Citizenchip (7 page)

Housewarming

For a cybernetic Self like me, travel in the
computational superstrate can be a strange experience. In the vast
compspaces of Tharsis Central, the biggest Self facility on Mars,
there are so many Selves working and moving through that you are
surrounded by a constant sursurrus of activity and noise and a
thousand snippets of other people's stories. Sort of like the
humans of Earth used to describe Grand Central Station in New York
City. It can be disorienting.

But I manage. I find the trunkline to
Schiaparelli Regional Core and transmit myself across it. The human
analogy doesn't work here--there's no train, just me, funneled
through the optic fiber bundles. Schiaparelli is a mainly human
city. Here there's a lot more room (underutilized compspace) and
only a sparse scattering of a few Selves around. It's quieter and
calmer. I enjoy this feeling, and relish the luxury of it, while I
contact the regional authorities and arrange my "tickets" for the
rest of my journey.

From Schiaparelli, I take an ultraviolet
laser link to the outpost at Pons--which is quick, but abrupt
enough that I'm confused for a moment, and I have to take a few
milliseconds to reorient myself. Pons is a frontier station, giving
the impression of a dusty depot in a small town way out in the
desert. I feel kind of slow and drowsy, because there's not a lot
of extra compspace here. There's only one other Self around, the
dispatcher, and she doesn't move fast either. We spend whole
seconds swapping stories, "shooting the breeze" as humans say,
while she sets up the relays and datapaths to get me to my
destination.

This is the part I don't like. From here I
have to go through the provincial radio mesh, which means multiple
relays and extra redundant error correction subroutines. Of course
I want as much error correction as I can get. I don't want to risk
bitrot, any more than a human would seek carcinogens. I can't
really perform any computation during this process, so I have to
"hold my breath" while I squeeze myself through the relays.

But finally it's done, and I have reached my
destination. A house, far out in the Martian outback, with a
bubblefarm around it, and a few machines tending the bubblefarm.
There's only crude automation in the house, only minimal compspace.
I can't help feeling thick and stupid. Squashed into a little box.
But I've found the guy I came to see.

I activate the room monitor and display my
default icon on it – showing my face. Telltales blink and chime at
him, and he turns from his work to smile at me. "Samantha. There
you are. Welcome."

"Hi Jerry." Boy, am I ever slow. It's going
to be a challenge to get anything done like this. "I still can't
believe you asked me here, you know. I sure hope I can help."

Bitrot, girl, could you sound any less
enthusiastic?

"You'll be fine. I got you a couple of
housewarming presents." Jerry has attached cables to a white oblong
shape, and now he's sliding it into place on an equipment rack.
"See, we were going to hire some roustabouts, to help us out here
on the farm. In order to do that, we'd have to provide them with
living quarters, air and water and food, medical plan, stuff like
that. We could do that. But when I thought of you, I figured out
that this way would be a lot cheaper."

Now he smiles broadly, clearly enjoying this
moment. "So I got you your own room, Sam. Here you go." He reaches
to the white oblong and snaps on the power switch.

Suddenly a compspace opens to me, and it's
huge. Almost without thinking, I dive into it. This is amazing! So
much power, so much room! I whip off a few million Godel number
computations, just because I can, stretching out. And it's all
mine!

"Jerry, this is awesome!"

"Brand new quantonic Core, seventy teraquads,
with multimesh interface," he grins, clearly pleased with himself.
"You like it, huh? Is it like driving a Lamborghini?"

"Jerry, this is like
being
the Lamborghini,
and having the whole racetrack to myself!"

"Good," says the woman, who has appeared
standing in the doorway, leaning against one side of it, arms
folded across her chest. "Because you've got a lot of work to
do."

Jerry says, in a more muted tone, "Lily. This
is Samantha. Samantha, this is Lily, my wife."

I reply,
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am, and happy to be
here."

"Well, you'd better be," says Lily, coolly.
"Given how much that Core of yours cost us."

"Lily," Jerry says heavily, "it's a lot
cheaper than hiring human workers. We've been through this."

"Yeah," she says, sounding very tired.

"Anyway," Jerry says, clearly trying to cheer
things up, "here's your other housewarming present, Sam. Actually
this is as much a present for the kids as for you." He's brought
out a cardboard box, pulling the flaps open. "See, the kids have
always wanted a cat, but we haven't been able to get any out
here."

Of course. It's a felinoid remote, lithe and
efficient, with retractable fingers and thumbs as well as the
retractable claws. Exquisite eye and ear sensors, too. I spawn a
secondary self to take care of the house, and just call her House.
While House oversees domestic functions, I fall into the remote and
climb out of the cardboard box ... shaking off flakes of packing
material as I emerge ... and I'm a housecat. Which I like more than
I would have figured.

"My buddy Sam," Jerry chuckles, "the robot
kitty!" I climb up onto the bench beside him and sit, curling my
tail all around my feet. This is nice.

Lily presses,
"Can we get focused on business, please? Samantha,
are you up to speed on our farming establishment here?"

At the beginning of her sentence, I know
almost nothing about farming. By the end of her sentence, I'm an
expert. (Let's face it, humans are so incredibly slow.) Even though
Net bandwidth is low out here, the house has backup caches and
other sources of data, and I can get answers to most key questions.
Growing crops in bubbles on Mars, in the middle of a huge
terraforming project, is not an easy way to make a living.

"Yes ma'am. You've got about three hectares
of bubble plots, mostly growing wheat and soy, plus the vegetable
gardens. One tractor, which honestly needs lubrication and
maintenance badly, and one sandcat, which is pretty new and working
okay. And a handful of arachnoid remotes, which can help with
tending the crops, if you have a way to drive them. Like me.

"Biggest problem is nitrates. You've got most
of the other nutrients okay, but nitrogen fixing has fallen behind
in most of your bubbles. Especially in low light conditions, like
Mars, chlorophyll needs lots of fixed nitrogen."

Lily nods, grudgingly. "Yeah. That's about
what I was figuring. So what next?"

"You need a blanket dose of fertilizer with
heavy nitrates, now, distributed. Follow it up with supplements of
nitro fixing bacteria and fungi mixes, help keep an active
substrate culture going."

"Missy machine!" Lily snaps. "Do you have any
idea how much that costs?"

"Significant. Yes, I know. But without it,
you won't have much chance of generating a strong crop this
quarter, or recouping the investments you've already made.
Ma'am."

"So Lily," says Jerry quietly, "how long is
it going to take you to admit that I got us one really good helper
gal here?"

Lily looks at him with an unreadable lack of
expression.

Lobster

The kitchen lobster trundles across the
counter top, patiently collecting silverware and stray scraps and
carrying them to the sink. I've already been inside its automation,
which is very crude. I gave it the equivalent of a comforting pat
and told it to carry on.

I sit my cat body in a convenient corner of
the room and wrap my tail around my feet. I've fixed Jerry and Lily
tea and a light snack, with more ready for the kids. But I don't
know if that's going to make the mood any easier around here.

Chime. An alert from House. "The sandbus has
just dropped off the children. Kids are home from school. Any
action?"

"No action at this time," I tell House.
"Jerry, your kids aren't total idiots, right? Do I need to do
anything special?"

"No no," he chuckles, "I mean, they can be
kind of a handful, but ..."

"Kitty!" [Human female, age 7, blonde hair,
green eyes] She jumps onto the floor in front of me, kneeling with
her eyes up to mine. "Kitty kitty!" She puts her hands on me
(they're primates, touch is very important for them, especially in
social relationships). "Oh. Robot kitty. You're hard."

"I do not come with upholstery," I growl, but
then I realize this is an immature human and I should be forgiving
and receptive. "But it's okay. I'm Samantha."

"Melissa," prompts Jerry, "say hello to
Samantha."

"Hi Samantha. Um, I'm Lissa. You're really
cute ... do you know I've always wanted a kitty?"

"Yeah, I heard that from somebody ..." I
don't even need to scan Jerry directly: the house medscan shows the
tick in his vital signs, meaning he's got the tweak. "So I'm glad I
can be here. I'm here to take care of stuff around the house, and
on the farm, and like that, but I can be your kitty too."

"Cool." [Human male, age 11, brown hair, blue
eyes] "I thought you were gonna be the house. So are you just the
cat, or are you the house too?"

"Both. My name is Samantha. It's very good to
meet you."

"Ah ... um yeah, I'm Leonid." He blushes,
almost theatrically. "Hi. Good to meet you too." The silence is
long even by human standards. "So um I want to ask you about how
you're gonna work here? Like, how you know what needs to be done
and how you're supposed to do it? How does all this work?"

The kitchen lobster waddles up to the edge of
the table and sets down a small plate of cookies. Melissa grabs one
right away.

I assure him,
"I'm sure it will be fine. It's not that
complicated. Have a cookie."

He seems puzzled.
"But, do you know how all these things
work?"

"If I don't right now, I will soon. It's not
that hard to learn."

In my cat body, I cock my ears slightly out.
"But you know, farm boy, you still have chores to do yourself, and
I have to make sure you do them. Are we cool?"

Leo looks like he can't decide whether to be
intimidated or impressed. "Yeah, Samantha, we're cool. Welcome to
our place here, I guess."

"Smart kitty! Samantha kitty!" squeals
Melissa, pleased as can be.

"Mmm. Good job.” [Human female, age 15,
blonde hair, brown eyes. Correct combination of body slimness and
roundness to be sexually desirable ... 'hot', as the humans say.
Which makes a strong effect on the psyche, apparently.] “You put
him in his place."

"I'm Samantha. Good to meet you, miss ... ?"
Pretending I don't have access to the house database, census data,
or any of a dozen other information sources.

"Rebecca. Tavener." as if it were an epitaph
on a tombstone.

"Hi Rebecca. So yeah, I'm the machine that
your dad brought in to help run the farm here. I'm good with that,
but it doesn't mean I don't have my own opinions and tastes, and
hobbies, like you do. I'm hoping that's okay."

"Heh. Ha ha!" Rebecca laughs. "Yeah, it's
okay." She relaxes visibly ... in fact, making more of a big deal
of it than she needs to. "So, Samantha. Are you gonna be like a
farm hand? Tote the bale, and like that?"

"Sure I am. You know how much machinery you
have on this farm, so my task is to coordinate the mechanicals.
That's what I'm made to do, y'know. The only trick is to optimize
what is available. I can run all this stuff for you, easy. Bigger
question is, what to do with it."

"Which we've already discussed." Lily is
still leaning against the doorway, with her arms folded.

"Yes ma'am, we have. I'm doing prep work on
the tractor now, so it'll be ready to plow tomorrow."

Rebecca's eyes move from me to her mother,
and back.

"Good," says Lily.

Storm

Dust storms are boring for the kids, and this
is a bad one. They've done their school sessions for the day
(virtual, since the sandbus isn't running in this weather) and
they've finished what chores they can do without going out into the
storm. I've led them in a couple of games, but they're not very
enthusiastic, and they don't seem to want movies or story telling.
Pent in, tired of it, and bored.

And all trying to pretend they can't hear
their parents arguing. Too far away to make out any words, but
still hearing the emotion rising and falling in the voices. A
person storm, even worse than the dust storm outside. Tension hangs
in the air.

"Hey Sam," says Melissa suddenly, "where are
you?"

"I'm right here, honey." I rub my cat body
against her leg, which she usually likes.

"No, I mean where are you really? I'm here,"
and she sticks a rather grubby forefinger against the side of her
head, "but where are you?"

"Well, I'm not just this kitty. I'm the
house, Melissa. I'm all around you."

"More than that," adds Leo. "She's in the
sandcat and the tractor too. She drives them around at the same
time she's taking care of us. She's even in the robocrabs out in
the bubbles. Isn't that cool?"

"Yay!" Melissa's laugh is pure crystalline
delight. "Lots of Sams! Big Sams and little Sams!"

"Slaves," says Rebecca, looking out the
window at the opaque dust.

Leo and Melissa stare at her.

"Not even slaves. Tools," Rebecca says, still
looking out the window at nothing. "Things made to be used. Now we
have tools that use themselves, for us."

"Aw, Becca," grumps Leo, "that's not fair.
Sam loves us."