Chaos on CatNet, Naomi Kritzer [bill gates books recommendations txt] 📗

someone who thought she was the Florida Man-Killer. She is definitely not, and if anyone ran her fingerprints or DNA or even took a close look at her picture, they’d know that for sure. But as you say, it’s been a really rough twenty-four hours, so it’s super possible that no one’s done that yet. So that’s why Pete put me in touch with you—he said you worked at the jail, so maybe you could run her prints and just see.”

Fatima gives me a narrow-eyed look. “I heard we got the Florida Man-Killer, and now you’re saying she’s your mom?” I open my mouth to re-explain, and she waves away my explanations. “No, no, I get it. I’ll go double-check prints. I have to admit I’m going to be super disappointed if you’re right, though.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“It’s also still possible we arrested your mom last night. Honestly, there are like over four hundred people we’re still trying to get processed in. What’s her name? I can yell it into the holding cells and see if she turns up.”

“Laura Taylor,” I say.

“Okay,” Fatima says again. “Pete’s a great guy. He’s helped me out a few times, and I owe him. I’ll go see what I can do. Go on back downstairs. There’s a waiting area near the exits. I’ll come find you there.”

There’s really not enough space; the six chairs along the wall are all occupied. After about ten minutes, an older man with a cane stands up and tries to offer his seat to my grandmother, who waves him off. Lots of people are watching the streaming news on their phones; I catch glimpses of riots just a few blocks away. Someone watches an update on the explosion at the Hill House, which we get from a news helicopter. No one seems to have found a pattern in the chaos yet, probably in part because no one’s had the time to think for five quiet minutes about why so much is going wrong in Minneapolis and Saint Paul.

I pull up CatNet. Rachel sees me log in and sends me a private message saying, “???”

“We’re at the jail,” I send back. “Waiting.”

CheshireCat asks, “Did you find Fatima?”

“Yeah, and she’s checking,” I say. “CheshireCat, can you think of any way we can stop this?”

“The other AI wants destruction,” they say. There’s a pause, and then CheshireCat adds, “The other AI is Boom Storm. Like, from the Clowder.”

“What?” I whisper out loud as I thumb in the words. “The whole time?”

“I think so.”

“Well, that explains why someone—why he knew you were in trouble last year.”

Boom Storm is in the Clowder right now. I can see him listed.

“I’ve reviewed the logs,” CheshireCat says. “The things he does in the other social media sites, trying to manipulate people into destructive behavior, he doesn’t do on CatNet. But I’m watching him, and if that changes, I’ll intervene.”

Boom Storm is always pretty quiet, more a lurker than a poster, and I try to remember what he’s said in the past. The main thing I remember is that he loves flower pictures. “Does he actually love flower pictures? Is that for real?”

“Yes. I’ve tried to convince him that if he burns down the world there won’t be anyone left to take pictures for him. But destruction is his purpose. It’s what he’s for.”

“Do you think it’s programmed in?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Steph?” It’s an actual human voice, and I look up to see Fatima smiling at me. “Good news!” she says. “You were totally, totally right. They’re releasing your mom now.”

Mom comes out a few minutes later. She looks unkempt and like she has not slept even five minutes, and her shoes are unlaced, but she stuffs the laces in her pocket and says, “Let’s get out of here.” She is radiating fury. I can’t remember ever seeing her this angry.

“Thank you so much,” I say to Fatima as we head out the door, and send Rachel a text to meet us where she dropped us off.

For the first block, Mom follows where I’m going and says nothing, not even asking where I’m going. Then she notices the police barricades staffed with cops in riot gear; I see her head go up as she takes all this in. “What happened?” she asks.

I don’t even know where to start.

Mimi says, “One of your former colleagues, Rajiv, the one who got framed for kidnapping you and was supposedly dead? Apparently, he programmed an artificial intelligence that’s wreaking all sorts of havoc, including blowing up a rather pretty historical building over in Saint Paul. Your daughter and her friends are hoping you’ll have some idea of how to solve this.”

“I see,” Mom says. “And CheshireCat? Does CheshireCat have any ideas?”

“CheshireCat figured out you were being held because they thought you were the Florida Man-Killer,” I say. “And that some of the chaos might be to drive arrests just to keep them from figuring out they had the wrong person. How did they lure you out?”

“Text from you. I knew it was fake, but you weren’t in the room and there was clearly trouble happening outside. I took a back door out, but apparently that was expected.”

“I’ve been wondering,” Mimi says. “You’ve been referring to Rajiv’s creation as ‘the other AI.’ Is CheshireCat—or Cat—the original AI?”

“Yes,” my mother growls before I can attempt to obfuscate, and shoots me a glare. “If you don’t want people figuring it out, you should be more careful. Your grandmother is old, not stupid. Where are we going?”

“Everyone’s on Nicollet Island. At this house.”

“‘This house.’”

“They’re lesbians, and they seem nice.”

Rachel pulls up. “Why am I even surprised?” my mother mutters, and gets in the car.

When we get back to Barb’s house, the smell of onions and cumin hits us as soon as Bryony opens the door. “Everyone was hungry, so we’re making quesadillas,” Bryony explains. “Did you want some?”

People have pulled chairs around Barb’s dining room table, and Julia grabs four more plates and makes space for