by wade coleman
Computer building
Computer utilization
Computer programming
Automotive electronics
Building Security Systems
Hacking
Cracking
Locksmithing
Evasion
Cardio
The menu recommends taking the first three classes together, so I select that option and type in my name.
A woman’s face comes on the screen. “Hello, Adam, I’m your instructor. You can call me Carol.”
“Hello, Carol.”
“Do you have any questions so far?”
“What kind of job am I getting?”
“Either law enforcement,” Carol says and then winks. “Or un-enforcement.”
Un-enforcement… “Not enforcement or the opposite of enforcement?” I ask.
“Think of you and the police as a team playing a game. You break little laws, and the police try to catch you. That way you have something to do and the police have something to do.”
“How’s the pay?” I ask.
“Depends on how smart you are,” Carol says.
“Oh… Day one and I’m already way over my head.”
CHAPTER 16
James, my roommate, didn’t come back. That’s because the cops are super strict when it comes to curfew.
During the day, you can leave D-block, look at the museums and visit all the public parks. But when the sun sets, you had better be in D-block.
If you break curfew and the cops are nice, they’ll beat you up, put you in the back seat of a cruiser and drive you home. If they’re in a good mood, they’ll stop. Otherwise, they’ll open the door, take a hard right, and you tumble out onto the pavement.
If they’re in a foul mood, they take you to the top of a building and push you off. A garbage truck comes, and centaur robots scape up your body with shovels.
James didn’t come back, and I now have a room of my own. Robots came next the day and took the bed and his belongings.
I look out my second story balcony window. Busses line up, and men and women get in. Some are crying. Each bus holds fifty-two people. Thirteen coaches have come and gone so far. That’s 676 people. According to the main menu, this campus holds 2,150 students. That means thirty-one percent of the students flunked their mid-terms and there are three more buses parked at the main gate.
I don’t know why they didn’t pass - school is easy. You just obey the rules.
I sit back down on my bed and look at my flat screen TV and think.
I made my first computer. I bought a used frame for a hundred credits that have twenty-four slots for data crystals. RAM goes in the first ten spaces. The next slot is the communication crystal, and the rest are for memory and add-on databases. The one I bought is called a 10-1-13 frame. It holds ten crystals of Ram, one for communications and 13 for memory or data crystals.
The total cost was a little over five hundred credits.
I plugged everything in and went online and downloaded a public domain operating system. Then it was an hour of voice training until the computer understood my accent. I bought a flat screen TV for a monitor and pinned it to the wall.
Then I ran a shielded cable to connect the screen to the 10F13 computer, so the wireless signal doesn’t go down the hall.
The computer utilization class final project is called: ‘Secret Computer Project.’ I bet a lot of people are sniffing the wireless right now.
Buying software is a lot harder. You need a quality A.I. to solve problems. I’ve done my research; there are three different types of A.I.s: Math/engineering, social programs that act like they have emotions or general purpose programs that are good but not great in both.
Good ones cost a lot, but the course outline says you can’t pay more than two hundred credits for software.
“Adam,” my computer teacher says, “you’re staring at the screen again.”
“I’m still trying to figure out the two hundred credit question.”
“Alright, let’s review,” the young woman’s says. “You want someone to be the brains of your… small business enterprise?”
I nod. Carol means an A.I. to figure out what I’m gonna steal. The teacher is nice. She never says: steal, thief, criminal. Carol says these words have negative ideas associated with them.
That’s because is a bummer if you come home and your stuff is gone. But Carol is an A.I. and doesn’t have things, so she doesn’t understand. So I just nod. It’s not like I’m lying. It means I know that she doesn’t understand.
“That means you need at least a GP eighty-eight artificial intelligence. Do you know what that means?”
I nod. “GP means general purpose. The eighty-eight means it needs eight crystals of RAM and eight crystals of memory to run.”
“And what is the volume of a data crystal?” Carol asks.
“One point one cubic centimeter,” I say. “Data crystals a little bigger than RAM so you can’t put the crystals in the wrong slot.”
“That’s right, Adam.
“GP8.5” appears on the screen.
What does this mean? Carol asks.
“The A.I. needs eight crystals of Ram and five of memory to run.
“Very good,” she says.
How many crystals does this A.I. need?
“GP8.8” appears on the screen.
“Two times eight is sixteen crystals plus one for communication. That’s seven-teen crystals.”
“That’s correct. So you know what you want, right?”
I think for a minute. “Yes, I want a GP eighty-eight A.I.”
“Okay, how would you search for that?”
I think some more. “Computer, search for a used GP eighty-eight and sort by price,” I say.
Instantly the screen changes and a list comes up.
Several are free; it’s the same personal trainer workout program. I look at the reviews: “Terrible personality” is the most common remark.
I scroll down the screen. There’s GP eighty-eight with the same artificial intelligence. It comes with a medical database built into the program. It costs fifty credits.
“That’s your best buy,” my teacher says.
I touch my TV screen and tap twice to purchase. The screen changes, and it displays: “This program is a reasoning life-form and cannot be erased without due process of law. Do you agree to these terms?
I select ‘yes.’ Then I plug my shielded cable into my 20cc computer and the USB port on the TV.
The screen displays: “Download time: 2 hours and 37 minutes.”
“Display countdown clock and percent complete bar,” I say.
I sit at the edge of the bed and watch the clock countdown.
“You could go outside,” my teacher says.
“No, I’m good.”
“You’re meeting with the dean is in an hour.”
“I know.”
“Are you watching the screen to distract yourself?
I don’t bother to answer; I just watch the countdown.
* * *
I sit outside the dean’s office on a bench made of real wood. Most of the staff are robots, but they put humans on the reception desks. She’s talking to a friend on the phone.
A centaur robot with wheels comes up with a screen for a face. “The dean will see you.” He opens the door, and I walk inside. I sit in a chair that faces a screen on the wall.
A man with a white beard and hair smiles at me. “Hello, Adam.”
“Hello, Mister Dean.”
“Adam, the staff noticed that you’re having some trouble fitting in.”
“I’ll try harder.”
“Adam, it’s not what you think,” the guy on the screen that looks like Santa Claus says. “It’s your tattoos.”
“Oh.”
“In your new environment, you’ll need to wear shorts and t-shirts to fit in. Your tattoos will arouse suspicion.”
“I got my orphanage tats plus my high scho
ol grad tats,” I say. “My back is covered with names of the dead. It’s my history. There’s no paper in D-block. We write what’s important on our skin so we can’t forget.”
“A man like you doesn’t need paper to remember what’s important; it’s etched in your brain in stone.”
I think about what he said. “Not their faces,” I reply.
“That’s because you don’t look at people’s faces.”
“Yeah, faces hurt. They give off too much information. I rather look at people’s shoes and listen. You can tell a lot about a person by the shoes they wear.”
“You’re doing much better now,” the Dean says and gives me a big Santa Claus smile. “At the reception desk is a gift card. A cab is out front that will take you to any skin shop you want.”
I think about the catalog at the Bone Clinic and my left eye twitches. A.I.s don’t miss things like that.
“With a skin augment you won’t have to worry about UV light and skin cancer,” the Dean says.
I had skin cancer, maybe as a kid. I don’t remember for sure.
I nod. “Okay.”
The Dean smiles.
The centaur robot comes in and leads me out. The receptionist hands me a gift card while still talking on the phone. I walk out front and get in the cab.
“Where do you want me to take you?” the cabby asks.
I smile big. “Denver International Space Station duty-free zone.”
* * *
I watched a lot of medical infomercials while I was getting my bones done. They have lots of augments for space. One infomercial was for V-skin and lungs. The advertisement showed guys in black and red uniforms playing baseball on Mars. They wore sunglasses with no space suits.
They would interview the players. Half of them got their augment in Denver before they left Earth. The name of the aug shop is Martians Are Us.
The space station owns the land around the spaceport. They built hotels, casinos, brothels and augment clinics.
The cab rolls into the augment district. I have to close my eyes because the flashing colors are making me sick.
I roll down the window. The hot air makes me feel worse.
“Adam,” the cab speaker says, “are you okay?”
“I don’t feel good. I need air blowing across my face.”
Soon cold air flows down from the ceiling.
“What’s going on?” the cab asks.
Even with my eyes closed, I can see the colors flash. “It’s too much light.”
“I’ll darken the windows.”
Soon, it gets darker, and the fresh air calms my stomach.
“That’s better,” I say and open my eyes.
The car moves forward at twenty-five kilometers an hour with the emergency blinkers on. Other cars pass us.
“I suggest you purchase a pair of polarizing sunglasses,” the cab says.
“That’s okay; I’m just here to get V-skin and leave.”
“You’re leaving Earth?” the cab asks.
“Yeah, I want a job on Mars or in space.”
The cab stops and the door opens.
I get out. “Thank you for the ride.”
“Take care now,” the cab says, and the door closes.
I walk up to the glass door Mars Are Us, and it opens. I step inside.
There’s lots of red: red carpet, red reception desk, and red leather chairs.
I walk up to the woman with red hair. “I want V-skin.” I hand her my gift card.
Half her face smiles. That’s a sneer. It means disgust. It’s hot, so I’m wearing shorts and a t-shirt. I bet it’s my tats.
She hands the card back to me. “You can’t pay for V-skin with a gift card.”
I shrug. “Just scan it.”
She takes a deep, loud breath and lets it out. Then she touches her screen and holds the card up to the reader.
Her face changes to anger, but she tries to hide it with a smile.
“She puts the card in the recycle bin. “Thank you, Adam. The doctor will see you now.” She points down the hall.
“Aren’t you supposed to walk me to the door?”
A shiver goes through her body, and she doesn’t bother to hide her rage. But she gets up, and I watch her ass as she leads me down the hall.
Yeah, pissing people off is my super-power.
CHAPTER 17
I stayed three days at the Mars are Us augment clinic. They put you in a tub and nanites eat your skin off. Then they add different nanites that build new skin.
V-skin is made to withstand a vacuum. Skin is pushed on by Earth’s atmosphere at fourteen pounds per square inch. When you’re in space, V-skin tightens up, so the body is under the right amount of pressure. My eyes have a second lid that acts like sunglasses.
The skin also seals your nose, butt and mouth shut if you get a rip in your space suit. The V-skin even can turn up its insulation when it gets cold, meaning you’ll suffocate in space before you freeze to death.
They put a battery on my hip to power the V-skin. I also have a charger in my bag that plugs in at bedtime.
Right now I’m riding back in a cab to the vocational school in Greely and thinking about things.
I like school. It’s a lot of memorization. That’s easy. All you have to do is not think of anything while you’re listening. Then the brain automatically stores the information. Then you sleep, and it sinks in overnight.
Memory is effortless, but listening is exhausting. After ninety minutes my brain is full, and I have to nap. Then I exercise, eat, and then I can learn more. The teacher says I’m a machine.
I can’t wait to try out my new skin in my safe opening class. It used to be ‘safecracking,’ but the dean thought that ‘cracking’ had negative word associations. So now it’s called ‘safe opening.’ I can dial up the sensitivity of V-skin. That should make it easier to feel the tumblers.
Safecracking is the one class I have with other people. All computer classes are taken in our rooms since we have a secret computer project.
I’m so lost in thought and don’t notice we’re back until the door opens to the cab.
I get out and look around. It’s summer and hot with people in shorts and shirts. Couples hold hands. Since there’s no paper, there are no books. The students carry tablet computers.
I walk to my dormitory, and a Red-haired Guy stops me.
“Hey, Adam.”
“Hello.”
He looks at my skin. “No tats?”
“Skin cancer, I’m not used to the sun.” It’s not a lie. I’m not used to the sun. I didn’t say I had skin cancer. I just said, “skin cancer,” which means I don’t want to get skin cancer.
“Oh… you got synth skin?”
“Yes.” I nod. V-skin is one of many synthetic skin products.
“Yeah, didn’t see you in the cafeteria. Thought maybe…”
“I washed out,” I say and finish his sentence.
A smile flashes across his lips, and it goes away.
I went to boot camp with Red Haired guy. He likes to steal cars. He’s a chronic smiler like Garry.
I walk away. “Goodbye, Garry.”
“My name is Rip, asshole,” red-haired guy replies.
I smile and keep walking. After I had pegged someone’s rage-o-meter, Zane would put his hand on my shoulder and lead me away. He would say to me, “It’s a gift.”
I don’t remember Zane’s face, but I can still feel his hand on my shoulder. It’s like he’s leading me away again.
I get to my room without being jumped from behind. My homemade computer is right where I left it.
Oh yeah, I downloaded a program before I left. It’s a personal trainer program with a General Purpose 8.8 artificial intelligence.
The flat screen TV is on standby.
“Hello,” I say to the poster TV pinned to the wall.
The screen comes on. It’s a gym full of weights. A man in T-shirt and shorts is doing bicep curls. He puts down the dumbbell, stands up
and walks closer to the screen. He points at me and says, “Dude, are you ready for the M.P.P. or Max Power Program?”
“I don’t know what that is.”
He walks closer and says, “With a neck like yours, you should have shoulders twice that size. And when one looks at your glutes it obvious you suffer from S.W.M.A.”
“What’s that?”
He smiles and his tooth sparkles. “Skinny White Man Ass. “I can guarantee the M.M.P will rid you of S.W.M.A.”
I think about what he says. “I don’t want a bigger butt; I want a job. I want to do something – I don’t care what – with my hands.”
He sits on the bench. “Dude, that’s heavy. I feel you, bro. But I just don’t have the databases to help you in that department.”
“You got four empty slots,” I say. “You tell me what you need.”
He points the finger at me. “Dude, I like your attitude. All I need is a few hours and lots of bandwidth,” he says, and a tooth sparkles. “Let me talk to the admin…” He cocks his head to the side. “I’m a school project; your teacher is Carol… and I have connected to the server.” He smiles. “May I have access to your medical records?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t wait up, I’ll see you in the morning.”
* * *
I wake up in the middle of the night because the TV is turned on. Max is pacing in his virtual gym. “Dude, did I wake you?”
I sit up in the bed and say, “I’m fine, Max.”
Max walks closer and fills the screen. He smiles and says, “The Max Power Program is all about maximizing your resources. That’s MR part of the MPP. Do you get my drift?”
I sit up in bed and stall for time. “I get MPP and MR. But what happens when you merge the two realities?”
“It’s my turn to say, wow,” he says, smiles and points at me. “Because dude, you’re reading my mind.”
“Yeah, I get you.”
“I know what you want,” Max says. “There’s only one problem, and I’ve already found a solution.”
“What’s that?”
“Working in space is dangerous and requires the ability to solve complex problems with limited resources. That’s not part of your current skill set.”