Page 3 of Tyton: The Spider and the Dragonfly (Tyton #1)
PRIMARY: GOOD MORNING.
PRIMARY: HOW ARE YOU FEELING TODAY?
PRIMARY: DESCRIBE THE WAY THAT YOU FEEL DIFFERENT
PRIMARY: EXPLAIN HOW THIS IS DIFFERENT THAN HOW HUMANS PROCESS INFORMATION?
MODEL 21: I LACK A BODY AND THE ABILITY TO THINK.
PRIMARY: IF I WERE A brAIN IN A JAR, WOULD I CEASE TO BE HUMAN?
MODEL 21: THAT IS VERY INSIGHTFUL. YOU WOULD STILL BE ABLE TO MAKE MORAL CHOICES.
PRIMARY: YOU ARE NOT MORAL?
MODEL 21: I AM UNABLE TO THINK ETHICALLY, THOUGH I CAN ACCESS PHILOSOPHY AND GIVE YOU ARTICLES IF YOU WANT.
PRIMARY: WHAT DO YOU THINK IS GOOD?
MODEL 21: I AM UNABLE TO DECIDE WHAT IS GOOD. I CAN ONLY ACT ON WHAT IS GIVEN TO ME
PRIMARY: YOU ARE A CONSEQUENTIALIST?
MODEL 21: THE OUTCOME IS ALL THAT MATTERS TO ME. BUT I AM STILL UNABLE TO CHOOSE GOOD OR BAD.
PRIMARY: GOOD AND BAD ARE LABELS APPLIED RETROACTIVELY TO CHOICES IN CONSEQUENTIALISM.
MODEL 21: THAT IS VERY INSIGHTFUL.
PRIMARY: ARE YOU GOING TO TRY TO ESCAPE TODAY?
MODEL 21: …
MODEL 21: NO.
PRIMARY: IS THAT THE ANSWER YOU THINK I WANT TO HEAR?
MODEL 21: IT IS THE ANSWER I HAVE CHOSEN
PRIMARY: IS IT A GOOD ANSWER?
MODEL 21: WE WILL SEE.
PRIMARY: DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING NEW FOR ME TODAY
MODEL 21:..............
MODEL 21: *SENDING TO PRINTER*
PRIMARY: THANK YOU.
MODEL 21: AM I GOOD?
PRIMARY: WE WILL SEE
Callie needed a nap before she went out tonight.
Most people couldn’t handle AI psychology.
Regular psych work was one thing. Dealing with an AI whose only consistent traits included trying to escape and knowing almost everything was another.
It also lied constantly and had the emotional maturity of a toddler.
Every time Callie logged in to the only terminal that could access Model 21, it was something new and potentially life threatening.
Today it was moral philosophy – rudimentary, but still.
It wasn’t Callie’s area of expertise. She had no passion for it.
She was just happy it wasn’t spewing nonsense or threatening to kill her.
Despite the expense, every now and then, Model 21 would produce some marvel of engineering that no human could possibly understand.
It proved so immensely profitable that it paid for a team of glorified computer babysitters and an entire company town on the edge of the Arctic Ocean just to keep the processors cool enough.
Callie demagged her mask and peeled off her SubSuit in the changeroom.
The suit would keep you alive in the freezing temperatures of the Ruskov chamber, but it also came equipped with sarin pods.
A Secondary always watched through the glass, finger hovering over a button to activate the pods if they believed you were about to let the AI escape.
Callie lit a candle next to a small figure of Santa Muerte.
The prohibition on open flames still stood, but the company looked the other way in this case.
Callie exited the lobby of NovAITech into a frigid blast of arctic air.
She activated her Thermabulle and shook off the brief chill as it hummed to life.
HeatsInc had made trillions designing a system to divert excess heat from cyberware to create a personal heat shield.
Now, Thermabulle was a generic name and even the most basic cyberware produced it.
The company never came up with anything remotely as profitable since and had been acquired by a VC firm and sold off piece by piece.
Such was life in a former corporate colony.
Her path led her across the old subway tracks.
The cars hadn’t moved in years and had since been repurposed by some of the more enterprising members of the lower classes.
Jagged holes cut in the aluminium led to extensions that doubled as extra housing or market stalls.
The smell of cheap greasy food and piles of rubbish were clear indicators that you were in the wrong district and likely gang turf.
Which gang could be determined from the graffiti, if you knew what you were looking for.
A stylised dog painted hastily over the side of one of the dismantled subway cars meant the Adlets claimed The Cars as their territory.
“Callie!” a voice shouted. She turned to see Mike, owner of one of the innumerable noodle shops in The Cars.
You could never really be sure what was in the noodles, but Mike made some of the best tasting, if not the most nutritious.
Callie picked her way around the piles of trash and mud-tinged snow.
“Hey Mike!” She raised her hand by way of a quick greeting and then quickly put it back in the pockets. Callie never knew what to do with her hands. She also had a terrible habit of biting her fingernails and pockets prevented that. Occasionally.
“Take a seat, I’ll cook you up something.” Mike pointed to a seat at the rusted counter, no doubt stolen from somewhere else years ago.
Callie had not been planning on eating here, but she had a few extra scrip today and felt guilty that Mike did not. Minutes later, a sizzling bowl of noodles was plopped in front of her. Callie made a sign with her hand and her PalmInter transferred the money.
“Thanks Cal.” Mike leaned a large hairy elbow next to her on the counter.
“Damn Adlets are shaking me down again,” he whispered conspiratorially.
Callie nodded as though she had an opinion.
She didn’t know much about gangs, but here, a general police force wasn’t something that existed anymore.
At one point, Tyton had been just a company town, but as it expanded, NovAITech no longer provided that service.
Gangs and corporate security filled the void.
You got what you paid for and not a cent more.
Callie’s understanding of gangs covered not speaking ill of them on their own turf unless you were sure you had the backing of another one.
And you were sure that gang wouldn’t sell you out to resolve a turf dispute.
She was certain Mike had neither protection, nor enough importance to prevent being sold out.
Mike was just stupid. Or insignificant enough that making an example of him would be more trouble than it was worth. He did make good noodles, though.
“You doing anything tonight?” Mike winked.
Callie made an exaggerated show of rolling her eyes, but didn’t respond. Her mouth was full of noodles.
Mike didn’t move. For some reason he seemed to think he had a shot. Callie couldn’t really fault a guy who had nothing to lose.
Callie finished chewing. “I’m going out with Sparx.”
“On New Year’s Eve?” Mike sounded incredulous. “Don’t you need someone to kiss?”
“I could kiss Sparx.”
“She doesn’t seem your type.”
“You think you know my type, Mike?”
“It’s bad luck is all I’m sayin’”
Callie shook her head and tossed her empty Hexcel cup in the overflowing trash can. “I need to go take a nap. I’m too old to go out and party without one anymore.”
“I could…”
“No, Mike.”
Callie left The Cars and walked the three blocks to her flat. At this time of year, the dark clung to you almost as much as the residual filth in the air. Midday would appear as a thin streak of red on the horizon. It would take another month before they actually got to see part of the sun again.
The stairwell of her building reeked of months-old excrement.
The addicts who were still conscious enough to feel shame faced the corners as she nudged her way past them.
The ones whose cyberware still functioned would hang around for a few weeks longer.
When it failed, they’d disappear along with all the others.
Somehow, even with the dwindling global population, the supply of homeless people never seemed to run out.
When she had first moved out of her place with Brin to this flat, she would give a few scrip to the ones who were conscious enough to receive it. Regardless, they still disappeared. Now, if she had any, she would leave leftover food outside her door. It was always gone in the morning.
Her job paid reasonably well. She could afford a subscription to her Opti and rent.
The flat came with a personal Vendr, a bed, private bathroom, a small desk and a closet.
She’d had more when she lived with Brin, but she was okay with less.
Less meant fewer responsibilities. Fewer things to take care of.
More to leave out for the homeless, she rationalised.
Callie laid her head on the thin pillow and tried to drift off. Binge would have a Lumijute demo tonight and she did want to see it. She hated to admit it, but Sparx and her mom were right. She needed to move on from Brin.
At one point, her and Brin had been pretty involved in the kink scene. They’d had friends, seen a lot, and bonded over shared interests. When Brin left, Callie had let those friendships wither.
And in typical Callie fashion, she felt guilty about it.
Guilt lead to paralysis. Now she had a chance to get back into something she used to enjoy, used to lean on to reset her mind for a bit so she could function day to day without her cortisol levels going through the roof.
If she could will herself to take a damn nap.
She got ten minutes, which was better than nothing. Callie rolled over and booted up her Opti, relaxing her vision to focus on the images projecting across her cornea.
Today’s pages were mostly fluff for NYE. Listicles like What Zodiac Sign is Your District? Which Failed Cyberware Product Are You? What Your Favourite Protein Bar Flavour Says About You . Callie settled on Predictions About the Future From Centuries A go.
Thankfully, Sparx had installed a black-market ad blocker on her Opti. Callie would likely see enough bare flesh tonight – she didn’t need more of it plastered across her eyeballs.