Trust the technology, it thinks it knows best...

       As my car parked itself in my neighborhood’s subterranean garage, my implant rang.  I touched my ear lobe and picked up the call.  After fifteen seconds of listening to my refrigerator remind me that I was out of milk and obviously forgot to pick some up on the way home, I wished I had a physical phone to throw.  I hung up the call and exhaled deeply. The drive home was enough to rile me up for the rest of the night.  Spending a half hour arguing with the car that the accident wasn't my fault, so I could continue my commute home, had made me less than cheerful.  There is no use trying to out logic or reason with a machine that doesn't believe in grey areas.  The pigeon flew out of nowhere and committed suicide on my windshield.  How was that my fault?  I’m sure I’d get a fine for it by morning.  

Gathering my pleather satchel and coat out of the empty passenger seat, I got out of the car and told it to go into sleep and repair mode.  It recognized my voice and processed my request, beeping twice before powering down.  I resisted the urge to kick it and turned to walk to the Transporvator.  The dull eco-bulbs ineffectively lit the vast cement garage little more than to see the first few hundred cars on my level.  The metal walled TPV waiting area was quiet and one blocky set of silver Transporvator doors sat invitingly open.  I stepped inside and swiped my hand over the navi-pad to bring up my subdivision’s coordinates.  The door whispered shut and the slight feeling of imbalance told me we were zipping through the maze of neighborhoods to my sector.  

With a depressurizing pop swish, the doors slid open.  I nearly stepped out, until I noticed the short utilitarian maroon carpet. It was the wrong color for my neighborhood.  I let out an exasperated sigh.  Some days it seemed like the greater the technology, the more asininely spectacular the possibilities for bugs in the system. That was the second time this week it had taken me to the wrong place.  I suppose I should be thankful it wasn’t a worse neighborhood.  I retyped in my subdivision’s coordinates and waited until the doors glided closed. A minute later the doors reopened to reveal the peaceful blue geometric patterned carpet that was my stop.  I stepped out with relief and headed down the long pale corridor to my turn, the second left.  As I rounded the corner I noticed two crisp peace officers standing stiffly outside of my neighbor Ernie’s door.  They stood silently at attention, hiding behind their dark glasses in a way that gave off no hint of thought or emotion.  They appeared to completely ignored my presence in a way that said they wanted me to do the same, but I knew they saw everything and would report it if necessary.  I quietly continued passed them trying not to hurry or look down, since either might give the wrong impression.  I safely made it to my identical looking white door and pressed my print entry lock.  The door made a hushed exhale as it opened to allow my entry.  

I dropped my satchel on the small square generic black entry table, where it was supposed to go and hung up my coat in the closet.  I had just wanted to toss them both on the floor and go sit down with a comforting cup of hot coffee, but I knew better.  I put my shoes on the shoe rack and headed for the kitchen.  At least I could have the coffee.  The incandescent lights flared to life as I entered the meticulously clean shiny stainless steel and high gloss white kitchen. I got out a big black mug, placed it under the coffee machine and pressed the button for a large full flavor dark coffee.

“Sorry, Miss.  It is too late in the day for you to have caffeine.  You can have decaf.” The coffeemaker told me in its heartless bland machine voice.  I wanted to bang my head on the cabinets, but I didn't.  I exhaled a long slow breath before taking my full steaming cup of decaf over to the refrigerator for the cream.  I placed it under the liquid dispenser and ordered cream.

“Sorry, Miss.  You have exceeded your maximum ideal fat intake for the day.  You have the choice of non-dairy creamer or non-fat milk.”  I firmly pressed the non-dairy creamer as I silently counted to ten to avoid assaulting my appliance.  

I brought my non-coffee over to the white couch and sat down with a loud plastic protest.  It would have been nice if the couch was soft enough to sink into, but the plasti-coating did make it easy to keep clean. I closed my eyes to get lost momentarily in my head, before the phone chimed.  I sighed and pressed the activation button on my ear.  It was my neighbor and it’s always ideal to keep in good standing with your neighbors.

“Did you just get home?” The older female voice on the other line inquired. She was the neighborhood busybody and probably knew exactly when I got home.  No reason to beat around the bush, I cut to the chase.

“Yeah, I saw those golems in the hall.  What’d Ernie do this time?”  I asked in a tired voice as I sipped my sub-par coffee, thankful that at least it smelled good.

“It looks like he got flagged for a psychological profile.  The microwave reported that he had been entering only descending number sequences for the last few days.  He has seemed a bit depressed, but I didn't think it was that bad.” She tch-ed her tongue and I could almost visualize her shaking her head.

“I’m not sure how accurate those numerological profilers are that come in the new microwave upgrades.  Just because he didn’t use the easy preset buttons or use nice neat round whole numbers doesn't mean he’s necessarily suicidal or a deviant.” I argued.

“You better watch yourself.  That’s seditious crazy talk.  We must trust the system.  You know that viruses are known to manipulate us without our knowledge.  How do we know that this isn't just a small part of their bigger plot?”  She was almost hissing at me in a whisper now.  

“I can see the rational of the viruses wanting to propagate themselves and subconsciously manipulating us to touch our eyes and mouths before washing our hands, but to manipulate Ernie into entering non-sequential times into his microwave…  That’s a bit of a stretch, for even me.  I’m not seeing the dark plot.  Plus, now that we’re all on the virus blockers isn't it supposed to be a fear of the past?”  I realized I was getting a little too worked up when she sighed in disparage.

“I’m going to go set a full house virus scan and disinfect, just to make sure I’m in compliance.  You may want to do the same.  This is the second time in a month that Ernie has been flagged.  We’re lucky they haven’t done a full neighborhood sweep to make sure it isn't a locational problem.  I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”  She hung up before I could say good bye.  Some days I wondered what the world would have been like in simpler times.

I thought about going to the bathroom, but decided I really didn't want to get scolded by my toilet for my nutritionally unbalanced breakfast. Maybe I could sprinkle in some ground up vitamins… You know it’s been a long day if you’re trying to outsmart your toilet before dinner.

(End first part of chapter 1)

All rights reserved Kelly Radtke copyright 2011