2013.06.26 - Ghost in the Machine

It is one of these rare moments in which Dragnet has actually come into the Operations Center, seeming to usually prefer his off-the-grid, minimal involvement policy. Still, there are things one has difficulty obtaining in his state of living, so it seems to the Clocktower he must go. He has very rarely used it for training purposes, but now it is a different, more serious need that has forced him here. The answer can be found in the fact that other than his helmet (which he avoids taking off seemingly at all times), the AIDOS armor lays prostrated on a table in the clean room as he makes spot corrections to the external and internal circuitry. Other than that, other than the headgear, he could look like any other teenager or young twenty something. Of course, its late at night, but then, does anyone really hang aroundthe twoer in the daylight hours?

Really, it just brings home the ludicrousness that such a remarkable piece of equipment fell into the hands of someone so average. Under such circumstances, one must become extroarinary or die trying. For the young man underneath the helmet, the process has not run smoothly. There are signs that his work is slow not only because of the precision, but that he shows signs that he has had other, more pressing concerns on the hierarchy of needs. More importantly, one can see by the pile of books that lay strewn about, dog eared and highlighted in a thousand places, the way he seems to linger, to double and triple check things, that he is making it up as he goes along. That he just _doesn't know_. Someone is not Tony Stark, as has been famously uttered so many times by minds that are smarter than he. He is trying, but its slow going.

That Dragnet has the right to use Oracle's workshop in this fashion is either an indication of how grateful she was to him for that time he helped save her life... or an indication of considerable trust. Oracle does not trust easily. And, really, she isn't fond of giving people free rein of her facilities -- if only so that she doesn't inadvertently compromise Batgirl, who calls this place home as much as she. Fortunately, the girl doesn't make a habit of hanging out up here. She'd sooner be in the gym or some other more active place. Babs is pretty sure all the electronics and machinery makes the girl a trifle unsettled.

As it is, she's tinkering with her own tech, a pair of high tech lenses in front of her eyes as she attacks a soft-ball sized metal projection sphere with a set of microtools.

In the background, her systems hum and blink, attending to the task of being the defacto early warning system for a whole host of heroes -- even beyond those that comprise her own immediate organization.

He looks over at the system. Disconnected as it is from the bulk of the power and circuitry, the helmet really right now is just a superb piece of defensive headgear, though fortunately it does have its voice modification still in play.. On his arm, the omnitool however is working at full speed, and a soft, audible whirr can be hold as it uses the processed materials to create whatever Dragnet requests of it. Fortunately, it seems that the suit, or at least its peripherals seem to be making a game job of trying to deal with its well meaning bearer's limited knowledge. Gloved fingers turn the page and he shakes his head. "Thanks." He murmurs in modified vocal tones as he tries to reroute power, while simultaneously picking another bullet out of the nano-kevlar. "Can't get this sort of stuff...by my own means." Well beyond his hourly rate, and certainly no safe place to store them.

"That's what I'm here for," Babs replies good-naturedly. Frankly, the woman could probably find him a safe place to bunk down and provide him with a small stipend to keep him in necessities, if it became overly apparent the fellow lacked them. But, as he's so compulsively private, she won't intrude on that level.

A small spark arcs up from the module she's installing and she curses, sticking a fingertip into her mouth almost automatically. She sits back in her chair now, all the workstations in the Clocktower at proper height for a chair -- not for a man standing. Fortunately, she keeps extra chairs and stools around in case of company.

Not, mind, that she gets a lot of that. And she's so very much okay with that.

She looks over to him, now. "How's it coming? You've been looking a little banged up, lately."

She probably could. That is probably both the sad and the crazy thing. He has stayed with over vigilantes sometimes overnight and the occasional homeless shelter. Most nights? He finds a safe place and bunks down in his armor. The nano-kevlar is warm enough, and he's become nervous about leaving it out in the open for long periods of time. That, coupled with the increasing demands of maintenance and ammunition...its little wonder both he and the AIDOS are burning at both ends. "Its fixable." He finally responds, though the voice lacks its traditional bass, the confidence and power that it usually projects. One might dare to say that due to the limited power supplies in the helmet, and the majority being devoted to system schematics, it sounds...almost like what his real voice sounds like? Tentative, uncertain. Shoulders roll as he makes a slight correction, causing one of the glowing lines on the armor to take another path. "Not optimal, but it will be functional."

Barbara gives the armour a once over with a critical eye. "At some point," she says, "you're going to need to give that suit a serious overhaul. I'm happy to give you a hand, if you want, but if not, that's fine. It's your business." But, she knows tech. Even alien tech wears down over time. Especially when it's being shot up regularly. "Still, you should seriously think about it." She doesn't want something crapping out on him in the middle of a fight.

Dragnet studies her pensively, gloved fingers tracing the circuit board. Now its his turn to burn himself. Still, once he makes sure that it isn't anything serious, he resumes tracing, weaving, rewiring. He turns the page again. Circuitboards for Beginners, Soldering for Dummies, college level physics and chemistry and programming texts. He isn't just out of his league, he has been struggling just to have a foundation. That the AIDOS still functions is a testament to low-tech ingenuity and luck, it seems. "...maybe." Oh, another bullet fished out, as he 'cauterizes' it. Apparently the nano-kevlar seems to seek out the nearest strands, and it promotes a kind of slow-heal. Nothing combat viable yet, but it has held up well enough because of it. "The fact I've been getting away with it this long is sort of a miracle to me." He laughs slightly, leaning forward to inspect his handiwork.

Perhaps he should say something, anything honest. "The truth is Oracle, I...would overhaul it if I could, but Idon't know anything. I can do ammunition, basic repair, spot jobs...but it didn't come with a manual. No public or privately traded company or organization I can get any information on makes anything like this or has this specific profile. I even tried looking up aliens, but that was about as predictably a dead end as you can expect. There is no manual."

Barbara considers that for a moment. She turns her chair toward him and wheels her way over to take a closer look. "I can't say that's really a surprise there, D," she says, fingering the edge of it. "What's it got in terms of dataports or the like? Perhaps I can hook it up to one of my analyzers, see if I can get a better schematic or internal overview for you?" Another thing she's learned about technology -- even alien technology -- is that if it has any sort of onboard diagnostic tool, chances are if she can access it, she can learn to understand it. She's right up there with Tony Stark, in that regard. Well. Maybe not quite, but close enough. What he does for hardware, she does for code, after all.

Dragnet takes her hand and nudges it away almost as soon as she touches it. "Give me a second." He slips one of the gauntlets on, and he omnitool makes a series of chirps. "Alright. You should be good. It engages an auto-tamper system if I'm not wearing it. Its...not pleasant." He then gestures to the omnitool positioned behind the gauntlet. "The helmet can provide similar data, but the tool also provides a fabricator role, so it may have more information stored there." There is a long pause as he extends his arm for her to hook him in. "Just be careful in there. I think there is something in there. I don't know if I would call it an AI, it doesn't seem coherent or 'solid' enough for that, but there seems to be some kind of presence or intelligence that has been helping me along. Not sure how it will react to visitors." He exhales again.

Barbara takes a moment or two to examine his connector port. After several moments, she turns aside to grab a laptop she can hook into her wider system and a bridge connector she thinks may allow her to create a better connection to whatever's inside. As the connection boots up, she picks up a small Google-glass style visor and audio headset that will give her realtime i/o options on a wider scan than the laptop itself. Indeed, the laptop is the bridge. The visor effectively creates a HUD for her to work with.

"Let's see what we've got," she says, giving him a smile, and turning her attention to the readouts she sees. First, the 'handshake' protocol -- a frienly query prompt send to the VI inside that's the computer equivalent to 'Hi, my name's Oracle... what's yours?'

Dragnets hand clenches slightly. An involuntary engagement of the strength augmentation perhaps in response to a direct query. Dragnet looks at the setup, tries to unclench. it takes a few moments. Finally, the laptop displays images of.....her. Well, her before the incident. Then, a single equals sign before it shows a video feed from the helmet itself, showing her in the chair. The two images superimpose over each other, than a line of script in Arabic, which is then backspaced and deleted. Instead, a simple equals sign is displayed from the captured images to the person present. Code scripts rewrite itself into Arabic, which after a few scripts coalesce into English. 

For Oracle, the feeds display on that HUD created by her visor, rather than the laptop itself, which is basically monitoring connectivity and energy levels. The dual languages is an interesting phenomenon. Particularly that the one of them is clearly Arabic.

The thing is, the response a handshake query usually produces from its recipient is a reciprocal, 'Hi, my name is...'... which didn't happen in this case. So, Oracle needs to come up with another way to interact with the thing. And she's only willing to let the VI have so much access to her system... Unless...

Her fingers flick arcanely in the air as she essentially 'types' on a holographic keyboard. 'Please standby,' is effectively what she sends to the interface. She glances over to Dragnet, now. "Come with me," she says. She points to his armour. "Bring that." She grabs her laptop, the connectors still attached, and begins wheeling to a doorway on the far side of the room. There, she uses a biometric pad to gain access and escorts him into what, for all intents and purposes, looks a helluva lot like a DIY version of a Star Trek holodeck. She sets the laptop down onto a console and sets about bridging the link further -- giving the VI access to the holocreation matrix so that, maybe, just maybe, she can get something they can interact with on a more personal level.

Dragnet brings the armor as instructed, though once he sees it, the gauntlet once again clenches. Fear perhaps, or instinctive readiness for combat. Until Dragnet unclenches once again, manually. The armor is set aside, as he sits and watches. Its a first for him too. He's never heard whatever in there speak or communicate on any level, so this is utterly a first for him. What appears is a holographic rendering of the armor, which looks down at its hands, then up at Oracle. "A superior method of communication. My sincerest apologies, your request was in a language I could not understand, so I had to improvise." That perhaps might give a sense that whatever it is appears a lot more complex than the sum of its coded parts. Give it code, it responds with words and languages. Almost as if a person, trying to parse nuance from a language they had not heard before. 'It' extrapolates, improvises. The voice however, is feminine, speaking the Classical form of Arabic were she to research further. "The designers of the armor did not believe that verbal or even coded communication was necessary, and that the primary interactions between Guide, armor, and...myself would be on the kinetic level. The lack of experience of my Guide led me to believe that these routines had to be further prioritized until he could master necessary skills. I believe you have someone who communicates in a similar manner. The...Batgirl, as I believe your Clan calls her." The avatars speech transforms into English upon her viewscreen. Eloquent, formal, flowery, do VI's usually respond in such a manner? Dragnet would not know. "I do not speak English very well, but I believe my translation is accurate. Now...you wished my name? I was not given one, but I believe the most correct term for what I am is...Saifullah, although I believe Allat is more feminine and also appropriate."

Oracle, being who she is, understands much of what the armour says. Indeed, given her eidetic memory, chances are if she's seen or read anything about such mythology -- and there are few more widely read than she -- she has some idea what its talking about. It? Well, perhaps 'she' is a better term for the armour.

"Okay," the hacker says slowly. "Lets start, perhaps, with some basic questions: What are you? Who made you?"

Truthfully, though, the wheelchair bound woman is beginning to lean more toward calling the intelligence within the armour a 'synthetic' or 'artifical' intelligence, rather than 'virtual' intelligence.

The image again looks at the hands, then gestures at the gauntlets meaningfully. "I am the Sword." Then the voice gives a slight pause, then speaks again. "More precisely, I am what is needed to punish the wicked. The Guide decides the target, and provides contextual information and any ethical or moral parameters that may exist. In more technical terms, I suppose it could be said that I am a steward of the armors functionality and provide optimization and emergency tactical intervention when needed via the Guides nervous system." The hologram then moves on. It, or she, looks past Oracle and towards Dragnet. "I cannot say. I have very few memories before the armor and myself were appropriate by the Guide, and most are in the visual format you experienced earlier. However, based on context, I can infer that what you are looking for is far older than any of the organizations my Guide has previously existed. The AIDOS...I....am an artisanal work. More meant perhaps for a shadow warrior with a taste for engineering than the other way around."

"I see..." Barbara says thoughtfully, now. She purses her lips, tapping her chin in thought. "Can you provide a full schematic of the armour's functions and systems, along with clear instructions on how it may be returned to optimal condition?"

Jury's still out, as far as she's concerned, about this 'ghost in the machine'. She'd really like to know if it's a code construct or some sort of personality fusion. But, the more important focus, right now, is finding out whether or not Dragnet can be brought back to full efficiency with the materials and technology they have to hand.

Dragnet looks a little unsettled, even through the helmet. The idea its been keyed into his nervous system is not entirely surprising and does explain a lot of things, but still, some tricks are never easy to swallow on the first sitting. The armor nods. "That can be done. The problem is not necessarily the kind of maintenance being provided." As the projection speaks, several diagrams are presented, layouts, system functionality. It even seems to be displaying several modifications Dragnet had been pondering, with added suggestions on how to make them more efficient. "As the armor was designed to go several months, perhaps years without a proper overhaul. The issue as far as the Artificer relays to me is that the armor was...obtained at a prototypal stage, and thus its materials acquisition and processing functions were never completed. This, coupled with improvised repair and raw materials, has lead to a depreciation in the armors ability to self-correct and auto-repair, causing errors in key systems and reducing functionality." The relevant systems and software upgrades are demonstrated. "Most can be done with simple repairs. Furthermore, optimization is conducted automatically as new systems and functionality is added. Between these two processes achieving a condition of 93% should be possible."

Again, Babs purses her lips, thinking. "93%..." she muses. Then, she nods. "Not bad, given everything."

She looks at Dragnet, now. "You up for this, or shall we just leave it to its own devices?" His armour; his say-so. But, for her part, she'd be quite happy to help. She has many, many more questions, but... well, they can probably wait.

The armor avatar walks up to Babs, looking over at her keyboard as if curious about something. If its elapsed some sort of barrier, it/she does not seem cognizant of it. "Helmet stays on." He says, but other than that he seems relieved. Downright blessed to have some of the responsibility to be lifted off and the help granted. "Suppose its better than dying..." Which it is, definitely. The armor avatar then nods thoughtfully, then fades out of existence. "So, this about par for the course for you then, because I was a little freaked out. It goes from ghost in the Machine to VI to Arabic speaking 'Sword'."

Babs chuckles dryly. "D, if you'd seen some of the bizarre things I've seen, you'd know this isn't at all out of the ordinary in my world." That, and she's used to dealing with AIs like JARVIS, among others.

"As far as I'm concerned, you can keep the helmet on as much as you like. If, for whatever reason, we do need you to take it off, I'll give you the privacy you need to don a mask or a cowl or something, so your identity stays concealed." Though, to be fair, he knows hers... and she somewhat feels like she's at greater risk, here. She's taking a lot on faith where he's concerned and that is NOT in her nature. At all.

But, the chance to study that armour? Yeah. She'll make a few concessions.

Dragnet nods thoughtfully. "Its...not just that. Its an identity thing." Its been noted before, she's probably noticed before. He puts on the helmet, he IS the armor. He is, for lack of a better description, Dragnet. He isn't like the Bruce Wayne's or the Starks of the world who can emphatically say 'I am so and so...'. Without the AIDOS, without the Dragnet persona, he's just an adrift soul in way, way over his head. As for identities and risks, who would he tell? If anything, he only really knew her identity because of an emergency. He might have been just as well not knowing. He taps his helmet. "I need this. To be this. Otherwise, there isn't much for me. Its the only thing I'm good at."

In instance of weird things though, she might notice that the AI hasn't just disappeared visually. Its like it never existed on either side of the connection. Ghost in the machine indeed.

Barbara is as much a scientist as she is librarian, historian, or hacker. She tends to believe that something that can be done once can be replicated. So, while the disappearance of the VI is noteworthy, it doesn't immediately concern her. She'll be hours sorting through the schematics she saw -- even away from the computer. (Gotta love that eidetic memory.)

She gives Dragnet a light nod. "We'll work with it," she says. "Don't worry." She smiles, now, chuckling dryly. "We've got lots of work ahead of us, I think..."