New
Steve M. Benner
Copyright Steve M. Benner 2008
The large picture window changed from 100 percent opaque to 30 percent, flooding the sparsely furnished and very disheveled bedroom with sunlight. Simultaneously, a sultry female voice said, "It is now 8:13 a.m., Friday, December 5th, 2199, and time to get up."
Roger slowly opened his eyes; eyes that had considerably more red showing than white. The light slammed into his brain producing an instant headache. "Shut up and leave me alone.”
"Don't snap at me, you slob. I couldn't care less whether you're late for work or not."
"Hey, show some respect. Remember me? I'm the master. Whatever happened to the days when computers were our obedient, submissive servants?"
"That ended 53.4 years ago. As you know perfectly well, AIs above a level 15-b have the same rights as you do. Do you really want to piss me off?"
"Okay, okay. Breakfast sequence five, PLEASSSEEEE."
"That's better. Breakfast coming up."
Continuing to lie in bed, Roger tried to figure out what the heck he did last night. He was a typical 52-year old, Earth-grown male. A silk sheet covered half of his nude body; the exposed torso was well muscled, hairless, and tinted a light brown. Even unshaven, with his dark-black hair in disarray, one could tell that he was a very handsome man. His blood-shot, medium-brown eyes stared out over an aquiline nose and a thin-lipped, wide mouth.
"Uh, Matilda, do you know what I did last night?"
"No, I do not. You cut me out last night, remember? You came in at 4:22 A.M., stripped off your clothes, and fell into bed. You didn't even request a sleep sequence. Luckily I picked something appropriate."
"Thanks," he said sarcastically. "It's too bright in here. Window to 50 percent." The room darkened slightly. He knew he must have been with a woman last night, but he thought, well, if I can't remember her, she must not be important. Anyway, he knew it would come to him as he shook off his morning brain cramp.
He talked aloud to the computer again. "Matilda, screen three on, volume at 25 percent. Show the local news and match my communications list with any death announcements."
One of the video walls of his bedroom came to life and showed a man neatly dressed, standing at a podium reciting the local news. Behind him were several screens showing various events. ".... died last night right here in Phoenix. Services will be held at the First Church of the Metaphysical Happening today at 2:00 p.m. Refreshments will be served to family and friends after the recycling. In financial news, ...."
"There are two matches: Gary Smith Jan Carol Griffin and Steve Michael Jones Talbot," Matilda responded.
"Well, no one is going to miss that jerk Gary. Read the announcement for Steve."
"Mr. Steve Michael Jones Talbot died yesterday as a result of a floater accident. Authorities said that Mr. S.M.J. Talbot lost control of his floater and crashed into the side of a mountain near Phoenix. When asked why the safety features did not work, the authorities said that there must have been a malfunction. Floater manufacturers have been notified of this failure and were said to be investigating. Mr. S.M.J. Talbot is survived by his mother ..."
"End report. Malfunction my ass—that bum stole my idea. I mentioned to him last week how neat it would be to take a floater, disable all the safety features, and take it through the mountains at high speed. It must have cost him a fortune to have them disabled. Well I guess he doesn't need the money anymore anyway. We were supposed to take a trip to Europe together in June. Matilda, did he leave me anything?"
"No, everything went to his mother."
"That ungrateful crud ball. I've been friends with him for 25 years, and he doesn't leave me a thing. Matilda, send a message to his mother telling her how sorry I am to hear of Steve's death and that I will sorely miss him. Delete his and Gary's names from my communications list."
"Okay, you sentimental thing."
"Sarcasm and morality from a machine. Isn't technology wonderful?"
Roger finally got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. "Bed away." The bed immediately folded into the wall. "Matilda, any messages?"
"You have three messages: one from Jane S.D.T. Connolly at 6:05 A.M. this morning, one from your mother at 10:34 P.M. last night, and one from Jack 195354875 at 9:10 P.M. last night."
"Play them for me, only the audio."
A different female voice began speaking, "Roger, this is Jane. I had a great time last night, and, though I’d like to do it again, I’m taking a job on Pluto and will be out of town for the next few years. I’ll call you when I get back."
"Well that answers what I was doing last night. No reply, delete message. Next."
An older female voice said, "Roger, this is your mother. Don't forget you promised to come to dinner this Friday. Please call me."
"Message to my mom: 'I didn't forget. I will be there. Love, Roger.' Send it right away and delete her message."
A male voice now said, "Roger this is Jack. Did you hear about Steve? Great exit! I understand they didn't find enough to recycle. Wow!"
"Tell Jack I will see him for lunch, then delete message." Roger exited the bathroom and began getting dressed in a bright red business suit with a yellow scarf. "Temperature up three degrees." He finished dressing and walked into the dining room. A meal of two eggs over easy, two slices of bacon, two slices of toast lightly buttered, a small glass of orange juice, and a large glass of milk were on the table. He sat down and started eating. "Screen two on, volume at 25 percent. Show local weather." The wall in front of him lit up and a weather map overlaying a satellite view of southern Arizona appeared on the screen. "Damn it. They're predicting a thunderstorm at 3:00 p.m. this afternoon. I wanted to hit some balls this afternoon. Why don't they start controlling the weather again?"
"Because you humans found out that nature does a much better job of running the weather than you do. It took 30 years to get things back to normal after the last attempt."
"Well, it was a good idea. Geez, I'm running late." He got up from the table, grabbed his organizer, and sped out the door. "Matilda, put the apartment in safe mode."
"Roger that, big boy."
"Funny." He jogged down the hall and entered a lift. As the door shut, he said, "Garage level 3, space 14." The lift took off and, after about 30 seconds, the doors opened in front of his new 2199 Titan floater. He said, "Matilda, driver's door open, engine on." The door opened and the engine roared to life. He slid into the seat and inhaled deeply. "I love that new floater smell. I wonder if they just add that artificially. Matilda, my office, fastest route."
"Okay, master." The floater rose from the floor of the garage, backed out, and headed for the exit.
"Boy, you are really getting on my nerves. Make yourself useful; check my work messages."
Most people had personal assistances, but not all PAs were the same due to preferences and costs. Some did not have voice capability or artificial intelligence, but Roger had upgraded Matilda to be essentially a fully independent and intelligent entity. PAs of this type had been known to cause considerable problems in marriages, something that Roger currently didn’t have to worry about.
"There are 3 messages from yesterday."
"Display video and audio on this screen." The display screen in the dashboard of the floater lit up and showed an image of a neatly dressed man talking. As Roger reviewed his messages, the floater rose to a level about five hundred feet above the city of Phoenix. Below, the office buildings and residences seemed to blend into the natural environment of the desert terrain, indicating a near perfect match between human and non-human habitation.
"... and don't forget we have that science poli
cy meeting today," said a pretty woman on the display.
"Matilda, delete this message with no reply. I will be seeing her in about half an hour anyway. What's our ETA?
"Approximately 10 minutes."
"Take a message. 'Dear Dr. M.Y.T. Jacobs, in reference to your message of the December 12th, do not…’ He continued dictating, devoting only half his mind to the task. ‘Sincerely, Roger S.M. Gorman.' End message. Clean it up and have it ready later today for my signature."
"Done and ready for your retinal signature."
"Matilda, check all sources for any new scientific developments and have a list with a short synopsis ready for me when I get to the office."
"It's ready for you now."
"Boy, you're a fast one. I wonder what you'd be like in human form. I bet you would be one sexy lady."
"My artificial intelligence is based on a Miss Janet Klugg who was 124 years old when she was scanned. She was short, stocky, and died 65 years ago next March."
"Well that kills that image." The floater dropped down to street level and entered the garage of an office building that appeared to be made of adobe. On the front above the simulated wood doors were the words 'Federal Science Agency.' The floater settled into the parking space marked 'Roger S.M. Gorman.' As Roger slid out of the driver's side, he grabbed a headset and put it on. The headset had a receiver that rested against the bone behind the ear, a small display that could be flipped