The air in the room began to smell acrid. I made a face.
Barbara waved the smoke away. “Don't worry, the air scrubbers will kick in and save your virgin lungs."
"Tell me what I don't know about Yoobie."
She took another puff. “I thought you wanted to hear about Daddy. And the drug."
"Let's start there, then. What exactly is dysphoria?"
"The opposite of euphoria. Dysphoria is unhappiness."
"I know what the word means. But I thought you said Arden was addicted to it."
"He was."
I waited for her to continue, but she sat silently and smoked.
"How could someone get addicted to dysphoria?” I asked. “Euphoria addiction I can understand, but no one likes dysphoria."
"Are you sure about that? Haven't you heard people say that they felt better after a ‘good’ cry? Don't a lot of people like sad movies? Aren't there people who don't seem to be happy unless they have something to complain about?"
"I guess, but that's not the same as being addicted to it."
"It's the drug. It creates emotional links in order to enhance intelligence. Sometimes the connections lead to new insights—you get smarter, more creative. But at other times the connections establish or amplify something you don't want. Like bad feelings. I suppose it's natural to feel bad after you've made a mistake or a tragedy occurs. Maybe it's the brain's way of learning something from it. I don't know. But anyway, if that sort of thing gets amplified, you're in trouble. And nobody's found a way of controlling the drug once it gets into your system. You can get a lot of smarter, but you can also get a lot sadder too. Or unnaturally elated, which is less of a problem although it makes you sound like a giddy fool."
"Who made this drug? You?"
"I helped develop it. I'm not really into it that much, but yes, I helped. Through Daddy, I mean. He interacted with the developers."
"Yoobie?"
Barbara nodded. “And also that silly organization you people call Opposition."
I shook my head. “Make up your mind. It can't be both."
Barbara smirked. “I thought you were smart, but you're starting to convince me otherwise."
"Barbara, I'm an Op. So was your father. Or at least I thought he was. Ops don't have anything to do with Yoobie."
"Except when there's a ton of money to be made. Oh, and you also get smarter, too. Who doesn't want to become a genius? So they cooperated. Yoobie has a lot of resources, which they obtain by taxing everyone to death. Many of the best scientists are Ops. They needed each other. So they were like a couple of little boys slugging each other in the belly until they got distracted by an old shoe or toy or something stuck in the dirt, and they stopped fighting for a while in order to dig it up.” She shrugged. “It's as simple as that. A joint venture, you might say."
Maybe not so simple, I thought, but it would explain why the suicide rate for both Yoobie and Ops people had increased. I had wondered why it wasn't one or the other, but both.
I looked up to see Barbara studying my face.
"Daddy didn't tell you very much, did he?"
"Not about this.” I paused. “Arden's AI said you killed him. There's no way it could have known that for sure because it only shared Arden's memories up until the last update, which of course occurred prior to death. I'd been thinking it might be right, though, because it might have had access to information I didn't know about. But now I think it was wrong. I think it only wants to believe that you had something to do with his death. The AI has the same psychological profile as Arden, so it would also have his dysphoria addiction, as you call it. It prefers sad thoughts, and the thought of a daughter killing her father is one of the saddest things anyone can think of."
"You're restoring my faith in your intelligence, Ellam."
So Arden really did commit suicide. But it wasn't entirely his idea because of the drug's influence. I watched Barbara calmly exhale acrid smoke. “Did you love your father?"
She crushed her cigarette in a little cup she used to hold the ashes. “What extraordinary questions you ask. I tell you about a potential wonder drug and you ask about my psychology."
"He was about the only person you knew while you were growing up, wasn't he? You couldn't get outside much until you got Jennifer Yates's old number, and that was only a few years ago."
Barbara looked me in the eye. “What I love or don't love, or hate or don't hate, has nothing to do with anything. What's important—what I originally wanted to learn from you, and why I saved you from Yoobie a little while ago—is your expertise. I could use your help. And you could use mine."
"Another joint venture?"
"Yes, but this one has a nobler goal. We're going to overthrow Yoobie."
"Wow,” I said. “You and I are that powerful?"
"Don't be so cynical. Yes, you and I. With a little help from our friends."
"Who are?"
"I'll explain later. Right now I need to do some work.” She rose and went to the door. “It'll take me about an hour. I suggest you stay here. I won't try to stop you from leaving, but if you do, you can't get back in. And remember, you're wanted now."
"You're not exactly on friendly terms with Yoobie either, are you? I bet they still don't know anything about you. The truth, I mean. They still think Arden was the one who made the discovery."
"So? Who cares what Yoobie scientists think? I don't need them, nor want them. I don't take the drug because I'm one of the few people who don't need it. The drug doesn't interest me. What I want is the same as what you want: to destroy Yoobie."
"And replace the government with what?"
"With something less intrusive. We'll talk about that later. The important thing for now is that you need me and I need you. And we can both sink each other if we choose. I could hand you over to Yoobie, and you could tell them about me and my lab. But since neither of us wants to go to rehab, I assume we'll both keep our mouths shut."
"Who are those friends you mentioned? The advanced AIs?"
"As I said, you're a bright fellow."
"Barbara, there's no way that you and I and a few AIs can conquer millions and millions of people—"
Her eyes flashed in anger. “How can someone so smart be so blind and dumb? You and your silly Opposition don't seem to understand that you're the majority."
I laughed. “I think you know better than that. If we're the majority, how come Yoobie pols keep getting elected? The elections aren't rigged. Loyalist pols get the most votes, but what can you expect when more than two-thirds of the citizens are on the dole? People vote for who gives them money. It's the old bread-and-circus routine. Keeps the people happy so they don't revolt—in the street or the ballot box."
"The people in this country are slaves. And while most of them are stupid, even stupid slaves know they aren't free, no matter what Yoobie's mass media tell them. Slaves resent their masters. They obey their masters to get their bread and circuses, as you put it, but they'll revolt the minute they get a better alternative."
She saw my stunned expression and gave me a smug look. “Sometimes I think the Opposition is as dumb as Yoobie. You're just playing games. You confine yourselves to your cells and little operations where one cell doesn't know anything about the others, and you get giddy using your code words and your speakeasies and your vices and never realize that you are running this country about as much as Yoobie is.” She started to go. Before she closed the door she said, “I'll be back in about an hour. You staying?"
I nodded. I needed the time to think.
* * * *
By the time Barbara returned I'd made up my mind.
I'd reevaluated my position on a lot of things. The Opposition, for instance. Barbara had shocked me with some of the things she'd said, but what was more shocking was that I found myself unable to refute her argument. Amazing what hearing a fresh perspective will do for your outlook, especially when the perspective comes from someone who's perceptive. And that some
one tells you things that have perhaps been stealthily working their way into your mind for some time.
I belonged to an organization that essentially consisted of a bunch of adults playing children's games. We laughed and thumbed our noses at Yoobie and got away with as much as we could and called it freedom. But we weren't doing much good. We weren't striving for meaningful change, we had instead settled down into childish bouts of tag or hide-and-go-seek. That surely wasn't the primary reason the organization had been founded.
Did I want to topple the government or not? If so, then shouldn't I pitch my tent with rebels who were talented and serious? People like Barbara.
Sounded good. Except when I dug a little more deeply.
I figured I had a good idea what Barbara was planning. Although we might be able to bring Yoobie to its knees, I worried about what would come next. Change isn't necessarily always for the better. The alternative could be a whole lot worse.
What could be worse than an incompetent tyrant? A competent one.
Barbara was brilliant in some ways, terribly immature in others. I believed she'd go ahead with her plan with or without my help. That presented a dilemma. I had started contemplating the unthinkable. I might end up fighting for the status quo—and defending, of all things, Yoobie. The very thought crushed my spirit. I'd have no identity, no soul after that.
But I had a third option, and that's the one I chose. It would be the riskiest move I'd ever made, and in addition, I'd also be putting Barbara at risk. But the risk wasn't great if the argument she'd put forward, and evidently believed, was valid.
She came into the room and sat down in a chair. She lit a cigarette and eyed me warily. “You want to know the plan?"
I nodded.
"We place AIs at strategic points in the system, secretly replacing the existing AIs. Dispatch, routing, financial services, transportation, etcetera. The AIs can be easily trained. I don't know how to write the code but I don't have to—we already have a template, constructed by computer experts. All I have to do is add some code to simulate the genetic processes that make them truly intelligent. I can handle the AIs, but what I need is someone who understands and can manipulate Yoobie's networks, otherwise we can't install them where we want without Yoobie getting wise. That's where you come in. Daddy said you're one of the best."
"I'm assuming you want to wait until all the AIs are in place before activating them?"
"They'll be functional the moment they're installed, but at first they'll do Yoobie's bidding, so government officials won't notice anything's wrong. The AIs will dispatch agents, gather and analyze data from sensors, keep traffic flowing normally, distribute and schedule the slaves’ bread and circuses, and so forth. But then, when we've got everything ready, we switch the AIs into a different mode a few weeks or months before the next election. We don't want them to stop working or behave erratically because Yoobie could recover from that. We want them to maximize Yoobie's distress. Send their transports crashing into one another. Feed them ‘actionable intelligence’ that some of their prominent pols are members of the Opposition. Send all the benefits to the wealthy instead of the poor."
"And while Yoobie is in chaos, we foment revolt?"
"I think revolt will happen without our help because Yoobie will lose big at the polls, but if you want to lend a hand, that's fine. After Yoobie falls, we can use the AIs to guide the reconstruction. I don't much care what kind of political system replaces the Bureaus—I presume it will be something inefficient and unwieldy, but as long as it doesn't try to live my life for me and tell me what I can and can't do, it's okay with me. I just want a big science budget. Remember that, if you become a pol. Money for science."
"That's your bread and circus?"
Barbara gave me a long look. “Very funny. Science is truth, not entertainment. There's a lot left to be learned.” She inhaled a lungful of smoke. As she blew it out she said, “Want some advice? Distribute the wonder drug to people, even if they don't want it. Do it secretly if you have to. Smart people can handle freedom whereas ignorant people can't. Isn't that what Thomas Jefferson once said?"
"That really makes sense to you? Think about it, Barbara."
She shrugged. “Politics isn't my thing. You decide. Well? Are you in or out?"
"I have another plan. How about we publish your discovery, and tell everyone—not just Yoobie and Ops scientists but the public—about the drug and the AIs. At least the knowledge will be out in the open and less subject to abuse. In the meantime, there is a thing or two you need to learn, and I'm not talking about science. I know two people who want to be your friend if you'll let them."
Barbara initially thought I was kidding. Then she saw I was serious. She set her cigarette down on the cup, and the muscles in her face and neck tightened. “I like my plan better."
"There are a couple of problems with your plan. You'd be able to understand what I'm talking about if you were a little more mature."
She sneered. “Who's playing childish games all the time?"
"Me. But I'm starting to see the light. That's the difference between you and me. You can't see the light, you can't see your own problems. And you never will, until you start getting along with people, or at least start appreciating that other people have feelings and needs just as much as you do."
I'd recently found out a lot I didn't know about Arden, and most of it wasn't good. But everyone had flaws, and I owed the man a lot for helping me so many times. I wanted to return the favor by helping his daughter. I'm sure he would have wanted that. Circumstances deprived Barbara of a normal childhood; she turned out pretty well, considering, but her great intelligence had put her—and other people—in danger. Barbara needed to grow up, and I figured Jake and Sandra would be good role models. Well, at least Sandra would.
But Barbara wasn't buying it. “I'll turn you in,” she said fiercely.
"And Yoobie will catch you too."
Barbara paused. “Yes, but what I didn't tell you before is that they'll save me. They won't wipe my mind. I'm sure they won't. They won't do it once they know the truth. They won't save you, but they'll save me. I can fix the problems with the drug."
I shook my head. “Now it's my turn to clue you in about Yoobie. The one thing they fear above all else is violence."
She started to say something, then she looked thoughtful.
I pressed my advantage. “They'll find out you blew up the car. And despite your assurance that no one got hurt, two people who were nearby suffered second-degree burns."
"How do you—"
"Your monitors. That's how I found out. You have them hooked up to the institute's cameras and security system, but with some maneuvering I tapped into the news circuit a short while ago. Yoobie will trace the chemical residue. They probably wouldn't find out you did it without my help, but once I set them on the right track, they'll know for sure you're guilty. And my guess is that you've done this more than just once.” I paused. “They won't save you, Barbara. They'll be more afraid of you than anyone else."
Her face became bright red. She screamed and slammed her fist into the wall with a surprising amount of force. I was betting her fingers ached more than mine did, but in her agitated state she probably didn't even feel it. “I won't submit to you!” she cried. “I won't, I won't, I won't!"
"That's your choice,” I told her.
She gave me the most evil look I've ever seen. Her voice shook with rage. “My only consolation is that what happens to me will happen to you."
I was counting on it.
* * * *
Barbara's criticism of the Opposition was right. When you counted hearts instead of votes, we were in the majority.
There were some scary moments. The Yoobie agents who took Barbara and me into custody spared little feeling in their disdain. They wanted to begin rehabilitation right away.
A bureaucratic tussle ensued in my case. The Yoobie agent who had been trailing me carried a specific message, but Yoobie hadn't
caught onto my investigation of Kirst at the time—I had instead been selected for jury duty. My E.R.C.B. qualified me, and the Court Bureau and the Reform Bureau engaged in a spat with me in the middle, until the higher-ups sensibly ruled that rehabilitation overrode jury duty.
An indescribable anxiety swept over me as the technician sank the needle into my arm. The white uniforms, white walls, white floors, and white cot in the room crushed me, washed away all contrast and variety. Swathed in a white robe, I lost my identity, my separation from the environment.
The drugs would have finished me off, had they been given. But after ten of the longest minutes of my life, I discovered the I.V. contained nothing but saline, with an addition, perhaps, of a mild sedative. The sedative may or may not have been in the solution—my relief was so great that it may have just felt like it.
I had not been saved officially. Unofficially, someone along the line—the technician who administered the drug, the pharmacist who dispensed it, the nurse who supervised the procedure, the physician who prescribed the treatment, or even the orderly who turned down the bed sheet—someone had secretly intervened on my behalf.
It'd been a risky bet. But if the majority belonged to the Opposition, I figured somebody would come to my aid, especially after the importance of the charges against me leaked out. Ops were especially attuned to cases that Yoobie tried desperately to hide.
Barbara had also been given saline. I saw her a few times in the hallway, pretending to stumble about, as I was doing. But when we passed, we shared a glance that told each of us all we needed to know. She was okay. Still a bit peeved, but intact. And smart enough to play her role as convincingly as possible. She understood the consequences of failure.
Analog SFF, June 2010 Page 21