Freedom Club (19 page)

The interview seemed like a waste of time. Sumeet wasn’t sure what Pamela wanted, but from his point of view it wasn’t going to benefit him in any way. He felt like some piece of meat, being processed through the inner bowels of some invisible slaughterhouse.

“Well, let me see. I don’t have system access so...if doing nothing is what everyone wants, I should be able to comply.”

She went on. “Do you have any negative thoughts that you feel will cause you to behave in any type of nonsocial or belligerent manner?” Again, she looked up from the pad, waiting.

Sumeet didn’t answer at first. Instead, he twisted his head to one side, trying to think of an appropriate response.

“I don’t imagine so. But then again, I’m not certain I would admit that, even if I did.”

Pamela chortled out loud and tossed the pad on her desk. “Look, Sumeet, you and I both know your profile. Though you are unlikely to become antagonistic, you have forced me to ask these questions, mainly because you don’t show a perky attitude.”

He retorted. “You expect me to be cheerful?”

Nodding, she said, “Well, yes. That is what the Sentient Board expects.”

“The Sentients who fired me?”

“Laid you off.”

“Whatever you want to call it!”

Pamela ignored his last remark and blandly read from her flexi pad again. “You have answered the statutory questions to my satisfaction. I am sending you a template resignation letter that you just need to sign and return. Oh, yes, I have also scheduled you to meet with the outplacement sentient.”

“How nice,” Sumeet said, sneering cynically.

Pamela made one final attempt to be polite. “I wish you all the best in your future endeavors. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any questions.”

Sumeet didn’t smile back. He just ended the call with a jab of his finger. Stewing in his thoughts, he saw a missed-call icon. Thankfully, it wasn’t from Hiral. He noted internal HR tags once again. Without looking at the details, he assumed it was the outplacement consultant that Pamela spoke of.

But as he began playback, he sunk even lower. A woman’s face emerged from a luminescent background. It was obviously an avatar, but an unfamiliar one. Soft music played in the background. Sumeet immediately realized he wasn’t going to like the message. It felt too Bollywood.

“Hi. I’m Pooja from human-based Human Relations,” the woman said in a luscious tone. “Though you will be leaving Chindo, you still have time to find the woman of your dreams! Please take a moment to consider the wide selection of available companions I have picked out for you on our company’s matrimonial site.”

“I don’t believe this!” Sumeet barked.

A seemingly endless list of faces and profiles scrolled past, each containing small blurbs of textual information that could be read during playback.

“Now before you say anything,” Pooja mechanically went on, “please think a little about this important time in your life. If you do decide to marry any one of these wonderful in-house candidates, you will be eligible for a mandatory bonus of twenty five thousand Chindos. Don’t worry about the layoff. Legal bonding must occur within two weeks of your last working day and...”

Sumeet abruptly took off his mask and stuffed it into his pocket. Now he was thoroughly pissed off, and really wanted to escape. Anywhere would do! He walked over to the exit, where an elevator stood waiting, then stopped abruptly. Looking on in despair, he was unsure where to go.

Then an odd thought came to mind: Ganesh’s request to audit Shinkei-Kenkyu and their technical data-mart. He had never quite made up his mind to go, but the current situation altered his point of view. Having no work was intolerable. And he certainly didn’t want to explain anything to Kenji and the team. The embarrassment was more than he could handle. Ganesh’s personal favor now offered a perfect excuse to escape. At worst, he could just sit by himself and formulate a new course of action.

Without any further consideration, he grabbed his belongings and made his way to the ground level. From there, he took the Hanzumon line, which brought him near the Shinkei-Kenkyu office next to Nihonbashi station. Few people were on the street and he entered their office building without fuss.

Sauntering toward their entrance, he noticed scientific paraphernalia related to the company’s bio-manufacturing processes. Rows of well-lit cases displayed neural boards of various sizes and design. Glancing about with interest he casually stepped up to the artificial receptionist who sat quietly near glass-like entrance scanners. She was quite lifelike, and Sumeet noticed her soft watery eyes, humanlike skin, and wavy auburn hair.

“Can I help you?” it asked.

He introduced himself. “I was asked to do a spot audit by my friend Ganesh...”

The receptionist waved a mechanical arm. “Oh yes. Mr. Sumeet Ramasaraswati. I’ve been waiting for you. Your visit profile was logged in a few days ago. We have you down for a one-week audit.”

The receptionist pointed to a screen and demonstrated the layout of the office. Sumeet looking on with disinterest as the same data was simultaneously uploaded to his filter.

“Confirmed receipt of authorization and guide. You may enter at your leisure,” it said mechanically and bowed.

Sumeet entered as his filter guided him to his assigned cubicle. Finally, some peace and quiet, he thought. But it took some time to really calm down. Thinking over his situation, he realized how mixed his feelings were. Originally, he found the idea of working for Ganesh quite appalling. But the layoff had changed his attitude. Feelings of anger and remorse welled up and collided haphazardly. And though unprofessional, he justified Ganesh’s pet assignment as an act of pure rebellion. Why not, he thought? If Chindo Securities thinks so little of him, why should he care? The more he thought about it, the angrier he got.

At the same time, Sumeet considered when to contact Hiral. He struggled with the thought. How long could he put that off? Perhaps he could find temporary work before confronting her. Upon further consideration, he realized that wouldn’t work. Everyone monitored the net. If his resume was in play, they would know about it within seconds. The only plausible option was to pretend the layoff didn’t happen. It wouldn’t work for long, but it seemed the only short term solution that avoided outright confrontation.

Oddly, Sumeet’s mind went back to the fishbowl at the office. He clearly imagined the small simulated cigar minnows swimming fearfully under coarse folds of coral and rock. Their eyes stared in unison as the large grouper made its way lazily by, looking to pick off a tasty morsel. Why did those thoughts converge upon him? Sumeet contemplated the imagery and considered its deeper meaning. The office was decorated with exuberant Japanese environmental art, including large saltwater fish tanks. Was he nothing more than a minnow? Looking around, it certainly seemed possible.

But what Sumeet didn’t know was that his predicament was a watershed moment in time, one that would forever change his life and be noticed by others. In some respects his observers were predatory species too. But they didn’t consider Sumeet a simple meal.

He was, you see, something altogether different.

“M
y God! I think you need to look at this,” Henry said, waving briskly from his corner of the room.

Shinzou looked up and frowned. He had been intently reading an article on global system outages and didn’t feel like breaking his stream of thought. But it was too late. Sighing, he got up and padded over to Henry, who was working intently on some statistical models.

“What do you have?”

“An Interesting turn of events,” said Henry. “It’s that Sumeet fellow.”

“Yes?”

“It would seem he’s leaving Chindo.”

“What? Leaving Japan?”

“No, leaving the company,” Henry emphasized. “It appears he’s been laid off.”

“Laid off?” Shinzou spat. “Surely you’re joking. Why would they lay him off?”

Henry stroked his beard thoughtfully. “His communications are accessible to me when he’s outside the Chindo Securities firewall. The brief bursts I can decrypt seem to say he’s been caught up in some general reorganization.”

“Hmm,” Shinzou muttered thoughtfully.

“The parallels with your life seem to be increasing.”

“I was a bit older when it happened to me.”

“Yes, but you must admit it is quite a coincidental turn of events,” Henry said grinning. “At any rate, it’s quite fortunate. He’s at Shinkei-Kenkyu, where I can monitor all his activities. And I would also point out that, based on your recommendation, I have set up a number of propensity models just to determine his suitability as a Freedom Club member.”

“And?”

“The layoff changes the model quite dramatically. Stochastically speaking, his propensity to consider a different life is significantly higher.”

“Interesting.”

Shinzou rubbed his chin and went over to one of their office’s large foam chairs. He sat down and pondered Henry’s analysis. Would it be possible to recruit someone like Sumeet? The thought was now beginning to surface with greater urgency. After a few moments, he looked up sharply.

“So...do you think we should make initial contact?”

“Well,” Henry said cautiously, “it’s up to you. You seem to find him an attractive candidate. Because he does have a similar background, it seems plausible. And, of course, there is one other angle to exploit.”

“Yes?”

“Tell Hugo we’re doing this to get our hands on the database.”

Shinzou laughed cynically. “What on earth does that get us? We already have a copy!”

Henry raised an eyebrow and wagged a scholarly finger.

“To begin, if Hugo thinks we’re close to acquiring the database, his requests for information would satiate. At least for some time.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, yes, my propensity model confirms it. It shows a significant decrease in his incessant nagging.”

Shinzou chortled. “Come now, Henry. You can’t distill human actions based on mindless stochastic models.”

“Indeed not,” Henry said. “But I do so enjoy the thumping sound people make when landing squarely in my prediction matrix.”

Shinzou laughed again before regaining his senses. He then thought more intently about the chances of contacting Sumeet. Memories of his own past came to mind and Shinzou found himself daydreaming. What would his life have been like, if he had been given a rational chance to decide his future?

“What do you want to do?” Henry asked impatiently.

Shinzou slowly woke from contemplation. “I suppose it’s worth a try. The worst thing that can happen is that he says no. But let’s do a full outside-in analysis. I want a comprehensive understanding of his expected course of actions before we make contact.”

“That should prove no problem at all,” Henry said, pulling out a number of statistical models.

“Predicting human propensities is what I live for!”

Chapter 10—Swaraj

Machinery is the chief symbol of modern civilisation; it represents a great sin.

—Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi

T
he weather at New Mexico Las Cruces Spaceport was seasonally dry and arid. Blue sky surrounded the main terminal in all directions and bright sunshine bathed the Eden-like interior with warmth and ambient light. This was an intended effect of its design, one based on a botanical ethos on par with the best of earth’s arboretums.

Going far beyond the spaceport’s interior, large petal-like solar collectors sprouted from every section of the superstructure. This ensured an almost blossom-like appearance. From high above, the spaceport appeared to sprout from the New Mexican desert like a gargantuan nano-carbon sunflower. Both unnatural and godlike, it splayed two hundred and seventy five leaf-shaped gates that extruded in all directions.

One such gate connected to the Martin Luther King Junior, a hybrid class spaceplane that exemplified a modern combination of jet turbines, scram-jets, and rocket technologies. With its broad flying-wing design, the transport majestically waited as the crew prepared for their scheduled departure.

Within the fuselage, the passenger hold was luxurious. Spacious cabins were laden with the finest décor. Real wood laminates adorned translucent aluminum intricately mixed with flexi. Aesthetically pleasing scents of lavender and orange blossom wafted through the air. Pleasant enough, but adulterated with mild sedatives to assist passengers in remaining calm, a necessity during high-acceleration takeoffs.

Some passengers, however, didn’t require any assistance prior to takeoff. Subhas Kim and Thomas Nagel of the Santa Fe Institute were prime examples. Walking stiffly, they appeared out of place amongst the passengers. Their melancholy faces transmitted caution to all they encountered, and the chief purser knew better than to attempt small talk. Instead he quickly guided the pair to their first-class cabin. Both men promptly strapped in, and looked on morosely as ceiling crawlers stored their bags.

Without acknowledging the chief purser’s attention, they abruptly shut the cabin door and engaged its privacy seal. There was still time to dispense with before takeoff. It would pass in agony as both tried to remain calm.

Looking on anxiously for some time, Kim finally broke the silence. “We’re doing the right thing, you know.”

“Are we?” Thomas asked, without looking at his friend.

“The truth must be told. To do otherwise would be unthinkable. A sin.”

Thomas glanced at Kim, devoid of expression. In frustration, he sighed dourly and jammed his head against the headrest. Maybe Kim was right, but Thomas had trouble convincing himself that they were being honest. Even with good intentions, something seemed deathly wrong. Should they be punished for what they did? Put to death even? Tension raged as he suppressed feelings of guilt.

“It’s somewhat late to worry about sin,” Thomas whispered.

Kim looked horrified. “We’re not evil. Our work was sanctioned by the Institute, and represents a valid attempt to extend the bounds of science and technology.”

“I didn’t know religion was technology.”

“You know what I mean.”

Thomas unlocked his chair and swiveled to face Kim. “Look, I also want to have it over with. Everyone should know what happened. But...but I’m unsure we’ll be expunged of all wrongdoing.”

“Nonsense! We’re not to blame.”

“No?”

“We tried to save them!”

“Will everyone see it like that?”

“Of course!”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Kim was shocked. Thomas could see he didn’t expect such an answer and had trouble understanding where he stood on the matter. To disagree on perhaps the most important event in their lives? Nothing could be more agonizing and traumatic.

“What’s wrong with you, Thomas?” Kim protested. “They broke the law and put our lives at risk.”

“True! But not at first. Our initial actions won’t be overlooked.” Thomas gazed sadly into Kim’s unblinking eyes. “As accomplices, punishment may be levied. We’re belated whistleblowers, that’s all! It doesn’t mean we’re innocent.”

Kim looked away despairingly. “Speak for yourself. I acted in good faith. And don’t forget, Shiro wouldn’t be alive if not for us. Don’t you see? We didn’t give the order.”

“Yes, but think about what we did to him and the others.”

“We were teachers!” Kim hissed.

“Without knowing it was wrong? Or even illegal, for that matter? Who would believe us?”

Kim didn’t respond. Looking at the flight information monitor, he appeared distant and unresponsive. The countdown was ticking, next to a number of brightly colored passenger announcements.

“Just be prepared,” Thomas whispered.

Silence again ensued. Both men stared apathetically at the large flexi wall. Unsettled feelings distracted them from reading any preflight information until a call arrived from the flight crew.

Scowling, Thomas cursed under breath and picked up. The chief purser’s face appeared. Blessed with youth and immaculate good looks, he sparkled with enthusiasm. Sporting a plumed hat and military style epaulets, he assumed an authoritative look distinctive of his senior position.

“Excuse my intrusion,” he casually said with a British accent. “I must update you on our delay.”

Thomas glanced at Kim apprehensively. “Delay?” he asked.

“It’s been posted on the status screen for some time now. I wanted to inform you that we’ll be off as soon as some last minute patches get applied.”

“Patches?” Kim said, shaking his head.

“Nothing to fear,” assured the purser. “Software updates are typically rejected prior to departure. However, these concern only the lavatory valve systems. They are unrelated to critical flight systems and we’re allowed to make exceptions. If the lavatory were to break down, things could get a bit messy, don’t you think?”

The purser snickered, expecting some friendly reaction. Seeing none, he cut himself off and coughed lightly into his white glove.

“Yes, well then,” he continued, “we’ll be getting on our way soon. I do apologize for the delay.”

The purser’s image faded as status screens moved back into the foreground.

Kim huffed out loud and reengaged Thomas in a low turgid voice. “Do you think we can speak with him again?”

“Who? Shiro?”

Kim nodded imperceptibly.

“Maybe, but only Kamiyoshi can make contact, and then only if he wants to speak with us. He’s been on his own for so many years now. No telling what state of mind he’s in.”

Kim nodded with interest as the primary turbines spun up. The Martin Luther King Junior began to taxi toward the runway as both men silently focused their attention on the status monitors. Since cutout viewports were considered inferior design, the cabin’s large virtual screens provided a panoramic view of the exterior. They watched intently as the runway came into view and huge volumes of technical flight data began continuously updating in translucent overlay columns.

Taking off with standard jet turbines, the ascent was quite uneventful until their altitude reached sixty thousand feet. That’s when ramjets kicked in and took the craft up to Mach six. At higher altitudes standard rockets would engage, but that would be only a fleeting burst before reentry was achieved.

Watching dark space slowly replace the deep cobalt blue atmosphere, both men relaxed. Within two hours they would arrive at Japan’s Sado Island Spaceport and the purpose of their trip would begin in earnest.

However, relaxation dissipated as a sudden harsh shudder rocked the plane. Both men felt it and they looked at each other fearfully.

“What was that?” Kim sputtered.

Thomas hit the steward call buttons on his seat controls. “I’m not sure. Check the flight...”

Before he could finish, the cabin went berserk. A blitzkrieg of emergency scrollers began slithering across their view in red and yellow hues. Simultaneously a top-down view of the spaceplane’s fuselage appeared on their monitors. Both ramjets pulsed red as system failure data rapidly scrolled by.

Desperately clutching their restraint harnesses, Thomas and Kim looked on in disbelief. The plane began to descend erratically, and gravity ebbed in and out from under them. Then they rocked violently. The plane’s computer system attempted to correct attitude as both men lurched into their body harnesses. Finally, some semblance of normality returned as jerking motions hammered them into a stabilizing lull.

Punching his call button to no avail, Thomas cursed several times. Kim looked on in horror. Fearing the worst, both riveted their eyes on the flexi wall. The Chief Purser’s image finally appeared. Bedraggled and stripped of plumed cap, he stared back at them, clearly in a controlled state of panic.

“I need everyone’s attention. We must get to the escape pods!” he said, looking gravely into his fixed camera. “Please make your way in an orderly...”

The purser’s face jolted out of view as the plane shook hard. A few moments passed before he clambered back into view. Pushing disheveled blond hair back into place, he again began stuttering the text from his nearby prompter.

“Uhm...yes, puh...please make orderly way to the stern escape po...”

A second, more violent lurch sent the purser clear out of sight. His image was replaced with an emergency scroller that displayed the intended text. Clearly, he would not be coming back.

Kim and Nagel looked at each other grimly. Staring back at their seat monitors, the top-down map indicated their assigned pod toward the stern. Thomas pointed to the image as his other hand began unfastening his seat buckles.

“Let’s get out of here,” Thomas said tersely.

Kim nodded and tore at his harness buckles. Unstrapped, the two opened their private cabin door and were immediately inundated with the sounds and smells of the chaotic main cabin. Passengers were frantic. Everyone fought their way toward the stern, yanking themselves against the pull of gravity and momentum. It was an increasingly difficult task as the plane listed heavily to one side. The craft shuddered violently. Gravity dropped away at times, allowing free fall to take effect. Many passengers cried out fearfully as they attempted to re-plant their feet. Others simply held on, their faces contorted with physical strain.

Both Kim and Nagel methodically grabbed nearby handholds and waited until some gravity returned. It did so with a vengeance. Still, they continued astern while time allowed. Pulling themselves along, they followed emergency scrollers, which mechanically directed them to go on.

Amid all the chaos, time slowed. Every second passed in agony, and it was a huge relief when they found their designated pod. Automated instructions blared out step by step what to do. It wasn’t difficult, but everyone’s attention battled against mind-numbing anxiety.

Following commands, Kim pulled hard on a large wall level. Pneumatics then took over and hissed loudly as the hatch unfolded. It was then a simple matter of getting into a restraining harness and locking down to initiate the ejection sequence. Having fought off all the physical stress, hope briefly emerged as the pod’s launch countdown blazed red throughout the pod’s interior.

Kim looked at Thomas, still quite worried. His voice was strained. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Both men watched unwaveringly as the ten-second countdown passed by in millisecond increments. It took what seemed like ages, but the timer eventually hit zero. Then...

Nothing.

Kim could not understand. He stared at Thomas, who was dumbfounded as well. The number simply read zero. There were no separation charges, no indication that they could escape the ship’s spiral downward.

Thomas looked at the monitor near his arm. Reading over the vibrations and noise, he saw a long list of technical errors scroll by.

One stood out.

“Failure to disengage lavatory valve system?” Thomas questioned aloud.

“What’s happening?” Kim asked angrily. “Why don’t we eject?”

Thomas gazed back smiling. Oblivious to their dire situation, he began to laugh.

Kim angered and began to scream. “What is it? Why are you laughing?”