Crusade Against the Machines

by Franklyn Santana

  Anyway, I couldn’t waste any more time. I jumped out of the bed and gathered my clothes that were hanging over a plastic chair. My apartment was a small studio with a kitchenette and a bathroom next to a narrow hallway leading to the door. The furniture was very Spartan and almost all of it was made of sturdy plastic. In the wall behind the bed was a flat screen TV. I used it as a home computer, TV and music system. There was no window, because the apartment was located inside the compound and had no wall to the outside of the building. The apartment was nothing special, but it was clean, safe, had heating, running water and was on a circuit that usually had very few breakdowns. There were even days when electricity didn’t fail at all. It was a middle class apartment block and I was charged $35,000 a month for it. Not everyone could afford that in this time of crisis. Very few had still a job. So I was lucky to be one of those few, even if I had to work for that old tyrant O’Neil. It was still better than sitting on the street without a roof over your head.

  I got dressed in record time and stormed out of the door. I briefly pushed my smartphone into the small slot in the wall locking the door. I was standing in the deserted corridor, where all the apartments of my neighbors lined up door next to door. The corridor was illuminated by the screens that were interspersed into the wall between two doors. Advertising clips were running on half of them, the other half was either switched off or broken. But I paid them no attention and ran to the elevator. Because of my unusual behavior, I would certainly attract the attention of the invisible CCTV surveillance cameras in the ceiling. The images from the cameras were checked 24/7 by AI algorithms for unusual observations, which then, if necessary, issued an alarm to the guards on the ground floor. The around the clock camera surveillance was part of the security service that I paid for with my rent. But I felt that so much security was a little bit too much for my taste, and I would have preferred to do without most of it for the sake of privacy. As bodyguard of a senator I had a Class III security clearance and was therefore allowed to carry a firearm. And I trusted my Walther P100 more than all that in-house security nonsense, which any better burglar would hack into and take out without much difficulty before breaking in.

  I reached the elevator and called the lift by sliding my smartphone through a small slot in a box in the wall. I heard it moving. A few seconds later the door opened and I jumped in. Again I had to put my smartphone into a slot and then pressed the button for the building’s underground parking. But instead of the elevator starting to move, the button only lit up red and a friendly female voice announced: »Access denied.«

  I tried again, with the same result: »Access denied.« I cursed. I didn’t want to try it a third time because I probably would have triggered a security alert. It would have been pointless anyway. I got the message. Since I didn’t have my own car and the Old Man had lent me his only for today so that I could drive directly from home to his apartment to pick him up, I wasn’t authorized to use the underground parking. My smartphone only authorized me for the ground floor and the fifth floor where I lived. Security regulations! I cursed them. All that excessive security dated back to the days of Islamic terrorism. But even now, when there had been no attacks by Islamic terrorists in the U. S. for over ten years, the security measures were still in place. Once the government had such useful tools to monitor its citizens, it wouldn’t give them up so easily. Once the threat used to be Islamic terrorists, but today it was militant Neo-Luddites and eco-terrorists. The government always came up with a suitable enemy to justify its actions. On the other hand, I guess I shouldn’t complain. I was in the security business myself. And if it weren’t for the terrorist hysteria and crime, I might not have a job. Still, it was quite annoying, especially now that I was in a hurry. So I pressed the button for the ground floor and from there I would take the stairs to the underground car park. The lift finally started moving. Nervously I looked at the time display of my smartphone. 07:04 AM. Well, that would be fun! I didn’t even want to imagine when I would finally arrive at Neil O’Neil’s apartment.

  Instead of going straight through to the ground floor, the lift stopped on the second floor. I was desperate. Why did someone have to use the elevator at this hour, especially now? But when the door finally opened, my bad mood suddenly changed. One of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen in my life came in. She was perhaps three or four years younger than me, slim, had long blond hair and a face like an angel. She wore a tight-fitting costume that emphasized her figure. She was holding her coat and handbag in her right arm.

  »Good morning,« she greeted and smiled at me. Only then did I realize that I had probably just stared at her stunned for several seconds, as if she were a ghost. Finally I pulled myself together and returned her greeting. I had not known that I had such a pretty neighbor living in the same apartment block. I feverishly thought about how I could somehow open a conversation, but I couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound silly. Besides, I must have looked pretty stupid, the way I kept looking at her all the time.

  She pushed her smartphone into the slot and pushed the button to the underground parking garage. And this time no voice answered »Access denied«. So she had her own car. Apparently she was not only beautiful, but also wealthy enough, so she could afford an apartment here and a car. That circumstance wouldn’t be very helpful in getting in touch with her.

  The lift started moving again and an uncomfortable silence filled the cabin. Nothing came to my mind that I could say. On the ground floor it stopped and the door opened. Since the girl also wanted to go to the underground parking, I could just stay in the cabin with her and didn’t have to take the detour via the stairs. It would help me to save time.

  The blonde girl wondered, »Funny, there’s nobody here.«

  Of course I didn’t want to admit that I had pressed the button for the ground floor, since I didn’t have access to the underground parking. It was better to let her believe that I also had my own car. I knew exactly how the mind of a woman worked. No good-looking woman would associate with a man who was socially beneath her. If I wanted to have the slightest chance to score, I had to give her the impression that I had considerably more money than she did. So I pretended that I was also surprised that the lift had stopped and said: »Yes, very strange. Somebody must have changed his mind.«

  The door closed and the lift started moving again. The few words I had spoken now made it a little easier for me to continue the conversation. »I haven’t seen you here before. Have you lived here for long?«

  »No, I just moved in here a week ago,« she replied.

  »So? Do you like it here?« I kept the conversation going, happy that I had finally found something that made for a decent conversation, even if the topic was not very original.

  »Yeah, not bad. How long have you lived here?«

  »Me? Oh, for a while.«

  The elevator cabin had finally reached its destination. The door opened. »I think we’re there,« said the girl and got out.

  »You haven’t even told me your name.« This was the least I wanted to find out before we lost sight of each other.

  »Natasha,« she replied. »And you?«

  »My name is Dexter,« I replied, and a moment later I wanted to bite my tongue for that. Why the fuck didn’t I tell her my first name?

  »Pleased to meet you, Mr. Dexter.«

  »The pleasure is all mine«. Again my answer was far too formal and stiff.

  But I was lucky; we both went in the same direction. Apparently her car was not far from where I had parked Neil O’Neil’s car. We walked past the rows of cars belonging to the other residents of this apartment block. Somehow I had again run out of things to talk about. I could feel myself getting nervous. It was strange. Actually, I should have been anxious to get to my car as quickly as possible and race to O’Neil’s apartment. I was already late. But instead I wished that it would take me even longer to reach the car so that I could somehow continue the conversation with Natasha. But, of course, there w
as nothing I could do to stop the inevitable. Finally, I arrived at O’Neil’s flashy limousine.

  »There’s my car,« I said, smiling at Natasha. »I’m afraid I must say goodbye now.«

  Now suddenly Natasha was impressed and her eyes widened in astonishment. »This is your car?« she wondered.

  »Yes, sure,« I answered casually, pulled out my smartphone, pressed the touch screen and remotely opened the door. Now I knew that I had broken the ice. A big car never fails to impresses women. What a rare luck that the Old Man had left me his limousine just today.

  »Wow, not bad! It must have cost a lot of money,« she said.

  »Yeah, well, you know, as a businessman in my position, you need a certain standard, when it comes to cars.« Now I had found the knack. She suddenly looked at me with completely different eyes. Now all of a sudden it was her who appeared kind of nervous.

  I looked at the time display on my smartphone. »Oh, I have to hurry. I have an important business meeting to attend, with a U. S. senator, you know?« I wasn’t even lying.

  »Oh, um... may I give you my number? Maybe I can see you later when you have a little more time, Mr. Dexter.« She giggled nervously. »After all, we are neighbors in some way. And I’m kind of new in town.«

  »Oh, yeah, sure, with pleasure.« We swapped numbers. In my mind, I was patting myself on the back. That had gone pretty well for me.

  We said goodbye with a kiss left and right on the cheek and happily smiling Natasha strutted away. I looked after her. She really had a breathtaking figure. She turned once more and waved to me. I wondered what she was doing. Her clothes and the fact that she lived here and had her own car in the underground parking suggested that it had to be a well-paid job. Well, I was sure I’d find out the next time we met.

  But now it was really about time that I made my way to Neil O’Neil. The Old Man was probably boiling in anger. I sat down in the car and inserted my smartphone into the corresponding slot. The car had no steering wheel, which might seem strange to someone who hasn’t lived in that time. Instead, there was only the navigation screen. All cars in that time were controlled by an automatic navigation system. Fifteen years ago, self-driving had entirely been banned, for safety reasons. The risk of accidents was simply too high for human drivers. In addition, the traffic system had become so complex with all the traffic flow regulations, express lanes and parallel highways and underpasses that no human driver could see through it. I entered my destination on the touch screen and gave the command to drive off. The car’s electric motor started and navigated backwards out of the parking lot.

  Like most vehicles, Neil O’Neil’s Chevrolet was powered by a fuel cell running on hydrogen. Some cheaper cars used combustion engines with ethanol or lithium air batteries. But in the long run it was not economical. Lithium batteries had to be replaced about every five years because they were losing capacity. And that was so expensive that it was better to buy a new car. And ethanol was simply more expensive than hydrogen. Even though car with ethanol engines were cheaper, it didn’t pay off in the long run. Internal combustion engines also looked a bit antiquated with their rattling noise. Since the last oil reserves were depleted, the industry had adapted. There was still oil, of course, but it was so expensive that you couldn’t use it for fuel. It went almost exclusively to the chemical industry to produce plastics. The end of the oil reserves had finished off the Saudis at that time. It had been the end of Arab wealth and profligacy. Most of the Gulf States were heavily indebted and now the usual uprisings and anarchy that had dominated the entire Arab world for decades had also occurred there. The states had joined the SAU, the South Asian Union, about twenty years ago, but the peacekeeping forces of the SAU, which mainly came from India, Pakistan and Iran, could only in the big cities maintain order to a certain degree and keep the ever new fighting factions apart.

  Neil O’Neil’s limousine hummed softly as it drove up to the exit of the underground car park. It stopped just before the small barrier. Once again I could not see any of the guards at his post. Why today, when I was in a hurry? I honked impatiently and lowered the window on the passenger side. Finally, old Jake showed up. He wore the dark blue uniform of a security guard and moved with an inertia that almost cost me my last nerve.

  »Hey, what the fuck is up with you? Looks like I interrupted your breakfast, haven’t I?« I said to him.

  He stuck his head through the window. »What are you doing up so early in the first place, Dex? It’s not your time.«

  »Oh, shut up and open the damn gate! I’m in a hurry, man!«

  But Jake simply ignored what I said. »Say, aren’t you a security guard yourself...?«

  »Bodyguard,« I corrected him. There was a slight, but significant difference between object protection and personal security. You could see that, for example, from the fact that Jake only carried non-lethal weapons like a baton and a taser gun, because he only had a Class II security clearance while I carried a pistol.

  »It’s all the same anyway,« he insisted. »So it concerns you as much as it does any of us.«

  »What concerns me?« I wanted to know.

  He held some mass-produced computer printout under my nose and said, »Here! Let me give you one, too. You should read this carefully.«

  I took the pamphlet from his hand without even looking at it. »Hey, I don’t have the nerves for this right now. Tell me about it some other time.«

  Frustrated, Jake realized he was getting nowhere with me. So he took his head out my window and turned around to open the barrier.

  »Hey, Has it come to the point where you have to hand out flyers?« I yelled after him. »You should be a little bit more careful. I don’t think your head honchos would like to see that. You’re about to become a security risk.« I smiled at my joke.

  Jake turned around again, but luckily his younger colleague Martin was now at the barrier control and finally gave me the exit.

  »Dex, you’ll remember me, when you get fired yourself one day. Read it...!« he shouted at me as I hurtled away. I rolled the window back up. That idiot had just cost me another minute of my precious time. And time was a luxury that I didn’t have this morning.

  I selected maximum urgency at the navigator. Although this had no effect on the allowed maximum speed, the autopilot would now prefer express tracks to get to its destination. Using these tracks was a bit more expensive and a certain fee would automatically be debited from the account, when the car passed through the scanner at the beginning of the express lane. But it was not my account, to which it was debited. The car was after all registered to O’Neil. And the Old Man wouldn’t check the monthly statement from the city traffic control center in detail. At least that’s what I hoped. But you never knew with that damn cheapskate!

  I was driving up the ascending road to an elevated highway. On all major roads in Washington, D. C., traffic was on two, sometimes even three levels. The elevated highways ran parallel to the road on the ground and generally allowed for higher speeds. Parts of Washington were tunneled, too. There wasn’t too much traffic this early in the morning, so I should be making good progress. But it was also questionable that the Old Man would buy my traffic jam story. I wasn't sure if the elevated roads had really improved the traffic flow, however they certainly didn’t contribute to the beautification of the city. Down below, on the ground-level roadway, everything was getting more and more dirty. Invisible to the eyes of the upper class who drove on the elevated roads, waste was accumulating there. All kinds of riffraff lurked under the concrete pillars, stray dogs, homeless people, informal street vendors, drug dealers and other scum. There was a constant stench, especially in the summer. It was good to keep the windows and doors of the car firmly closed when driving around down there.

  During the journey there was not much to do for me. The autopilot did the whole job. I could either look at the area through the windows or watch as the small dot marking my position slowly moved through the road map on the navigator’s screen. Ma
ybe I should take a nap.

  However I decided to take a look at the flyer that old Jake had given me and that I had carelessly thrown in the passenger seat.

  The front was modeled after the famous U. S. Army recruitment poster with Uncle Sam, except that the face of Uncle Sam had been replaced with that of a robot. Underneath it was written in large letters: »YOU, are next!« On the back there was a little more text:

  FACT:

  3 out of 4 job seekers in the U. S. are without a job.

  Taking inflation into account, the purchasing power of workers has been halved since 2045.

  80% of all middle and senior management positions have been replaced by computers since 2045.

  No decisions in government and the private sector are made without computer consultation.

  AMERICA IS EFFECTIVELY RULED BY MACHINES.

  There is open discussion in the large private sector corporations about replacing all personnel, with the exception of board members, with more efficient robots and computer systems over the next 10 years. A final solution is being sought for the inefficient human ballast.