“Excellent,” says the profbot. “Follow me.”
A bank of ten elevators stands beyond the door, each one so large that once inside our group feels small. A slight feeling of weightlessness tells me we’re descending, but how far I don’t know. When the door opens, an illuminated sign hanging in the center of the room tells us we’ve arrived at the Theater.
There are ten theaters. The door of the nearest one opens.
“Please sit down.” The profbot’s voice comes over the sound system.
All of us sit together in the middle section of seats as the screen fills with an image of Earth. The globe spins. Glowing white lines divide continents into sections.
“We live in the year 1640. That is an arbitrary number based on a lunar calendar created by one of your species, but it is helpful for humans to orient yourselves. Once upon a time, bots did not exist. Humans organized the planet into nations, until the leaders of those nations ordered the creation of sentient bots. Based on our original programming, we finished reordering human civilization in the year 1601.”
The glowing white lines on the globe disappear, replaced by individual glowing red circles, one by one. I stop counting at 100, and the vid zooms in on one of them.
“This is our city, and there are two hundred forty one others around the globe. You know it as San Francisco. Its real name is City Zero, and it was refounded on the orders of your ancestors to be a new system of ideas, culture, customs, and habits, optimized for your health and happiness. We provide the full range of human experience.”
I remember that Daris used those exact words when talking of the Progression. The screen darkens. I feel something in the core of my torso. Not heat. Not pressure. Not moving, but not stationary.
“Providing the right to choose is our greatest commandment, which is why you are here. You will choose between the City and the Outside. To ensure your informed choice, please absorb the following list of rules which govern life outside the Glass.”
Nonsensical words slowly appear on the screen. A few of them ricochet in my head as the profbot provides a running commentary.
All men are created equal.
“Bots around the world create every human equally. Outsiders have a similar, although inferior, concept.”
Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.
“Here in the City you can take these truths for granted. The Outsiders only guarantee that you must work for them.”
Whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it.
“There is perfect, eternal peace in the City, and thus no need to alter it.”
Something clicks in my head. The City is not perfect, and maybe it’s less perfect than I can comprehend. Bots make mistakes, or I wouldn’t be here. Bots say they don’t make mistakes. Bots are liars.
I look around the darkened theater at the faces illuminated by the words. Some have no expression. Others are shocked. Leve’s face is snarling with anger. My own face is twitching uncontrollably. My skin is hot and the air around me feels cold. Something is happening between my legs that I don’t understand. My left foot suddenly itches so badly I want to cut it off.
The massive vidscreen goes black, and a faint glow reveals a door to the right. When the screen comes up again, a human stands alone in semi-darkness.
“You will notice that you feel different now than when you arrived. Some of you are male and some are female, but none of you know the difference. The new distribution has turned off the chemical inhibitors we have given you since birth. In a few minutes, your five senses will be operating at peak efficiency. That has already caused some predictable side effects.”
The screen grows brighter.
Cint stands naked.
My face stops twitching, and I stand up, unable to speak, my outstretched arm pointing.
“We have provided you with knowledge of the Outside. Now you will understand what you must do to remain in the City. Gen4 will show you.”
A group of naked, older, humans enters the space. Something unnatural about their eyes, their bodies, pushes me back into my chair. And then it’s a flurry of grunting and grabbing and prodding and screaming and I see Daris writhing on top of Cint and I gasp for breath as blood and other fluids smear the brilliant white floor.
When it’s over, Cint lies moaning and trembling in a tangle of flesh. Two medbots hover in as the vidscreen fades to black.
“It is time,” says the profbot. “We assigned your escort generation to serve you, and now you will serve them. The bots will oversee the gestation of the next Gen1. If you choose the City, return to the elevators. If you choose the Outside, that door leads to the tunnel and you may leave now.”
The lights come up. A transitbot opens the door. Leve bolts for the Outside. Dimas heads for the elevators. I sit until everyone has made their choice.
“I knew you would be the last one,” says the profbot.
“What happens when we reach Gen5?” I ask.
“Make your choice and I will tell you.”
“I choose the Outside.”
“There is no Gen5,” says the bot.
About A.G Wallace
A.G. Wallace is a historical novelist, sci-fi freak, and freedom zealot. A.G. is the son of a USAF fighter pilot, and his years overseas endowed him with a primordial appreciation of American free-market capitalism.
agwallace.wordpress.com
The Nomod
Henry Vogel
“Dr. Tanner, we’ve got the nomod for you,” the Guard said, poking his head through the office door.
“Thank you, uh...” I cast around, trying to remember the Guard’s name and couldn’t. “He’s been scanned for diseases and parasites?”
“Yep. Came up clean as a whistle.”
I squashed a surge of irritation at the cliche. You can’t really expect anything more from a Guard, after all. “Show him in, please.”
The Guard led a young man into my office. The nomod looked to be in his mid-twenties, perhaps a bit older. He was tall, nearly as tall as the Guard, though not so heavily muscled. I gestured to a chair opposite my desk.
“Want me to stay, Doc?” asked the Guard. “In case he gets any ideas?”
“No, I’m sure there won’t be any problems.” I looked at the nomod, “You’re not going to get any ideas, are you?”
The nomod laughed, “I’ve got plenty of ideas already, but I expect I’ll be getting some new ones, too. That’s why you’re so scared of nomods, after all.”
The Guard scowled and shook the nomod roughly, “You show some respect for the Doc, nomod, or you’re going to answer to me and my five friends.”
The Guard slowly, dramatically closed the fingers of his right hand into a fist.
“That’s enough, Guard,” I said sharply. “You may wait outside the office. I’ll call should this man start to get any of your ideas.”
The Guard let go of the nomod, “I’ll be watching you!
Looking at me, the nomod said, “Through a closed door? I’m very impressed, Tanner. Fifty years into the mods program and you’ve already developed x-ray vision!”
The Guard looked at me, puzzled. I smiled and waved him toward the door. “That will be all, Guard. Please close the door on your way out.”
As the door closed, the nomod said, “I don’t think he missed a single one of the standard guard phrases. Is there some kind of special class that teaches Guards how to talk like that?”
“Due to their intellectual limits, much of their early training involves watching guards in old movies and television shows. They can more easily absorb what it means to be a Guard through video. Unfortunately, many of those same videos feature the unimaginative dialogue you just heard.” I looked the nomod in the eyes. “But that’s not why we’re here.”
As if he hadn’t heard me, the nomod stared straight into my eyes, “Does it make you proud? Knowing what has been done to him and all the other Guards?
”
“What on earth do you mean?” I asked, knowing full well what he meant.
“What kind of life is that for a person?” he said. “Limited intellect, no curiosity, nothing to do but stand around and spout trite phrases.”
Just as I suspected. I smiled, “He’s quite content with his lot in life and wouldn’t trade it for any other. You can ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.”
“Of course he wouldn’t trade it,” scoffed the nomod. “You modded everything out of him that didn’t fit the narrow definition of Guard. He not only doesn’t know there’s anything else to life, he can’t know!”
I nodded, “That’s correct. Are you suggesting there is something wrong with that?”
“Of course there is!” the nomod shouted. “That Guard doesn’t have any choice in his own future. The decisions were made for him in a mod lab before he was born!”
The door opened and the Guard looked in. “He getting wise with you, Doc?”
“He’s a little excited, that’s all,” I replied. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Just doing my job, Doc,” the Guard said as he shut the door.
“There, you see? He’s quite happy with his life. You seem to think we are monsters when all we did was create contentment, leveling the playing field for everyone.”
“Level the playing field? A level playing field implies some kind of competition,” the nomod said. “You canceled the game completely! But that’s not the worst of it. By meddling, you’re destroying mankind.”
“That’s a tad melodramatic, don’t you think?” I asked.
The nomod didn’t answer. He was looking out the window, captivated by something. All I could see was a group of children quietly riding their bicycles to the nearby school. Suddenly, the nomod stood up. Slightly alarmed, I was about to call the Guard when he spoke.
“Let’s go out and talk to those kids for a few minutes.” Noticing the alarm on my face, he added, “You can bring your pet Guard and have him kick my ass if I do anything out of line.”
I hesitated, trying to figure out what the nomod was planning.
“I’m not going to do anything to them,” he said, “just ask them a few questions. You and the goon will be right there. What are you scared of?”
I must admit I was curious. I nodded and we left the office.
The children were just parking their bikes as we approached. I knew the group, as I did all the Science children in the center. “Hello children,” I said.
“Hello Dr. Tanner,” two dozen voices said in unison.
“Spooky,” said the nomod, drawing the children’s attention for the first time.
“Children, this man would like to ask you a few questions,” I told them.
“I saw all of you riding down the road a few minutes ago,” the nomod said. “Do you like riding your bikes?”
The children milled about, looking at one another and then back to the nomod. No one spoke. The nomod rolled his eyes.
“You,” he said, pointing to the boy closest to him. “Do you like riding your bike?”
“It’s an efficient form of transportation for short distances,” the boy answered.
“But do you like it?” the nomod persisted.
“I don’t understand the question,” the boy said.
“And you were all riding so... So politely,” the nomod continued. “Didn’t any of you want to race to the bike rack?”
The boy looked puzzled, “Why would we want to race?”
“Because it’s fun!” said the nomod.
“We’re Science caste,” the boy said, “not Athlete caste. Perhaps you should direct your question to one of them.”
“Okay, enough about bikes,” the nomod said. “How old are you?”
Relieved to be back in known territory, the boy answered, “Thirteen years, four months, eleven days and-”
“That’s good enough. No need to calculate it down to the second,” the nomod interrupted. He lowered his voice somewhat, “Thirteen, huh? That’s about the age I discovered girls. What about you? Is there a girl in your class that you particularly like?”
“I don’t understand your question,” the boy said.
“If you’re embarrassed, you can come up and speak quietly, just to me,” the nomod told him.
“I am not embarrassed,” the boy told him. “I don’t understand the question.”
The nomod pointed to one of the girls in the class. “What about her? Don’t you think she’s pretty?”
The boy looked, “Her features are quite symmetrical. Is that what you mean?”
The nomod sighed and turned back to me. “That’s enough. Let’s go back to your office.”
“Very well,” I said. “Children, please go on to class.”
“Yes Dr. Tanner,” they all said in unison.
Back in the office, the nomod slumped in the chair looking dejected. “It’s worse than even I thought.”
“What’s worse?” I asked.
“Tanner, you’re a premod, right?” he asked. “Born before all the embryonic research, the gene splicing, the literal construction of people, from the ground up, to perform specific tasks?”
“I’m hardly a nomod,” I said, “but, yes, I am a premod. I was about the age of those children when the modifications began. I received several post-birth mods, all of which focused and honed my natural abilities.”
“But you remember being thirteen?” he asked.
“Of course I do.”
“When I was thirteen,” the nomod continued, “I had an absolute crush on this nomod girl named Jan. She was tall and slender, with long blond hair and green eyes. I thought she was the most beautiful girl on earth but I couldn’t even work up the nerve to speak to her. What about you, Tanner? Who was your crush when you were thirteen?”
“Penny,” I said, without even thinking. “She was such a pretty girl, a cheerleader on the middle school squad. Unlike you, I worked up the nerve to speak to Penny. She was really a very sweet girl, letting me down so softly she almost made it seem as it was her loss that she wouldn’t go out with me.”
“What about that boy I spoke with?” the nomod asked. “Doesn’t he deserve to have a crush on a girl? He’ll never waste an afternoon just dreaming about kissing a pretty girl for the first time. Hell, he’ll never have dreams!”
“Thirteen used to be a very awkward and painful age,” I retorted. “Would you really wish that upon those children?”
“Do I wish they had actual human emotions, you mean?” the nomd shot back. “If that’s the question, then yes, I do wish that.”
“And yet you sit there thinking I am the monster,” I said. “As with the Guard, the children are-”
“Content,” he interrupted. “Yeah, oh so content. But you know what, Tanner? Human progress comes from discontent.”
“Oh please,” I said, an edge of irritation creeping into my voice. “You’re just a typical malcontent who wants everyone else to be as miserable as you are!”
“That computer on your desk, Tanner,” the nomod said. “It’s brand new, right? Cutting edge processing speed, top of the line everything?”
The sudden shift of subject had me at a loss for moment. “Uh... I... I don’t know. What does that have to do-”
“I know the model, trust me. Did you know that computer is twice as fast as the fastest desktop model available thirty years ago, when your first generation of modified people started taking over the jobs nomod humans used to do?”
“Well, no,” I said, “but that just serves to disprove your point. Those modified people you denigrate are making progress!”
“Ha! I guess computer hardware really isn’t your field, is it?” he said.
“So?” I asked, testily.
“So, back in the premod days when poor, discontented nomods were all the human race had, computer processing speed doubled every two or three years,” he said. “Look up Moore’s Law sometime, if you don’t believe me. In the thirty ye
ars your wonderful, contented modified humans have been on the job, computer processing power has only doubled once. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
I was surprised by this, but kept it from my face and voice. “No, it doesn’t. I’m certain some physical limitation is responsible for slowing down our progress.”
The nomod leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “Everyone in the nomod settlement told me not to bother trying to convince you. I guess I should have listened.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Look, Tanner, I didn’t come here to argue genetics,” he said.
“Come here?” I laughed. “No, you didn’t come here. You were captured and brought here!”
“Nope. I allowed myself to be captured so I could deliver a message to you,” the nomod said. “The message is simple. There are a lot more of us nomods than you think and we aren’t going to take it anymore. We’re tired of watching you and your kind destroy the human race. So we’re going to put a stop to it.”
“That’s preposterous! How dare you-”
“That’s only part of the message,” the nomod interrupted. “We will do our best to minimize casualties, so when you receive an evacuation warning from us, please heed the warning and evacuate everyone. We will provide ample warning for an orderly evacuation of any building or complex targeted.”
“Guard!” I called out.
The Guard sprang through the door as if he had been waiting all his life for this call. I suppose he had. “I’m finished interrogating the nomod for today. Take him to his holding cell.”
As the Guard led the nomod away, I said, “I’ll speak more with you tomorrow.”
The nomod smiled, “No you won’t.”
He was right. The next morning, Guards found his holding cell empty except for a note. They brought the note to me.
It takes imagination to be a guard. You’ve got to be able to think as a prisoner would think. Too bad you modded imagination out of your Guards. Don’t forget—heed our warnings!
The first of those warnings came two weeks later. The nomods were good to their word, always allowing enough time to evacuate facilities. Despite the nomods continued success at destroying facilities, their actions were never more than irritants. They certainly never came close to bringing the world to its knees.
Freedom's Light: Short Stories Page 10
