This Automatic Eden

by Jim Keen

  “You are welcome to try; however, they’re considered objects of national importance by the president. Even I do not know where they are, or how they’re being used.”

  “You, this whole place, is sick.”

  “A predictable point of view, hence my desire to show you in person. This room contains the first working prototype of an internal neural clock that allows direct communication between humans and MIs.”

  Alice studied the slack head on the table next to her, its brown eyes glazed and staring into the distance. She tried to focus on the implications of what Takamatsu had told her: humans were obsolete.

  “Who knows about this?”

  Takamatsu laughed, but it wasn’t a happy noise. “Very few, for obvious reasons. We’re close to a point where this knowledge can become mainstream, but certain conditions need to be met.”

  “What conditions?”

  “We have the technology working in select cases, but it isn’t ready for widespread use. The clock requires a substantial reprint of the cerebral cortex and therefore a unique design for each person. That is time and data intensive. To make this a widespread implementation, I need huge amounts of biological information, and fewer than ten thousand people have been fully scanned and reprinted so far. That isn’t anywhere near enough; I need a hundred thousand more to perfect a clock ready for widespread distribution.”

  “Available to everyone?”

  “This is not a technology suited for general release.”

  “Well, there’s a surprise. Just the rich and powerful, huh?”

  “Such a prize should be first given to those best placed to exploit its potential.”

  “What about the rest of us?”

  “That is the second requirement that needs to be addressed before we unveil our work.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When the president and her team implement their unemployment solution, the situation will become more accommodating.”

  “How?”

  “Patience, Alice. In a year or so, it will become clear.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “There’s a high probability that the unemployment solution will work; however, predicting the future is a challenge. If that solution fails, I need another approach to bring this to everyday reality. You can help with that.”

  “You’ve made a mistake. I’m just a cop.”

  “You’re too modest. You have great potential as a biological interlink. When you visited Hymann Boutique, we took a DNA sample, and your cranial design is perfectly suited to mesh with such a system. I offer you this now, free of charge. I can rebuild you into someone that will have wealth and power beyond dreams.”

  “You’ve seen my Marine records?”

  He nodded, casually admitting the crime.

  “So, you know I’m a B-intelligence, nothing special.”

  “That will no longer be relevant.”

  “And what do you get in return?”

  “The loyalty and protection of the NYPD when this technology is announced.”

  Alice looked back at the head, the dull eyes and slack jaw. A direct link to an MI? What did that even mean in reality? How could you hold onto your humanity and compassion when you were so far ahead of mankind? Did Julia have a clock? Was that why she’d been able to run New York in a matter of years? The questions streamed through her mind. Of one thing she was sure; there was no humanity here, just a display of technical prowess.

  “You needn’t be scared. The procedure is painless,” he said.

  “How long have you had one?”

  “A couple of years,” he stepped into the bright arc of the spotlight; dust motes swirled as he raised his head. “Come here.”

  Alice leaned in, and his odor of vanilla and antiseptic made her stomach churn. She squinted in the harsh light and studied his skin, every pore preternaturally clear. The ghost of a beard crossed his chin, faint stubble lines missed by his morning shave, his earlobes pink and full of blood, his hair graying. As she watched, he pinched the skin below his right eye, pulled it forward, and looked upward. On the underside of his eyeball, the tiny capillaries changed from red to the soft yellow of brass as they entered his skull.

  She stepped away from this smell, sickness filling her stomach, and gathered herself. “I have questions.”

  “You must understand, of course, that there is a limit to what I’m willing to tell you. There are few enough in the world who understand this technology; to show you more without a commitment is unacceptable.”

  “I can’t make a decision like this without more information. Tell me what it’s like.”

  “You’re asking me to explain the color red to a blind person; I cannot give you a list of experiences or abilities. Each reprint is different, the interface enhancing who and what you are. As to that enhancement, well, that depends upon how you choose to work with the interface, whether you are a sponge or a stone regarding new opportunities. If it helps, then know this: it is spectacular. You become part of something bigger, a digital union that leaves the isolation of flesh behind. Humanity is a bottleneck; the clock shatters that. The mundane becomes irrelevant, seconds become minutes, minutes become hours. Now answer my question.”

  “Are you human?”

  “Post-human would be a more accurate term.”

  “So, how can you relate to humanity? What stops you seeing the rest of us as objects in your way?

  “Such emotional reactions are no longer relevant when you interlink. You can, of course, retain your memories in any way you want. I chose to have mine neutered. They are there when I need them, but I no longer allow their influence to destabilize my ambitions.”

  “So, I accept this and lose who I am?” Alice stepped back, revolted by this room and what it represented.

  “What you are now will no longer be relevant. That is the cost; the reward outweighs it a hundred times.”

  “How?”

  He sighed, frustrated. “In a baseline human, the interlink allows your thought processes to run at a thousand times normal speed. For you to ask me a question would take five seconds; that is eighty-three point three minutes of my time at clock speed. At that acceleration, the clock generates heat to a level that can only be sustained for five seconds per ten minutes. Still, that increases one’s capacity considerably. The interlink has enhanced my ability to assimilate information; I interface with five different MIs when I use it, each working on different projects from nanotechnology to Einstein-Rosen bridges as faster-than-light travel. If I was allowed to upgrade my body to match, then my capacity would increase further. However, in lieu of changes in the law, I remain one hundred percent legal.” Takamatsu lifted his hand to reveal a barcode and DNA tag. “I’m registered as a one-off prototype reprint, all above board. Now, to exactly how that would feel to you, or what you would do with it, is something I cannot answer.”

  Alice looked at Takamatsu. Do this and she’d never again have to worry about a life spent in ever-decreasing circles, hemmed in by poverty and lack of choice. This was her chance to get out, cheat old age and obsolescence. She could use it for good, work with the police and government, but would she even care at that point? What would drive her once humanity had been left behind?

  She studied her hands. Her right was human, her left artificial—the fake skin bright pink like car paint. She fought to remember what Xavi had said, that this hand represented who she was, the sacrifices made while becoming human. Was her new hand ready yet? Sitting in a jar in the Hymann Boutique? Was she ready to jettison that? And what about her brother Paul? He was family; accept this and she could get Takamatsu to release him, find him a job. Wasn’t that what she always wanted? For him not to suffer the life she had?

  She walked unsteadily to the elevator.

  “I see you need time,” Takamatsu said. “I understand, really I do. Such a jump must appear fearful before being taken. Don’t fret, only good things await. There is one thing I must say before you le
ave, however.”

  Alice grasped the frame of the elevator and stabbed the call button. “What?”

  “This is a time-limited offer. If I don’t hear from you by tomorrow, consider the proposal rescinded. If you reject the future, partner with those who strive to prevent change, I shall be forced to consider you my opponent with all that entails.”

  The elevator doors opened. She fell through and collapsed to the floor, burning cheek pressed to the cold wall.

  The doors closed, sealing off the abattoir.

  She ascended.

  The elevator spat her onto the roof next to her police Hopper. The freezing air roared past with an inhuman moan, making her jacket crackle and flap as she pulled herself upright. She limped to the craft and half slid, half fell into the warm interior.

  “Aerial holding pattern,” she said, and the car rose. Stress bunched the muscles across her back as nausea fought to claim her.

  No good; it was going to happen.

  Alice stabbed the Emergency Descent button and held onto the armrest as the car fell to the ground. She hadn’t cleared the park; a wide green lawn raced up toward her. Thirty feet from impact, the engines spun up, and the Hopper thundered to a halt; a gale outside but the park remained immaculate, unmoving. She forced the door up with her shoulder and slumped out to fall on the lawn. The grass was brittle and stiff, each blade pricking her skin as if she were rolling on a hard brush. She tried to sit, only to slump to her side.

  Everything around her was false, pretend, an illusion of wellness. A few days ago, she had known who she was and what she represented; now she had no idea what was happening from one moment to the next, a leaf adrift in a thunderstorm, unable to course correct. The knowledge of mankind’s irrelevance in the future was a sickness inside, her body twisted by the strain. Nausea rose, and she vomited onto the perfect lawn. It drained away in moments; a fly crawled over the leaf, disease among the perfection.

  The world as she knew it was over.

  25

  The Hopper drifted above Manhattan in autonomous mode, then Alice let it spin down to sit on a deserted Harlem street, the brownstone houses a wall of privilege on either side. She sat in silence, engines ticking as they cooled, then swung up the door and exited, boots crunching on loose gravel. The air was cold and full of scents, alive and organic. Rain created a background patter that made the quiet louder.

  Her mind flooded with everything that had happened during the last few days, ideas and emotions filling her. She was missing something huge and obvious. Julia, Conner, Toko, Xavi, Takamatsu … the names and faces came and went. They were connected, but how? The parts refused to stick, just crashed into each other like speeding cars and tumbled away.

  Anything else she had discovered—the quality of modern organic printing, the arrival of a machine interface, the horror of the new hospitals—were all side issues compared to the main case. The picture was there but out of focus; she needed more data.

  Her phone buzzed as it rebooted, free from Cortex’s infiltration. She saw a whole slew of new HR emails and a voicemail notification. She put it on speaker and recognized Four’s old voice.

  “Hello, dear. I do hope Charles’s little shop of horrors didn’t disturb you too much. He believes the ends justify the means, which is upsetting, though he is dedicated to his work. I owe him my life, but that doesn’t mean I agree with all of his choices. One day, off world and free from UN surveillance, we can have a nice chat about that. In the meantime, you have two new icons on your home screen; one opens an encrypted channel with me, the other is something more fun. You’ve received an email from my lawyer stating you are the sole author of the piece and can do with it as you will. Should you choose the quiet life, this will set you up. Good luck in your investigation. I’m here to help, so don’t be shy, and I want to hear from you should you ever make it to Arizona.”

  Alice flicked through her messages and read the one from Four’s lawyer with a wry smile; no way an analytical engine could write a good song, but it was a nice thought. A clean, white Four had been added to her home screen alongside the data package downloaded from Link’s MI at the port. She was about to send that data package to the NYPD MI for analysis when her thumb froze above the icon. Who could she trust?

  Someone had leaked her undercover information to Julia, and that someone must have cracked the NYPD’s encrypted feeds to get her police records. If she let the NYPD MI analyze this data the information would leak, and whomever was behind Julia’s murder would cover their tracks long before Alice arrived. If Xavi was right, the FBI’s communications were just as compromised as the NYPD’s, so who remained? Only one person she knew could analyze this much information and, so far, didn’t appear to have a vested interest.

  She clicked the new Four logo on her phone, and the connection was instant.

  “Hello, dear. That was fast. Are you okay?” Four asked.

  “I need you to look at something for me.”

  “Straight to business I see. You need to work on your social skills, Alice. All work and no play makes you a rather dull girl.”

  “How safe is this communication?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “I’ve been told that before, but it seems you MIs aren’t as secure as you think. I believe both the NYPD and FBI’s MIs have been compromised.”

  “Well that is a concerning development. It would take an MI of considerable intellect to break into those two.”

  “Could you do it?”

  “Of course, but as you know, my protocols prevent me. A girl could have so much more fun if it wasn’t for the pesky controls. Returning to your question, the encryption used in my app is unique. The app, to a certain level, is self-aware and conscious and talks only to me, in fact—”

  “So, it is secure then?”

  “Well yes, dear. Perfectly. If you’d let me finish, that would have been clear,” Four said in a grumpy voice.

  “Okay, I’m sending you something. Take a look, see if there are patterns.” She uploaded the data package.

  “Ah. That is interesting.”

  “What?”

  “So much subterfuge in this little country of ours, so many sneaky little schemes. Most, of course, bear no relation to your particular avenue of interest, but there’s a pattern that may be relevant.”

  Alice stood there and struggled to contain her patience; Four used a hundred words when two would do. “Four, it’s already been a long day and it’s not ten yet. I’m cold, tired, and hungry. Can we wrap this up?”

  “Forgive me, dear. There are a series of packages originating from Germany that are of a size and weight that suggests scanner components. These packages were delivered over the span of four years to three separate warehouses: two in Brooklyn, one in the Bronx. Both Brooklyn warehouses have since closed and been demolished; all employees received priority off-world transmissions—they’re gone. However, the owner of the Bronx business, John Stokes, had his upload delayed and is still at the Hudson Employment Center. He’s due for transmission this evening.”

  Conner had been right; Five Points had been smuggling scanners into the country. “The third warehouse?”

  “Scheduled for demolition, but the street cameras are out, so I can’t confirm.”

  “Okay, give me the addresses and the upload time of the owner.”

  “The information is already in the app.”

  “How many shipments went to these warehouses?”

  “Nine thousand, three hundred and seven, over four years. It seems someone was in a real need to scan a lot of people without a record.”

  “Thanks, Four.”

  “Of course, dear. Now don’t forget to listen to my musical. I’m intrigued to see what you think.”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure. Later.”

  Alice forwarded the information to Xavi then called him. He answered on the first ring. “Xavi, I’ve sent you an address, meet me there in two hours.”

  She looked into the white sky and let
the cool rain coat her skin; the water collected in her eyebrows and trickled down her face.

  “Cortex?” Xavi asked.

  How to explain it? Could she even put her feelings into words?

  “They have the tech to reprint Julia, but I don’t think they did it. Takamatsu seems unwilling to cross the UN. Having his first-generation machines killed has scarred him pretty bad. He’s loaned the new print systems out to select people but wouldn’t say who. Laughed in my face when I threatened him with a warrant.”

  “He’s above the law.”

  “For now, anyway. Okay, gotta go. See you in two.”

  She disconnected and flew to a nearby deli to grab breakfast. On the way, she played Four’s musical. It was the best thing she’d ever heard.

  26

  Alice sat in the warm confines of the armor-glass cabin and sipped scalding coffee from a can. She finished a report that covered her meeting with Charles Takamatsu and forwarded it to Toko; she didn’t know if he would send it to the FBI so she kept the details to a bare minimum. If Xavi was correct, and the FBI MI was compromised, she could no longer trust any form of digital communications. It seemed the gangs had it right; if something was worth saying, it was worth saying in person.

  This was a delaying tactic, she knew—a way to avoid thinking about Takamatsu’s offer. She didn’t take his threat lightly; he wasn’t the type of person to offer the future and not get what he wanted in return. What did she want though? The offer was as tempting as it was terrifying. Take the deal, lose her soul; refuse the deal, lose her life. How could she make a decision like that? Her body alternated between the desire to flee or lie on the ground and give up. Takamatsu’s offer seemed to have no way out, but until she knew her own mind, she’d carry the load and continue.

  She forced herself to look outside; the street was empty. After speaking to Xavi, she’d checked out the first two warehouses on the list. Four had been right—from a hundred feet in the air, she could see nothing remained, autonomous diggers having recycled the warehouses into a series of metal and concrete cubes. Those building sites had been scraped clean to leave windswept blocks of land. The cover-up was thorough, but they hadn’t got to the third site yet; her Hopper sat opposite its chain-link perimeter fence. A row of powered-down yellow diggers were lined up by the curb. This area was zoned for industrial use, which translated to bare plots of land surrounded by autonomous sentries, but the warehouse appeared new. Its blue-gray siding had the usual layer of city filth, carbon rain, and pigeon mess, but no graffiti or UV fading marked the plastic.