•
So things are.
•
He is all the sky watching all the land shrouded in gray, a dream slice of a land tortured into a monstrous psychedeli of shapes familiar and unfamiliar, many of them only inchoate. None of it conforms to conventions of relative scale, contiguity or chronology. All is only what it is and when it is.
He is filled with no gladness, no longing, not much terror. All the land is alien to him. But never mind. He ceases.
•
No other dreams will come, though he doesn't know this and can't care.
logic is logic (is logic)
A red light, the same one that was flashing earlier, now burns steady. R.I.P. William "Lee" Farley Frick.
"So," Son says. "There's no more to be had from our friend Lee."
TeDee fixes Son with his widest‐eyed sympathy. "Gone."
"Not forgotten." TeDum stands beside Dee Zu.
"This is not our responsibility," Bentley says. "We advised against effecting revival procedures at this time. Such action, in clear contravention of the relevant rules and protocols and against our better advice, was nevertheless undertaken."
TeDee and TeDum provide the chorus: "Inventory #101‐26 was awakened prematurely."
"Said Inventory was suspended according to the appropriate protocols." Bentley says. "A contract is established with all clients which stipulates that appropriate circumstances must be obtained prior to revival. The agreement was abrogated, in this case, although not by us."
"Not by us, Gus."
"Not to blame, Mame."
"Yes, yes," Dee Zu says. "We accept full responsibility." Why not?
"Wow," Son says to Dee Zu. "So where do we go from here?"
"We go home."
•
"Have things settled down?" Son turns to Bentley. "What's happening now?"
"We attend to our clients."
"No. Outside, what's happening?"
"We do not know."
"Well, we need to know."
"How can we know if we don't look?"
"So let's look. Jesus Christ."
Dee Zu tries a patient smile. "We need to see what's happening out there."
"I wish to oblige. But I'm afraid that satisfaction of your request is currently not possible. Not under prevailing circumstances."
"Of course it's possible," Son says. "How did you see us coming?"
"What about that monitor?" Dee Zu points at a screen to one side of the cryo scoreboard. "It was showing scenes from outside when we arrived."
"It is my painful duty to inform you of a remote sensing failure. We regret this source of potential inconvenience."
"You're lying," says Dee Zu. "Turn the monitor back on."
She has learned that, back in ESUSA Mall, MOM fed them any crap she wanted to regarding the world outside, routinely doctoring the mallsters' holoports. This is worse, this gang of ditzes totally blindering them.
Bentley never stops smiling. "We are here to serve our clients," he says.
"So do what we tell you," Son suggests.
"May we offer you another snack?"
"Stuff your snacks," says Son.
"A nice coffee, perhaps?"
"You nitwit," Son says. "Who's in charge here?"
"Happy Chillin, of course."
"I mean, who's the boss? Who's running the show."
"The program is the show," TeDee says.
"Show me your program," says TeDum, "and I'll show you mine."
TeDee rolls around his axis and tilts toward TeDum. "You are the program," he says.
"And you are the program."
"Same‐same."
"We are the program."
"So get with it."
"Jesus Christ. Who do you report to?"
"The program."
"Happy Chillin."
"Us."
"You see?"
"You're making very little sense."
"Fuzzy logicians," TeDee says.
TeDum inclines toward his twin and adds, "Two heads better than one."
"Ditzoids," Dee Zu tells Son. "Prime specimens, one pair." Ditherbots conduct most of their cogitation behind the scenes, too fast for mere humans to follow. They consider all that might be, in any given case, eliminating the illogicals and counterfactuals one by one and presenting what's left over as necessarily correct. The repartee? Mere razzle‐dazzle to notify lesser intellects that expert dither is in fact addressing the issues, whatever those may be. "And Bentley? Go ahead and argue with him. He's a bureaucrat. You think you're going to win an argument with him?" Bentley is here to serve, and could care less about logic. He's going to do everything he can to make you happy, and he's programmed to know what should make you happy no matter what you might think. "Bots are even better at being bureaucrats than people ever were. Though you probably don't know anything about that either."
"Outside is outside." TeDee wants to clarify matters.
And TeDum is quick to pitch in: "We remain inside."
"Situation B and situation A."
"A or B?"
"A, eh?"
"Echol‐A‐lia, eh?"
"Ha, ha. That's dumb."
"No, you're Dum. I'm Dee. See?"
"Ha, ha."
"Shut up a minute," Son says. "We need to see what's happening. Now. We need to decide how to deal with it."
"But there's no need to deal with it."
"What are you talking about?"
"Son?" Dee Zu says.
"What?"
"You're arguing with these things."
"Yeah?"
"They're bots, for God sake."
"And they're smarter than me?"
"They're different."
•
"Maybe it's best we do stay in here for now," Son says. "Gives us time to get our gear together. Do some reconnoitering before we go outside again. Get our heads together."
"Didn't take them long to wear you down, did it?"
"You've got food stockpiles?" Son asks them.
"Sure."
"Excellent. How about canned peaches?"
"We have no canned peaches," says TeDum.
"Yes," TeDee says. "We have no canned peaches today."
"No peaches," they chorus.
"But we have food." TeDee goes still and fixes them with guileless eyes.
"Much food." TeDum's belly‐smile spreads nearly around to meet behind his back.
TeDee's eyes go even bigger. "We have the full range of vitamins; we have HyperVitamin Helper in patch or tablet form."
"Fish oil we have. Simulated. In capsules."
"And soya oil."
"Flaxseed oil, simulated."
"Three‐in‐one oil," says TeDum.
"Our favorite!"
The two of them laugh uproariously and reel about the place doing happy‐ellipsoid impressions. They teeter to a halt, side by side, gently bouncing on their haunches, and then adopt a serious mode.
"Sorry."
"Sorry."
"Vacuum‐packed hi‐energy, hi‐density protein bars from northern Canadian ant ranches."
"We have."
"Green bars from Indo‐Pacific plankton farms."
"Have."
"Fusilli from holistically harvested natural fungus plantations."
"Enough," Dee Zu says.
But Son is easily diverted. "Big food," he says. "I don't care what it is or where it comes from. Bring us your biggest food bars."
He grins at Dee Zu as though she were a big food bar.
no exit
"Before we go any further," Son says.
"Yes?" says Bentley.
"We've traveled here from the other side of the world."
"Did you have a nice trip?" asks one half of the ditherbot consultancy.
"Travel is good," says the other half.
"It broadens."
"And refreshes."
"We were told you would supply return transport for us," Dee Zu says.
Bentley's smile suggests much interest. "Who told you so?" he asks.
"Brian Finister."
"Ah," Bentley says.
"So," says TeDee.
"Ah, so." TeDum giggles, which in turn sets TeDee off.
"Do you have transport?" Dee Zu asks.
"Four cannons loaded."
"We keep the powder dry."
"Ours not to reason."
"Only to do or die."
"Jesus," Son says. "Can you deliver us back to where we came from?"
"Yes," says Bentley. "Once certain procedures have been completed, certain criteria satisfied."
"What criteria?"
"These remain to be determined."
•
"Never fear."
"Be of good cheer."
"We will look after you."
"Bide a wee."
"In perpetuity."
"No, no. Only joking."
"Good rhyme, though."
"Would you care for a coffee?" Bentley asks.
"You know where you can shove your coffee."
"Where?" Bentley looks genuinely uncertain, yet eager to oblige.
"All this bullshit," Son says to Dee Zu. "We need to get out of here."
"Rules and procedures. We aim to ensure your continued safety until circumstances are conducive to your unassisted biological persistence. Yes, and until it is established that circumstances are conducive to agreement among all parties concerned that such circumstances are in fact conducive."
"General consensus."
"All on the same page."
"Everybody happy."
"Happy us, and happy you.
"Tickety, tickety, boo."
"Happy Chillin must be seen by all concerned parties to have honored its contractual obligation and faithfully fulfilled its responsibilities, and our clients must be prepared for the implementation of optimally effective revival procedures only under what are consensually agreed to be circumstances of an optimal nature."
Dee Zu is more tired than she thought, numbed by the relentless reassurances. The meticulous parsing of questions and answers is pushing the situation away to a realm where things don't matter so much. She wonders about an odd smell.
"This is excellent coffee," Bentley tells them. "A genuine premium ersatz beverage from New Improved Labs, much better than plantation coffee ever was."
"We have the exit code," Son says. "Don't you have to respect that?"
"Please note that exit codes are invalid while emergency procedures are in effect."
"Except for emergency exit codes."
"Exceptions prove the rule."
"So let's have it," says Son.
"Have what? To what do your refer?"
"Give me the fucking emergency exit code."
"Emergency exit codes are invalid during this particular emergency."
"Non‐functional."
"Good for naught."
"Doodley‐squat."
TeDum tilts forward and says, "But only for now."
"So not to fear."
"For we are here."
"Our job is to keep you safe," Bentley says. "And to keep you happy. Would you care for another grade‐A Indo‐Pacific greenbar? A biggy?"
"No," says Son, taking the bar anyway.
"When full and defensible conditions for your revival are in place, revival procedures will be eventuated."
"We do all in our power to extend your life."
"Is how we do it."
"Do it, do it."
"Enough. It is time."
"Time for what?"
"Please prepare for your bath."
"What?"
•
"Lie down here. Make yourselves comfortable."
Bentley bows with a flourish toward a conveyor belt surfaced with a spongy light orange composite. At regular intervals, roughly the length of your average human being, the belt is equipped with padded shackles. TeDee and TeDum are adjusting spray nozzles. Dee Zu watches the Dickhead roll in and takes up a station behind Son, who tries to move away to where he can see what's happening, only to find the Dickhead always at his back.
"Son?" Dee Zu says.
Son looks to where he last saw the staff with his spearsticks and other gear, looks toward the exit.
"What are you thinking?"
"What do you think? Take another look at Lee. He's dead. With Lee as my role model I'm going to jump right into a nice bath of liquid nitrogen? I don't think so."
"What's that smell?" Dee Zu asks.
security considerations
Dee Zu tries to sit up, but she's under restraint. The air is still tainted ever so slightly with some smell, probably a tranquilizing gas.
Son goes, "What the hell?"
"Yeah." Dee Zu starts to thrash against her restraints, then decides to save her strength for when it might do some good. "You can't do this. Not without our say‐so."
"Why not?" Bentley asks.
"There's nothing wrong with us." Son says.
TeDee and TeDum bustle up to the belt, one either side. The Dickhead parks against the wall under another blank monitor.
"If released, there is a ninety‐nine percent probability that subject mortality is realized within one hour."
"Approximately."
"Yes."
"So ditzy." Dee Zu tries to sound reasonable, subdues any urgency in her voice. "What are you goofballs talking about? Released where?"
"Released from restraints, one."
"Released from Happy Chillin, two."
"Ill advised."
"In all conscience, cannot be done."
"Chance of continued mortality outside Happy Chillin," TeDee announces, "approximately nil."
"Mortally challenged to a high degree."
"Imminently dead."
"So what's the problem?" Dee Zu hears Son say. He's also trying for a reasonable tone. "Take us off the conveyor. Just don't release us from Happy Chillin."
"There's plenty of food," says Dee Zu. "You said so yourselves."
"Release within Happy Chillin is ill‐advised for other reasons."
"Like what, for Christ's sake?"
"Security considerations."
"What security considerations?"
"Your presence here is anomalous."
"We gave you the passwords."
"Your presence in Happy Chillin is officially sanctioned. Your status remains anomalous."
"You resist categorization."
"You remain unaccountable."
"We don't know what you are."
"So how may we predict what you might do?"
"Our responsibility to our clients is sacred."
"Absolute."
"It is legendary."
"Money in the bank."
"Trust."
"You can trust us."
"We do not know who you are or why you are here."
"Bottom line."
"If we trust you on so uncertain a basis, how can clients ever trust us?"
The smell is stronger now.
"How long?" Dee Zu asks. It would be nice to take a nap.
TeDum sizes her up, looks at the closest set of shackles, says, "About one hundred and seventy‐five centimeters."
"One hundred and seventy‐five percent of one meter," says TeDee.
"Approximately."
"Within acceptable tolerances."
"No. How long are we going to be frozen?"
"Till everything is ready."
"What everything?"
"Don't know. Insufficient data."
•
Their attendants take blood samples from her, shine lights in her eyes, press an archaic DiagnoStik to head, thorax and abdomen, tizzy about her feet and hum and haw while dithering their way through a progressive approximation to whatever must be the case.
She can't see Son, but he's somewhere nearby, no doubt in the same fix. She watched as TeDee and TeDum came on like rodeo clowns in Western World, drawing Son off Bentley, who's only a holo
, after all, and therefore impervious to even Son's best kicks and punches, thereby setting him up for a clean snatch by the Dickhead.
"In case we never wake up," he calls to her now. "I want to tell you now that you're a total knievel. You've got the survival instincts of a can of peaches. But I like you. I like you a lot, and I want you to know that."
To an extent that surprises her, Dee Zu is moved. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this," she says. "The bunker was probably a better option."
"No, you were right. Real men don't retreat to holes in the ground."
"They head out on the highway?"
"Yeah."
•
And what a highway. In the past few days, Dee Zu has escaped from ESUSA Mall just ahead of its breaching, negotiated the PlagueBot wastelands as part of Sky's plan to vector in on Brian's hideout, lost a few toes to satrays, accepted her own death while trapped deep in a cave, and celebrated for the first time the wet, face2face joy of the reunion with Cisco following his return from Aeolia to rescue her. She grew her toes back and then lost Cisco again. She lost an entire foot to the roachman, swarmed with a feral survivalist whose chief desire in this life may be to smother her with affection, survived Sky's assassination attempts, flew back to the USA and gained access to Happy Chillin just ahead of assimilation by a Boogoo gone mad.
Now she finds herself locked inside a cryo crypt with an assortment of lunatic holos, bots and this boy who describes himself as the last man on the planet, God forbid, not to mention a collection of frozen heads, at least one of them unfrozen and rotting. Communications with the Lode have been severed, what a lobotomy must feel like. No channel to Cisco even if he's still alive somewhere out there in this bizarre world; no way to uplode more data to her scendent stash, never mind recent events would've provided lots more of the right stuff. In fact her scendent stash and the rest of Aeolia alike may no longer exist. And now she and Son are going to be frozen. Probably for as long as Happy Chillin's generators maintain the refrigeration units.
Cisco's way, whatever that was, was probably better. Ditto Son's plan for a life of subterranean bliss together.
"Son?" she says.
There's no response.
•
TeDum comes back and settles beside Dee Zu. "Awake?" he asks.
"Yeah."
"Good."
"Excellent," TeDee says.
"We wish to report a serendipitous anomaly," says TeDum.
"What?"
"Most fortuitous."
"No, no. What did you find?"
"We wish to report that your blood contains traces of human chorionic gonadotropin."
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