by Phoenix Ward
The motel’s mouth was agape with shock. The look in her eyes said she hadn’t been talked to like this in some time. Then her expression folded into anger. Her lips pursed until they were white and her brow almost seemed to swallow up her eyes.
“Who the hell do you think you are, lecturing me like a god damn child in my home?” she cried. It almost looked like she was working up a lather on her lips. “You don’t know me and you don’t know my life! What the hell makes you think you can look down on me and tell me how to live? Just because you’re some ghost bitch in that lifeless shell, you think you’re better than me? Motherfucker, people pay me — pretty well for some human ‘whore’, mind you — just to live in my body and feel what I feel. I’ve got what you want, and you think you can talk down to me?”
Uh oh, Tera realized. I made a mistake.
She stammered a little. “Camila, I didn’t —”
The human’s eyes were starting to fill with tears a little. She jumped to her feet so she could loom over the cop as she yelled at her. Tera shrunk into herself like a frightened child.
“No!” Camila interrupted. “You don’t get to come in here and talk to me like that. You think my life is easy? You think I can just go out there and get a goddamn office job? If there was even such a thing, how would I make sure I didn’t get raped on my way to the interview? You would be sick to your robot stomach if you knew what some people had to do just to survive. You work in Slumside, but you don’t live in Slumside. In fact, you don’t live at all, do you? You are just like all the other progs out there: thinking you’re better than the same people you envy. Well, fuck you! Get the hell outta my house!”
Camila’s eyes looked like they might pop out of their sockets as she stared down at the I.I. Tera felt minuscule under her gaze. She couldn’t help but stare down at her metal feet, avoiding the motel’s stare.
After she stopped yelling, Camila froze in place and waited for the bodyshell to move.
“Sorry,” Tera said. Her voice was tiny.
“Get out!” Camila repeated.
It only took two steps for Tera to make it to the door of the shack, but she stopped and turned back to the human.
“I’ll do what I can,” she said.
“Like you care,” Camila spat.
Tera left, closing the door behind her.
Gauge
Ethan found it hard to focus on the lecture with his upcoming birthday on his mind. His brain was preoccupied with thoughts of the outside world, of being able to walk around with his mortal body. He found himself slipping into daydreams more and more often.
“Mr. Myler, if you wouldn’t mind paying attention, please,” the Kindly Professor said in between topics. He was part of the simulation, so he didn’t get upset or impatient with the students, but he did demand a certain etiquette. Any disruptions to class would be met with a calm stare and an awkward silence. The Kindly Professor could wait any amount of time for the children to quiet down without breaking down into a furious rage.
Ethan looked up at the old man — or, at least, the computer program that looked like one.
“Thank you,” it said, then resumed its lecture. “As I was saying, the nuclear fallout from World War III is the worst the planet has ever seen, excluding the radioactive periods of Earth’s existence before a full atmosphere developed.”
As the Kindly Professor monologued, a holographic rendering of the Earth’s surface swallowed the room. It wasn’t green and vibrant like Ethan had seen in other renderings. Instead, the surface was scorched and covered in a sickly yellow haze.
“Scientists predicted that the world would become inhospitable in just a few short years after the war’s end,” the instructor said. “Every human on the planet would die if they didn’t find some way to contain the contamination.”
The projection that filled the classroom showed some eye-level shots of ruined cities. There were a few skeletons scattered in the cracked streets. It was like something out of Dante’s Inferno.
A few of the students around Ethan took notes as the Kindly Professor spoke. He had fallen too far behind to catch up on today’s lecture, so he just listened and watched the holograms transition. He wouldn’t need to be in school for much longer, anyway.
“Thanks to a super-powerful artificial intelligence — or A.I. — the cleanup effort was a success, however,” the digital instructor continued. “Where humans were unable to work because the radiation would kill them in less than an hour, A.I.-operated machines were able to function indefinitely.”
The projection transitioned to a similar scene within the nuclear ruins, but there was movement now. Ethan saw large red and orange machines roving through the rubble, shoveling up mounds of contaminated soil and concrete. They resembled old construction equipment Ethan had seen in other history programs.
“They made it possible for the environmental damage to be controlled — even reversed — for the most part. Since then, humanity has made enormous strides toward negating the damage, both physically and culturally, that World War III left behind.”
The dark and bleak forms of the ruined city vanished and were replaced with stark and pristine buildings. Autocars zoomed around between them and happy people could be seen walking the sidewalks. It transitioned again to the image of a rocket launch.
“In fact, in the short hundred and fifty years since the Third World War, people started to colonize the planets around them and eradicate terrible diseases that used to kill millions,” the Kindly Professor continued. “Scientific colonies on Mars turned into civilian settlements, with more than three billion people estimated to be living on the red planet to this day. Even portions of the Earth’s moon were able to be terraformed and domed under protective shields. The war was a terrible tragedy to be mourned for eternity, but it was also the catalyst for the golden age we live in.”
While the Kindly Professor spoke, the hologram showed the various colonies as they were referenced. The images swirled around so much that Ethan thought he might be sick, but he was still able to make out the faces of some of the colonists. They were all smiling and laughing, likely the result of some staged photoshoot. Among the settlers, however, was a man who seemed out of place. He was a young man with short red hair, a thick beard to match, and large glasses. To Ethan, it looked like he was making eye contact with him. Like the man could see out of the hologram and into the classroom.
The image shifted to another scene before Ethan was able to get a good look, but the man’s face left him unsettled.
Everything around Ethan changed to the image of some old-world hospital, where a group of surgeons were leading a guy on a gurney down the hallway.
“Cancer became as treatable as many minor illnesses, and genetic diseases like Alzheimer’s became a distant memory. All of this laid out the foundations of the world you will be entering soon.”
The hologram became an awe-inspiring scene of a space station, taken from outside. A couple of astronauts could be seen working on the side of the structure in their environmental suits. For a brief moment, Ethan thought he saw the face again.
That face, he thought, transfixed.
It was gone before he knew it. He wasn’t even sure if he’d really seen it; it could have just been his eyes playing tricks.
The lecture continued on for another hour, but Ethan could barely focus. He already knew all this post-WWIII stuff, anyway. With the graduation coming up, his anxiety kept distracting him. He just wanted to curl up and nap, and he had no idea why. When the time finally ran out on his lecture, he packed up his things into his digital inventory and loaded into the downtown map, where Sharpe lived.
There was a bit of a walk from where the map loaded him in to where Sharpe kept his home base, but Ethan found the stroll relaxing. With his mind all aswirl with his upcoming graduation, he didn’t mind a little moment to clear his thoughts.
“Hey,” a voice came from one of the alleys between the digital mom-and-pop stores.
&n
bsp; Ethan jumped a little, startled. Looking over at the source of the voice, he was even more surprised.
It was the redheaded man from the education projections. There was no doubt in Ethan’s mind.
The teenager opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come. The strange man took the moment to introduce himself.
“My name is Gauge,” he said. “I’m from the outside world.”
“The outside world?” Ethan said. He could feel his pulse, or something resembling his pulse, jolt to a runner’s pace. “How?”
“I used a back door,” the man calling himself Gauge replied. “Someplace the architects of the simulation didn’t want anyone to find.”
Ethan looked around to see if there were any people nearby. He could see no one for at least a block, neither humans nor computer-controlled characters. It was just the two of them.
Ethan felt uncomfortable.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“You’ve been lied to, Ethan,” the redheaded man replied. “I want to show you the truth.”
“What truth?” Ethan said. He felt like he was going crazy or something. Like Gauge was just a figment of his imagination. “What are you talking about?”
“The world outside the simulation,” Gauge answered. “It’s not like they’ve been telling you. Not at all.”
Ethan just stared at him with a furrowed brow and wide eyes. He didn’t know where to begin with his questions, so he didn’t.
Gauge looked from side to side. There were a few pedestrians that started making their way toward them. He watched the people with a nervous expression.
“I can’t say more just yet,” he told Ethan. “I have to keep hidden so the system doesn’t detect me. Just know that we are working on getting you out of here safely. I’ll find you again.”
Someone in the alley tripped a little, but caught their footing. The stumble distracted Ethan, and when he turned back, the strange man was gone.
Sympathy
The American dream. It was something Tera had heard about, passed down almost like an urban legend or the myth of Atlantis. Like Atlantis, Tera found no evidence that it ever existed. Before the I.I.s took over, almost everyone broke their backs just to make ends meet. In the slums, it was no different. In a way, the humans were no worse off than they were before.
People had believed in the American dream, however. The idea that as long as you work hard enough, you will succeed in life. And people still did. She saw it in their faces as she patrolled through the streets day after day. That’s why they were so willing to set up dinky little market stands. It’s why people sold the drugs everyone else was hooked on. It’s why people like Camila rented out her body. They were drawn by the hope that one day, things would be better, and this was just what they had to do until then.
That’s why Tera decided to follow up on the motel’s case. It wasn’t just about the money, or the drugs, or the illegal gun. It was about her dream being stolen. That “one day” being pushed back indefinitely.
Tera also hated the image of her slum dwellers like Camila had in their heads. They saw her as an appendage of the fascist system that kept them down. To them, she was there to steal their dreams and soil their hope. She wanted to prove them wrong.
Not all I.I.s hate humans, she thought to herself as she made her way into one of the few decent brick buildings in Slumside.
Even though Camila had cursed the cop out of her shack, Tera was able to get an overview of the prostitute’s recent clients. One of them lived in the brick building. It had once served as a courthouse or something like that in the pre-war world, but was developed into apartments considered “high end” in the ghetto. Despite all that, there was still cracked concrete surrounding the apartments and graffiti on the walls.
The doorbell buzzed when Tera pressed it and she reflected on its archaic design. They didn’t use things like this up on the Pavilion, where the rich I.I.s lived. They just knew when someone was coming over and responded accordingly.
“Who is it?” a voice came over the building’s ancient intercom.
“Officer Alvarez,” she replied. “We spoke earlier.”
“Come on up. It’s unlocked.”
Ben, the client Tera came to meet, greeted her when she arrived at his apartment. Despite the superior status the brick building possessed, the interior was just as pitted as the rest of Slumside. The banisters of the stairwell that led up to Ben’s home were all warped and rotted, as though someone had picked up some driftwood from an ancient naval battle and used that. The carpeting that lined the halls was speckled with holes where moths and rats had chewed through it.
The I.I.’s apartment, however, was at least halfway decent — compared to the rest of the block, that is. He still had some unsightly warped wood panels on his floor and ceiling, but he did what he could to cover it up with faded area rugs. There were even a few tapestries and art pieces that blanketed the walls, no doubt concealing some other disrepair. Tera’s gaze locked onto one as Ben welcomed her into his apartment.
It was of a young Native American woman, no older than sixteen, with the full belly of pregnancy. She was sort of scowling out into the room, as if Tera had intruded on a private moment.
Who would make such a thing? Tera wondered, thinking the piece a little grotesque.
Her host followed her gaze and gave a little chuckle.
“Passed down in the family,” he told her. “One of the few things my father left me before he was installed.”
“It’s strange,” Tera said.
“Why’s that?” he asked her.
“She just looks so upset,” Tera replied. “It’s not a very happy painting.”
“Nor was the Last Supper, but is it not still one of the great masterpieces?”
Tera didn’t say anything, instead looking around at the rest of his decor.
She could tell he put a great effort into the aesthetics. He had a loveseat placed before an exquisite cherry wood coffee table. An afghan blanket covered the back of the furniture. Across from it was an old-fashioned rocking chair. Tera could already imagine the terrible creaking that came from it.
He enjoys his superficial comforts, Tera observed. So like a human.
“I suppose you didn’t come to discuss art, though,” Ben said with an air of humor. He closed the door.
“No, I came to discuss the motel — ”
“Camila,” Ben corrected.
“Right,” Tera said, a bit annoyed. “Camila. And how do you know her again?”
Ben walked past her into the main living area and sat in the rocking chair. It groaned and squeaked even more than she thought it would. “Take a seat,” he said, offering the sofa.
She did so, making sure there were no hidden stains on the couch like there were in the motel’s shack.
“I’m one of her clients, as you know,” Ben said.
“So you pay her to — ” Tera started, leaving the rest of the sentence open for Ben to complete.
He did. “To share her body, yes.”
“Do you mind if I ask what you do during your… ‘sessions’?”
“We’d just talk, go out to dinner, that kind of stuff,” Ben replied.
“Talk?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t understand,” Tera said.
“I don’t have complex needs, officer,” Ben explained. “Not everyone who pays a woman like Camila is a scumbag. Not everyone wants to do unsavory things with her. I just enjoy the companionship.”
“The companionship?”
“Sure,” Ben replied. “You must miss that kind of one-on-one intimacy, being an I.I. yourself. I get to feel what she feels, so I like to treat her nice. We’ll even see plays, whatever ones they’ll put on in town. I try to take her to the best restaurants and feed her well.”
“Why would you pay money for something like that?” Tera asked. “Why not just find anyone out there willing to share their mind with you? I’m sure plent
y of people would like to be taken out to plays, to be wined and dined.”
“Because she needs the money, and I have it,” Ben replied. “I’m an I.I. I have more than all the humans around me, even though I’m a slum dweller myself. She’s a good person, at least to me, and I want to do what I can. It’s not like I get nothing from it.”
“I guess I just don’t understand,” Tera said.
“No, I don’t expect you to,” Ben said. “You’re like the other I.I.s. But some of us are sympathetic to the plight around us. We’re still human, after all.”
Tera raised one of her synthetic eyebrows as she considered the I.I. She chose to ignore the comment.
“Did Camila mention any shady customers when she was with you?” she asked, referring back to her notes.
“Oh, all the time,” Ben replied. “I made a point of always asking her about her day.”
“Anyone you think would want to rob her?”
“I dunno, I guess any of them could have,” her host said. “The only ones she talked about were the weirdos. None of them stand out over the others. Who knows which junkie might try to screw you over?”
Tera sighed, a bit of defeat in her tone.
“I just wish there was something I could do,” Tera said.
Ben smiled.
“That’s a good sign, officer,” he commented. “If more people felt that way, we wouldn’t have Slumside. In fact, Shell City would be a utopia for all. They certainly have the resources, they just lack the will to use them. It’s just the same old story, from before the war, before I.I.s took over. The inequality was still the same. It’s not about humans or I.I.s — it’s about the powerful wanting to keep the power. To horde it.”