Computers know everything we do; we traded privacy for convenience decades ago. And as a hacker, I am keenly aware of how easily that data can be accessed. That’s why I own an unsmart watch, keep my location data off my ringware, and wear a visor that confuses facial recognition.
“How would you like to be addressed?” asks the VA.
“I wouldn’t,” I say, dropping my backpack on the couch.
“Welcome to unit 310, I Wouldn’t,” says the VA cheerfully. “Please be aware that this rental is nonsmoking. That includes vapes, incense, candles, and other incendiary devices. Please check the map by the front door and familiarize yourself with the nearest fire escape. However, we do not anticipate any fires, and our suppression system is state of the art. This apartment building specializes in cutting-edge smart technology. Everything from the elevators to the doors is hooked up to the building’s mainframe. The lock is now keyed to your identity, so you do not have to worry about physical keys. Would you like to hear about local tourist attractions?”
“No,” I say, heading to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, with a minifridge and a microwave.
“Would you like to connect to the rental’s Wi-Fi?” Atiny bubble pops up in my visor’s view. I double-check the connection—it’s a secure one, with a password that changes with every renter. I hitCONNECTwith my ringware.
“If you are hungry,” continues the VA, “I can provide you with a list of local restaurants. Fourteen of them deliver by drone.”
“Thanks, but I’m good.” I find a mug in one cupboard. “Is tap water safe to drink right now?”
The VA hesitates, checking the local advisories. “Yes. The last toxic algae outbreak ended three months ago.”
I look at the mug. Then I put it back. Inside the fridge, someone has left a few bottles of water. I crack one open and drain it in a few gulps. “What time is it?”
“Nine thirty.”
“Go to sleep for now,” I say. “Set an alarm for seven in the morning.” Tossing the water bottle into a recycling bin, I head toward the bedroom.
“I will do that,” replies the VA. “Good night, I Wouldn’t.”
The next morning, I sit on the living room floor, gently stretching my arms and upper back. I need to stretch. The car crash that took my life also left me with a few irritating, chronic reminders of that day. I have scars along my left arm and chest, and if I go too long without stretching, my back will stiffen up. When I’ve worked the tautness from my shoulders, I reach for my backpack.
If I am going to spend a weekend next door to my grandmother, I am going to do more than a little onlinesnooping. And for that, I need my secret weapon. Within the lining of the backpack, I’ve hidden a small black box about the size of a paperback book. It looks like a flat rectangle of metal, but it’s actually a small computer chassis. Magnetically clinging to the surface is a bumblebee.
It doesn’t look like much, but this is the most dangerous—and illegal—thing I own.
I hit a button on the side of the box, booting it up. “Good morning, Edgar.”
The bumblebee buzzes to life.
“Good morning,” he says.
He is adorable: all fuzzy body and big eyes. But if you look closely enough, you’ll see that the hairs are actually sensors and the eyes are tiny, multifaceted cameras.
Edgar is a spybot. The most sophisticated spybot to ever exist.
“Why did you activate me?” says Edgar. His voice is programmed to go directly through my visor and into my ear; neither the bumblebee nor the computer chassis have built-in speakers. “Was it because you crave human interaction and have no friends?”
He speaks with that fake mid-Atlantic accent of 1940s film stars. Every word sounds aristocratic, outdated, and frustratingly chipper. Even the insults. Especially the insults.
I snort. “How about you take that question and run it through your subroutine called ‘Tact.’”
“I contain no such subroutine,” he replies.
“That explains a lot.” I hold out my hand to the bee. “I need you to do some recon.”
“I can do that.” Edgar perks up at once. “What is the assignment?”
“My grandmother.”
The bumblebee rubs his legs together eagerly. “You wish to arrest your grandmother.”
“I— No,” I splutter. “What gave you that idea?”
