PARANOIA A1 The Computer is Your Friend
Page 6
Rayford looked at the screen. Then he rubbed his eyes vigorously with both hands, and looked at it again.
“I’m sorry, I don’t see the difference.”
“Pardon me?”
“Those are all the same color. Those are four identical patches of green.”
“Is that what you see? Interesting. Very interesting.” She inspected him briefly before turning toward the door. “Kyle-R?” Before she was done speaking his name, the door flew open, Kyle thrusting his head into the room. “Kyle-R, look at that vidscreen. What color do you see in the upper left corner?
“That’s green-yellow, Evelyn-B.”
“What about the upper right corner?”
“Bluish green, Evelyn-B.”
“How about the two on the bottom?”
“To the left is greenish blue, to the right is more of a yellowish green.”
Evelyn tilted her head. Kyle took the cue and extracted his head from the doorway.
Rayford’s headache had matured. He got the sense the overhead lights were pulsing at an unusual frequency. “I’m sorry, I don’t see it. Maybe I don’t have a marketing expert’s sense of color? This sorta creative stuff doesn’t really come up at Tech Services.” Rayford tried to force another chuckle. This time it sounded more like an allergic reaction.
“Let me ask you, Rayford-O, have you had your vision tested recently?”
“Sure. Docbot gave me a physical last month. Had me stare at the chart, left eye, right eye, 20/20 in both. My vision is perfect.”
“Of course. But a standard physical wouldn’t test your capacity for color discernment. Have you ever been tested for that?”
“I don’t need to be tested for anything like that. I see colors! That wall is gray. This table is beige. My pants are orange. Your belt is brown.”
“My belt is alternating patches of tan and burnt sienna, actually, but thanks for noticing it. It’s new.”
“Look, I’m not color-blind.”
“No, of course not. You clearly don’t suffer from monochromacy. Rather, you suffer from partial color blindness. In fact, I believe you have a condition called tritanomaly. It’s a mutation of the X chromosome.”
Rayford froze. He swallowed hard and tried not to gasp.
In Alpha Complex the word mutation was never used casually. Decades of unchecked biological experimentation and higher-than-recommended radiation levels had taken a hard toll on the collective genome. Mutations were common. Even so, The Computer was disinclined to tolerate them. To The Computer, erasing a genetically compromised citizen was like correcting an error on a spreadsheet—except the correction tended to be violent.
“Mutation?” Rayford stammered. “No. No, listen to me. I’m no mutant.”
Evelyn’s PDC bleeped a new message alert. She scanned it as she spoke. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s not a health concern. Just a quirk, most often found among Alpha Complex’s—less refined genetic lines. No offense.”
Rayford tried to think of a way not to take offense.
She looked up from her PDC. “And in case you were wondering, no, it’s not on the prohibited mutations list—though, technically, I believe you are obliged to register any known genetic mutation through the appropriate channels. But that’s between you and The Computer.”
Rayford unclenched. “So—you’re not going to tell anyone about this?”
“Your vision problems are way below my security clearance. However, I’m sorry to say we’ll have to cut this study short.”
“Why?”
“The purpose of this study is to gauge the message penetration of an advertisement on average citizens. With your rare visual deficiency, you are, frankly, not sufficiently average. You’ll skew our data. There’s simply no value in gearing a marketing strategy to citizens with your disability.”
“It’s not—!” Rayford took a moment to moderate his tone. “It’s not a disability. I am not disabled. I’m fully abled. I am just as capable of looking at a mouthwash ad as any other citizen. I’ll prove it. Show me again. Please.”
Evelyn glanced at her expensive analog wristwatch. She shrugged. “All right. At this point, we normally have the subject focus on the text at the bottom of the promotional image. For this, we flash the image four times, at decreasing time intervals. After each exposure, you’ll indicate what text you were able to discern. Are you ready?”
Rayford inched his chair toward the vidscreen and leaned forward. “Yeah, yeah. I got this.”
Evelyn pressed a button on her PDC and the room lighting dimmed. “Please look at the vidscreen. First exposure in 3, 2, 1—”
Flash.
“Okay. I saw the words ‘fresh breath.’”
“Is that all?”
“Was it—‘frosty fresh breath’?”
“Good. Look at the vidscreen again. Exposure two, in 3, 2, 1—”
Flash.
“I saw ‘anti’—”
“Yes?”
“—‘antibiotic oral solution’?”
“Very good. Stay focused. Eyes on the vidscreen. Third exposure in 3, 2, 1—”
Flash.
“At the bottom it says ‘Minty Morning Mandate.’”
“Yes. Surprising you didn’t find that earlier. It’s the most prominent text in the image; most subjects get it in the first exposure. You’ve got one exposure left. Whenever you’re ready.”
During the previous glimpses, Rayford had noticed something in the corner of the image. Something small, probably a single line of text. He almost made it out that last time, but got distracted by the larger text. Now that he knew where it was, he could focus on just the right spot before the image flashed. He would be ready; he would find those tiny words, and Evelyn would have to be impressed. Rayford leaned way forward. He opened his eyes wide; his bushy eyebrows shot upward. “I’m ready.”
Everything else in the room had dissolved; there was only the vidscreen. Evelyn’s voice sounded strangely distant. “Final exposure in 3, 2, 1—”
In that moment, Rayford felt something pop, or rip, just behind his eyes. In any other situation he would have assumed it was an aneurysm. Right now the pain was mere background noise. Rayford was focused elsewhere.
“Rayford-O? Are you all right?”
He snapped back into focus. Evelyn was suddenly standing right in front of him.
“Sorry. I zoned out for a second.” The pain was now very much in the foreground.
“Did you see any text during that final exposure?”
Rayford hadn’t been this pleased with himself since he figured out how to scam free algae chips from the snack machine in his break room. He sat up straight and, for the first time, looked her straight in the eyes. “’Not recommended for citizens sensitive to synthetic protein n-acetyl gluconolactam.’”
“Well.” Evelyn swiped her PDC and the room lighting returned to normal. “That’s interesting.”
“Did I get it right?”
“Let’s take a look and find out.”
Evelyn tapped her PDC and the ad appeared on the screen. “Please indicate where in this image you found that phrase about n-acetyl gluconolactam.”
Rayford looked the advertisement over. Something was missing. “Uhhh—”
“Here, show me where that text is.” She handed him a brushed chrome laser pointer engraved with her initials.
“I don’t—I know it was there. It was in the corner.”
“Which corner? Point to the spot.”
Rayford aimed a blue dot at the screen.
“Perhaps I’m the one with a visual disability.” Evelyn laughed. Unlike Rayford, she could make it sound natural. “I’m afraid I don’t see anything in that section of the image. Do you?”
“No.” Rayford deflated into his chair.
“Lyle-R! Kyle-R!”
The door flew open. Two RED-Clearance skulls collided as both tried to be first in the room.
“Gentlemen, do you see any words on the vidscreen in the spot wh
ere Rayford-O is pointing?”
“I don’t see anything!”
“Me neither!”
Evelyn twitched her wrist toward the door. Lyle and Kyle just managed to avoid a second collision as their heads withdrew from the room.
“I’m sorry. I must have been mistaken. It’s not on there.”
“Let’s not be hasty. Perhaps if we magnify the image?” Evelyn poked at her PDC and the image on the screen expanded. “Hmm. Still nothing. I’ll zoom in again—annnd again. Now we’re at 100 times magnification.” A dark speck appeared in the center of vidscreen. “Well, now there’s something there. What does that look like to you?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t look like anything.”
“Probably just a smudge on the vidscreen. But, just in case, let’s blow it up to 1,000.”
And there it was: “Not recommended for citizens sensitive to synthetic protein n-acetyl gluconolactam.”
“Well, there’s the missing text. It was hiding there the whole time.” Evelyn zipped her PDC into its case. She unfolded a chair that had been leaning against the wall and sat down across the table from Rayford.
Rayford prided himself on his ability to gauge, in any given situation, exactly how screwed he was—and then figure out the optimal way to squirm out of trouble. This ability, more than any other, explained how he had achieved Clearance ORANGE despite a total lack of personal ambition and an aversion to anything resembling hard work. Now, though, he was at a loss. He was screwed; that much was clear.
In Alpha Complex there was a word for citizens who could do or, in his case, see things they should not be able to. It was the same word Evelyn had used earlier to describe his inability to distinguish different shades of green. But that mutation had merely marked Rayford below average. The Computer considered such flaws a low priority. After all, a recent and well-publicized Central Processing survey suggested 73% of Alpha Complex citizens were below average.
In its relentless campaign against mutation, The Computer’s highest priority was to seek out and destroy mutations that rendered a citizen above average. Above-average citizens were unpredictable and a threat to good order.
And now, despite a lifetime spent avoiding notable achievements, Rayford was officially above average. And officially screwed.
Evelyn tapped a drum roll on the table. “So, here we sit.”
Rayford avoided eye contact. “Uh-huh.”
“Rayford-O, there are two questions we should probably address before you leave here today. Firstly, you may be wondering why an advertisement would contain text written in letters a thousand times too small to be visible to any normal human being.” She took care to emphasize normal. “It’s a funny bit of bureaucracy, actually. HPD&MC requires that unappealing bit of text be added to any media promoting products that contain synthetic protein. But—they don’t say how large the text needs to be.”
She winked. He flinched.
“So, with that question answered, we move on to the other one. How did you see that text, Rayford-O?”
Rayford looked up. “You don’t seem inclined to ask questions you don’t already know the answer to. So why don’t you tell me.”
Evelyn spoke quietly. “Earlier we talked about tritanomaly—that genetic error that prevents you from correctly perceiving the color green. It’s a rare mutation. But among a small number of those who bear this condition, there is an even rarer abnormality. There’s no name for it—no official name, anyway. Unofficially, I’ve heard it referred to as Deep Vision. Or Freak Sight.”
“I suppose Internal Security has a name for it as well?”
“EVA—Enhanced Visual Acuity. IntSec lists it as a Class E mutation.”
The letter E, in this case, likely stood for Execution. Though Rayford suspected citizens found to possess Class A, B, C or D mutations could expect a similarly grim outcome: Asphyxiation. Burial. Cremation. Defenestration.
“You look flushed, Rayford-O. Can I get you something to drink? Lyle-R, bring Rayford-O some water.”
Within seconds, Lyle exploded through the door with a bottle of water in each hand. “Would you prefer Sparkling Springs, or Aqua Amazing?”
Rayford’s glare indicated he was not interested at that moment in participating in another marketing survey. Lyle got the message and placed both bottles on the table before scurrying back out of room.
The water was cold. He held it to his forehead. “So what now? One-way trip to the nearest confession booth? No, I suppose there’ll be an interrogation first. Or, I should say, another interrogation. Next one probably won’t include refreshments.”
Evelyn grabbed one of the water bottles and popped the top. “I’m a little insulted, Rayford-O.” She sipped. “That’s the second time you’ve assumed I was going to report you. Take a look at me. Do I look like Internal Security to you? Please. You think an IntSec officer could pull off these shoes?”
Rayford peeked under the table. “They’re, uh—they’re nice shoes.”
“Thanks. They’re new.” Evelyn took another sip. “My job title is Senior Brand Manager. Sounds impressive, right? Between you and me, that’s just a fancy way of saying my job is to sell mouthwash. But you learn a few things selling mouthwash. You learn Alpha Complex is a challenging marketplace. Citizens have a wide array of interests. Some work on vintage autocars, some cultivate exotic ornamental algae strains, some secretly harbor unregistered mutations. But what do all citizens in Alpha Complex have in common? They all have a mouth. And nobody’s mouth is clean. Not if you look close enough.”
She took another sip of Aqua Amazing. Then, with sudden energy, Evelyn thumped the table and leapt out of her chair. “Rayford-O, on behalf of the OraClean Marketing Group and the Minty Morning Mandate brand, I thank you for your participation today. Lyle-R and Kyle-R will show you out.”
“So I can just—leave?”
“Of course! Have a wonderful day.”
Rayford heaved himself up and lurched toward the door.
“Wait!”
Rayford froze.
“Almost forgot. Wait here.” She ran into an office across the hall and puttered around for two minutes, while Rayford aged six years.
She returned with a small gray box, wrapped in a silver ribbon. “Your free gift.”
“Thank you.” He felt like a prisoner who expects a lethal injection and receives, instead, cologne and soap-on-a-rope. “Thank you, friend.”
—————
Queasy and unsettled, Rayford stumbled to the transbot stop. The transbots were mostly empty in the afternoon, so he stretched out on a seat in back. A cheerfully indecipherable voice called out the next stop through a damaged speaker. As the bot rattled forward into the orange gloom of the tunnel, he stared out the rear window. Though he rode this route every day, he had never noticed all the advertisements projected along the tunnel walls. He wondered what secrets each might be hiding.
He fixed his gaze on the nearest billboard in the tunnel, an advertisement for Cold Fun Orange. There wasn’t much to the image: a cartoon of a gleeful citizen licking a frozen dessert bar, his comically long tongue taking on the color of the product. Below was the slogan: “ORANGE You Delicious?”
“I can do this.” He widened his eyes and felt a familiar pop in his sinuses. He stared into the image, scanning every detail—until he noticed something in the bottom left corner. He zoomed in: “Warning: tongue discoloration may be permanent.”
Rayford spent the ride spotting hidden disclaimers: “High-band data transmissions may cause brainfail.” “CoffeeLyke withdrawal symptoms may include lethargy and/or violent seizures.” “Rand-Y-ROK and the ROKbots music may cause transgressive behavior, for which ROKbot Recordings cannot be held liable.” “Tella-O-MLY is not really your best friend.”
The transbot pulled into Rayford’s residential block. After a tiring hike through corridors and stairwells, he reached his assigned quarters, a narrow and airless quad-occupancy dorm. Rayford’s three roommates were st
ill away on their work shifts. He swiped his ME Card across the door sensor, stepped into the room, and collapsed into his bed.
There was something lumpy in his pocket. He rolled onto his side and pulled out the gift package Evelyn had given him. Rayford tore through ribbon and cardboard.
A bottle of mouthwash. Sample—not intended for resale.
Rayford almost flung it across the room—until he noticed the card attached. On the front it read, “Thanks for your participation, Rayford-O-GGA-1.” He opened the card. She had signed it by hand at the bottom, “Sincerely, Evelyn-B,” but there was nothing written above the signature.
Rayford sat up and looked closely. It took him five seconds to find the microscopic text.
“You are one of us now. I’ll be in touch.”
Orientation (Re-revised)
Attention, $NewCitizen_TREASONPOSSIBLE! Previous iterations of the new-citizen orientation material have been withdrawn and deprecated in favor of revised documents developed according to new efficiency guidelines. You are instructed to IGNORE, REJECT, and FORGET previous versions and instead read and understand the following much-improved orientation:
SECURITY CLEARANCE
The measure of The Computer’s trust in a citizen. Clearance doesn’t measure competence, but strictly how much The Computer trusts you. The unbreakable hierarchy of color-coded security clearance starts with the lowly INFRARED proles and rises through RED, ORANGE, YELLOW, GREEN, BLUE, INDIGO, VIOLET, and the mighty ULTRAVIOLET High Programmers.
SECRET SOCIETIES
Covert traitorous organizations with wildly varying doctrines, goals, coherence, and sanity. Despite The Computer’s steadfast opposition, secret societies have infiltrated every service group and firm, including Internal Security, to the highest levels. For most citizens, society favors present the only practical way to advance.