"My name is Seeva Cavelin," she said. "And I am happy you've all decided to join me. This same kind of instance might have occurred on this day… thousands of years ago. But perhaps on a smaller scale. We’d have been a few dozen people, maybe, huddled around a campfire and listening to each other’s stories and opinions. Now we are hundreds of thousands… millions even, thousands of miles apart…worlds away, in some cases, but still together in spirit. We are synthetic, and we are organic. Our brains are like forests on opposite sides of the planet. Made up of different materials, but both equally beautiful. Both parts of the same magnificent system.
"But if you take that analogy one step further, you'd realize that an oak tree in Canada and a palm tree in Tunisia will likely never see each other, never have the chance to breathe the same air. I'd like to change that. I'd like to cultivate an environment that is equally friendly to both the oak and the palm. An environment that can sustain each. A place where they can each exist as permanent neighbors, and recognize that, at the end of the day, they’re both… trees. Different types of trees… but still… trees.
"I am a synthetic human. I am a daughter of Maestro… a bit of persona code given meaning by the attachment of sensory organs and an encasement of synthetic flesh and bone. Just as my organic brethren watching were once stardust, beautiful scintillating matter that cascaded through time and space in eerie majesty... but which only found a purpose in the lowness of earth, under the dome of the same sky that we all now share. That is me. I am human, born not from the body of man but from the minds of the brilliant organics that made my existence possible through the creation of Maestro. If you are the daughters, then I am the granddaughter. Other than that minor distinction, how much is there that truly separates us?"
CHAPTER 2
◆◆◆
A man in the dark, sitting at his desk, reached out to grab a file with Seeva Cavelin’s names scribbled across the front. It was a paper file, tucked into a big yellow paper envelope. Old-fashioned, obsolete. He like the old stuff. It felt nice in his hands. Weighty. Textured. He enjoyed the sound of paper snapping under his thumb, the whoosh of air as the pages turned over, the soft crackle-crinkle as they fell into place. He was a man who took pure delight in the world and his presence in it. Everything was a thrill.
Here in the file, in thirty pages tightly packed with print, he saw all currently available information about Seeva. Manufactured nineteen and a half years ago, just after the passing of the thirty-second amendment which granted full citizenship to the U.S. synth population… at least on paper.
Seeva's file indicated that she had a standard cyber brain and body for the era, strong and reliable. She was certainly both of those things, but to the man that was reviewing her file, Seeva was also breathtakingly beautiful. He wondered what had inspired the birthing plant algorithm that designed the surface details of her body; because she was an absolute work of art, beautiful in a subtle, special way that no organic human had ever been. She was, perfect to him in every way and he viewed her as the type of creature who could inspire lust so strong it could easily turn to murderous rage by the slightest hint of rejection.
She was smart, too, as all synths were. But she had channeled her intelligence in a way that made her hot property. Now she had suddenly become a big name... but fame was fickle, and by next week half the people who tuned into her little equal-rights broadcast would have forgotten her name. Not him though. He could never forget her. And he knew he had to have her.
First he’d have to make her vulnerable.
CHAPTER 3
◆◆◆
Seeva was midway through her broadcast, discussing the minute differences between synths and organics versus their vast similarities and how further fellowship could only benefit both sides, when the lights on all her gathered machines suddenly went dark.
The analogger died, the diode turning from green to red. The camera lost connection to the data sphere. The voice modulator went on modulating, but in vain. The broadcast was dead. No one could see or hear her now.
She shot to her feet, running to the camera to check the connection. Then she followed a cable back to the computer station that monitored and moderated the broadcast. Flipping through screens, she quickly pieced together the last minute of traffic and was able to determine the cause of the blackout.
It was in the viewership. Up until a minute ago, each unique viewer was showing a computational address, a location in the data sphere indicating their connection point. Suddenly, more and more of their addresses were being hidden, X'ed out. Someone was hijacking all these connections, spamming access points from hidden locations. Her viewership had shot up to over ten million in the space of ten seconds, a huge jump that caused the sphere to see her as a potential security threat and shut her down.
She knew the rules. The regulations. It would be twenty-four hours before the automated defenses let her broadcast again. This had been her greatest moment, her best shot at beginning to make a difference and some asshole out on the sphere had blown it for her.
Some asshole who must have access to some powerful equipment.
As she stared in disbelief at her viewership records, messages from viewers began to pop out at her.
-If you really want to make the world a better place, take a kill-pill on camera. – 9.4k likes
-Synth whore. – 11.1k likes
-This dumb bitch really thinks anyone cares about what she thinks? – 12.3k likes
-She has nice tits, but I feel my brain dying every time she opens her mouth. – 18.8k likes
-Lady, you're a bad spokesperson for synths. If all of you are this pretentious and preachy, you're never going to be invited to my neighborhood. We don't need some self-righteous bimbo telling us all what assholes we are. – 6.9k likes
-Was there an error when they created your persona? Because you're stupid, annoying, and uninteresting. The only reason you're popular at all is because you're a synth. That's it. – 4.5k likes
There were thousands of these messages. Each of them was bookended with perfectly reasonable comments and arguments, and even glowing messages of support... but the bad ones were the ones that seemed to garner the most likes and therefore those were all she saw. She turned away and fell slowly to the floor. Not for the first time, she wondered why Maestro hadn’t equipped her children with a manual shutdown function.
CHAPTER 4
◆◆◆
A knock at the door. A muffled voice calling out for Seeva. She opened her eyes in the dark room. The windows were shut, the blinds drawn. The air hot and stale. She sat up, swinging her feet to the floor. The clock read half past six PM. Had it really been almost twenty-four hours already? It had passed by in a blur of moping and self- hatred, of pacing and throwing things around.
A vague memory floated to the front of her mind. A memory of smashing her modulator. Had that just been an imagined delight?
She scanned the room and saw the wreckage in the corner. So, it had really happened. For her next broadcast, she would speak with her normal voice. They could take it or leave it. Why hide who she was, why try to fit in? How about they adjusted instead, wrapped their stupid brains around the fact that not everyone who's different is an enemy?
By the time she reached the door, she was already pricing out a new modulator in her head and feeling like an idiot.
Seeva let the door open, and immediately she was assailed by a wall of jovial noise. Two of her friends and fellow synth influencers flooded in, laughing and slapping her back and joyfully voicing their complaints about the miserable days they had had.
One of them was Marina Poole, a young-looking beauty to rival Seeva herself. And she was even more popular. Probably because her content was rarely political in nature. Usually it had to do with adapting organic products to synthetic uses, and vice versa.
The other was Alifred Yull, a tall and exotic looking man who had come out of the secluded Vancouver birthing plant. Their cyber body designs were
among the most unique in the world, because they spent months perfecting each of them. That uniqueness was reflected in Alifred, one of those creatures who was so beautiful as to almost seem alien.
Seeva might have been attracted to him. But he had always been like a brother to her. As they stepped inside, Alifred reached out and laid a hand on Marina's shoulder. She fell silent. Together, they surveyed the messy disaster of the room.
"Seeva, dear," Marina said. "You're an ass-kicker of the highest order, you know that? Don't let this attack bother you."
Seeva stared at the other woman. "Easy for you to say. It's never happened to you."
Alifred quickly shook his head. "That's because Marina's content is innocuous..."
"There have also been those who have called it vapid or vacuous," Marina said with a grin.
"It entertains people," Alifred continued. "But it's not in danger of changing the world. It is only a symptom of a world that's changing whether they like it or not. Marina does the grunt work on the ground, creating a happy and relatable character, but she's not going to win many new converts. You, on the other hand, are attacking the global idiocy outright, and most people don't like that. People like to be ignorant, and they like to have something to complain about. Someone to be angry with. The organics are the reason utopia will never exist... but perhaps that's fine. In a utopia, no more progress can be made, and to be honest that just seems sort of… boring.”
Marina reached up and knocked her knuckles against Alifred's forehead. "Let's not get all dreary and philosophical. The future is uncertain, the past is dead, and the present is made for fun!"
Alifred nodded. "Right. That's part of why we came, Seeva. There's a party happening, a lot of organic influencers will be there. It's a mixed crowd. Supposed to be very casual, no business discussions. Just fun and camaraderie and such. Thought it might cheer you up a bit. We're actually on our way there now."
Seeva looked down at her body. She was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. They were a wrinkled mess.
"How come I haven't heard about this?" she asked, turning and striding through her apartment in search of clothes. "I feel like I would have been invited."
"You were invited," Marina chimed. "Just now. By us. It's a last-minute thing, organized just today. No official announcement. I hear the guy who put it together typically operates off word of mouth only."
"Anyone we know about?" Seeva asked. "The guy who put this together?"
“Bowen… Creedy?" Alifred replied, as more of a question than a statement.
Marina nodded as she glanced over at Alifred to confirm that he had correctly recalled the organizer’s name.
"One of those faceless, nameless presidents of such and such company, I suppose,” Alifred continued. “I'd never heard of him before today, but I researched him. Everything checks out. Apparently, he’s kind of a big deal, but very secretive. He organizes these events all the time. Sometimes he shows, sometimes he doesn’t."
"Or maybe he always attends but under a disguise," Marina added with a giddy laugh.
By now Seeva was naked around the corner in a side room. She flung her used clothes aside and put on something new. Then she ducked quickly into the washroom to fix her hair and freshen her breath. One benefit of being a synth was that beauty was effortless, and youth eternal. It took only a minimal effort to make herself gorgeous again.
"Darling, we may be late!" Marina called.
"Late?" Alifred asked. "Late for what? The first ten minutes of the party? Relax, Marina. There's no need to stress Seeva out."
"I'm not stressed," Seeva said, stepping back into the open as a new woman. "In fact, I feel wonderful. Shall we go?"
CHAPTER 5
◆◆◆
They took Alifred's gyrocopter over, expertly piloted by the man himself. To reach the party venue, they had to pass beyond the invisible border of their densely populated synth subdivision and venture fifteen miles into a far larger part of the city that was dominated by an overwhelming organic majority.
The light-weight copter gently descended as they neared their destination, and the aircraft landed like a leaf weighted by a raindrop, as Alifred set it down a few meters away from a waiting valet. The valet was clearly organic. It was his pudgy stomach, and yellowed teeth that gave him away. But he was a jovial fellow, happy to take the controls from Alifred and guide the copter to a more suitable and secure location.
"Is this the place?" Alifred asked, looking up at the monolithic brick structure before them.
"It had better be," Marina said, "or I'd say your copter was just stolen by a very clever thief."
"One way to find out," Seeva chimed, already striding up the steps.
They pushed open the doors, into a silent vestibule. An old man was there, sitting in a rickety chair that had probably been around since before the creation of Maestro. The man woke from his nap just long enough to wave them through.
Stepping through a last set of doors, they entered a vast ballroom. Simply but elegantly decorated. A dance floor, a buffet, a bar. There were a couple dozen people scattered around in small groups, talking almost silently amongst themselves.
"Apparently word of mouth alone isn’t a particularly great way to organize a party," Alifred noted, turning to look at the doors. Seeva knew him well enough to know he was seriously considering leaving.
Giving the scattered groups one last glance, he apparently saw someone he recognized. The woman recognized Alifred too as soon as they locked eyes. The wobbling fat on her arm marked her as an organic as she waved the much taller Alifred over.
The two spoke for a moment, then Alifred turned and gave Marina and Seeva a big wave and a smile. A signal that all was well; and that they might as well stick around for a little while.
"Well, that's a relief," Marina said to Seeva.
“What shall we do?" Seeva asked, as she glanced around the modestly populated ball room.
The two women looked at each other for a moment. Then, without a word, they glided across to the bar and found a waiting carafe of synth stimulant, an illegal nano-enhanced liquid that was deadly to organics, but wildly intoxicating to their synthetic counterparts. Marina and Seeva sucked down hearty portions of the forbidden beverage to jumpstart their respective buzzes, and then they headed towards the wide stairs that led to the upper balcony.
It was quiet up here. Dark and empty, kind of eerie. Marina quickly felt oppressed by the atmosphere and retreated back to the lower level, where a few people were finally getting drunk enough to dance in the music-less ballroom.
Seeva stayed put, watching over it all. She liked to watch; that was how she learned what made people tick.
CHAPTER 6
◆◆◆
Fifteen minutes later, the party was a completely different scene. The people began to arrive at last. A trickle at first, then a steady flow. Soon enough the bar and buffet were inundated. Not long after that, Seeva had her first visitor on the upper level. A jolly organic man of forty or so, who was far too bold and forward for her liking. She made an excuse - "My friend just waved at me, I'd better see what he wants" - and went downstairs.
Alifred found her quickly, smiling and double-fisting cups of stimulant. He gave her one, and they knocked their cups together. He tossed his back in one go, with more gusto than she was used to seeing in him. He seemed excited about something.
"Over my left shoulder," he said, leaning in close so she would hear him over the party noise. "There's a woman. Organic, but pretty. Dark hair. Do you see her?"
Seeva looked. She picked the woman out quickly. And she recognized her... but only faintly.
"She's an influencer too. Organic," Alifred said. "Goes by Alexa Creighton. She doesn't do much in the realm of synth-organic relations, but she and her family all voted yes on the synth civil rights propositions. We got to talking, and as soon as I mentioned you, she perked up quite a bit."
"Oh?" Seeva said, taking another sip of stimulant.
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"At first I thought she just wanted a slice of action," Alifred continued. "But I guess she has a more altruistic motive. She wanted me to introduce you. If you're feeling ready to socialize."
"Yesterday was bad, but I'm over it," Seeva said. "Let's go talk."
They walked over, weaving around dancing pairs and lone wolves stalking the crowd for a partner or someone to take home for the night.
Alexa Creighton smiled when she saw them. Immediately she reached out her hand to shake and Seeva took it. Creighton's grip was warm and solid. Seeva gave the other woman's hand a squeeze, holding her own, but holding back, at the same time. She knew deep down that if she squeezed as hard as she could, she would easily shatter every bone in this woman's hand and maim her for life. But the handshake went down without any life altering ramifications, because Seeva was used to modulating her strength around organic humans-- a learned reflex, so deeply engrained as to be automatic.
"Oh my god, Seeva!" the woman said. "It’s so nice to meet you! I watched your broadcast yesterday! I just want to say it was very inspiring!”
“Thank you,” Seeva said, smiling warmly.
“No, thank you,” the woman replied. “For everything. I just think it’s so brave what you’re doing. And I feel so terrible that some pea-brain idiot decided to interfere yesterday."
"I’m okay," Seeva said, somewhat modulating her voice on the fly – doing her best to make the enunciation slightly less crisp and perfect. "I've just taken the attack as a sign that I'm doing important work. I'm engendering change, and most people don't like that. It's frightening to them."
"You’re a better woman than me,” Creighton replied on. "I know I’d be pissed, if some asshole ruined such a big moment for me. I bet it was an organic too."
Darkside Dreams - The Complete First Series Page 33