Sarah stood up and stared at her. “You were the one going on about how dumb he was last night in the bar. I don’t see why you care.”
“Because—”
“Stay out of my head,” Sarah said, as she walked toward the bathroom. “Don’t mess with my implant. Just because you can, you don’t have the right.”
Nick watched Sarah walk down the hallway, and turned to Catherine. “What did you do to my head? Look, I—”
She held up her hand to stop him. “Shut up and get out.” She wasn’t going to give any explanations to him. Not about her ability to manipulate the net, or anything else for that matter.
Catherine turned and went back downstairs, where she found herself crying in Maggie’s motherly hug a few seconds later. Stupid damn guys. Stupid implant. She was the only one in the world, it seemed, who couldn’t link with another person.
She lifted her head off Maggie’s shoulder and dried her eyes on her own sleeve.
Tom sat, oblivious to the drama, still lost in the net.
Maggie pushed her onto a barstool and forced her to sit at the kitchen counter. A steaming slice of quiche sat on a plate, the smell of goat cheese and leeks tempting her. Maggie held out a fork.
Catherine took the utensil and stabbed the quiche.
“Don’t take it out on the food, honey. Just eat.”
She ate a few bites, but it stuck in her throat. Finally the thud of the front door closing indicated that Nick left. When she’d pushed around the food on her plate long enough to be civil, she stood up. “I’m going to school,” she said to no one in particular.
“I’m sorry, hon,” Maggie said, coming to put an arm around her.
Sarah chose that moment to make her reappearance, now dressed. “Why bother? None of us are ever going to do anything.”
Catherine stared at Sarah and willed her heart rate to slow down. “My educational stipend pays for the house. A little gratitude, please.”
Catherine stomped past Sarah, heading for the front door.
2
Outside, Catherine rushed down the block to put distance between her and the house. She couldn’t even be pissed at Sarah. They’d shared guys before. The real problem was that everyone used their neural implants for sex — everyone except Cat, who, due to some defect in her implant, gave off painful feedback, like the squeal of speakers during a rock concert.
Nick’s look of disappointment when she wouldn’t link last night spoke volumes, and even if this morning hadn’t happened, he still would have taken off soon. Her love life was a series of disappointing one and two night stands.
It wasn’t fair. She was game for every kink in the book, she just couldn’t link.
On the next block, lined with big leaf maples, she walked through dappled sunlight. A small red android, about the size of a boy, picked through the neighbors’ garbage pile. The bot came up with a handful of discarded electronics, then carefully placed each one into a rusted green cart.
Catherine sent an automatic “Good morning” back to the bot through the net. The red bot shied away as Cat grew closer, and didn’t respond. As she passed by, she did a double-take. Someone had attacked the bot, the right side of its head smashed in, optic sensors dangling. She stopped. “Are you OK?” she asked.
The robot didn’t respond, except to grab the wagon handle and walk off, the loud whine of a servo evidence of yet more damage.
Catherine stood watching, her mouth open, as the bot made its way down the street. She’d never seen anything like that before.
Damn. Roommates sleeping with boyfriends. Boyfriends sleeping with roommates. Abused robots. The world had gone to hell.
After a moment, she resumed her walk, unconsciously shaking her head.
When she came to the avenue, she paused. The heavy traffic was mostly conventional ground cars, although the occasional exotic hovercraft floated by, half a foot above the pavement. A solitary flying aircar swooped down from a thousand feet up, joining the ground traffic.
She would normally step into traffic, expecting the autonomous vehicles to avoid her, but two Fridays ago, a pedestrian died crossing this street. Thrill-seekers had disabled their AI and gone for a high-speed joyride around the city.
She reached out for the space-time predictions of the AI drivers. She smirked. Sarah hated Cat’s unique ability to manipulate the net. Cat didn’t tell anyone else. She was too afraid her ability would draw attention to herself.
Looking left and right, her implant overlaid white glowing lines in her vision, showing the future plots for approaching cars. The lines faded to gray in the future. Impulsively, she scanned farther, stretching beyond line of sight, until the entire city of Portland was visible in her mind. In the downtown area, white lines tinged pink, showing AI uncertainty in the dense environment. On the highway, bulges of red displayed where AIs adapted at the speed of electrons to the few manually piloted cars. Nearby everything was clear.
Ignoring the cars, she focused instead on bicyclists and took care to cross the road.
On the other side, a small group of teenagers sprayed graffiti on a storefront, their hoods pulled far over their heads so they couldn’t be identified on camera. The proprietor, a delicate android in human clothes, protested, but the kids shouted and mocked him, threatening him with the spray paint.
In netspace, Catherine saw the droid make the call to police. She sensed a perturbation a few blocks away, a police bot circling through traffic, responding to the call.
The three teens must have rooted their neural implants, because they seemed to sense the police as well and took off in the opposite direction, across the park Catherine was heading toward.
The storeowner inspected his defaced store, before glancing around and heading back in. An ache of despair settled in Cat’s stomach.
Artificial intelligences, or AI, took the form of robots and disembodied consciousnesses in the net. First created about ten years ago, they’d taken over most jobs. But the AI had grown the economy until income taxes had been first eliminated and then reversed: everyone received a basic guaranteed income, or stipend, now.
She shook her head. The AI protest movement was stupid and pointless. There might not be many jobs, but between the low cost of robot manufactured goods and the stipend, there was no real material want. The stipend covered food, shelter, and basic goods. Attending school or volunteering came with an increased stipend. True wealth seekers still worked or created handcrafted goods to sell. And there was more to do than ever: art, travel, and other life experiences.
Regardless of this, the protesters, a fringe group for years, had recently grown in influence. The worst new trend was violence and vandalism. Attacking helpless bots, bound by ethical restrictions that made it impossible for them to defend themselves, made her sick.
With a last sigh, Catherine turned away and climbed the path into the sprawling park. Her roommates didn’t care about the protest movement. Maggie and Tom were stoners, happy and complacent. Tom got riled up sometimes, but mostly he thought they should become back to the landers. And Sarah was too immersed in her VR sims to give a damn.
The sun warmed her shoulders, and she relaxed a little. The scent of grass came with the breeze. Hundreds of people came to the park to work or study. A few older people waved arms and hands in gestural interfaces, but most people simply sat quietly, their activities externally invisible.
She found a flat spot of grass in the sun, sat cross-legged, and triggered her classroom lecture.
3
Leon swung his bag over his shoulder and took the steps running. Emerging from the subway into late spring sunshine, that rare time in DC when it was warm without being humid, he walked five blocks to the Institute.