Less Than Human

by Maxine McArthur

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2004 by Maxine McArthur

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  The Aspect name and logo are registered trademarks of Warner Books.

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  First eBook Edition: June 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-446-56291-1

  Contents

  ACCLAIM FOR MAXINE McARTHUR’S TIME FUTURE

  ALSO BY MAXINE MCARTHUR

  COPYRIGHT

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  ELEANOR

  ISHIHARA

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CRITICALLY ACCLAIMED SCIENCE FICTIONfrom MAXINE MCARTHUR

  VISIT WARNER ASPECT ONLINE!

  ACCLAIM FOR MAXINE McARTHUR’S

  TIME FUTURE

  “McArthur has arrived on the SF scene … [with] a rich prose and objective eye on the intricacies of human nature.”

  —Peter F. Hamilton, author of

  The Reality Dysfunction

  “Rich in detail … Time Future shows that Maxine McArthur has an astute mind, a ferocious sense of detail, and the capacity to become one of the world’s most distinguished SF writers.”

  —Nova Express magazine

  “With considerable talent, McArthur blends a well-researched technological and cultural background with elements of mystery and crime drama, and characters that leap visually off the pages all into a gripping experience.”

  —fictionforest.com

  “Time Future is fascinating and Ms. McArthurs aliens are truly not human.”

  —sciencefiction.com

  Also by Maxine McArthur

  Time Past

  Time Future

  For Toshihiro and Junko

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing is a solitary task, but research and rewriting are not. Without the help and generosity of the following people, this book could not have been written.

  Thanks first to my agents Tara Wynne and Russ Galen, and editors Jaime Levine and Devi Pillai. Also to Arts ACT and Arts Council Australia, which funded my 2002 Asialink Literature Residency in Asia, during which the last third of the book was written. The Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies at the Australian National University gave me a General Staff Development Award to go to Japan on that residency. Dr. David Austin of the Robotics Systems Lab, Australian National University, patiently answered my clumsy questions and gave us a tour of his lab. The WRiters On the Road group—Rowena Cory Lindquist, Marianne de Pierres, Margo Lanagan, Tansy Rayner Roberts, Michael Barry, and Trent Jamieson—offered invaluable critical advice. Mitsuhiro Hayashi gave me his opinion about small businesses in Japan, Ben Dorman suggested useful sources of information about Japan’s New Religions, and Robert McArthur and Tristan Norman offered technical advice. I am, of course, solely responsible for any errors that remain in the story.

  Last but never least, many thanks to my family, both in Australia and in Japan.

  PROLOGUE

  The white building towered over the surrounding jumble of shops and dwellings like the prow of a huge ship. It was a Betta, the multistoried residential complexes that were transforming the cityscapes of Japan. The size and cleanness of the Betta set it apart from the corrosion black concrete, sagging wires and ad-lib extensions of the old town. Here, it declared, is the future.

  As if the sight of the Betta were not advertisement enough, vid panels on every street corner extolled the advantages of living there. No more tiny apartment crowded with junk, burbled the vid, as cinematographically superb shots of the Betta interior rolled past on the screens. Get rid of all those appliances. In the Betta, the world’s first totally integrated living environment, everything is built-in. Streamlined rooms with robotic helpers and digitally controlled shopping, cooking, and cleaning will simplify your day. You can relax in one of the rooftop gardens or browse through the internal shopping mall if you get sick of ordering your groceries online. Buy your piece of comfort and security now, before interest rates rise!

  The late-afternoon sun beat down on four teenagers hurrying past the now-unused train station and through the deserted streets in the old town. The teenagers were students, by the look of their bright clothes and the phone implants glinting in their hair. They carried bulging supermarket plas-bags. They bustled past the grimy doorways, along the neat concrete paths and landscaped gardens surrounding the Betta, and entered the main building.

  They must have been residents at the Betta, because the elevator doors in the main lobby read their microchips, opened for them immediately, and took them up to the sixth floor. They whispered as they walked down the corridors, nudging one another uneasily past the closed doors that contained families eating meals, children doing homework, mothers scolding babies, dying grandmothers, and who knew what else, for Betta walls were soundproof; past a couple of cleanbots, like automated vacuum cleaners humming along the corridor walls; past the wall holos showing peaceful summer scenery, until they reached their apartment door. They tumbled in, and the door swished shut behind them.

  “I’m worried.” The shorter of the two girls lifted her plas-bag onto the kitchen bench and looked anxiously at the others. “Niniel-sama asked me why I had to visit home today. I felt so bad lying to him.” She wore a short, sleeveless dress made out of squares of different pink fabric. As she was round and tiny, the effect was of an animated patchwork cushion.

  “He asked all of us,” said the boy with a line of nose studs and bronze circles of tattoos on his cheeks. He was all knees and ankles, as some boys were. “That’s why this weekend was such good timing. Bon holidays give us the perfect excuse.”

  “What if they find out?” the short girl persisted.

  The other girl, tall and narrow-hipped, began to unpack groceries. Her green-checked trousers and white shirt were wrinkled and stained as though she didn’t worry about appearances. “Tomoko, if you don’t want to do it, go back.” She called out to the other boy who was in the living room. “I didn’t think we’d be able to get in here. How did you float the ID so the system listened to us, Dai?”

  “Easy,” the boy named Dai called back. “I just told Iroelsama…”

  “But he’ll tell Niniel!” wailed the short girl, Tomoko.

  “No, he won’t. I said I wanted to take some things I’d left at my uncle’s place, but my uncle doesn’t approve of the Children, so I had to get in while he’s away.”

  “This isn’t really your uncle’s place, is it?” said the slim girl uneasily.

  “No, of course not.” Dai chuckled. He was small and sturdy, with a round face that looked too large for his body. “The owner’s on our movie chat group, and he told us he was going away. Used his e-mail addy as an alias, would you believe? I traced him from that.”

  The boy with the tattoos raised his hand solemnly. “Hey. Before we start—no matter what happens, we keep this secret, right?” The girls nodded, and Dai said, “Right.”

  “And it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong,” added the tall girl. “We’re just practicing early so that when we get to be novices, we’ll be really good. Right, Tsuneo?”

  The boy with the tattoos nodded, although his expression was uneasy.

  They ate the noodles with absentminded haste, then gathered in front of the wide computer/vid screen in the living room. The short girl passed around blue capsules, whic
h they all swallowed.

  The gawky boy with the studs and tattoos, Tsuneo, rummaged in a stylish backpack.

  “Who’s going first?” He held up two spray cans.

  “Do we have to do the paint?” the tall girl complained. She tugged at the neck of her T-shirt as though it was too tight, then reached up and pulled off her hair, tossing the wig onto the sofa with a flourish. Her head was shaved smooth, except for a gleaming phone implant.

  “I thought we agreed,” said Dai. He was squatting in front of the computer panel in the riving room wall, attaching wires to its external ports. “To get into the spirit of the thing.”

  Tomoko giggled and snatched one of the paint cans. “I’ll go first. But you have to promise to go next, Dai.”

  Dai shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe?” The slim girl watched Tomoko disappear into the bathroom.

  “Lissa, it’s the stuff they use in the theater.”

  Lissa pouted. “I want to have incense, too.”

  “We didn’t bring any.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why do you always argue when you’re high?”

  They grumbled at each other until Tomoko came out of the bathroom, carrying her pink dress and hiding her silver-painted body behind a towel. Dai went next, then Tsuneo, then the tall girl Lissa. By that time they had abandoned the towels and were all giggling at each other’s silver nakedness.

  “Tomoko and I go first, like we decided.” The boy Dai, gleaming like a stocky gnome, knelt in front of the monitor and fitted biometal attachments onto his fingertips.

  “Is that what the novices use?” Wide-eyed, Lissa watched Tomoko do the same.

  “They get permanent ones,” said Tsuneo.

  Wires ran from the fingertip attachments to the wall computer and also to some hand computers they’d brought with them.

  “Are you ready?” Tsuneo said, his hand on the start switch of one of the handcoms.

  Little Tomoko coughed. “Can you turn the aircon colder, Tsuneo? I’m really hot.”

  Lissa nodded. “Yeah, it’s making me breathless…” She pushed herself back on her heels, one hand to her throat.

  Tsuneo clicked the air conditioner right down.

  “Come on, you guys, let’s get going…” Dai clutched his chest midsentence. “What’s… wrong?”

  “I haven’t started the program yet…” Tsuneo’s voice dissolved in paroxysms of coughing. He started to crawl to the kitchen for water, but his breath ran out and he couldn’t find more. The last thing he heard was Lissa’s choking cry as she fell. The last thing he thought was, What did we do wrong?

  ELEANOR

  To: E. McGuire, Mechatronics Research,

  Tomita Electronics Co.

  Sender: A

  Subject: Re: catching up

  Eleanor-san

  I am glad that you found ray notes on artificial synapses interesting. I have been engaged in some private research on the matter and believe that my “angle” is one that will provide scope for further development. I would like to discuss this personally with you in the near future. You tell me that your current integrated systems project will be reviewed soon. Perhaps after that? I can take leave and come to Osaka, so tell me when I should book the train.

  Eleanor blanked her personal com screen with a frown. Akita’s requests for a meeting were getting hard to ignore. She hadn’t seen him since he left the company, twelve years earlier, and that was how it should stay. He’d given her a couple of ideas to use on her robot, but he’d always struck her as being a little too on edge, even in those days. The last thing she needed now was to be distracted by personal relationships. Not now that she was close to results with the Sam project.

  The robot Sam had four gangly metallic limbs, an almost nonexistent trunk, and an oversized, upside-down triangular head with huge camera eyes. Multicolored wires twisted in and out of the limbs, and its battery pack gave it a hunch. But it stood by itself and was learning to navigate. She wanted it to walk across the room and pick up a beaker from the bench. It should recognize the bench on the far side of the lab from the perceptual map she’d helped it build over the past two years.

  One foot rose slowly, moved forward, and descended again. Then that pendulum became the fixed point, and the other leg swung forward. The robot took three more steps. It stood next to the bench.

  Pick up the beaker.

  She imagined the order as a liquid, flowing through the silicon synapses and pushing the robot irresistibly toward its goal.

  Its eyes found the beaker on the bench top.

  Pick up the beaker.

  In her chair on the other side of the lab, Eleanor wiped sweaty palms on her trousers. The robot had to work out how to do it by itself.

  Its arm extended. The three-fingered hand opened, reached out.

  The fingers would curl around the beaker, and data from its surface would pass through the haptic sensors, through the synapses into the tapestry of artificial neural networks that determined reaction, all in an infinitesimal amount of real time. I feel, therefore I am. I act, therefore I think…

  The phone buzzed.

  Eleanor spun her chair and glared at the source, the wall unit near the lab door. Not more interruptions…it was a holiday. Why couldn’t they let her work?

  It was Saturday of the Bon holiday week in mid-August, the slowest day of the year. Most Tomita Electronics staff were either at home or visiting relatives in the country. But the blasted building sensors knew her employee microchip was in the lab.

  Eleanor pushed her chair back, slowly, so as not to distract the robot, and tapped the RECEIVE button. The readout of the dialer’s number below the screen showed an internal line, Public Affairs.

  “McGuire here.” She didn’t bother trying to sound civil.

  “This is Degawa.” The screen showed a swarthy man of about thirty-five wearing, a long-sleeved white shirt in spite of the heat. His voice sounded vaguely familiar. “Public Affairs Department,” he added unnecessarily.

  She remembered Degawa. A year ago he had helped her conduct a press conference when her department failed to win a government grant. His job was to act as a buffer between R&D departments and the rest of the world.

  “We have a situation,” he said, now using formal speech. “I’ve called the division chief and the managing director, but they won’t be able to get back to town until this evening.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “There’s been a fatal accident. With one of our robots.”

  Her cheeks went cold, and all she could think to say was, “Where?”

  “A factory in Minato Ward. Kawanishi Metalworks. It seems advisable that you attend.” There was a sheen of sweat on Degawa’s otherwise impassive face.

  Eleanor knew how he felt. The room felt suddenly hot, despite the air-conditioning. She wiped her palms on her trousers. “But I don’t do industrial robots now. You want Number Four Lab.”

  “There’s nobody at Number Four.” Degawa’s formal verb endings had dissolved, and his voice held a hint of panic. “You worked on this robot. Your personnel data is linked to the relevant research records.”

  Degawa didn’t want responsibility for this. He expected her to waste time going out to a factory in one of the hottest parts of the city because some idiot had ignored safety warnings … Then she felt ashamed at the thought.

  “You’re the most senior staff here right now,” he said, as if that decided the matter.

  There was a clunk behind her. She turned and saw the robot sweep its hand along the bench top in search of the beaker that was rolling at its feet.

  “Damn,” she said in English.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing.” She’d have to take the robot back to the beginning of the sequence. “When did it happen?”

  “They think it must have been early this morning,” said Degawa. “A security robot found the body on the factory floor. It raised the alarm; t
he company called an ambulance and the shop manager. The manager called his superiors, and they notified us.”

  “What about the police?”

  “The manager said the police response team called an engineer. The engineer said it was clearly human error, and they logged it as an accident. There’s still one constable there until the local station clears the scene.”

  Degawa sounded smugly sure of his facts. Good that the police had finished—Eleanor didn’t want detectives staring at her while she checked the robot.

  “Was the dead man …” She would have liked to use more than the bare phrase, but couldn’t remember an alternative. It wasn’t a word one used every day. “Was he operating the machine or trying to fix it?”

  “I don’t know the details. But protocol demands that we recall the robot and issue an official message of condolence.”

  The first part of that job was hers, and the second Degawa’s. She hoped she could take one look at the scene and approve the recall; otherwise, she’d be contradicting the police report, and goodness knew what kind of protocol that would offend.

  Degawa’s eyes met hers briefly, then glanced politely away again. “Supervisor, I realize you are probably aware of the rules, but you will forgive me reminding you that you should not speak to the press about this accident. The company will make a statement tomorrow.”

  Eleanor tried not to let her annoyance show. “I know the rules. How soon should I go?”

  “I have just ordered a taxi for you. Please send a copy of your report to this office as well as to the director’s office.” He inclined his head at exactly the correct angle and the screen went blank.

  Eleanor sighed. Degawa was right, she’d worked on industrial robots when she first came to Osaka and joined Tomita. Worked on them with Akita, in fact. But that was fifteen years ago. And how could there have been a fatal accident if the factory followed safety regulations? If they hadn’t, it wasn’t her company’s problem.