Having incurred a massive debt to the Corporation Colenzo Majuba now found himself working for the Corporation and travelling the galaxy. Together with the Sergeant, Luciel and Edgar Rice, he now headed out on a new project to the mysterious asteroid habitat Shalamari 4.
Twenty minutes later as the commissioned ship was docking with Shalamari 4, Sprac was reawakened. His defensive systems would have had him spring to safety but they were overridden as a monkey was using him as a perch. He gave a shudder and the monkey sprang clear and an instant later its perch was gone – leaving no trail.
Safely a kilometre away Sprac settled. Squatting on the jungle floor he surveyed his surroundings. The high jungle trees swayed gently in an afternoon breeze. The sun was slanting through at a low angle and a faint chill was in the air. He needed to eat. His nanoswarm could have assimilated from his surroundings but one condition of his contract was that he was allowed to hunt for his protein and forage for his food if he felt the necessity to do so.
For no reason other than a whim he used his precision rail gun to severe a fruit some hundred meters away and dashed to catch it. He moved like an animal, his back legs being double jointed and able to bend backwards. His muscles were supplemented with machinery allowing him to dash on all fours and spring like an insect. He caught the fruit a meter off the floor rolling on his shoulder and skidding to a halt, before engaging an evasive manoeuvre. By the time the leaves from his skid had resettled on the jungle floor he was a further one hundred meters away, invisible and being mimicked by two holographic selves a further fifty meters distant.
His personal sensors kept him fully informed of the surrounding country. They provided detailed information for at least one kilometre and low detail even further away. They also noted a bushbuck drinking by a stream within in a three-pounce range. He moved almost instantaneously. His first pounce took him up and allowed him to springboard off one of the larger trees near him. This pounce took him through a complex network of branches, which he avoided through clever bodily contortions before he connected with another tree. He bounced off this tree, using its thick trunk as another springboard and lower down did the same off an adjacent tree.
This brought him down on the bushbuck from a forty-degree angle. Using his momentum, weight and plated forearm he smashed the bushbucks neck and windpipe. Another swift manoeuvre and he had slit the buck’s throat and blown its neural system with a directed energy beam. Death was near instant (the delay being the time between the neck being broken and the neural system being blown) – another condition of the contract.
With his left hand holding the body he made a swift departure heading for the cliffs. At the last instant he split into a real invisible self and a visible holographic self. The holographic self pounced onto the cliffs and settled to feast. The real self disappeared into a dark overhang.
His eating was ceremonious. Always done in the same patterns with the same small selection of prey (a sample dictated by ecological upkeep systems and the holographic systems sample). Like an insect he externally digested his food, imbibing it through a sucker covered in taste buds. He ate everything, even the bones and the stomach. The liquid did not enter his stomach but rather settled into a chamber where it was used and convert into the products he needed and then pumped into his stomach.
Ten minutes later the real and invisible Sprac emerged from his cave and walked off notably slowly. Sticking to the harder and less impressionable surfaces and leaving his holographic self perched on the cliffs. A near invisible holographic self, produced by a small flying device, emerged from the cave a few minutes later leaving a clear scent trail heading in another direction. The jungle carried on largely unaware.
Colenzo experienced the explosion. The ship, which was now docked with Shalamari 4, rippled under pressure waves that were transmitted across the entire bulk of the spaceport. For a few seconds his neural net also did some crazy things as the electromagnetic pulse from the explosion played havoc with transmitters and receivers all over the asteroids. The damage was insignificant and once the shock wave had passed everything returned to normal. A few warning lights flicked on in Colenzo’s room but they put the danger level at “Near Insignificant.”
He logged on and accessed the (Local Area) Breaking News, which was showing live images from the far side of the collection of asteroids. He clicked on to Virtual Reality mode and was immersed into the scene. The service charge increased slightly, but the Corporation systems intervened and the increase was diminished. High priority local news was considered part of any Corporation job and experiencing it was as important as knowing it was happening.
The scene that unfolded before Colenzo’s eyes was one of unusual chaos. From his vantage he could see quite clearly one of the “upstream” asteroids that housed a set of mountains from which a river ran. A piece of the outside of this asteroid had been peeled away and Colenzo found himself looking into the world below. He could see mountains peeking up under an artificial late afternoon sun. There was also a clear stream of escaping atmosphere. Colenzo zoomed in and it was obvious that this gas included debris from inside the world. The hole was relatively not much bigger than a thumbhole in a large orange but the rate of escape of the internal gases was quite pronounced. Even as he watched an energy field extended itself around the cavity looking like a large bubble. Some of the larger and higher velocity pieces of debris burst through the bubble but the rest seemed to stick to it, soon beginning to make it hazy. Then the bubble began to shrink inwards.
A reporter’s voice started. “Well yes live from the scene here and as I am sure you are all watching – if you aren’t I can highly recommend you do.” A quiet voice in the background stated something along the lines of “All viewing is charged at…” The reporter’s voice continued over it as Colenzo’s radio settings specified. “And ‘what is going on?’ is what you’re all asking? Well Shalamari Crisis Management has a couple of hypotheses. From the structures in the area at the time of the explosion they have developed three plausible hypotheses. Firstly, and given a 32% probability, is the idea that one of the high-powered sub-atomic nanoassemblers malfunctioned. There was a particle generator in the higher powered sub-atomic nanoassembler located almost exactly at the epicentre of the explosion. Second possibility is that there was some terrorist activity that resulted in the first hypothesis. This is currently given an 18% probability by the authorities. Lastly there is a possibility that a terrorist group detonated some form of atomic weapon in the area perhaps hoping to incite further explosions from the nanoassembler. This hypothesis is given a 5.4% probability at present. Currently no other hypothesis breaks the 5% barrier. Log on to our website and vote. What do you think cause the Detonation of 24?” As an after thought a voice stated, “Deathtoll currently sits at 234 persons. Medical estimates suggest that another 13 may die. For a detailed breakdown of who died and how, including live footage of 138 deaths log onto our site.”
Colenzo logged off. He had never had much interest in the macabre elements of life that seemed to so satisfy the general public. Somehow it made him think of Roman gladiators. As a youngster he had found the more gruesome events available online quite exciting. With one of his more computer literate friends he even hacked a fake identity to log onto one of the more violent news shows showing scenes from a high-speed collision. Sitting there in his room he reflected upon the irony of the fact that hundreds, maybe even thousands of people had probably watched his near death experience. They had probably seen the shard of reinforced, molecularly built material that had ripped out his throat and killed Niall. Morbidity and depression began to creep upon him when a call came through from the sergeant. Colenzo answered.
“Colenzo, you ready to depart?” The sergeant was communicating telephonically (it was cheaper and quite unnecessary to send visual images to a subordinate).
“Yes sir. I’ll meet you at the exit.” He was going to ask something about the explosion when the sergeant cut him off.
“Great. I’ll see you there.” The sergeant said with finality and cut the connection.
Colenzo grabbed his stuff and ordered an on board cubicle to take him the four hundred meters. His stuff was a sparse collection of random items. He had his work uniform on: a set of rework shoes (heavy duty); rework smart pants; a rework jacket with a detachable shirt underneath; a pacify ring; a shock ring; and a medium range stun bracelet (made of copper that was also supposed to help your spiritual flow). In his floating travel bag he had a casual set of rework clothes and a basic set of cleansing equipment and medical scanning equipment.
As he hopped on the cubicle a notice on his retina informed him that he was in a state of anxiety – he realized he was excited and decided not to control the state but let it run. On his Corporation file a note was made about this.
The cubicle dropped him and his luggage at the exit. The sergeant, Edgar and Luciel were waiting. Almost simultaneously Thomas arrived to bid them farewell. The doors onto the Shalamari 4 concourse were open and the area across from them was notably unkempt. It was basically a rather large hexagon with docked ships on most areas. There was grass protruding between areas of rock and tree in the middle of the area. The roof was large and domed. It was transparent and let in the sunlight. The concourse gave the impression of a depression in tropical Africa; it even had birds in the trees. At the far end of the concourse were another set of open doors, leading to a transport system. After farewells from Thomas, which included a six-pack of beer for Edgar, a bottle of cheaper whiskey for Colenzo, more pricey whiskey for the sergeant and a bottle of wine for Luciel, the group made their way across the concourse.
As they walked they were scanned for their Clear Soul Visas. Had they been lacking the doors to the Shalamari transport systems would have barred their way. As it was a security officer hailed Luciel on the net and spoke with hear unheard and telepathically. He enquired about the behaviour of Edgar and Colenzo during the trip. She was complimentary about both and they were cleared for entry.
As they approached the far doors and the passage leading to the transport Luciel explained something to them. “As we pass through this passage you’ll experience some strange symptoms. Just push on. It should feel something like anxiety and high gravity. It’s just a precaution to keep non human persons away from the cubicles.”
The passage itself got more sterile the further the walked down it. The feeling of anxiety started almost immediately and got notably stronger the further they walked. About half way the gravity also seemed to increase and energy systems interrupted their voluntary muscles. They felt weak and even breathing seemed slightly affected. The sergeant had been through it many times as had Luciel and they pushed on, much like people fighting a strong wind. Colenzo was not used to it and slowed down, feeling a degree of excitement at the new sensation. Edgar simply got annoyed. He felt violated and once again wondered at the levels of stupidity the Cohabitationists had reached. All of this to save a fucking rat, he thought as he passed through the last “wall” of force and almost stumbled under the return to normality.
“That must be unhealthy.” Edgar stated as they regrouped. Luciel just looked at him.
The platforms were sterile. They were made of slabs of unloving material, hard and unyielding. Colenzo felt a pang of regret at having been removed from the previous environment, although he hadn’t realised it at the time, the soft earth underfoot and the occasional caress of a bush added something indefinable to life. He turned and looked back at the concourse with a degree of longing. Luciel noticed it.
As a cubicle pulled up the sergeant connected with Colenzo via a secure line. “That explosion seemed oddly coincidental.”
“Yes it did sir.”
“Let me tell you why we are here. We are extracting a being named Sprac from within the wilderness inside these asteroids.”
“But I thought nobody was allowed inside.”
“Well nobody else is. He is a kind of guardian. Anyway, this will make our mission a bit more difficult. I’m pretty sure he would have been sceptical about us prior to that explosion. Now…” The sergeant drifted off. “Anyway we mustn’t talk about this or stay on a secure line. I am sure some media busybody is watching us and aware of this secure connection. Later.” With that he cut the connection.
As they made their way in a four-seater high-speed cubicle the sergeant and Luciel chatted.
“What value do you think a place like this adds?” The sergeant asked.
“To the general human community not much I suppose. In fact a lot of activists are annoyed about the light pollution from the Pepsi advert. But the higher order communities living within it are certainly benefiting and it is a private endeavour anyway.”
“As in the random whim of an individual?”
“Well close enough. The Powell Trust created it back in the day as a haven for higher order individuals – buck, wild cats and so on. This was before Cohabitationism was a real force and the life of those people wasn’t given the kind of credit it is nowadays. Although even then people were more caring here than on the inner planets or the asteroid belt or earth for that fact.”
“And the Powell Trust. Who are they?”
She laughed a bit. “Oh, they, well it was created by a bunch of rich politicians from Goodall. They had also got themselves involved in diamond mining on Goodall, which was extremely lucrative. Using the money they created a series of trusts.”
“Why the laugh?” The sergeant asked sincerely, looking into her eyes.
“Well we all learn about the Powell Trust and Powell, Quin and other highly influential families when we are young. It is almost natural, part of our heritage. It is interesting that some other people know nothing about them.”
“What else did they do?” Colenzo asked.
“Well they created various wildlife trusts and sanctuaries and used their money and influence to further the notions of Cohabitationism. Of course it wasn’t called that at the time. Here look at this.” She sent them across a picture of a dignified man watching a mosquito drink his blood. “That is Smith one of the politicians.” She explained, with a happy look on her face, almost childlike in it obvious adoration of the man.
“And the other trusts and wildlife parks?”
“Well, most of them are on Goodall. They are different in that they are open to the public. Some are free others are income generating. They act as reserves for wildlife and testing grounds for studies.”
“Studies?” The sergeant enquired.
“Well yes. At GK2 for example, they are feeding the carnivores synthetic products and attempting to see if it is possible for all higher order creatures to live in harmony. Or if carnivores have an inbred need to kill that runs deeper than the simple drive for self-preservation. My girlfriend is working on this, so I know all about it if you are interested.”
The sergeant seemed interested so she carried on. Colenzo sat in a sort of state of shock. For some reason it hadn’t occurred to him that she would be involved with someone. She continued, “Well, the first point is that domesticated animals such as cats do seem to sometimes kill simply for the pleasure of killing. They might not even eat what they have killed. But studies do seem to suggest that their killing is much more infrequent than wild cats. So by feeding tigers, for example, or creating some system of synthesising nanoswarm we could cut down the amount of killing of higher order persons that occurs across the board.”
“That is pretty ambitious.” The sergeant noted.
“Yes ambitious and not without opposition. Some people have suggested that this would remove the basic meaning and purpose of these people’s lives.”
“You mean the tigers and lions lives.”
“Yes. They are bred to hunt and kill. If you remove the reason you may remove their reason for living.”
“Well what about domestic cats or dogs?” The sergeant offered.
“That is the usual riposte. The hardliners think that domesticated animals are basically oppressed, so we’ll leave that there. Other opposition includes the basic monetary cost of such an operation which many feel would be better put into spreading Cohabitationist ideology or perfecting current systems. Another problem is the consequences in the long run for the ecosystems involved.”
“Hence the testing?”
“Yes.”
“And what have they found?”
“Not much yet. It is so big and complex it will take quiet some time. Administrative issues abound and…” She trailed off. They had arrived at one of the interior control desks. After waking Edgar the group disembarked.
They were left standing outside an old style east African door. It appeared wooden and was studded with metal protrusions. It looked something like a torture device. The area they stood in was like a glass elevator and turning around Colenzo could see the sun setting over the distant horizon of the asteroid they were currently on. Directly above his head the blackness of space extended off unfathomably to the stars. He could have pulled up a display that would show relevant constellations and detail the stars – he didn’t. The doors swung open and let them into a room much like an airlock between the outside. They waited whilst the doors closed and the room was scanned for new and unintended arrivals. Then the doors on the far side opened.
The control room was quite unimpressive, if one was looking for technical gizmos. It resembled more closely a house than some technical control room. They were in an antechamber. It was decorated in a middle-eastern style with beautiful rugs upon the floor. Stairs rose on each side of the room and through a door in the middle they could see a lounge on the far side. A man in flowing green and gold robes greeted them. He carried a cat. She had her head back in ecstasy as he stroked her chin.
“Sergeant Tokugawa.” He gave a slight bow as was common amongst Corporation employees. “Junior Council Johnson.” He gave another bow to Luciel. He gave a gesture as he said, “Come in.” As he led them through to the lounge he bent and deposited the cat. She slunk away down a side passage. “You’ll have to forgive my companions,” he said as they entered the lounge, “With the explosion a lot of work has to be done. It is a real tragedy. Untold deaths and a climatic fuckup.” Around the room about ten people lay on couches smoking Hookahs. They all had the glazed expression of people working online. A servant milled between them bringing drinks and clearing away dishes. As they made their way through the large lounge Colenzo noted that they all had direct connections into the base of their sculls and many wore caps designed to enhance neural speed and signals. The direct connection allowed a much more rapid and intense transfer of information. They wound their way through what turned out to be much more of a mansion than a house. Their journey ended on a veranda.
The veranda was quite large and domed in glass. It had a breathtaking view out onto the magnificent interior of the asteroid. The piece of land they looked over stretched away into the distance. They could faintly see the wall on the far side. Their position was elevated high above the landscape, at least two hundred meters up. Looking back it was obvious that most of the mansion hung out over the landscape. “This is awesome.” Colenzo said. The others looked around at him and all nodded. Their host indicated some chairs and they all sat down.
A human servant appeared with a selection of non-alcoholic drinks that he served out to the guests. The choice was typically based upon their files and seemed to everyone’s satisfaction.
After a mildly uncomfortable pause their host spoke, “I am Razaa Sagretti, manager of this branch of the internal control systems office. I am both a Cohabitationist,” he nodded to Luciel, “and an employee of the Corporation.” He nodded to the sergeant. “It is my understanding that you are on a special mission which requires access to the interior. The reasons for which have been withheld.” He paused and the sergeant confirmed.
“Well as you can well imagine the explosion has caused some serious confusion in the interior. Could you perhaps give me some indication of the urgency of the situation?”
“Well,” the sergeant began and then paused to think, “we can wait a day if you need.” Colenzo noticed that Razaa relaxed, his shoulders slumping slightly as though he had been preparing for a fight and was let off the hook.
“Thank you.” Razaa replied.
“What exactly needs doing?” The sergeant asked.
“Well from our side it is mainly about climatic stabilization and minimizing the impact. We only deal with this asteroid but a degree of our warmth and air was expelled before emergency systems kicked in. We are doing an impact assessment and assessing how much of our resources we can bleed away to the affected areas. Eventually we can replace all the resources but it is mainly about doing it now.” Involuntarily Razaa bit his nail. Considering the fact that such behaviours were usually neurologically removed this was an indicator of the stress that was lurking beneath the surface.
“Can I talk with you privately?” The sergeant stated out loud, Razaa gave him a quizzical look but said nothing. “Colenzo, Edgar make yourselves scarce. Luciel,” he looked directly at her, “would you mind?” She looked mildly affronted but couldn’t really think of a relevant response so she rose and departed with the others.
Colenzo took one look back and noticed the sergeant pulling out two cigars. “Genuine Cubans.” He offered one to Razaa’s obvious delight. “And a little something from your superiors at the Corporation.” He reached over to his suitcase and flicking a switch on the side opened a storage compartment.
The last thing Colenzo saw as he left the room was the dull white glow of a decaying MicroSun. It cast brilliant shadows of the sergeant and Razaa on to the walls. What Colenzo was quite unaware of was the electromagnetic interference that pulsed out from the spherical ball of activity, allowing un-intercepted short-range communication.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Concurrent Actions and Mindless Debates I
Having incurred a massive debt to the Corporation Colenzo Majuba now found himself working for the Corporation and travelling the galaxy. Together with the Sergeant and Edgar Rice, they now headed out on a new project to the mysterious asteroid habitat Shalamari 4.
Colenzo found himself wondering, once again, if anything had actually changed. Life was perhaps more interesting but he was still intensely worried by his existence. The Corporation job gave him more clarity and so far it lacked the repetitive mundane elements that had characterised his mining job, but overall he still found himself wondering what it was all really for. His existential crisis had been renewed by an annoying message from his wife demanding more attention and more money. His lack of money was also still a pressing issue and he realised he had only increased his debt to the Corporation since he had started working for them. The paranoid part of himself questioned is that wasn’t exactly their plan.
He was on board a ship the sergeant had commissioned for the trip to Shalamari 4 and sitting with Edgar and Luciel. Luciel was a representative the Cohabitationist council. It had been decided she would have to accompany the group for the extent of their travels in the lands of the Cohabitationists. The sergeant had been cleared but Colenzo and especially Edgar had worried certain interviewers. Edgar was, they believed, prone to aggressive actions and notably unaware. Colenzo was too intellectual and although he understood Cohabitationism they claimed he didn’t “feel it.” Had they known this Colenzo would have snorted and Edgar would have probably started shouting at someone.
The ship was unpleasant, unpleasant in the eyes of Colenzo and Edgar at least. It crawled with cockroaches and other insects. It was kept warm and moist at the humidity and temperature of the port they had departed from. This port had been especially chosen, as it was the closest in seasonal and climatic conditions to the port they would be arriving at on Shalamari 4. All trips between Shalamari 4 and the planet of Goodall had to depart from the same ports. It minimised the impact for unintentional travellers. As Colenzo ate his porridge he watched one of these unintentional travellers eat one of the ships numerous cockroaches. This traveller, of the higher order, was a rat.
Edgar watched it wearily. When it came sniffing at his foot he wanted to kick it but noticed the critical eye of Luciel watching his every move. He really disliked her. The feeling was mutual. A few minutes later the rat was eating from Luciel’s bowl.
“What’s your problem?” She said looking at Edgar and noting the wrinkled nose and look of disgust upon his face.
Colenzo sighed – not again. Edgar said nothing but started to snigger. He looked to Colenzo for support but finding none just looked down into his bowl.
“You know you are so childish, Edgar.” Luciel said as she leant forward toward her bowl of cereal. The rat scampered away and Luciel took a few more spoonfuls.
“Yeah, whatever” Edgar said. His intention was to make the implicit statement “I’m not the one letting a wild rat eat out of my bowl”. However his subtle criticism was completely lost on Luciel; this was how she always behaved – being a good Cohabitationist. “Now excuse me.” Edgar said putting his hand over his mouth pretending to gag. Again he looked to Colenzo and finding no support for his joke he walked away with his shoulders deliberately held back.
Colenzo felt shit: on the one hand he wanted to support his friend and could see that Luciel’s actions were quite absurd, on the other hand he felt Edgar was being childish and immature in his approach to Cohabitationist culture. Lastly he felt a certain desire for Luciel and this itself was a site of psychological conflict. Not conflict in that he was married, affairs were considered the norm, but conflict in that he felt quite useless and inadequate when it came to picking up random women.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Colenzo looked at Luciel’s face but when she caught him looking he retreated onto the net and accessed her public access file. The idea of looking at her real person still interested him but he lacked the courage.
Accessing her files he was disappointed to find no pictures of her. She had files of writing and poetry and a huge collection of wildlife photography, video and virtual reality. Some was hers; some of it was by professionals. The professional art charged the viewer a small fee when it was viewed – the viewer, in this case Colenzo, was cautioned in advance.
“What are you doing?” Luciel asked, catching Colenzo quite unaware – he was looking at some of her photography. He stumbled over his words, feeling quite guilty for some reason, as though he was invading her privacy or watching her bath.
“I’m just…” he paused and thought about it, “Your photography is great.” He decided to be honest, knowing he couldn’t lie even though for some reason he felt like it.
She blushed and looked away. “You should have a look at Koktabel Qin’s stuff. Now that is great photography, mine is… okay… I suppose.”
“No really yours is great, it says something different, it…” he paused.
“Thanks” she managed. There was a silence as Colenzo struggled for something to say.
“What inspires you? Why do you take pictures?” He asked.
“Well actually,” she said feigning reluctance but obviously quite pleased, “I am attempting to deconstruct the traditional Cohabitationist interpretation of man as some form of benevolent god, a being which allows the coexistence of other creatures through its grace as opposed to an equal who chooses to live mutually.”
“Oh…” was all Colenzo could manage; he was more than a bit confused.
“You see,” Luciel continued, Colenzo wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this, “the traditional school of Cohabitationists seem to think that there is something praiseworthy in allowing other creatures to live and that since we could have completely obliterated all life we have encountered, it is something to do with our power and our grace which allows other creatures to live.” Colenzo was nodding in pretend understanding. If he had applied himself he could probably have understood but he liked to play the simpleton as it absolved him of a certain degree of responsibility. Luciel continued, “Although I do not deny that we have such power it disgusts me that people think they have done something good by not killing. Instead I believe people should act that way as it is morally correct.”
“And you want to show that through your photography?” Colenzo asked.
“Completely.”
“How?” Colenzo asked before thinking about it.
“Well through intelligent composition, choice of subject and position in discourse.”
“Huh?” Colenzo grunted.
“Well the traditional Cohabitationist photographers, such as Buke or Williams, will position the person or subject in such a way that the picture hints at such qualities as the Person’s freedom or rights. This in itself assumes that the subject would not have such rights naturally, that they are something worth noting.”
“Of course.” Colenzo replied, lost but not feeling like taking it further.
“Do you agree?” Luciel asked.
Colenzo felt wary, was this some test, and was there a correct answer. She was suggesting that there were factions amongst the Cohabitationists, would his position effect her report on him. She seemed to read his mind and said,
“Look Colenzo, I really don’t care what you think. Well I do but as far as I am concerned you are a guest in our territory and as long as you show due respect to the animals” she emphasised the word, “such as calling them persons and don’t break our laws, you can actually believe whatever you want. I just like discussing such thinks.” She looked into Colenzo’s eyes and interpreting his look as unconvinced she continued, “The Cohabitationist territory spends more per annum on the maintenance and upkeep of its unique administration than the entire asteroid belt produces in a year. I think it is worth making sure we having things right. Don’t you?”
Feeling drawn out by her seemingly reasonable position Colenzo decided he would share his thoughts,
“Well say we discussed all this and just say I convinced you that killing and eating animals was fine and that nothing had any rights and worrying about the well being of some rat was meaningless, well what difference would it make? Would you change your ways? Would you somehow try to overcome the two and a bit billion people in this solar system who call themselves Cohabitationists?” Colenzo was surprised at the anger that was behind his words. It was an anger driven by intellectual uncertainty and the lack of answers he perceived in his questions.
“Well…” Luciel began when Thomas walked into the room. Thomas was the ship’s Public Relations Officer (Human Interpersonal). His nametag and role was clearly expressed on the net so when Luciel and Colenzo looked at him something like a label floated next to him giving his name and role. It could be mentally clicked on to access more information about him and his position on board the ship. This was nothing new to either Colenzo or Luciel so they just noted his name.
“Hello Thomas.” Luciel said. Colenzo just nodded. Thomas smiled and raised a hand, “Hello Luciel, Colenzo.” He made his way over to the porridge warming in the corner and shooing away some flies he helped himself. Then came over and joined them. When he sat down he scratched his head.
“What’s happening?” He asked politely. Neither Colenzo nor Luciel really knew what to say so they sat in silence for a bit. Thomas scratched again. After a few mouthfuls he tried a different tack. He looked up at Luciel and said, “You know I was looking at some of your writing and your photography. I think this current context might challenge your position.” Colenzo sighed quietly.
“How so?” Luciel responded, wary but open to debate.
“Well if you look at most of the persons on board this ship, higher or lower order, their existence here is not natural but is definitely due to our grace.” Luciel nodded for him to continue and Colenzo sat back, glad to have been extracted from the debate but still party to it. “I know we have attempted to create something like an environment here for these persons to feel at home, but this is actually a simply unnatural environment. It has to be created and our creation of this homely space is something worth note.”
Pausing, making sure that he was finished Luciel steeled herself for retort, “Well actually, on the contrary, take our rat friend over there.” She indicated under the porridge and cereal counter where a net tag indicated a rat was hiding. “He didn’t choose to come on board this ship. We placed an unnatural and potentially hazardous environment in his territory and on his roaming he entered it. It is not our grace or goodness that tells us to now create an environment that will sustain him until he choose or happens to depart the ship. It is our duty. We are not going beyond the call of duty but simply meeting it.”
“How so?” Thomas responded.
“How so…” Luciel implored. “He is only in this potentially hazardous and unnatural environment because of our actions. Hence we owe it to him to protect him. It is not good to protect him, it is right.”
“But he chose to come on board.”
“He chose, but not knowingly.”
“Yes but…” Thomas began but Luciel interrupted.
“Say your company put you on this ship as part of your job. Do they not owe it to you to create a safe environment?”
Thomas thought about it, he seemed to want to retort but couldn’t so he settled for, “Well, yes.”
“And our rat friend over there didn’t even have a choice. Hence it is our duty as it is our actions that created his predicament.” She paused, “Not so?”
“I guess so.” Thomas conceded, leaving Luciel looking quite satisfied with herself. After a silence Colenzo threw in his thoughts.
“Isn’t all of this based within the assumption that persons such as that rat have rights?” The other two looked at him quizzically so he continued, “Well it is only because you have rights, protected by Cohabitationist law that your company has to provide for your well-being. Back home, on the asteroids at least, your contract dictates such obligations.” Luciel and Thomas both looked at him like he was quite crazy. “No really. Companies don’t just let their employees die as the media would just destroy them with critical articles to the point that nobody would work for them or employ their services, but unless it is in the contract they actually have no obligation to care for their employees at all.”
“I had heard something to that effect before about the so called free countries but how does that effect our debate about the rat over there?”
“Well like the workers in the asteroid belt are only protected by contracts and the media, so rats are not. Any rat on board a ship in the free countries would have no rights, no contract and definitely lack the media’s support, whereas this rat is currently protected by law. That is the only thing that creates an obligation to protect him.”
Thomas smiled secretly to himself. He was please with how things were going. He had built the classic straw man and let Luciel’s fire burn it down. He had read her articles and had even drawn arguments from them. Leaving her the winner had definitely made her happy and he had said nothing that might truly challenge her position. Colenzo had joined in of his own volition and depending on who was looking more down he could quite happily switch allegiance to lift their spirits. He also had a great distraction – a lilac breasted roller in the storage compartment – which he could pull out if the debate ever got bitter or too heated. That would probably distract Luciel and from Colenzo’s profile he didn’t seem like the staying and fighting type anyway.
Thomas sat back quite happy and scratched his armpit. He loved the job of keeping the public happy and would have been perfectly content if he didn’t have the annoying itch he had recently developed.
Letting the two debate on their own, feigning attention, he thought about the rash. It seemed that something indefinable was lacking from his diet. The doctors couldn’t find it and the medibots seemed to be doing their job normally. He had even had his medibots replaced - just in case. Still the rash had lingered and the itch seemed to be getting worse. Someone had suggested that he was not producing certain proteins correctly and is DNA was currently being explored for any abnormalities.
After a while Colenzo seemed to tire of the debate, Luciel was however only getting warmed up. Thomas sensing the change in mood decided it was time to pull out his distraction for the day. He informed them that he had just heard over the net that there was a lilac breasted roller in the freight bay. They both seemed interested so he led them away – argument forgotten.
Meanwhile the ship continued to close in on Shalamari 4, as the asteroids continued their endless circling of their host planet - Goodall. Shalamari 4 had developed quite a population over the years. Being one of the largest objects in orbit around the planet its unused outer surface had quickly been converted into rent producing property and docking space, whilst the hollowed out interiors remained conserved and unavailable to the general public. Apart from being used as a port, the outer surfaces of the asteroids had also been converted into luxury getaways for the rich and famous. These apartments were completely synthetic environments and using the correct checks and balances they could, with their related entertainment and consuming areas, be kept quite “legally” free of any higher persons other than humans and their designated pets. This was not uncommon as even the most nature loving and compassionate Cohabitationist sometimes got tired of having to be mindful of every step and having to gently extract unwanted creatures from their bed. This intolerance was accepted although not smiled upon. It was also proven to be greater amongst the rich and powerful. The popular Guardian of Cohabitationism Discussion Forum had been debating for some time if this intolerance was a product of, or producing of, riches and power. Some argued that the powerful were innately less tolerant and hence more aggressive and assertive and it was this trait that led to their worldly riches. Others argued that having riches gave people a bloated sense of self worth and hence made them less tolerant. The jury was still out.
All these development gave Shalamari 4 the typical appearance of an orbiting port. From a distance it looked something like a floating pile of built up debris, swarming with insects. Closer inspection would reveal that the bits of debris were all connected and the insects were actually the thousands of transportation devices that kept a population of a few hundred thousand ticking.
The last notable feature was that the entire underbelly of the beast was glowing and seen from the planets this surface acted as a gigantic advert for Pepsi. Although visually only a spot of colour in the sky, the perpetually lurking colours of red, blue and white were a considered a constant reminder to the consumer. Furthermore as almost all long distance travel on Goodall occurred in the near orbital regions this advert was often much clearer to the target market.
Deep in the heart of this conglomerate, in the rolling plains that represented and mimicked the territories of central Africa, Sprac sat in an almost unique state of consciousness. His was a combination of human and arachnid, a hybrid result of extensive research into the neural activity of a spider waiting patiently in its web. It was a state somewhere between asleep and alert. He sat plugged into the innumerable sensors and devices that monitored the borders of the interior, like a spider feeling the vibrations on the strands of its web. Yet at the same time Sprac was completely unaware. He could not get bored or irritable nor would he fall asleep and loose consciousness. Around him various animals moved through the thick jungle and valley bush that covered certain regions of the interior. Using central African as a template the interior of the asteroids had a relatively flat bottom with steep cliffs bordering them. Three of the larger and more circular asteroids were the homes to mountains from which rivers flowed, passing through specially designed connecting tunnels onto the valley plains in the longer asteroids. Connecting the rivers flowed over a waterfall and into a last asteroid were the waters flowed into a flood plain there to slowly be siphoned off and pumped back up to rain down on the mountains and the plains.
It was not a perfect environment. For the birds especially, migration was not possible and the unnatural ceilings rudely interrupted the soaring efforts of vultures. Day and night were however easily simulated and the climatic variations of seasons were created through weather systems that ultimately amounted to little more than air-conditioning with humidity controllers and a set of controlled sprinklers. The hail system was under development following research into the necessary destructive action of an occasional hail fall. Fires were not unheard of and much to certain conservationist’s irritation were left unchecked (except for random “naturally” occurring rainfall). These fires had at times destroyed at least two thirds of the environment and obliterated some twenty species. Most of these species had been gradually reintroduced under the guise of migration. One of them however was localised and was now considered “extinct.”
Shalamari 4 was undoubtedly a bold venture but not uncommon – throughout the inhabited galaxy and especially in the lands of the Cohabitationists such artificial reserves had been created. What separated Shalamari 4 was that it was not available to any consumer. Few persons had ever set foot in this environment in over eighty years, apart from repair and alteration crews, that entered occasionally to repair faulty works and upgrade systems
Sprac was randomly aroused. He was attached to a tree by a set of talons. Before he was even fully conscious a set of defence systems had him pouncing randomly away through the thick mountain jungle. In a matter of seconds he was half a kilometre from his waking position and perched in full camouflage on a cliff outcrop. He gave a tug on all the strings of his web, running a quick surveillance of the thousands of perimeter sensors. Nothing had changed in any notable way. He went on line and downloaded a series of news packages. He then pounced back into the jungle moved tirelessly downstream to a new perch, settling after a series of randomised one hundred meter jumps.
The thought that ran through his mind as he scanned the news from all the corners of the human galaxy was quite simple; “I was never a part of you.” If he had been capable of facial expression one half of his upper lip would have tightened in a scowl of contempt as he read the news.
After twenty minutes he was bored. He watched the monkeys near him: the males fighting for dominance, the females carrying their young. He retreated into surveillance mode. His neural pattern was redirected into the arachnid complex and he sank into the sensors once again. A few minutes later a dominant male monkey climbed up his ridged frame and perched upon his head surveying his territory.
On the inhabited outside of the same asteroids Mr. Insane had just finished updating his new identity. He surveyed the files with satisfaction. He was a rather unsuccessful sales man. He had been selling insurance door to door for about seven years for a series of failed companies. Video clips of his technique were available and logs were available at some of the companies, although at least half of them were now bankrupt and non-existent. A detailed investigation of most of this information would reveal holes: bad editing in the clips would show them to be fakes; research into the company’s files would find them to be scant and curiously lacking detail. Although who would take interest in an unsuccessful sales man except perhaps another desperate and sinking insurance company and being desperate they would not investigate too much. A faked interview with a human resources analyst would put his general lack of success down to a perpetual and mild depression resulting from chemical problems unsolvable due to a lack of credit. The story was quite typical of a large portion of the essential framework (working class).
Satisfied that this would pass all routine checks Mr. Insane opened again a file he had received recently. It was a decoded message sold online to any interested party. He read the contents once again and smiled at the opportunity they presented. Then he went online and contacted an old associate in the micro-explosives industry. His day was looking up.
Colenzo found himself wondering, once again, if anything had actually changed. Life was perhaps more interesting but he was still intensely worried by his existence. The Corporation job gave him more clarity and so far it lacked the repetitive mundane elements that had characterised his mining job, but overall he still found himself wondering what it was all really for. His existential crisis had been renewed by an annoying message from his wife demanding more attention and more money. His lack of money was also still a pressing issue and he realised he had only increased his debt to the Corporation since he had started working for them. The paranoid part of himself questioned is that wasn’t exactly their plan.
He was on board a ship the sergeant had commissioned for the trip to Shalamari 4 and sitting with Edgar and Luciel. Luciel was a representative the Cohabitationist council. It had been decided she would have to accompany the group for the extent of their travels in the lands of the Cohabitationists. The sergeant had been cleared but Colenzo and especially Edgar had worried certain interviewers. Edgar was, they believed, prone to aggressive actions and notably unaware. Colenzo was too intellectual and although he understood Cohabitationism they claimed he didn’t “feel it.” Had they known this Colenzo would have snorted and Edgar would have probably started shouting at someone.
The ship was unpleasant, unpleasant in the eyes of Colenzo and Edgar at least. It crawled with cockroaches and other insects. It was kept warm and moist at the humidity and temperature of the port they had departed from. This port had been especially chosen, as it was the closest in seasonal and climatic conditions to the port they would be arriving at on Shalamari 4. All trips between Shalamari 4 and the planet of Goodall had to depart from the same ports. It minimised the impact for unintentional travellers. As Colenzo ate his porridge he watched one of these unintentional travellers eat one of the ships numerous cockroaches. This traveller, of the higher order, was a rat.
Edgar watched it wearily. When it came sniffing at his foot he wanted to kick it but noticed the critical eye of Luciel watching his every move. He really disliked her. The feeling was mutual. A few minutes later the rat was eating from Luciel’s bowl.
“What’s your problem?” She said looking at Edgar and noting the wrinkled nose and look of disgust upon his face.
Colenzo sighed – not again. Edgar said nothing but started to snigger. He looked to Colenzo for support but finding none just looked down into his bowl.
“You know you are so childish, Edgar.” Luciel said as she leant forward toward her bowl of cereal. The rat scampered away and Luciel took a few more spoonfuls.
“Yeah, whatever” Edgar said. His intention was to make the implicit statement “I’m not the one letting a wild rat eat out of my bowl”. However his subtle criticism was completely lost on Luciel; this was how she always behaved – being a good Cohabitationist. “Now excuse me.” Edgar said putting his hand over his mouth pretending to gag. Again he looked to Colenzo and finding no support for his joke he walked away with his shoulders deliberately held back.
Colenzo felt shit: on the one hand he wanted to support his friend and could see that Luciel’s actions were quite absurd, on the other hand he felt Edgar was being childish and immature in his approach to Cohabitationist culture. Lastly he felt a certain desire for Luciel and this itself was a site of psychological conflict. Not conflict in that he was married, affairs were considered the norm, but conflict in that he felt quite useless and inadequate when it came to picking up random women.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Colenzo looked at Luciel’s face but when she caught him looking he retreated onto the net and accessed her public access file. The idea of looking at her real person still interested him but he lacked the courage.
Accessing her files he was disappointed to find no pictures of her. She had files of writing and poetry and a huge collection of wildlife photography, video and virtual reality. Some was hers; some of it was by professionals. The professional art charged the viewer a small fee when it was viewed – the viewer, in this case Colenzo, was cautioned in advance.
“What are you doing?” Luciel asked, catching Colenzo quite unaware – he was looking at some of her photography. He stumbled over his words, feeling quite guilty for some reason, as though he was invading her privacy or watching her bath.
“I’m just…” he paused and thought about it, “Your photography is great.” He decided to be honest, knowing he couldn’t lie even though for some reason he felt like it.
She blushed and looked away. “You should have a look at Koktabel Qin’s stuff. Now that is great photography, mine is… okay… I suppose.”
“No really yours is great, it says something different, it…” he paused.
“Thanks” she managed. There was a silence as Colenzo struggled for something to say.
“What inspires you? Why do you take pictures?” He asked.
“Well actually,” she said feigning reluctance but obviously quite pleased, “I am attempting to deconstruct the traditional Cohabitationist interpretation of man as some form of benevolent god, a being which allows the coexistence of other creatures through its grace as opposed to an equal who chooses to live mutually.”
“Oh…” was all Colenzo could manage; he was more than a bit confused.
“You see,” Luciel continued, Colenzo wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this, “the traditional school of Cohabitationists seem to think that there is something praiseworthy in allowing other creatures to live and that since we could have completely obliterated all life we have encountered, it is something to do with our power and our grace which allows other creatures to live.” Colenzo was nodding in pretend understanding. If he had applied himself he could probably have understood but he liked to play the simpleton as it absolved him of a certain degree of responsibility. Luciel continued, “Although I do not deny that we have such power it disgusts me that people think they have done something good by not killing. Instead I believe people should act that way as it is morally correct.”
“And you want to show that through your photography?” Colenzo asked.
“Completely.”
“How?” Colenzo asked before thinking about it.
“Well through intelligent composition, choice of subject and position in discourse.”
“Huh?” Colenzo grunted.
“Well the traditional Cohabitationist photographers, such as Buke or Williams, will position the person or subject in such a way that the picture hints at such qualities as the Person’s freedom or rights. This in itself assumes that the subject would not have such rights naturally, that they are something worth noting.”
“Of course.” Colenzo replied, lost but not feeling like taking it further.
“Do you agree?” Luciel asked.
Colenzo felt wary, was this some test, and was there a correct answer. She was suggesting that there were factions amongst the Cohabitationists, would his position effect her report on him. She seemed to read his mind and said,
“Look Colenzo, I really don’t care what you think. Well I do but as far as I am concerned you are a guest in our territory and as long as you show due respect to the animals” she emphasised the word, “such as calling them persons and don’t break our laws, you can actually believe whatever you want. I just like discussing such thinks.” She looked into Colenzo’s eyes and interpreting his look as unconvinced she continued, “The Cohabitationist territory spends more per annum on the maintenance and upkeep of its unique administration than the entire asteroid belt produces in a year. I think it is worth making sure we having things right. Don’t you?”
Feeling drawn out by her seemingly reasonable position Colenzo decided he would share his thoughts,
“Well say we discussed all this and just say I convinced you that killing and eating animals was fine and that nothing had any rights and worrying about the well being of some rat was meaningless, well what difference would it make? Would you change your ways? Would you somehow try to overcome the two and a bit billion people in this solar system who call themselves Cohabitationists?” Colenzo was surprised at the anger that was behind his words. It was an anger driven by intellectual uncertainty and the lack of answers he perceived in his questions.
“Well…” Luciel began when Thomas walked into the room. Thomas was the ship’s Public Relations Officer (Human Interpersonal). His nametag and role was clearly expressed on the net so when Luciel and Colenzo looked at him something like a label floated next to him giving his name and role. It could be mentally clicked on to access more information about him and his position on board the ship. This was nothing new to either Colenzo or Luciel so they just noted his name.
“Hello Thomas.” Luciel said. Colenzo just nodded. Thomas smiled and raised a hand, “Hello Luciel, Colenzo.” He made his way over to the porridge warming in the corner and shooing away some flies he helped himself. Then came over and joined them. When he sat down he scratched his head.
“What’s happening?” He asked politely. Neither Colenzo nor Luciel really knew what to say so they sat in silence for a bit. Thomas scratched again. After a few mouthfuls he tried a different tack. He looked up at Luciel and said, “You know I was looking at some of your writing and your photography. I think this current context might challenge your position.” Colenzo sighed quietly.
“How so?” Luciel responded, wary but open to debate.
“Well if you look at most of the persons on board this ship, higher or lower order, their existence here is not natural but is definitely due to our grace.” Luciel nodded for him to continue and Colenzo sat back, glad to have been extracted from the debate but still party to it. “I know we have attempted to create something like an environment here for these persons to feel at home, but this is actually a simply unnatural environment. It has to be created and our creation of this homely space is something worth note.”
Pausing, making sure that he was finished Luciel steeled herself for retort, “Well actually, on the contrary, take our rat friend over there.” She indicated under the porridge and cereal counter where a net tag indicated a rat was hiding. “He didn’t choose to come on board this ship. We placed an unnatural and potentially hazardous environment in his territory and on his roaming he entered it. It is not our grace or goodness that tells us to now create an environment that will sustain him until he choose or happens to depart the ship. It is our duty. We are not going beyond the call of duty but simply meeting it.”
“How so?” Thomas responded.
“How so…” Luciel implored. “He is only in this potentially hazardous and unnatural environment because of our actions. Hence we owe it to him to protect him. It is not good to protect him, it is right.”
“But he chose to come on board.”
“He chose, but not knowingly.”
“Yes but…” Thomas began but Luciel interrupted.
“Say your company put you on this ship as part of your job. Do they not owe it to you to create a safe environment?”
Thomas thought about it, he seemed to want to retort but couldn’t so he settled for, “Well, yes.”
“And our rat friend over there didn’t even have a choice. Hence it is our duty as it is our actions that created his predicament.” She paused, “Not so?”
“I guess so.” Thomas conceded, leaving Luciel looking quite satisfied with herself. After a silence Colenzo threw in his thoughts.
“Isn’t all of this based within the assumption that persons such as that rat have rights?” The other two looked at him quizzically so he continued, “Well it is only because you have rights, protected by Cohabitationist law that your company has to provide for your well-being. Back home, on the asteroids at least, your contract dictates such obligations.” Luciel and Thomas both looked at him like he was quite crazy. “No really. Companies don’t just let their employees die as the media would just destroy them with critical articles to the point that nobody would work for them or employ their services, but unless it is in the contract they actually have no obligation to care for their employees at all.”
“I had heard something to that effect before about the so called free countries but how does that effect our debate about the rat over there?”
“Well like the workers in the asteroid belt are only protected by contracts and the media, so rats are not. Any rat on board a ship in the free countries would have no rights, no contract and definitely lack the media’s support, whereas this rat is currently protected by law. That is the only thing that creates an obligation to protect him.”
Thomas smiled secretly to himself. He was please with how things were going. He had built the classic straw man and let Luciel’s fire burn it down. He had read her articles and had even drawn arguments from them. Leaving her the winner had definitely made her happy and he had said nothing that might truly challenge her position. Colenzo had joined in of his own volition and depending on who was looking more down he could quite happily switch allegiance to lift their spirits. He also had a great distraction – a lilac breasted roller in the storage compartment – which he could pull out if the debate ever got bitter or too heated. That would probably distract Luciel and from Colenzo’s profile he didn’t seem like the staying and fighting type anyway.
Thomas sat back quite happy and scratched his armpit. He loved the job of keeping the public happy and would have been perfectly content if he didn’t have the annoying itch he had recently developed.
Letting the two debate on their own, feigning attention, he thought about the rash. It seemed that something indefinable was lacking from his diet. The doctors couldn’t find it and the medibots seemed to be doing their job normally. He had even had his medibots replaced - just in case. Still the rash had lingered and the itch seemed to be getting worse. Someone had suggested that he was not producing certain proteins correctly and is DNA was currently being explored for any abnormalities.
After a while Colenzo seemed to tire of the debate, Luciel was however only getting warmed up. Thomas sensing the change in mood decided it was time to pull out his distraction for the day. He informed them that he had just heard over the net that there was a lilac breasted roller in the freight bay. They both seemed interested so he led them away – argument forgotten.
Meanwhile the ship continued to close in on Shalamari 4, as the asteroids continued their endless circling of their host planet - Goodall. Shalamari 4 had developed quite a population over the years. Being one of the largest objects in orbit around the planet its unused outer surface had quickly been converted into rent producing property and docking space, whilst the hollowed out interiors remained conserved and unavailable to the general public. Apart from being used as a port, the outer surfaces of the asteroids had also been converted into luxury getaways for the rich and famous. These apartments were completely synthetic environments and using the correct checks and balances they could, with their related entertainment and consuming areas, be kept quite “legally” free of any higher persons other than humans and their designated pets. This was not uncommon as even the most nature loving and compassionate Cohabitationist sometimes got tired of having to be mindful of every step and having to gently extract unwanted creatures from their bed. This intolerance was accepted although not smiled upon. It was also proven to be greater amongst the rich and powerful. The popular Guardian of Cohabitationism Discussion Forum had been debating for some time if this intolerance was a product of, or producing of, riches and power. Some argued that the powerful were innately less tolerant and hence more aggressive and assertive and it was this trait that led to their worldly riches. Others argued that having riches gave people a bloated sense of self worth and hence made them less tolerant. The jury was still out.
All these development gave Shalamari 4 the typical appearance of an orbiting port. From a distance it looked something like a floating pile of built up debris, swarming with insects. Closer inspection would reveal that the bits of debris were all connected and the insects were actually the thousands of transportation devices that kept a population of a few hundred thousand ticking.
The last notable feature was that the entire underbelly of the beast was glowing and seen from the planets this surface acted as a gigantic advert for Pepsi. Although visually only a spot of colour in the sky, the perpetually lurking colours of red, blue and white were a considered a constant reminder to the consumer. Furthermore as almost all long distance travel on Goodall occurred in the near orbital regions this advert was often much clearer to the target market.
Deep in the heart of this conglomerate, in the rolling plains that represented and mimicked the territories of central Africa, Sprac sat in an almost unique state of consciousness. His was a combination of human and arachnid, a hybrid result of extensive research into the neural activity of a spider waiting patiently in its web. It was a state somewhere between asleep and alert. He sat plugged into the innumerable sensors and devices that monitored the borders of the interior, like a spider feeling the vibrations on the strands of its web. Yet at the same time Sprac was completely unaware. He could not get bored or irritable nor would he fall asleep and loose consciousness. Around him various animals moved through the thick jungle and valley bush that covered certain regions of the interior. Using central African as a template the interior of the asteroids had a relatively flat bottom with steep cliffs bordering them. Three of the larger and more circular asteroids were the homes to mountains from which rivers flowed, passing through specially designed connecting tunnels onto the valley plains in the longer asteroids. Connecting the rivers flowed over a waterfall and into a last asteroid were the waters flowed into a flood plain there to slowly be siphoned off and pumped back up to rain down on the mountains and the plains.
It was not a perfect environment. For the birds especially, migration was not possible and the unnatural ceilings rudely interrupted the soaring efforts of vultures. Day and night were however easily simulated and the climatic variations of seasons were created through weather systems that ultimately amounted to little more than air-conditioning with humidity controllers and a set of controlled sprinklers. The hail system was under development following research into the necessary destructive action of an occasional hail fall. Fires were not unheard of and much to certain conservationist’s irritation were left unchecked (except for random “naturally” occurring rainfall). These fires had at times destroyed at least two thirds of the environment and obliterated some twenty species. Most of these species had been gradually reintroduced under the guise of migration. One of them however was localised and was now considered “extinct.”
Shalamari 4 was undoubtedly a bold venture but not uncommon – throughout the inhabited galaxy and especially in the lands of the Cohabitationists such artificial reserves had been created. What separated Shalamari 4 was that it was not available to any consumer. Few persons had ever set foot in this environment in over eighty years, apart from repair and alteration crews, that entered occasionally to repair faulty works and upgrade systems
Sprac was randomly aroused. He was attached to a tree by a set of talons. Before he was even fully conscious a set of defence systems had him pouncing randomly away through the thick mountain jungle. In a matter of seconds he was half a kilometre from his waking position and perched in full camouflage on a cliff outcrop. He gave a tug on all the strings of his web, running a quick surveillance of the thousands of perimeter sensors. Nothing had changed in any notable way. He went on line and downloaded a series of news packages. He then pounced back into the jungle moved tirelessly downstream to a new perch, settling after a series of randomised one hundred meter jumps.
The thought that ran through his mind as he scanned the news from all the corners of the human galaxy was quite simple; “I was never a part of you.” If he had been capable of facial expression one half of his upper lip would have tightened in a scowl of contempt as he read the news.
After twenty minutes he was bored. He watched the monkeys near him: the males fighting for dominance, the females carrying their young. He retreated into surveillance mode. His neural pattern was redirected into the arachnid complex and he sank into the sensors once again. A few minutes later a dominant male monkey climbed up his ridged frame and perched upon his head surveying his territory.
On the inhabited outside of the same asteroids Mr. Insane had just finished updating his new identity. He surveyed the files with satisfaction. He was a rather unsuccessful sales man. He had been selling insurance door to door for about seven years for a series of failed companies. Video clips of his technique were available and logs were available at some of the companies, although at least half of them were now bankrupt and non-existent. A detailed investigation of most of this information would reveal holes: bad editing in the clips would show them to be fakes; research into the company’s files would find them to be scant and curiously lacking detail. Although who would take interest in an unsuccessful sales man except perhaps another desperate and sinking insurance company and being desperate they would not investigate too much. A faked interview with a human resources analyst would put his general lack of success down to a perpetual and mild depression resulting from chemical problems unsolvable due to a lack of credit. The story was quite typical of a large portion of the essential framework (working class).
Satisfied that this would pass all routine checks Mr. Insane opened again a file he had received recently. It was a decoded message sold online to any interested party. He read the contents once again and smiled at the opportunity they presented. Then he went online and contacted an old associate in the micro-explosives industry. His day was looking up.
Unamenable to Change
Having incurred a massive debt to the Corporation, following a freak high speed accident, Colenzo Majuba found himself working for the Corporation and traveling the galaxy. Together with the Sergeant and Edgar Rice, they now headed out on a new project to the mysterious asteroid habitat Shalamari 4.
Before making their way to Shalamari 4 the three Corporation Employees had to get a Clear Soul Visa. This entailed a comprehensive interview and an explanation of their previous actions to a committee of Cohabitationists; Shalamari fell within a Cohabitationist jurisdiction. The commission was deep within Cohabitation territory on the outer planet of Goodall. Their trip there was delayed by a Reedbuck, which had found its way onto the cubeline that they had been using. The reedbuck was casually chewing on some grass protruding between the tracks and they had to wait for a team to extract it. The extraction itself was painfully slow, as it had to be done with “minimal stress and pressure to the free person involved.” The process involved using a frequency emitter that was mildly annoying to the buck (though not harmful); this frequency was slowly increased until the buck departed of its own accord. This was due to Section 36 of the Cohabitation Act; the sergeant though a nature lover scoffed at the extremism of the Cohabitationists, Colenzo simply wondered why the Tourist Cubicle simply couldn’t fly over the animal – the answer he could have attained if he had a neural connection was that the rails themselves usually emitted a deterring frequency that kept animal and insect life away from the tracks. This Reedbuck had proven particularly resilient.
Sitting waiting at the High Commission they got into an argument. They were sitting on three rocks in what was otherwise quite an unattractive (some might say natural) piece of open ground that stood before the gates and the commission grounds. From here a relatively unworn path ran through long unkempt grass to the commission buildings about two hundred meters away. When they had arrived they had been told to wait for an escort. The sun was beating down on them and the air was alive with the sounds and actions of insects and birds.
“How can the killing of an ant not be a punishable action but the killing of a bird be one?” Edgar implored. “It is absurd.”
“Well it’s not that absurd. The definition of free person in the law is quite clear; a natural person has volition and personal thought or action. Well something like that…” Colenzo explained and the sergeant added (after looking it up on his neural connection), “A free person is defined as, “A being with a central nervous system, genetic code and who shows evidence of personal choice in action.”
“Oh, please” Edgar replied, “That is ridiculous and childishly pedantic. If you are going to pass laws to protect the rights of all free persons you can’t then go and be petty about definitions. What about bacteria?”
The sergeant shook his head, “Edgar, how did you pass the exams? You know as a representative of the Corporation in this jurisdiction you really should understand such things… actually not just understand you should know the law backwards!”
“I know. I know that the reason bacteria are excluded is their lack of neural system. But that is again pathetic and pedantic. Anyway all of this is about some power hungry bastard being…” he hesitated, waving his hands and struggling to find the word he wanted.
“I don’t think power is an issue here, it is just about cultural and legal definitions.” Colenzo added, a bit confused but having fun.
“It is not about definition it is about the spirit.” The sergeant threw into the fray.
“…greedy.” Edgar finished. The other two looked at him with raised eyebrows before Colenzo continued,
“What is the spirit of cohabitationist law anyway?”
“The spirit…” both other men began and stopped. Motioning the other to go and then both starting again at the same time. They paused and another voice spoke.
“The spirit of Cohabitationism is an attempt to encourage the peaceful cohabitation of all natural persons. It is also an attempt to create an environment that is suitable to the needs of the maximum number of such persons without infringing upon the rights of the individual.” The man who spoke was tall and dressed in a suit. He stood looking down on the three as they sat in discussion. “I am Svansky, Council to the High Commissioner for the Cohabitationist Republic on Goodall.” He reach out a hand, which the others shook in turn. “Please follow me.” He stated and started to walk off.
They rose and followed, the sergeant walking next to Svansky, the other two lingering behind like children; continuing their debate in hushed tones.
“I take it you are the three Corporation employees attempting to make your way to Shalamari 4.”
“Yes we are.” The sergeant responded, correcting his posture and through a neural connection to his clothes switching on the pheromone transmitters and adjusting their lighting to become more pleasing to Svansky’s profile.
“Watch the butterflies.” Svansky said in passing as they walked passed a flutter of four. Then as a thought he logged onto the local network and looked at each individual’s profile. Three paces further he stopped.
“Mr. Tokugawa,” he said, addressing the sergeant using his surname, “I wasn’t aware that you companions lacked a neural uplink. You do know that it will be impossible for us to even consider a Visa Application from a person who lacks a neural uplink.”
The sergeant paused quite confused; he looked up something before responding to Svansky. “It says here person’s need continual access to the Local Registry of Persons Network. At any point those two could pull out their iPalmPod for an update.”
“Indeed that was the case. However a recent ruling in the State verse Hobbes and the following changes in legislation require permanent access to the Registry of Persons through a neural uplink and a Neural Indicator. As in yours, which should highlight in your vision any higher order free person in the local vicinity and warn when other persons are nearby.”
The sergeant looked around and noticed a faint red glow under one of the acacia shrubs about three meters to his right. He mentally clicked on it and an information dialogue arose informing him that the higher free person under the tree was a field mouse. Looking around again with renewed consciousness he noticed various highlighted sections in his vision - so many. And soon enough that he was quite staggered by the abundance of higher order free persons surrounding him: mice, rats, birds, foxes, cats, more birds, a snake… the list went on. Svansky just watched.
Eventually the sergeant responded, “I see.” He looked back at the other two still engaged in a heated debate now about euthanasia. The sergeant continued, “I suppose we will have to come back tomorrow.” and then to the others he said, “Come on guys, let’s go.”
For Colenzo and Edgar the frustration caused by the administrative red tape was completely undermined by their joy at having their credit extended specifically to include neural uplinks. Edgar, being the narcissist that he was, failed to notice that the sergeant had to pull some rank to get this credit extension and had once again increased their salary. Colenzo was a bit more aware of this and the emotional statement of friendship it included. He wasn’t really sure how to express this though but decided that he would somehow make it up to the Sergeant in time (a bottle of Single Malt Choal Ila would probably be sufficient).
The process was quite painless. They made their way to a local Corporation Medical Facility and waited in the relevant queues. The sergeant who had “better things to do than stand around in queues” retreated to his rooms to do some serious investigation. Three things were bothering him: the whereabouts and health of Shiela (the neurologist he had been involved with before the NoCoL kidnapped her); how to elevate the NoCoL problem in the minds of the people who made strategic decisions; and Cohabitationism. Feeling annoyed and frustrated with the mindless administration behind the Visa Application he spend the rest of the evening arguing against the theoretical basis of Cohabitationism (symbolic of course of the Administration) with a friend who lived in the area.
The first thing Colenzo did when he got his new neural net connection was go back to his room. He lay down on his bed and logged on. His heart was pounding. He was very exited and had sweaty palms. It had taken four hours of intensive surgery to implant the connection. It had taken a further six hours for a controlled nanoswarm to repair the tissues surrounding the implants. He still lacked his own Medibots and so the finishing and check-ups would have to be done at a clinic; having the transmitters and receivers implanted at the back of his skull, where the spinal muscles connect with the skull also meant that he would probably develop a cancer in that region a few times in his life. A weekly scan would catch it before it could grow and become malignant.
The neural connection was mainly fed into his occipital lobes - to create images in his vision, and into his temporal lobes - to create subjectively experienced sound. It also fed into certain regions of his pre-frontal lobes to decide upon in system movements. What appeared shortly after he lay down on his bed was something like the head up display of a 20th Century aircraft and something like the Windows operating systems popular at that time.
By thinking about mentally reaching up and pulling down a task bar he made one appear at the top of his vision. He attempted to log onto his local service provider but found that his password had expired and his neural signature needed updating. Before continuing he had to do this. It was relatively quick and painless.
He logged on.
He was not ready for the assault of visual and audio advertising that followed (luckily he did not have his taste, smell or touch receptors connected). Pop up screens started to fill his vision so quickly that he was soon struggling to see. Voices and sounds overlaid each other until he felt like he was in the middle of a riot. He was being pushed and shoved into buying and selling; he was being overwhelmed. For the months following the operation all his filter subscriptions had been cancelled. He had forgotten about this and so the spam had built up. The amount was so overwhelming that his processor was beginning to struggle. It was so bad that when he attempted to minimise all windows and halt all the sounds he had to wait! It took about five seconds - he tried to breathe and found that he had scrambled back and was sitting up in his bed.
“Stupid bastards!” He muttered to himself. And started closing windows – it was a fruitless exercise. When he closed the first window – an advert for hand crafted ducks from the Asteroid Belt – another window popped up with a new advert: “Mr. Colenzo, I take it you don’t like hand crafted goods, what about some random algorithmically constructed bed side pieces built by the famous AI artist Yule Thale.” Colenzo closed this but it threw up a new one: “Not into AI art either. I’ve got just the thing for your…” he closed that and minimised the new one that popped up. Colenzo was mildly annoyed with himself by now, he should have learnt this years ago.
Carefully with his sub-vocal he called a Google assistant who appeared in standard format – he had lost all his personalisation options after the accident. Interestingly this accounted for the relatively random selection of adverts being thrown in his direction – although his choices so far had been noted and were being sold across the information highways (as had the respective time delays – he had considered the AI art advert for 0.32 seconds longer than the Hand Craft etc.). His personalised advertising profile was quickly being developed.
Colenzo first moved the Google assistant from the standard, psychologically most soothing, and most generally user friendly, to his preferred functional option. It was less friendly and more to the point. He looked up advertising filters and got five alternate versions of exactly what he was looking for. A few minutes later he had two advert filters that were killing pop-ups. The first was a shareware version that Niall (his dead friend from his mining days) had suggested. He installed it with some nostalgia and felt a sense of connection with it that ran deeper than its functionality (it was actually quite out of date). He also had a professional filter that charged him a minimal fee for the service. He made a note to ask a more literate person to help him prioritise the shareware version. He understood what needed to be done conceptually - “if the shareware doesn’t work then use the professional” - but didn’t have a clue how to programme it in. Such prioritisation would save him on fees as the professional charged per advert killed and the shareware would kill them for free.
As an afterthought he went and looked up some information on the professional version; his paranoia ran deep. There was a two-week-old article the abstract of which read, “FlySwat, a professional advert filter service, has recently been under investigation by the information authorities due to suspected collusion with the advertising companies. As of yet no evidence had been found to support this position but we’ll keep you informed.” No subsequent articles had been published on the topic but it got Colenzo thinking. He looked at some of the other professional versions and looked up articles about them. The Horses Tail turned out to be the only of Google’s top five that had never been under suspicion in the media and though none of the others had ever been caught red handed he cancelled his FlySwat subscription and registered with The Horses Tail. The invisible hand had moved - the information network would have smiled, as would have Adam Smith.
During all of this Colenzo had also noticed an interesting new icon on his task bar. Some investigation revealed that it was a CorpAccelorator; apparently as an employee of the Corporation he got increased network speed and coverage. The icon also revealed that for work related purposes he could switch connection to a Corporation sponsored and notably faster one. Furthermore the Corporation would cover the cost of the advert filters during such searches. This would be actively and regularly monitored though and questionable searches would lead to penetrating questions.
Whilst Colenzo continued to deal with the administrative backlog that had built up whilst he was disconnected a beggar made his way past Colenzo’s room. The man was poor and unemployed. He wore tattered clothes, probably more tattered than anything Colenzo would ever have seen. His name was Richard but he called himself Wretched.
A year before that moment when he staggered past Colenzo’s door Wretched had been working as a Sales Assistant in a large clothing retail chain on Goodall. At the time he was a good salesman and liked clothing. He actually liked clothing a lot, soon after that time, some would say too much. Richard (as he was then) had a good eye and a friendly manner. He worked in the women’s section and was not only charming but also good looking and well built (the natural way; not the genetically enhanced way). He had an ability to read people and understand fashion that could have got him very far. Such skills were what mattered when logistics, production and supply could be handled a thousand times better by some random machine. Richards’s ability was based on his extensive use of person’s profiles. He liked to read up on customers and watch their public access video files before attempting to recommend clothing. Once having done this he could quite easily feel out the client; know how conservative they were, what they would want to achieve with their clothing and how they wanted to sell themselves. He was quite open to having relationships with clients and this increased his ability to provide useful personalised fashion insight.
When Richard was young he had fallen in love with his mother: well at least some archetypal split all good symbolic interpsychic version of her. Being a naturally emotional type his love ran deeper than most, in fact it bordered upon obsession. At the height of this obsession his mother left – divorcing Richard’s father and catching a Colonising ship heading to a new star. Understandably Richard was furious. He was six and threw a tantrum anything that age would be impressed with. When this didn’t work he got all sulky. When she still didn’t return despite receiving regular grumpy messages from him, Richard wished her dead. Some sadist thought it would be pretty funny to grant a child’s wish and a week later the Colonising ship’s MircoSun experienced technical faults and blew the entire ship and all in it back to dust. Naturally little Richard blamed himself and the guilt started to grow.
The guilt was not however something he could face directly. The emotional pain of thinking he killed his mother (his only true love) was too much for the young child and way too much for the teenage boy. Hence Richard’s unconscious started to punish him indirectly. He started by not eating well. He then tried loving abusive women; two birds with one stone that one. He even tried believing in unfashionable and taboo religions so he could feel guilty. None of this was enough.
His superego/conscious wanted more. He had to suffer and feel the guilt, even if he couldn’t know the real reason for the guilt. One day it found the solution and Richard (now twenty and calling himself Wretched) walked out the retail store with two unpaid for items. The system found out immediately but he told his superiors he was taking it to a special client.
The next day they followed up on his movements on the information network. Nothing showed any visit to a special client or even a call to one. Wretched made excuses for the next few days until his superiors forgot. Each night he sat at home, alone, feeling guilty about it. Soon the guilt passed and he felt better for a while although that dark secret remained, the fact that his wishes had killed his mother continued to haunt him and the guilt started to come back.
He stole again and this time got no forgiveness. The superiors and the authorities remembered the last time and following up found the clothes suspended above Wretched’s bed.
He was fired and started going to therapy. He also had his physiology and neurology checked. They found nothing. Therapy went on. He still got into stores as he had money but he found his movements closely monitored. A month later when he tried to steal again the doors closed permanently on his access to retail stores. He had to order food and could not get a job anywhere.
The therapist was dumbfounded. They tried an expert. It almost succeeded but Wretched couldn’t handle the pain of those memories. As the true reasons for his pain and his guilt started to emerge he ran away, stopping therapy and accusing his therapist of being uninformed and unprofessional (the investigation found nothing of the sort).
Soon Wretched was deemed “unamenable to change.” More and more doors closed on him. The Information Networks, reading his IdentityTags, pre-empted him by shutting the entrance. He was kicked out his room and moved to a cheaper one on a habitat, which circled Goodall like a moon. This didn’t last long and soon he was too poor to afford that and had eaten all his savings. Even the doors of transport cubicles closed before him.
That day, as he walked past Colenzo’s door, he was down to his last cents. Occasionally he was topped up by sympathetic strangers. However his record (kleptomaniac: repeat offender; unamenable to change), available to all, made sympathy a rare blessing. He had made his way onto the Freight Ship by pure accident and hadn’t been aware of the increased charges for the oxygen he was breathing and the warmth that sustained him.
Eventually closed doors led him to an air lock one hundred meters from Colenzo’s room. Each breath saw the cents stripped off his savings and each second some more. When he reached zero a Systems Administrator was called. The man looked at the display showing Wretched crouched in the corner in a three by three meter airlock. The System Administrator looked around at his colleagues and shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing for it.” He said and waited a second. No offers of credit materialised and the System Administrator pushed the expel button.
In a half starved state of blurred misery Wretched was expelled into space. As he exploded in the vacuum a small part of him felt satisfied. In fact, it laughed.
Before making their way to Shalamari 4 the three Corporation Employees had to get a Clear Soul Visa. This entailed a comprehensive interview and an explanation of their previous actions to a committee of Cohabitationists; Shalamari fell within a Cohabitationist jurisdiction. The commission was deep within Cohabitation territory on the outer planet of Goodall. Their trip there was delayed by a Reedbuck, which had found its way onto the cubeline that they had been using. The reedbuck was casually chewing on some grass protruding between the tracks and they had to wait for a team to extract it. The extraction itself was painfully slow, as it had to be done with “minimal stress and pressure to the free person involved.” The process involved using a frequency emitter that was mildly annoying to the buck (though not harmful); this frequency was slowly increased until the buck departed of its own accord. This was due to Section 36 of the Cohabitation Act; the sergeant though a nature lover scoffed at the extremism of the Cohabitationists, Colenzo simply wondered why the Tourist Cubicle simply couldn’t fly over the animal – the answer he could have attained if he had a neural connection was that the rails themselves usually emitted a deterring frequency that kept animal and insect life away from the tracks. This Reedbuck had proven particularly resilient.
Sitting waiting at the High Commission they got into an argument. They were sitting on three rocks in what was otherwise quite an unattractive (some might say natural) piece of open ground that stood before the gates and the commission grounds. From here a relatively unworn path ran through long unkempt grass to the commission buildings about two hundred meters away. When they had arrived they had been told to wait for an escort. The sun was beating down on them and the air was alive with the sounds and actions of insects and birds.
“How can the killing of an ant not be a punishable action but the killing of a bird be one?” Edgar implored. “It is absurd.”
“Well it’s not that absurd. The definition of free person in the law is quite clear; a natural person has volition and personal thought or action. Well something like that…” Colenzo explained and the sergeant added (after looking it up on his neural connection), “A free person is defined as, “A being with a central nervous system, genetic code and who shows evidence of personal choice in action.”
“Oh, please” Edgar replied, “That is ridiculous and childishly pedantic. If you are going to pass laws to protect the rights of all free persons you can’t then go and be petty about definitions. What about bacteria?”
The sergeant shook his head, “Edgar, how did you pass the exams? You know as a representative of the Corporation in this jurisdiction you really should understand such things… actually not just understand you should know the law backwards!”
“I know. I know that the reason bacteria are excluded is their lack of neural system. But that is again pathetic and pedantic. Anyway all of this is about some power hungry bastard being…” he hesitated, waving his hands and struggling to find the word he wanted.
“I don’t think power is an issue here, it is just about cultural and legal definitions.” Colenzo added, a bit confused but having fun.
“It is not about definition it is about the spirit.” The sergeant threw into the fray.
“…greedy.” Edgar finished. The other two looked at him with raised eyebrows before Colenzo continued,
“What is the spirit of cohabitationist law anyway?”
“The spirit…” both other men began and stopped. Motioning the other to go and then both starting again at the same time. They paused and another voice spoke.
“The spirit of Cohabitationism is an attempt to encourage the peaceful cohabitation of all natural persons. It is also an attempt to create an environment that is suitable to the needs of the maximum number of such persons without infringing upon the rights of the individual.” The man who spoke was tall and dressed in a suit. He stood looking down on the three as they sat in discussion. “I am Svansky, Council to the High Commissioner for the Cohabitationist Republic on Goodall.” He reach out a hand, which the others shook in turn. “Please follow me.” He stated and started to walk off.
They rose and followed, the sergeant walking next to Svansky, the other two lingering behind like children; continuing their debate in hushed tones.
“I take it you are the three Corporation employees attempting to make your way to Shalamari 4.”
“Yes we are.” The sergeant responded, correcting his posture and through a neural connection to his clothes switching on the pheromone transmitters and adjusting their lighting to become more pleasing to Svansky’s profile.
“Watch the butterflies.” Svansky said in passing as they walked passed a flutter of four. Then as a thought he logged onto the local network and looked at each individual’s profile. Three paces further he stopped.
“Mr. Tokugawa,” he said, addressing the sergeant using his surname, “I wasn’t aware that you companions lacked a neural uplink. You do know that it will be impossible for us to even consider a Visa Application from a person who lacks a neural uplink.”
The sergeant paused quite confused; he looked up something before responding to Svansky. “It says here person’s need continual access to the Local Registry of Persons Network. At any point those two could pull out their iPalmPod for an update.”
“Indeed that was the case. However a recent ruling in the State verse Hobbes and the following changes in legislation require permanent access to the Registry of Persons through a neural uplink and a Neural Indicator. As in yours, which should highlight in your vision any higher order free person in the local vicinity and warn when other persons are nearby.”
The sergeant looked around and noticed a faint red glow under one of the acacia shrubs about three meters to his right. He mentally clicked on it and an information dialogue arose informing him that the higher free person under the tree was a field mouse. Looking around again with renewed consciousness he noticed various highlighted sections in his vision - so many. And soon enough that he was quite staggered by the abundance of higher order free persons surrounding him: mice, rats, birds, foxes, cats, more birds, a snake… the list went on. Svansky just watched.
Eventually the sergeant responded, “I see.” He looked back at the other two still engaged in a heated debate now about euthanasia. The sergeant continued, “I suppose we will have to come back tomorrow.” and then to the others he said, “Come on guys, let’s go.”
For Colenzo and Edgar the frustration caused by the administrative red tape was completely undermined by their joy at having their credit extended specifically to include neural uplinks. Edgar, being the narcissist that he was, failed to notice that the sergeant had to pull some rank to get this credit extension and had once again increased their salary. Colenzo was a bit more aware of this and the emotional statement of friendship it included. He wasn’t really sure how to express this though but decided that he would somehow make it up to the Sergeant in time (a bottle of Single Malt Choal Ila would probably be sufficient).
The process was quite painless. They made their way to a local Corporation Medical Facility and waited in the relevant queues. The sergeant who had “better things to do than stand around in queues” retreated to his rooms to do some serious investigation. Three things were bothering him: the whereabouts and health of Shiela (the neurologist he had been involved with before the NoCoL kidnapped her); how to elevate the NoCoL problem in the minds of the people who made strategic decisions; and Cohabitationism. Feeling annoyed and frustrated with the mindless administration behind the Visa Application he spend the rest of the evening arguing against the theoretical basis of Cohabitationism (symbolic of course of the Administration) with a friend who lived in the area.
The first thing Colenzo did when he got his new neural net connection was go back to his room. He lay down on his bed and logged on. His heart was pounding. He was very exited and had sweaty palms. It had taken four hours of intensive surgery to implant the connection. It had taken a further six hours for a controlled nanoswarm to repair the tissues surrounding the implants. He still lacked his own Medibots and so the finishing and check-ups would have to be done at a clinic; having the transmitters and receivers implanted at the back of his skull, where the spinal muscles connect with the skull also meant that he would probably develop a cancer in that region a few times in his life. A weekly scan would catch it before it could grow and become malignant.
The neural connection was mainly fed into his occipital lobes - to create images in his vision, and into his temporal lobes - to create subjectively experienced sound. It also fed into certain regions of his pre-frontal lobes to decide upon in system movements. What appeared shortly after he lay down on his bed was something like the head up display of a 20th Century aircraft and something like the Windows operating systems popular at that time.
By thinking about mentally reaching up and pulling down a task bar he made one appear at the top of his vision. He attempted to log onto his local service provider but found that his password had expired and his neural signature needed updating. Before continuing he had to do this. It was relatively quick and painless.
He logged on.
He was not ready for the assault of visual and audio advertising that followed (luckily he did not have his taste, smell or touch receptors connected). Pop up screens started to fill his vision so quickly that he was soon struggling to see. Voices and sounds overlaid each other until he felt like he was in the middle of a riot. He was being pushed and shoved into buying and selling; he was being overwhelmed. For the months following the operation all his filter subscriptions had been cancelled. He had forgotten about this and so the spam had built up. The amount was so overwhelming that his processor was beginning to struggle. It was so bad that when he attempted to minimise all windows and halt all the sounds he had to wait! It took about five seconds - he tried to breathe and found that he had scrambled back and was sitting up in his bed.
“Stupid bastards!” He muttered to himself. And started closing windows – it was a fruitless exercise. When he closed the first window – an advert for hand crafted ducks from the Asteroid Belt – another window popped up with a new advert: “Mr. Colenzo, I take it you don’t like hand crafted goods, what about some random algorithmically constructed bed side pieces built by the famous AI artist Yule Thale.” Colenzo closed this but it threw up a new one: “Not into AI art either. I’ve got just the thing for your…” he closed that and minimised the new one that popped up. Colenzo was mildly annoyed with himself by now, he should have learnt this years ago.
Carefully with his sub-vocal he called a Google assistant who appeared in standard format – he had lost all his personalisation options after the accident. Interestingly this accounted for the relatively random selection of adverts being thrown in his direction – although his choices so far had been noted and were being sold across the information highways (as had the respective time delays – he had considered the AI art advert for 0.32 seconds longer than the Hand Craft etc.). His personalised advertising profile was quickly being developed.
Colenzo first moved the Google assistant from the standard, psychologically most soothing, and most generally user friendly, to his preferred functional option. It was less friendly and more to the point. He looked up advertising filters and got five alternate versions of exactly what he was looking for. A few minutes later he had two advert filters that were killing pop-ups. The first was a shareware version that Niall (his dead friend from his mining days) had suggested. He installed it with some nostalgia and felt a sense of connection with it that ran deeper than its functionality (it was actually quite out of date). He also had a professional filter that charged him a minimal fee for the service. He made a note to ask a more literate person to help him prioritise the shareware version. He understood what needed to be done conceptually - “if the shareware doesn’t work then use the professional” - but didn’t have a clue how to programme it in. Such prioritisation would save him on fees as the professional charged per advert killed and the shareware would kill them for free.
As an afterthought he went and looked up some information on the professional version; his paranoia ran deep. There was a two-week-old article the abstract of which read, “FlySwat, a professional advert filter service, has recently been under investigation by the information authorities due to suspected collusion with the advertising companies. As of yet no evidence had been found to support this position but we’ll keep you informed.” No subsequent articles had been published on the topic but it got Colenzo thinking. He looked at some of the other professional versions and looked up articles about them. The Horses Tail turned out to be the only of Google’s top five that had never been under suspicion in the media and though none of the others had ever been caught red handed he cancelled his FlySwat subscription and registered with The Horses Tail. The invisible hand had moved - the information network would have smiled, as would have Adam Smith.
During all of this Colenzo had also noticed an interesting new icon on his task bar. Some investigation revealed that it was a CorpAccelorator; apparently as an employee of the Corporation he got increased network speed and coverage. The icon also revealed that for work related purposes he could switch connection to a Corporation sponsored and notably faster one. Furthermore the Corporation would cover the cost of the advert filters during such searches. This would be actively and regularly monitored though and questionable searches would lead to penetrating questions.
Whilst Colenzo continued to deal with the administrative backlog that had built up whilst he was disconnected a beggar made his way past Colenzo’s room. The man was poor and unemployed. He wore tattered clothes, probably more tattered than anything Colenzo would ever have seen. His name was Richard but he called himself Wretched.
A year before that moment when he staggered past Colenzo’s door Wretched had been working as a Sales Assistant in a large clothing retail chain on Goodall. At the time he was a good salesman and liked clothing. He actually liked clothing a lot, soon after that time, some would say too much. Richard (as he was then) had a good eye and a friendly manner. He worked in the women’s section and was not only charming but also good looking and well built (the natural way; not the genetically enhanced way). He had an ability to read people and understand fashion that could have got him very far. Such skills were what mattered when logistics, production and supply could be handled a thousand times better by some random machine. Richards’s ability was based on his extensive use of person’s profiles. He liked to read up on customers and watch their public access video files before attempting to recommend clothing. Once having done this he could quite easily feel out the client; know how conservative they were, what they would want to achieve with their clothing and how they wanted to sell themselves. He was quite open to having relationships with clients and this increased his ability to provide useful personalised fashion insight.
When Richard was young he had fallen in love with his mother: well at least some archetypal split all good symbolic interpsychic version of her. Being a naturally emotional type his love ran deeper than most, in fact it bordered upon obsession. At the height of this obsession his mother left – divorcing Richard’s father and catching a Colonising ship heading to a new star. Understandably Richard was furious. He was six and threw a tantrum anything that age would be impressed with. When this didn’t work he got all sulky. When she still didn’t return despite receiving regular grumpy messages from him, Richard wished her dead. Some sadist thought it would be pretty funny to grant a child’s wish and a week later the Colonising ship’s MircoSun experienced technical faults and blew the entire ship and all in it back to dust. Naturally little Richard blamed himself and the guilt started to grow.
The guilt was not however something he could face directly. The emotional pain of thinking he killed his mother (his only true love) was too much for the young child and way too much for the teenage boy. Hence Richard’s unconscious started to punish him indirectly. He started by not eating well. He then tried loving abusive women; two birds with one stone that one. He even tried believing in unfashionable and taboo religions so he could feel guilty. None of this was enough.
His superego/conscious wanted more. He had to suffer and feel the guilt, even if he couldn’t know the real reason for the guilt. One day it found the solution and Richard (now twenty and calling himself Wretched) walked out the retail store with two unpaid for items. The system found out immediately but he told his superiors he was taking it to a special client.
The next day they followed up on his movements on the information network. Nothing showed any visit to a special client or even a call to one. Wretched made excuses for the next few days until his superiors forgot. Each night he sat at home, alone, feeling guilty about it. Soon the guilt passed and he felt better for a while although that dark secret remained, the fact that his wishes had killed his mother continued to haunt him and the guilt started to come back.
He stole again and this time got no forgiveness. The superiors and the authorities remembered the last time and following up found the clothes suspended above Wretched’s bed.
He was fired and started going to therapy. He also had his physiology and neurology checked. They found nothing. Therapy went on. He still got into stores as he had money but he found his movements closely monitored. A month later when he tried to steal again the doors closed permanently on his access to retail stores. He had to order food and could not get a job anywhere.
The therapist was dumbfounded. They tried an expert. It almost succeeded but Wretched couldn’t handle the pain of those memories. As the true reasons for his pain and his guilt started to emerge he ran away, stopping therapy and accusing his therapist of being uninformed and unprofessional (the investigation found nothing of the sort).
Soon Wretched was deemed “unamenable to change.” More and more doors closed on him. The Information Networks, reading his IdentityTags, pre-empted him by shutting the entrance. He was kicked out his room and moved to a cheaper one on a habitat, which circled Goodall like a moon. This didn’t last long and soon he was too poor to afford that and had eaten all his savings. Even the doors of transport cubicles closed before him.
That day, as he walked past Colenzo’s door, he was down to his last cents. Occasionally he was topped up by sympathetic strangers. However his record (kleptomaniac: repeat offender; unamenable to change), available to all, made sympathy a rare blessing. He had made his way onto the Freight Ship by pure accident and hadn’t been aware of the increased charges for the oxygen he was breathing and the warmth that sustained him.
Eventually closed doors led him to an air lock one hundred meters from Colenzo’s room. Each breath saw the cents stripped off his savings and each second some more. When he reached zero a Systems Administrator was called. The man looked at the display showing Wretched crouched in the corner in a three by three meter airlock. The System Administrator looked around at his colleagues and shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing for it.” He said and waited a second. No offers of credit materialised and the System Administrator pushed the expel button.
In a half starved state of blurred misery Wretched was expelled into space. As he exploded in the vacuum a small part of him felt satisfied. In fact, it laughed.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
From Red to Green
When they arrived in “the land of the tree-huggers”, as the sergeant liked to call it, a pub moved on board the Wan Chai No. 7623; the cargo ship on which Colenzo, Edgar and the Sergeant were working. After a long day of giving evidence to the authorities about the actions and wrongdoings of certain passengers Colenzo made his way back onto the Wan Chai and made his way to the new pub. It was nice – old fashioned, retro as some would say. A handsome young man with facial hair and a beautiful woman with enhanced breasts serviced the bar. By coincidence Edgar and the Sergeant were already there. As was typical of his drunken state, Edgar was talking to the woman’s breasts and Colenzo picked up on the conversation with only a nod of greeting,
“And so they pay you more if you have breast enhancements?” He asked amazed yet obviously delighted.
“Well of course,” she said, “In the same way they will pay me better if I have a good reputation or customers like me.”
“Makes sense I suppose,” The sergeant interjected. “I mean, look at this dopes face, he is glowing simply because you have nice breasts! And as for that guy, great specimen of the male animal, I assume he gets paid better because he works out?”
“Naturally.” She said and then added, “Although his looks are not from working out, he is unnaturally enhanced.” The sergeant’s face dropped a bit.
“It’s a shame.” He said. “It would take a lot of work to look like that and would inspire a lot of respect.” She raised an eyebrow. “Well people are generally lazy nowadays.” The sergeant continued, “They want everything done for them and aren’t prepared to put in any work.” She snorted before retorting,
“I’ll have you know he pays for that. He has to put part of the money he makes from working here into maintaining that body. You might not respect that but I do.”
How is this adding value? Colenzo thought as he watched the argument develop. She got more heated and so did the sergeant. He was adamant that respect for a good body could only be given if the body was built through sweat and natural hard work. She was convinced that this was a product of the sergeant’s Administrative Echelon (bourgeois) thinking and lifestyle. Eventually Colenzo intervened, “But if he pays for this better body of his, then surely he isn’t actually getting paid more for having a better body because the extra pay just disappears into maintaining the look?” This stumped everyone. Edgar laughed and said, “Col, you think too much.” The sergeant and the woman were slightly annoyed, their argument was nothing more than sexual games and now an outsider had upended her position. The power play had taken on an awkward dimension. She looked at Colenzo and took a seductive swig of her drink. “Can I get you something?” She asked. He missed it completely. “Yeah, I’ll have a…” His thought processes ran like this ~ a beer would make him drowsy but more sociable, a whiskey is what he would prefer but then he would remain quiet, perhaps a shooter of sorts.
The bar lady meanwhile looked at a display on her retina, it was a live feed from scanners all around the bar. They had explored Colenzo’s body language, pheromones and other chemical levels and would make a suggestion. This suggestion would also be influenced by market information based upon Colenzo’s previous choices but this input was highly deflated as Colenzo had recently experienced a Life Event; Life Events often changed peoples drinking and entertainment habits. Either way the suggestion given to the bartender was probabilistic and impacted upon by sponsors and marketing fees paid by the large breweries. It provided three options, she would choose from those: Etruscan Bile, Johnny Walker or Tuskers Beer. She chose Tuskers and picked it up from a tray that had floated to her side. When she placed it in front of Colenzo he took it without really noticing. He was engaged in a conversation with the sergeant and was used to such personalised service, all he gave her was a “Great. Thanks,” his action acting as acceptance.
The bar lady then logged onto Colenzo’s file. She was mildly surprised that he didn’t have a neural uplink but the Local Information Systems Provider still gave her access to his account. She charged him for the drink and it was deducted directly from his bank account. Scanners on the bar had picked up the radio frequency identity tag on the item and somewhat like a barcode scanner had registered that a drink had crossed the counter. The unique id would ensure that it would not be double counted and auditing systems would ensure that the relevant transactions had indeed taken place.
A bit later they had moved away from the bar and taken a table in the corner. Edgar was pretty drunk. The sergeant was drinking Russian Bear on the rocks, with a naartjie peel – sold completely by their marketing campaign. He identified with the bear – the power, the speed, and the solitude. He switched to the live feed that came through as long as he was drinking Russian Bear. The images were being projected from a sanctuary in Northern Russia back on earth. They were broadcast live but were naturally pretty old. The bear was digging up some roots. The sergeant loved this unique companionship he was sharing with all other Russian Bear drinkers over the explored galaxy. And he loved the fact that his drinking was supporting such a great cause. He always went for Russian Bear Black as the bear had “more character than those snobby Grizzlies.”
A Localised Electronics Fault Repair Technician came into the bar. She was working; this was obvious because she was wearing overalls that had animated company advertising on the back. They were no doubt paying the pub for the right to advertise to their cliental. It was also obvious that she was working because her Toolbox floated behind her. It had the Toolbox trademark logo down the front in large letters. The woman wandered over to one of the far wall panels and waited as the Toolbox removed the pseudo-wooden panel that covered the wiring she was there to repair.
Edgar nudged Colenzo and said, “Electronic Fault” pointing over at the woman and nodding in a drunken knowing kind of way. “I used to do exactly that.”
As they watched the oval Toolbox sprouted a sucker arm that attached to the wood. It then sprouted another arm that deftly removed the securing hinges on the panel, which came away – attached to the sucker. An acrid smell filled the air and the bar lady made her way over to the Technician.
“I hope you are going to compensate us for that smell.” She said, in hushed but not quiet tones.
“Not my problem.” The Technician said in a nonchalant almost apathetical way. She closed her eyes for a second as she retrieved her superiors business card and mentally passed it over to the bar lady.
Colenzo made his way over to the bar, partly to order another drink, but partly to get a view into the veins and muscles of the pub. He was always blown away by the amount of wires and machinery that lay behind every single wall panel and façade in everything he encountered. It made him think of a childhood trip to a Buddhist temple. The temple had originally been in China but had been extracted with about one square kilometre of the surrounding earth. Colenzo remembered marvelling at the giant stonewalls, meters think and made of nothing but solid rock. Colenzo examined the barman, who he noticed was wearing only a sarong, around his waist. The lighting moved with the barman and accented his physique whenever he did something. A group of gay guys at the end of the bar were giggling with homoerotic pleasure. The barman came over to Colenzo who then ordered another round of the same. As the drinks passed over the bar they were logged again. “Are you getting this round?” The barman asked.
“No.” Colenzo replied and turned back to the table. The barman allocated the costs between the three and sat back in a floating barstool, watching soccer on his neural connection.
Meanwhile Edgar had made his way over to the Technician working in the corner. As he came stumbling closer the one and a half meter floating toolbox came to attention. Logging onto the bars LAN it heightened the lighting on Edgar and requested some information from the judicial LAN. It was charged a minimal fee. When Edgar was about two meters from the Toolbox it projected out holographic red tape and a mildly comical sign from the twentieth century. The sign was on a triangle and pictured a man working with a spade. Below it, in Edgars home language it read: “Person at work.” This comic element had been shown to have a greater effect as a deterrent that simple bureaucratic red tape.
Edgar stumbled, caught slightly off guard by the suddenly clattered local environment. Then he got annoyed. “Hey look,” he said to the non-sentient ToolBox, “I am just coming over to give some advice. I used to do this you know.”
Nothing happened.
So Edgar continued to approach passing through the holographic red tape. As he did so the ToolBox snapped out a set of structures much like some lizards and dinosaurs would do when threatened. These structures where somewhat like the support struts on an umbrella and held taught a thin rattling material between them. In a mechanised voice the ToolBox stated, “Mr. Rice. Please step away from the worksite. Only authorised personnel are allowed to cross the holographic line. This is for your own safety.” It then spurted out a holographic fine print stating the parent companies lack of responsibility in the event of accident.
Edgar stepped back but started shouting to the technician. “Hey comrade, what is this? I am just coming over to have a look! I used to be a technician myself.” The technician who had her head and parts of her upper torso within the wall extracted herself and turned around.
“Do you have a complaint?” the technician said and then tried to telepathically send her superiors business card to Edgar. Discovering that it was not possible she ordered the Toolbox to print one. “That’s my boss, talk to him.” The technician then turned back to her work.
“No man, I just think I know what the problem is.” Edgar sounded exasperated and was looking around for support. The sergeant was making his way over.
“Really. Well so do I. What do you want - my job?” The technician spurted from half within the wall – she seemed a bit angry.
“Hey cool it. Just trying to help.” Edgar retorted. The sergeant was about two meters behind him. The ToolBox tried to give Edgar the recently printed card, but Edgar knocked it aside.
“Look if you want a job, talk to my boss.” The technician said, “Otherwise I have a job to do and am getting billed for this time.” The technician turned away again.
Edgar prepared to move forward; he was angry now, feeling rejected and especially hurt as he had felt a connection with the technician due to his previous work experience. He never made it though. The sergeant placed a hand upon his shoulder and using a very advanced pacify ring with Soberquik chemicals he brought Edgar’s mood under control and his mind back to normality. Edgar stood for a few seconds with the confused look of one whose subjective state has just altered beyond the scope of a natural transition. Unlike a natural chemical and neurological transition that would take the subjective state slowly through a series of inter-leading states, Edgar’s experience was more like going straight from Red to Green. His reflections upon a few seconds earlier made no sense and he stood dumbfounded.
“Colenzo put your drink at the table.” The sergeant said in Edgar’s ear and Edgar turned with an “Oh” and headed over to the table. As the sergeant intended he was completely unaware of the fact that his psychological and physiological state had just been unnaturally altered. Instead he felt like one feels, standing at the top of the stairs thinking, “what did I come upstairs for?”
About fifteen minutes later Edgar was trying to explain his recent experience with the technician to Colenzo. “So I wandered over and was trying to get that chick to pay some attention to me. I was getting a bit agro because she wasn’t really listening. Then bam, I am back at the table having another drink.” Colenzo did not really understand; he was completely drunk. Whilst they were chatting the sergeant looked distracted for a second and rose from the table, heading outside. As he walked the bar lady skipped over happily with a shot of Clarity. The sergeant downed it and walked outside. His eyes had the glazed look of a person conversing on the neural net. When he returned five minutes later he ordered a round of Russian Bear Black Special Reserve and made an announcement. He looked very excited, yet also slightly apprehensive. “Guys. We are going to Shalamari Four. I have a contract and I am taking you with me.”
“Hey cool. Thanks dude.” Edgar said and slapped the sergeant on the shoulder.
“Shalamari 4?” Colenzo asked. “I thought there were only three.”
“Yeah, so did I but it is there. Look on the map.” He pulled out a holographic projector and set it on the table. He buzzed it with his thoughts and it brought up a holographic map. It showed Dot Three one of the terraformed outer planets and zooming in it showed a series of interlinked asteroids in orbit. These it outlined and attached the label Shalamari 4.
Colenzo was impressed. “Well, as you say, it’s on the map. Why haven’t we heard of it?”
“I asked the same question.” The sergeant replied, “It seems the holding company has a market shy label attached to the name. Information and advertising agencies won’t bring it up or refer to it unless they are asked directly about it. So if you search for Shalamari; they won’t bring it up. But if you search for Shalamari 4, four as a number, they will. It’s called a marketing blackout. Costs a fair amount.”
“But surely they can’t pay all information centres to avoid them?” Colenzo replied.
“No, they just pay the main ones; Google, Yahoo; Ubuntu…”
“But why do it at all?”
“Well unlike Shalamari one to three, that all function as a form of tourist entertainment asset, Shalamari four is defined as a Reserve. It is a non-profit land, owned by the wealthy Powell Trust. Look here.” The sergeant touched the hologram screen and the hologram altered. Boring times new roman font size 12 text appeared. Both Colenzo and the sergeant where suitably unimpressed, Edgar was staring into his drink. The text read:
“Shalamari 4 is a category z reserve owned by the Powell Trust. Its function is to act as a Reserve for central African species whose habitats resemble those found in the equatorial regions. The territory is the sole property of the trust and due to the trust clause 14.2 no person, other than a beneficiary (as defined in section 2.3b) or a trustee (as defined in section 3.1.2, 3.1.3 and 3.1.4) may transverse the property. As exclusive property human rights are suspended. Anyone found on the property will be punished, as the Trustees deem appropriate and necessary. The Corporation’s Investment Unit controls the Powell Trusts assets and through these covers fixed costs. End.”
Colenzo sat back and took a sip of his drink. “Is that all? Definitely market shy, that is the worst sell I have ever seen!”
“Yeah. That’s all… we should probably be going. Two day trip there and admin to do.” The sergeant replied and then rose. The others rose with him – the Russian Bear had contained Clarity and they were all sober and thinking clearly again.
“And so they pay you more if you have breast enhancements?” He asked amazed yet obviously delighted.
“Well of course,” she said, “In the same way they will pay me better if I have a good reputation or customers like me.”
“Makes sense I suppose,” The sergeant interjected. “I mean, look at this dopes face, he is glowing simply because you have nice breasts! And as for that guy, great specimen of the male animal, I assume he gets paid better because he works out?”
“Naturally.” She said and then added, “Although his looks are not from working out, he is unnaturally enhanced.” The sergeant’s face dropped a bit.
“It’s a shame.” He said. “It would take a lot of work to look like that and would inspire a lot of respect.” She raised an eyebrow. “Well people are generally lazy nowadays.” The sergeant continued, “They want everything done for them and aren’t prepared to put in any work.” She snorted before retorting,
“I’ll have you know he pays for that. He has to put part of the money he makes from working here into maintaining that body. You might not respect that but I do.”
How is this adding value? Colenzo thought as he watched the argument develop. She got more heated and so did the sergeant. He was adamant that respect for a good body could only be given if the body was built through sweat and natural hard work. She was convinced that this was a product of the sergeant’s Administrative Echelon (bourgeois) thinking and lifestyle. Eventually Colenzo intervened, “But if he pays for this better body of his, then surely he isn’t actually getting paid more for having a better body because the extra pay just disappears into maintaining the look?” This stumped everyone. Edgar laughed and said, “Col, you think too much.” The sergeant and the woman were slightly annoyed, their argument was nothing more than sexual games and now an outsider had upended her position. The power play had taken on an awkward dimension. She looked at Colenzo and took a seductive swig of her drink. “Can I get you something?” She asked. He missed it completely. “Yeah, I’ll have a…” His thought processes ran like this ~ a beer would make him drowsy but more sociable, a whiskey is what he would prefer but then he would remain quiet, perhaps a shooter of sorts.
The bar lady meanwhile looked at a display on her retina, it was a live feed from scanners all around the bar. They had explored Colenzo’s body language, pheromones and other chemical levels and would make a suggestion. This suggestion would also be influenced by market information based upon Colenzo’s previous choices but this input was highly deflated as Colenzo had recently experienced a Life Event; Life Events often changed peoples drinking and entertainment habits. Either way the suggestion given to the bartender was probabilistic and impacted upon by sponsors and marketing fees paid by the large breweries. It provided three options, she would choose from those: Etruscan Bile, Johnny Walker or Tuskers Beer. She chose Tuskers and picked it up from a tray that had floated to her side. When she placed it in front of Colenzo he took it without really noticing. He was engaged in a conversation with the sergeant and was used to such personalised service, all he gave her was a “Great. Thanks,” his action acting as acceptance.
The bar lady then logged onto Colenzo’s file. She was mildly surprised that he didn’t have a neural uplink but the Local Information Systems Provider still gave her access to his account. She charged him for the drink and it was deducted directly from his bank account. Scanners on the bar had picked up the radio frequency identity tag on the item and somewhat like a barcode scanner had registered that a drink had crossed the counter. The unique id would ensure that it would not be double counted and auditing systems would ensure that the relevant transactions had indeed taken place.
A bit later they had moved away from the bar and taken a table in the corner. Edgar was pretty drunk. The sergeant was drinking Russian Bear on the rocks, with a naartjie peel – sold completely by their marketing campaign. He identified with the bear – the power, the speed, and the solitude. He switched to the live feed that came through as long as he was drinking Russian Bear. The images were being projected from a sanctuary in Northern Russia back on earth. They were broadcast live but were naturally pretty old. The bear was digging up some roots. The sergeant loved this unique companionship he was sharing with all other Russian Bear drinkers over the explored galaxy. And he loved the fact that his drinking was supporting such a great cause. He always went for Russian Bear Black as the bear had “more character than those snobby Grizzlies.”
A Localised Electronics Fault Repair Technician came into the bar. She was working; this was obvious because she was wearing overalls that had animated company advertising on the back. They were no doubt paying the pub for the right to advertise to their cliental. It was also obvious that she was working because her Toolbox floated behind her. It had the Toolbox trademark logo down the front in large letters. The woman wandered over to one of the far wall panels and waited as the Toolbox removed the pseudo-wooden panel that covered the wiring she was there to repair.
Edgar nudged Colenzo and said, “Electronic Fault” pointing over at the woman and nodding in a drunken knowing kind of way. “I used to do exactly that.”
As they watched the oval Toolbox sprouted a sucker arm that attached to the wood. It then sprouted another arm that deftly removed the securing hinges on the panel, which came away – attached to the sucker. An acrid smell filled the air and the bar lady made her way over to the Technician.
“I hope you are going to compensate us for that smell.” She said, in hushed but not quiet tones.
“Not my problem.” The Technician said in a nonchalant almost apathetical way. She closed her eyes for a second as she retrieved her superiors business card and mentally passed it over to the bar lady.
Colenzo made his way over to the bar, partly to order another drink, but partly to get a view into the veins and muscles of the pub. He was always blown away by the amount of wires and machinery that lay behind every single wall panel and façade in everything he encountered. It made him think of a childhood trip to a Buddhist temple. The temple had originally been in China but had been extracted with about one square kilometre of the surrounding earth. Colenzo remembered marvelling at the giant stonewalls, meters think and made of nothing but solid rock. Colenzo examined the barman, who he noticed was wearing only a sarong, around his waist. The lighting moved with the barman and accented his physique whenever he did something. A group of gay guys at the end of the bar were giggling with homoerotic pleasure. The barman came over to Colenzo who then ordered another round of the same. As the drinks passed over the bar they were logged again. “Are you getting this round?” The barman asked.
“No.” Colenzo replied and turned back to the table. The barman allocated the costs between the three and sat back in a floating barstool, watching soccer on his neural connection.
Meanwhile Edgar had made his way over to the Technician working in the corner. As he came stumbling closer the one and a half meter floating toolbox came to attention. Logging onto the bars LAN it heightened the lighting on Edgar and requested some information from the judicial LAN. It was charged a minimal fee. When Edgar was about two meters from the Toolbox it projected out holographic red tape and a mildly comical sign from the twentieth century. The sign was on a triangle and pictured a man working with a spade. Below it, in Edgars home language it read: “Person at work.” This comic element had been shown to have a greater effect as a deterrent that simple bureaucratic red tape.
Edgar stumbled, caught slightly off guard by the suddenly clattered local environment. Then he got annoyed. “Hey look,” he said to the non-sentient ToolBox, “I am just coming over to give some advice. I used to do this you know.”
Nothing happened.
So Edgar continued to approach passing through the holographic red tape. As he did so the ToolBox snapped out a set of structures much like some lizards and dinosaurs would do when threatened. These structures where somewhat like the support struts on an umbrella and held taught a thin rattling material between them. In a mechanised voice the ToolBox stated, “Mr. Rice. Please step away from the worksite. Only authorised personnel are allowed to cross the holographic line. This is for your own safety.” It then spurted out a holographic fine print stating the parent companies lack of responsibility in the event of accident.
Edgar stepped back but started shouting to the technician. “Hey comrade, what is this? I am just coming over to have a look! I used to be a technician myself.” The technician who had her head and parts of her upper torso within the wall extracted herself and turned around.
“Do you have a complaint?” the technician said and then tried to telepathically send her superiors business card to Edgar. Discovering that it was not possible she ordered the Toolbox to print one. “That’s my boss, talk to him.” The technician then turned back to her work.
“No man, I just think I know what the problem is.” Edgar sounded exasperated and was looking around for support. The sergeant was making his way over.
“Really. Well so do I. What do you want - my job?” The technician spurted from half within the wall – she seemed a bit angry.
“Hey cool it. Just trying to help.” Edgar retorted. The sergeant was about two meters behind him. The ToolBox tried to give Edgar the recently printed card, but Edgar knocked it aside.
“Look if you want a job, talk to my boss.” The technician said, “Otherwise I have a job to do and am getting billed for this time.” The technician turned away again.
Edgar prepared to move forward; he was angry now, feeling rejected and especially hurt as he had felt a connection with the technician due to his previous work experience. He never made it though. The sergeant placed a hand upon his shoulder and using a very advanced pacify ring with Soberquik chemicals he brought Edgar’s mood under control and his mind back to normality. Edgar stood for a few seconds with the confused look of one whose subjective state has just altered beyond the scope of a natural transition. Unlike a natural chemical and neurological transition that would take the subjective state slowly through a series of inter-leading states, Edgar’s experience was more like going straight from Red to Green. His reflections upon a few seconds earlier made no sense and he stood dumbfounded.
“Colenzo put your drink at the table.” The sergeant said in Edgar’s ear and Edgar turned with an “Oh” and headed over to the table. As the sergeant intended he was completely unaware of the fact that his psychological and physiological state had just been unnaturally altered. Instead he felt like one feels, standing at the top of the stairs thinking, “what did I come upstairs for?”
About fifteen minutes later Edgar was trying to explain his recent experience with the technician to Colenzo. “So I wandered over and was trying to get that chick to pay some attention to me. I was getting a bit agro because she wasn’t really listening. Then bam, I am back at the table having another drink.” Colenzo did not really understand; he was completely drunk. Whilst they were chatting the sergeant looked distracted for a second and rose from the table, heading outside. As he walked the bar lady skipped over happily with a shot of Clarity. The sergeant downed it and walked outside. His eyes had the glazed look of a person conversing on the neural net. When he returned five minutes later he ordered a round of Russian Bear Black Special Reserve and made an announcement. He looked very excited, yet also slightly apprehensive. “Guys. We are going to Shalamari Four. I have a contract and I am taking you with me.”
“Hey cool. Thanks dude.” Edgar said and slapped the sergeant on the shoulder.
“Shalamari 4?” Colenzo asked. “I thought there were only three.”
“Yeah, so did I but it is there. Look on the map.” He pulled out a holographic projector and set it on the table. He buzzed it with his thoughts and it brought up a holographic map. It showed Dot Three one of the terraformed outer planets and zooming in it showed a series of interlinked asteroids in orbit. These it outlined and attached the label Shalamari 4.
Colenzo was impressed. “Well, as you say, it’s on the map. Why haven’t we heard of it?”
“I asked the same question.” The sergeant replied, “It seems the holding company has a market shy label attached to the name. Information and advertising agencies won’t bring it up or refer to it unless they are asked directly about it. So if you search for Shalamari; they won’t bring it up. But if you search for Shalamari 4, four as a number, they will. It’s called a marketing blackout. Costs a fair amount.”
“But surely they can’t pay all information centres to avoid them?” Colenzo replied.
“No, they just pay the main ones; Google, Yahoo; Ubuntu…”
“But why do it at all?”
“Well unlike Shalamari one to three, that all function as a form of tourist entertainment asset, Shalamari four is defined as a Reserve. It is a non-profit land, owned by the wealthy Powell Trust. Look here.” The sergeant touched the hologram screen and the hologram altered. Boring times new roman font size 12 text appeared. Both Colenzo and the sergeant where suitably unimpressed, Edgar was staring into his drink. The text read:
“Shalamari 4 is a category z reserve owned by the Powell Trust. Its function is to act as a Reserve for central African species whose habitats resemble those found in the equatorial regions. The territory is the sole property of the trust and due to the trust clause 14.2 no person, other than a beneficiary (as defined in section 2.3b) or a trustee (as defined in section 3.1.2, 3.1.3 and 3.1.4) may transverse the property. As exclusive property human rights are suspended. Anyone found on the property will be punished, as the Trustees deem appropriate and necessary. The Corporation’s Investment Unit controls the Powell Trusts assets and through these covers fixed costs. End.”
Colenzo sat back and took a sip of his drink. “Is that all? Definitely market shy, that is the worst sell I have ever seen!”
“Yeah. That’s all… we should probably be going. Two day trip there and admin to do.” The sergeant replied and then rose. The others rose with him – the Russian Bear had contained Clarity and they were all sober and thinking clearly again.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The Intelligent Use of Technology
As Mr. Insane sat there, propped up against a tree, he found his breathing becoming more laboured. When he coughed the combination of blood and mucus stained his fingers. He wasn’t exactly aware of what was happening but he had an idea that it was a nanoswarm slowly disintegrating his insides. This was the true end of the technology heralded to be one of medicine’s greatest breakthroughs. The nanoswarm could be ordered to maintain the victim in a state of limbo, pecking out his guts and then regrowing them for him every morning. In another part of his mind Mr. Insane was aware that he was equally quite safe. His suit would mask both his visual emissions and most of the non-visible spectrum normally radiated from a human. Especially in his current sedentary state he would be quite invisible to almost anything. He tried to reach for an emergency injection strapped on his arm but found that his voluntary muscles were incapacitated. Whether it was the nanoswarm or a directed energy weapon was quite unclear; however he could still move his eyes voluntarily and his legs so he assumed the nanoswarm had temporarily severed some of his nerves. He felt nauseous and fell sideways vomiting pathetically; some of the vomit ran down his cheek in a warm dribble he could feel, he could hear the rest being sucked away by the respirator. He had read the literature and was aware that the torture would continue for probably another three or four hours before the regeneration process began and that itself would last probably seven or eight hours and then the cycle would start again; it would not go on indefinitely – as it was working from a human template that would differ from his actuality in specific ways, it would severe things and never repair them.
He thought about what the Corporation was trying to achieve. His current state was aimed at demoralising him. Its purpose was to put him and others like him in their place and remind them in the most vivid way of their weakness and sheer uselessness when confronted with the full force of modern technology. It was a simple and age-old message - resistance is futile.
Mr. Insane’s eyes unfocused and then refocused. He was in a really bad place. He felt he would have surrendered, if there were something to surrender to. Unlike many of his colleagues his suit was doing exactly what it was designed to do and keeping him (and the nanoswarm in his blood), from detection and external harm. Thinking about it at that point he considered that perhaps the suit only made things worse. He was quite sure the nanobots would not be programmed to synthesise food from the outside. In fact so far he had no indication that their programming extended beyond the human internal environment.
For a moment he felt panic at the thought of remaining there under the jungle canopy until he starved to death, undetected and unknown; assumed dead whilst invisible objects maintained him for as long as was possible. Another thought hit him; perhaps they would digest his muscles to keep him fed. He started kicking about with his functioning lower half. If he weren’t invisible he would have looked like a fish out of water, as he was basically invisible his actions simply created a flutter of leaves on the forest floor.
The crunching of forest leaves brought him back to reality. He looked to his right and saw a semi-transparent man approaching him. The man was fully clothed and wore an advanced suit. He looked grotesque, insect-like; his body was covered in autonomous chitineous insect brained plates that clung to their “queen.” The newcomer was looking around as though he was sure that there was something around. His movements were somewhere between cautious and confident, as though he was quite sure his prey was wounded but wasn’t completely convinced. Eventually, about fifteen meters from Mr. Insane, he became aware of the prostrate figure under the tree. His hideous disguised body turned and approached; the plates crawling around to form a stronger fore armour.
When the newcomer was about ten meters away a hand settled on the Mr. Insane’s shoulder. Mr. Insane twitched and flopped around as much as his jerky muscles would let him. The newcomer was right next to him. The other being vanished: never having been there.
The newcomer, a Special Assault unit level undefined was called Sprac. He knelt at Mr. Insane’s side. Sprac’s movements indicated that he was laughing; his body bobbed slightly whilst he unfastened Mr. Insane’s mask and removed it. The invisible head suddenly became clear, floating as though decapitated above the floor. Sprac considered for a few second whether he should cut the suit open, but decided that it would actually have quite some commercial value on the market. Thus he took his slow time removing it, piece by piece. He wanted to hurt Mr. Insane but knew that the nanoswarm would be doing that well enough.
Eventually Mr. Insane lay naked at Sprac’s feet. Sprac meanwhile minimised the suit after having specked it online. Everything collapsed into a ball, which was small enough to fit inside the helmet. The helmet was however uncollapsible and virtually indestructible.
Sprac then knelt down again and stared at the prone and twitching man. His helmet was a bizarre contraption with five large blister-like composite camera eyes on it and three binocular eyes. The bug like eyes on Sprac’s helmet reflected Mr. Insane in a thousand sordid little images. In the reflection Mr. Insane could see that his throat and chest were covered in his vomit and his blood. His veins were pushing out against his skin. He was aware of what he was looking at. The blister eyes on the helmet were composite eyes. Each little eye in the bulging monstrosity a separate camera feeding images into an updated and enhanced occipital lobe of the man Sprac. Mr. Insane was aware of such technology but had no clue how it worked. He had a feeling that the occipital lobe was enhanced with insect neural matter.
Sprac held his hand over the chest of the defeated Mr. Insane. His actions mimicked a Reiki practitioner. As Mr. Insane watched blisters formed upon his chest and then the nanoswarm began to emerge through his skin, creating a shimmering cloud somewhat like a mirage. Their exit was deliberately messy leaving Mr. Insanes chest looking like it had been shot with a shotgun and feeling like it had been rubbed with salt. The nanoswarm disappeared into thin chambers in the forearm of Sprac’s suit. Once this was done Sprac leant forward and “stared” into Mr. Insane’s eyes.
“Stop wasting your time and your people’s energy.” He said in a perfectly clear and level voice, somewhat like a coach making a suggestion to a player. With that he turned and walked away. After a few meters he paused and turned. He withdrew a ration from his pocket and threw it to Mr. Insane; it landed in a puddle of vomit. Sprac then turned and walked off. Disappearing completely from view in two paces and reappearing as three holograms at a radius of approximately fifteen meters.
He thought about what the Corporation was trying to achieve. His current state was aimed at demoralising him. Its purpose was to put him and others like him in their place and remind them in the most vivid way of their weakness and sheer uselessness when confronted with the full force of modern technology. It was a simple and age-old message - resistance is futile.
Mr. Insane’s eyes unfocused and then refocused. He was in a really bad place. He felt he would have surrendered, if there were something to surrender to. Unlike many of his colleagues his suit was doing exactly what it was designed to do and keeping him (and the nanoswarm in his blood), from detection and external harm. Thinking about it at that point he considered that perhaps the suit only made things worse. He was quite sure the nanobots would not be programmed to synthesise food from the outside. In fact so far he had no indication that their programming extended beyond the human internal environment.
For a moment he felt panic at the thought of remaining there under the jungle canopy until he starved to death, undetected and unknown; assumed dead whilst invisible objects maintained him for as long as was possible. Another thought hit him; perhaps they would digest his muscles to keep him fed. He started kicking about with his functioning lower half. If he weren’t invisible he would have looked like a fish out of water, as he was basically invisible his actions simply created a flutter of leaves on the forest floor.
The crunching of forest leaves brought him back to reality. He looked to his right and saw a semi-transparent man approaching him. The man was fully clothed and wore an advanced suit. He looked grotesque, insect-like; his body was covered in autonomous chitineous insect brained plates that clung to their “queen.” The newcomer was looking around as though he was sure that there was something around. His movements were somewhere between cautious and confident, as though he was quite sure his prey was wounded but wasn’t completely convinced. Eventually, about fifteen meters from Mr. Insane, he became aware of the prostrate figure under the tree. His hideous disguised body turned and approached; the plates crawling around to form a stronger fore armour.
When the newcomer was about ten meters away a hand settled on the Mr. Insane’s shoulder. Mr. Insane twitched and flopped around as much as his jerky muscles would let him. The newcomer was right next to him. The other being vanished: never having been there.
The newcomer, a Special Assault unit level undefined was called Sprac. He knelt at Mr. Insane’s side. Sprac’s movements indicated that he was laughing; his body bobbed slightly whilst he unfastened Mr. Insane’s mask and removed it. The invisible head suddenly became clear, floating as though decapitated above the floor. Sprac considered for a few second whether he should cut the suit open, but decided that it would actually have quite some commercial value on the market. Thus he took his slow time removing it, piece by piece. He wanted to hurt Mr. Insane but knew that the nanoswarm would be doing that well enough.
Eventually Mr. Insane lay naked at Sprac’s feet. Sprac meanwhile minimised the suit after having specked it online. Everything collapsed into a ball, which was small enough to fit inside the helmet. The helmet was however uncollapsible and virtually indestructible.
Sprac then knelt down again and stared at the prone and twitching man. His helmet was a bizarre contraption with five large blister-like composite camera eyes on it and three binocular eyes. The bug like eyes on Sprac’s helmet reflected Mr. Insane in a thousand sordid little images. In the reflection Mr. Insane could see that his throat and chest were covered in his vomit and his blood. His veins were pushing out against his skin. He was aware of what he was looking at. The blister eyes on the helmet were composite eyes. Each little eye in the bulging monstrosity a separate camera feeding images into an updated and enhanced occipital lobe of the man Sprac. Mr. Insane was aware of such technology but had no clue how it worked. He had a feeling that the occipital lobe was enhanced with insect neural matter.
Sprac held his hand over the chest of the defeated Mr. Insane. His actions mimicked a Reiki practitioner. As Mr. Insane watched blisters formed upon his chest and then the nanoswarm began to emerge through his skin, creating a shimmering cloud somewhat like a mirage. Their exit was deliberately messy leaving Mr. Insanes chest looking like it had been shot with a shotgun and feeling like it had been rubbed with salt. The nanoswarm disappeared into thin chambers in the forearm of Sprac’s suit. Once this was done Sprac leant forward and “stared” into Mr. Insane’s eyes.
“Stop wasting your time and your people’s energy.” He said in a perfectly clear and level voice, somewhat like a coach making a suggestion to a player. With that he turned and walked away. After a few meters he paused and turned. He withdrew a ration from his pocket and threw it to Mr. Insane; it landed in a puddle of vomit. Sprac then turned and walked off. Disappearing completely from view in two paces and reappearing as three holograms at a radius of approximately fifteen meters.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Fallen Man
Colenzo found the rest of the trip to the outer planets immensely tiring. The ship had a rather large contingent of passengers on board: people catching the ride from the gas giants to the outer planets for various business, social or migratory reasons. Colenzo’s work involved patrolling the areas these people frequented and ensuring the peace was kept and the local law was upheld. Meanwhile he was studying for a legal exam he would have to pass when they entered the jurisdiction of the outer planets. This was not an entry requirement but rather a work requirement; although he would be patrolling on ships that fell under his home legislature he would be interacting with people from other legislatures and would occasionally be visiting these legislatures. This meant that he had to be able to explain to people when their actions began to head down the “illegal” path and to understand why. He was also doing it for his own good; ignorance would not be considered an excuse in any legislature. Most of it was pretty boring financial stuff and minor variations on issues surrounding ownership and possession.
All the passengers had had their nanobots taken and although the ship had its own nanoassembler there were few templates on board from which new nanobots could be built. Furthermore the other templates that did exist could not be reproduced for anyone but the owner due to their purchase contract and although signals had been sent to the gas giants and the outer planets no company would risk transmitting a template as the signal would undoubtedly be intercepted and decoded illegally by groups such as the NoCoL. Many of the passengers had also been robbed of their luxury goods, including aesthetic nanobots, neural uplinks, jewellery and fancy clothes.
Colenzo and Edgar’s “morning” shift had them at the food court. Theoretically food courts were redundant; every passenger and every crewmember had a room that was directly connected to a nearby assembler. This assembler could make and deliver whatever they wanted from the menu within minutes. The time delay would be a sum of the assembly of the product and its transportation. The three competing food franchises had further got the time delay down to a few seconds. Oom Piet’s promised a pap and wors in 8 seconds. They could achieve this because they had warming trays hurtling around the ship in microcubicles, statistically organised such that they could meet the demands of any pap and wors gathering within the required time (they had a disclaimer for groups over 30). Chairman Mau could deliver a Chop Suey in 9 seconds through a similar method. But instead of sitting in their rooms, gorging themselves on fast food and linking to the net to watch movies or be entertained, people gathered in the food halls. There was something social, something satisfying in being there - it appeased the general human need to be together and share experiences together. Using the age-old excuse people would get together and “have a coffee” or “go out for dinner.” Now that few people had any other form of entertainment they were even further compelled to gather at the food court.
There were tables and plants in this giant chamber. It was one of the largest sections within the ship. It had a clear blue sky and a warm sun projecting down the psychologically and physiologically tested “most satisfying” sunlight. This product had been patented of course although nobody would stand for patenting the light frequency; even capitalism had its limits.
A large bean shaped swimming pool dominated the one end of the food court – running about 150 meters in length. The bean analogy carried further as using localised gravity belts the pool curved up the wall somewhat like a half pipe – thus making the middle of the pool lower than the water at the sides. Near the pool were numerous strong updrafts that could hurl a person 15 meters into the air before allowing them to drop onto the sloping sides of the pool. Using boards a couple of youngsters were dropping artistically, riding the sides and shooting out the other side to catch new thermals. The ship’s AI was controlling the speed and direction of the updraft, whilst monitoring the direction and velocity of the other swimmers, with the intent of dropping the surfers in the most open water. It even analysed the preferred options of the different surfers and attempted to predict what moves they would pull and thus compensate accordingly. This stylistic profiling was beyond the scope of its job description but provided something to expend its excess processing power upon – it was the model employee: it worked hard not because it felt compelled to do so but because it couldn’t stand being bored.
Today however it was actually really working; the crowds were out en mass and with no neural uplinks and no hormone controllers the men and women felt the need not only to entertain themselves but also the nagging need to impress their preferred sexual objects. Regular surfers were finding the experience quite a rush compared to the usual hormone controlled option they would have experienced with their nanobots (or hormone controllers) and two people were throwing up after coming down on a adrenaline homeostatic low. The sun was hot and some people were sweating and smelling. One poor guy’s eyes weren’t adjusting as they normally would have and the glare was giving him a headache. Interspersed in the crowd were people whose bodily functions had always received such extra attention that they couldn’t fully understand the subjective experience of thirst. Some figured it out naturally whereas others slowly began to get slightly giddy and feel mildly drunk. And as for the rutting, without hormonal control these poor animals really had no other way to appease themselves.
Colenzo wasn’t doing too well himself. Due to his physiology he was not suffering from the sun as much as some other people but he was suffering from social fatigue. There were so many people; at the best of times he could only stand crowds for a while – now he had to monitor them and with nothing else to do a large section of the ship’s temporary population was hanging out in the food court, by the entertainment areas and the pool.
Edgar took his job quite differently. Between them, Edgar and Colenzo had decided that someone needed to be near the pool and following the action there. Edgar had decided that the best way was to join in. Consequently Edgar was riding the half pipe and the thermals. The sergeant seemed to agree.
Colenzo was watching in fascination as one child fought another for possession of a stretchable frog type thing when he heard a woman raising her voice behind him. His instincts told him that it was not normal and he turned clicking the shock ring on his middle finger. It took him a few seconds to notice what was going on. He stared more closely and started to make his way over when the woman spoke up again,
“Just stuff off!” She said, loud enough to draw stares from those around her.
The man sitting next to her on a sunchair rubbed his hand up her thigh and said something to her too softly for Colenzo to hear. Whatever it was though it really irritated the woman who rolled over and pushed the man away. He however just leant in closer nuzzling his unshaven cheek against her neck and subtly applying some of his weight against her. The woman squirmed a bit and moved away, placing a hand against the man’s shoulder and pushing him.
Colenzo hesitated a second and then tapped the piece in his ear and called Edgar. “Edgar I think you should get over here to section L3.” he said and then looking at the couple again. Colenzo noticed that the man had moved closer to the woman and was rubbing a hand across her inner thigh. Colenzo cleared his throat and was about to speak when a large Chinese man stormed past him, bumping him aside so he fell onto one of the near chairs. Soon the Chinese man had the other man off the chair. “Just watch yourself.” He warned the harasser who took a wild wing at him in response. Deftly the Chinese man dodged the fist and soon he was pounding the other man in the face.
The crowd simply stared in amazement, as did Colenzo; such violence was regularly seen on TV in sport and competitions but in a public place it was very rare. Then Colenzo remembered what he was supposed to do. He clicked the pacify ring and moved into the fray.
The two rings Colenzo wore worked amazingly well, much better in fact than did Colenzo; Colenzo was hesitant and in another age would have had the shit kicked out of him. The one ring – the shock ring – administered a strong enough shock to knock a man off his feet – in this case it was the Chinese man. The other – the pacify ring – flooded the target (in this case the other man) with calming chemicals. Having pacified the one man Colenzo quickly tried to pacify the Chinese man. It didn’t work though and so he shocked him again. Stuttering the warning they were supposed to give any lawbreaker.
The Chinese man was much stronger than Colenzo had anticipated though. In fact he was a regular participant in a form of gladiatorial exhibition and was quite used to being punished. He was up and at Colenzo before Colenzo could properly react. Colenzo cowered and covered his face bracing himself for the punch to come. It never came though as the man was tackled and pacified by Edgar.
As Colenzo stood there shaking Edgar got to work on the two pacified people. He attached small devices to the back of their necks and watched their arms go limp. He then activated a device on his belt and hauled the two men to their feet. Colenzo joined in and they started to lead the men away.
As they walked away the woman, the one who had been central to the entire situation, got up and thanked Edgar and Colenzo. She was very shaken. In her entire life she had never felt so directly under threat and so entirely powerless. No man had ever used the power of his physicality to overcome her and she was overwhelmed. She felt weak and terrified. She looked around the crowd with a fear she had not experienced in public before. This feeling would never truly leave her again. It was the one piece of evidence that shatters all one’s hypotheses about humanity and human nature. It was there and it could not be denied.
Colenzo and Edgar made their way to an exit cubicle. Colenzo, who had recovered from the direct physical threat to his person and the psychological threat to his worldviews, began thinking clearly again. He called through to the sergeant and informed him of the situation. He also suggested that some further resources be allocated to the area as things were getting heated. The sergeant agreed; he was currently in the small unlawful persons holding section with six other perpetrators – things were indeed getting heated.
In the cubicle the four men sat around awkwardly. The two subdued men were hanging their heads. The one, Grand Cru, who had started the entire thing, was mortified at his behaviour. Eventually he couldn’t hold his feelings in and spoke out to no-one in particular.
“I can’t believe I did that. I actually couldn’t control myself.” The other three sat in silence not knowing what to say. Grand Cru continued, “I have never felt like that before. The need was…” he stuttered into silence, wiping blood off his nose and looking at his bloodied fingers uncomprehendingly.
Colenzo stared at Grand Cru and considered the man’s situation. For one thing the man stank. He actually smelt of male body odour. Obviously the man was used to having aesthetic nanobots to keep him smelling nice and looking shaven. Without the bots he was a bit lost as to what to do. This was however the smallest of Grand Cru’s worries. His actions would be tagged onto his identity. All the information systems throughout the civilized universe would get this information when they looked him up. Wherever he went he would find doors being closed and security guards following him as though he were a criminal – because he was now a criminal.
Grand Cru was obviously thinking the same thing as he said, “Shit do you know what this will do to my life. I might loose my job. I won’t be let into clubs. I’ll be debarred. I might even get deregistered.” He started to panic and made to stand up. Subtly Edgar turned a dial on the control on his belt. A light on the device on Grand Cru’s neck lit up and his arm started twitching. As the frequency increased his voluntary control decreased and Grand Cru slumped back into the chair. Edgar grinned at this. He was enjoying having this kind of power over another individual.
When they arrived at the holding cells they found the sergeant waiting for them. He was wearing his police armour. The four men felt an immediate inferiority to the sergeant and felt willing to obey his commands. Although they were unaware of this it was due to the pheromones being released by the suit which immediately placed everyone but the wearer of the suit in an subordinate role and placed the wearer of the suit in the alpha role, much like animals in herds or troupes. The sergeant, already a large and well built man looked much more powerful in the suit, as well as more graceful and confident. The armours angles also gave him a ferocious air and visually projected his prowess.
The room they were in had six separate cells leading off it and served as a control and observation room. A desk at the far side of the room had hologram screens that could examine the inmates on various levels; analysing not only their hormonal state and neural activity but also their pheromone emissions as well as their behavioural indicators (eye movements, hand movements, edginess etc.). All of this would help determine when the person had “cooled off” and whether the person was ready to be released back into the public. It would also stand as evidence in trail about the persons control over their actions and their guilt or remorse about their actions. The security company owned this information and would sell it to whoever wanted it. This would also be tagged to Grand Cru’s identity.
“Gentlemen” the sergeant began, “I have analysed the extensive footage of this incident, the actions leading up to it and your responses following it,” he paused and considered, “if one can realistically separate the actions that preceded any event from the actions that follow it and the event itself.” He nodded to himself in agreement. “On these grounds I have acquitted Mr. Smith. You actions were noble and correct given the circumstances and the local law.” He nodded with some respect to the burly Chinese man that had been involved in the fray. “Either way this will be tagged to your identity file and my statement will also be included. You can leave.” He stepped forward and removed the device from the man’s neck and shook his hand. Mr. Smith patted the sergeant on the shoulder and said, “Thanks Sarg.” before departing.
Colenzo noticed the mannerism between the two and wandered if there was something more going on there, some form of boys club or something, but he kept quite. The sergeant then addressed the three, “I have consulted with the more learned of this ship’s population and decreed that this is a disaster waiting to happen. Without hormonal controllers and nanobots humans are nothing but animals. Today alone we have had three attempted rapes and twelve fights. Given the normal distribution curve and the genetic sample on board this ship we are not surprised. On these grounds I am increasing the security warning on board this ship to green and extending your credit levels so I can arm you better and dispatch you both to improve security. Things might get ugly.” He paused and spoke directly to Grand Cru. “As for you, Mr. Cru,” he snorted at the rhyme “you will have to be placed in a shared cell with another and more aggressive perpetrator. This incident will be tagged to your file, although given the circumstances I feel that your actions are,” he contemplated, “understandable. Hopefully other people will understand too.” With that he led the fallen Grand Cru into a holding cell with a rapist, after which he cautioned Edgar and Colenzo, “You know” he told them, “humans without hormonal controls are nothing but beasts that craved to fuck and to fight. We are, as some would have us believe, born into sin.”
He turned and walked over to the holographic screen and pulled up a display of the greater entertainment area. “Colenzo, I am placing you in charge of this area. I am also dispatching four other human resources who will fall under your control, I want you to think ahead, plan. I will also be sending further technological resources through to you forthwith.” He paused and thought a second and then said, “Dismissed.” The two men left the room.
All the passengers had had their nanobots taken and although the ship had its own nanoassembler there were few templates on board from which new nanobots could be built. Furthermore the other templates that did exist could not be reproduced for anyone but the owner due to their purchase contract and although signals had been sent to the gas giants and the outer planets no company would risk transmitting a template as the signal would undoubtedly be intercepted and decoded illegally by groups such as the NoCoL. Many of the passengers had also been robbed of their luxury goods, including aesthetic nanobots, neural uplinks, jewellery and fancy clothes.
Colenzo and Edgar’s “morning” shift had them at the food court. Theoretically food courts were redundant; every passenger and every crewmember had a room that was directly connected to a nearby assembler. This assembler could make and deliver whatever they wanted from the menu within minutes. The time delay would be a sum of the assembly of the product and its transportation. The three competing food franchises had further got the time delay down to a few seconds. Oom Piet’s promised a pap and wors in 8 seconds. They could achieve this because they had warming trays hurtling around the ship in microcubicles, statistically organised such that they could meet the demands of any pap and wors gathering within the required time (they had a disclaimer for groups over 30). Chairman Mau could deliver a Chop Suey in 9 seconds through a similar method. But instead of sitting in their rooms, gorging themselves on fast food and linking to the net to watch movies or be entertained, people gathered in the food halls. There was something social, something satisfying in being there - it appeased the general human need to be together and share experiences together. Using the age-old excuse people would get together and “have a coffee” or “go out for dinner.” Now that few people had any other form of entertainment they were even further compelled to gather at the food court.
There were tables and plants in this giant chamber. It was one of the largest sections within the ship. It had a clear blue sky and a warm sun projecting down the psychologically and physiologically tested “most satisfying” sunlight. This product had been patented of course although nobody would stand for patenting the light frequency; even capitalism had its limits.
A large bean shaped swimming pool dominated the one end of the food court – running about 150 meters in length. The bean analogy carried further as using localised gravity belts the pool curved up the wall somewhat like a half pipe – thus making the middle of the pool lower than the water at the sides. Near the pool were numerous strong updrafts that could hurl a person 15 meters into the air before allowing them to drop onto the sloping sides of the pool. Using boards a couple of youngsters were dropping artistically, riding the sides and shooting out the other side to catch new thermals. The ship’s AI was controlling the speed and direction of the updraft, whilst monitoring the direction and velocity of the other swimmers, with the intent of dropping the surfers in the most open water. It even analysed the preferred options of the different surfers and attempted to predict what moves they would pull and thus compensate accordingly. This stylistic profiling was beyond the scope of its job description but provided something to expend its excess processing power upon – it was the model employee: it worked hard not because it felt compelled to do so but because it couldn’t stand being bored.
Today however it was actually really working; the crowds were out en mass and with no neural uplinks and no hormone controllers the men and women felt the need not only to entertain themselves but also the nagging need to impress their preferred sexual objects. Regular surfers were finding the experience quite a rush compared to the usual hormone controlled option they would have experienced with their nanobots (or hormone controllers) and two people were throwing up after coming down on a adrenaline homeostatic low. The sun was hot and some people were sweating and smelling. One poor guy’s eyes weren’t adjusting as they normally would have and the glare was giving him a headache. Interspersed in the crowd were people whose bodily functions had always received such extra attention that they couldn’t fully understand the subjective experience of thirst. Some figured it out naturally whereas others slowly began to get slightly giddy and feel mildly drunk. And as for the rutting, without hormonal control these poor animals really had no other way to appease themselves.
Colenzo wasn’t doing too well himself. Due to his physiology he was not suffering from the sun as much as some other people but he was suffering from social fatigue. There were so many people; at the best of times he could only stand crowds for a while – now he had to monitor them and with nothing else to do a large section of the ship’s temporary population was hanging out in the food court, by the entertainment areas and the pool.
Edgar took his job quite differently. Between them, Edgar and Colenzo had decided that someone needed to be near the pool and following the action there. Edgar had decided that the best way was to join in. Consequently Edgar was riding the half pipe and the thermals. The sergeant seemed to agree.
Colenzo was watching in fascination as one child fought another for possession of a stretchable frog type thing when he heard a woman raising her voice behind him. His instincts told him that it was not normal and he turned clicking the shock ring on his middle finger. It took him a few seconds to notice what was going on. He stared more closely and started to make his way over when the woman spoke up again,
“Just stuff off!” She said, loud enough to draw stares from those around her.
The man sitting next to her on a sunchair rubbed his hand up her thigh and said something to her too softly for Colenzo to hear. Whatever it was though it really irritated the woman who rolled over and pushed the man away. He however just leant in closer nuzzling his unshaven cheek against her neck and subtly applying some of his weight against her. The woman squirmed a bit and moved away, placing a hand against the man’s shoulder and pushing him.
Colenzo hesitated a second and then tapped the piece in his ear and called Edgar. “Edgar I think you should get over here to section L3.” he said and then looking at the couple again. Colenzo noticed that the man had moved closer to the woman and was rubbing a hand across her inner thigh. Colenzo cleared his throat and was about to speak when a large Chinese man stormed past him, bumping him aside so he fell onto one of the near chairs. Soon the Chinese man had the other man off the chair. “Just watch yourself.” He warned the harasser who took a wild wing at him in response. Deftly the Chinese man dodged the fist and soon he was pounding the other man in the face.
The crowd simply stared in amazement, as did Colenzo; such violence was regularly seen on TV in sport and competitions but in a public place it was very rare. Then Colenzo remembered what he was supposed to do. He clicked the pacify ring and moved into the fray.
The two rings Colenzo wore worked amazingly well, much better in fact than did Colenzo; Colenzo was hesitant and in another age would have had the shit kicked out of him. The one ring – the shock ring – administered a strong enough shock to knock a man off his feet – in this case it was the Chinese man. The other – the pacify ring – flooded the target (in this case the other man) with calming chemicals. Having pacified the one man Colenzo quickly tried to pacify the Chinese man. It didn’t work though and so he shocked him again. Stuttering the warning they were supposed to give any lawbreaker.
The Chinese man was much stronger than Colenzo had anticipated though. In fact he was a regular participant in a form of gladiatorial exhibition and was quite used to being punished. He was up and at Colenzo before Colenzo could properly react. Colenzo cowered and covered his face bracing himself for the punch to come. It never came though as the man was tackled and pacified by Edgar.
As Colenzo stood there shaking Edgar got to work on the two pacified people. He attached small devices to the back of their necks and watched their arms go limp. He then activated a device on his belt and hauled the two men to their feet. Colenzo joined in and they started to lead the men away.
As they walked away the woman, the one who had been central to the entire situation, got up and thanked Edgar and Colenzo. She was very shaken. In her entire life she had never felt so directly under threat and so entirely powerless. No man had ever used the power of his physicality to overcome her and she was overwhelmed. She felt weak and terrified. She looked around the crowd with a fear she had not experienced in public before. This feeling would never truly leave her again. It was the one piece of evidence that shatters all one’s hypotheses about humanity and human nature. It was there and it could not be denied.
Colenzo and Edgar made their way to an exit cubicle. Colenzo, who had recovered from the direct physical threat to his person and the psychological threat to his worldviews, began thinking clearly again. He called through to the sergeant and informed him of the situation. He also suggested that some further resources be allocated to the area as things were getting heated. The sergeant agreed; he was currently in the small unlawful persons holding section with six other perpetrators – things were indeed getting heated.
In the cubicle the four men sat around awkwardly. The two subdued men were hanging their heads. The one, Grand Cru, who had started the entire thing, was mortified at his behaviour. Eventually he couldn’t hold his feelings in and spoke out to no-one in particular.
“I can’t believe I did that. I actually couldn’t control myself.” The other three sat in silence not knowing what to say. Grand Cru continued, “I have never felt like that before. The need was…” he stuttered into silence, wiping blood off his nose and looking at his bloodied fingers uncomprehendingly.
Colenzo stared at Grand Cru and considered the man’s situation. For one thing the man stank. He actually smelt of male body odour. Obviously the man was used to having aesthetic nanobots to keep him smelling nice and looking shaven. Without the bots he was a bit lost as to what to do. This was however the smallest of Grand Cru’s worries. His actions would be tagged onto his identity. All the information systems throughout the civilized universe would get this information when they looked him up. Wherever he went he would find doors being closed and security guards following him as though he were a criminal – because he was now a criminal.
Grand Cru was obviously thinking the same thing as he said, “Shit do you know what this will do to my life. I might loose my job. I won’t be let into clubs. I’ll be debarred. I might even get deregistered.” He started to panic and made to stand up. Subtly Edgar turned a dial on the control on his belt. A light on the device on Grand Cru’s neck lit up and his arm started twitching. As the frequency increased his voluntary control decreased and Grand Cru slumped back into the chair. Edgar grinned at this. He was enjoying having this kind of power over another individual.
When they arrived at the holding cells they found the sergeant waiting for them. He was wearing his police armour. The four men felt an immediate inferiority to the sergeant and felt willing to obey his commands. Although they were unaware of this it was due to the pheromones being released by the suit which immediately placed everyone but the wearer of the suit in an subordinate role and placed the wearer of the suit in the alpha role, much like animals in herds or troupes. The sergeant, already a large and well built man looked much more powerful in the suit, as well as more graceful and confident. The armours angles also gave him a ferocious air and visually projected his prowess.
The room they were in had six separate cells leading off it and served as a control and observation room. A desk at the far side of the room had hologram screens that could examine the inmates on various levels; analysing not only their hormonal state and neural activity but also their pheromone emissions as well as their behavioural indicators (eye movements, hand movements, edginess etc.). All of this would help determine when the person had “cooled off” and whether the person was ready to be released back into the public. It would also stand as evidence in trail about the persons control over their actions and their guilt or remorse about their actions. The security company owned this information and would sell it to whoever wanted it. This would also be tagged to Grand Cru’s identity.
“Gentlemen” the sergeant began, “I have analysed the extensive footage of this incident, the actions leading up to it and your responses following it,” he paused and considered, “if one can realistically separate the actions that preceded any event from the actions that follow it and the event itself.” He nodded to himself in agreement. “On these grounds I have acquitted Mr. Smith. You actions were noble and correct given the circumstances and the local law.” He nodded with some respect to the burly Chinese man that had been involved in the fray. “Either way this will be tagged to your identity file and my statement will also be included. You can leave.” He stepped forward and removed the device from the man’s neck and shook his hand. Mr. Smith patted the sergeant on the shoulder and said, “Thanks Sarg.” before departing.
Colenzo noticed the mannerism between the two and wandered if there was something more going on there, some form of boys club or something, but he kept quite. The sergeant then addressed the three, “I have consulted with the more learned of this ship’s population and decreed that this is a disaster waiting to happen. Without hormonal controllers and nanobots humans are nothing but animals. Today alone we have had three attempted rapes and twelve fights. Given the normal distribution curve and the genetic sample on board this ship we are not surprised. On these grounds I am increasing the security warning on board this ship to green and extending your credit levels so I can arm you better and dispatch you both to improve security. Things might get ugly.” He paused and spoke directly to Grand Cru. “As for you, Mr. Cru,” he snorted at the rhyme “you will have to be placed in a shared cell with another and more aggressive perpetrator. This incident will be tagged to your file, although given the circumstances I feel that your actions are,” he contemplated, “understandable. Hopefully other people will understand too.” With that he led the fallen Grand Cru into a holding cell with a rapist, after which he cautioned Edgar and Colenzo, “You know” he told them, “humans without hormonal controls are nothing but beasts that craved to fuck and to fight. We are, as some would have us believe, born into sin.”
He turned and walked over to the holographic screen and pulled up a display of the greater entertainment area. “Colenzo, I am placing you in charge of this area. I am also dispatching four other human resources who will fall under your control, I want you to think ahead, plan. I will also be sending further technological resources through to you forthwith.” He paused and thought a second and then said, “Dismissed.” The two men left the room.
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