Wakers

by Ron Collins

  “Would you like a drink?” she said.

  He checked the time: 5:45 PM. Same as always. Regimented.

  “That would be great.”

  “You haven’t ordered dinner, yet. Are you feeling well?”

  “Yes, thanks,” he said. “I’ll do it in a minute.”

  Julia put his drink down and went back to the door, which slid open for her even though he knew it would not slide open for him.

  Bexie picked up the glass and tilted it.

  If this were an old-time thriller, maybe he would take a print off the glass and use it to trick a security reader. Then he could slip out through laser-beamed halls and crunch a few security guards. Then he would be free.

  Unfortunately, this was not an old-time thriller.

  He sipped his drink, then called up a channel, feeling the infinitesimally small bump in his mind that said he’d found what he was looking for, then pushed the thought of a tuna salad, tomato, and avocado dish.

  A message came back as received.

  He took a celebratory drink.

  Simple. Reach out, make a connection.

  Ask and ye shall receive. He shuddered.

  A moment later Julia returned with his meal, cheerfully arranged on the plate. The smell of tuna and tomato combined to give him a fresh burst of energy.

  “You were successful,” she said.

  “Slowly, but surely.”

  “Hey,” he said as she turned to leave. He felt the presence of the open doorway but did his best to ignore it.

  She stopped.

  He came to stand close enough that she had to look up.

  Close enough that he could smell the scent of her presence, almost feel the warmth of her body. He smiled.

  Bexie Montgomery had always been good with people, but he generally preferred to be alone — or was, at least, happy to be so. He was a loner at heart — something other people might find hard to believe, but was true. In fact, this element of his personality may well be exactly why he was so good with people. He found he could step back from the moment better than most, and that stepping back let him dissociate from whatever was going on and therefore see more deeply into something he would call truth.

  When someone said they wanted wine, for example, but then proceeded to sip the same glass all night as they slipped from conversation to conversation, Bexie saw them for the conniver they might or might not be, information he might be able to use to his advantage later. A person who needs a shield could be twisted, and he could never predict what would seep out of those people when certain pressures were applied.

  But being alone and feeling lonely were two very different things.

  Bexie had originally stopped Julia to see if she’d leave an exit path open.

  But now, mostly, he just wanted her to stay.

  “Would you like to join me?”

  “Thank you, but I’m not supposed to.”

  “I won’t tell.”

  She glanced to the door, and Bexie felt her uncertainty.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. Would it be okay for you to show me around your quarters? Maybe just to let me stretch my legs a bit and give me a better idea of how things work here? All these learning modules have me really curious.”

  “We are not allowed to have patients join us,” she replied.

  “That makes sense, but I’m not really a patient anymore, right?”

  Her indecision came as a frown that touched her eyebrows more than her lips.

  “I’m not in any medical emergency, right? I’m just in this holding bin until I learn a bit more, and then they’ll let me free.”

  “We are not allowed to take patients out without orders,” she said.

  He gave her his most genial expression, then reached up and, after she gave him a tentative smile, ran a finger over a coil of her hair.

  “Don’t you think we could find some way of working something out?”

  Julia turned her eyes to his. Her lips parted, and she took a soft breath that made one corner of Bexie’s lips curl.

  She seemed to steel herself.

  A natural heat stirred.

  “Not without orders,” she said.

  Then she left quickly, and the door slid shut with a finality that left Bexie startled and suddenly not particularly hungry.

  CHAPTER 10

  Perhaps he was progressing.

  His learning modules were changing, anyway, moving past day-to-day skills and into the history of progress since the time of his original upload. The Central Inspector’s Office seemed to be focused on a few specific modules, as they kept coming up no matter what channels he acquired. Among them was a pod on the anti-space movement of the 2200s, specifically as regards to Lin Wein and his statement about spending so much to go somewhere nothing existed.

  The message bothered him considerably.

  “What do you think of the anti-space movement?” he asked Winnie.

  “It was an important factor in how the world moved forward,” the teacher replied.

  “I absorbed a module on Lin Wein this morning.”

  “A hero of that movement, no doubt.”

  Bexie nodded, feeling his heart beat faster as he relived the 3-D experience of marches and protests the activist had sparked.

  “I don’t understand, though. His argument was flawed.”

  “Lin Wein’s viewpoint is strongly accepted by society.”

  “Society was wrong, then.”

  The teacher waited.

  “He said there was no economic value in pursuing space exploration, but even when I was alive, we were making good cash with space-based business. Zero G manufacturing, and some limited asteroid mining operations were both taking off. They took a lot of up-front capital, but the economics were pretty big once you overcame entry costs.”

  “Society felt that there were limitations on growth of space-based business given the extreme nature of distances involved.”

  “I see,” Bexie said.

  He felt deflection in the answer: a politician’s answer to a businessman’s question, which made sense, too.

  There was more to this than someone wanted him to know.

  He didn’t think it was just him being paranoid, but it was all he could do to keep his attention on the next module Winnie pushed him into. It was a how-to flick that dealt with public transportation and personal energy use. But all the while, his mind kept playing with an idea, a thought, a question that bothered him throughout the day and was still bothering him as Julia escorted him back through the wide and well-lit corridors to his quarters.

  Why, in this world of ultimate satisfaction of every need, did someone feel the need to provide such propaganda?

  CHAPTER 11

  Shoes off, socks on, Bexie stood next to the doorway, waiting.

  He wanted to see more of the place, so he waited, checking his internal clock.

  Julia would enter at 5:45 PM.

  Exactly on time the doorway opened, and the nurse entered with his drink.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Montgomery,” she said as she entered.

  “Good evening,” he said, trying to remain calm while excitement rose within him. The door slid shut as she came completely into the room. Yes, the delay was long enough, barely. “You can put that on the nightstand,” he added.

  Julia set his drink down and came back to the doorway.

  “Will you be ordering dinner in Think Space again tonight?”

  “But of course!”

  “You’re becoming quite adroit with it. We are hoping you can be released in no time.”

  “I appreciate that, though I wonder if that really means you’re just getting tired of me.”

  Julia’s laugh had a softer edge to it these days.

  “I enjoy taking care of you, Mr. Montgomery.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thank you.”

  The door opened
and she came forward.

  He held his breath, blanking his mind such that he didn’t touch a channel. He understood security well enough to assume that if a channel went one way it often went the other just as well.

  Julia passed him, and Bexie turned on one foot to step silently into the corridor behind her as the door closed. The motion was smooth, and apparently quiet.

  Julia didn’t react. Just kept walking.

  He let his breath out.

  Had he pulled it off, or had Julia noticed his movement but chosen to remain implacable for some form of plausible deniability? In the end it didn’t matter. He didn’t have any intention of giving himself up. But standing there in the silence of the wide hallway, it would be nice to know if he had a cohort or not.

  He followed Julia at a distance, stepping carefully.

  As the other corridors were, this one was well lit, the floor a soft gray tile that was easy to walk on but made soft noise against his feet when he moved too fast. He’d expected an antiseptic odor to hang over the place, but instead there was nothing — a simple neutralness that made the whole place feel oddly boring despite a slowly changing mural along the left-side wall.

  Bexie followed Julia at a distance, stepping carefully. The floor was cold against his stockinged feet. His muscles tensed, and after only a few seconds he realized he was already tiring out.

  She traversed the corridor until it came to a double-wide opening that smelled of food.

  The kitchen, he assumed.

  He ducked into an alcove that housed another room as she took his tray into the area.

  Focusing quickly down the hall, he saw what appeared to be a gate at the farthest end. Other rooms led off both sides of the passage, mostly closed. A nurse came from one, with a small tripid following along like a dog at her heel.

  At least three openings suggested either nurse stations or generous crosswalks. Along the far wall of the closest was a section covered with lights, flat panels, and a holographic display.

  Elevators, he thought.

  He itched to check one out.

  He heard footsteps coming from one of the openings and passing the kitchen. Without any other option, he opened the door to the room behind him, pleased to see that the lock on this door wasn’t somehow keyed specifically to him.

  The room beyond was dark.

  As his eyes adjusted, he saw what had to be inactive doc bots laid out on shelves. The other half of the room was lined with storage cabinets. The doc bots worried him. Yes, they were inactive, but if he understood how they were assigned, the physician would be able to step into one at any moment.

  He couldn’t stay.

  He could either make a play for the elevator or go back to his room.

  The elevator was likely a fool’s game, but Bexie wasn’t going to be able to get back into his room without some luck, either. Getting caught in the hallway outside his room, though, felt like it wouldn’t be as costly as being nabbed in the elevator.

  He turned a few calculations and got the safe answer.

  Without understanding more about the rest of the players, he’d take his small winnings and leave the table.

  Swallowing hard, Bexie cracked the door open wide enough to see another nurse carrying something that looked like a small gun, but likely was just a hypodermic syringe filled with a dose of dark fluid.

  He waited for the footsteps to die away.

  When that happened, though, the sound of doors sliding open came from both directions at once.

  His eyes, now adjusted to the dim lights, saw cords reaching from the wall to plug into the base of a series of different robotic equipment. Probably janitors or repair bots. Power lines, he figured. They were all connected to Think Space in some fashion, so the plug was probably not for communication, anyway.

  What’s one more thing that could go wrong?

  Finally sensing a quiet moment, heart pounding, Bexie stepped into the corridor.

  Then, without warning, the door across from him slid open and another nurse stepped through.

  “Julia,” he said, fighting an immediate need to run.

  She stared at him. “What are you doing here, Mr. Montgomery?”

  He gave a toothy smile.

  “I followed you out here because I wanted to ask you a question, but then you were gone before I could chase you down, and I got lost so I decided to wait for you here.”

  “I see. Please do follow me back to your compartment.”

  “I will,” Bexie said, pleased.

  The nurse escorted him back to his room.

  He watched her carefully as she progressed, but she gave no sign she didn’t trust his story.

  His door opened, and she let him enter.

  “Thank you,” Bexie said.

  “You are welcome,” Julia said.

  She was quiet for a moment.

  He went to the window and looked over the cityscape. The sun was setting, and the sky was vivid magenta. The city’s lights just coming on below gave it an antiseptic appearance.

  “Mr. Montgomery?”

  “Yes, Julia?”

  “You had a question to ask me?”

  “What? Oh, yes. Uh, is there stock available if I order shrimp scampi?”

  “I’m sure there is,” she said.

  “All right, then. That’s what I’ll order.”

  “Do you want me to process that, or do you still want to use Think Space?”

  “Think Space,” he said. “If something goes wrong, I’ll let you know.”

  Julia smiled. “Please do have an excellent evening, Mr. Montgomery.”

  The door slid shut behind her.

  Learning Module 22: Laws of Control

  The Three Laws of Robotics (often shortened to the Three Laws) were a set of rules devised in the twentieth century by science fiction author Isaac Asimov and later added to, expanded on, or adjusted by many others. These three rules formed the basis of all early work regarding the integration of human intelligence and automated intelligence.

  The Three Laws are:

  1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

  2. A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the first law.

  3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the first or second laws.

  To these, Asimov also added a fourth, or zeroth law, to precede the others:

  0. A robot may not harm humanity, or, by inaction, allow humanity to come to harm.

  The Central Inspector’s Office has enacted this zeroth law in several situations, specifically in areas where risk is concerned. Risk is dangerous, after all. Risk is a behavioral pattern, and as such, can be managed.

  The first case of note was the CIO’s infamous decision to shut down all sources of nuclear power shortly after coming to full control. This decision caused considerable hardship in Russia, China, and Japan until the Central Inspector’s Office replaced the lost power with the combination of solar and wind systems that supply most regions today.

  Impacted humans complained that the action violated the covenant since it brought harm to human beings, but after considerable deliberation the CIO concluded that the code that controls the zeroth law allowed for and even required the decision as it was in the best interest of the whole, and so some sacrifices were to be expected from the individual as long as those sacrifices were not related to personal safety.

  It was a nuanced argument, the first of many such nuanced arguments that led to the CIO’s eventual practice of preemptive manipulation, the act of identifying people who showed reckless tendencies, then limiting their ability to follow thought streams that might lead them to high-risk activities, that served to protect individuals — and, by definition, humanity as a whole — from themselves.

  The nuclear decision stood, and in this case, the power grid was operational within a few months.


  Humanity applauded.

  CHAPTER 12

  The evening air was sharp and clear as Maine Parker strode toward the civic center where he would meet the group that comprised his current study session. A brief shower had cleared the air and, with the sun fading, phosphorescent lights cast a green tint to everything. There was never a lack of things to do in Los Angeles, and this early in the evening the sidewalk was filled with people heading to games, or plays, or dinner. Their voices carried in a din over the sounds of the city’s inner workings, their strides created constant movement, their heads bobbing up and down in random waves.

  Practice had ended an hour ago, and the muscles of his legs carried that pleasant deadness of recovery he liked so much. His shoulders were weary as he walked, feeling tender even under the light weight of the athletic bag he had thrown over his right side.

  43:05 today.

  He gave a heavy sigh, and the clean air of the city cut into him.

  So close.

  He kicked at a crack in the sidewalk, sending crumbling plasphalt skittering across the path. In some ways, five-hundredths off was worse than ten.

  A pair of repair bots were working ahead of him, their hunched shapes lurching this way and that. Tram traffic flowed past in an endless stream, each shifting its course to avoid impact with the construction effort. The odor of the mix the bots were using to patch the walkway caught the back of his throat. By the time he returned, they’d have it repaired.

  The session he worked with was a collection of twenty kids who got together every day to teach each other about things they had learned. Maine had been a part of six such groups over his past. They weren’t hard to get into as long as it was obvious you wanted to learn something.

  He liked this collective.

  The idea that he would have to move away bothered him as he drew near.

  The gang was active and smart. A fun group.

  They all did their own projects, and today were going to gather to talk about Kaley Denning’s work: the concept of drawing energy from quantum foam. She was comparing the possible energy scrape to the use of solar power today. It was probably why he noticed the pattern of heads bobbing up and down as he walked. Kaley had talked to him about it at the lake. Quantum foam, simplified, was particles of energy, appearing into the universe, then retreating away. For a minute, he pictured a sea of particles, bobbing up and down, into and out of the world. A quantum sea, he thought.