“I’m not sure I even know what the definition of a real dog is after reading this,” I admitted, scrolling farther. There were animal profiles, diagrams, early prototypes. “If Ginger is an extension of what they were working on twenty years ago, she may be one of the prototypes for a cadre of animal spies trained in surveillance, infiltration, and communication relay. They must have had some success, even twenty years ago, which is probably how they found a way to fund and continue the research until today.”
Gray sat down heavily in the chair. “You’re sure about that, Lexi? I’m just not convinced there’s a robust market for dog spies.”
“No, of course I’m not sure. I’m not an expert by any means. But there have been huge advances in genetic engineering and nanotechnology in the last twenty years. After all, AI can create videos that have avatars looking and moving like real people, such that you can’t tell the difference. We saw that firsthand with the video Angel made of me. That would have seemed impossible two decades ago.”
“That makes more sense to me,” Gwen confirmed. “It feels like they somehow developed a way to engineer new neural pathways beyond standard canine capacity.”
I tapped my screen. “Shutt talked about how the experiments involved upgrading memory retention, conceptual reasoning, pattern recognition, and emotional interpretation. But more importantly, the lab was working on rudimentary language comprehension. We saw that firsthand in Ginger.”
Basia swallowed hard. “That does fit our Ginger.”
“It does,” I agreed. “She can understand what we’re saying and follow complex commands. She might also be able to interpret context, and perhaps even detect intent. But most importantly, she can communicate what she’s heard or wants to say for herself. That’s the most fascinating, and yet by far the most troubling part, because to do that, she’d need some additional assistance.”
Gray immediately grasped what I was hinting at and shot up from her seat, holding out her hands like she wanted to distance herself from me and my thoughts.
“Whoa, my mind just took a giant leap there, too. Lexi, are you implying what I think you’re implying? That maybe Ginger has some kind of embedded organic artificial intelligence?”
“What?” Basia gasped. “AI? Ginger is a robo-dog? Are you out of your mind?”
“Lexi, that’s a pretty big step in terms of biological concepts that are relevant and proven today,” Gwen said.
I held up a hand. “Look, I don’t mean to freak anyone out. I’m just thinking aloud. Ginger is clearly a dog, not a robot. Obviously, I’m just speculating here, but to my mind, using artificial intelligence in some capacity to augment an otherwise smart dog would be the most plausible scenario for what we’ve witnessed so far with Ginger. I’m hypothesizing that the lab might have built an intelligence model inside a living organism. It sounds like science fiction, but we saw for ourselves that Ginger can process environmental cues and decision-making at an advanced level. That was evident from our short time with her. How they might have done that is beyond me, but I don’t think it’s a bridge too far given the explosive pace of AI in the past decade.”
“That is…mind-blowing,” Gwen said.
I blew out a breath, my thoughts still racing. “Or maybe they just found a way to fuse or augment AI capabilities into a dog’s brain using nanotechnology and cellular energy sources. They would’ve had to start with a puppy, but with enhanced logic and language capacity, who knows what the results might be?”
There was dead silence in the room before Gwen spoke quietly. “I’m truly appalled at this possibility, but as the only biologist here, I can’t say with certainty that this theory is impossible. I wish I could.”
Gray placed a hand flat on the table. “Holy crap. If you guys are right, and Ginger is now back in their hands, God knows what they want to do with her.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, fighting the sickening twist in my chest. “She tried to tell us. Everything she did—bringing us objects, barking at the TV lab scene—was not random. She’s not confused. She knew she was in danger and asked for our help. And we failed her.”
Basia’s voice cracked. “So, what do we do now?”
“We need to figure out who’s really operating this lab,” I replied. “What’s their mission, their endgame? I’m still unsure as to who benefits from this capability and, therefore, who would be their customers. This can’t be cheap, so someone is heavily invested, and that probably explains why they want Ginger back so badly.”
“And how do you propose we find out who is operating the lab?” Gray asked, leaning in.
“We follow the money,” I said quietly. “Money doesn’t lie and, in fact, it often speaks volumes. And once when we know who they are and what they’re doing to those animals…if it’s illegal, which I’d bet my last chip on, we take them down. But to do that, we need more information on them—and fast.”
I considered for a moment. “Let’s see if we can get a line on that investigative reporter, Barbie Shutt, the one who broke the story wide-open in 2006. Maybe she’s kept tabs on the company or still has some old contacts who might be able to help us.”
“That may be the best idea we’ve had to this point,” Gray said. “Let’s get on it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lexi
It was easy to find Barbie Shutt using open sources and tracking her career as a journalist. There were very few people who were able to live as ghosts in today’s digital world. And even those who were ghosts were not immune to a determined and experienced hacker like me.
Barbie had racked up an impressive career. She’d continued her investigative reporting after leaving Arizona and had worked at newspapers in Nevada, Utah, Illinois, and Iowa. Currently, she lived in Philadelphia and was a regular contributor for the Philadelphia Enquirer, which was convenient for us, as that meant, that at least, she was in the same time zone. I studied the photo published with one of her articles. She looked to be in late forties, with short brown hair and a no-nonsense look in her eyes.
“She sure moved around a lot,” I commented after sharing my findings with the gang. “Is that normal for journalists?”
“It can be,” Basia responded. She now sat at the dining room table snacking on some crackers and cheese. “Especially for investigative reporters, who typically have to go to where the stories are, or for reporters just starting out. I would say your brother Rock’s current situation as a journalist with the Washington Post is an exception. He grew into it after a solid career at other newspapers. Although just the fact that he remains employed with them is significant, since they have made substantial staff reductions.”
“True,” I said, flipping through my search results. “From what I can find, it looks like Shutt’s last major story broke several months ago. It dealt with an organized Medicare fraud ring in Philadelphia. There’s an email associated with her byline at the paper. Hopefully she checks it regularly. I’d rather reach out to her via email as opposed to a cold call.”
