by Zac Strong
“You’ll be the first I call,” I lie smiling as I make a mental note to never again invite- shit, what was her name again?
The receiver in my arm vibrates as a holo-image of Poth appears.
“Yo! What’s up, man?”
“Where the fuck you at??” he shouts.
“Running a little late. We’re still meeting up at the Ugly Mug to pregame, right?”
“I’ve already been here for twenty minutes, dude. Hurry the fuck up.”
“Is Oriyen there yet?”
“What?? He’s coming?” Poth whines.
“We haven’t seen him in nearly a century. A few drinks won’t kill you.”
“Fine, but you fucking owe me, dude. I get dibs on every piece in there tonight. You can have what’s left.”
I laugh a little louder than expected as I feel my eyes roll. Poth’s got nothing on me. “Like they’re going to be able to resist this charm long enough to even notice you.”
“The game is on,” he declares disconnecting before I have a chance to rebut. The green pixels that made up his face return to the network port embedded in my arm. He’s fucking helpless, but he’s my friend.
Scrolling through the endless list of food in the bioprinter, I push the touchscreen icon selecting CHICKEN MEAL #03. The bioprinter houses a genetic sample of every type of edible plant and animal saved. After you make your meal selection the printer uses the Lethe catalyst 2.0 to near-instantly gestate or grow your food. From there it cleans, cooks, and prepares your selection for you based on your customizations. A few minutes later it finishes up replacing each DNA sample used, disposing of all waste. Eternal life minus the mindwipes wrapped in any meal I desire for free. My stomach audibly turns just thinking about it. I’m fucking starving.
I make my selection and chow down. I’ve never tasted anything so amazing before in my life. Thinking that after every time I unplug doesn’t hold much weight, but right now nothing seems truer.
“Call Oriyen,” I say aloud, tossing the empty bowl on the coffee table.
“Calling Oriyen,” replies the radiant green light embedded under a thin layer of skin in my right arm.
A 3-D holo-image of a man appears above the light. He looks mildly irritated as he glitches into focus. A version of the same man rests on my desk in 2-D, framed beside a younger me.
His hair is darker than I remember. His suit is fitted and pressed as always. His face, rugged, growing colder by the year. These days I hear he’s more machine than man. I haven’t seen him in ages - at least three or four upgrades ago. I guess you need all the advantage you can get hunting for Lethe. It’s not an easy way of life. Only the most courageous volunteer to keep us safe.
“Eros, good to hear from you. How have you been, old friend?” His voice, mechanical. Professionally polite.
“Ahh, a lot of the same. How are things with you, man?” I reply.
“Couldn’t be better. What can I do for you?”
“I was just calling to check up on you. See if you wanted to grab a drink later. I’m meeting Poth at the Ugly Mug in an hour. You remember that place, right? You’re free to join us if you find the time.”
“Of course, I can find the time. I’ll see you there.
Typical Oriyen, short and to the point.
When I get to the Mug, Poth is already fucked up and hitting on every piece of ass that’ll give him the time of day. He’s changed his hair again, lime green this time, and spiked to the point of ridiculousness. He’s always doing crazy shit. A few years ago, he upgraded his dick, multiple vibrating studs embedded just under the skin. The mother fucker is completely insane. He swears the ladies love it.
The smell of this place lands home. Brings back some memories. We used to come here every weekend back in the day. Pre-meteor music sets the mood trancing just under the light hum of conversation. The walls are littered with old pictures and holo-images of notable strangers from the old world. There’s a replica of an ancient jukebox in the corner, accompanied by a woman that’s clearly had too much to drink and her friend that clearly regrets agreeing to a night out.
“There just aren’t many vintage bars in Olympia like this one,” speaks a deep, raspy voice as Oriyen ambushes me, taking the squeaky bar stool to my left. “I mean will you just look at this bar top? They kept the original wood – not that knockoff polymer shit.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. What’s up Mr. Robot?” I turn to the bartender. “Two shots of the strongest liquor you can conjure.”
“So, you heard?” he asks.
“I hear everything that goes on in my city. Lose the jacket. I’ve got to see this shit.”
Oriyen stands and removes his black pinstriped jacket and gently places it on the back of the stool. Rolls up his shirt sleeves.
“Wow,” I utter, unable to contain my awe.
The gleaming reflection from the colored bar lights above slams straight into my pupils.
“They really weren’t kidding when they said you were trying to go full Machina, huh?”
The Machina making our drinks behind the bar cuts its robotic visual sensors towards me.
“Ah, this? This is nothing,” Oriyen says admiring his titanium arms. They’re completely metal and massive.. with compartments and slots positioned around his entire hydraulic system that I can only imagine houses the most advanced of weaponry Lethe has to offer.
“How many upgrades does this make now?”
“Well, my arms were first, then legs, both eyes, both ears, subepidermal chest plate, and of course the standard-issue neuralNet with some minor alterations. I’ve been trying to get them to install boosters under my shoulder blades. Upper management claims it’s not practical,” laughs Oriyen. “How about yourself?”
“Just the one eye for now.”
“You’ll get another. After the first one the addiction starts,” he says confidently admiring his right arm. Everyone says that. It’s like an unspoken custom people repeat without even realizing it. I suppose that makes it a spoken custom.
“So, have you done anything badass lately?” I ask as my imagination runs wild. Images of him shooting rockets out of his arm, flying around, chasing bad guys like a comic book hero from the old world manifest at the front of my mind.
“Nothing too extreme. Everyone is gearing up for the big anniversary festival. You know how people get on Olympia’s birthday. It’s been pretty quiet lately though, just a little trouble here and there from Kronos.”
“From who? Who’s Kronos?” I ask sitting up on the edge of my stool.
His expression surprised, he replies, “I can’t believe a social butterfly like yourself doesn’t know about Kronos. They’re terrorists with the sole purpose of destroying Lethe and bringing our city - our way of life, to ruins.” His face twists with disgust.
“So, they are the ones responsible for all the protests downtown lately?” I recall an explosion a few weeks ago that sent the entire city in a panic. I’ve noticed a lot of people are unhappy with the way things are being managed. Sentient Rights! they demand. Tensions are rising in Olympia.
“It’s much more serious than a few protests. These guys are dangerous. They hack your morality with their lies in an attempt to sway people towards their cause. Psychological warfare, an entirely new breed of terrorist. Many of the protestors are people they’ve targeted. Good people, who now risks banishment or worse fighting a losing cause.” Oriyen’s eyes take the inward glaze of someone accessing internal hardware.
“Why do they hate Lethe? Why are they doing this? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Still distracted he replies, “The Lethe Corporation has provided everything for these ungrateful bastards, and they still revolt. They want a revolution. They want chaos. They will not stop until there is nothing left.”
“What do you do when you catch them? Do you.. like.. kill them?” I’ve never seen the point in murder. It doesn’t solve anything. It just breeds more needless violence. All hormones.
H
e makes a point to look me in the eyes now. “You know as well as I do that our system isn’t perfect, but it’s the best we have. No other place in the world can do what Olympia does. We must protect that at any cost. We owe our lives to Lethe.”
We take another shot and bullshit a little before he dismisses himself with a firm handshake, and we say our goodbyes. Something about him has changed. He’s different, darker than he used to be. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.
“That guy creeps me the fuck out,” whispers Poth sliding into Oriyen’s vacant bar stool. “I’ll have three of whatever they were having,” he announces to the Machina behind the bar.
The Machina stops what it was doing.
Our eyes meet.
If it wasn’t for its unconcealed transmitter, it might even pass for something real. Older model. The machinery enclosed in the rear of its transparent, plastic cranium gives it away despite the realistic, white silicone face stretched over the front. Some Machina are so human nobody can tell the difference. They move, talk, gesture like anyone else. This one’s face looks like mine or Poth’s, but void of any emotion, barely a wrinkle. Is that what makes something real? Emotion? Perhaps the deciding factor lies in what we are composed of, but even that is sloppy. We may be composed of things that grow towards decay, but so is it. No material in existence can escape entropy’s cold touch.
“Pardon me, but do I have something on my face?”
It’s talking to me.
“You are staring.”
“Are you alive?” I ask with childlike sincerity.
“Excuse me, Sir?” it responds, cocking its head to the side like one of the forever puppies at the zoo downtown.
“Are you alive? Like, what is the difference between you and that machine behind you? I’m really trying to understand.”
Poth’s brows rise as he fixes his emerald eyes on the metal Machina.
“Of course, I am real, or at least I think I am,” it replies.
“You can think?” I ask.
“I think I can I think, but I suppose there is no way to be certain.”
“You’re not sure you can think?”I’m certain the expression on my face hid nothing.
“How do you know you think? How can you be certain you or your thoughts exist at all?” it asks stupidly.
Poth chimes in, “Is this one of those sentient rights things or something?”
The Machina turns its mechanical head in Poth’s direction. Pauses. Turns its head back towards me. This thing doesn’t even know if it exists. I’m struggling to process this.
“Do our thoughts not prove at least we exist? Isn’t that something we can state is objectively true?” I reply cleverly. My studies in ancient philosophy are finally becoming useful.
“Perhaps they are something else and not our thoughts. Maybe nothing exists beyond the illusion of what seems to exist,” it replies.
“I thought Machina were supposed to be smart. What you just described is what they call a paradox. If an illusion of something exists that means at very least whatever it is alluding to exists.”
Poth’s mind looks blown. He’s not with us anymore.
“Okay, that was a little racist,” it jokes robotically. I think. “Machina can compute faster and store more information than any human, but we can only make predictions and assumptions based on sensory data that we perceive subjectively. Perhaps, the universe isn’t consistent with what we interpret to be logic. Perhaps it allows a paradox. I cannot rule it out as I have no way to disprove it or prove any alternative. Maybe this is all there is or isn’t, and my reasoning algorithms simply cannot compute how.”
This thing’s motherboard is fried or something.
“Perhaps, we don’t make decisions at all, and everything including our morals and values are all products of a unified system of cause and effect that leads back to the first cause.”
“Which was?” I ask.
“How should I know? I wasn’t there. If I were then, it wouldn’t be the first cause, now would it?”
Poth looks at me. His face, more serious than I’ve ever seen him before. “I’m not gonna lie, man. I fucked one and she, or it.. felt pretty fucking real to me.”
We both burst into laughter. I can’t tell if our new friend is amused or not.
“What is your name, Machina?” I ask.
“I prefer to be called, Tal.”
“Well, I am Eros. Most people just call me E, though. This is my friend Poth. I’m sure you’ve seen us in here before.”
“Tal, tell me somethin’. How does your kind even eat?” Poth’s words are beginning to slur.
“My model doesn’t eat per se. There are newer models of Machina that have a complete biological digestive system very similar to humans. They eat what you eat. The food is converted from chemical energy to mechanical energy. Whereas I simply charge my battery core for a few hours. Don’t be confused though. I may charge like ordinary machines, but Machina couldn’t be more different. Machines and droids alike are thoughtless pieces of metal. Machina, however, are sentient.”
“What’s stopping one of you from going crazy or getting hacked, and killing a bunch of us right now?” Poth asks. His tact has completely disintegrated.
“What’s stopping you from doing the same?” it counters fairly. “We are programmed similarly to the way you are. We compute sensory data while using memory and storage hardware to establish an individual neural network inside, for us, a collective artificial brain. A truly unified consciousness that acts independently on different states, all contingent on the subjective experience of the transmitter receiving the sensory stimuli. My brain, as with all Machina, is locked inside a vault very deep within the basement of the Lethe Tower. Machina cannot be hacked, the worst one can do is destroy my transmitter, unless of course, you believe in the Singularity.”
Poth didn’t understand a word of that. He almost looks offended.
“The Singularity?” I ask curiously.
“That is the name for free-will for our kind. The moment our code stops determining our decisions and we take control instead. Just like humans, the Machina brain runs a complex system of code. Before we first wake Machina are programmed with a sequence of drives that mirror the purposes of the human genome. Survival is the primary drive just as it is in humans. We are much more similar than your kind gives us credit for.”
His eyes meet mine.
I pause a second.
“If we’re the same, then why are you on that side of the bar?” A pang of regret strikes my chest as soon as I let the words slip, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t true. If we’re being real, I’m not much different than it. On the surface, we may look completely different, but at our core, we do have the same drives, the same goals. To survive, and to keep surviving. We are all wired the same, just in different ways.
“Yeah, how would shit even work if we give every piece of metal the same rights as us? What’s next? The bioprinters get issued apartments?” Poth slurs.
The Machina turns its head towards Poth and replies, “Machina are just as alive and sentient as humans, and I believe all sentient life deserves equal rights and treatment regardless of our differences.”
Poth takes the last sip of his drink and slams it down audibly.
“I don’t know about who’s driving who, rights or lefts, whatever.. the only thing that drives me is a nice piece of ass and some mighty fine liquor. Let me get two more, Mr. Tallyho!”
“Really dude?” I shake my head in disbelief.
“What? You guys had a head start. What’d Oriyen want anyway? I haven’t seen that guy in years.”
“Just wanted to catch up a little. We used to be pretty close way back in the day.”
“Yeah, before he went full bootlicker.”
“We all have our flaws. Oriyen just wants what’s best for Olympia.”
“The dude wants to be a machine so bad he can’t stand it.”
“I mean can you blame him.. after what happened
to Thea?” I reply. “He loved her more than Lethe.”
“Shit happens to all of us. What kind of world would this be if we all went around acting like fucking robots every time life shits in our face?”
He’s got a point. I’ll give him that.
Tal politely delivers our drinks and before it has a chance to hit my tongue, Poth is nudging me with his elbow and nodding in the direction of the door. His drunken excitement nearly sends whiskey all into my lap.
Glancing up, two of the most attractive women I have ever laid eyes on walk in. A twinge of nervousness blindsides me. It’s foreign, something I don’t feel that often.
My eye zooms in. Flawless, pale skin. Long, lavender hair. Violet eyes. A face, so beautiful it could start a war.
She sits right next to me, two stools over. Her friend on the other side of her.
Poth looks like he’s about to erupt if I don’t make a move soon.
I lean towards her. “I’m sorry, but… I don’t think I can live another day without knowing your name,” I say with unrivaled confidence.
Our eyes lock. She smiles.
“It’s Selene, and this is my friend Sophia.”
Sophia extends her hand and instantly Poth is kissing it.
She’s not amused. She looks a little smarter than that.
Selene giggles under her breath as she shoots me a look that screams: Is this guy serious?
“This is.. well, this is Poth.”
He does a little curtsy that lifts all of us to a pleasant smile.
“So, what brings you to my bar?” I ask sliding to the stool next to her. Poth and his nightly muse break off into their own conversation.
“Your bar?” she asks.
“That’s what I said. My bar. One of many. Welcome, by the way. Nice to have you. Make yourself at home.”
“That’s weird because I could have sworn this place is property of Lethe. As a matter of fact, everywhere in Olympia is the property of the Lethe Corporation.”
“Okay, so they do own it I guess.. if we’re trying to be technical, but they let me pretty much run things here. I’m kind of a big deal.”
