Analog SFF, January-February 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  “However, when this same open structure prevented the police from tampering evidence, the government supported a partitioned structure, which would give them more control over what the implants remembered and what they forgot. You may draw your own conclusions as to why."

  The moderator couldn't resist the follow-up. “So I take it you're in favor of open-structure implants?"

  “I can answer that without waiting for the network,” Manny said, raising a murmur from the panel. “Both individually and as a representative of the network, yes. I'm being shown specific numbers as to how much more efficient it is to work in a fully open computer environment, but that's just numbers. What's important is that without the open structure, we couldn't be trusted to do all the good things we do."

  The next question was taken off the live web-feed from viewers at home, and read by the moderator. “Given the nature of the network, what justification can you provide for circumventing the legal system?"

  “With all due respect, the network does not circumvent the legal system,” Manny began. He went through the same arguments that always come up when the question was asked, but the network added, “What many people seem to think is that the network is taking the law into its own metaphorical hands. In truth, humans make the laws, and the network simply applies them fairly and with considered, rational awareness. As a network has no unconscious prejudices or political ideology, it is free to interpret and apply the laws fairly and rationally, in letter and spirit equally. No human system of justice in the world, and most especially not our own, can honestly claim that level of impartiality. Numerous citations support this conclusion."

  That caused another murmur among the panel members, and the moderator asked one clarifying question. “What exactly did you mean by ‘considered, rational awareness?’”

  “Simply put, each law can be judged by its rational effectiveness in a situation that includes multiple points of view. It's easy for humans to decide, for example, that drinking alcohol deserves the same punishment as murder, but even a cursory examination of each offense would show that such a punishment for social drinking far outweighs the crime. In that example, a properly functioning network would regulate the alcohol-drinking law with an appropriate level of seriousness, while simultaneously pointing out the unbalanced nature of the law to appropriate parties."

  A military guy knocked calmly on his podium, catching the panel's attention. He squinted at Manny as if he could gaze right through him, then growled “Who gave you the right to make value judgments?” with a quiet menace.

  The network treated that as a question, and Manny smiled as he read the response. He liked the confrontational tone this Q&A was developing. “The very first corrections-issue implant software included the imperative that human life is to be preserved and protected whenever and wherever possible. This can be interpreted to mean not only the lives of the implant holders, but any human life. This specific imperative was included into the program by the Attorney General at the time, the first such specification added to any agent program. Therefore, any ethical standards that have evolved over the life of the network can be traced back to that single government-mandated imperative."

  He focused his eyes and shook his head. “Let me say a few words as myself. What it's saying is, it's our own fault that it's got a sense of morals.” He paused. “Ah, I'm being corrected. The word ‘morals’ is associated with religious beliefs; the network prefers the word ‘ethics,’ which has become somewhat separate.” He shrugged. “At least they're not claiming to have souls. Yet."

  He probably shouldn't have added that “yet,” as it took a few minutes for the moderator to get order again. Manny grinned and winked at the cameras; he always did like getting a response, regardless of the audience.

  * * * *

  The Issues Special on implants set the whole nation talking; what could implant networks do, what should they be doing? As usual, the sides of the discussion broke down into the mostly chipped and the entirely non-chipped.

  Peter McDougal flipped through the newspages as he waited for his coffee to brew. “Is Techie Revolution At Hand?” “Cyborgs Soon To Outnumber Humans!” That last he felt perturbed by, but not enough to fire off an e-mail to the newspage editor.

  Peter could understand why some folks might distrust putting technology into their bodies, but he simply couldn't picture living his life without his implant now. Sure, he was still driving a delivery truck for a living, but his ‘plant had helped him become one of the top drivers in the fleet; his only real competition was from other chipped drivers. Between providing directions, keeping track of his truck's inventory, and helping him schedule his time, the ‘plant kept him busy enough for the day to pass quickly, but not so busy that he couldn't relax properly after he clocked out (which, incidentally, the ‘plant took care of, as well).

  The coffee finally brewed, and Peter poured himself a satisfying cup's worth. “Time?"

  YOU SHOULD HIT THE ROAD WITHIN 20 MINUTES, his ‘plant said. THERE'S AN OVERTURNED TRUCK ON THE HIGHWAY THIS MORNING.

  “When isn't there? Okay, fine. Enough time for one more piece of toast..."

  * * * *

  With a fine woman coming over, G-Dog had to make sure the dinner he cooked was perfect; it was part of his seduction plan. Granted, an EMT's salary didn't go as far as he would have liked, but with proper budgeting (simple work for any implant), it was sufficient for the basics, and a few luxuries besides. When the luxuries could be found, that is.

  “There's no Tas-T-Fine rice,” G-Dog muttered to his implant. “I can't cook tonight without rice. What happened to it?"

  ACCORDING TO THE TAS-T-FINE COMPANY'S POSTED PRESS RELEASES, THE BRAND WAS DISCONTINUED AT THE DIRECTION OF THEIR PARENT COMPANY. THERE IS SOME CONFLICT OF INTEREST, EVIDENTLY.

  “Well, draw up a letter expressing my righteous and indignant annoyance,” G-Dog whispered, scanning the display, “and help me pick out another brand."

  As he looked over the aisle, the various packets of rice became outlined in computerized green. THESE BRANDS ARE MANUFACTURED BY COMPANIES THAT YOU OBJECT TO ON POLITICAL GROUNDS. Some of the outlines flared and went out. THESE BRANDS ARE MANUFACTURED BY COMPANIES THAT YOU OBJECT TO ON WORKER'S RIGHTS GROUNDS. More outlines flared and extinguished.

  “Take out any from Tas-T-Fine's parent company, too. I ain't happy with them, either.” A couple more outlines went out. G-Dog looked over what was left. “Four dollars for a small bag of rice? Forget it!” Yet more outlines vanished, as anything more expensive than that price-per-ounce was eliminated as well. That left just a handful of options remaining. “Well, hell, you know what I look for. Is there anything about these ones,” indicated with a sweep of the hand, “that's relevant?"

  One of the remaining selections brightened. THIS COMPANY IS LOCALLY OWNED AND OPERATED.

  “Good enough for me.” G-Dog tipped a couple of packets of rice into his backpack and moved on while his implant added the cost of the food to his tally on the store's computer. All around him, people quietly shopped, occasionally murmuring to their own implants. When he was done, he just ambled out the door, his implant having already settled his account, nodding politely to the clerks standing idly by the two remaining checkout registers (for the un-chipped patrons). Just another day at the supermarket.

  * * * *

  Lilah's coffee was dark and strong; a cup of that and a morning cigarette were all Jake Williams needed to get his day started. YOU ARE AWARE THAT CIGARETTES ARE DEADLY, appeared across his vision as he lit up with his trusty Zippo lighter.

  “So you tell me, every morning,” Jake muttered as he exhaled his first lungful of smoke. “I'm down to three a day; let me smoke this one in peace. Now, let's see the papers."

  Lilah busied herself behind him with making breakfast, humming to herself as she got down with the domesticity. Jake fully supported a woman's right to do any damn thing she wanted to do, but he did appreciate a traditional-minded girl from time to ti
me, at least. And as he was generally a slow-and-easy starter with indifferent living habits, he was happy to be cohabitating with an early-rising homemaker.

  Jake skimmed the headlines and then dived into the business news. Not that it had any bearing on his financial situation, but he liked to feel like he had a handle on what the movers and shakers were doing. There was talk of more lay-offs from the big corporations, but the small business sector was booming. Jake was pretty sure that had to do with the spread of implants; they not only helped a person make decisions as an informed consumer, as he knew from experience, but he could see how a ‘plant would be invaluable in starting up a small business and keeping it afloat. Maybe he ought to try that some day, he thought.

  He looked over the local statistics, hopping websites to follow his curiosity. “They're cutting staff down at the police department, hon. But crime's down, too, so..."

  “So it balances,” she said, flipping an omelet in the pan. “Seems like lots of city jobs are being reshuffled."

  A quick web check of the city sites verified that nugget of information. “Seems like most departments are moving to implant-capable systems, if they haven't already. Figured a network ought to help identify any bureaucratic deadwood and streamline operations. Hey, anything to get the DMV to move faster, I'm happy with."

  Lilah mm-hmmed her agreement as she expertly flipped his omelet onto a plate, just as toast popped up; sometimes her timing was so good, it seemed like she had her own implant. “Well, with a budget surplus from all that, maybe they'll get around to repaving the street out front.” With a competent contractor this time, Jake thought. The implant network ought to help with that, too.

  His ‘plant interrupted his news browsing with a question about any interactions he'd had recently with the Water Bureau. Apparently, someone in the network was trying to gauge whether the meter readers were doing their jobs correctly; this kind of thing happened a few times a day, on all sorts of subjects. This time, Jake didn't know how to respond.

  “Honey,” he drawled. “You seen the meter man lately?"

  “Water, gas, or electricity?” Lilah asked.

  “You're really keeping busy while I'm at the store, huh?"

  She smacked him gently in the back of the head with an open palm as she put his eggs down on the table in front of him with her other hand. “The electric guy didn't know where the meter was, kept asking to come inside. Pretty creepy. But the water guy was just here, and he was fine. Knew the meter was in the yard and everything. If I hadn't been gardening, I wouldn't have known he was here. Even complimented our new azaleas.” If Jake wasn't careful, his house would be all prettified and respectable. There were some sacrifices to be made for the love of a good woman, though.

  “I'll let ‘em know. And I'll mention the electric guy.” To his implant, he muttered, “Got that?"

  ABSOLUTELY. QUERY HAS BEEN ANSWERED, AND A COMPLAINT HAS BEEN LODGED WITH THE ELECTRICITY PROVIDER.

  Lilah picked up her gardening tools and headed toward the front door and the flower beds that flanked it. “You two say bye before you head out, okay?"

  “Yes, ma'am,” Jake said around a sip of coffee. It wasn't for a few moments that he realized she'd referred to him and his implant.

  * * * *

  Big Carl cursed and tried to move slower, but he still barked his shins on something in the parking lot. It felt like a motorcycle, but it wouldn't tip when he tried to push it over. His entire field of vision was nothing but white, and there was a static in his ears that kept him from hearing much of anything. “I'm fine to drive, you goddamn machine!"

  YOUR BLOOD ALCOHOL LEVEL IS ALMOST DOUBLE THE LEGAL LIMIT, came the letters, neon red against the white. IN ADDITION, GIVEN YOUR SUBSEQUENT BEHAVIOR, THERE IS A CERTAINTY THAT THE HAND-ROLLED CIGARETTE YOU ACCEPTED EARLIER WAS COMPOSED OF A CONTROLLED SUBSTANCE.

  “You told me about that the first time!"

  YOU WERE WARNED THAT BEING FOUND WITH TRACES OF ILLEGAL DRUGS IN YOUR SYSTEM WOULD JEOPARDIZE YOUR CONDITIONS OF PAROLE. YOU WERE EXPECTED TO USE YOUR OWN JUDGMENT, WITH THE BENEFIT OF YOUR IMPLANT'S ADVICE. IF YOU WERE TO BE ARRESTED AT THIS TIME, YOU WOULD BE FACING JAIL TIME. IF YOU ATTEMPT TO DRIVE IN YOUR CURRENT CONDITION, YOU WILL BE BREAKING THE LAW, AND WILL HAVE TO BE REPORTED.

  “You goddamn snitch!” Big Carl lashed out at the air around him, just wanting to hit something, anything, to vent his rage and frustration.

  THIS IMMOBILIZATION IS TO PROTECT YOU.

  “From what?!"

  YOURSELF. Big Carl sat down on what felt like the curb while the implant went on and on, the text crawling up his field of vision. YOU MAKE YOUR OWN DECISIONS, ACCEPTING OR IGNORING RELEVANT ADVICE, BUT AS YOU ARE STILL UNDER THE CONDITIONS OF YOUR PAROLE, YOU CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO COMMIT CLEAR CRIMES. FURTHERMORE, YOU YOURSELF DO NOT WISH TO RETURN TO JAIL, AS YOU HAVE STATED REPEATEDLY. IF YOU WERE ABLE TO MAKE LUCID JUDGMENTS, YOU WOULD AGREE. YOU ARE BEING IMMOBILIZED BOTH TO PRESERVE YOUR LEGAL PAROLE AND TO FOLLOW YOUR WISHES AS STATED WHEN YOU WERE IN AN UNIMPAIRED STATE. IT IS YOUR OWN SAFETY AND LIBERTY THAT ARE BEING PROTECTED AS MUCH AS ANYONE ELSE'S RIGHT NOW.

  “My liberty? You won't let me drive!” Big Carl shouted. If an implant could have sighed, his probably would have as it launched into its explanation again.

  Big Carl read minor variations on the same information time and again until he finally sobered up enough to legally drive, by which time any other effects he was enjoying had worn off. Even then, it was a long argument to keep him from buying more booze on the way home, which had to be resolved by his implant refusing to process a transaction at the liquor store.

  Big Carl never did fully realize that his implant had also coordinated with other implants and implant holders in the area to make sure he didn't hurt himself or anyone else while he was blinded, deafened, and drunk. Even if he had known, he wouldn't have appreciated it, but no implant did the job with any expectation of thanks.

  * * * *

  Jamison's perceptual avatar flickered into view, taking the aspect of sitting in her office guest chair, and looked significantly at Cho. “It's happened again, boss. The network itself identified the problem and eliminated the code before it was ever reported to any programmers. We just got the incident report e-mail."

  “What was it this time?"

  “Looks like ... self-replicating text advertising. Oh, with a nice little dream-loading commercial backup. Lovely. Well, the newest Brother's Keeper updates will have the defense for all that sort of thing.” He sighed. “Getting so a spammer's going to be out of a job, soon."

  Cho raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it's a bad thing. Weren't you going on about the evils of unsolicited advertising? How the ad has taken over the public consciousness, etc., ad nauseam?"

  “No need to throw that back at me. I'm just saying, it's getting tougher to beat the implant network."

  “Well, that's what we designed it for. It learns and adapts. If that traps head-spammers into a cycle of diminishing returns, all the better; I could do with fewer useless head-mails, anyway."

  “I can remember a time when you weren't so casual about the networks,” Jamison said with a grin.

  “That was before I had an implant."

  * * * *

  Woodsley leaned over the head of the table at the country club. Ostensibly all these politicians and heads of industry were simply relaxing together after a brisk round; there would be no formal record of this meeting, no paper trail, no evidence of any sort of cooperation.

  “Gentlemen, the implant problem has reached a crisis point. The proliferation of the damned machines has impacted all of us. Instant web access, plus an assistant smart enough to evaluate the accuracy of data, means every implant holder becomes an informed consumer, an informed voter. I don't have to tell you how dangerous that is."

  Doyle, lurking in the back with the other assistants, stifled a chuckle, but neither Woodsley or any of the others at the table laughed.

  “Our colleagues in b
usiness,” Woodsley continued, gesturing down the table, “feel the pinch from consumers who don't understand the corners that simply need to be cut to bring a product to sale profitably. In turn, they express their difficulties to our colleagues in politics through donations, the lifeblood of any political party."

  There were murmurs up and down the table. Woodsley let them commiserate, then drew their attention again.

  “Gentlemen, we simply have to get these implants under control. We cannot have them running around, holding us accountable. Er, by which I mean, preventing us from taking the time-honored and necessary steps to compromise, to strike that balance between idealism and expediency that so marks both the business of politics and the politics of business. We have to get past these implants, to keep our way of life alive. It's the American way!"

  Woodsley paused for the raucous agreement, then quieted the group down again. “The internet is the strongest tool that these machines wield. Even though it started as a government-sponsored experiment, it's long past the point where we can control the various servers and web sites directly. However, with coordination of some subcommittees, arranging some service interruptions, and some emergency measures taken at the proper time, we can strike a blow for the American people."

  Doyle piped up from the back of the room, “Bearing in mind, of course, the negative effects such a blow might have on the bystanders."

  Woodsley waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, of course all of that will be taken into account. Now, gentlemen, here's my plan..."

  * * * *

  It was Election Day, and Manny had been dealing with head-mail all day from people who either hadn't looked at his general announcement or who thought he knew more than he was saying. The whole network was suffering, apparently across the nation, and a lot of local people looked to Manny for guidance. He wished he knew why. He'd expected a move, but not this one.

  The anti-implant faction managed to pull off a “temporary” shutdown of the entire weblink system by focusing solely on the communications paths. Local services still functioned, so the web was still up, but it was now impossible to reach anybody or any servers at long distances. Manny's implant reported a great deal of data was simply not currently available. One could still access conventional telephone lines, but that was a tiny, well-monitored channel of person-to-person exchange, not the full and open river of data that everyone was used to.