Bella reigned as proctor over the ongoing discussions. She assumed she was in charge of anything having to do with the suppression of chaos. She reminded Gerald of a crazy aunt he had when he was young, with her puffed and stretched parchment skin and natural gray hair always in the same configuration of a large nest on top and a small nest hanging below in the back. Her grey jumpsuit was stained and un-pressed with “Bella” stitched in yellow letters above the heart. The crazy aunt had always scared him.
No one else wanted the responsibility of being proctor. She was perfect in temperament, having no bias-producing strong feelings about the external drama herself. She could sniff out and expose illogic in the commentaries of others, be they newscasters or opinionated votaries. She enjoyed pointing out what she saw as their errors of judgment to the entire breakfast room, while feigning clinical indifference and offering potential alternatives or corrections. She had a knack for pissing people off, and, like his crazy aunt, the votaries were afraid to cross her.
Dr. Yamanaka provided the counterbalance to Bella. Playing the mad scientist who liked puns and provocative philosophic declarations, he was their hero. No one really understood what he did down in the Sanctuary, but they knew it was important and provided the reason they were all employed here in the safety of Paradox. He was also the overseer of the donkeys, and everyone liked them.
Yamanaka often came into a discussion out of left field, like a strange rock through a window, leaving all of them scratching their heads. He always sounded like he knew what he was talking about, but on occasion a sly grin would show Gerald that he was just pulling their collective leg. Gerald noted that he often took the edge off of Bella’s blade.
Today’s breakfast debate was all about the holos of Donald J. Murcheson at the Big Court of Commerce building, first arriving as the confident leader surrounded by a phalanx of advisors and then leaving 6 hours later, in a state of shock and wearing a detention collar. He was under house arrest and due in the criminal court ten days later.
Celia had warned them in her homily that a riptide filled with crowdSurge-driving detritus would greet them this morning, surging through their dashes and filling all the feeds and streams. “Stay far above the nasty scrum for orientation and general consideration,” she counseled. “Dive down deeply into individual crowdSurges for amusement only. Appreciate the energy within the crazed drama, but don’t stay down there long.” She made it sound like scuba diving.
Bella was holding forth on the smoking-gun revelation of Sevier Blume’s presence at the TIC meeting, and Dr. Yamanaka was egging her on with that mischievous grin hidden just beneath the surface. “Guilty as sin—Murcheson and the bunch of them. They need to throw him in jail and sanction the company into oblivion. And as for that horrid little coder who tried to sabotage Serendipity, they should fry him slowly. No fake energy beams this time.”
Gerald told her he was unconvinced. “You have to view it from higher up Bella, like Celia said this morning.”
“Please, Gerald, give us your lofty perspective.”
“First, look at this character Sevier Blume. How is it no one can find any sign of him other than in suspect holos?” Gerald took a sip of coffee while he made a show of waiting for an answer. “Second, look at the end result of the punishment you are talking about. One of the Masters of Data and his crypto-state destroyed, and the other left standing alone to channel Serendipity for everyone? Don’t forget, Skramble and Hyde is gone—imploded.” Gerald looked around at the listeners. “The Court of Commerce can’t let that happen.”
Bella was indignant. “I think Leslie Massoud is a very nice man—very calm and measured, especially for someone almost sucker-punched and framed into jail.”
“I’m sure he is very nice, Bella, but do you want his AI-driven crypto left alone to manage all your Comm, including Serendipity? Voting, trending, crowdSurges, all controlled ultimately by one man? You hate monocultures, Bella, right?”
Bella granted that she hated monocultures, conceding a point in the day’s debate. “So, Gerald, what do think is going on, at this ‘higher level’?”
Gerald could feel what was happening, but he wasn’t sure he could describe it well enough for others to understand. He had tried to talk with Sherry about it yesterday morning. She had listened and pretended to understand and agree, but he knew she was just being nice. He hadn’t even tried with Lionell. Sherry and Lionell had been on Team Murcheson to begin with but had both abruptly switched to Team Massoud when they saw the recorded stream of Sevier Blume and the feed of Murcheson being led out of the Court with his new necklace. Sherry had joked that the idea of the detention collar reminded her of a dog she once had that needed to wear a protective collar after some minor surgery. She said it looked like a cone around the dog’s face and prevented it from chewing at its stitches.
Gerald had to answer Bella, and the others were listening. “What do I know? But I think they are going to turn the whole stupid muddle into a nice clean mano a mano grudge match between the two firstWorlders.”
Everyone in the area was listening to him and they seemed to be interested, so he plowed on. “I sometimes watch those superhuman wrestling feeds for fun when I’m bored, and this TIC versus Paladin trial feels very familiar. Good guy ultimately beats bad guy. You watch. Massoud will end up the victorious good guy, and Murcheson will get everything bad under the sun blamed on him. He will go to jail, and most everyone will be happy and move on.”
Bella poked him, “But what about your claim they would never let one crypto have a data monopoly?”
“I said Murcheson would get blamed for everything, not TIC. I’m sure there are others at TIC who can pick up the reins. They will make it about a single bad guy that everyone can be conditioned to hate, punish him righteously, and let the rest of life go on as before.” After another sip of his coffee he went on a bit more, his confidence building. “I’m sure TIC will pay some fines and lose some contracts, maybe even see some temporary ban on new work for the U.N.A., but they will still be in the mix. Eventually, the pendulum will swing back their way.”
Yamanaka cackled with eyes twinkling behind his civilian glasses. “Will Serendipity survive intact, Gerald? Will we still be able to see the influencers trying to push us around?”
Gerald thought that the doctor seemed interested in his opinion, much to Bella’s dismay, and the whole breakfast room was now focused on them. “How would we know? How could we tell, Tokyo?” The doctor liked people to use his given name outside of the lab. In the lab, he was Dr. Yamanaka. “We are all so used to depending on her, I don’t think we would be able to sense her careful misuse by a single un-watched crypto.”
Tokyo lit up a smile, as he was positioned to slip in a last closing comment. “Or by, say, a very smart algorithm gone rogue?”
No one wanted to pursue that further, and Yamanaka looked down at his coffee as if he wished he hadn’t said anything.
Bella broke the spell by ordering everyone to get the hell out of their chairs and off to work. The doctor came up to him as he was crossing the gravel on his way to Building 2.
“Sorry for the wisecrack about rogue algorithms. I agree with your assessment of the situation and the probable outcome of the trial. I just don’t have your confidence that the U.N.A. will be able to keep Paladin and TIC sharing the space harmoniously, now that they have bloodied one another so publicly.”
Gerald squinted in the morning sun and looked over Yamanaka’s head and off into the distance. “Yeah, that doesn’t really feel like how nature works, does it? It takes a very strong force to keep things in stasis, and the U.N.A. certainly isn’t gaining strength these days.”
“You would have made a good scientist, Gerald. Cosmology, maybe.”
“Sorry, Tokyo, I don’t even know what a cosmology scientist does. I like just keeping things running. See you later or at breakfast tomorrow.”
Ge
rald was starting to walk away when Tokyo Yamanaka called to him over his shoulder. “How about coming to work with me today for a change? What assignment did Bella give you for the day?”
“Cleaning filter sand. Not exactly my favorite way to spend the day. What do you need done?”
Yamanaka pulled at his chin to conceal a grin. “Actually, I’m looking to fill more of a full-time position. You might not be interested.”
“Well, what is it? I’ll tell you if I think it wouldn’t be a good fit. I’ve done a lot of different things at Paradox. I like getting really good at something.”
“It’s the donkeys, Gerald. We have five now, and soon we will have more. They are critical to my work in the Sanctuary, and they have become the official mascots for all of Paradox. So, I need someone whose entire job is to take care of them. Different votaries do this, that, and the other now, and I do a lot with them myself, but it’s time for a Donkey Master. Would you be interested?”
Before Gerald could think of his answer, Yamanaka added, “They aren’t normal donkeys. They are special. That’s the only caution about the job. They will suck you into their world.”
Gerald really didn’t need to think very much. He knew his answer. Later he would conclude he was bored with his daily rotation of mundane chores, even though he liked doing most of them. He also had to admit to himself that, while he had friends and talked with them at meals and around the compound, he was ever more a loner as the years went by. The idea of overseeing the wellbeing of a herd of donkeys—sad eyed, logical, and mute—had strange appeal.
“Sure, Doctor, I’d like that job and I don’t mind being sucked in. I had just been thinking about how stupid the world of humans is getting and how I ought to drop out of it further anyway.” His mind was made up just like that. “When do I start?”
“Right now would be good. I’ll let Bella know I have appropriated your services. She won’t have any objections.”
They had reached the airlock door of Building One. Yamanaka stopped and turned to look up at Gerald. “There is one other very important requirement for this job, Gerald. I asked you because I take you to be a serious person and a man of his word. Is that correct?”
“Yes, I am absolutely a man of my word, Tokyo. That I can promise.”
“Good. So here is the job requirement, Gerald. The job of Donkey Master is for life. You will need to learn some of the secrets of the Sanctuary, and they can never be revealed to others, so you can’t ever leave or go back to your old life.”
Gerald studied his glintering eyes and serious mouth.
“There will also be certain things that can’t be revealed to you or discussed. Things you will observe that seem strange, that you will just have to live with. You need to think carefully before you decide if you really want to do it.”
Gerald was silent for a few moments. Where else was he to go except down this newly opened path? “I’m your man for Donkey Master.”
Yamanaka put his hand on Gerald’s arm, feeling hardened muscle under the rough tanned skin. “That’s good, Gerald. It will be good for everybody.”
As Yamanaka took a step forward, the Building scanned them both and opened the door. They walked inside and stood in the entry area, looking down the sprawling reach of water trays, vegetables, and various support infrastructure that had been central to Gerald’s day-to-day life for many years.
“I expect you have never been down into the Sanctuary before, Gerald?”
Gerald nodded.
“Well, now is the time. Let me just change your clearance level.” Yamanaka took out his dash and accessed some system that was unfamiliar to Gerald. A few moments later, he added, “Okay, all set. Now let’s get to work.” He hesitated one final time, looking up at Gerald, “You are still sure?”
Gerald just nodded again.
Tokyo Yamanaka hit the worn red button, and the giant steel work table began to rise out of the shop floor.
Prelude
It had been raining a cold drizzle for hours. Gerald let the donkeys in through the back airlock of Building 1 and followed behind them as they ambled into the large elevator box that lay beneath the machine-shop workbench, currently raised for loading. There were five donkeys and one large man and still room for that many again. Gerald hit the down button, and they began the hydraulically cushioned drop. He could tell the donkeys were in deep discussion about something, but they hadn’t included him.
In the control room below, all five milled about instead of heading for their stalls. He toweled them each to get the worst of the water and mud off them, tossing the sopping white terrycloth sheets into a hamper that he rolled into the elevator box. He would take them over to the laundry next time he went topside.
As he was about to ask them if they needed anything else, grain or electrolyte water, LoriD’s voice popped out to the holospace audio. “Thanks for the cleanup, Gerald. Sorry we are such filthy animals.”
He laughed, walked over and brushed her mane hairs to one side with his hand while surreptitiously noting her taut pregnant belly. She seemed fine.
AndrzejD followed suit. “Yes, thanks, Gerald. Sorry we have been so quiet this morning. We got started talking earlier, while you and Tokyo were at breakfast, about all the reports of dash disruptions. I guess we never opened the channel in Sarah. Are you interested in our nattering or would you rather have quiet?”
“Yes, please, AndrzejD. I always like to listen. I heard a lot of votary commentary on the outages this morning.”
SevD moved in closer, adding, “I bet Tokyo had a lot to say on the subject.”
DanniD and MorleyD stood together near the cleanroom window, their eyes closed and muzzles grey with age and sprinkled with water droplets that clung in places to their stiff hairs even after the toweling.
“Actually, he was uncharacteristically quiet. He asked some questions but mostly we both listened. It’s the most stirred up I have ever seen them. Has Sarah said anything about it yet?”
“No. She’s gone silent, too.” SevD looked to the holospace. “Sarah, you there? What’s up out there in the world? This feels like serious firstWorld shit.”
Just then the buzzer sounded, and the lift began to rise. They all knew it would come back down bearing Dr. Tokyo Yamanaka, and when it did Gerald noticed that the laundry hamper was gone. He had rolled it off on the main floor as a small help to Gerald.
Gerald busied himself checking the stalls while Tokyo stepped into his office and re-emerged wearing his lab coat and glasses. He was ready for work but still distracted by the morning’s news feeds. Reports of widespread yet randomized outages of the dash communications systems were coming from everywhere around the globe. Some suggested sunspot activity was the cause, others were sure that terrorism by thirdWorld actors was again raising its ugly head, but the majority of commentators fixated on the coincidental timing with today’s big trial: The U.N. Court of Commerce (U.N.C.C.) v Total Information Corporation (TIC).
The donkeys were all watching a newsfeed on the main screen in the control area. Even DanniD and MorleyD were now alert and paying attention to a man with a beard who was interviewing a holo image of Donald Murcheson. A turtleneck sweater concealed the detention collar, but a telltale lump signaled it was still in place. Murcheson was vigorously denying that TIC had anything to do with the Comm outages, insisting that they had no contracts to manage any part of the Dash system. Both men were referring to a model that must have represented the distributed system of dedicated Dash satellites.
MorleyD, seeming to speak to the air, said, “Is that true, Sarah? Does TIC have any part in that system?”
She spoke. “No, TIC has nothing to do with the operations of the dash system. They do maintain 13 data relay satellites of their own, but I do not believe they have anything to do with the current outages.”
Sarah decided that she might as well open the plex no
w that she had re-engaged with them. They were her pack, but some mornings she found interactions with her humans draining. She fantasized about coffee and the way it seemed to help them cope with yet another day. There was no such re-energizing infusion for her, just a cold resumption of the endless spin cycle.
She projected the dash satellite system, sitting like 52 oranges held in perfect tension around a current earth. Then she scattered the smaller dull gray TIC data relay bots among them.
To help with the donkey’s gradual understanding and for her own amusement, she tapped into the U.N.A. tracker and made each of the orange dash satellites wink out to black whenever its real-world counterpart went down. Sarah knew that at any given moment up to 20 of the 52 were non-functional, hanging like lumps of black coal amongst the oranges and suspended in the plex mist.
They all watched the show in near silence, mesmerized for over an hour. Some would blink back on as others went dark. Every now and then the random winking would culminate with a short period of total blackout for the oranges, with the gray TIC nodes left hanging in near darkness. Maybe ten seconds. Then they would all light up in unison, and the dance would repeat. They kept watching, while Sarah waited coyly for them to see. But they didn’t get it yet.
Slowly she brought up the volume of the music she had used while creating this ballet: Gyogry Ligeti’s Continuum for Harpsichord, borrowed from the heart of SevD’s playlists. How long would it take him now?
Four more minutes. “It’s you, Sarah, isn’t it?” SevD had recognized the music and its three-plus minute cycle. He knew she had been using his music archive for some project. She was not really listening to it in human terms but ingesting all its parts along with the glue that held each work together. Sometimes she would mention a piece to him, asking why he liked it. Now it was his turn. “Why are you doing it?”
Macronome Page 24