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This website was archived on July 20, 2019. It is frozen in time on that date.
Exolymph creator Sonya Mann's active website is Sonya, Supposedly.

The Strategic Subjects List

Detail of a satirical magazine cover for All Cops Are Beautiful, created by Krzysztof Nowak.

Detail of a satirical magazine cover created by Krzysztof Nowak.

United States policing is full of newspeak, the euphemistic language that governments use to reframe their control of citizens. Take “officer-involved shooting”, a much-maligned term that police departments and then news organizations use to flatten legitimate self-defense and extrajudicial executions into the same type of incident.

And now, in the age of algorithms, we have Chicago’s “Strategic Subjects List”:

Spearheaded by the Chicago Police Department in collaboration with the Illinois Institute of Technology, the pilot project uses an algorithm to rank and identify people most likely to be perpetrators or victims of gun violence based on data points like prior narcotics arrests, gang affiliation and age at the time of last arrest. An experiment in what is known as “predictive policing,” the algorithm initially identified 426 people whom police say they’ve targeted with preventative social services. […]

A recently published study by the RAND Corporation, a think tank that focuses on defense, found that using the list didn’t help the Chicago Police Department keep its subjects away from violent crime. Neither were they more likely to receive social services. The only noticeable difference it made was that people on the list ended up arrested more often.

WOW, WHAT A WEIRD COINCIDENCE! The “strategic subjects” on the list were subjected, strategically, to increased police attention, and I’m sure they were all thrilled by the Chicago Police Department’s interest in their welfare.

Less than fifty years ago, the Chicago Police Department literally tortured black men in order to coerce “confessions”. None of that is euphemism. A cattle prod to the genitals — but maybe it ought to be called “officer-involved agony”?

I get so worked up about language because language itself can function as a predictive model. The words people use shape how they think, and thoughts have some kind of impact on actions. Naturally, the CPD officers who carried out the torture called their victims the N-word.

I wonder what proportion of the Strategic Subjects List is black? Given “data points like prior narcotics arrests [and] gang affiliation”, an algorithm can spit out the legacy of 245 years of legal slavery more efficiently than a human. But torture in Chicago is still handcrafted by red-blooded American men. Trump would be proud.

Chekhov’s Katana / Survive By Being Hard To Hunt

Bad Girl In The Future by Didiusz, available for $12.26 on Etsy.

Bad Girl In The Future by Didiusz, available for $12.26 on Etsy.

The car was definitely and thoroughly broken down. Melinda couldn’t jump the engine because the trees weren’t even sparking. There was no sizzle left in them — she could tell. It was an old car anyway, running on 2078 software. The dealer probably jailbroke it in the first place. Melinda shook her hair out of her eyes, halfway shaking her head at the results of buying a cheap car. She would have jacked one, but it took ages to strip the tracking gear out of a stolen model.

Melinda sat on the ground, and a grey cat inched toward her. It looked ready to nudge her outstretched hand, but it was staying cautious, anime eyes wide open. Gene-manipped pets were cute but sometimes their exaggerated features verged on creepy. The animal’s tail twitched. Melinda eyed it suspiciously. She wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t bite her fingers. Who knew what bad habits they picked up in the wild. Maybe it was hungry.

Melinda was hungry, certainly, but not hungry enough to try manipped meat that wasn’t tailored for human metabolisms. Sick of waiting for the cat after thirty seconds, she picked up her satchel and drew her katana. As soon as she moved, the creature darted away, joining its companion on the hood of the car. Melinda weighed the sword in her hand. Keeping it out was impractical for walking, but she wanted to be able to react quickly. Traveling on foot felt insecure, at least outside of the city.

She thumbed the switch, unlocking it with her fingerprint. The blade split silently and its sharp edge emerged. Melinda’s hip buzzed with the 2FA notification, and she pulled her phone from her pocket. If she didn’t enter the passphrase within ten minutes, the katana’s edge would retract and she couldn’t cut anything. It was still useful as a cudgel, but better as a sword.

Melinda walked down the rutted road, passing more trees with ruined wires. Her boots scuffed against the dirt and gravel, but a few chunks of asphalt remained. As soon as hoverjeeps got cheap enough for anyone to buy, which must have been fifty years ago, it was only a matter of time before the government neglected the roads. They had plenty of other infrastructure projects to fund.

Melinda kept a sharp eye on the forest surrounding her. Gene-manipped cats sitting near the edges of the road darted back into the trees as she passed. If Melinda sat down and didn’t move, they would flock to her, but they were sensible enough be cautious at first.

Melinda was heading to a city satellite, returning to the shanty village that she’d passed earlier. It was fifty miles out from the main city, but still had more supplies than she could find elsewhere. Their smuggling operations were well-organized. Long walk from her broken-down car, though. Melinda kicked a clump of dry mud. It exploded into dust and small chunks, and a cat hissed.

Cat pattern photo by antjeverena.

Cat pattern photo by antjeverena.

She hiked for more than a hour to reach the dilapidated town. It was a small settlement, consisting of maybe fifteen tents and five extra structures cobbled together from salvaged wood and car shells. The buildings were arranged to circle the water pump in the middle courtyard. Melinda walked toward the well, tapping tent walls with the flat of her katana as she went. No one yelled and no one emerged. “Probably out hunting,” Melinda muttered. She wondered if they ate cats — maybe manipped meat was okay after all.

Melinda was thirsty. She reached the water pump and tapped its holo display to check the status. Half-full, tolerably clean, and the price per liter wasn’t devastatingly high.

Melinda clicked off her katana, re-sheathed it in the leather harness on her back, and opened up her pack to find her water bottle. She unscrewed the cap and tipped the bottle up to drink. She had waited because she didn’t want to risk being caught without water. Melinda was too eager, and some of the liquid splashed down her chin. “Fuck,” she said, chiding herself for being careless. Money down the drain.

She positioned her water bottle under the spigot and tapped the well’s holo trigger again. “Retina scan prepared,” the display told her in a metallic voice. Melinda pulled what looked like a small metal ball from her pocket. She squeezed it and the thing popped open, projecting an image of two brown eyes back to the hologram. “Account accepted,” the well’s display announced. “Spigot will open in five seconds.”

“I never saw you do that before,” a voice said behind her. Melinda jumped, reaching over her shoulder for the katana. She cursed herself for not double-checking that everyone was gone.

“Those ain’t your eyes,” the man commented. “If you’re spending credits on my good water, they better not be counterfeit.”

“They’re not counterfeit,” Melinda said flatly. This was true. But the credits also didn’t belong to her — dead uncles were convenient. So was the eye-projecting device. However, this might not be the best time to explain either of those things. Melinda stared at the man. “Who are you? I came through this morning and no one hassled me.” She tapped the katana against her boot, which made a soft thunking noise. The blade wasn’t deployed yet but she could thumb it open quickly.

“They shoulda hassled you,” he retorted. “I work compliance for this satellite.” The man was tall, wearing beat-up dusty clothes like hers. His face was tough from the sun and his eyes were stern.

Melinda scoffed and turned back to the spigot, ready to fill up her water bottle. Compliance officer for a smuggling outpost? Sure, pull the other one. Before she could start the liquid flowing, Melinda felt a rough hand on her shoulder. She flinched.

“That wasn’t a joke. I said, I work compliance here. Let’s see who you are, girl.” He forcibly turned her around. One of his big-knuckled hands held a portable retina scanner.

Melinda closed her eyes immediately and let her body go limp, surprising him with her full weight. He could have held her up, but the sudden shift made his grip falter, and she jerked away. Melinda thumbed the safety on her sword. The dull metal split and its sharp edge emerged. “I’ll slice you up,” she warned him. The katana’s 2FA notification buzzed in her pocket, but she didn’t want to lose focus. Ten minutes before the sword would shut down again. That should be enough time.

She backed up slowly, still brandishing the katana, circling to the other side of the water pump. Better to have an obstacle between herself and this aggressive man. “What do you want, officer?”

He had his fists on his hips. “Seems like you’re running from the law.” He paused. “Bitch.”

“I don’t think you’re the law.”

He shrugged. “I’ll go get my pistol. See if you sass me then.”

Melinda watched him disappear through the tents. She crouched cautiously and finished filling up her water bottle. Then she started jogging back toward the broken-down car, pausing to look over her shoulder twice a minute. He didn’t seem to be following.


This may not seem like a conventional end to a story. Nothing much happened, and the heroine didn’t experience or overcome any particular hardship. My goal with the fiction in this newsletter is to convey a sense of a world we might inhabit at some point. Or maybe I’m just a lazy storyteller. Hard to figure out which.

One Step Closer To Killer Roombas

Alice Maz discovered Knightscope’s “autonomous data machines”, aka crimebots. Not robots that knock over liquor stores, but robots that prevent crime. (Theoretically? I guess we’ll find out!) On their website, Knightscope enthuses, “Imagine no longer. The future is here today. It’s affordable, friendly, intelligent and best of all, it’s available NOW!” Anyway, Alice thought the crimebot was cute:

crimebots

crimebots

crimebots

But hey, no worries — they’re not weaponized! According to Knightscope’s FAQ: “The K5 is a friendly community tool used exclusively to deliver relevant and real-time information to the appropriate authorities, not to enforce the law. It is an additional set of intelligent eyes and ears used to help security and law enforcement professionals do their jobs more effectively.”

In news that’s totally unrelated, I’m sure, @SwiftOnSecurity tweeted about humanity’s inevitable demise:

“We fear intelligent machines because humanity fears being judged. It is the fear we have no birthright claim to the throne of this world. If the machines should vote us unfit for hegemony, there exists nothing in this empty galaxy to break the tie. We’re down here alone. But really, what has scifi ever been other than a looking glass on our own insecurities in an age of lots of science, and plenty of fiction.”

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Don’t Get Busted

Italian police

Photo by Rodrigo Paredes.

“That’s a cop, you moron,” she hissed in his ear, tugging him down the tight alleyway. Actually, it was too small to be an alley — more like an unfilled gap between buildings. The concrete bricks scraped against Jason’s back. He could feel the roughness through his jacket.

“I know. But my sister is still out there,” he protested, squinting through the narrow channel to the street. He could vaguely hear yelling but couldn’t see much.

Evvy yanked on his arm. “We can’t do shit for her right now. And if you don’t come with me, I can’t do shit for you either.”

He blew air out between his lips. Jason could feel the headache expanding in his brain. When they had dodged into this space, the cop was still fifty feet away. His sister Melissa was frantically packing up her mobile shop, where she sold game IP burned onto old spindisks. Evvy was holding, so she panicked and dragged Jason with her into this tightly squeezed escape route.

Pain spiked in his temples. Jason closed his eyes and shoved his way after her. Evvy muttered an expletive. “Do you know what’s on the other side?” he asked.

“Yup,” she said curtly. “We’ll be fine. I don’t think anyone saw us. But let’s move fast, okay?”

“Melissa saw us.”

“We have to hope she doesn’t squeal,” Evvy growled.

Jason didn’t answer. He felt guilt spreading through his head along with the throbbing soreness.

If the cops caught you with amphetamines and neuro hookups, they’d arrest you. So of course Evvy was afraid. After you were rounded up, there was a slim probability that you’d disappear. Rumored locations ranged from North Korea to Tennessee to an ignominious hole in some police chief’s backyard. The rumors were probably exaggerated — people got picked up and released all the time. But Evvy was paranoid. She had resistance friends. Like him.

Contraband game IP wasn’t such a big deal, Jason told himself. Besides, Melissa was quick. She might have dodged into another unseen escape avenue. Or sweet-talked her way out of a full search.

Evvy gripped Jason’s elbow and pulled him back into the light on an open street. He stumbled slightly as he followed her. “Keep it together,” she said in a strained voice.

“I’m cool,” he said. “Just getting a headache.”

“Stop worrying about Melissa. And don’t freak out on me. I’ll plug you in. Just give me a minute to get us —” Evvy stopped mid-sentence. There was another cop in front of them.

“Hey,” the officer said. He had his fists on his hips, and his sleeves were rolled up so that Jason could see the chrome forearm reinforcements. They weren’t powered on, but the threat was implicit. Metal banded the cop’s wrists, and it shifted when he did.

Evvy was half-crouching, but she straightened when the officer spoke. “Can I help you, sir?” It’s better to stay alive than make a point, Evvy told herself. It’s better to stay free and kicking. She tried to beam this thought to Jason even though 1) she didn’t have neuro ports and 2) he wasn’t aggressive enough confront this guy anyway. Jason seemed frozen like an old OS.

The policeman said, “Why are you in such a hurry, folks?”

“We’ve got an appointment,” Evvy answered.

“Sure,” the cop snorted. “You’re late for a very important date. Okay, you know the drill. Face the wall and get your hands on the brick.”

Evvy turned. Adrenaline buzzed through her brain. The stash wasn’t directly in her pockets, but it wasn’t hidden very many layers deep. She cursed herself for choosing convenience over security. Sloppy. Of course you get caught.

Jason put his hands on the wall and felt his weight pulling on his shoulders. The pain in his head was intensifying. It felt worse than a regular headache. He could hear the officer talking — recognized the noise as a voice — but units of sound weren’t converting to understandable words.

The cop started patting down Evvy. “When I see scrapers like you two running, I know something’s wrong.” He ran his hands up and down her legs, then reached into her pockets to turn them inside out. He grabbed her four-inch wafer and looked it over briefly. “Old school.” The screen awoke when he tapped it. “Unlock this,” he ordered, prodding Evvy to turn around.

Before she could do it, Jason collapsed, jerking against the wall and falling heavily to his knees. He toppled further toward his right side and landed half-twisted, mouth lolling open. Evvy stared at the red wet opening. She noticed that Jason’s teeth were still wired together in the back, from getting fixed up after that fight.

“What’s he on?” the policeman demanded.

“Nothing,” Evvy said. “He’s clean.”

“Yeah, yeah. You kids always lie to me. Just turn over whatever you’ve got and we’ll call this even. I don’t want to deal with your boyfriend.” He nudged Jason with the metal toe of his boot. Jason made a grunting noise.

Evvy bit her lip, trying to decide quickly. Was this some kind of ploy to catch her? But he could haul them both back to the precinct if he wanted, or simply pull out his scanner. Then again, this cop could be a sociopath who got off on manipulating his perps. They certainly existed.

Evvy looked at Jason again. He didn’t seem okay. She knew he kept playing those shoddy games that Melissa ripped — maybe this was a bug. She had friends who tweaked their firmware on purpose, so surely it could happen by accident.

“Make up your mind before he pukes and chokes on it,” the officer advised.

Instinctively turning to face the wall, Evvy lifted the hem of her shirt and pushed down her waistband, then felt for the latch on her hip compartment. The patch of silicon skin popped open, and she pulled her stash out. “Here you go.”

The policeman took her plastic bag of amphetamines and the small tangle of neuro hookups. He stuffed them in his pocket, nodded to Evvy, and started strolling away. She tried not to think about the money.

Passersby were skirting the scene and walking on. Evvy knelt by Jason’s head and jostled him a little. He groaned. “Wake up, Jason,” Evvy said. She slapped his cheek softly. “Now would be a really fucking good time for you to wake up. I want to get out of here.”

He opened his eyes but didn’t say anything.

Droning On Drones

The enemy is always a terrible shot. And he’s always one step behind. Isn’t that a lucky thing? (Contemplate this when you’re in the theater watching Star Wars. Note the list of evil overlord habits, which I’m sure will be on display. But don’t get me wrong — I’m really excited for this movie.)

Photo by Jonas Wagner.

Photo by Jonas Wagner.

It’s definitely the end times — I know because I created a Reddit account. The purpose was to join the cyberpunk discussion board. My capitulation was rewarded with a comment thread regarding the “anti-drone drone” that catches flying robot beetles in a net.

NiceyChappe: “Seems like it would be fairly easy to have an ‘evasive manoeuvres’ button. That net is pretty slow really.”

bunnybacon: “Sure, but then what? The police robot will develop improved AI, emp functionailty, smoke obfucation, paintball gun and swarm coorporation. Mark my words: we are going to see a future in which the sky is black with drones constantly fighting over terratory, while desperate scavengers gather the scraps for their underground, post-meltdown econonmy.” [all sic]

To which InsurrectionaryFront replied, perhaps sardonically, “We went from improving police drones to a collapse of civilization?”

Like it would ever get that far. All opposition is controlled opposition 😉


Tomorrow, another interview about Twitter bots, this time with Beau Gunderson. If you missed the previous one, find it here: “The Bot Tries Not To Surveil Humans”.

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