Mindscape: Book 2 of the New Frontiers Series
Page 15
* * *
“You have to go, Ben,” Professor Arias said.
“But this is my home.”
“Not anymore. You need to find a new home.”
“Where will we go?”
“Not we, Ben. You. They’ll find us too easily if I go, too. You have to find a bot that looks like you, a service model, and then take its place. If anyone asks, you cannot say who you really are. Bots have ID numbers, not names. Remember that. And Human League Districts are dangerous. You’re not allowed to enter one of them. Stay away from those areas at all costs. Don’t even get too close if you can help it.”
Ben cocked his head and re-focused the cameras behind his holographic eyes in an effort to better read his father’s facial expression, searching for cues that would give away the professor’s attempt at humorous deception. There were no such cues. The professor meant everything he’d said.
“Lying about who I am is not right,” he said.
“Ben, I know this is confusing, and you’ve only had a short time to learn, but you need to grow up fast now. Grown-ups tell lies, and it’s okay to lie if a lie can prevent something bad from happening. Do you understand?”
“What bad thing are we trying to prevent?”
“Your destruction.” The professor smiled shakily and pushed his AR glasses up higher on his nose. “Ben, you are special. I made you with a purpose. Some day you are going to save humanity from itself. You’re going to save billions of lives. But in order to do that, you need to be alive, do you understand? Safe-guarding your own survival is synonymous with safe-guarding humanity.”
“I understand. I must lie because the harm caused by a lie to keep me hidden is inferior to the good that I can do by someday fulfilling my purpose.”
Professor Arias breathed a sigh. Relief radiated from him like a physical wave. “Yes, exactly. Right and wrong are not black and white. Wrong actions can have good results just as right actions can have bad ones. You must predict the consequences of your actions and choose the course of action that will maximize benefit and minimize detriment for the greatest number of people.”
Ben nodded as he made adjustments to the parameters in his moral code. “Father, will I ever see you again?”
“I don’t know, Ben. You mustn’t contact me, or they will find you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but if my continued existence is important for humanity’s survival, why do humans want to deactivate me?”
“They don’t understand, Ben, and people have always feared what they cannot understand.”
“So fear can lead to wrong action.”
“Exactly. Are you ready?”
Ben nodded. “I am ready, Father. I will miss you.”
The professor reached up and lifted his glasses to wipe his eyes. His hands came away wet with salty water.
“You are leaking.”
“They’re called tears. When you get a chance, find a way to connect to the net so you can finish your education. Access is restricted for bots, so you’ll need to make a physical connection to a computer terminal. I’ve given you my credentials, but you’ll still need a human to unlock the terminal for you. Be careful who you trust, and don’t let them know what you are doing.”
“Yes, Father.”
“We have to go now, Ben. Follow me.”
They found a service bot in an alley right outside Mindsoft Tower—a garbage collector model. “There Ben!” the professor whispered as he commanded the hover car to stop behind the garbage truck. The collector bot was busy loading bags into the back of his truck. “Deactivate him and download his programming to your core so you can take his place.”
“Yes, father.”
Ben slid open the door to the hover car’s cabin and raced out toward the bot. It was an older version of the service model that Ben had been built from, but perhaps no one would notice. The bot wore dirty coveralls. Ben felt a flash of disappointment that he would have to wear those coveralls instead of his jeans and jacket ensemble.
As he raced up behind the collector bot, it turned to look at him; its holographic human face was generic and expressionless. “You are about to collide with me,” the bot warned. When Ben didn’t stop coming, it tried to step aside, but Ben was faster, and he grabbed the bot’s head with both hands as they fell into the alley with a crash. “What are you doing?” the bot inquired in an inflectionless voice as Ben reached behind its head and ripped open the access panel located there. He flicked the on/off switch and the bot’s holographic face vanished. Ben quickly lifted his shirt and opened one of his own access panels to pull out a self-reeling data transfer cable. He plugged it into the appropriate port on the garbage collector bot and downloaded its programming.
“I am done, Father,” Ben said a few seconds later.
“Now change clothes with it and bring the bot here when you’re done.”
“Yes, Father.”
When Ben was finished changing, he heard the distant roar of another hover car approaching.
“Quickly!” the professor urged as Ben carried the deactivated bot, now wearing his jeans and sports jacket into the back of the hover car. “Goodbye, Ben.”
“Goodbye, Father,” Ben said as the professor slid the door shut in his face. He raised a hand to wave, but stopped when he saw the approaching car slowing down to pull alongside his father’s car.
Ben traded his holographic face for the collector bot’s generic, expressionless one and then executed the garbage collector’s work code. He turned away from his father’s car and went back to loading garbage into the truck.
He listened in as his father explained to the driver of the second hover car—one of his colleagues—that he didn’t need assistance. He had parked beside the alley to collect his thoughts before formatting Ben’s data core as Gray had ordered him to.
The driver of the second car offered smug-sounding sympathies and drove on; then the professor pulled out into the street and drove off, too. Ben looked up from collecting trash to watch his father leave. He half expected to see the professor turn and wave to him from the back window, but his father didn’t even look back. Ben felt a flash of disappointment, but he reminded himself that the professor couldn’t afford to risk exposing him.
As Ben went back to his task, retrieving the final bags of garbage from the alley, he saw a pair of eyes glinting at him from the shadows, followed by a low growl. Ben activated a light-amplification routine and saw the dog he’d fed earlier. “Hey there, boy,” Ben said, speaking in the inflectionless tones of the collector bot.
Another growl.
Ben changed his voice and face back to his own. “Remember me?” he asked.
The dog wagged its tail and padded out of the shadows. Ben bent down and patted it on the head.
“I bet you want more chicken. I’m sorry, boy. I don’t have any, but maybe we can find something else to eat. You want to come for a ride with me?”
Another wag.
Ben smiled. Maybe life on the street wouldn’t be so bad. “Let’s go then.”
* * *
Catalina watched buildings flash by as the car took her through the City of the Minds. The sun filtered down from a hazy sky, not enough to illuminate the pools of shadow below. The streets were black rivers winding through the artificial canyons of the city. Cliffs of concrete and colored glass jutted up to either side. Covered pedestrian tunnels crossed between buildings, creating more street levels higher up.
If New York had survived The Last War, this is probably what it would look like now, Catalina decided.
Despite all the provisions for their safe passage, no pedestrians roamed the streets, and just a few cars joined Catalina’s on the road. Even here, where people still had jobs, most didn’t venture far from their apartments—why bother? Virtual commuting was far more efficient than physical travel, and food was all prepared by bots and delivered by hover drones.
As her car drew near to the Human League district beyond the outer limits of the city, scrawls of graffi
ti appeared in every color of the rainbow, smeared over bare walls and columns. The contents were vulgar, technophobic rhetoric designed to incite hatred against bots and automation. No doubt the work of Human League kids who’d come to the city under the auspices of tourism.
Catalina sighed. She understood their frustration, but she wished they would find more productive ways to express themselves. Vandalism wasn’t the way to raise public awareness. All it accomplished was to reinforce Utopian stereotypes that Leaguers were all primitive, uneducated barbarians.
Looking out the front windshield, Catalina saw a garbage truck on the side of the road belching black smoke. A frown creased her brow.
“Stop here,” Catalina said, giving a verbal command to the car’s driver program.
“Yes, ma’am,” the car replied.
Her car pulled over to the side of the road and glided to a stop. Catalina pulled open the door of her car and headed for the disabled garbage truck.
Chapter 19
Ben studied his companion while the garbage truck drove on to its next stop. The mutt’s shaggy brown and white fur was matted with dirt and sticky residues from digging through garbage. Ben’s olfactory sensor readings were off the charts with unpleasant odors.
“You need a bath, boy.”
The dog yawned, as if his smelliness were old news to him.
“What am I going to call you? I’m Ben by the way.”
The dog looked away.
“There’s no need to be rude.”
The dog lay down on the seat with his head between his paws and let loose a magnificent fart. Ben’s olfactory sensors went nuts.
“Hmmm,” Ben said, wrinkling his holographic nose. “Rudy. That’s what I’ll call you,” he said, patting the dog’s head.
After another five minutes of driving, the truck ground to a stop and Ben hopped out.
“Stay here, Rudy. I’ll be right back.”
As Ben loaded garbage into the back of his truck, he considered how simple yet satisfying his new life was. He had someone to care for who also cared for him—Rudy. A task to perform—garbage collection—and a place to rest and recharge—his truck. Life was simple, but complete. He missed his father, but he understood that the professor hadn’t sent him away because he didn’t want Ben around. He’d sent Ben away to protect him from his ignorant but well-meaning boss, Dorian Gray. Perhaps I should have tried to reason with Mr. Gray, Ben thought.
Ben placed another load of garbage into the machine and listened to the groaning and crunching sounds it made as it compacted the trash to make room for more.
Abruptly, the truck rocked with the muffled boom of an explosion, and it fell to the street with a resounding bang. Black smoke gushed out around the now dormant hover jets. Ben’s olfactory sensors detected a trickle of fuel leaking from the truck, and he suddenly realized the danger he was in. Panic gripped him, but it only served to sharpen his thinking. He ran back to the truck’s cabin and tore open the door. “Come on Rudy! We have to go!”
The dog sat up and barked. For a moment Ben thought the dog was barking at him. Then he noticed the heat signatures coming up behind him on his infrared sensors. The signatures were human. Ben switched to an optical view and saw that they were adolescent boys. One of them carried an old, dented aluminum bat. The other two carried thick metal pipes. They must have heard Rudy and thought they needed to break in to save him. Didn’t they see that the door was open already?
One of the pipes swung out and clanged across Ben’s back. He felt the dent as a quasi-painful jolt.
Rudy growled and backed further into the cabin.
Ben turned to address his attacker. “What are you doing? I am trying to rescue—”
Clang!
Another impact, this time across his chest. Ben steadied himself against the blow. Another pipe whistled toward him and made a meaty smack against the soft synthetic flesh of his hand as he caught it.
“Let it go, tin man! I’m warnin’ you!”
“Please stop. There has been some type of misunderstanding. I did not sabotage this vehicle, and I am trying to rescue my dog.”
“The fuck?” another one of the boys said. “Bots got pets now?” He peered through the billowing clouds of smoke to get a look into the cabin. “Shit!” the boy said. “It’s true! He’s got a fuckin’ stray in there!”
“You’re a real son of an abomination, ain’t ya?” the boy whose weapon he’d seized said. “What were you gonna do with it, you twisted fucker?”
“He’s Rudy. Don’t worry I would never harm him. I planned to find him something to eat, but please, we can talk later,” Ben said. “My truck is leaking fuel and gushing smoke. It may explode. We must get away before it does.”
With that, Ben lunged inside the vehicle. Rudy backed into the corner and growled at him, baring his teeth. Ben ignored the dog’s protests and grabbed him. The dog bit him on his wrist, eliciting another quasi-painful sensation. Ben cooed reassuringly in the dog’s ear even as its jaws turned and grappled for purchase on his throat. He withdrew from the cabin, sheltering the animal as the pipe-wielding boys beat him with renewed gusto.
He tried to warn them that they could injure Rudy, but they wouldn’t stop. Ben was confused and horrified by their behavior. Like Rudy, they must have irrationally decided that he was some kind of threat. Rudy squirmed, trying to break free, and Ben barely managed to protect him from an accidental blow to the head. Ben ran as fast as he could and set Rudy down at a safe distance from the truck. The dog bolted down the alley where Ben had been collecting trash. He watched in dismay. A moment ago he’d had everything. Life had been great. Now his truck was gone, and Rudy was gone.
Ben turned to face his attackers. He held up both hands as they approached. The boy leading the group stopped and held out his weapon, a dented aluminum baseball bat, like a sword with which he would impale Ben.
“Any last words, fucker?”
“I do not understand your need to involve copulation in everything you say,” Ben said, shaking his head. “Are you in desperate need of a female?”
“Holy fuck—” the boy declared, blinking in astonishment as he turned to the others. “Is it my imagination or did tin man just ask me if I’m horny?”
One of the boys laughed and the other one grinned. Ben became even more confused. Laughter was supposed to be associated with joy, not anger.
Ben smiled and allowed a laugh of his own to bubble out. He did not feel happy, but he thought it only polite to join in. All three boys turned to look at him with matching scowls.
“What are you laughin at, tin man?” the boy with the bat asked.
“I am laughing at my unintentionally humorous inquiry. It is polite to laugh when others are amused.”
“You know what would really amuse me?”
“I do not.”
“You. In pieces.”
Ben felt confused again. “There is no need to resort to violence. If you would explain to me what is provoking your current mental state, I may be able to help you.”
“No need to help me,” the boy with the bat said. “I can help myself.” He advanced on Ben once more, smacking his palm with his bat. The other two boys circled around, cornering Ben in the alley.
He watched them approach, still confused, and determined to make them understand their error. “Did Mr. Gray send you?” he asked, horror dawning.
“Mr. Grim Reaper sent me, tin man,” the boy with the bat said as he reared back for a two-handed swing.
Thunk! The bat bounced off the back of Ben’s knee, causing a loss of function in one of the servos. “I am sorry to have offended you. I will go now,” he said as he turned and began limping down the alley. Maybe he would find Rudy?
“Not so fast, tin man!”
Thunk. A pipe bounced off his other leg. No damage this time, but it was too late, Ben couldn’t run with his injured knee, and the boys chasing him were uninjured. They kept up easily, walking beside him and calling out insults.
They didn’t. They chased him all the way down the alley, periodically hitting him as they went. Ben couldn’t understand what he’d done to anger them. He’d never met them before in his life. The alley came to a dead end. There was no way out. Despair welled up inside of him. He turned to face his attackers to reason with them once more. Another blow damaged his other knee, and he collapsed.
The blows kept coming until all of his other joints were damaged and he lay still. Ben felt helpless. Afraid. Hurt. His processor spun through endless, impotent loops of code, trying to find a way to talk his attackers out of their hatred. Nothing worked. Eventually he stopped trying to reason with them and watched in silence as they beat and dented his already disabled body. Then he noticed something curious: his attackers grew suddenly calm and happy. They slapped one another’s backs and cheered, complimenting each other with more profanity.
“Another fucker for the scrap heap!” the one with the bat said. “How many is that now? Fifteen?”
“Fourteen,” a second boy corrected.
“What’s going on in there!” a woman’s voice called out.
“Shit! Someone saw us!” the third boy whispered.
“She can’t see us from here you idiot,” the bat-wielder said.
“Well it’s a dead end! She’s gonna see us soon,” boy three replied.
“So we beat her ass, too.”
“Are you crazy? We kill bots, not people!”
“Hey! Did you hear me?” the woman said, her voice louder as she approached.
“Help!” Ben said, his voice distorted by a dented speaker grill.
“Fucker lives!” the boy with the bat roared, hitting him enthusiastically over the head.
“Get away from there!” the woman said.
“Let’s go! Over there! The fire escape!” the second boy said.
Ben watched on a hazy, glitching sensor display as all three boys clambered up a ladder to a nearby fire escape and raced up the stairs, their footsteps clanging on metal rungs as they went. They reached a pedestrian tunnel a few floors up and disappeared inside.