Page 71 of Gone Before Goodbye
Is now the time to pay up?
Someone tried to delete the griefbot.
It couldn’t be Maggie. Maggie knows that she can’t do it alone. Sharon had wondered about that. She had built every app and software program so that the only way it could be altered, touched, or deleted in any way was via Sharon’s direct involvement. She’d wondered whether this whole griefbot testing thing had been a mistake. The power of this particular griefbot is both enticing and destructive, but when you think about it, when youreallythink about it, that’s true of every invention that makes an impact.
There is no such thing as a consequence-free discovery.
It is what man chooses to do with it.
Sharon is a scientist first. She sees things from that perspective, and again that makes her cold in too many ways. Still, Sharon remembers Tad’s long body on the couch, the way he would lie behind her and spoon her, and now that same man hates her and wants to destroy her.
So be it.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have pushed Maggie with the griefbot. Sharon had rationalized that it would help her sister deal with the grief. But had that really mattered next to Sharon’s blinding drive for scientific progress? Marc’s death had been so sudden, so brutal, so shocking, that transitioning with an experimental AI version could offer real comfort, Sharon rationalized. But at the very least, Sharon should have given Maggie the option of deleting the app on her own.
Now, staring at the alarm, Sharon wonders why someone wouldtry to delete Maggie’s griefbot. She can’t come up with an answer, but one thing is crystal clear.
Maggie is in trouble.
Ivan Brovski shouts, “It’s time to go.”
Maggie looks at the griefbot and turns off the shower.
“I need to grab some clothes from the closet,” she calls back. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
There is silence for a few long seconds. Then Brovski says, “I’ll be right outside the door. Please hurry.”
Maggie waits until she hears the door close. She peeks out.
He’s gone.
From her app, she hears the Marc griefbot say, “I’m putting a phone number in your link. I need you to call it.”
“There’s no service here,” Maggie says. “They’ve blocked it off.”
“I know.”
“How?” Then: “Have you been here?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Get a few hundred yards away from the house, and you should be able to call.”
“What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me—”
“No time for that now, Maggie. Here’s the number.”
She checks the screen. The phone number is not one she recognizes. Does it even matter? How can she call? And what will happen when she does? Ivan Brovski is standing right outside the door. Does she hope to, what, run through the door, surprise him, run outside?
So what’s her plan here?
She tests the bedroom windows. No special locks on them. She’s on the third floor, but there’s a short drop from the window on the farwall to the side roof. Snow is falling. She checks the closet. No heavy coat. One sweatshirt. She throws it on. It won’t be enough. Not with this cold.
But again, what choice does she have?
No more hesitation.
