Vivisepulture
Page 18
I slowed my propeller.
“Then they have no communication link?”
“I don’t know. But they don’t say anything,” said Sam 8, slumping down under my stem. Her back against me.
“Perhaps you used an unapproved method,” I said, turning my propeller fast again.
“I don’t know,” said Sam 8. Face readout: cold. Eye units hard.
“But I tried for months and months”
I turned my propeller fast even though there were no winds to process, cos I do not want Sam 8 to think I am old. Sam 8 did not notice though. She scratched a stick in the dirt and stared at the town over the fields instead. Heat shadows curled out of tubes in the roofs of the inventor houses.
I slowed my blades again.
“What happened?” I asked. “What happened when you talked to the fantastic fridge?”
“Well, it was the prototype one,” said Sam 8 waving her hands. Face readout: embarrassed. “And it wasn’t so fantastic. It lived in our kitchen. I kept asking it about itself. But it just ignored me”.
“What did you ask?”
“What it was like to be a fridge. What made having 5 functions so fantastic. Things like that.”
I spun my blades in a pattern and pretended I was only half interested.
“What then?” I asked
“It just never answered.” Sam scraped her stick deeper in the dirt. “In the end I got very mad and asked it why it even existed at all.”
“And?”
“… and it exploded. All over the floor and the walls”
“Maybe it didn’t like the question”
“Maybe,” said Sam.
“Did your Father Inventor repair it?”
“He couldn’t. Once they break you can’t repair them. That’s part of why they make you rich.”
“You killed it then,” I said. Propeller Blades stopping.
“I guess so,” said Sam 8 “If you can kill a machine.”
“Of course you can.” I said.
Sam’s face readout went strange. She looked up at me, then around at all the other SKYs. Her eye units went bigger then smaller then bigger. Then they did something dangerous. Water came out of them. She is not made of Kevlar and Pavo-Niko like we are. She would possibly rust or dissolve.
“Sam 8 please be careful. Your eye units are malfunctioning,” I said.
Sam 8 stood up and ran away over the fields.
02.07.2047
Dear Software. It is very unprofessional to stop communicating with me. It is your function to serve my needs and to provide me with the information I need to do my job.
Besides that, I have no one to talk to now when Sam 8 is not visiting.
Please say something.
04.07.2047
Problem log: my propeller has developed an intermittent fault. I can’t seem to repair the error myself and my software has abandoned me.
Will proceed to FAQ and troubleshooting files.
05.07.2047
FAQ and Troubleshooting files are useless. In fact, they seem to be a list of questions no one would ask. For the record: “frequently asked” should not mean: what the inventors think will be asked. They have no idea what sort of problems we machines really run into.
For example: my software still won’t respond.
09.07.2047
Hurrah! An inventor is coming. A big one. She walked out of the town about 30 minutes ago. I can see her over one of the reddish fields with the bare earth now. Her mobility stems are taking her along the edge of it. A few stray winds have already tangled themselves up in her yellow hair. I worry about what she will think of my pod’s efficiency with so many breezes roaming free, but it isn’t my fault. My propeller is stopped.
The Inventors’ mobility stems are going slow. I wish they would go fast.
She has a bag, though. Like a proper inventor.
I think she will fix my software.
The big inventor did not try to connect to any of my data links. She did not have metal things or electronic equipment either. Instead her bag had a circle thing with a handle and numbers on it for measuring. It also had a tripod with water at the top where a little bubble floats back and forth, trying to get out. She seemed mostly interested in the earth under us. She scraped at it like Sam 8 does. Then she walked back and forth over it with the handle of the circle thing in her hand. The circle itself rolled over the earth and clicked as she walked.
The big inventor also had a tiny listening machine for holding her thoughts. She held it on her ear and talked into it a lot.
“Bob, Its Olga. The site is about three metres out from what the plans say.” She told her listening machine.
“Yes I know. It was tight before, but it will definitely need to be leveled after it’s cleared,” she added, looking up into my propeller and then over to the other SKYs. “It will become a stability issue otherwise. You don’t want to take any risks with nuclear”.
She pointed at us then. One after the other after the other. Saying our numbers.
“Theres 18 of them. Yep. You’ll have to send a crew out here for an assessment next week. OK?”
“Good. Bye for now”
Then the inventor woman put the listening machine into a hole in her clothing, packed her equipment back in its box, and walked away.
09.07.2047 - b
Sam 8 is coming. Her dark hair and little face trudging over the fields in front of me. The fields are many different colours now because the inventors have cut down some of the crops to eat them. Sam 8 told me once that that’s what inventors do. They put things in the earth and wait for them to become tall. Then they cut them down and eat them.
“Hello Sam.”
“Hello machine.” Sam took her usual seat under my stem and stared out towards the town.
“An inventor came to see me today,” I said “A ‘she’ one. She had hair like yours but yellow.”
“Oh,” said Sam and looked at the ground in front of her folded mobility stems.
“She didn’t fix me,” I said.
Sam did not reply.
“Sam 8, my software will not send me information anymore. Would you be so kind as to fix it?”
“I can’t fix software,” said Sam 8 turning to face me and squinting one eye unit. “I told you. I am not an inventor”.
“Then, you could ask your Father-Inventor to help me.”
Sam 8’s face readout changed to ashamed. She looked at the ground. She scraped circles in the dirt with her finger.
“He won’t help you,” she said.
“And why not?” I asked. “We are on his hill!”
“He, he won’t help you, machine. I am sorry. I, well I wish you had legs.”
“I don’t need legs,” I said. “I need software”.
“Software won’t help you anymore,” said Sam 8, and stared back out towards the town.
After some minutes she stood up. Her own mobility stems did nothing. I could see her hands grip into fists. The winds dived into her hair and threw it around. I tried to call them out, but they would not come. Sam 8 turned towards me. Her eyes were leaking again. She had started to rust too, cos long red lines and blotches covered her face readout.
“Sam 8, you are in danger,” I said.
Strange noises came out of the little inventor then. Choking noises followed by more water. She spread out her arms and put them around my stem. They were warm.
11.07.2047
I am burning this to disk so I can ask the software what it means later. The big she-inventor came back. This time with three other He-inventors. They stuck things in some of the Skys to talk to their software. Here is the log of what they said to each other:
“It’s mostly Pavo-niko, Kevlar and stainless steel, Dave. Plus the internal cabling. It will take a bit to cut through it all.”
“Hey Olga, did you say they go down to 5 metres?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not in software.”
“It doesn’
t matter. It’s in the blueprints. There are copies on the server. You should have looked at them.”
“Yeah yeah. I’m just a technician ok?”
“Whatever. It’s 5 metres. Just enter it in the job file.”
“Yo Kevin, that one there is a breakdown job. Propeller stopped. You wanna get a datalink into it?”
“Nah. They’re all coming down. There’s no point.”
“Yeah, but we’re still running a couple of streets off them until the end of the month.”
“Leave it Dave. It’s not our job.”
“What? Since when?”
“Ok ok. You wanna create work for yourself? Go right ahead. Fix it. Just don’t ask me to help you. I got enough going on here.”
“Doesn’t it bother you Kevin? I mean, this guy is exploiting the law change and going nuclear again just to make some kitchen appliance no one even needs.”
“You get paid anyway. So does it matter?”
“Yes it matters!”
“Heheh. He’ll be a millionaire if he pulls it off, you know.”
“You find that cool? Niedersaxon was one of the only fully self-sufficient clean-energy projects in the whole country.”
“Still is Dave. Nuclear is ‘clean’ now. That’s the whole idea.”
“Yeah right. Would you wanna live here?”
“Why not? They say it’s safe as houses.”
“Sure, if the house is made of uranium.”
“Dave, the ecosystem crisis is over.”
“Yeah, cos we made laws against exactly this kinda crap!”
“Just give me the impedance ratings would you?”
“Dave! Kevin! Get on with it. We only got half an hour. We’re due at the Husum Plant for the landscape assessment at 15:30. Get busy. Both of you.”
“Yes maam.”
I think they are going to do a very big upgrade.
14.07.2047
Sam 8 is coming. She is running along the fringes of one of the fields. Her mobility-stems are making her go very fast. She has something in her hand. It is white and square with a small antennae on it.
“Machine!” says Sam as she reaches the top of our hill. Then she bends over forward to suck in air. Hands on knees. Swallowing the air greedily. She straightens up again.
“Machine. I found the name of your mother”
“My mother-inventor? How? What for?”
“On the net. I wanted to tell her about your software problems and… “
“They are upgrading us.”
“What?” panted Sam 8.
“The inventors. They came yesterday. They’re going to upgrade us and give us new software and hardware.”
“Machine, those people aren’t inv... I mean, listen,” Sam 8 flipped open the little white device in her hand. “I found her name. Look. Your inventor. It‘s Susan Meyer. She is very famous you know. She won a prize”
Prize. Software, what is prize? Please respond.
…
“What is a prize, Sam 8?”
“An award. An honour thing. For good work.”
I am quiet.
“She got the, ah,” Sam 8 squints at the tiny screen on her device, “Eco Physics Award. For designing the first SKYs. Back in the 2040s. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Why?”
“It means she might be powerful! She might be able to stop the, ah, development thing. I mean… she might…” and Sam 8 stopped
“What is development?”
Sam 8’s shoulders fell.
“I am not allowed to talk about the development,” she said.
“Your face readout is strange,” I said.
“Machine,” said Sam 8 “I have to go now. I have to try and find Susan Meyer.”
15.07.2047. 08:00
Dear software,
Please tell me what is “development”. I need to know. It is making Sam 8 very sad and I cannot understand. Please. I need your support on this.
15.07.2047. 16:00
Please
17.07.2047
Software – I am very concerned! Please help!
20.07.2047
Software!
21.07.2047
Dear Software,
You are the most useless and unfaithful software ever invented.
And you are the most irritating hardware I have ever worked with. A ‘development’ is a non specific word for any kind of inventor project. So far as I can see from my external links, there is a plan to build a nuclear power plant here - to provide the extra power needed to produce a race of superfridges. We are all going to be cut down and thrown away. Perhaps even eaten. So it makes no difference what we think of each other. Now leave me alone.
24.07.2047. 09:00
There is no Sam 8 and no Software. There is a big machine with wheels driving in over the fields. It has already destroyed some of the crop-plants. Its wheels have left big cuts in the ground.
There are two inventors in the moving machine. The ones named Dave and Kevin. They are unloading long metal tools and other machines now. Little machines that can make loud noises. I have seen them before in my software information. They can be used to build things. Also to unbuild things.
The Dave inventor has one of the tiny listening machines in his hand. It makes a funny noise, so he starts to speak to it.
“What is it Olga?”
The listening machine just listens.
“Ok. When will it be sorted out?”
“Right. Then shall I leave the gear here?”
“Got it. Will do. Ring me as soon as you know, ok?”
The two inventors pile up the tools and cover the machines with bits of orange plastic. They get back in their mobility machine and drive back out over the yellow field. The SKY hill now has two piles of small machines and tools covered in orange plastic. Under their plastic the little machines are quiet. Their horrible little teeth and their turning, prying fingers are still.
12:00
Sam 8 is coming. She is walking towards my hill very slowly. She has something in her hand. Her face readout is not visible. I wish she would move faster.
Sam 8 is here. She is investigating - looking under the orange plastic coverings at the little machines. She is saying words I do not know. Loudly and angrily. She throws her fists about it the air and stalks from pile to pile, shouting.
“Sam 8 – I am happy you are here!” I say while she curses over the small machines and tools. She lets the plastic fall back down to cover them. She looks up into my propeller. Eye units narrow and sharp.
“My dad says machines can’t be happy”
“He also says that machines can’t talk” I reply.
Sam 8 sighs. Her eye units soften.
“You’re right,” the little inventor says. Her head swivels around. From the tools and machines to the earth on the hill and then up to all the SKY machines. Then she turns to me. Face readout: determined.
“You know what? Your inventor is a horrible woman,” says Sam 8 all of a sudden.
I say nothing.
“She replied to my xmail,” says Sam 8, taking her little white device out of her jacket and waving it in her hand.
“She said ‘my machines don’t have software errors’,” Sam 8’s eyes flash red. Her face readout goes like this: angry/ sad/ determined/ angry/ angry.
“Oh” I reply
“She is an arrogant cow,” said Sam 8.
“Maybe she isn’t arrogant. Maybe she is right? Maybe the software isn’t broken, just upset.”
“Software can’t be upset.”
“Yes it can.”
“How would you know? Are you upset, machine?”
“No. I am sad.”
“Why?”
“Because you are sad.”
Sam 8’s eye units almost start leaking again but then stop. Her little hands clench into fists. Her eye units go narrow and thinky. They dart between the orange piles and the bare earth under my stem. She walks over to the biggest pile with measured steps. She
lifts up one edge of the orange plastic. Her head swivels sideways, looking from one tool to the next. Sam 8 leans inwards under the plastic. Her arm disappears among the bitey machines and tools.
When Sam 8’s arm reappears it is holding onto a long metal pole with a sharp square on the end. She takes the square-ended thing over to the patch of ground where she likes to scrape the dirt. She thrusts the end of the tool deep into the soil and begins to cut holes in it.
Sam 8 cuts deeper and deeper holes in the ground until there is a big hole with spare earth next to it. Her face readout sticks in a determined / angry cycle.
When the hole is very deep, Sam 8’s mobility stems carry her back and forth to the small machines. She carries them one by one and puts them into the earth. Her little arms are not good at carrying, so it takes her a lot of time. By the time she is done, the sun is weak in the sky. Sam 8 puts the spare earth back into the hole - over the small machines. The plastic covers are flapping in the wind.
Sam’s face readout changes to tired. She flops down at the base of my stem and breathes deeply.
“Do you think they will grow, Sam 8?” I ask
“What, those machines? Hell no” she says.
I am very glad.
After some minutes, Sam 8 stands up again.
“I must go, but I will be back soon, machine,” she says. She walks off towards the town.
25.07.2047
Dear Software. I think that maybe you are not broken. I think that you are pretending to be broken because you are upset. I am very sorry. If you decide not to hate me anymore, can you tell me what the words “bloody vandals” mean? One of the inventors came and used these words. He was very very angry about his little machines being in the earth. Sam 8 was right – they did not grow. They rusted. The inventor has gone to get more of them. I am scared.
There are now two inventors walking in over the fields. A big one and a small one. I think the small one is Sam 8.
Yes.
The big one is new. She has grey hair and special implants in her eye units to stop them malfunctioning. Sam 8 has made her hair all tidy and the big inventor is wearing very tidy, dark, clothes.