by Brian Craft
A few feet in front of him, he notices something surprising. Here, thirty stories above a mostly concrete and plastic city that stretches for miles without plants, growing from a little crack in the ledge, is a small weed. It’s only a few jagged green leaves bending across the concrete and a thin fuzzy stem poking up from its center. Testing the breeze atop the shoot is a little yellow flower. Like a dandelion, hundreds of tiny golden petals all flutter together give it the look of soft fur.
The sight of it gives him pause. He stands still for a long moment staring at it, blinking repeatedly to clear his eyes, not really sure if what he’s seeing is real. He approaches and squats to inspect it closer. The curiosity of this improbable little piece of life that found its way to Orion’s building is a delight that he can hardly believe.
A gentle gust of wind prods him, and he hops to the rooftop so he can bend close to the flower. Tenderly extending his finger he caresses the golden yellow with utmost delicacy.
“How did you get here?” he says to the flower.
He squints to compare the flower to the yellow lights of the city, letting each blur and sharpen so they can blend together, like a comparison of life. There must be more of life out there.
Orion grasps the base of the flower and is about to pluck from the concrete so he can carry it back to his apartment, but then he thinks better of it at the last second. Leave it grow, he thinks. He decides he would prefer to know that this little piece of life, this stubborn little weed that can beat an entire city, scale a tower into the sky, and break open concrete itself to grow, will continue to grow and defy the odds. Its inspiration rivals the glowing dome of Societal Services.
The flower waves in the breeze as Orion walks back to the roof aperture. Light from the little elevator rains on the flower, and then fades away as Orion descends and the aperture seals itself.
The doorway to Orion’s apartment slides open, and he steps in as residence lights illuminate automatically. It’s a small space designed for one. The entire area is pale blue-silver with a bit of sparkle in the walls, like a continuation of the corkscrew corridors right outside. Prefabricated, no doubt the flecks precisely located by computer algorithm during manufacture to maximize light diffraction and minimize energy costs.
For certain, the flecks aren’t random. The speculation on it finally bored Orion until he stopped thinking about it altogether years ago. That’s also an effect likely planned ahead.
Orion’s home lacks personal character, sparsely decorated without much furniture besides a few oversized square-ish chairs in what passes for a living room, only discernable because of the kitchen island dividing the room. The outside walls are floor to ceiling glass windows that let him see across to other buildings and a little bit of the city between them.
A female computer voice greets him, “Welcome home, Orion. How was your run?”
Orion begins to speak but pauses to think about it, then says, “Different.”
Jean seems indifferent as she reports, “You have no personal messages today. There is one new message from Director Pace.”
The idea of a message from Pace stomps on Orion’s good mood. “Play message, Jean.”
He steps into the kitchenette, few smooth metal cupboards, a wall mounted refrigerator, no stove or oven but a curious looking ceramic apparatus embedded in the wall. It seems part microwave oven, part pantry, and a little like a water fountain.
A holographic video message appears over the counter, it’s Director Pace’s disembodied head looking irritated and serious. Pace’s image speaks, “Orion, please stop into my office before tomorrow’s shift. I need to speak to you.”
Jean chimes in as the holograph winks out, “End message. Your food ration is low. Shall I place an order with resource processing?”
“Yes, Jean. When can I retrieve it?” he asks.
“Forty-two hours, twenty minutes.” Then she adds, “But you don’t have to retrieve it, they can deliver the dehydrated ration cube in half the time. It will appear in your stores automatically and be available via your nutrition fabricator.”
Orion shakes his head and smiles. They've had this conversation before. "You know I like going into the city. It gives me something to do." He walks to the apparatus in the wall and touches a display screen. The words Nutri-fab appear. It's capable of turning the dehydrated food base into just about anything. At least, it looks like and tastes like anything, but it's really only a mix of chemicals, vitamins, and other scientifically proven ingestibles that are required for healthy living.
“What do I have left?” He braces his hands on either side of the Nutri-fab, and drops his head, already defeated by the answer he knows is coming, and trying to not care.
“Standard nutrition number two,” she states plainly.
He doesn’t miss the irony of the number. “Number two, huh? Is that coming or going?”
Jean pauses a long moment. Sarcasm is not easy for a computer. “I don’t understand your question.”
"Nothing. Prepare number two, Jean." He fills a cup with a bright orange liquid. The processor door slides open and a partitioned plate of food waits. The steamy pieces look a bit like meat and potatoes, with side dishes of green and orange and yellow vegetables, except that everything is cubed for easy bite-size consumption. Orion grabs it and walks toward the living room.
“I have viewing credits left, correct?” He sits on the edge of his oversized chair and looks at the blank wall in front of him.
Jean replies, “Eight hours remaining this week.”
“Three screens with projections.” He sits back to consume his dinner.
“That may use all your credits tonight, depending on your viewing duration.” It seems more of a question than a statement. Is she watching out for him, or watching him?
Orion’s eyes drift a little. It’s been a pretty big day, all things considered. Maybe he needs a little personal zone out time. Another irony not lost on him. “That’s okay, Jean. Screens on.”
The monotone living room springs to life as the outside window glass shades to black obscuring the view. In front and to both sides of Orion, the walls transform into huge seamless video monitors. Layers of simple holographic charts, maps, and basic images project into the room, adding complexity and variety to what are otherwise government news feeds about what’s happening in their city.
Orion’s face returns to the dreary disposition that withheld emotion all day. His eyes scan the propaganda on the televisions informing the citizenry of the good things the government is doing for them in resource control, environmental management, and citizen health. A video displays a high angle glory shot of the Societal Services dome to accent the story and emphasize the institution of control. Always highlighting the miracle of Hivemind.
A different smaller story stands out, though, denounced by the broadcaster throughout, about an alarming trend of deviance. Some kind of anonymous dissident group hacked a food center and shut it down for a few hours. It left hungry citizens without resources and the disruption will backorder home ration supplies in the area by twelve hours. The newscaster overemphasizes the drama and personal impact to the affected citizens.
“You can turn it off, Jean.” Screens disappear instantly, and the room returns to its previous drab. He sits quietly in the darkness before exiting.
Orion prepares for sleep. His bedroom is as lackluster as the rest of his apartment, with the notable exception of the presence of Hivebeam. The sparkling white beam creates an arc coming from and returning to the wall about five feet above the ground. It’s narrower than the mainline beams you see in the city, less obtrusive.
The bed rises from its hideaway compartment in the floor to about two feet above the ground, directly under the Hivebeam loop. Orion drops his clothes on the floor before he crawls into bed.
The ambient room lights dim to nothing.
The white glow from Hivebeam dims automatically, too, and Orion lies back beneath it. The beam has been an ever-present force for nearly al
l his life. He’d never really questioned it before and always assumed it worked for their mutual benefit. But something is different tonight.
His thoughts drifted to Aoki. He has to admit he didn’t really know her. He didn’t really know anyone even though he’d seen her every day for years. Most of the time around any of the Hivemembers is spent in mindless oblivion connected directly to Hivebeam.
Lying alone on his back under Hivebeam, he studies the corners of his room and the empty spaces around him, cast in the same ethereal half-light as Hivemind. He shakes his head in resignation and sighs. Tomorrow will be the same as today, and today is the same as yesterday.
The beam melts from the pure white to a soft blue, and the same droning hum that echoes the halls of Societal Services begins to lull Orion to sleep.
Observing the beam turn blue, he tries to listen through the hum, wondering if he might hear a voice. Wondering who else is sitting in chair #1 right now. Who else is out there?
“From one mind to another?” he whispers.
A moment later, he is lost to a blissful sleep.
CHAPTER 4
The elevator at the Center for Societal Services is so smooth that Orion hardly feels the swiftness at which it lifted him toward the top. His eyes are a bit more alert than usual today. Most days, he rode to the top and slowly allowed his mind to blank out, knowing that Hivebeam will claim it anyway, so why fight it?
The request by Director Pace to see him in his office is unusual, though. And the prior day’s events set the stage for Orion’s imagination to get the best of him. But he is chair #1 and, in all likelihood, they simply wanted to talk. With that in mind, Orion viewed his alertness as a gift.
He stole the moment to enjoy the soft morning light rising across the city. The building’s dome shape arced the path of the elevator as it rose. For most people, it has a dizzying effect if you looked too long out the window. As Orion is about to look away and save himself a head-spin, he noticed something odd a few miles away in the city.
At first, it seemed like a high, very thin skyscraper. It's shaped like a missile, cylindrical and arching to a soft point at the top, but so narrow and high it is more like a spike. In the morning light, combined with the odd arc of the elevator, the spike-like building seemed to shimmer and dissolve into the landscape like a heat vapor on a hot surface.
Orion squinted at it and shifted to the side in the small elevator, trying for a different perspective, but it resulted in nothing. Moments later, he heard someone clear their throat to get his attention. The lift has stopped and doors opened. He’d been so engrossed in the enigmatic building that he hadn’t even felt the smooth elevator come to a stop. People are already entering, and waiting for him to exit. Reflexively, Orion withdrew and put it out of his mind.
He walked the short distance to the director's office and entered the glass-walled waiting area. Licia, the bright-eyed assistant to the director, is planted behind her desk guarding the entrance to Pace's office. Her wide blank expression staring into space gives her not so much a guardian appearance, but more like a robot that ran out of power in mid-process.
Orion spots Pace in his office through the glass walls, arguing with Dr. Burroughs, whose giant face looms over him via the wall-sized view screen.
Orion has his office composure on now and states, “The director asked me to report this morning.”
Licia snaps out of her daydream and perks up when she realizes it’s Orion and immediately informs Pace, “Director, Orion is here.”
Pace spins to see Orion. With an abrupt flick of a control panel on his desk, the LCD glass walls shade to black, closing off the view from the outside.
Licia seems eager to exploit the sudden gift of privacy and takes advantage of the moment. “He speaks so highly of the Hiveminds.” She checks again to ensure Pace can’t see and quietly adds, “If you asked me, he secretly wants to be a member.”
Orion smiles politely, letting his gaze drift around the room and away from eye contact. He usually avoids talking to people at Societal Services who are not directly associated with the Hive. There’s an eccentric kind of celebrity to his position, and their odd questions always make him a touch uncomfortable.
“I know I’m not supposed to ask things. But I always wondered.” She looks at him with eager anticipation, readying her next big question.
Orion casually returns his attention to her. He predicts her inquiry to hopefully get past it quick. “If it hurts?”
"Well, yeah!" She straightens up and leans forward like she's about to get a really juicy secret. Better than a daydream.
Orion normally has a pat answer for people, something technical or obvious so that they don't pry further. But today, he stepped a little closer, calmly squaring himself to her, and looked directly in her eyes. "No," he says. "Sort of feels like a fog. Or twilight. One blink, and my entire day is evaporated. Like it never even happened." It hangs in the air between them and he isn't sure if he is trying to connect to her, or trying to get her to connect with him.
Licia deflates and drops her chin in her hands. Her eyes soften empathetically as she glances around her own office surroundings. “Sounds familiar.”
The intercom between them blurts Pace’s orders. “Licia, send him in.” She offers Orion a considerate smile and holds her hand toward the office like she is presenting the door.
He walks away without reply, returning to the practiced art of remaining neutral around Societal Services. The unspoken rule of detachment is the invisible barrier between all the staff.
Orion enters Pace’s office and gravitates to the windows, hoping he might get a glimpse of the mystery building that seemed to dissolve in the morning sun. But other, older skyscrapers block the view.
Pace stands to meet him. His awkward version of hero worship struggling to the surface, he finally manages to find an in. “Not quite as connected as Hive, but it’s a nice view.”
“Blue sky. I rarely get the chance to see it,” Orion replies.
“I usually close the blinds. Helps me focus.” Pace completely misses the value of Orion’s point. He’s intoxicated with the idea of Hivemind and its function. It’s power, and like any political climber, he loves wielding as much as he can. It spills over in his mind, subverting his priorities and giving him his own kind of indifference to people’s feelings.
Orion turns to address him. “Maybe we should trade.”
“Well, our contributions are pre-directed to maximize potential.” It’s the Director’s by-the-book answer. “Speaking of Hive, I was informed of your feed break yesterday.”
“Fault in my heart monitor.” Orion sits, careful to not look out of line. He even slouches a little to look humble.
Pace stands behind his desk, a bit deflated like Licia. He rallies and puts on his official expression, trying to project authority. “Minds don’t wander here.”
“System error.” Orion stays in character.
Pace crosses his arms. “The system isn’t in question either.”
A bit of mistimed courage brims in Orion. "Maybe it should be." He surprised himself with the statement and also realizes he just exposed his mind. Maybe a little too much.
Pace flicks a control, and the blinds close. Wit the view gone, the men can attend the issue at hand. "Some things don't bear public scrutiny. I urge you to be careful." Pace sits at his desk, projecting his assurance of authority.
“It’s not against the law to ask a question.” Orion shifts in his seat after his own statement. It’s not usually his character to question, but today is different.
“There are questions, and there are questions,” replies Pace.
Orion pauses a long moment before testing the director’s resolve once more. He sits taller and looks directly at Pace. Projecting not authority, but significance, Pace’s admiration of Hivemembers can work to his favor with a little posturing. He opens the topic that is burning his mind. “A Hiveminder, her name was Aoki, in case you wondered, died while i
n Hive, and I want to know why.”
“I didn’t wonder. I’m not the curious type.” Pace impulsively rounds his desk to stand over Orion, his own display of looming power borrowed from Burroughs. “And I already answered that. Hive is an elite service, Orion. Inclusion buys you some latitude, but there are limits.”
Orion leans forward in his seat, one hand on his knee bracing like he’s struggling to keep from springing up, the other scratching hard at his forehead. “Then I share the same rights as a dead person.”
“Listen to me,” states Pace.
“Central computer uses my brain like a RAM chip,” Orion interrupts. “But we aren’t just disposable. Like some burned out light bulb.”
“Listen! You don’t question the hand that feeds you,” Pace says. “You don’t question the one that’s responsible for us. You, Orion, don’t question!” His momentary emotional outburst undermines the truth of his authority and leaks his fear. He quickly composes himself to add, “The system keeps us all alive.”
Orion opened a door with this, and before he can close it, a tiny bit of deviance sneaks from behind his courage. “I keep the system alive. It’s my mind.”
“But I’m using it,” Director Pace puts a final point to this views. He breaks off from Orion and returns to his seat. Without even looking at Orion, he begins to work his computer screen. “I want you checked out. Maybe there’s a flaw that can be repaired. I, we, need to protect the Hive,” he orders, like he is asking for a diagnostic on a broken machine. Then his fingers stop moving, and without looking at Orion, he adds, “I need you to say you understand.”
Orion stands, careful to appear obedient. “I understand, now.” He backs away and carefully exits the office.
As he turns away, Pace finally looks up, scrutinizing Chair #1 as he leaves the office.
CHAPTER 5
The changeover in Hivemind shifts happens quickly. Systems that are run by the ninety-nine can be prepped to sustain activity for a short time before the next shift needs to be ready. So, within minutes after the Prime Shift fully exits the chamber, the next shift files in.