by John Zakour
Randy stomped a foot on the ground and threw his arms up in the air. ‘‘You skim them . . .’’ he mocked.
‘‘You do send me a lot of e-mail,’’ I said.
Randy rolled his eyes. ‘‘I’ve only sent you twenty-three messages this week.’’
‘‘Yeah, but Randy, it’s only Tuesday.’’
‘‘Every message I send you is of the utmost importance.’’
‘‘I agree,’’ HARV said, appearing from the room’s holographic projector. HARV was always one to bend over backward to take Randy’s side. I was surprised he wasn’t attached to Randy’s butt right now.
‘‘Randy, you send me more e-mail than my mother and people trying to sell me natural male enhancement combined . . .’’
Randy put his hands on his hips. ‘‘Well, your mother hasn’t inserted a multimillion-credit, super-highly-advanced cognitive computer into your brain, has she?’’
‘‘No, of course not,’’ I said.
Randy continued his rant. ‘‘As for those other people, I won’t even justify that with a comment. Though you probably could use some help in that area.’’
I pointed to the tall Asian woman as I told Randy, ‘‘Remember I like to keep HARV being attached to my brain as a secret.’’
Randy rolled his eyes. ‘‘Please, Zach,’’ he spat. ‘‘Melda here knows all about all my greatest inventions. I trust her completely. She’s working with me on guard plants for the Moon,’’ Randy said, staring at Melda the entire time. With his head turned away from me, I noticed for the first time that in middle of Randy’s gangly red hair there was a barren patch. If Randy didn’t take measures to stop it, in a few years his head would look like HARV’s. I shook my head, trying not to think about that any longer.
‘‘Guard plants for the Moon . . .’’ I said.
‘‘I combined the simple grape plant with some nanotech. And voilà! The plants can sense an intruder’s intentions and then subdue them until further security personnel arrive. Melda thinks they make a great low-cost alternative to bots. They are functional and ornamental. Melda says they are some of my best work.’’ Randy took a deep breath, a shallow breath and then sighed, spitting a bit. ‘‘We were in the final stages of testing how long they can hold an intruder when you so rudely interrupted.’’
Melda walked over to me and extended her hand. ‘‘You must be Zachary Nixon Johnson,’’ she said.
I took her hand, gladly ignoring Randy. ‘‘If I’m not then the wrong person is wearing my trench coat and fedora.’’
‘‘Gross.’’ HARV said in my head.
Melda smiled. ‘‘Ah, Randy says you have quite the wit.’’ She was a tall, striking woman. I would have thought her blue hair would have looked awkward on her dark Asian skin, but the combination somehow worked. I knew this woman could probably twist Randy around her little finger without even trying. Who knows what she could do to him if she put some effort into it?
‘‘Well, I’d probably be dead a thousand times over if it wasn’t for Randy’s inventions,’’ I said.
Melda’s smile widened. ‘‘Yes, he says that often, too. We are hoping that we can implement some of his genius on the Moon.’’
Randy gave Melda a toothy grin, then blushed. ‘‘Melda’s not only beautiful and a great judge of character, but she’s also a brilliant scientist.’’ Randy was crushing on her bad, and this couldn’t be good. He turned to me. ‘‘Melda really thinks that all the work I did for you is especially ingenious.’’
I sighed. Randy may have been one of the greatest minds on Earth but he was also a first-class, no-holds-barred geek. A pretty face on a great body could make him babble like a drunk actor accepting an award. Randy’s eyes filled with admiration as he looked at Melda. I could only hope she was as worthy of his respect as he believed. Randy forced himself to remove his gaze from Melda (who was doing a yoga stretch) and return his attention to me.
‘‘Why are you here, Zach?’’
‘‘One of your e-mails mentioned my gun was ready.’’
Randy stood there staring at me. His wide eyes became narrow in concentration.
‘‘My gun, the one I keep up my sleeve,’’ I coaxed. ‘‘I dropped it off last week.’’
Randy’s eyes shot back open again. ‘‘Ah, yes, that gun. It’s ready now.’’ Randy pointed down the path. ‘‘It’s in my main lab.’’
‘‘Funny thing is, last week all you had was the main lab.’’
Randy looked at me. ‘‘That’s not funny at all.’’
‘‘I agree,’’ HARV said, always the brownnoser. HARV looked at me. ‘‘Dr. Pool had the arboretum built five days ago.’’
‘‘It’s mostly a prefab,’’ Randy said. ‘‘It’s amazing what you can do if have some extra credits and lots of robo-builders.’’
‘‘I wouldn’t know,’’ I said.
‘‘Follow me and I’ll give you your new gun,’’ Randy said, motioning forward like an old stagecoach driver preparing to head West. Randy turned to Melda. ‘‘You’ll want to see this, too. It’s way groovy.’’
As we walked, I thought about how Randy had recently come into that wealth of extra credits. One his inventions, the PIHI-Pod, had hit it ultra-big. The PIHI-Pod, which is short (but not that short) for Portable Interactive Holographic Interface Personally Optimized Device, is basically a mass-market, less powerful version of HARV. It is a small device that users wear on their ears or the sides of their heads, wherever they prefer. A PIHI-Pod senses a person’s thoughts and transmits holographic information and entertainment to him, based on his current needs and likes. It comes in many styles and shapes, none of them being either too big or all that much to look at, but that doesn’t stop it from being today’s ‘‘in’’ thing.
The scary thing about PIHI-Pods (besides people trying to drive and watch them at the same time) is that I know for a fact that Randy’s research was funded by all the biggest conglomerates in the world: Entercorp, Htech, and ExShell. To make matters worse, they are sold exclusively by UltraMegaHyper-Mart. To bring matters to the point I don’t even want to think about thinking about, they are also fully endorsed by the World Council as a way to instantly deliver important information to everybody. . . . I’ve come to accept a world filled with constant DNA scans and full body light-X-rays as part of everyday modern life. DOS, I’ve even learned to take advantage of these when I needed an extra bit of data to crack a case. But there’s something about the government and big corps having direct access to people’s minds that scares me. . . . A lot.
Randy is constantly assuring me that only good can come from PIHI-Pods. The devices simply read people’s needs and transmit relevant information to them. The devices can’t be used to program people. They are also not recording people’s thoughts and sending them thought-appropriate advertisements. . . . At least not yet. I knew it would be just a matter of time before some greedy marketing exec started spamming people’s brains. HARV insists I’m just paranoid. In my game a little paranoia can go a long way toward keeping you alive.
Chapter 2
We entered Randy’s main facility. It was much cleaner and far less chaotic than normal. Yep, Randy was putting on his best face for Melda. No good could come of that. Randy worked best when he let chaos guide and inspire him. Necessity may be the mother of invention, but chaos is what drives the necessity.
One advantage of having HARV wired directly to my brain is that we can actually think back and forth to each other. That’s something PIHI-Pods can’t do. While Randy led us towards a lab bench, HARV and I conversed mentally.
‘‘HARV, I need as much info as you can give me on this Melda.’’
‘‘Right,’’ HARV thought back. ‘‘She was born on the Moon in 2024. She was the first baby born there.’’
I waited for more. There wasn’t any.
‘‘And?’’ I prompted.
‘‘It’s very interesting that she was the first baby born on the Moon,’’ HARV offered.
‘‘You’re stalling, HARV.’’
More mental silence. HARV was having problems and neither of us liked that.
Finally, HARV said slowly, ‘‘I’m not stalling. Nice weather we’re having. How about those Mets?’’
HARV may be the most advanced cognitive processor on Earth but he wasn’t very good at stalling. It was something he didn’t have any experience with.
‘‘Her birthday is August fifteenth,’’ HARV offered.
‘‘Great, now I know when to send her a holo-card.’’
‘‘You don’t have to be mean about it,’’ HARV said. ‘‘The Earth and the Moon don’t actually share a lot of data.’’
HARV didn’t need to tell me that. The Moon Colony was established around 2023, not long after humans and aliens made initial contact. At first, things were all peachy keen with the Earth and the Moon, with the latter acting as a huge science research lab and greeting center for aliens. The Moon also served as an asteroid deflection point for Earth. Earth and Moon cooperated to build a giant reflector beam that would defend both the Moon and mostly the Earth from any impending asteroid crashes. Both sides got along well for a while, but that was just the drunken honeymoon before the reality and then the greed set in.
First, the aliens decided they didn’t want a lot to do with us, certainly not to the point where they need to interact with us on a regular basis. (The main reason for this is that aliens think we smell funky.) Right off the bat the Moon lost one of its main functions. The World Council, being as sharp and thrifty as they are, figured they needed another use for the colony. They found one. They declared that the Moon would be used to store ‘‘materials no longer deemed suitable for the Earth.’’ In other words, we’d give them our toxic waste.
The Moon protested, saying they were meant to be an oasis for research and alien contact, not a trash receptacle. The Earth’s counterargument was: we have nuclear weapons—so there! The Moon really had no choice but to accept our waste. From there the relationship went downhill. Both sides still coexist, but the Earth makes it clear that the Moon only exists because the Earth allows it to. For the most part, the Moon accepted that relationship.
That is, until a few years ago, when a guy named Boris ‘‘Bo’’ Sputnik became Head Administrator of the Moon. Sputnik was quite the rebel. He pushed the World Council to set the Moon free and make it an independent colony. He promised they would still house our trash and protect us from being smashed by an asteroid, but he wanted to set his people free.
To their credit (and my surprise) the World Council has voted on the ‘‘Free the Moon Resolution’’ a couple of times. Each time, the resolution has been defeated. If memory served me right, a new vote was coming up soon.
‘‘Have you got anything for me yet?’’ I asked HARV.
The word NO flashed in front of my eyes. I always knew when HARV was frustrated, as he would stop talking.
That wasn’t a good omen at all. Sure the Moon’s computer systems were generally closed to the Earth’s computer systems but that had never stopped HARV before. He was an e-expert at cracking through the toughest firewalls, even the latest intelligent e-laser walls.
‘‘I’ll keep working on it while you talk to Dr. Pool,’’ HARV said.
Sure enough, we had reached the lab table that my gun was on. I turned my attention back to Randy. It was always best to pay close attention to Randy when he was in close proximity to a firearm.
Randy smiled smugly as he reached for the gun. To my surprise, his hand passed over my gun and instead, picked up a clear plastic rod. Randy showed us the rod proudly.
‘‘This is the new Colt 2062.’’
I shook my head. I pointed to my gun. ‘‘No, it’s not. That is.’’
Randy shook his head. ‘‘No,’’ he said. ‘‘That’s the old Colt 4500.’’
He held the tube up to my face. ‘‘This! This is the state of personal weapons to come!’’
I shook my head again. ‘‘No, it’s not.’’
‘‘Yes, it is,’’ Randy said.
‘‘Yes, it is,’’ HARV echoed.
Randy pulled the tube away from me and displayed it in an open hand for Melda to see. She reached over and touched it.
‘‘Nice,’’ Melda said. ‘‘And I’m not one to usually like weapons.’’
‘‘It’s not a weapon,’’ I insisted.
Randy tossed me the tube. I caught it. It felt like a cross between old Silly Putty, older PVC tubing, and the classic Nintendo Wii controller. I liked the feel. It felt good, though I wasn’t going to admit that. Besides, a weapon should feel right in the hand, not good.
‘‘It’s tied into your brain waves and DNA,’’ Randy said proudly. (Like that was a good thing).
‘‘Wow,’’ Melda said, with a look of admiration in her eyes. I didn’t know if the look was real or if she was just playing Randy.
‘‘It can fire bolts of energy ranging from stun to disintegrate,’’ Randy boasted. ‘‘You can even use the energy from your own body to charge it more.’’
‘‘And that’s a good thing because?’’ I asked.
Randy walked over, smiled, and patted me on the shoulder. It was very uncharacteristic of Randy. He’s not a big fan of touching.
‘‘Trust me, Zach, it is.’’
‘‘Trust him, Zach, it is,’’ HARV reiterated.
‘‘The energy bolts will even lock on to your target’s bio signature and track it. And it is self-generating so it charges while you move. It’s virtually limitless in its power.’’ Randy’s grin was so wide he probably could have swallowed an old-fashioned truck tire.
Having an unlimited supply of tracking bolts and destructive energy unquestionably had its appeal.
‘‘I like good old-fashioned lead bullets,’’ I said. ‘‘Sure they can be messy, but killing should never be clean and easy.’’ I never want to get to the point where I take killing for granted.
I didn’t think it was possible but Randy’s smile widened. ‘‘I knew you’d say that.’’
‘‘Well, you are a mad genius,’’ I told him.
‘‘True,’’ he acknowledged with a nod.
‘‘True,’’ HARV agreed.
‘‘True,’’ Melda said, under her breath but loud enough for us all to hear.
Randy’s smile grew even wider. ‘‘The Colt 2062 is also loaded with five thousand rounds of new and improved nano lead bullets. The bullets expand and can even split and explode after leaving the barrel.’’
‘‘Only five thousand rounds?’’ I said.
‘‘That should be more than sufficient, Zach.’’ Randy stared at me. ‘‘Zach, you hold in your hand the most powerful hand weapon ever invented. Also, when interfaced with HARV and your underarmor, it can generate a shield. Plus it can fire a mini-tractor beam.’’
‘‘Yeah, but does it do windows?’’ I joked.
Randy thought for a nano. ‘‘I’m sure on the correct setting you could blast windows clean.’’
I played with the tubular Colt 2062 in hand; moving it around to get a good feel for it.
‘‘It doesn’t even have a sight.’’
Randy shook his head. ‘‘The sight is intelligent and on demand.’’
‘‘Huh?’’
Randy held his arm out and made a vertical motion. ‘‘Lift your arm up like you want to fire it.’’
I moved my arm upward, aiming the tube. A targeting sight morphed up from the opposite end of the cylinder. Another computer-generated sight appeared in front of my eye.
‘‘The virtual sight also works with HARV’s holo interface,’’ Randy beamed like a proud dad.
‘‘Where’s the trigger?’’ I asked.
Randy put his head in his hands. ‘‘A trigger! How last week,’’ he said. He looked up from his hands. ‘‘Just squeeze the handle and it will fire.’’
‘‘Really?’’
Randy bobbed his head up and down. ‘‘Really.’’
‘‘What
keeps me from firing it by mistake?’’
‘‘Software, Zach. Software. Very intelligent, situation appropriate, software. It all works with HARV.’’
‘‘What if HARV is out of commission?’’
‘‘That won’t happen,’’ Randy and HARV said in unison.
‘‘Just humor me.’’
‘‘The gun has a manual override that will still interface directly with your brain,’’ they both said. ‘‘Just think type of ordnance then squeeze and it will fire. Besides the standard penetrating and exploding ammo, the nano bullets can also morph into glue, paint, or web.’’ Randy paused for a nano, like he so often did when he knew he had something to say but didn’t remember what. This time, though, there was something different about the silence. Randy put a finger to his mouth.
‘‘What aren’t you telling me?’’ I asked.
‘‘GUS activate,’’ Randy said looking at my new weapon.
The weapon glowed.
‘‘Okay, it’s a flashlight too. . . . That’s kind of cool,’’ I conceded.
The words, ‘‘Now operational,’’ came from my gun.
‘‘Okay, so it talks,’’ I said. ‘‘Not sure if the world really needs another talking gun.’’
Randy shook his head and hands and most of his body at me. ‘‘It doesn’t talk. It thinks! The Gun’s User System, or GUS, is the gun’s AI.’’
‘‘It thinks?’’ I asked, not bothering to point out that the acronym was really stretching it.
‘‘It thinks,’’ HARV said, not thrilled that he wasn’t the only cognitive processor in the room.
‘‘It thinks,’’ Melda said, under her breath.
‘‘Yes, it thinks,’’ Randy said.
‘‘I certainly do!’’ GUS said proudly.
‘‘Why do I need a thinking gun?’’ I asked.
‘‘Why don’t you need a thinking gun!’’ Randy answered.
HARV turned a shade of red I’d never seen him turn before. ‘‘Yes, why does he need a thinking gun?’’ HARV asked, hands on hips, not even pretending to be close to happy.
Randy looked at HARV. ‘‘GUS is a backup fail-safe,’’ Randy said. ‘‘Just in case.’’