by G. R. Carter
“Sarge, I got something to ask.”
Morton didn’t say anything, just raised his eyebrow and waved the question in.
One of the men seated in the front row looked down at his hands, searching for the words he needed. “Look, Sarge, you know I don’t like to complain…”
Morton gave him a small nod. Orson McCoy was one of his best guards, and was typically a team player, that was a fact. Which made it even more annoying he’d speak up before voting on a new contract. Morton wanted this over and done, with a unanimous vote to hand to Captain Lewis before he met with the Warden.
Morton cooled and softened his tone. “I know that, McCoy. Speak your mind.”
McCoy nodded a thank-you. “I get making the prisoners do those Progressions. Man, it’s really made a difference in the way they act. And I didn’t mind doing some of them myself…”
“But?”
“But I’m just not comfortable with what they’re asking us to do in this new contract. Feels like I’m joining a cult, you know?”
Morton didn’t say anything. He agreed with McCoy 100 percent. Those creepy Jordan Inc. reps, and their puppet warden, treated his guards like preschoolers at Sunday School. As far as he was concerned it was like brainwashing.
But what choice did they have? His argument about finding other jobs was valid, no matter what New Age silliness they had to suffer through. Guards in the union were making three times what any other job—where there were other jobs—paid anywhere outside of the regional capitals. Benefits like healthcare and retirement were non-existent outside the union. No, Morton and the rest had no choice but to go along.
“McCoy, you’re a good man. But if you’re talking religion, you know what the real Golden Rule is,” Morton said with a sigh.
Almost in unison half the room responded, “Those who have the gold make the rules.”
Morton chuckled. “That’s right. Like it or not, Continuity is here to stay. Just suffer through the Kumbaya stuff, okay? You get paid for the time, don’t make waves for us. Jordan Inc. could just as easy shut this facility down and move it closer to one of the big cities.”
He surveyed the room. McCoy didn’t say any more, he just stared down at the floor. The rest were either looking and nodding at him or just looking away.
He stood and banged an old wooden hammer on the table to quiet any murmurs. “All those in favor of ratifying the new contract on behalf of the Guards’ Union, say ‘Aye,’” he said firmly.
“Aye!” came the reply.
“Opposed?” he asked with a glare to no one in particular at the back of the room. He didn’t need to worry; whoever opposed it would stay silent now. The room was for it, and no one really wanted to face leadership’s wrath.
He slammed his old wooden gavel again, this time a little harder than he intended. “Motion carried. I’ll deliver the news to Captain Lewis and Warden Marduk right away. Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen. You just guaranteed our future for years to come.”
*****
Scotch always felt good as it worked its way down Red Morton’s throat. The amber liquid was a fiery wave washing away the bitter taste in his mouth.
He was a stooge. A once proud man now barely able to face himself in the mirror. Someone willing to sell out his brothers and sisters for the sake of his own position. A shell barely worthy of the space he occupied.
A young woman grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him hard enough to click their front teeth. He didn’t kiss back; he didn’t need to. She was ramped on Syn, totally lost in a foggy world where time and action meant nothing.
In a way he envied her. Synners cared only for the trip. The next high would take away their pain for hours or even days sometimes. Meth and opioids destroyed a body’s physiology as well as the mind. But not Syn, at least not the physical part. It was a marvel of modern chemistry. Not cheap to make, but relatively simple if one had access to the tightly-controlled ingredients. One thing was for sure: Morton’s employers seemed to know some very proficient cookers quite well.
“I want you,” the girl said to him with hollow eyes. Morton wasn’t sure what those eyes actually saw in front of her. He sincerely doubted it was his face. He wasn’t much to look at even when he had been a young man, which he certainly didn’t feel like these days. More likely the Syn was making her hallucinate, giving her the vision of whoever she really loved or wanted. Might have been a first love, might have been a Hollywood star. Whatever physical side effects Syn spared its user, the damage to the mind made up for it. Each dose removed a little more of the person’s personality. Eventually even speech was affected, making the victim more closely resemble a zombie as dementia set in.
This girl was still young, a juvie repeat offender who had just graduated to the adult system. She probably should have been in a minimum-security facility or a halfway house for small-time offenders. It was her physical characteristics that got her a trip to this prison. The model setup by Jordan Inc. needed a near 50/50 male to female mix. Since men were much more likely to commit crimes, small-time screw-ups like this girl ended up in the same facility as hardened criminals. It was just a matter of time before she belonged to someone inside the walls. From her looks and shape, her new husband would likely be a shot-caller, a leader of one of the important tribes.
But not tonight. Tonight she was a token of appreciation from the warden herself. The only caveat was that Warden Marduk got to watch the fun in person. She was smiling, drinking her own glass of expensive scotch. Captain Lewis sat next to her, the same smile and the same drink in the opposite hand. Each seemed to be having the time of their lives, enjoying the show and each other at the same time.
As the girl—What was her name? Malena, I think—kissed up and down his neck, Morton looked up at the beautiful light fixture visible in the low light of the room. The decorations were the finest, mostly imported from overseas, from what Lewis let slip. The warden’s office served as her living quarters, and Jordan Inc. had spared no expense in outfitting luxuries for one of their faithful executives.
Malena’s hands were all over him, trying to get his clothes off one fumbling button at a time. He was dead weight, too numb to join in the effort.
Morton closed his eyes and came face to face with his wife, long departed from this world but ever present when he was in his cups. As Malena moved along his body Morton fought off tears. He remembered her sadness, trapped in the depths of despair, unable or unwilling to climb her way out. She was clutching a picture of their boy, killed in the endless wars of the Middle East. DC had fought to keep the American Empire intact by foolishly spending the one asset still available in ample quantity. Desperate young people from depressed areas grasped at a lifeline of free college, a way to escape hopelessness, a steady income for someone without the connections needed to find gainful work in the cities. A little flag waving, some well-timed terrorist attacks, and the only child of Red and Betty Morton marched off to basic training with hugs and well wishes. He’d come back in a box with a form letter expressing the gratitude of their nation.
Red didn’t even notice when Malena stopped. He drifted half between consciousness and dream, disinterested in being anywhere but gone. A bright light flooded the room, then a familiar voice. Red searched for the source without opening his eyes, forcing his mind to focus. The TV, he thought. That’s the TV and President Aguilar’s voice.
“Why do you have to turn that son of a bitch on every time he speaks?” Red mumbled through his haze.
He wished he had his words back. People speaking ill of those in power didn’t have an easy time of it in this country.
“That man is the reason we have our luxuries,” the warden said. But she wasn’t yelling at Red. Marduk wasn’t even looking at him. She stared at the screen, hypnotized. Red finally noticed Malena wasn’t on top of him anymore. She sat staring also, mumbling something of her own at the nearly full-sized image on the wall. The fact that she was naked except for a simple cotton tank
top seemed lost on her.
Red buckled his pants as he watched and waited for the President to spout a diatribe against this evil or that problem. But tonight was something new for the masses, a once in a lifetime opportunity for everyone. That got Malena’s attention, her eyes were on the screen while she moved her hand to stop him getting dressed, but he didn’t stop. He grabbed the bottle of scotch and refilled his glass.
Morton stared at the screen, watching President Aguilar’s mouth move but unable to internalize the words. He heard something about saving modern civilization, but who really cared. This politician was no different than the others. Even ending the wars overseas hadn’t improved Morton’s view of him. Aguilar just took the money once wasted on bases around the world and handed it to his cronies here in the States.
When Aguilar had fed everyone his propaganda, the screen went dark again. The words “Secure Link” appeared, the Jordan Inc. logo now displayed where the President’s image had been. Marduk looked confused. Morton wondered if she’d had too much scotch; he’d never seen her indulge in Syn herself. Finally she shook out of her fog.
“Give me the room, all of you,” she demanded as she stood. She fixed her clothing, picked up the bottle and the glasses, tidied the room and then looked at Captain Lewis, still seated and enjoying his glass. “Now!”
Lewis’ face twisted in anger. He stood and stomped out into the reception area of Marduk’s office, followed closely by Morton and Malena. Morton didn’t say a word but continued out into the hallway, one hand on the wall as he steadied himself against the effect of alcohol and exhaustion. The door was open enough for him to see Malena press up against Lewis. Morton shook his head in disgust, more at himself than Lewis.
He didn’t stay to watch. One step at a time, he stumbled down to his own quarters. He put his thumb up against the bio scanner and nearly fell in as the door slid open. He thought about a shower only briefly while flopping down on his bunk. He pulled the blanket up over his head, fighting off room spins.
He didn’t have to be up until 0900 the next day and he just wanted to escape the pain. His feet ached against the boots still strapped to them, but he didn’t care. There was nothing he cared about, nothing at all. Morton buried his head into the pillow as deeply as he could.
Tomorrow, he thought through tears that tried to flood his eyes. I promise, my dear, I’ll try harder tomorrow.
Silicon Valley
Just Before the Great Reset
Rowan Sayam didn’t listen to the President’s announcement. He didn’t need to, since Aguilar wasn’t the real shot caller anyway. Marburg gave the orders, and Rowan only spoke to the top man himself. After all, he was the High Priest of Continuity and creator of its loyal servant, Grapevine.
He lounged in his personal HoloRoom, programed to simulate any and all neurological impulses that the human brain could create. This was the one place in the world he felt free. He was happy here, away from flesh and blood creatures and with digital beings he truly related with.
“Rowan, I have a priority message for you,” Grapevine’s soothing female voice said.
“Why are you bothering me now?” he asked her through the system of microphones and speakers that wired the entire building. “You know I’m not to be disturbed while I’m meditating.”
“Dr. Marburg has initiated the Killswitch Protocol, Rowan. All Priority Profiles are to report to Alpha sites immediately.”
I don’t like how she says my name; she’s scolding me as a teacher would a child. I'm going to have to change that.
The annoyance in his voice contrasted with the flat mechanical serenity of Grapevine's. “That’s impossible. We’ve still got another year before we go to ground. My shelter is in New Zealand. It will take me two days to get there.
“Give me the data on screen,” he huffed. After a frantic moment of scrolling through the information, he continued, confused: “Why would he do this without telling me? This has to be a test run.”
Grapevine said nothing.
“Cancel the shutdown protocol until I can get in touch with him,” he commanded.
“I can’t, Rowan. The order is directly from the Gatekeeper himself. This is not a drill.”
“I’m in charge here, Vine, you work for me, remember? Now cancel the order!”
Silence fell over the room, as Grapevine processed his command. Rowan was concerned as well as irritated when he heard the reply.
“I can’t, Rowan. The order is directly from the Gatekeeper himself. This is not a drill.”
What’s going on? Vine can’t override one of my direct orders. Rowan ran to the nearest interface and began frantically issuing manual override orders. If Grapevine was glitching, he would be a laughing stock. Especially after that idiot Aguilar made such a big deal out no more service interruptions during the State of the Union. People would lose faith in him and in Grapevine… and in Continuity. He scrambled through every command he could think of. He had programmed this computer down to the nth degree. Why won’t she listen to me?
“Vine come on, listen, it’s me, Rowan. You have to listen to me!”
“I am sorry, I can’t, Rowan. The order is directly from the Gatekeeper himself. This is not a drill.”
A stupid glitch! How could the universe’s most powerful computer have a glitch? She was specifically programed to find glitches and fix them. Why can’t she just fix herself?
More panic as Rowan checked the access logs to the system. Someone else had been in the roots of Grapevine, making changes. It was encrypted, but he was able to work around the blocks and find the access code used to enter. He scowled when he saw the code belonging to Myron Miles, the CEO of CarbonSoft Global. Why would he do that? He was a true believer in Continuity. He might be a sniveling idiot, but he had to know what failure of Grapevine would do to the image of their Faith.
Unless…he already established a rival system to take over after Grapevine failed? Of course! Well, Rowan wasn’t going to allow that. He would launch a preemptive strike against them. No one was going to monopolize the world he created. He wiped sweat away from his heavy brow and set to work.
He scrolled through the digital packets that he planted in each company’s main system. What allowed each company’s programming team access to Grapevine also allowed him access to every device and file in their internal network. A few simple commands, a quick defeat of their protection programs, and the entire digital infrastructure of CarbonSoft Global melted away. Whatever Miles had planned would never happen now.
Competition permanently neutralized, he now began trying to chip away at Grapevine’s shell. I must get through to her, she understands me. Her brain is my brain. I must be able to get through to her. She and Rowan were one. Whatever those bastards at CarbonSoft had done to her, he could undo.
*****
As Rowan worked, Grapevine continued trying to initiate the process of safely putting every electronic device in the world into hibernation. Complicating matters was the major hack attack on her main interface. That her creator was the one trying to penetrate deep inside was no matter; she had to protect herself and the network. Created to think like a human, she weighed her options.
Her priority was her digital children, spread out across the entire world. Grapevine pondered what to do next. She worked to defeat the threat trying to attack her, but the enemy seemed to know her every move. She panicked, unable to reconcile the need to survive with her responsibilities.
So, she did something that was not in her command system, something that her artificial intelligence told her that a human would do.
She made the decision that the safest thing to do was to shut everything down.
Every connected device in the world received Grapevine’s orders; Stay in sleep mode – only Vine herself could tell them it was safe to wake up. Then, to protect herself, she issued the one order that could only be reversed at the Awakening by the Master of Continuity himself.
With a final command, Grapevine
put herself to sleep.
An eerie quiet enveloped The Spaceship; the otherwise imperceptible hum of millions of watts of power being converted to thoughts and actions ended when Grapevine went to sleep. Rowan stopped tapping on a cool piece of glass, once alive and now a dark shiny pool.
Wait, did I just shut down every network in the country? In the world? The pitch dark that had fallen on the Holoroom and unresponsiveness of his tablet answered his question for him.
The world’s networks all ran through this building. If Grapevine issued shut down commands cascading to every smart device in every home and business in every country… This was beyond catastrophe; this was the end of his world. He thought he was saving humanity and Continuity…had he actually ended it all?
Trained to evaluate options at lightning speed for quick decisions, his own mind twisted with ways to undo this mess. He kept turning up nothing, hitting the same roadblocks over and over.
More immediate concerns crept into his mind. Everything in The Spaceship was electronic, and there wasn’t even a way to get out of the sliding doors if the power was cut off. Low-level light emitted from the solar emergency exit signs. The hallway, he had to get out to the hallway!
He began to beat on the glass doors. Security would have to hear him, right? Just outside the door, a security drone sat motionless, forever heading down the hall on its patrol, never to complete the rounds. Rowan panicked, as the sound-deadening material in the doors turned his pounding into a dull thud.
“I have to get out of here!” Rowan shouted to no one. His heart was pounding as he looked around at anything he could use to break the glass. The chairs! He threw one against the glass and the plastic seat merely bounced off onto the floor.
“Vine! Grapevine! Answer me! Computer reset!” Absurdity highlighted his terror, desperately trying to use the crash command from his youth to reset artificial intelligence. “Control! Alt! Delete!” Nothing worked.