have to put you on hold.”
The man muttered a curse.
Felix pressed the phone's mute button and sat back watching the phone light up like a Christmas tree. In minutes, all the lines were full.
Is this Gitana's way of feeding me clients, making me rich?
Felix wondered. He wished with all his heart that that was the explanation, but he knew better.
Whatever Felix had just done at the ATM, it was suddenly clear that he had helped bring financial ruin to who knew how many thousands of
It was the sheer overabundance of identification and account numbers that had given rise to occupations like data detective, for invariably someone would enter an incorrect digit, a personal number would be stolen, or some machine—glitched, virused, confused, overloaded, or crashed—would make a mistake.
Even the handful of artificial intelligences that served as information consultants for the world's major corporations were, for all their complexity, little more than calculators with personalities. But AIs—and their near cousins, neural nets—were improving all the time, and Felix figured that before too long artificial intelligences would be running for public office, offering movie criticism, and writing novels.
The Global One ATM displayed its menu.
Felix keyed “transfer,” then “transfer from an outside account.” When the machine asked for the number of the outside account, Felix slid the business card from his pocket and entered Gitana's account number.
Despite the knot in his stomach and his fears that the machine would begin to shriek like a slot machine or hoot like a siren, nothing unusual happened.
A message flashed on-screen confirming that the transaction had been completed, and the ATM spit out a printed receipt.
Scratching his head in perplexity, Felix steppedaside to permit the next customer access to the ATM. But he continued to watch from a discreet distance, if only to make certain that the machine didn't explode.
It was still functioning normally. The man who had stood behind him in line transacted his business and walked away.
Again, nothing unusual happened.
Felix breathed a sign of relief, walked briskly to the elevator, and rode it up to his floor. His office felt like a sanctuary. But he had no sooner sat down and put his feet up on the desk when the phone rang. He thought that it must be Gitana, but in fact it was the office phone that had rung, rather than Felix's private videophone line.
“Felix McTurk, Data Discoveries,” he said toward the phone's microphone.
“Thank goodness,” a woman said in an agitated voice. “Mr. McTurk, I hope you'll be able to help me. I just went to transfer money from my bank account and the machine told me that my account was
empty.
I—”
The phone's second line rang.
“Can I put you on hold for a minute?” Felix said.
“Yes, but please get right back to me. I'm desperate.”
Felix hit the second-line key. “Felix McTurk, Data Discoveries.”
“Mr. McTurk, I got your number from Frankie Blumen,” a man began. “I hope you're not too overwhelmed to take a priority case, because I'min real trouble here. My bank account has been wiped clean. I tried calling the central office, but I couldn't even get through.”
“Which bank?” Felix asked carefully.
“Global One.”
The phone's third line rang.
“Can I put you on hold?”
“If you must.”
Felix depressed the appropriate key. “Felix McTurk, Data Discoveries.”
“McTurk, my bank has totally swindled me!” a man said gruffly. “I'm sorry for raving, but I just heard from the bank that a down payment I made on a new house has disappeared, and the bank has no idea where it went.”
“Would that be Global One?”
“Yeah, Global One.”
“I have to put you on hold.”
The man muttered a curse.
Felix pressed the phone's mute button and sat back watching the phone light up like a Christmas tree. In minutes, all the lines were full.
Is this Gitana's way of feeding me clients, making me rich?
Felix wondered. He wished with all his heart that that was the explanation, but he knew better.
Whatever Felix had just done at the ATM, it was suddenly clear that he had helped bring financial ruin to who knew how many thousands of
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