Machinehood

by S. B. Divya

  Welga brushed away the tears that clung to her eyelashes, then looked up at whoever was watching. “I don’t need more time to think. I’ll do it.”

  NITHYA

  Experts estimate that the damage to personal property as a result of the Machinehood’s activities will exceed two billion in Global Trading Coin, and that doesn’t include the cost of new constellation drones. Those are usually replaced on a staggered schedule. Manufacturers say it could take weeks to ramp up production to a high volume, not to mention the launch and placement of so many high-altitude devices. While the drones themselves are inexpensive, the additional resources to replace them will not come cheap.

  —Up Close news feed, March 27, 2095. Current accuracy rating: 52%

  The news of restored stellation traveled through Chennai with the relief of a cool winter breeze. It threaded its way from one hive to the next with shouts, fingers pointed to the sky, faces smiling. Nithya caught it as she stood on the balcony, fanning herself with paper. A week had passed since Welga left for Eko-Yi, and they’d had no word from the station about her.

  She turned and called through the open doorway, “The stellas are back!”

  Carma jumped up. “Can I go play with Soumya now?”

  “Not yet.” Nithya walked inside and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll have to get all our agents and systems working first.”

  “Oh, can I be first? Please?”

  “No, you’re too young. I need to make sure it’s safe.”

  “It shouldn’t take long,” Luis assured their daughter.

  Nithya flipped the switch on the kitchen. “Thank God we didn’t throw this out.”

  Zeli made a sour face. “Those idiots. Such a waste.”

  “Do you have an agent, Zeli?” Nithya asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Will you turn her—or him or them—back on?”

  “Yes. I’m not scared of WAIs.” Zeli cocked her head. “Are you?”

  Nithya quelled a tickle of shame. “No. Not really, but they can be hacked by the Machinehood. That’s a little scary.”

  Zeli’s expression took on the familiar impatience of a hundred project calls. “Sure, but why would they hack people like us? They can’t get everyone in the world, or they would have pushed that stupid manifesto onto every visual. That’s probably why they went after the network constellations. If they could have done worse, I have no doubt they would have.”

  The kitchen hummed to life. Nithya went into the bathroom to put her lenses and jewelry on. Luis slipped in beside her.

  “Do you think they’ll stay up?” he asked. “They got knocked down again as we left San Francisco.”

  “I hope so. In the meantime, I intend to get as much use from them as I can, though I admit, I’m a little nervous about the Machinehood.” She paused at the door. “It’s strange… after a month, I’m almost used to not having the stellas or my visual or my agent. If you’d asked me before everything happened, I would’ve said I couldn’t live without them. Even our daily pills! It was so scary at first, but we’ve survived. It’s silly, right? People used to live like this all the time. I feel stronger to know that it’s possible.” She sighed. “I only wish we knew about Welga. I hope she’s okay.”

  “God is with her, whether she believes it or not. I have faith that he’ll look after her.”

  Nithya emerged from the bathroom. A low buzzing noise had filled the flat. What was it? Were they hacked already?

  “The CC is on!” Carma cried.

  As her daughter ran to close the doors and windows, Nithya exhaled. Of course, the sound came from the climate-control fans. She’d forgotten about it after so many days of silence.

  “Good afternoon, Nithya,” said Sita’s voice.

  Nithya’s visual leaped to life. Her usual information blocks appeared: weather forecast, news headlines, live feeds for Carma, Luis, Oscar, and the front doorstep. All remained transparent circles, empty of content, except for the weather forecast, which showed clear skies and a high of forty-two Celsius.

  “Sita, can you access the climate controls?”

  “Yes. It’s at factory default, not your house program. Would you like me to change the setting?”

  “Yes, apply our usual program. Can you order a kitchen resupply?”

  “Three local grocers indicate that deliveries won’t be possible for two more hours. Their systems are being restored. They anticipate a high demand and longer than usual service times.”

  “Place an order for double our usual amounts.” Likely everyone else was doing the same thing and that was why the delivery would be late.

  Luis emerged from the bathroom, with Bhairavi Chitthi going in next. Zeli stood by the door with an expression of long-suffering patience.

  “Sita, are the stellas live worldwide? Can you call Oscar?”

  “His agent appears to be off-line. Current information indicates darkness over the western states of the USA.”

  Zeli whooped. “We’re back!” Two seconds later, “Look at that mess! What have people done? Hey! Another nasty note from our fine manager at Synaxel, who doesn’t currently show up on any stellation. I’ll write Peter a reply so it’s ready when he is.”

  Nithya found it as she reviewed her messages. “He sent it before the blackouts. I think we can ignore it for now.”

  Nothing from Welga or Oscar. Nor from Connor or Jady Ammanuel, who had taken a ship back to America the day before. Welga should have reached Eko-Yi, but the station had said nothing beyond confirming the supply capsule’s arrival. Thank God for that, at least.

  After the launch, the Americans had scared everyone by sending fighter jets into Indian airspace. To save face, the Indians had scrambled their interceptors. No one had fired, but everyone in Chennai had received the alert via emergency drones, and the situation continued to be tense. Neither India nor China had dared to send up another rocket, but the air forces of both countries kept harassing the American ships and planes. Such a difference from her grandparents’ times, when India and China were enemies. Back then, her country couldn’t afford to antagonize any of the Western powers.

  The US was convinced that the dakini came from Eko-Yi, and that the station must remain under embargo, but they hadn’t released any recordings of their captured operative. Nithya knew the truth about her origins from Welga, but the rest of the world remained skeptical and fearful. The fighting at the borders in North Africa had intensified. Eko-Yi was so remote and so small. How could they have the resources to do so much damage? She wondered why the US didn’t show footage of their captive. Had this one also died? At least they hadn’t sent a military force to the space station. That could precipitate another world war.

  Carma tugged on her arm. “Amma, can I wear my jewelry now?”

  “Not yet. Some bad things happened before the blackout, and I can’t risk you being on.”

  “What about all the other stuff, like our daily pills, you know, for infections?”

  Nithya nodded. “I’ll order them. Sita, is there an updated design for a health pill?”

  “Yes, the Ministry of Health has issued a design for today.”

  “Order six for adults and one for a child.” Baby Mouna was too young to take a pill.

  Nithya moved on to a list of mundane tasks, taking pleasure in what had felt like chores before the Machinehood had possessed the world. “Sita, is hot water running?”

  “Yes.”

  Nithya attached chargers to the blox-based furniture. Tonight, they would all sleep on beds. She charged up clean clothes for herself and Carma.

  “Sita, send an order for smart-fabric for three adults, one infant, size two.”

  Zeli called out, “No, we can manage. We know how to wash our clothes.”

  “I insist. And speaking of washing, who wants the first bath? Chitthi?”

  Her aunt had gone quiet and resigned, half sulking, in the weeks since Zeli and her family had arrived. Nithya didn’t acknowledge it after that first
night, but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for her relative. Aunty was a bigot, but she wasn’t evil, and she had no way to escape the situation. At least she hadn’t said anything openly rude or insulting. Not bathing was next to blasphemy. Surely she would appreciate the offer.

  The older woman nodded and walked to the bathroom with a straighter back than she’d shown in days. Nithya put an order into the kitchen for their dinner. No cooking or cleaning required—what a luxury! In a day or two, she’d take it all for granted again, but today, she reveled in the freedom.

  She sat at the table and looked through the messages that had queued from people with access. America’s East Coast had recovered faster than the West, and Felix Anderson from the USBGA had followed up on her complaint.

  I’m compiling this message in the expectation that it will eventually reach you. Luckily, our practice of keeping print copies paid off during the network outage, and I was able to continue investigating the blockages you discovered. I hope you were able to do the same.

  Not really. Nithya had spent her time looking at the giant amount of data from the Synaxel report, keeping her focus on Welga’s health. Whether or not Welga found Josephine Lee, she’d need people to craft a solution for her problems.

  Nithya continued reading Felix’s message: Your queries define a clear negative space within several funders’ databases. It’s enough evidence for us to convene a grand jury investigation, which can subpoena the hidden information as well as the people who issued the blocks. Our results will remain protected from the public, however, until we can get a court order to release the data. If we go to criminal proceedings, that could take a very long time. I know this came about in relation to a health matter, and I realize these delays won’t help. I hope the patient can find alternate means of treatment and recovery.

  Luis sat across from her and arched his brows. “Bad news?”

  “Good and bad.”

  She forwarded the message so he could read it.

  “If I could get a lot more people to look at my results,” Nithya mused, “I might have the leverage to make all the missing information public. The message makes it clear that others are having problems, too. Without that data, neither I nor anyone else will be able to figure out how to help Welga.”

  “What are you saying?” Zeli asked, joining them at the table.

  She sent Zeli a copy of Felix’s message. “It would probably mean breaking some kind of law, but I could release that Synaxel report. How can I continue designing pill simulations when I know they’re not doing a proper job of using the tests? They’re manipulating the results, hiding what they don’t want the public to know. It’s—” She stopped herself and whispered, “It’s bull.”

  They all glanced at the children playing on the floor.

  “What about our project?” Zeli asked.

  Nithya sighed. “Some funder must be running ethical projects. I don’t know where to find them, but I can’t go on like before. What the Machinehood has done is horrible, but they make some valid points. We have become too dependent on pills. Look at this past month! Nobody can work. Life has come to a halt. And yet, people are pushing for greater deregulation, to go back to the fifties and sixties. In the rush to succeed, they’ve forgotten how badly they can get hurt. I’ll do gigs if I have to, but I can’t take any more of Synaxel’s money. Peter is ready to drop me from the project anyway.”

  “And what if they send you to jail?” Zeli asked.

  Nithya stared, openmouthed. She sputtered, “They—but—it’s the funder’s fault, not mine!”

  Oh, God help me! I sound naive to myself.

  Luis laid his hand over hers. “If the stellas stay up, I can start working again. You should do what you think is right. My father was in the union riots of the sixties and went to jail more than once. I was little, but Mama made sure Welga and I knew that we struggled for good reasons. We’ll manage here without you if we have to.”

  Nithya watched her daughter playing on the floor. Carma looked so big next to Mouna, but her daughter still looked up to her. What kind of role model would she be if she kept quiet? When these girls grew up, when they asked, What did you do to prevent this?, she’d have no better answer than, I quit. That’s the only action Josephine Lee had taken. If people like Lee—or herself—kept guarding the misdeeds of the powerful, the state of the world would get worse. How could she face her daughter in a decade or two without shame?

  Nithya emerged from her thoughts to find Luis and Zeli watching her.

  “You’re going to do it,” Zeli said.

  Nithya nodded. “I must. I can’t live with myself any other way.”

  “You want me to help you route it through anonymous channels?”

  “No.” Nithya took a deep breath. “Someone has to accept the responsibility. If we make it anonymous, people will give it a lower rating. They might discount it entirely. If I attach my name to this, my blocked queries will corroborate the results. I did nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have to hide.”

  Luis nodded and squeezed her hand. Zeli shot her a look of deep skepticism that almost made Nithya laugh.

  “I know it’s a romantic notion, but I have to believe in something, starting with myself.”

  “You’re a brave woman,” Zeli said. “More than me, and I have been through a lot.”

  “I don’t know if it’s courage or stupidity.”

  Zeli snorted. “Usually both.”

  “I’m proud of you,” Luis said with a smile.

  So, with her stomach in knots, Nithya assembled all the damning evidence and pushed it to every public forum on pill testing that she knew. It might not change anything, but she had done everything she could think of to help Welga and others who were suffering.

  WELGA

  3. By pitting us against one another, the oligarchies of funders and governors have consolidated their power base while eroding ours. As long as different labor forces are in competition, we will continue to suffer. This situation demands change.

  —The Machinehood Manifesto, March 20, 2095

  Welga didn’t get scared until they put her in the tank. That was what Clemence called the surgical center behind the glass partition. She had an entire day to study it. They kept her under full-time care so Dr. Kailo and Por Qué could observe and understand her syndrome as much as possible before her transformation. Ao Tara assigned one of their biogeneticists to Welga full-time.

  The multi-armed bot inside the tank, introduced as Principal Surgeon Nirodha, woke up shortly before her entrance. All of them—Ao Tara, Kailo, an engineer, two other council members, and Nirodha—watched as Clemence secured Welga to the operating table. Ten surgeries. At least. Two days to recover between each one. So much could happen on Earth in thirty days. She could’t afford to wait until then to act.

  “You’re lucky it’s that fast,” Clemence commented. “The first dakini had to wait two weeks, sometimes more, between each stage. And then they had to go back for more rounds later, as the techs improved the designs.”

  “Were you an early model?”

  Clemence laughed. “I’m the most recent. They keep me here to guard the station, but I sometimes wish I could go to Earth.”

  “Even though it could mean your death?”

  “That’s not relevant.”

  “You do what dharma calls you to, right?”

  “That’s right,” she said, sounding surprised.

  “I’m learning.”

  Clemence inclined her head in acknowledgment, then exited the enclosure. Ao Tara held Welga’s gaze as Principal Surgeon Nirodha inserted needles into her arms and legs. Welga couldn’t parse the expression on the monk’s face. Suspicious? Triumphant? Maybe cautious was the best description.

  They would address her physical problems first, Ao Tara said. Then they would move to the true enlightenment of the dakini, whatever the hell that meant. A collective consciousness, unity with human and machine-kind, greater understanding of the world. It sounded like
the ravings of every drug-addled or deeply religious person that she’d encountered. In the midst of her skepticism, Welga lost consciousness.

  She awoke to a muddle of sensory input. Dim light surrounded her. The surgeon’s outline blurred, and a low hum filled her ears. She tried to move and thought she’d succeeded, but a downward glance said otherwise. Her body stayed still. She hung facedown, or so it seemed. In this microgravity room, direction had little meaning or consequence.

  “Por Qué?”

  “Good morning. Whatever it takes.”

  Stop the Machinehood. “Thank Christ. Or Buddha. What’s happened?”

  “You’ve received your first treatments, and you are currently in the second day of recovery.”

  “Shit.”

  “Is there a problem? Are you in pain?”

  “No. No, I can’t feel a thing. I don’t remember any of it.”

  What treatment was she supposed to have first? Recall proved hard in her current state of mind. Thoughts popped like soap bubbles when she reached for them.

  “The initial treatment bypasses the neurological pathways that became dependent on the cerebral effects of zips. It also includes distributed processing elements that enhance my abilities,” Por Qué said.

  Had she asked her agent?

  “You did not request my help, but I could sense your difficulty.”

  Really? Can you read my mind?

  “I am not telepathic, Welga, but this surgery gave me permanent sensory residence in your brain. I’m getting better at interpreting the signals and extrapolating from years of data about you.”

  How?

  “Instead of being contained in a tiny processing unit and communicating through audiovisual means, I have significantly more computational power, and I can detect your cerebral activity through a distributed network of nano-scale carriers and scaffolds. The materials will break down over time, but they’ll be replenished via a generator built into your body. That surgery hasn’t yet happened.”