by R E Kearney
“Ooh, pretty colors. Big blue. I like blue. Pretty. Pretty. Pretty.” Petra-two announces into Robert’s conscious from Venus.
Silently, Robert agrees with Petra-two. The woman’s canvas is blindingly blue. Searching, he does not find a sculptor or a violinist anywhere on her canvas, but he doubts that the result of her artistic effort is as important as the artistic effort itself. Robert also considers that she could be an Expressionist seeking to depict her subjective emotions and responses aroused by the scene.
A drone circles above the group visually messaging, Creativity requires Courage.
“See P-four, see pretty blue?” One by one, Robert becomes aware of his thirteen chip children entering his conscience, creating an audience for his tour of DMS. He looks – they see. He listens – they hear. For once, they are quietly attentive.
Watching an older man dabbing and dribbling paint across his canvas, Robert scratches his head. “What do they do with their…I use the term loosely here…uh…works of art? I believe every one of my thirteen genome descendants could create better art than this guy with a box of crayons.”
CRAGI unexpectedly interjects. “Henri Matisse recommends that you look at life with the eyes of a child.”
Ignoring CRAGI, Senhora briefly glances at the man’s artistic effort before starting to wander ahead. “Don’t know. Don’t care. Doesn’t matter. He can trash it, if he wishes. Just his personal effort to create…to expand his mind…to participate is important and earns him SICs.”
Robert nods his head toward Senhora. “Well in a way then, he reminds me of Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s saying that the mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for. So, I would guess that being here, doing this gives him something to live for.”
Senhora stops to watch a string quartet preparing to play. She pauses for a brief thought. “Actually, I believe it’s supposed to give us all a reason to live. According to the teachings of Chief Happiness and Positivity Officer Lykkelig Hygge, a life worth living is a life enriching your body, mind and spirit to promote the safety, security and sanctity of our society.”
CRAGI immediately introduces information contradicting Senhora. “The SIC system involves more than rewarding happiness and positivity. SIC aims to reinforce the idea that keeping trust is glorious and breaking trust is disgraceful. People are rewarded or punished according to their SIC scores. Like private financial credit scores, a person's SIC scores can move up and down according to their behavior. A low SIC score may result in restricting an individual’s personal travel; barring an individual and or their children from good schools; and banning individuals from employment. A low SIC score may also result in an individual being publicly named as a bad citizen.”
To distract Senhora from CRAGI’s comment, Robert points toward a woman and man pruning shrubs in a small, pocket park. “And what about those two?”
“Do what you love. Love what you do.” Senhora directs Robert’s attention to a sky eye drone hovering above the couple. “They’re obviously enjoying themselves, while beautifying the city and earning SICs. Also, municipal robots don’t perform irregular, small jobs like that, so they’re doing some good for everybody. Another form of personal and social enrichment.”
CRAGI impulsively intrudes again. “Prison arts program evaluations show that beyond encouraging and facilitating creativity, communication, and reflection, art teaches inmates how to work with a focused discipline. There is ample evidence to suggest that the artistic process can provide a safe and acceptable way to express, release, and deal with potentially destructive feelings such as anger and aggression. Studies have found a significant reduction in disciplinary actions among those participating in arts programs. Discipline reports were reduced by twenty-nine percent compared with reports prior to participation in the program. Staff reported improvements in prisoners' attitudes toward work, including an increased ability to occupy themselves in their cells."
“Reduced disciplinary problems. Well, that makes sense.” Robert scans the crowds participating in a variety of activities, reminding him of a huge street fair. “Ok, Senhora, this is all very impressive, but I sincerely doubt that a few enrichment events in the historic Lodo district can possibly solve all of the problems of the ten million and more human species of the DMS. I predict human depravity will cause the death of humanity.”
Scowling for a fleeting moment, Senhora quickens her pace. But then she hastily pastes her broad smile back on her face for SICs. Swiftly, she marches them past graffiti artists, singing groups, street musicians and some dancers. Robert’s doubt and CRAGI’s criticism is obviously irritating her. “Perhaps you should be less cynical and read Theodore Adorno’s research where he learned that every work of art is an uncommitted crime.”
CRAGI unpredictably supports Senhora while insulting Robert. “Robert does not possess our emotional intelligence, Senhora. Emotional intelligence suggests solid social functioning because people have an easier time tuning into the feelings of others, understanding their perspectives, and are better at communicating and regulating their behavior. People with emotional intelligence seem to have better relationships with people and fewer issues with problematic and aggressive behaviors.”
Robert slows. He lacks the strength to argue. The high altitude of DMS is sucking the oxygen out of his lungs. Also, just as Senhora predicted, the DMS heat has him sloshing in sweat. He is weak and woozy. Gliding along the boulevard sweat free, Senhora relishes Robert’s stress.
Finally, at the entrance to SPEA’s vertical garden and DMS headquarters, Senhora halts. “Yes, there is some validity in your criticism. Yes, there are still many problems in the DMS, and thousands of unhappy, resentful occupiers living in the northern outlying areas of Greenly and Fort Collens. But, here in the heart of the DMS, we’re working hard to make it better…to civilize our society…to flourish in today’s world.”
Robert lowers his eyes. CRAGI’s diagnosis that he lacks emotional intelligence is correct. He regrets his insulting behavior. “Sorry, Senhora, over the years, I’ve grown increasingly cynical. See, I do cybersecurity for SPEA and I wouldn’t be here, if there wasn’t a problem. Somebody is attempting to destroy your food and you with it, and that’s why I’m here. I suspect that whoever these people are that they’re operating beneath the facade of your happy, healthy DMS.”
Senhora extends her hands, palms out, releasing Robert and CRAGI. “Well, I hope you discover some of the serenity that is DMS. You and…uh…cranky definitely need it.”
“I am CRAGI. I am a collaborative robot with Artificial General Intelligence that…”
Her smile sliding into a sneer, Senhora waves away CRAGI’s comment. “Yes, I know and I don’t care.”
Activating SPEA’s personnel identification chip embedded in his right wrist, Robert reaches toward the entrance.
“Aaaugh!” Quaking. Jerking. Robert hurtles to the ground. Writhing in anguish, he grabs his head. He rolls from side to side screaming with agony. His brain blazes.
Wailing. Howling. Yowling. Bawling. Shrieking. Clawing at their skulls, thirteen toddlers thrash and flail across their playroom in Venus slamming their searing foreheads against the floor, doors and walls.
Dead silence. Comatose bodies crushed into lumps heaved upon the ground.
HOMEBODY
“Nailed him! Wow! Now, that was fantastic!” Rele yells, cheers and pounds his fists into the air. “How you like that?! Want some more, big fella? Hunh? Ah, what’s your problem? Didn’t you like my little E-M-P surprise?”
“What are you yelling about?” Rube calls from the food preparation area of outlier Hela’s safe house in Greenly. He is experimenting with 3D printing himself some dinner, while Rele delights in his holographic security visual in the adjoining room.
Watching Senhora, CRAGI and two emergency medical technicians tend to Robert, Rele continues his exuberance. “Vengeance is so sweet! I never expected my l
ittle E-M-P trap to be so effective. Really knocked him down and out. Better than I ever dreamed possible.”
“What’s E-M-P?” Rube hollers, as he monitors the 3D printer layering scrambled eggs or something yellow that he hopes tastes like scrambled eggs.
“You are totally, today ignorant, aren’t you? You’ve been lost in the wastedlands, too long. E-M-P is the initials for electromagnetic pulse. It’s a short, directed burst of electromagnetic energy.” Rele motions toward holographic Robert being loaded into a medical emergency transport drone. “As you see, a little zap of E-M-P really messed with his mind.”
“I can’t see anything from here. I have no idea what you’re yelling about.” Rube is far more concerned with filling his empty stomach than enduring additional Rele rants.
Since sneaking into Greenly and then this safe house, Rele has reached new levels of erratic hyperactivity. Constantly chattering and cursing. Continuously hobbling back and forth on his aching left ankle. Manically massaging his bluish, right hand. Rube wonders if he swallowed some amphetamines when he was not looking.
“No! Don’t touch it! Leave it alone!” Rele screams as the holographic CRAGI violently disables his E-M-P.
“What is that?” Rube asks between bites of his pale yellow, egg-flavored food, as he wanders into Rele’s room.
“What is what?!” His left eye twitching, Rele angrily spins around to face Rube. “What is what? The hologram? The humanoid robot? What? I am so tired of you not knowing anything. You ignorant country buffoon!”
Rube struggles to control his desire to rub his plate of food onto Rele’s face. He is infuriating him with his never ending insults. Remembering his oath and the code, Rube locks his jaw tight to prevent himself from saying something he may regret. Instead, he returns to the food preparation area to finish eating.
Obsessively circling, Rele shouts at the hologram then at the walls, the windows and finally the furniture. He is disturbed. Amid the bangs and crashes, he roars a series of numbers and letters. Rube listens, but does not understand what he is saying. Smack! His bellowing changes abruptly into a yowl, when he crushes his right, big toe kicking the reinforced-metal, exterior door.
Rube chuckles, enjoying Rele’s moans of pain. His only regret is that he was not who caused his pain. His meager meal finished, Rube leans back in his chair to relax and await Rele’s next demand. His relaxation is brief.
“When you’re finished wasting my time, we need to go. We have work to do.” Rele grumbles with a pained groan. “In the beginning, I just needed your identity, since you’re not known here and I am. But now, I’m going to need you to do the heavy work, as well, since your clumsiness crippled me.”
Arriving in the next room, Rube discovers that, in his madness, Rele has shattered the holographic display into five jagged pieces. “Well, did you murder that man or just kill your equipment?”
“This E-M-P was not designed to kill. It’s my experimental design. Mainly testing my concept. Small and with limited range. Just to stun and cause headaches. Annoy and inconvenience.” Rele exhibits some mild, momentary concern. “I didn’t expect his reaction. But, the way my small E-M-P knocked him down proves that my design for a larger, mobile pulse generator should create the effect I am seeking.”
“So who was this victim of your…uh…harmless little joke?” Rube remains concerned about the zapped man.
“I’m not exactly certain. Thanks to this old, junky hologram, I wasn’t able to see his face clearly.” His left cheek jerking wildly, Rele kicks a piece of the holographic display equipment across the floor. “But, I believe my unwitting victim is SPEA’s post-bio, cybersecurity director Robert Goodfellow. Success. All along, my plan…been working to lure him here. Need him. Want him here. He is my key. Certainly don’t want to kill him. Oh no, not yet. Murdering him at SPEA’s entrance was never my goal. But, now I know that my E-M-P is effective…very effective against him. Just like I planned.”
“Good. Be best for you, if he doesn’t die. Sheriff doesn’t approve of murder.” Rube counsels, shaking his finger.
Rele bends and massages his ankle then his knee and then his swollen right hand. “Sheriff. Sheriff. Sheriff! Sheriff is there and I am here, and I don’t really care what Sheriff thinks. I follow my own rules here. And you’ll follow my rules too…if you’re smart.”
“I pledged my oath to Sheriff, not you.” Rube is increasingly wary and weary of Rele.
Rele pounds his left index finger against Rube’s chest. “Sheriff ordered you to assist me, so that’s exactly what I expect you to do…assist me…by following my orders. Do you understand me now?”
Reluctantly, Rube nods his head in agreement. “I understand that I am to assist you to obtain some seeds, which I will do. But I refuse to kill anyone. I pledged to Sheriff that I would not kill.”
“Yeah. Yeah. No killing. Got it.” Rele dismissively waves his hand toward Rube, as he limps toward the door. “Besides, as I tried to tell you before…before you began preaching Sheriff’s prattle at me. For my plans to succeed, SPEA’s Cybersecurity director is more valuable to me alive than dead. I want to control him, and now, with my E-M-P, I know I can...and I will.”
From a shelf, next to the door, Rele retrieves a sun hat and a pair of eye protectors. Rele carefully adjusts his hat and eye protection. They are his attempt to disguise himself. Rube waits for Rele to offer him a costume, too. Rele snubs him.
Before he exits, Rele abruptly halts and turns around to examine Rube. Following him, Rube takes two more steps then stops. Rube grins. Rele frowns. “You’re in the Denver Metrostate now, so stop acting like the country clod that you are. For you to accomplish my tasks, I need for you to fit in. So, quit slouching and straighten up. Stop dragging your knuckles on the ground. Walk like a human. Don’t waddle side to side like some Gorilla. And, wipe that stupid grin off your face. Do you actually want people to know that you’re mentally defective?”
Rube straightens and stretches to his full height, which is six inches taller than Rele. Glaring down at Rele, he rubs his calloused, rough hands together and growls. “I may not be familiar with Denver’s culture, but I’m no idiot. I possess more than enough intelligence to take care of you.”
Unsettled by the larger Rube’s veiled threat, Rele immediately exits the safe house. He hurriedly hobbles to the safety of the busy, crowded, Greenly street. Smiling widely, he jubilantly greets the two female joggers he meets. Unprepared for his aggressive human invasion into their digital, social spheres, the joggers simultaneously glance at him, snicker and run away.
Believing he has safely established his presence among the Greenlies, he wanders among the delivery drones searching for transportation. Sidestepping several speeding electric scooters, he finally locates a community-use transport. He signals for Rube to join him, while he impatiently waits.
Rube is anxious, unsure, hesitant and hugging the shadows of the safe house. Rele is correct about me being a country clod, he thinks. Sneaking from the wastedlands into the back of the safe house was easy. Suddenly being thrown into this highly advanced community stuffed with strange strangers is petrifying.
Flinching, Rube covers his ears with his hands. Electric-vehicle-in-motion alerts, street noise, people talking, birds chirping, dogs barking and music bang and beat against his skull. People. So many people. Ripped from the silent, isolation of his barren wastedlands, he is drowning in sights and sounds.
Rube watches Rele vigorously swinging his arm directing him to join him. But, he is not yet ready. He sucks in three deep breaths. Slightly dizzy and a little nauseous, Rube straightens his spine. Judiciously placing his left foot in front of his right, he takes his first steps into his new world.
Profusely, panic-sweating, Rube finally joins Rele. He hurriedly clambers into the safe interior of the transport. Covering his head with his hands, Rube bends double attempting to hide himself.
After climbing inside, Rele smacks the back of Rube’
s head. “What is wrong with you?”
“Don’t know. Can’t breathe. Eyes swirling.” Rube weakly chokes out. “Feel like I’m going to vomit.”
Rele shoves Rube toward the transport’s door. “Not in here! Get out! Get out now! Go back into the house. Move!”
Safely huddling in the fetal position on the floor inside the house, Rube’s world gradually stops whirling. His stomach slowly slides out of his throat. He is able to breathe again.
Impatiently hovering above him, Rele gripes. “Big city scare you big boy? You don’t have agoraphobia, do you?”
“Agora…what?” Rube rolls onto his side and closes his eyes.
“Agoraphobia, you idiot. Basically, fear of people. Is that why you lived like a hermit…stayed alone out in the wastedlands so long?” Rele whacks Rube’s side with the toe of his right shoe. “Or are you just weak…weak and worse than worthless? Just a big, brainless boulder holding me back?”
Zip! Rube yanks Rele’s aching left foot. Rele flips into the air. Smash! His skull bashes against the holographic display equipment driving pieces into his skull and his skull into the floor. He jerks. His nose flows blood. He drools. Silence.
HARDLY HEARING
Screeching squeals shred Robert’s stupor. Searing-bright lights scald his eyes. He struggles to turn away – escape the pain. He thrashes against his restraints. In agony, he cries out. The squawking stops. The lights dim. Soothing silence calms him. Exhausted, he lies limp.
Dulled sensations of someone manipulating his ears pull Robert out of his sedated sleep. Groggy and confused, he slowly swims toward awareness. He perceives noises. Scrambled, senseless sounds buzz, hiss and hum in his head.
He forces his eyes open. An out-of-focus, hazy Mugavus looms over him. He slams his eyes shut. He whimpers, certain that he is suffering a nightmare.
“Can you hear me?” Mugavus’ demand booms and ricochets inside his skull. Robert cringes. Pain tears escape his eyes.