By trial and error Grady learned how to activate and deactivate Junior’s projector lights by tapping its feelers. The screen it projected on any nearby surface was touch-sensitive as well, and before long Grady had settled in to read the seemingly endless technical manual for the “Cerebral Interrogatory Enclosure,” or CIE—which was apparently his cell and the AI that managed it.
After the sensory starvation of the past few months, Grady’s appetite for information was ravenous. Poring through the manual, he soon learned how to navigate the deeper diagnostic and maintenance screens of the CIE.
The moment Grady switched his cell from umbilical to manual life support represented a fundamental shift in his perspective. It was a simple diagnostic override, but when he deactivated the umbilicus, there was another audible chime as lavatory and sink facilities “grew” out of the wall. The toilet and sink consisted of the same featureless gray material as the walls themselves, but when he held his hand in front of the stylized faucet, clean water poured out. He now had some measure of control over his body again. There was apparently a bathing system as well, but he hadn’t found the options for that yet.
The documentation had warned Grady that he needed to take care restarting his digestive system. He hadn’t taken anything but predigested slurry in months. Still, he figured he could risk tasting some water. He watched, fascinated, as it flowed over his hands. The natural hydrodynamic laws governing its surface resistance and pooling kept him mesmerized. So long since he’d seen those natural laws. Or any natural laws. His synesthesiac mind reveled in the stimulation.
Then Grady tasted the water. Felt it flow down his throat like sunlight. He was coming alive again. He splashed the water over his face and sighed in satisfaction. No towels to dry himself, though—and he was still naked. But it didn’t bother him. He stood and felt the cool water from his face run in rivulets down his neck and body.
He then walked his cell in relieved contemplation, leaving moist footprints. It was the first time in a long time that he could recall not having those nightmarish tentacles hanging overhead. The pain in his abdomen notwithstanding, it was good to walk freely.
That’s when he bumped into a fine black filament hanging down from the ceiling in the center of his cell. It was right above where his cot had been. At first he thought it was—of all things—a spider hanging on a silk thread. But as he moved carefully around it, he could see that the nodule at its end was some sort of connector. Inorganic. It looked like a microscopic wire. He examined it carefully before taking hold of the end.
The black thread it hung from felt similar to the carbon fiber threads inserted into his brain—at least as he remembered them. Touching his head to confirm it didn’t seem like a great idea.
He pulled on the long thread, but it didn’t budge. It was incredibly strong and began cutting into his hand. He let go quickly. No blood, but the beginnings of a paper cut.
He stared up at the domed ceiling. The thread was so thin that it became invisible not far above him. What was this thing?
The mystery had to remain for the moment. As good as he felt right now, Maslow’s hierarchy of needs hadn’t quite been handled. Sooner or later food would become a necessity. He had to figure out how to get it before it became an emergency.
Grady got back to navigating the deeper system menus of his cell’s operating system. From this he accessed a diagram of the entire CIE and soon realized that the living area was just part of a larger self-contained interrogation system. The AI hadn’t lied about that much at least. His cell appeared to have no direct connection—and no entrance or exit to the outside world. He was like a ship in a bottle. Hard to say how they’d gotten him in here because except for a two-inch-diameter pressure-regulation conduit the place was fully sealed. In rock? Nanomaterials? No details.
Grady guessed from the diagram that Junior had followed the conduit here to find him. He stared at where it disappeared off the edge of the diagram. Where did it lead? There must be some sort of conduit system connecting cells—or at least connecting cells to some sort of infrastructure. Junior had located him somehow. It appeared that sealing the CIE entirely presented an engineering challenge even to the BTC.
In any event, a two-inch-wide conduit was hardly a means of escape.
As Grady studied the diagram further, he could see a small fusion reactor located in the larger CIE enclosure beyond his cell wall. Grady figured the conduit was there to manage atmospheric pressure for the prisoner. Or something like that. Hard to say. And the systems console couldn’t tell him anything about where he was or just how deeply sealed in.
The system’s whole world was this cell. Again, the AI apparently hadn’t lied about the limits of its knowledge. But then surely the results of Grady’s interrogation had to be sent somewhere. There had to be some sort of connection to the outside world.
Grady pursued his inquiry into the subsystems of the CIE with renewed vigor. And before long he located other life-support equipment—including finally the food-synthesis and matter-forming machinery. This equipment was also sealed within the capsule of the CIE but beyond his cell’s walls. The documentation said the food system was capable of producing “deathless” meat, imitation eggs, and just about anything else from organic molecules synthesized from still other systems (and, more disturbingly, processed waste).
He wondered if this was a self-contained biosphere. If so, it would be impressive—and would certainly be a requirement of long-distance space travel and colonization of…
He was getting off track. Enthusiasm for the BTC’s technology was a temptation he couldn’t afford right now. He got back to his studies.
An on-demand manufacturing facility was used to produce any components necessary for continued operation within the CIE—and to repurpose inorganic waste, to fix malfunctioning components—but also apparently to create perquisites for cooperative prisoners. Which was something Grady had never been.
Once he activated the nutrition and manufacturing systems, their user interfaces “grew” out of the wall, too, in the form of ledges and narrow openings. These Grady controlled from diagnostic screens. Apparently, had he not resisted every single moment, his AI could have given him some level of comfort and pleasure.
He cycled through the list of luxuries.
The food options were surprisingly comprehensive. He cringed at the sheer volume of choices in the same way one might cringe at a bus station café menu that offered Thai, Italian, Mexican, Indian, and French cuisine all at once.
He decided to try a bowl of chicken ph’o—a Vietnamese broth-and-noodle dish that he figured would be an easier start for his digestive tract. After he selected it from the maintenance console, a percentage meter started incrementing next to the word.
A café with a progress meter did not bode well.
But in a few minutes a generic-looking gray bowl slid out from the wall on a gray shelf. The bowl contained a steaming broth aromatic with spices. As Grady caught the scent, his appetite was piqued. He grabbed a nearby gray spoon and tentatively tasted the broth.
It was delicious.
Whether it was his captivity or his starvation or whether it was actually good he couldn’t tell, but the phó’ reminded him of a cheap hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese place he used to frequent when he was a starving student up in Albany.
Grady looked down at the EAP worm. “Not bad, Junior.”