Past me had never intended for anyone else to use these systems. Looking at his notes on endless linked code files, I couldn't see the whole, just the parts.
I abandoned the systems review after a couple of hours and went back to reviewing internal reports from my previous self.
It was...spooky. Like fanfiction of my life. Then there was the missing ten months.
For the last three years, the Calculator's business hadn't been run by a human. It had just been Pooja's automated systems doing work over email. Everything else was on hold. In April, 2014, all Calculator consulting contracts had been finished and no new ones accepted.
No logins on the high security systems by user "calculator" after February, 2015. Something had happened between then and December, 2015, when my new civilian identity had been created by Pooja.
"Pooja, compile news reports related to the Calculator and my other identities after January, 2007. Recover or include inferred data about deleted information on personal projects, consulting projects, and application systems where possible."
"I will. Adding to existing searches. Estimated completion time increased by three hours."
So to answer the most important question, had I just activated some runaway AI process by interacting with Pooja?
No. If anything, it seemed I just improved communication with a system that was already running.
One more thing to check up on. I pointed at a currently clear monitor. "Load my information on AI Friendliness; add new scientific papers since 2014; order by importance."
No delay, not that that meant much. Lots of my personal notes, some scientific papers, and a few white papers stolen from businesses researching the subject. Head still dully pounding, I dug in.
An hour later and I'd determined that both neurology and a sort of computational behavioral social-science were much, much more advanced here than I remembered from my previous Earth. It wasn't simple, but someone had worked out a model based on acceptable human social behavior and goal structures.
"Pooja, which of these protocols have been implemented?" I gestured with a finger in midair to swipe the windows into a pile on the screen, indicating the papers I wanted her to review.
"All best practices listed are implemented. Currently actively running tests to ensure adherence, as previously noted."
That would have to do for now. At least I hadn't been completely stupid.
Why past me had risked creating Pooja was obvious. I needed something to help fill the gap. I didn't have superpowers. I didn't have a Green Lantern ring, a working armored exosuit, or even a death ray.
He had decided that villains (and most heroes) fell into predictable, massively-destructive systematic traps. That having powers regularly made people's lives worse. So logically, he set out to build a consulting service to fix that, and in the process better empower himself as well. Pooja was part of both parts of that plan, and had helped refine it as well.
Information on targets and powers to reduce collateral damage from conflicts by making them more limited; solutions to common problems faced by metahumans to avoid desperate villains setting last-option deathtraps or heroes sacrificing themselves in the face of unexpected situations; deescalation strategies for villains to better avoid superjail and heroes the morgue. That sort of thing.
In the early planning stages, it was clear this was bound to get lots of heroes—and plenty of villains— quite upset. So if I didn't get an edge on all the super intelligent, super strong, super stubborn costumed lunatics out there, I wasn't going to last long actively trying to work against the status quo.
Why not work directly for the heroes, and just them?
I'm breaking the law on a daily basis. My computer is an unlicensed AI that casually hacks vulnerable systems as a hobby. I personally sell information to known criminals, and buy and traffic in stolen tech and magical artifacts.
And if I used that information to turn them in, or those items to go out on the streets and fight crime instead of studying them and selling at a profit? The Batman problem.
Criminals would just be replaced by worse supervillains, less willing to trust their information brokers and more likely to commit mass murder instead of just breaking into that bank after hours and with a valid floor plan. And that was if a punk with a matter-energy gun that went right through armor didn't just kill me on my first night out.
Like hell I was going to play the hero. I could do so much more this way. And look at the shape of this world, with all its super-powered heroes and technological advantages—did it look like the good guys were winning, their way?
But still, I digress. An AI does not a supervillain make. I had more techniques at my disposal, once I figured out that past-me and present-me thought a lot alike. Go figure.
There was already a plan in place for this. It was part of a "get back on my feet" contingency if a majority of my resources needed to be cut off and left behind. After fifteen minutes of looking over the variables and steps required, I executed the plan.
A small psychiatrist practice had its prescription pad DEA number spoofed effortlessly. Records were planted in their computer systems with errors so my name never appeared. Someone's cousin had done a poor job on security. An important password had also been left visible to a wireless security camera.
The brand name 24-hour pharmacy wasn't exactly secured like a top-tier military system either. Thirty seconds for Pooja to hack it; she had guessed a user ID based on their employee directory, done something called a six dimension dictionary attack on the password based on a constructed user profile, then ground through the wimpy third-party two-factor ID system some IT consulting company had installed on their intranet portal using an SS7 cell phone text system exploit. The prescription was listed and prioritized for the pharmacist to prepare next.
I paused, fingers poised over a set of options. "Pooja, is it safe to just get a home delivery on this?"
"Negative. All deliveries for your civilian ID are picked up at the spoofed address by a monitored, rotating, on-site service person who is told they are house sitting. Items are then sent through a regular courier service to HQ to better obfuscate your use of this address. This includes your postal service mail. Online and weak IDs should not receive deliveries at this address, as this multiple people and physical records will be involved."
Getting a home delivery to what was apparently my secret lair was right out.
"Is it safe for me to go out myself and pick this up?"
"Calculating. Danger from Slade Wilson minimal in a public place. Latest data suggest he was hunting your Calculator identity through the darknet endpoints set up at TriD, not your civilian identity. Twenty-three percent chance he has gone to ground for the next 48 hours. Public shopping could be a good idea in case he is profiling employees to see if any of them flee, disappear, or act in an unusual way following his attack. Danger of this action: minimal."
I drove to the strip mall with my sci-fi phone on my lap. The way Pooja kept popping up windows displaying all the security cameras it hacked as I drove past wasn't actually useful, but it was oddly comforting.
Sixty-five minutes later, I had a bag full of drugs. The legal kind. Sort of. Large bottles of modafinil, methylphenidate (off-brand Ritalin), and a DMAA over-the-counter supplement that apparently wasn't banned like I remembered. I also had supplies for what Pooja's medical expert system called the ECAM stack—a simply unreasonable amount of Ephedrine, powdered methyltheobromine (Caffeine), acetylsalicylic acid (Aspirin), and a poorly known, over-the-counter health pill called MiraHealth. My records showed this was a LexCorp-owned drug company's knockoff of the original human-safe version of the vitamin supplement Miraclo. Jackpot.
On the way out of the store, I noticed something odd. Cases of soft drinks with plain yellow labels—English and Hindi script. I did a double-take. Holding up the phone, I took a picture of the slightly dusty cans and typed a question to Pooja. Her reply was fast. Nope, I wasn't allergic, and it was a small amount per can. Yes, Elongated Man was currently working with Justice League Europe. Cool. Maybe it would help avoid carpal tunnel syndrome.
In the end, I left the store with three cases of Diet Gingold cola—their entire stock. Yeah, at those doses and in that form, it's not going to do anything—but still, hilarious. "Health Drink that is Being Most Popular Top India Swami", as their English ad copy read.
This really hammered it home. I was either so solid crazy nothing would help or this was the DC universe. There was no way I was hallucinating hacking those prescriptions that I knew I didn't have, or haggling with the store manager over a made-up cola from '60s The Flash comics.
There was the matter of this all being a little suspicious. My purchases were just this side of screaming mad scientist or 'roided up Bane wannabe. Thankfully, all that was being taken care of automatically. Records of the prescriptions and purchase would be obfuscated in all systems moments after I left the store. People would naturally forget, so long as I didn't show up next news cycle in spandex waving a gun made of soda cans. I wasn't going to be caught out that easily. I didn't even like spandex.
Again, paranoid? Maybe. Los Angeles might not have a Batman, but that shopping spree had to look odd to anyone with access to sales records. Medical records privacy meant exactly dick to supervillains and three letter agencies—and, likely, Batman. Not that this was in the name of my civilian or major supervillain identity, of course.
In any case, it seemed this wasn't the first time I'd done this sort of thing. All the dosages and drug interactions had been reviewed multiple times. I had records of notes from some reputable doctors who had unknowingly been a second medical opinion.
And no, my past self didn't have a drug problem. He had drug solutions. In a world with super soldier serums, this was bush league stuff. Attention span, focus, energy, reduced sleep requirements. Maybe also joint pain reduction and flexibility.
I did now have some items on mail-order from Japan that were on the level of bullshit superscience not available at every drugstore counter. This was just a stop-gap measure.
Huh. I wonder if that's how Batman kept up. He ran a very large, very successful company during the day, partied with rich people late into the night, then went out as Batman until dawn. Rinse, repeat. No way he didn't maximize that performance with the best drugs money could buy.
But no. Bad idea. I frowned at the red light, then spoke into my phone.
"Pooja, important note to both of us: don't try to track down Batman's drug regimen. Tag as 'terrible ideas to never do'."
"That seems wise. Noted."
Back at my evil lair and hunched over my kitchen table, I sorted the pills into one of those plastic schedulers according to Pooja's instructions. Powders were dry-mixed and poured into large, wide-mouthed plastic bottles labeled with names and doses—correctly sized measuring scoops were shoved into them.
Double-checking the ramp-up schedule on my phone, I took the first few pills and gulped down the sludgy powder mostly dissolved in lukewarm Diet Gingold.
In my office, my fingers once again rested on the keyboard. A holographic screen opened, then bloomed. Two screens snapped out of the center and drifted left and right; one drifted up, then itself split into two more for a two-by-three grid. The wash from the holographic transmitters felt hot on my face. I swallowed hard, adjusting the medical monitor bracelet on my wrist disguised as a LexFit phone accessory. One window opened on the far-right-bottom screen to display my vital stats. Heart rate up, skin temp up. Blood flow to my prefrontal cortex...up. I took a few notes to add to the automatically gathered health information.
It was time. Hundreds of code windows exploded onto the screens. Hours passed.
I could see it now. It was...mostly good. I could work with this.
Eyes flicking effortlessly back and forth, fingers flying across the keys, I prepared to bring my hibernating enterprises back to life.
I was a supervillain once again.
