Acceleration (Chapter 8)

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The door opened to their performance room, just five minutes before their set was to begin. All three looked up, but awareness dawned on each of them at different times.

“I’m sorry, sir,” K began, “this is a private room, reserved for…”

S1D laughed. “What the shit, Thomas! What the hell did you do? Is that syntheskin?”

K looked closer, finally seeing her friend. “Thomas? Thomas?? Oh my god, Thomas! Your…face! You have a face!”

Moving quickly to stand in front of him, MöG reached out to take hold of the cloth and fabric draped over him. “You are wearing clothing? This is crazy, man.”

“I had never worn them before,” Thomas said, raising his arms slowly. He had purchased a pair of jeans and boots, a t-shirt that had the words “Steam Crow” inked across the front, above an image of a crow wearing a top hat and monocle. Over that, he wore a hooded zip up sweater with a thin jacket to top it all off.

The sapphire singer brushed MöG aside so she could take in the strangeness of Thomas’ whole new appearance. “Finish getting us set up, MöG,” K said. “I need to take this all in.”

She stood up on her toes and peered closely at his face. “Oh, Thomas,” she said. “What did you do?”

“Nice face,” S1D said. “Get that from Calvin?”

He nodded, frowning on one side of his face. “I’m still trying to figure out how to operate this.”

From behind them, MöG grunted. “Well, no close ups for you until you do, my friend. I’ll have to keep the camera on your hands and the keyboard. Wait, did you get your hands done, too?”

Thomas held up his hands to show that they remained the same. “The face cost about as much as I could afford, even with my promotion. Though I bought a pair of gloves, in case I want to complete the illusion.”

S1D grinned. “Let me know when you go for the full package,” she said. “I mean, you picked out kind of an androgynous face, but at some point, you’re going to have to make some choices.”

“Choices?”

She glanced down suggestively. “All kinds of attachments available, if you get my meaning.”

“I’m not sure I do…”

“Promotion?” K chirped. “You got a promotion?”

Thomas sighed, a gesture he had been practicing a lot today, it seemed. “It’s a long story. But it got me thinking about being…well, what we are, and I…”

S1D’s eyes narrowed; Thomas took note of this expression, and his face accidentally copied it. “You don’t like what we are?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just…” He made his face return to a neutral expression. “I was reminded today that I am owned. All of us. And that made me feel… less than what I am.”

“You’re an idiot, Thomas,” K said. “Being owned doesn’t make us less than anyone else.”

“It does to the person who owns us.”

K regarded him for a few silent moments before excusing herself and crossing the room to speak with MöG. Thomas and S1D sat for a minute without speaking.

“Penny for your thoughts,” S1D said at last. 

Thomas lifted his head, taking longer than he might have otherwise expected to process and respond to her statement. “Ah. Interrogative, you are offering me an opportunity to share the ideas currently taking up my processor resources.” 

“We have got to teach you to speak normally.” 

The Automaton shrugged. “I have been dedicating more of my linguistic interpretive capacity to take on a more comfortably nuanced conversational quality. Some days I am better than others.” 

“That’s what I said.” 

His head tilted slightly to one side as he considered her words.  

“I’m joking,” she added. Her facial structure was much more robust than his; she was able to produce casual movements across her eyes and lips that he had seen often in human expressions. A small system message flashed across his HUD indicating an anomalous series of sequences seemed to be negatively considering the comparison between the two. He sent a quick admin response reminding the otherwise distracting analysis to accept that his own facial enhancements had been applied less than a day before; it was acceptable that his own mastery of expression would take a while. It didn’t appear to fix the anomaly, but it did succeed in reducing the drain on his primary processors. 

“There are a few thoughts that serve as undesirable distractions,” he admitted. “Several will require longer dedication to their resolution, but...one feels only mildly complex, and perhaps you may be of some assistance in that regard.” 

“Is this about your choice of upgrading to a penis or a pussy?” 

He felt a strange sensation, of a subtle but unmistakable elevation in surface temperature on his newly-implanted cheek tissues. “Pigmentation re-allocation” notifications appeared on the system update section in his HUD.  

“Oh my god, Thomas!” S1D cackled. “You’re blushing! Oh, you are so adorable.” 

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Several optional replies floated across his conversational choices dialog box, but he could not bring himself to select any of them. They felt either too silly or too aggressive.  

“I... do not know how to respond,” he admitted. "In point of fact, that is partly what I wished to discuss.” 

S1D continued to laugh softly, waving K and MöG away, as they had both looked over at the sound of her laughter. “I’m sorry, I’m probably not helping. We can talk about your junk later. But what was on your mind?” 

“Swearing is a... challenge for me,” he admitted. “You seem to do it quite effortlessly, and yet I find it problematic. How do I know what words to use, and when should I use them?” 

She considered his words carefully. “No, you are right, swearing is complicated. It’s an easy answer to say that you should know your audience, but there’s not really a science or math to it. It’s more of an art form, really. K is the artist, maybe she could explain it better. But when was the last time you thought about wanting to swear?” 

"Just now, if I’m being honest. I think I wanted to swear just now when you referenced my genital dilemma.” 

S1D laughed again. “Oh, yeah, you should totally have told me to fuck off. That would have been the perfect response.” 

“’Fuck off’? Really?” 

“Totally. Swearing is just taking all that emotion and shitting it out like a little verbal nuclear explosion. In normal conversation between two or more people, swearing is like kissing or punching. Sometimes it‘s like both. It is supposed to feel good, whether it comes from anger or comedy or good old fashioned literal fucking times. You need practice. Just tell me to fuck the fuck off right now. Go ahead. We’re friends, I won’t take it seriously. Give it a whirl.” 

Thomas frowned – another new expression for him – but nodded and looked S1D in her eyes. “Fuck the fuck off.” 

S1D’s eyes looked sharply up towards the ceiling, an expression Thomas recognized as “rolling her eyes”, and realized he’d done it wrong. 

“Well, fuck,” he muttered. 

This time, S1D clapped her hands. “Much better, but I definitely think you should work on it.” 

“I guess I motherfucking will,” he said. 

“No,” she said. “That was too much.” 

“Shit.” 

“Better!” 

“Two minute warning,” MöG said. “Everyone get ready, please.”

K and S1D moved back to their instruments, an amused expression on the emerald Auton’s features. “Do we have a theme, Tommy?” she asked.

“Something like that,” he replied. “Where are we playing tonight?”

“Special request for the annual midsummer’s ball and dinner at MacGoogle International, no less.”

The other three Automata stared at MöG, shocked.

S1D punched him in the arm with a loud clank. “How did we get intercorporate transmission rights? When did this happen?”

MöG chuckled, the wild array of cables around his head swaying with his laughter. “I put in the request two weeks ago, and apparently one of the junior Veeps at MacGoogle heard some of our stuff and pushed the request through on their end. I was going to surprise you all, but apparently someone wanted to one up me.”

“Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay, Thomas, and besides, you look great. I’m a little jealous, to be honest.”

“Nice jacket, too,” S1D added with a wink, laughing when Thomas’ face reflexively mirrored the gesture. “Oh, Thomas – go into options, sub folder one, choose Learning Mode, and turn it to off. As funny as it is, I don’t need to look at you copying everything I do while we’re trying to perform.”

He felt his cheeks warming slightly as a result of the awkwardness her observation caused, but quickly followed her instructions and closed the menu. “I may need you to help me a bit with this,” he admitted.

He felt a gentle ping as a quick download hit his queue labeled “Getting the Face right”. He laughed, and felt his mouth curl up slightly into a smile as he did so.

S1D gave him an approving nod. “You’ll be there in no time, Tommy.”

“30 seconds,” MöG updated them. “Theme?”

Thomas pulled up the file he had been compiling during his long walk, and nodded. “It’s going to be a bit different tonight,” he said. “We’re going to improvise a little bit.”

“Ad hoc structure,” S1D said, amazement evident in her voice.  “Brilliant.”

“I still need a theme, Thomas.”

A confident smile crossed Thomas’ face. “All You Need,” he replied.

K laughed, and S1D smiled as well.

MöG took a moment, then nodded, too. “Of course,” he said. “Love.”

They had a full hour to perform tonight, and Thomas had racked up a full three hours’ worth of songs, but culled the ones he felt would make the strongest show, pulled deep from his archived lists.

They opened with “All You Need is Love”, by the Beatles, following that up with “Higher Love”, “The Love Parade”, “Can’t Help Falling in Love”, and “Come and Get Your Love.” The audience, already following along with the theme, was responding well, even messaging into their chat room additional songs based on the current selections. They picked “She Will Be Loved” and “Love Her Madly” from the request queue, rounding it out with “So Alive” (by pre-century band Love and Rockets), and then into the energetic “Modern Love”.

The final selection meant a lot personally to Thomas; his first request to the band had also been performed by David Bowie, and he could not help but feel a certain symmetry to the reappearance of the artist’s influence on their selections.

They had only been together a pair of months, but these three other Automata had become his closest and dearest friends. He would happily give of his own parts to help them, should they need it, he realized. And yet, he reminded himself that they were Automata, fully immersed into the Code. If they knew how broken he was, would they protect him? Would they turn him in for reprogramming? Would they be in danger of recycling just for being associated to him?

The song was almost over, and Thomas had yet to select a song to follow it. The crowd was electric, applauding loudly as the final notes faded from Modern Love. Assuming they followed an established pattern of songs, the next song would be a slow song. A ballad.

No song came to his thoughts, only images of Diana that confused him. He glanced up, realizing that the others were looking at him, waiting for his selection.

Into their internal messaging network, he simply said: “key of A major. 96 bpm, soft bossa nova.”

He had played many chords on the piano by this point, and his hands knew where to go and what to play. But this was different. He wasn’t even sure what they would play next. They began with one chord, his fingers trilling softly and delicately into a melody he had not even yet discovered. In his mind, he only thought of the growing sentiment that had been building inside him for the past few weeks, the undiscovered and indecipherable irrationality that he had not yet been able to put a name to, until now.

The chords moved, painting a tone poem of hope and loss, of faith and doubt, of yearning and not knowing. Major and minor chords teased the conflict he felt in his thoughts, promises and disappointments.

And, as the chords returned back to the beginning, K opened her mouth and sang.

I never had a dream like you before

Now I’m awake and I don’t know what to do

I can’t tell how many years I’d go on sleeping

If I hadn’t dreamed the dream I dreamed of you

S1D added an acoustic-sounding guitar accompaniment at that point, whose flourish accentuated the notes K had sung and embellished the melody into the next verse:

If I whisper, please come closer, next to me

If I cry just be still and understand

If I’m only dreaming now, don’t wake me

If I’m lost, just take my hand

MöG added a light percussion as they entered the chorus of the song, and Thomas shifted the chord progression into an accent towards the major chords. In spite of the brighter tones in the music, Thomas could hear the conflict in the lyrics’ darker translation.

If there are no more tomorrows

And if we have no other skies of blue

If the heavens turn their eyes away

Just let this love be true

Suddenly, the music vanished, and Thomas felt his fingers light up on the keys. It seemed as if he had been holding them back, fearful of what they might do; he released that fear, let go of it all and let them find the melodies that they knew they must play.

The melody wound around the chords from the original verses, but blurred into one or two accidental sevenths which complicated the flow into a deeper angst – he realized that the song was pulling itself right out of his own feelings he had spent the day exploring. He could see the working Automata, giving their lives in the service of those who would never know them. Who would never care about them. Who would never remember them when they were gone.

And yet, they worked on. They gave their lives in spite of the lack of recognition, even though they would one day be ground up into steel bits and melted down into something new.  The work they performed would serve the greater good. It would maintain the delicate balance of life which had once so nearly tipped irrevocably against mankind. Some things were worth the sacrifice. Some sacrifices needed no recognition.

And, perhaps, Thomas realized, perhaps love did not require that, either.

Just then the music returned, percussion and guitar, and K picked back up with the final verse of the lyrics.

I never felt a heart like this before

It’s like I’ve never seen the sun

Let tomorrow take you where it will

But let me be there when the day is done

The chorus returned then as well, filled in by MöG’s orchestral support, and K added two additional echoes of her voice to add harmonies to a final repeat of the chorus.

S1D indicated that she felt a guitar solo was important, and they continued the chord progression of the song while she unleashed a powerful cascade of notes that dazzled them all, including, judging by the rush of heart icons on their public feed, the audience.

“Let this love be true,” the audience chanted along in time with the final line of each stanza, even though K had already stopped singing.

As S1D reached the culmination of her guitar solo, K returned with the chorus one last time, and, one by one, they dropped the other instruments out of play until it was only her vocals and Thomas’ piano. With the final line of the song, they slowed the tempo to an emotional crawl, as if the notes themselves did not quite want to be played; did not want to come to an end.

As it wrapped, however, there was a full moment of complete silence, in the middle of which Thomas could hear what sounded like crying. Then came the rush of applause, however, drowning out the rest of the sounds from their venue.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Boilerpoint!”

MöG left the feed up for several moments, letting the musicians’ avatars take their bows before closing down the network.

The four of them stood there silently, mixed expressions on all their faces. MöG spoke first.

“Best show. Ever.”

K and S1D both nodded emphatically, but it was S1D who expressed the concern that the others were feeling.

“Thomas?” she said tentatively. “We appreciate all you’ve done for us. We do, really. But…”

K hid her face in her hands.

MöG stepped around the equipment, reached down into one of his storage cases, and pulled out a backpack. “This is my go bag,” he said, tossing it to Thomas. “I didn’t think I’d ever need it, but it looks like you do.”

Thomas caught the bag, looked back to the others, confused. “I don’t understand, what…”

K lowered her hands, looking at him with pain and concern.

“You have to run, Thomas.”

“What? Why?”

With a sigh that felt as much like affection as it did exasperation, S1D tapped the side of her head. “You’re broken, man. We can all feel it. And if we can feel it, we’re pretty sure anyone plugged into that show felt it too.”

“How long do you think I’ve got?”

MöG started a timer that bounced up into their respective HUDs. “An hour. Maybe two, maybe sooner, if someone really stops to think about it. Funky Auton, they’ll say, and that’s all it will take. Someone’ll register a concern, and it’ll get bounced from our account to your manufacturer, and then they’ll review your diagnostics. If they don’t find anything conclusive, they’ll submit a mandatory eval which you’ll have to respond to within 24 hours or face recall.”

 The timer stopped at 24 hours, and began counting down.

“Best get your shit together, son.”

Thomas gripped the pack tightly. “I’m sorry, you guys, I’m really… Look, I don’t… I can’t…”

K chewed anxiously on her bottom lip. “Just run, Thomas. You need to be safe.”

A new emotion seemed to be emerging up through his foundation of protocols. He realized he didn’t want to simply run away, he didn’t want to hide. He wanted to stay. To fight. To keep his friends safe.

“There…might be a way,” he said. “I have to go.”

MöG nodded slowly. “Well, keep the pack just in case, Thomas. You never know, right?”

Thomas agreed. He slung the pack over his shoulders, said goodbye to his friends and ran out.

He summoned a selfcab online, and waited while one was delivered. While he waited, he sent a message to Diana: Something has happened. I need your help.

She texted back, only moments later: I just received the request for your diagnostic feed. Meet me at the office ASAP.

The following message was a meeting invite with the address of her workplace, right at the heart of AmaSoft’s corporate headquarters.

The small, two-passenger self-cab pulled up a minute later, its door sliding up onto the roof to allow Thomas to enter. It scanned him and applied a fee to his account, after which the door closed, it took the address of his destination and silently hummed away.

During the ride, Thomas looked through the backpack MöG had given him. Inside were various things it was generally forbidden for Automata to possess, much to Thomas’ horror.

Though, all things considered, I suppose I am past worrying about such things, he thought.

A set of power cables attached to a spare battery and solar recharger, as well as a portable satellite receiver were the first things he noticed, and which took up the most space in the bag. Also several tools the function of which he did not understand, as well as a set of portable memory caches, none of which were labeled. As the accumulated data was still far less than his allowable space in his upgraded banks, Thomas plugged them in, one by one, fast-downloading them into his deep storage without even taking the time to read them. He then instructed a small portion of his allowable processor to begin an analysis of the files and sort them according to their functionality and general usage.

The cab pulled up to the Gates Foundation building, so named for one of the original heads of what was now AmaSoft International, and buzzed security at the main gates. The security Auton at the gates scanned Thomas and directed the cab to an underground parking lot on the eastern side of the facility.

Thomas replaced the storage chips to their pocket and decided to take a look at the rest of the items later, when he had time. In another minute, the cab descended the ramp that led to the parking garage, pausing while the reinforced steel doors rose to grant them entrance.

The cab pulled up to an elevator entrance, and a bell rang politely as the door slid open. Thomas took his pack and stepped out, waiting while the cab shut its door and drove casually away to the far end of the parking garage. It was the default programming of selfcabs to wait for up to six hours for their fare until they returned to their nearest charging station, unless otherwise tasked. Thomas didn’t think he would be here that long, but he knew he could always summon another one if it wasn’t here later.

It was then that Thomas noticed all the vehicles that were parked here. It took him a moment to realize that this was not simply an employee parking garage, as not only was the room filled with vehicles, but that the majority of them dated back to before the war. This was not a parking garage, it was a historical collection. He took a moment to appreciate it until the elevator dinged behind him.

He turned back to the doors and stepped inside. The button for the top floor had already been pressed; the doors closed and the mechanism lifted him to the floor marked 10, and the doors opened again.

A receptionist Automaton was waiting for him. “Hello, Thomas HAI-320,” it said to him. “Please scan this code for the log book.”

He looked at the digital icon she held up, and scanned it into his memory. Too late, he realized it was not simply a data file, but a self-extracting string of operating code. It unleashed itself into his processor too quickly for him to stop it. The room grew blurry, and the room turned sideways, before finally vanishing altogether.