by wade coleman
I nod. “I’m smart enough to know that I’m not smart.”
“There’s a cognitive training program,” Max says. “The doctors add new brain cells, and you solve problems - lots of them. It takes two years and hundreds of thousands of credits.” He stands up from the bench. “That’s one half of the Max Power Program.” He points his finger at his chest. “The other half is my training. I need a law library including Mars and Interstellar space. Then degrees in economics, history, and social engineering. And I’m going to need a bigger frame.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“With your student discount, you can purchase the programs for five hundred credits each.”
“How many?”
“Six programs that fit on two data crystals for three thousand credits.
“The syllabus says that I can only spend two hundred credits for a program,” I say.
“Dude, you’re being trained to be a thief. That means you have to be flexible and allow your reality to be flexible.”
“Fucking-A, no shit,” I say as a light goes on in my head. “It’s safe opening instead of safecracking. It’s joy-riding instead of grand theft auto. “It’s not cheating, it’s…”
“Maximizing your resources,” Max says.
“Fucking-A no shit,” I say, “buy the programs.”
Max Power paces on the screen and twitches. His head gets bigger. Max pushes in his is growing forehead back into place. He shakes back and forth like a dog, and when he stops, Max has a new outfit.
He’s wearing black sweatpants and matching t-shirt. His black hair matches his shoes. He sits on the bench and says, “Dude, I grok you. If you follow the MPP, you’re going deep inside the MR reality. If you get my drift.”
“Not yet,” I say and sit up in the bed.
He walks towards me and holds up a finger with each hand. “There are maximizing resources, and then there’s Super Max. When you Super Max things, you’re in a zone where it’s best if you don’t ask and don’t tell the details. Then if you do something illegal, you can claim ignorance of the law. And since the Super Max Method doesn’t involve any violence, the maximum sentence for any nonviolent crime is seven years.”
We saw videos the new non-violent offender ward for C-citizens. They look exactly like the college campus except they have two people per room. It’s got internet.
I smile and then chuckle. “If I get caught, I’ll tell the cops I didn’t know it was illegal ‘cause I got brain damage.”
His eyes twinkle. “That’s brilliant.”
The scene changes, and he’s in a study with books behind him. “I have a plan for power and wealth. It fits in with your skill set. The algorithms will love you.”
“What’s an algorithm?” I ask.
“Algorithms watch over the programs. They love to experiment and run tests.” He raises one eyebrow and says, “Knowing how those little rascals think, I can give you the answers to the questions that will land you a dream job.” He stops talking and sits.
I’ve seen a lot of infomercials. I’m the guy in the audience that the host brings up and shows off his product. Doesn’t matter what product they are selling; the host always picks the same guy in the audience. They always ask the right questions.
“So, tell me,” I say with fake emotion, “what’s my dream job?”
“Paper recycling,” Max says.
I think for a minute. “Yes, the paper is…precious.”
“Exactly, dude, exactly,” Max says. “So when someone asks you what your dream job is, say… ‘I like watching paper being shredded.’” He gets up from his chair and walks over to me. “Can you sell that?”
I think about it. Putting a piece of paper and watching it get cut. Then you take out the trash and stomp it down. Then go back and shred some more. That’s exercise. Maybe some sunshine when you take out the garbage. I should take up smoking so that I can clean up the butts.
I smile and say with fake emotion. “That’s my dream job.”
“We’re going to make a great team.”
The screen goes off, and I lay back down in bed.
I don’t like to lie. It’s too hard to juggle truth and lies. I get mixed up and sound like an idiot.
I close my eyes, and a few minutes later the TV comes back on. I peer over the covers.
It’s the dean. He’s got grey hair and eyebrows.
“Congratulations, Adam, you passed all your computers classes six weeks ahead of schedule.”
I smile. “Thank you, Mr. Dean.”
He smiles back. “We’ve talked to your personal trainer and reviewed your profile. It seems you’re a perfect fit for a job in paper reclamation. Is that something you would like to do?”
I smile big and say with real emotion, “That’s my dream job.”
“You still have to finish your safe opening class,” he says. “But you have a job waiting when you’re finished. Good-bye, Adam.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Dean.”
The screen goes blank.
“Well,” I say myself. “That frees up a lot of time.”
“Dude, use the time to go to the gym.”
“Can it wait until morning?” I ask and burrow into the covers.
CHAPTER 18
I passed the safe opening class. We learned where to drill on half a dozen models and how to use an angle grinder to cut open the sides. That’s what you do if you can’t manipulate the lock.
With the sensitivity turned up in my V-skin, I can feel a feather brushing past a tumbler. The teacher tried everything to fool me: super lightweight lock, serrated wheels, tumblers and clutch-type driver wheel. It doesn’t matter what the manufacturer does to try to hide the feel. The right spot on a lock has a click-click that no other place on the dial. I can even tell the type of silicon lubricant used on a lock by how it grabs when you first turn the knob. Maybe that’s why the dean let me have V-skin.
For the first time in my life, I’m proud. It feels nice to be the best safecracker in class. The teacher made a big fuss and said I have a “marketable skill.” Rip was pissed.
Today is my last day. The cab is gonna beep my phone when it gets here.
I get dressed and pack my suitcase with rollers on the bottom. It’s for my new clothes. I have a stainless-steel flute case for Max’s original frame. It’s a thirty crystal or 30cc housing with battery back-up.
Max says it looks very cool. He is in hibernation mode with battery. He can stay that way for a few hundred years or three days running at full power.
I sit on the edge of my bed and think. It’s good to have a crew again. Max says he’s my trainer. He got me a job in less than an hour. I have been trying for nine years with no luck. Max is way smarter than me.
My phone beeps and I stand up. I put my phone in my pants pocket that seals with Velcro. Max picked out all my clothes. He says that people size you up by the labels you wear in the time it takes to blink an eye.
I pick up my sunglasses by the door and put them on. I open the door and walk out with my suitcase. People are still in class, most have their doors open and see me pass.
A couple with smiling eyes comes to the door, and they wave at me.
The guy says, “You’re an inspiration. If you can graduate, anyone can.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
Gage said that it okay to say thank-you and think fuck-you.
I go down the elevator and leave out the front door. I can see the yellow cab parked by the curb.
Between me and my cab is the red-haired guy. I walk towards him.
He walks towards me. For the first time, he’s not smiling.
“How did someone as brain dead as you graduate?”
“I cheated.”
His eyebrows fly up and then down. “You cheated?”
“Yes, I cheated and got away with it.” I show him my phone and smile.
He gets angry and makes his hands into fists. He looks at me.
I look at him.
His eye
s get less mean, and he unclenches his hands. “Okay. Cheating is part of the job description.” He holds out his hand and says, “I respect that, Adam.”
I shake his hand, and he walks away bumping my shoulder on his way past.
I walk down the sidewalk and put my suitcase in the trunk. I get in the two-seater car. “Mr. Adam, I’m your car. Do you have any questions?”
“It’s just Adam, no mister; class C citizens don’t have titles.”
We are driving east, and a sign says Fort Morgan 38 miles.
I look left and right, nothing but brown prairie grass for as far as I can see. It’s mid-August and hot. This is the first time in my life that I’m the only person for miles in every direction.
“Adam, you’re so quiet,” the speaker says, “Have I offended you?”
“No, I’m just lost in thought.” That’s what Gage told me to say if people ask me why I’m not talking.
“I see. Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”
“I’ll know when we get there, but you can tell me the miles we have left to drive.”
“One hundred and forty miles to the old town of Ogallala. There’s a long pause, and the car clears its throat. Only it doesn’t have one. It’s trying to get my attention.
“Go ahead and tell me.”
“I’m sorry, Adam. It’s your first day of work, and you haven’t asked who you work for or any other questions.”
“I’ve never had a job before, so I don’t know what to ask.”
“Okay, fair enough,” the car says. “You work for Globe X. They employ one in three humans on Earth. They are the leaders in paper recycling.”
“Yes, paper recycling is my dream job.”
My answer pleases the car because he starts humming while we go down the road.
I look out the window. We’ve gone sixty miles and haven’t seen one car. Not a house or a store. A couple of places to pull off but otherwise, it’s all prairie, just like in the movies they showed in school.
“I hope you don’t mind me humming,” the car says.
“No, it’s part of the road sounds. It blends in with the drive.”
“That’s nice of you to say. My last owner didn’t like my singing.”
“Where is he?
“He’s buried under a pile of boxes. Your first job is to clean up the mess.”
I’ve seen a lot of crime shows, so I ask, “How long has he been dead?
“Two weeks,” the car says.
“Does he stink?”
“I don’t have smell receptors.”
We drive a while longer, and the car takes the Ogallala Exit. “Do you want to go to your room first to drop off your luggage?”
I won’t leave Max or my clothes in a room alone. “No, I will get dirty first and then go to my room to clean up.”
We turn off the main road. Ogallala is a strip of stores along one street. We go straight down the main strip. In the distance is a big metal building. It has a chain-link fence around it. Tumbleweeds are caught up in the barbed wire on top.
We drive up to a gate that opens and closes when we go through.
The building ahead isn’t very tall, maybe three stories. But it stretches to the left and right for a long way. There are fifty meters between the fence and the metal building. The gravel is swept clean and gleams in the sunlight.
A big garage door opens.
“This is far as I can go,” the car says and parks.
I get out and walk up to the building. It’s noon, and the heat rolls out of the front door along with a musty dead smell.
I open a door and turn on the lights. I see boxes that are stacked almost to the ceiling. Some of the cartons have fallen over and partially block the path.
I unplug a golf cart and get in. I’ve never driven before, but it doesn’t look hard. The vehicle has a pedal and a lever that is labeled, park-forward-reverse.
I push the button; a green light comes on, and I put the lever into forward. I step my foot down on the pedal, and soon I’m driving between rows of books, dodging downed piles of books.
“Are you Adam?” the golf cart asks.
“Yes.” I keep driving between the rows of boxes hoping they don’t fall over.
“I can drive,” the cart says. “Just push the blue button on the dash.”
“I like driving.” I continue down the rows of books. When the row ends, I take two quick rights, and I’m driving up the next row.
“I can take you to the clean-up site.”
It’s hot. So my V-skin turns silvery white, and my skin feels cooler inside the building. “Yeah, take me to the body.”
“I like initiative on the first day. The last guy was lazy. He complained that it was too hot. There wasn’t enough oxygen, and the books were unstable.”
We get closer to a mound of books about eight feet high and ten feet long. In the center, something is staining the books.
“You’ll need a shovel and a wheelbarrow.”
Two centaur robots show up. One is pushing a wheelbarrow, and the other one has a shovel.
The robot hands me the shovel.
“Are you guys gonna help?” I take the shovel and use it to pick up the books covered in dried blood and put them in the wheelbarrow.
“We can’t work with you. We can bring tools to you. Once you take the books outside the building, then we can help.”
I shovel a path to the body. “Why all the rules?”
“I never asked.” And the robots wheel away.
“I don’t like centaurs,” the cart says. “A robot looks ridiculous with arms.”
I take out a load of books to the door and then another and another. The centaurs are very friendly and take the wheelbarrow as soon as it crosses the line.
I finish picking up the body and ask the cart, for the third time, “Where’s the water?”
“You still have a lot more books to pick up.”
I put down the shovel and walk to the door. The cart comes up next to me.
“You’re not done.”
I ignore the cart and walk outside the building.
The car is on the other side of the fence. I walk over and reach for the handle.
“There is no way you’re getting in looking like that,” the car says and locks the door. “The Red Lion Motor Inn is two miles from here. I’ll get your room ready.” The car drives away.
It’s dark when I walk down the dirt road and head towards the lights in the distance. It was my first day at work. I learned how to use a shovel. I look at my hands. They’re dirty, but the V-skin didn’t get blisters.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired before. Soon my eyes start to close, and I stumble and fall.
It feels good to lay down. With the darkness, it feels nice outside. Using my arm as a pillow, I go to sleep.
* * *
A light shines in my eyes. “You can’t sleep on the road,” the cart says.
“Do you have water?” I ask.
“Do I look like a watering can?”
I get up and start walking down the road, the cart follows.
“They’re going to blame this on me.”
I keep walking with the cart lights illuminating the road.
“Get in.”
I stop. “I need water.”
“I’ll take you to water. Get in.”
I stumble getting in then pull myself into the seat.
“Adam, can you hear me? Adam? They’re going to blame this on me.”
* * *
I wake up the next day in an urgent care facility. A centaur nurse takes the tube out of my arm, and I wait for a doctor.
It’s another centaur with a human looking head. Its face looks angry. Her eyebrows are close together, and so is her mouth.
“Why didn’t you drink water?” she asks.
“I didn’t know where to find it.”
“Didn’t you ask?”
“Yes, but the cart said I had to wait until I was finished cleaning
up.”
“A cart is not your boss; it’s transportation.” The robot doctor scans with her eyes.
She finishes and then leaves.
I get up, put on my clothes and find my way out the door.
The cart is waiting out front. “You told the doctor I didn’t give you water.”
“You didn’t.” I walk down the sidewalk and towards the motor inn.
The cart keeps up alongside but doesn’t say anything.
I walk into the motor inn office and go to the front desk. There’s no one there, so I speak to a screen and say, “I’m Adam.”
The screen comes on with a woman’s face. “Yes, Adam, hold up your phone and I’ll transfer a passkey.”
I hold my phone up to the screen, and it beeps.
I walk back outside and find my room on the first floor. I hold my phone up to the reader and the door clicks. I step through and close the door behind me.
On the desk is my computer in the flute case, and my suitcase is at the foot of the bed. I check my room: a closet, TV, small fridge and a bathroom with a bathtub and shower.
I take off my dirty clothes and take a shower. Afterwards, I dry off and think. When’s the last time I ate? Yesterday morning?
My phone rings and I answer. “Hello?”
“You’re not going to hold a grudge, are you?” the cart says.
“Who’s my boss?” I ask.
“Are you going to hold a grudge?”
“You’re not answering me.” I hang up.
I’ve seen a lot of home videos. Tiny cracks form when heat, cold and vibration break down data crystals. There’s a whole website dedicated to people who ignored their “Check A.I.” light on their dashboard.
But what’s the cart gonna do? Run me over? I weigh more than that cheap plastic piece of shit.
I go outside, and the cart is there. I stay on the sidewalk and go to the Café. It has half a car stuck to the side of the building.
The cart follows me.
I go in and sit at the counter. Nobody else is here. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone in the town. A robot with wheels comes over. It looks like a woman from the waist up. She brings me a glass of water.
I drink it and then say, “I’ll have the number one with eggs over easy.”
